Laurence wrote a letter of warning so to speak and mailed it, for two days Laurence dragged Torrin through file after file, continuing motion aching his stump arm. They were in a library.
Torrin had given up trying to hide the prosthetic from his older partner. Ceramic guards and hardened glass protected the hundreds of thousands of small cogs which moved in response to his nervous system.
Hundreds of thousands of small ceramic triangles meshed and folded together to replicate skin movement.
He was looking through housing records for the factory workers when he discovered the purchase of huge swaths of land, loaned for by the church. Under the name Gaias Dent. Person of interest number one.
Number two. Matthew Foreman. He was always named on every document but his role was not clear.
Torrin thought this was excessive, chances are if they convince the workers that their church they'll fold anyway.
They decided it was best to go disguised, with much convincing on Torrin's behalf. They drove past a gate into a compound nearly the size of the town itself, only a large factory and a few warehouses. The building they approached was hideous, angular and like everything else it was concrete. Ceramic.
The people who met them were dulcet, dower. Tired.
Apart from management, they were curious, as were the three men who followed them.
They guided the pair in inspector's garb borrowed from the church in Mallough. Of course they had not inspected that factory for a long time.
It was a lithium mining and processing plant, among other ores. Easy enough place to get a life changing injury.
They entered through a side entrance, straight up a claustrophobic concrete stairwell. It led to a catwalk thirty feet above this particular building's functions. The two looked down on the obtuse image in front of them. Dozens of thin men worked with masks over their faces. Furnaces roared and men organised metals, skin black with soot. Coughing as if tar clasped to everything within them. The smell of dirt and burning metal loomed upwards toward them.
Torrin was happy he didn't come in swinging. The men behind him would crush him in a fair fight. Two of them were blonde wide men, brothers maybe. The other was leaner. But he didn't like something about him. He had no hair, no eyebrows. For that matter his eyes were red. Like he was Ill. Not to mention the fence and gate, unattended as it was, could be closed easily.
They were eventually led to a large comfortable room that overlooked the workers. A literal high castle.
"We were surprised to receive your letter. How can we help you?" Gaias Dent asked, once seated, Matthew by his side. Gaias was a grey haired man wearing a grey suit far above his station. His compatriot was the same, younger though, hair brown and features sharp. Handsome almost.
"Only in the area." Laurence started, making the slightest twitch of a pinky. Their agent's way of saying they wanted to lead a conversation. "On our way up to the front on behalf of the church, to do repairs."
Torrin noticed his polite demeanour and tried to relax himself. Those men had not taken their eyes off him. A small radio played the capital frequency, a pianist.
"Well we're honoured to be visited." Matthew grinned. He looked on edge. Gaias frowned at him also. These were con men by both Torrin's and Laurence's take. They weren't very good liars though.
"Like my colleague says. We're honoured." Gaias continues. "May I ask what you've come to inspect specifically?" He asked. Matthew went to a copper still in the back corner of the room to make himself a drink. He offered but both the agents refused.
"Just some records, maybe take a look at some of the machines if we have time." Laurence said. "I don't much like driving in the dark." He smiled.
They continued talking for a while but Torrin didn't listen much. He scanned the room though, it was very clean. At least compared to the factory downstairs and the men who stood around them. They tried to look like they were supervisors, reading documents and sitting in chairs. Men's faces are always different when they actually understand what they're looking at. On top of that Matthews hands hadn't stopped shuddering, yet the room was warm. He recognised the pianist now, he was an immigrant from the north east. He made the piece after losing his family.
There were two pieces of art on the wall. One, an accurately scaled diagram of a marionette. The other, a portrait of the late high bishop Dominic Riordan, of the builders' church. They looked expensive. For that matter the whole room looked expensive too Torrin. Furniture was of similar make to the work in Broom's Town's comm station.
Eventually they took us back down the stairs and across the compound to their records room, it was dusty and unorganised and only one in three lights worked. The alcove given to them was a five by five foot space with a table that barely fit in its confines.
They sat there with little supervision but the man with the red eyes always watched from the corner. Features ghostly in the dim light.
Laurence managed to slip their financial records for the last twenty years. They trailed through the records and the deaths correlated to the children. Seventy percent increases signed by Christopher Larin. Command came from somewhere local so as to not raise capital suspicions.
They had found more suspicious deaths at a care home and medical center before coming.They didn't have time to count how many.
Torrin felt a boiling hatred for the men. Laurence watched him and he remembered the consequences for him if this went wrong.
"What do we do?" Torrin eventually whispered, putting his cigarette on one of the steel shelves behind him.
"Five at least are obviously in on it." Laurence said calmly, putting down his file. "We need to be sure of others before we move." Laurence said.
"My pistol has ten rounds." Torrin offered but Laurence shook his head.
"We need to do this quietly. The guns are useful" he said implying he'd brought one too, glancing up to the hairless man. "We should move when the general staff are gone."
"That's an hour from now." Torrin said, looking at a timepiece which he pulled from his Breast pocket. It was made of tungsten, dense.
Laurence nodded, picking up his file again. Apparently enough was said.
"Have you noticed? He hasn't said a word since we arrived." Torrin nodded at their sickly friend. Ever present.
"He is my main worry." Laurence said quickly, like he was already thinking about it. "If we have to make a move go for him first." Torrin nodded agreement. Something about the man was starting to look familiar.
"How's your northern coming?" Laurence asked bluntly.
"Well enough." Torrin said, shrugging. "Why do you ask?" He asked, looking back at the man by the door. Then he noticed the light at the rims of the door were dimming. It was almost time. Rain began to hit the roof of the warehouse.
—-
Eventually the light behind the door dulled completely. Torrin and Laurence got up and allowed themself to be led back across the compound by the strange man, the rain was heavy by then. Blinding almost. it wasn't long till the water soaked through.
The factory looked like a dark fortress from a story to Torrin for a brief moment, strange to feel nostalgia in such a place.
The two strong men from before stood in coats looming by the entrance. Top lit by a small wall lamp. Torrin looked at one of them under their hood, he looked upset. Had they been there waiting all day?
Commitment to the part.' Torrin thought as he went through the door. The two followed after Laurence, giving little space.
They went back up the stairs. Across the catwalk, over the now still, lifeless facility.
Most of the lights had been turned off to preserve power. Made the office look like some apex's station. Not that of a foreman and manager.
In that palace the pair stood mirroring the agents, like the bloody barons of their glass castle, waiting for their invitees. More guarded than before. They thought they had them. The radio still played, this time a slow cellist and a saxophone. Harmonising, yet sudden. Torrin hadn't heard the style before.
They came in and removed their top layers, hung them on pegs, the compound was large and their coats were sodden for the effort.
"Everything is in order." Gaias asked, Sweating faintly. He gestured for them to sit. They remained standing, Laurence making a wave of refusal. They still had authority technically.
The 'supervisors' stood behind their desk, maybe fifteen feet away from the agents in one of the many small nooks of chairs the oversized room was decorated with. No feigned duties this time, eyes locked.
"Indeed." Laurence smiled, ignoring the men. Back in character. "You've kept your books well master forman." They nodded appreciatively.
"So you'll be off then." Gaias asked, too quickly. Stepping closer to the desk, Matthew joining him.
"Yes. Just one more thing though." Laurence said. Stepping closer to the desk also, Torrin panned to the right, started planning.
His pistol was strapped to a holster in his boot. Despite the size of the antique it had a foldable handle. Easy to hide.
"Have you ever heard of the liquidation scheme? It was a command from the church." He asked innocently, obviously. leaning on his fists over Gaias's desk. Catching the managers and the men off guard with his frankness, they stood slowly.
It would take him maybe two seconds to get it out. Five for the men to get to them.
It was likely that the men behind would move first, unlikely that they'd be armed too, even this close to the war weapons must be rare.
If he jumped the table he'd only have the managers to deal with. They didn't need to live. But Laurence would be left to fend for himself.
He raised his gloved ring finger to his waist. He'd lead the attack.
"We've never heard of it." the older manager said for both the men.
"Indeed." Torrin smiled in a fatherly way. Cutting into the conversation. leaning on a set of drawers. "Why would upstanding men like yourselves know of such a thing?" Torrin continued, palms out.
Torrin decided he would jump the table. It would catch the two infront off guard for long enough, he could get his gun as he went over.
He now stood by the radio.
"Why the guards." Laurence asked. The kindly demeanour disappeared from his face.
"These are our supervisors." Matthew gestured at his men, trying to smile. Hands still shaking.
The men still said nothing.
It did nothing to soften the mood.
The song changed. More up beat. Torrin may have imagined it but the rain seemed to be getting louder.
The targets stopped, truly knowing they were caught. Probably by the look on Laurence's face, he didn't seem fond of liars.
The supervisors didn't wait, Torrin heard them move behind them.
He grabbed the radio behind him, ripped it from its wall connection, hurled it at one of the henchmen. It was heavy, struck the side of his forehead.
"Ruben." Gaias yelled, got punched by Laurence. Fell back wincing. The red man went for him.
Torrin lunged forward shouldering into the hairless man.
He went to hurl himself over the table. went for his gun on his way, fumbled it. Heard it fall by the desk, didn't see where.
He improvised in the moment.
used his momentum to slam into the younger man, Matthew. He flung back into the portrait of the bishop, tearing it through the middle. Torrin went to the ground searching, grabbed the gun but Gaias kicked his arm. He couldn't see his partner.
The manager then booted him in the face, missing his nose. He rolled backwards getting to his feet, giving himself ground to recover. stumbled back, dizzy from the blow, bright white tainting his vision.
A loud clap tore through the air. gunfire.
He saw one of the brothers go down. Not the one Torrin hit, he was still down. Ruben, Torrin guessed.
Then Laurence got thrown crashing through a coffee table by the red eyed man.
Matthew had recovered and was desperately rushing Torrin. Terror in his eyes.
Torrin grinned, primal rage taking him. He slammed him in the nose, with his prosthetic arm shattering his face. Doubled back again this time into the drinking station. Grabbed the copper still, hurled it at the Managers as they moved to check on one another.
Empathy was there undoing.
Where was his gun? Torrin searched with equal desperation to Matthews' assault.
He could hear the two screaming, wondering why the guards hadn't come for him. He doubted Larence could win his fight, regretting his choice to jump the table for an instant.
The kicking pair were burning on the floor six feet away from him, skin boiling.
Under a chair near them his gun handle was half stuck out.
He dived for it, grabbed it and pulled the handle to its place. priming lever from a crank on the handle and spun looking over the two profetiers. Fired. Hit the older man square in the head. Matthew screamed all the louder. Coated by his friend. Torrin roared red fury in return. Pitiless.
The other brother had Laurence's gun, a similar rage in his eyes. He'd forgotten to check on the older man. The hairless stranger was holding him down where he'd landed knee on his chest. A grin crooked on his face.
"Your time has come old man." He hissed, in the northern speak. No time to question it. Torrin roared again.
They heard it like a gunshot and the larger local swore, finally noticing him. Torrin could barely hear it.
He was starting to feel the blow from Gaias's heel, awareness returning. Too early.
Pulling back the receiver of his weapon limply. Torrin kicked over a table, going to the floor again.
It wouldn't protect him. But the brute would shoot it.
After a moment he rolled out of cover Clumsily and drew his pistol up, ears still ringing. The table to his side splintered around the center.
Torrin's enemy panicked, clearly having not used a gun before. By this miracle Torrin had time.
He went to pull the receiver again. He didn't have to though, the pistol was semi automatic. Torrin shot the man, he died like his friends.
Matthew still wasn't a threat. He was coming back to his senses.
Laurence
Torrin crossed the room and slammed into the northern man. Slammed his head into the wall and kicked out his legs.
He hit him again, knocking him out. Shot manager Matthew for pity's sake.
The room was wrecked. Torrin stood to take it in for only a moment before he was unbelting the dead men and tying the tribal to one of the few remaining chairs.
Laurence was waking up. Torrin had found some pillows to support his neck and back.
Rain, still pounding above. Blood clotting carpets.
Laurence sat up five or ten minutes later. Torrin saw no point in counting.
"You're alive." He asked the obvious. Rubbing his neck.
"Look upon our works." Torrin said grandly. Gesturing to the room. Truth was though he felt anything but.
Laurence nodded.
"He's alive too?" He gestured at the Northman. Torrin's turn to nod. "Shit." He said.
"How do we hide this?" Torrin asked. They both broke into laughter. "And how did you know?"
"I didn't." Laurence sighed. "Had a hunch from some photos I'd seen."
It was a while after when the tribesman woke up.
Looked at the pair. Eyes a lot like a man with religion. Eyes like Larin's.
"hiː kʌmz. " he said. 'He comes." Torrin translates.
The man laughed, bit down hard.
He died shortly after.
"Must have been given it." Torrin said and he looked at the kicking mountain man whose mouth had begun to foam, white and flecks of blue. Neither man bothered to try and help him.
"Their tech is years behind this sort of thing." Torrin said when he finally died. The younger man went to inspect the body. Nothing on him.
A weight started to crush him. What this could mean.
"And what the hell does 'he comes,' mean?" Laurence asked from Torrin's shoulder.
Torrin could only shrug for an answer. Nobody knew much about their religion and he told his mentor that.
"We should burn this place." Torrin said, brushing off his clothes. For once Laurence agreed.
"Worry about him on the road." Laurence said. Sounding as if every muscle in his body was straining him. "I'm done with this place."
They drove off into the night, burning the castle behind them. Deciding it was best not to return to Mallough.
They drove in silence for hours. Only stopped for fuel.
After hours Torrin finally spoke.
"They have man in the Empire."
Laurence said nothing back for so long Torrin almost forgot he even spoke.
"They don't have many I reckon." He assured his young accomplice. "We will tell Arron and you look into it more when you get to the front.
"Think the prisoners will know of this 'He'" Torrin asked, brushing back his hair.
"Probably." He said. "Sounds religious,
That kind of thing gets around."