Exploitable Weaknesses Brian Keller (e reader pdf best TXT) 📖

“Tell me you’re not killing off tax collectors.” Rukle glanced left and right, as if looking for assistance, or perhaps an opening to escape, “I’m not killing off tax collectors….?” Cooper sighed. He should’ve predicted something like this. He asked, “Can you tell me that and make me believe it?” Rukle grinned, “Probably not.” Cooper’s first impulse was to be angry but his mind flashed over several thoughts all at once. Maybe Rukle was right? The Ruins have been a dangerous place for a century, more or less. People disappeared all the time. Cooper shook off the notion. Something about it didn’t sit right. This was the kind of thing that would surely return to make problems for them later. He told Rukle, “Stop killing the city officials. We’ll need to start learning to work around them.” Rukle snorted, “Well, I certainly hope we’re not considering working with them! They’re far worse thieves than we’ve ever been!” This brought a chuckle from everyone who was listening, which at this point in the conversation, was almost everyone. It seemed like this conversation had been anticipated and all in attendance were now waiting to see how things turned out. Cooper stood and looked around the large room, then demanded, “How many of you knew about this?” Suddenly everyone’s attention shifted to their meal and the clatter of utensils on plates resumed with unusual fervor. Cooper turned his attention to Spen, “Am I supposed to believe you don’t know about this?” Rukle took advantage of Cooper’s change of focus and took a large gulp of water. Spen looked up from his plate and replied innocently, “Know about what?” Fortunately for Rukle, most of his water came out his nose or he might’ve choked. Spen realized immediately that Rukle’s near-choking fit had, in fact, implicated him. He glared sideways at Rukle and grumbled, “Thanks a lot.” Cooper would feel ridiculous asking Spen to explain himself, knowing the reality of the situation. Even if someone were to have witnessed a Guild member killing a tax collector in the Ruins, who would report it? Who would confess to having witnessed it? No one. Cooper took a deep breath and let it out, sat back down and simply let the question drop. Still, he felt certain that this conversation wouldn’t be the end of it.

As much as he gained satisfaction from watching the Ruins take shape, he knew time was growing shorter. He needed to move the plan forward. There would always be aspects that were beyond his control, especially with an operation like this, but he also knew he could trust everyone to complete their tasks as well as they were able. He started to think about who might be held in the prison, and how long they could be expected to withstand the treatment there. A week would feel like a month, a month would feel like a year. They haven’t quite been there a year yet, but how long will it have felt like? He turned his mind to other thoughts. It did no good to dwell on those types of hypotheticals. He was glad to have a task to set his mind against. He walked to the Waterfront to begin scouting his escape route.

The disguised soldiers of the Secret Police often chose one of five different taverns as their vantage point. The reasons for those spots undoubtedly had to do with the fact that there was either an awning or huge umbrellas providing shade over the outdoor seating areas. Sitting outside, in the shade, probably made them think that they’d separated themselves enough from City Watch behavior that no one would make the connection. The truth was, even if it weren’t already blatantly obvious, the jealous stares and glares they gathered from the passing uniformed Watch patrols made it even harder to miss.

Cooper had found a route that was outside the normal patrol patterns and had no stationary observation points directly in the path. He wouldn’t need a clear path all the way home, just for a few blocks. After that, he could just move normally and blend in with the town folk. To the Watch, he was just a potential informant, no one of any real consequence after all.

He’d spent several minutes considering where it would be best to set up the meeting with the Spymaster. Someplace he could get in and out quickly, and preferably unseen. Someplace where it would be difficult to bring in large numbers of Watch or Army soldiers. Someplace where he had more than only one or two escape routes. It had to be in the Waterfront, or somewhere nearby; he was supposedly a young man from the Waterfront, so to specify a location south of the river would be highly suspicious. He settled on a site, not far from the warehouse that Jarell had used to hold the slaves. There was a vacant lot and several roads and paths nearby. Now to decide on time of day… would this young man from the Waterfront feel safer at night? When no one could witness him speaking with the Spymaster? Or during the day when other things might distract potential onlookers? No, the Spymaster wouldn’t be traveling alone. During the day, he’d attract too much attention. It wouldn’t matter what else might be going on, people would stop whatever they were doing to observe him. A nervous young man, a potential informer, wouldn’t want that. Darkness might feel dangerous, but it would also provide anonymity.

He went to one of the other bars, paid a copper for a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal and drew out a rough sketch then called the bartender over to him, “Sir, c’n you write?” The barkeep shrugged, “A little bit. I can tally figures alright, an’ write a little.” He looked at the drawing Cooper had made, “Whadiya need? You givin’ directions?” Cooper nodded and pointed in the direction of the vacant building site, “I