Part 2

The room held its breath as Mr. Thompson relieved the box of its contents. There were several tightly furled scrolls, all bound in a ribbon of varying colour, what looked like a gold compass, and a plain sheet of paper.

"That's it?" the tattooed man asked, clearly disappointed. "I was expecting more. I mean, the man did kill himself for this, right?"

"Yes, he did." Mr. Thompson's voice was sharp, the pain he had hidden earlier springing back at the callous mention of his friend's early demise.

"Sorry," said the tattooed man, who didn't sound sorry at all. "It's just —"

"I'm aware of how plain it all looks, but believe me, everything you need, for now, is in here." The lawyer reached into his breastpocket and pulled out several coloured strips. These he took to handing around, passing them out with a swiftness that could only have been born of deliberation. There was a reason he gave them these specific colours. Drake had a theory, but he decided against speaking. He would let the lawyer bring them to that point, for now he would merely observe.

"Right. Now, each of you has received a strip of paper. These strips were instructed by Mr. Crispin to be delivered to each of you specifically. If you would be so kind, please take the scroll that matches the colour of the strip you were handed."

So he was right, Drake thought with a little satisfaction. The table they were watching was in the center of the room, positioned between the white leather couches the five clients were all scattered along. Now they rose, all five moving to the gleaming oakwood table to grab their intended scrolls. Drake flicked out a pocketknife to remove his ribbon; the tattooed man ripped his off with his bare fingers; the lovers used their teeth; and Ms. Ebanks withdrew a large red lighter from the folds of her dress, lending evidence to the theory that she was a heavy smoker.

Each of them sank back to their original spots on the couches, reading. There was a long silence, in which they vaguely registered the sound of Mr. Thompson's voice calling for food and drink.

The servants instantly rematerialized, bringing with them platters of fine food. The majority of the guests absently picked at the food, or took small sips of the wine, still focused on their scrolls. Drake was the first to be finished. He had skimmed through the paragraphs, but he got the gist. He had been called for his talent as a mercenary. The organizations they had been called to fight against were full of trained, armed warriors. It only made sense Crispin would want his own. A small part of him wondered whether all these people in front of him were also mercenaries, or did they have other skills that Crispin had been drawn to.

One by one, starting with Ms. Ebanks, they finished reading. That was when Drake noticed something interesting. For the first time since she had spoken, Ms. Ebanks looked rather displeased, her face twisted in disgust as if her wine tasted sour.

"Good, now we can continue to Phase 2," said Thompson. "Now you all know the specific reasons why Mr. Crispin called for each of you by name, and what you can offer us. Which means it's time to begin your mission."

"Oh? Already?" the tattooed man asked, but he didn't sound displeased. In fact, there was a tinge of eagerness to his voice.

"Yes, Mr. Rodgers. Time is of the essence." He gestured for them to rise and so they did, filing behind him as he walked through the door but still keeping a significant berth of distance between each other. Crispin had said they needed to trust each other, but that was a fool's request. In Drake's line of work, trust was built over time, a massive foundation laid brick by brick in grueling effort. And clearly his new partners felt the same.

"So what's Phase 2 then?" the woman of the pair asked, her words slurring slightly. Drake rolled his eyes. After only a few drinks the wine was hitting her like a firetruck. The words flashed involuntarily across his mind: This is the best Crispin could ask for?

"Phase 2 will involve transporting you to the area where Mr. Crispin's body is being held." Mr. Thompson said the words casually, but they caused a ripple of shock to circle through the five, who all stopped. Mr. Thompson noticed, then looked around, an eyebrow cocked in confusion.

"You mean his body isn't here?" Ebanks asked.

Mr. Thompson actually laughed. "Of course not. I told you, he went to great lengths to keep himself concealed. Even I do not know where he's buried; makes it harder for them to torture it out of me," he said, sounding amused. "That's what the compass is for."

The answer didn't reassure them. Drake had come across many things in his lifetime, including magical defenses. He knew enough to know when they were being cast, and the signs that indicated how powerful they were, and this mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree. If they believed that this fortress wasn't capable of standing up to their opponents, then what the hell chance did they have to hide him anywhere?

Ms. Ebanks seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Their eyes met, and some sort of understanding seemed to pass between them.

"I told you," Mr. Thompson said placatingly. "We have everything we need right here. Now, I'll explain more in the car —" But unfortunately, that was not the case. His words came to an abrupt halt as something thick and fast plunged into his neck. He clutched at it, blood gurgling from his throat, and he collapsed, pools of scarlet leaking from his throat. He shivered and fell still. There was no need to check for a pulse.

"Well I'll be damned," said Rodgers, his voice completely casual.

Ms. Ebanks sounded more irritated than worried as she spoke. "We've got incoming." A number of sounds rang out in quick succession. Glass shattering, doors bursting open, screams of terror and the heavy thuds of bodies, and the pounding of feet drawing closer to where they currently stood.

I'm planning to continue this series, so part 3 will be posted later on my personal subreddit r/UmbralRadiance. Keep an eye out for it there.