The afternoon had gone quiet in the way afternoons do before festivals not empty, just resting.
The streets held the stillness of a city gathering itself for evening celebrations.
Kabi walked through Vael’s garden at his usual unhurried pace.
Rare quiet moments were meant to be savored.
Voices rose at the gate.
Four merchants.
An old man at the front with the natural authority of someone long used to being listened to.
Behind him, three younger men stood beside a flat cart stacked with large cloth-covered boxes tied tightly with rope.
The cart sat low on its wheels.
Heavy.
“Mister Vael is here?” the old man asked.
“He’s in his room,” Kabi replied.
His eyes lingered on the boxes.
“What is this about?”
“Festival gifts,” the old man said warmly.
“We were instructed to place them in the storage room.”
Kabi studied the younger men.
They stood around the cart with careful positioning protective.
“Your merchant cards,” Kabi said.
The old man blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Identification.
Merchant registration.
Standard procedure for deliveries to a Shaasan-Paal residence.”
The younger men exchanged quick glances.
“Kabi.”
Vael’s voice drifted across the garden before he appeared.
He crossed the stone path with open hands and an easy smile.
“These are friends,” Vael said pleasantly.
“I invited them personally.
Festival gifts I told you we were expecting deliveries this week.” He gave Kabi a mild, corrective look.
“They’re guests.
Speak to them accordingly.”
Kabi looked at the low-sitting cart, then at Vael.
“If they are your guests,” he said evenly, “then I won’t need their cards.”
“You won’t,” Vael agreed.
Kabi stepped aside.
“Of course.
My apologies.”
He watched them guide the cart toward the eastern storage room.
The wheels sank slightly into the dirt path.
Too heavy for festival decorations.
Three streets away, on the second floor of the tea stall, Bahadur stopped pretending to clean the windowsill.
He counted each box as it was carried inside.
Every one required two men.
Every one made them adjust their grip.
Heavy.
Very heavy.
He pulled out his small notebook and wrote quickly:
Approx.
100 boxes.
Unusual weight.
Unusual dimensions.
Vael vouched personally no cards checked.
He added one more line:
Kabi noticed the weight.
The last crate disappeared into storage. The source of this chapter is g.com.
The door closed.
The sitting room had been prepared for guests.
Servants moved through it with practiced efficiency, carrying trays of fruit, pitchers of juice, and polished dishes.
The old merchant sat comfortably in the best chair.
Vael sat opposite him, relaxed and smiling.
Kabi remained near the doorway.
“Thank you for allowing us to store the goods here,” the old merchant said warmly.
“You are most generous.”
Vael smiled.
“The festival approaches.
Helping is expected.”
One of the younger merchants leaned forward.
“Our goods are the finest available this season.”
The room settled into comfortable conversation.
Then Kabi spoke.
“Is this a donation?”
The air shifted subtly.
Vael looked at him.
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
“Our master,” the younger merchant answered smoothly.
“Mister Voss.”
Kabi went very still.
Voss.
The same name from the irregular payment records.
The same initials he had been about to question.
“N.V.,” Kabi said flatly.
Vael’s expression softened into gentle concern.
“Kabi.
You’re becoming sensitive again.” His voice was kind, almost affectionate.
“This is a festival donation from a generous man.
Nothing more.”
The old merchant smiled pleasantly.
“A careful servant is a useful servant.
But curiosity…
has a way of harming the people it touches.”
Everyone smiled.
The fruit glistened.
Juice shimmered in crystal pitchers.
Kabi smiled too.
His hands, at his sides, had gone completely still.
The storage room sat behind the eastern wall of Vael’s estate, separated by a narrow stone path and a locked iron gate.
Two guards stood outside too alert to be ordinary servants.
Bahadur watched from the rooftop across the alley, body pressed flat against the tiles.
When the gap in their patrol appeared, he moved.
Silent.
Precise.
He slipped through a half-open upper window.
Dust rose around him.
He forced himself not to cough.
Rows of crates filled the room wall to wall.
He crouched beside the nearest one.
The markings were clear:
N.V.
VOSS
He pried open the lid.
Footsteps approached. This story is hosted at g.com.
Bahadur climbed the stacked crates and tucked himself into the shadowed beams just as the door opened.
Vael and the old merchant entered.
“Let me see the goods,” Vael said calmly.
The merchant opened the crate Bahadur had touched moments earlier.
From above, Bahadur leaned forward slightly.
Sweat slid down his neck.
Bombs.
Compact military-grade explosives packed tightly together.
“Sixty percent are already positioned,” the old merchant said.
Vael nodded.
“And the rest?”
“Before the festival begins.”
Bahadur stopped breathing.
Vael examined one device carefully, then set it back.
“Good.
Be careful.
Kabi must not enter this room.”
They resealed the crate and left.
Vael paused once at the doorway, looking across the room full of explosives, then closed the door.
One heavy lock clicked.
Then another.
Bahadur waited until the footsteps faded before exhaling.
He was trapped.
One locked door.
One narrow window three meters above him.
Guards outside.
And enough explosives in the room to destroy half the estate if anything went wrong.
For the first time in years, something unfamiliar settled beneath his usual calm.
Fear.
Across the city, in a quiet office, Rai lit another cigarette.
Smoke curled upward as he studied the reports scattered across his desk.
Fio stood nearby.
“Something changed,” Rai said.
“Sir?”
“Imports and exports through the Miraan district increased sharply.
Too quickly for normal festival traffic.”
Fio frowned.
“You think someone wants us distracted?”
Rai crushed the cigarette into the tray and stood.
“I don’t think anymore.
I know.”
He looked at the three officers waiting by the door two seasoned Nirakh-Rakk and a younger Nirakh-Chal recruit named Tavia.
“You follow Nirakh-Vel Fio’s orders exactly,” Rai said.
“No improvisation.
No heroics.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fio adjusted his gloves.
“We observe first.
Nobody touches cargo unless I say so.
Nobody separates from the group.”
The officers nodded.
“If resistance appears,” Fio continued, “Rakk officers secure exits.
Tavia stays behind me unless ordered otherwise.”
“Understood.”
Rai looked at Fio one final time.
“Bring me answers.”
Fio gave a short nod.
“We move.”