The Warder

by D K Williamson

  “No need for threats,” Ives said with a pained look. “Rasimus over us?”

  “Nor insults by suggesting we cannot assist a longtime acquaintance such as you,” said his partner. “The man out front is Sir John Kirwan, a son of a successful merchant who has continued the success to the point he is considered a merchant of consequence, one not simply dismissed and certainly one we cannot throw out onto the pavestones. Raised by King Harold to the nobility for his acumen demonstrated by financial assistance during the Throne War and hanger-on in Benson White, Third Earl White’s circle. Do not fret, Kirwan’s knighthood is civil, not military.”

  “I asked what his problem is, not his identity or how he gained a title.”

  “So testy,” Leophric said. “He has a debt. While possessing considerable wealth in land, business ventures, artwork, and many other tangibles including debts owed by others of greater titles and lesser wealth, it seems he currently lacks hard currency.”

  Dech sighed loudly. “Why not swap one of the loans he controls to the people he owes in place of currency?”

  “Why not indeed!” Ives said. “You may have a solution.”

  “But there is more,” Leophric said with delight. “One of the titled debtors knows something of what you seek. While we comb for the other answers you require to save us all from certain doom, you might speed the process along if you maneuver artfully.”

  “Which noble do you refer to?”

  “That is an entirely separate issue, yes? We would be—”

  “No, it’s not separate. Sounds to me like I’m riding to Shadow.”

  Both men’s smiles turned to frowns.

  “We are in a mood, are we not, Sir Dech?” Leophric said. “Marquess Neville Harwood is the man you seek.”

  “What does this marquess know about derkunblod?”

  “Derkunblod?” Leophric said with a bewildered look. “Nothing I presume. I do not have an inkling of what you speak.”

  “It’s a magic form,” Ives said. “Dark magic never much in favor. What led you to think we meant derkunblod, Sir Dech? Finances, that is what we have for you. Financial leads to be specific. Surely the king would not have his best man pursuing some obscure magic.”

  “Perhaps our king knows something we are unaware of,” Leophric said with narrowed eyes, “and we know something he does not.”

  “As much as it pains me to admit the former, such may be the case.”

  “We cannot help with the magic issue… yet, Sir Dech,” Leophric said, “but give us some time and we will glean something for you. Something that unusual will stick out among all the other information quite well I should think.”

  Ives nodded in agreement. “In the meantime, you can deal with our problem seated outside in exchange for information on both subjects. A more than fair arrangement I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  “More than fair?” Dech said with a scowl. “Barely tolerable is a more apt description.”

  Leophric feigned a wince and said, “Such drama does not suit you, Warder, but it seems we have an accord.”

  Dech grumbled. “What do you have on the man outside?”

  Ives laughed softly and lifted a folded piece of paper from his desk. “All you should need is within,” he said.

  . . .

  Chapter 15

  Dech exited the office in a foul mood. After reading the information Leophric and Ives had on Sir John Kirwan and his situation, he knew he had a convoluted mess to deal with. He also knew the brokers possessed more than they shared with him, which was typical of the pair.

  Kirwan looked up and frowned when he saw the warder. Forcing a smile, Dech approached the merchant.

  “Sir John Kirwan? I am Warder Dech of the Order of Contrition Knights.”

  Kirwan stood with a concerned look on his face. “How do you know who I am?”

  “Leophric and Ives are fully aware of your situation and an arrangement has been made to resolve it. In doing so, we aid one another. The proprietors of this concern feel this arrangement will conclude satisfactorily since we are brethren in knighthood.”

  The merchant said nothing for several seconds. “I’ve not met the proprietors. How can they possibly know my situation, let alone a solution?”

  “They know a great many things. For example, you have a debt issue that you need assistance with.”

  “That much is true,” Kirwan said with wariness. “How might you resolve this?”

  “I can’t answer that until you explain the situation to me.”

  “This is how things are done here?”

  “I believe they handle each situation on a case-by-case basis. In our case, they feel it is best handled between peers such as us. As it says outside, this is a private concern.”

  “And how do I assist you? I have no martial skills.”

  “You won’t need any. I have a suspicion your strengths will come into play to aid me as mine help you. Let’s deal with your issue first.”

  Kirwan looked at the deskman who nodded and smiled. With a shrug, Sir John began.

  “As a merchant, it is common to borrow and lend money. Often it is among colleagues or with those in positions of power. Many of rather lofty ranks within the peerage have need of ready coin and those of our lowly position can gain favor by lending them such monies with favorable terms. By the same token, there are those of non-noble rank that do the same with we of the merchant class. You do understand, yes?”

  “I do,” Dech said with a nod.

  “There is an individual on the riverfront with whom I have dealt with on a number of occasions. Never any large amounts, but this man provides a source of money beyond the sight of business rivals and conventional lenders. This can provide an advantage. The last time I borrowed a larger sum than on previous dealings. No usury, but a late payment fee was part of the agreement as was the case each time before. I went to his place of business the day before the payment was due and found he was not there. It took me until the following day to find his place of residence, but when I visited, no one would answer the door. The following day the man visited me and demanded I make the payment along with the penalty. When I refused to pay the penalty, he left only to return with a trio of rather menacing men and threats of bodily harm. I had coin for the payment, but not on hand. At this point—”

  “He demanded another penalty in addition to that agreed,” Dech said.

  “Correct. I entertained the idea of taking the issue to the local King’s Legion commander or even the duke’s seneschal, both of whom are acquaintances of mine, but I must consider my reputation and standing. I have no means of proving this person purposefully avoided me, but I am sure he did. I certainly do not wish to face those thugs again. The embarrassment of such a person placing me in this situation would harm me considerably. I am not a martial man, but I do have honor. I pay my debts, but I object to such criminal behavior.”

  “I may have a solution. How much do you owe this individual?”

  “One thousand, five hundred guilders.”

  “I understand Marquess Neville Harwood owes you a sum.”

  Kirwan was taken aback. “He does at that.”

  “And the amount owed?”

  “The same.”

  Realizing Leophric and Ives’ machinations, Dech glared at the door to their office before returning his attention to Kirwan. “If you will give me the note on the marquess’ loan, your problem will soon be solved.”

  “And how will you accomplish this?”

  “The less you know the better. Best we keep this between ourselves. Your friend the earl was discussing this concern, was he not?”

  Kirwan nodded.

  “That’s not good form. As I mentioned earlier, this is a private concern.”

  “I see. Lord White is not a discreet man. I am. The marquess’ note to have Pankhurst’s thugs from my door? Most acceptable.”

  “Pankhurst is the lender?”

  “He is. If you’ll accompany me to my business, I’ll
give you the note.”

  “I have a few questions you might answer while we walk.”

  . . .

  Dech departed Kirwan’s place of business on the bluff overlooking the Brodendep River and rode beyond the city wall to Louis Pankhurst’s residence, a seedy second-story dwelling on a mucky street that smelled of sewage.

  He climbed the creaking stairs and knocked on the door. After several seconds of silence, he knocked again and heard the rustle of movement and the muted voice of a woman cursing. The door opened and a tired woman of middle age glared up at the warder without saying a word.

  “Are you the spouse of Louis Pankhurst?” Dech asked.

  “Spouse? If ye mean wife, I am. Come to tell me he fell from the quay and drowned?” she asked hopefully.

  “No. I am looking into a matter of law concerning Louis. Four days ago—”

  “The law? Come to seize him? An order knight? Ye be after the wrong man then. Four days ago he was here the entire day. Sick as sick can be. A time or two I thought he might die. I’d swear by the Creator Herself and all the holy books and relics there be. Sick he was.”

  Dech played along. “You’re sure of this? I have it on good authority an offense committed—”

  “All day, sir knight. The only offense ye might find would be not answering the door on account of Louis and his poorly condition. Banged on the door this person did. Again and then again. With Louis so sick, it be near a miracle he survived.”

  He scowled. “On your word, Louis was here and in your presence the entire day four days ago?”

  “Ye heard me before. I’d not lie to a personage such as ye.”

  Dech nodded and feigned disappointment. “Then I’ll waste no more of your time.”

  Riding back into the city, he traveled down the incline that led to the riverfront and left the bay with the gate guards at the tower nearest the quay. He walked down the cobbled street passing warehouses, wagons, riverboats, barges, people seeking work, and haggling merchants there only as long as it took to strike a deal or resolve a problem and all manner of things found on a working quay. Weaving through lines of men carrying wooden boxes and cloth bags, he found the small shop maintained by Louis Pankhurst. The exact nature of his dealings was unknown to Kirwan, save that he would lend money with discretion. Nothing on the storefront indicated anything to reveal the sort of business he ran either.

  Based on the description provided by Kirwan, neither of the two men in the shop was Pankhurst. Hulking specimens of humanity, the pair greeted Dech’s appearance in the doorway with hard-eyed glares.

  “I seek Louis Pankhurst. I have a business proposition.”

  “Doubt he wants business with the church,” the larger of the two said. His nearly white yellow hair and size denoted he was likely of Nord descent though his accent was of Arataine.

  “Best you be walking,” the other said. “Unless you want to see if you can swim while wearing mail.”

  As the two brutes laughed, a small man with a pockmarked face stepped through a curtain behind the giants. Dech was sure the man was Pankhurst based on the description Kirwan had provided.

  “Let’s not be hasty, boys,” the small man said as he eyed Dech’s surcoat. “I’m Pankhurst. Done a bit of business with order knights before. Not quite as holy as you lot is supposed to be, hey? But who is? What business do you think we have?”

  “You make loans I am told.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You loaned one thousand five hundred guilders to Sir John Kirwan recently.”

  Pankhurst’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “That’s right. What business is it of yours?”

  “Five days ago he brought payment here and found you absent. Learning of your place of residence, he attempted to make payment the next day but was unable to contact you.”

  “What of it?”

  “I have been given sworn testimony you were present at your residence the entire day four days ago. Ill, I was told.”

  “That’s right.”

  “At death’s door. Yet the following day you visit Sir John with three others and threaten the man. I would imagine the seneschal would find your illness and miraculous recovery hard to believe and your behavior toward a noble merchant a criminal act.”

  Pankhurst spat on the floor. “See if he can swim. Let’im tell the seneschal what he knows from the bottom of the river.”

  The two men came at Dech within the tight confines of the room. To Dech’s right was a chest high counter, shelves on the wall to the left.

  The bulk of the pair prevented them from approaching side by side and in their eagerness to bring harm to a contrition knight, they fought against one another to be the first to strike. The warder delivered the first blow, a hard front kick that connected solidly with the Nord’s left knee. He grimaced and sagged against the counter as his comrade grabbed at Dech.

  Dech let the rage within him flow slightly as he stepped into the attack and fended off the reaching hands. A powerful vertical blow to the bottom of the thug’s chin brought the raking, snapping sound of teeth breaking. The man’s eyes dulled and he fell into the wall, taking a shelf and its items with him to the floor.

  Behind him, Dech heard the closing steps of the Nord. He backed into the charge and drove a mailed elbow into the man’s face, shattering a nose broken many times before, but never like this occasion. Despite this, the Nord was only staggered. Steadying himself on the counter he readied to attack once more, but turning toward the man and batting an arm away, the warder threw another elbow, this one to the side of the man’s head. The thud of mail and impact signaled the end of the fight and the Nord fell inertly to the floor, his legs tangled beneath him.

  Pankhurst drew a dagger from behind his back as Dech drew his sword. The point of the warder’s blade pushed from under his opponent’s chin and pressed Pankhurst’s head against the wall, prompting the man to drop his knife.

  “Look here,” Pankhurst said with a weak smile and a shaky voice. “I see now I made an error. I’ll drop any penalty against what Kirwan owes me.”

  “A gesture like that might keep you from the gallows if the seneschal is in a good mood. Considering the charges: bilking and threatening Sir John, drawing a blade on a knight of the order. A fine of fifteen hundred guilders might see you clear if you manage to survive in the depths of the guard tower. I’ll recommend such to the man, but there is no surety he will listen.”

  “I see what you’re playing at,” Pankhurst said misunderstanding Dech’s intention, “but I don’t have that much coin just now. Let’s go see Kirwan. He has it.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He wasn’t paying you in coin,” Dech said following the man’s course. “He was going to pay you in debt.” Before Pankhurst could say anything, Dech continued. “This debt specifically,” he said holding up the note Kirwan had given him.

  “How about you keep it and give it to the seneschal, hey? Coming from one like you, he’d take it, yes?”

  “I do the work of keeping your neck from becoming much smaller out of the goodness of my heart?” Dech replied with a shake of his head. “I’m a knight, not a priest.”

  “I’d owe you a favor, hey? I wouldn’t lie to one such as you.”

  “A favor?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Fair enough. I’m calling it due.”

  “Now?”

  “This very moment. You will have no contact with Sir John Kirwan from this day forth. Should word reach me you so much as walk on the same street at the same time as Kirwan, I’ll return and cut something from you.”

  “He comes down here from time to time on business. What am I to do?”

  “I suggest you use this place of yours as a refuge and recall you owe him your life. I would prefer to be done with you, permanently. Did you see the name on the note? That’s a marquess’ name there. A member of the peerage who does business with Kirwan. Even you must realize the consequences of opposing one with connections such as that. Unl
ike you, I keep my word. Should any harm come to Sir John, should word reach me you have broken our agreement, You’ll see me again. It will be the last thing you ever see.”

  “I believe you. Truly I do.”

  Dech lowered his sword and slid it back into the scabbard at his left hip. Stepping over legs, teeth, dagger, spattered blood, and a broken shelf, he walked to the door. He stopped and looked back at Pankhurst. “Pray we never do business again.”

  . . .

  Dech retrieved his horse and rode back to Kirwan’s. Detailing the situation with Pankhurst to the merchant, he closed with, “I would avoid contact with him were I you. Should he initiate contact with you, send word to me. He was warned and I strive to keep my promises.”

  “He won’t seek vengeance for his loss of fifteen hundred guilders?”

  “His life is worth more than that to him. I believe he knows pursuing a course against a knight is unwise.”

  “I cannot thank you enough, Sir Dech. Your warning was simply that, yes? You wouldn’t actually do him harm.”

  “Threats mean little without truth behind them. Do not seek dealings with him again. I might suggest you contact Leophric and Ives and inquire about discreet yet reputable lenders should you have need.”

  “Men with their knowledge might be of immense help. Splendid! You intend to keep the note on the marquess?”

  “I intend to use it as a means of gaining information. If you do not object, I will tell him you are canceling the debt.”

  “It effectively costs me nothing and gains me favor with the marquess. How could I object? Again, you have my thanks.”

  . . .

  Dech returned to Leophric and Ives. After checking with his employers, the deskman stood at the door to the office and gestured for the warder to enter.

  After explaining the situation, the two information brokers smiled.

  “That should be the last we hear of Sir John Kirwan I hope,” Ives said.

  Dech nodded. “Unless someone suggests he contact you concerning reliable lenders, I’m sure it will be.”

  “You vile man,” Ives said as the smile disappeared from his face. “Vindictiveness does not suit you, a man in your profession.”