Zotikas: Episode 1: Clash of Heirs by Rob Storey, Tom Bruno Page A

Dead Ones on the Isle of Threes.
    Satisfied that he had crudely but effectively shaken
off his tail, Kieler worked his way north on the second tier of shops. The
arched facades surrounding the Plaza Floreneva had been designed to house
retail stores. In the flourishing activity of the growing city, this was to be
the heart of culture and commerce. The plan had succeeded marvelously—for a
while.
    Now, Kieler noted one shop in three boarded up, with
crumbling tiles and unrepaired chips falling from the arches. The shops were
busy tonight, but that was an aberration.
    Specialty clothing shops seemed to have suffered the
most; their faded signs hung over empty display windows.
    A sign over a busy shop entryway read “Cortatti Arms”
and in the window a sign touting, “Buy the weapon of tonight’s battle: the new
Barcleaver!” These shops seemed prolific, though why someone who belonged to a
sub-house would need a three-foot long battle-blade and what good it would be
against the Cortatti’s magguns… well, there was a reason for the term “ignorant
masses”.
    Before he reached the Arena, Kieler turned right and
descended to the Plaza level, striding east across the open plaza in front of
it. Myriad fountains and statues adorned the Plaza, but all the fountains were
dry, even on this festive eve, save the massive centerpiece of Floraneva. This
fountain consisted of several characters. Three shungvaal, the giant, horned
creatures of the sea, circled the scene within and spouted huge streams of water
toward the center. Back to back in the middle were larger-than-life depictions
of Velik and Boreas: Boreas hefting his famed spear and Velik with his bow
drawn back. Between the jetting shungvaal and the two heroes were grotesquely
distorted creatures: a gnarled grevon, legions of oversized slinks, and a dozen
monsters that seemed to be part building or vehicle and part animal.
    Tonight, Kieler barely glanced at it. He scanned constantly
and inconspicuously for more Omeron agents. Still dressed as Geren, full beard
and work clothes, he certainly wouldn’t match the description Feleanna would
have issued from their encounter last night. Of course, this outfit would be
out of place when he reached the financial district of Garrist Ring.
    Street vendors hawked their treats for the evening’s
festivities. Buskers juggled, singers crooned, and as he neared the base of the
Grand Stair, he couldn’t help but be distracted by a troupe of unusually
talented acrobats. Dressed all in white with red sashes and black masks, they
performed elaborately coordinated tricks. As Kieler passed, one of the
performers dove from the top of a human pyramid straight at the hard tile of
the plaza. With no one there to catch the headfirst diver, Kieler, like the
other spectators, thought they had made a deadly error. But in a mere blink,
the launching pyramid dissolved into a flurry of bodies and four of its members
appeared at precisely the right spot to catch, swing and re-launch the diving
performer. He seemed to float and slowly flip before rolling across the tiles
back to a standing position and a flourish.
    Wadded paper money flew in the direction of their caps
as the assembled audience exploded with appreciation.
    Kieler climbed. The Grand Stair was a half-mile long
stretch of the most prestigious real estate in Zotikas. Of the shops,
restaurants, banks and cafes that lined the sides of the Stair or terraced its
center, few of these were closed. They catered to the elite, and the elite
lived in the apartments and office towers that graced the centerline of the
Stair. Already Kieler felt underdressed.
    But covering his features now was more important than
dressing up. He could still be a worker on a last minute job until the top of
the Stair. He spotted a couple agents as he climbed; men dressed in sturdy but
tidy suits with bulging overcoats. They looked up from their papers too often.
Lounged by the rails too casually. All the while they