The Ironclad Assassin (2)
“The information merchant of the century, Percival, coming all the way out here…”
“Dark Merchant Percival Smith… I heard he doesn’t sell information to just anyone.”
“Hmm. Good. At least they know the name.”
Because I was the one who made sure of it.
I looked down at Mister Trillo with an arrogant expression. The nonsense swirling around him had clearly scrambled his thoughts; he nodded as if he understood.
“Well now… seems you’re quite the celebrity. Fine. I’ll hear what you have to say.”
The opening pressure had landed cleanly. Mister Trillo’s men watched me with tense faces.
Authority is heavily shaped by the renown of the one who wields it. And an information merchant lives and dies by the trust people place in him. With no real foundation of my own yet, I needed to manufacture that authority however I could.
Gauging Mister Trillo’s reaction, I carefully opened the business talk.
“Word is the Valiant are hunting Ironclad right now.”
“Yeah. We’re itching to butcher that bastard the second we find him.”
“I have information on Ironclad.”
A grinding sound of teeth filled the air.
Mister Trillo glared at me with bloodshot eyes, then let out a long sigh and asked,
“Hey. You said Dark Merchant, right?”
“Percival Smith.”
The title “Dark Merchant” had been pure improvisation, nothing more than hot air. Mister Trillo didn’t seem to care either way; he pressed on with his own point.
“Whatever. How you call yourself doesn’t matter. Only one thing matters right now. I don’t like merchants who try to make money off other people’s grudges.”
“……”
“So cut to the chase. I don’t even want to look at your face any longer than I have to.”
He sounded irritated, yet he was clearly willing to consider a deal. I had no interest in circling around the point either. I went straight to the heart of it, just as he wanted.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll be blunt. Are you prepared to pay seventy thousand credits?”
Seventy thousand credits.
That was the figure I’d settled on after weighing the Valiant’s scale against the quality of the Ironclad intel. Ironclad was a Class-2 wanted criminal with a bounty from the Peacekeepers. For a man as hungry for revenge as Mister Trillo, the sum shouldn’t have been crushing.
He mulled over the exact number, then asked,
“How much do you actually know about him?”
“Name. Magic. Hideout. Everything you’ve been wanting.”
In War City, every episode ended with an investigation log that collated the Peacekeepers’ intel. Those logs gave brief, tidy summaries of the criminals the protagonist had faced. My memory wasn’t terrible; piecing together the distinctive keywords I remembered into complete information hadn’t been hard.
Mister Trillo looked genuinely surprised.
“Impressive. Other brokers just feed me worthless scraps about the guy.”
“He’s that good at staying buried. Unless someone’s hunting him on purpose, you barely find a trace.”
“But information this detailed makes me suspicious. Makes me wonder if you and Ironclad weren’t already acquainted from the start.”
“If you’re not interested, I’ll take my leave.”
“……I’ll think about it.”
Unfortunately, the deal wasn’t sealed on the spot. Mister Trillo said he needed time and postponed the decision.
I’d said everything I came to say. Finding no further reason to stay, I stood.
“I’ll leave my contact. Call if you decide to trade.”
“If I make up my mind, I will.”
One of the men standing behind Mister Trillo approached and handed me paper and a pen. I took them and wrote down my number.
As I returned the slip, I left a final warning.
“The longer you wait, the less accurate the information gets. Keep in mind you don’t have much time left.”
With that I turned and walked straight out of the building. Sinel, who had been standing guard behind me, quietly followed the moment I moved.
Once we stepped outside, the sentry I’d met on the way in grinned at me.
“Business finished?”
“Yeah. Heading back.”
“Wrapped up faster than I expected, huh?”
I held out my hand. Time to reclaim what I’d surrendered on the way in.
“My gun. And the dagger too.”
“Almost forgot. Give ’em back.”
The sentries returned my pistol and Sinel’s dagger. I slipped the gun straight into my coat. Sinel, looking relieved to have her blade again, gazed at it with open affection.
“Let’s go.”
On the road back to the office from the Valiant headquarters, Sinel checked over her recovered dagger and spoke in a low voice.
“Dark Merchant…”
“……”
“Boss, you really were something special.”
Dark Merchant. That short phrase had clearly stuck with her. Like Mister Trillo, she was laboring under a massive misunderstanding. I didn’t have the courage to correct her outright.
“……Just old history. Let’s go eat.”
I was the one who’d said it out loud. The embarrassment that followed was mine to bear.
Clairvoyant Riman Cabarrent.
He was the undisputed number-one information broker in the Cross Network, a man who had climbed from the city’s gutter all the way to the top. True to his creed that the world was moved by whoever held the most information, a constant flood of intel poured into his office. And every day, hundreds of calls from clients seeking that intel rang through the place.
“Urgent request from Mister Trillo.”
Riman had been collating the day’s haul as usual when the subordinate on the phone suddenly relayed the news. An urgent request meant the client paid a premium surcharge in exchange for the fastest possible delivery. The moment he heard the client’s name, Riman knew exactly who it was.
Mister Trillo, boss of the criminal organization Valiant, was hunting the assassin who had killed his right-hand man.
“Mister Trillo? Boss of the Valiant. Bet he’s asking for Ironclad intel again.”
“No… he wants information on Dark Merchant Percival Smith.”
“Percival Smith? Never heard the name.”
The content of the urgent request was nothing like Riman had expected. Confronted with a completely unfamiliar name, he rose from his seat and swept a look across the office.
“Anyone here know a Percival Smith?”
Riman couldn’t personally manage every scrap of information, so the office employed a large staff. One of those assistants, Brian, flinched at the question. The name of the uninvited guest who had visited him only days earlier had just been spoken aloud.
Riman didn’t miss that brief reaction. He walked straight toward Brian.
“Brian. Looks like you know something about Percival.”
“Ah……”
“Spit it out. If we don’t give Mister Trillo something this time, he’s going to blow a gasket.”
“Th-that’s……”
Brian was one of the more experienced assistants in the office. From the way he was reacting, Riman already had a rough idea of the situation. There were occasional times when Brian knew something yet refused to speak—usually when the information’s accuracy was too low, or when he simply hadn’t gathered enough to meet his own standards.
“I’ve never heard the name either, so I’m not expecting detailed intel. Even something basic will earn you a bonus.”
Blink. Blink.
Brian kept rolling his eyes and hesitating under Riman’s demand, but the moment the word “bonus” left his boss’s mouth, he opened up.
“Uh… this is just something I heard.”
“Doesn’t matter. So what does Percival Smith do?”
“Percival Smith… he’s one hell of an information merchant.”
Riman marveled at his assistant’s crude vocabulary, then let it slide, picturing Brian prowling the back alleys in the name of gathering intel. Dark Merchant Percival Smith. Judging purely by what he’d just heard, the man already sounded like a bigger player than expected.
“And?”
“He holds some serious information, but he doesn’t sell it to just anyone.”
“That so? Then how come I’ve never heard of him?”
A brief silence.
Brian wracked his brains, dredged up the rest of the nonsense he’d been fed, and finally managed an answer.
“Percival built his business in some far-off foreign land, but now he’s decided to settle in this city and even rented an office.”
“An information merchant who made a name for himself overseas. No wonder I didn’t know him.”
“That’d be it.”
“Good work. Bonus is yours, as promised.”
Riman gave Brian’s shoulder a firm pat, then walked straight to the phone Mister Trillo had called on. He snatched the receiver from the staffer and took the call himself.
“Long time no see, Mister Trillo.”
“Long time? We don’t meet often because you never know a damn thing.”
“No need to worry. I’ve already gathered plenty on Dark Merchant Percival.”
“Hmph. If you couldn’t even dig that up, I’d have gone over to Jackson and badmouthed you all day.”
Riman’s face darkened at Mister Trillo’s jab. Jackson the drunk—one of Riman’s rivals who also operated out of the Cross Network. Even if he was permanently stuck in second place behind Riman, the information network he ran was still a genuine threat.
The thought of that unpleasant competitor made Riman’s cheek twitch. He forced himself calm, then soothed Mister Trillo in a steady voice.
“Just listen without getting too worked up.”
“So what kind of guy is Percival Smith?”
“According to my information, he’s quite the formidable information merchant.”
“That’s why they call him Dark Merchant, right? And?”
“He is selective about his clients, and the grade of information he handles is extremely high.”
“Sounds like a real heavyweight. Then how come I’ve never heard of him until now?”
Taken at face value, the first half alone was enough to cast doubt on the reliability of the intel. Fortunately, Riman had just gotten a more detailed picture from his trusted subordinate Brian.
“Apparently he mostly operated in some distant foreign land. He’s only been in this city relatively recently, so it’s only natural you wouldn’t know him.”
“That’s the Clairvoyant Riman for you. You always dig up this kind of stuff.”
“We’re different from the rest. I hope this information gives you at least a little peace of mind.”
Fortunately, Mister Trillo seemed satisfied with what he’d heard. Riman could finally relax. For a while, at least, no complaints would be coming from that direction.