A Fool of Sorts

by Taylor O'Connell

  “That prior, Leobald, why is it Jacques has allowed the man to keep his post? I mean, the abbot could just give the position to someone else, couldn’t he?”

  “A preservation of stability in a time of transition,” Tanao said. “You must understand, while Jacques won the election, it was still a close thing. Many of my brothers still support Leobald, and should the man be relieved of his position at such a time, there is no telling the possible repercussions that could arise from such an act.”

  “In other words,” said Philip. “Jacques is under the belief that by keeping his enemies closer than his friends, he can keep even the more restless of his critics silent and the likelihood of mutiny to a minimum.”

  “Mutiny,” Sal said, chuckling slightly until he saw the looks on the monk’s faces. “Is that a possibility?”

  “It has happened before,” said Tanao. “During the reign of King Sardej the Third, a brother named Bethelmure was elected abbot. Much like the election of our dear Jacques, the election took place in a time of division between the Vespian Order. Then, as now, it all began as a divergence of belief, which in time festered into a schism between our brothers, a small intellectual nit that in time opened into a sore—creating a seemingly unbridgeable divide between the Vespian Order. Then, as now, the death of a long-seated abbot created a destabilization that threatened to crumble the very foundation stones of our order. Then, as now, a man stood in opposition to the newly elected abbot, spreading unrest through divisiveness and marshaling support through his lies.”

  “Hannivour,” said Philip.

  “Hanni-what?” asked Sal.

  “Hannivour,” said Tanao. “An ancient tradition of our order. It denotes a state of crisis. Hannivour is the measure taken to protect our order at such a time.”

  “Didn’t much work for Abbot Bethelmure though, did it?” said Philip with a wicked grin.

  “The difference at present is that unlike Abbot Bethelmure, Abbot Jacques has neither attempted to denounce nor banish his opponent. The abbot has done nothing to lend credence to the legitimacy of his opposition’s grievances. He has taken the apathetic approach and simply ignored Leobald rather than placing the abbey in a state of Hannivour.”

  “Has it worked?”

  Tanao held out his hands, palms up. “Only time will tell, but thus far, no coups have been incited.”

  “Yet, summer fast approaches,” said Philip. “Wars are not fought in the snow but beneath the summer heat of the Lord that is Light.”

  “And should it come to war, which side shall you fight upon?” Tanao asked.

  “The side of the Light,” said Philip defiantly.

  “Hannivour,” said Tanao as he fixed the young apprentice with a withering look but was interrupted by the opening of the brewhouse door.

  “Master Brewer,” said a boy of no older than ten and three. He wore drab, brown robes and had the tonsured pate of the Vespian Order.

  “Well, boy, spit it out.”

  “It’s the abbot, sir. He asked that I inform you of his return.”

  “Very well,” said Tanao, “you may tell the abbot I harken his call.”

  The boy stood in the doorway, clearly uncertain of something, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and bit his lower lip.

  “Out with it, boy.”

  “The Abbot asked I bring you, sir.”

  “And you shall, though you shall do it from a distance. Hurry back now, and tell the Abbot that we follow at your very heels, go now, Light’s blessing upon you.”

  The boy obeyed, leaving the door ajar as he ran to inform the Abbot of his news.

  “So be it,” said Tanao, grabbing for the ale horns, “a last cup to warm our bellies and ensure our health.”

  Outside the brewhouse, the city seemed to be glowing. Sal felt happy and light on his feet. It was difficult to keep his balance as he followed Tanao across the yard. Only, when they passed the orchard, Sal felt sick to his stomach. He could see the gnarled, naked branches of the massive pardimon tree in the distance, a terrible reminder of the fate that awaited him. Drunk as he was, he nearly asked Tanao when the last criminal was flayed by the Vespian Order but decided he didn’t really want to know.

  The abbot’s home was on the far end of the abbey. A small stone structure, sturdy and well maintained, but nothing impressive to look upon. The air inside was crisp and clean. Every surface devoid of dust, dirt, or grime. The room was sparsely adorned with simple furniture of unfinished wood and plain furnishings. The abbot was seated at the table, looking out upon the orchard through the window.

  “It pleases me you have returned to us by your own volition,” Jacques said, turning to face Sal. “The men who were certain of your guilt will see this, and they will begin to doubt their conviction and wonder as to what a criminal would have to gain by returning to the abbey.”

  “I’m no criminal,” Sal said defiantly. “Nor have I returned by my own volition.”

  “Not a criminal?” said Jacques, wrinkling his brow. “I see no fetters upon your legs or shackles upon your wrists, but tell me, Brother Tanao, did you not find this man deep in the under-cells of the Magistrate’s Compound? Do explain what an innocent man should be doing in such a place.” Tanao chuckled under his breath, and a small smile formed at the corner of Jacques’s mouth. “As to your reason for returning to Knöldrus Abbey, well, reasons are not so important as the impression you’ve left on my brothers. By entering the abbey unchained and in good faith, you have given the men of my order reason to doubt their convictions.” Jacques gestured for Sal to take a seat.

  As Sal stumbled, the abbot merely smiled. “I see you’ve partaken of the Master Brewer’s favored pastime,” said Jacques.

  Tanao cleared his throat, “I shall take my leave, Jacques, Salvatori.”

  “Brother Tanao,” said Jacques to the monk’s back, “if our young apprentice Philip happens to be about the brewhouse, do see he does not once again expose himself in the yard come the evenfall prayers.”

  Tanao snorted a small laugh. “It shall be seen to.”

  “And Tanao,” said Jacques.

  The podgy monk turned around.

  “The ring.”

  “Ah, but of course,” said Tanao, slipping the ring of office from his finger and handing it to the abbot.

  When Tanao had stepped out and closed the door, Jacques sighed. “It is the decision of the Enlightened Council that you should be given a fair trial for the crime of murder.”

  Sal’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. It was just as he had feared, coming back to the abbey had been a very bad idea.

  “I didn’t kill that monk.”

  “And I believe you,” said Abbot Jacques.

  “You do?”

  “I do. Were it otherwise, you’d still be locked inside the under-cells. But I, for one, know you did not do murder. The state that you were in that night, it was a lucky thing you were even breathing. Yet, there are those on the Enlightened Council who hold a different opinion. They would that you defended yourself before a court of our Holy Order. Let him give his evidence, and let him be judged before the Lord that is Light, they have said to me. Sage council, no doubt, and yet, as many of your judges have already decided upon your innocence or guilt, I fear the trial you would be given would inevitably be unjust.”

  “Then what is to be done with me?”

  “My brothers and I decided a trial would be best. It is the only way to ensure justice is served.”

  “A trial?” Sal said, unbelieving. “Did you not just say a trial would be un—”

  Jacques held up a hand. “For the time being, no dates have been set. I have been able to forestall them, your return to Knöldrus was a stipulation of that bargain, as was your detainment within the abbey walls. You shall be confined to a cell and there will await your coming trial.”

  “For how long?”

  “Only God can know. For now, those who doubt your innocence are satisfied with your confinement, but in
time they will thirst for justice, and justice is a thirst that will needs be sated.”

  “And what, you’ll flay me and hang my skin from the abbey gate?”

  “There was a time when the brothers of my order would have done nothing less, but time has gentled us. Were you proven guilty of thievery, we might take a finger, but only life may pay for life, and so death must pay for death. If you cannot prove your innocence before such a time, you must be given to the Lord that is Light.”

  “Fire?” Sal asked in horror.

  The monk nodded, his jaw gritted tight.

  Sal swallowed. “And how might I prove my innocence?”

  “By obtaining the identity of the true murder.”

  Sal scoffed. “I ought to have a Sacrull damned time of it too, locked away in my cell.”

  Jacques cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I have arranged that you should be given freedom of the city. During the daylight hours, and on the condition that you return to your cell before evenfall. This stipulation was fought long and hard by my brothers, but in the end, the opposition relented. Do keep in mind, my reputation is in your hands. Do not fail me.”

  Sal didn’t know what to say. Somehow, he’d managed to live another day, and yet, he wasn’t certain he was grateful for the opportunity. After all, everything relied on his ability to find the true killer. As if the wild goose chase weren’t enough, he also had no idea as to how long he would have before the monks of Knöldrus Abbey grew tired of seeing his face and decided he would look better as a corpse.

  “Well, son, what is your choice?”

  Sal considered for a moment, weighing possible responses. He could refuse and walk away, only, would the abbot truly allow him to walk away? He could kill the abbot where he sat, but then, where would that lead?

  It didn’t take long to realize he was left one, and only one, choice. “That locket I was wearing the night you cared for me, where might it be?”

  Jacques smiled and stood from his chair. When he returned from the bedroom, he held a small, gold locket strung upon a thin, silver chain. At the center of the locket’s face was etched three parallel lines, one of them blood red.

  “An intriguing piece,” said Jacques, examining the locket in an open palm.

  Sal felt the urge to snatch the thing out of the monk’s big hand but let his anxiety out with a slow exhalation through his nostrils.

  “There are writings in our holy book, descriptions of a mark. This marking on your locket brings those passages to mind.”

  Sal clenched his jaw and nodded.

  The burly abbot smiled and extended his open hand.

  Sal did his best not to reach for the locket too quickly. Though, for an instant, he’d feared Jacques meant to keep the thing. He had a sneaking suspicion the monk knew more about the locket than he was willing to admit.

  The gold was cool to the touch, and sent a shock of energy pulsing through him upon contact. Acting as though he’d felt nothing, Sal slipped the thin chain about his neck and tucked the locket beneath his shirt. It felt right, as though a torn remnant of his soul had been returned to him.

  “That look, the one you give when you’re thinking. It too puts something to mind.”

  The comment caught Sal off guard. “Might I ask what exactly it puts to mind?”

  “A man I knew. Dare I say, a friend. You look very much like him. I noticed it before, but the resemblance is never so exact as when you are thinking.”

  “Who?”

  “Ah, we’ve not spoken since the Kirkundy Uprising.”

  “He was a soldier?”

  “Of sorts.”

  “And you, Jacques, you were a soldier?”

  “Alas no, I was of the ducal forces, but I served as a cutter. My father was a surgeon, and he taught me all that I know of the trade. He’d intended for me to take his place, but as a young man, I had no intention nor desire to stay in that hamlet. I dreamed of adventure, and what I found was more awesome and terrible than a young man could ever have imagined.”

  “And the man, the one you say I resemble. Where is he now?”

  “Ah, but I’ve much to do this night, and I have wasted away the burning hour with my idle blathering. Do forgive me, Salvatori, but I must be getting along. Come, and I will show you to your cell.”

  They walked toward a small stone structure, close to the abbot’s home. Once within, Sal saw that it was fully furnished. The furnishings were of far higher quality than those in the abbot’s own home.

  “This is my cell?” Sal asked incredulously.

  “These are the guest rooms of Knöldrus Abbey. Seldom occupied, and reserved only for honored guests of the abbey. I have deemed that you be held within these walls for the duration of your captivity,” Abbot Jacques said with a wink. “At the request of the Enlightened Council, two guards shall be posted without from evenfall to dawn’s break. If you need for anything, simply ask one of the acolytes.”

  “I don’t know what to say, thank you, I suppose.”

  “You may thank the Lord that is Light, for it is his hand which has guided me. I must go now. Light’s blessings upon you.”

  7

  A Pair Of Ne’er-Do-Wells

  INTERLUDE, SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

  “Bagmen,” Bartley said, as though he had revealed a brilliant insight. “We hit more bagmen. Scope the routes, just like you did with that fat Svoboda mule. We can pick out the biggest targets and make our move.”

  “That sounds like a terrible idea,” Sal said, leaning on the parapet of South Bridge and looking out on the black water as the Tamber rushed beneath the bridge and pushed out into the bay.

  “Hold on, now, you scoped out that bagman just last week. Sacrull’s hell, I pulled four off already. Don’t tell me it’s a terrible idea,” Bartley said defensively, “it’ll work.”

  “Look, it worked before, yeah? But think on it, how long can we keep on knocking over Commission-sanctioned bagmen before they wise up and turn one on us?”

  “Four, maybe five more,” said the Yahdrish.

  “I’d think closer to once, maybe twice, if we even pulled it off again. The risk just isn’t worth the payoff. I say we got lucky once, and we leave it at that.”

  “Look, mate, I could use the coin, and picking in the markets sure isn’t worth the risk either. This is the only plan I’ve got, and it sure pays better than picking.”

  “Only plan you’ve got?” Sal asked.

  “Well,” Bartley said, “might be you’d want to help me with it some. I know it’s not all there, but it’s something, right?”

  “What if I told you I had another plan?” Sal asked.

  “I’d want to know what it is before I make any commitments,” said Bartley.

  Sal smirked. “Come along now, it isn’t far.”

  “You see that building over there?” Sal said, pointing to the Rusted Anchor.

  “How am I supposed to miss it?” said Bartley. “That’s a Moretti-sanctioned club. I’m not simple, you know.”

  “Aye, and have you any idea what goes on in there?”

  “How should I know? They’d never let me in a place like that.”

  “Well, in any case,” Sal said. “How much coin would you think passes through a place like that on the daily?”

  Bartley shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how to figure the sums.”

  “Right. Well, I’m sure we can just assume it’s a fair bit of coin, yeah?”

  “Hold on, you’re not—no, surely you’re not thinking of knocking over a Commission-sanctioned club. Sacrull’s balls you’re bloody mad, you are.”

  Sal laughed. “I certainly would have to be. I only asked out of curiosity. The pair of us could never knock over a place like the Rusted Anchor and hope to make it out alive.”

  “So, why did we come all the way down here?”

  “A card game.”

  “You want to play cards?” Bartley asked.

  Sal shook his head. “Every new moon, a card game is held in the
back room of the Rusted Anchor. It’s one of the biggest games around these parts, high rollers with deep pockets.”

  “You’re even worse than I thought,” Bartley said. “You want to knock over a Commission-sanctioned card game. How could you ever call me stupid?”

  “Well, it’s about as dangerous as knocking over bagmen. Both are sure to put us on the Commission’s shortlist if we’re spotted. However, if we pull this off, we will have enough krom to keep us fed and happy for a few years, at the least. What do you say?”

  “I say you’re fucking crazy. How is this any better than my plan?”

  “Well, it’s like I said, we only have to do this once.”

  8

  Once A Skeever

  The locket was cold to the touch as Sal rolled it in his open palm. He ran a finger over the three parallel lines at the locket’s center. Abbot Jacques had said the marking made him recall a description from his holy book. Sal wondered how closely the description matched and whether it mentioned the locket. He considered what he knew about the locket and began to wonder if any of it was even true. Nabu had been wrong before, and it could be that what he’d told Sal was nothing more than Shiikali superstition. After all, Jacques had not flinched at the sight of the locket the way Nabu had. Could it be the locket was not so dangerous as he’d come to believe?

  He could ask Jacques what exactly the mark made him recall, but he didn’t especially want to bring up the locket, in case the abbot changed his mind about letting Sal keep it during his imprisonment. He would needs gain access to the library and find out for himself just what the Vespians’ holy book had to say about the thing. Mayhap once he found a reference to the marking, he could find something out about the locket as well.

  He rolled the cold metal over in his palm. It had been a long while since he’d dared use the locket to ride the lightning. He had been without skeev for some time, and it seemed the drug was necessary for unlocking the power within the locket. Simply said, no drug, no magic.