A Fool of Sorts

by Taylor O'Connell

  Lilliana seemed reassured by the idea of him assisting her, and jumped shortly thereafter. She hit the branch with both feet and began to fall back, but Sal caught her and helped her gain her balance. He then showed her how to climb up the tree. It was slow going, as Lilliana clung motionless to the trunk of the tree. More than once claiming she could climb no farther and refusing to move until Sal encouraged her onward. After the fourth such episode in the short distance they’d climbed, Sal threated to go back if she did it once more. Thankfully, it didn’t happen again, and before Sal knew it, he had climbed within reach of the window ledge.

  From his perch in the tree, Sal pulled a set of picks from his boot and began to go to work on the window lock. He was rusty with a pick set and eventually resorted to using his pigsticker as a kind of impromptu wedge. Eventually, he managed to ply the lock and open the window.

  After helping Lilliana up and onto the ledge, Sal climbed inside. He had no idea what room they were in. Nor did he know where they were headed. It was a scenario in which he had never dreamed he would find himself. No real professional would ever enter a home without knowing the necessary logistics of the job. Sal assumed the best place to look for what Lilliana wanted was in the solar. The problem was, he had no idea where the solar was located, but before he could guess at where to go next, Lilliana poked her head out the door and walked out of the room.

  “Lady’s sake,” Sal cursed chasing after her. “Lilliana, Lilliana.”

  She seemed not to hear his whisper, or at least, she pretended it was so. She walked into the hall and took a right. Sal followed, frantic with fear. She was going to get them caught, and he was entirely unable to stop her.

  “Lilliana,” he whispered again, but she held up a hand for silence and continued walking.

  Sal nearly shit his small clothes when he saw the silhouette of a man at the end of the hall but soon realized it was only a panoply of armor. Lilliana seemed to know where she was going as she led them through the hall and up a staircase, then down another hall and through the second door on the right.

  A single candle burned in the solar, providing a faint orange glow that blended with the soft moonlight penetrating the open window. Bathed in the soft white light of the Lady was a man, seated behind a desk in a most unnatural angle. The man’s head was halfway severed from his neck, a black stain about his collar and fringe.

  15

  The Trial

  Lilliana let out a scream, apparently having noticed the corpse of Lord Garred Peaks.

  Sal acted without thinking. He clapped a hand over Lilliana’s mouth and soothed her with a soft shush as though she were a child. He cursed silently, knowing they had a matter of moments before someone came to respond.

  Sal let go of Lilliana, trusting she would keep quiet and ran to the window. A sheer thirty-foot drop to the ground. If the killer had come through the window, Sal had no doubt the man had brought a rope.

  “We need to get out of here,” Sal said. “Back out the way we came.”

  “I do not have what I came for,” Lilliana said, folding her arms. “We cannot leave yet.”

  Sal scoffed. “Look, any instant someone could come barging through that door to investigate the source of that scream. I, for one, won’t be standing in this room with a dead Lord when that happens.”

  “Go then, I will summon the City Watch. Someone needs to know what has happened here.”

  “The hell you will,” Sal said grabbing Lilliana by the hand. “We’re getting out of here, now.”

  Lilliana didn’t resist, but allowed Sal to lead her back out of the solar, down the stairs, through the hall, and back out of the window. He helped her swiftly down to the cobblestones, and at his brusque encouragement, they ran.

  The walls of the guesthouse seemed to have shrunken in around him. He’d not left the room for a full day, and he planned to make it two. His guards had initially protested when Sal requested his meals to be delivered to his rooms but quickly relented when he told the monks he was too ill to leave the bed.

  He had laid there, curled up in the feather bed, unable to push away the image of Lord Garred seated in his chair with a yawning gash across his throat. No matter how much skeev he smoked, the image returned again and again. Worse was the sinking feeling that there was some sort of connection between Lord Garred and everything else that had been going on around him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what the thread was that connected it all.

  Sal shuddered, crawled across the bed, and reached for the joint. He relit the end of the rolled leaf with a candle flame and drew on it, long and slow. As he exhaled through his nose, smoke accumulated beneath the ceiling like one great white cloud that blanketed the entire room.

  He began to stare at the red cherry of the rolled leaf. He’d given up much and more for this simple pleasure, this fleeting feeling of euphoria. Lilliana, above all else. Though, that could not be laid entirely at the feet of skeev. Sal was so far below Lilliana’s station that he was hardly fit to worship the ground on which she trod. He should be honored merely to associate with the woman on such familiar terms, and yet, he found himself left wanting. He wanted more, so much more than her mere friendship, and still, he knew it was never meant to be. He would never be willing to give up what would be required in order to have a relationship with Lilliana. The realization made him sick to his stomach, and he took a long hit of the joint.

  It was strange what love could make someone do. The feeling may not have been strong enough to get him to quit skeev, but it was certainly strong enough to lure him into helping Lilliana with her vendetta. Although they’d gotten no further in discovering who was bringing the drugs into the city, the mere fact that Sal had agreed to help was a testament to his commitment to Lilliana. After all, in agreeing to help her, he had effectively agreed to help eradicate the very thing he could not imagine living without.

  Yet, no matter how much skeev he smoked, Sal couldn’t seem to drive the image of Lord Garred from his mind’s eye. He could only imagine how badly the sight had affected Lilliana, but he’d not seen her since escorting her home that night. They never should have been in that home in the first place. It was a damned fool of a thing for them to do, and besides, they walked away with nothing but an unwanted image burned into their minds.

  Still, it did seem rather fitting that after Lilliana suggested Lord Garred was involved in illegal activity, they found the man dead. It could be that Lord Garred was involved in any number of questionable activities, and yet, Sal could not help but think there was a possible connection between the dead councilman and the shipment of drugs into the city, especially now. Might be Sal would ask around about the man. If Valla or Odie didn’t know something, surely his uncle would.

  Just then, something occurred to him. He went to the drawer where he’d stashed the shipping manifest that Quartermaster Adolphus had given him. There on the document, beneath vessel proprietor, was the signed and printed name of Lord Garred Peaks.

  It was as though everything had fallen neatly into place. Lord Garred Peaks, Brother Dennis of Knöldrus, two of the names on that manifest had been found dead. Two of the names on the manifest of a shipment that Sal suspected was used to bring something illegal through the city walls.

  As brother Adolphus had explained, the captain of a vessel would often use a codename and a few underhanded coins to slip questionable goods into the city. The monk had even explained to Sal how he had feared that very thing might have happened on that shipment.

  Whoever killed Dennis and Lord Garred had done so because of their involvement with that shipment. It was hardly a coincidence that both men had been murdered shortly after.

  His head was spinning with implications. He could hardly put his thoughts in order as revelations struck in such quick succession. He needed to speak to Lilliana. Perhaps getting the thoughts out of his mind, he would be able to properly orient them. Stuffing the manifest into his pocket, Sal headed out from the guesthouse and nearly wal
ked headlong into a man in drab brown robes.

  There were three of them, monks, big men, one and all.

  “You’re to come with us,” said the monk in the lead.

  “With you where?” Sal asked nervously, feeling a sudden urge to run.

  “You’re wanted in the cathedral,” said the monk. “Come now, whole council is there waiting.”

  The great rib-vaulted ceiling of Knöldrus Cathedral loomed high above. A beam of light shone down upon the dais as though Solus, the Lord that was Light himself, were in attendance.

  A rope had been tied about Sal’s wrists, as though he were some predator, detained, in case he decided to spring to the attack. He stood in the nave, looking up at the high table atop the raised dais, a table filled with men in drab brown robes. Twelve of the thirteen seats at the table were occupied by Masters of the Enlightened Council. Yet, not all the Masters of the Enlightened Council were present. One seat remained empty. One important seat, which belonged to an important man.

  The empty seat seemed to Sal the oddest thing of all. It was like a gaping hole in an otherwise complete portrait. An unnatural wound in an otherwise natural scene. Sal had expected the trial would come sooner or later, but more so, he had expected that the abbot, of all people, would attend. And yet, the one open seat upon the dais was that of Abbot Jacques.

  “Salvatori Lorenzo,” said Leobald in his shrill, disapproving voice. “You stand accused of a most heinous crime. By the power vested in me by the Holy Vespian Order by the Lord that is Light, I charge you with the crime of murder. We of the Enlightened Council have gathered this day to decide a just punishment. A punishment befitting the true heinousness of your crime.”

  Sal looked on each of the faces in turn, eleven sets of hard eyes met his, including the pale, green eyes of Brother Adolphus and the beady, black eyes of Leobald. All of the monks seated upon the high table looked down on Sal as though they had already decided his guilt, every man of them apart from the master brewer, Brother Tanao. He, at least, seemed displeased with what was taking place.

  “What say you in your defense?” Leobald said, his hands steepled before him.

  Sal could hardly believe where he was and what was happening. Now was the time for his evidence. But what exactly did he have? The shipping manifest in his pocket held both the names of Dennis and Lord Garred, but what did that show? Other than a bit of conjecture, he had nothing. He knew this day had been in the cards, knew it could come any moment. Yet somehow, he had never actually thought it would. He had been hopelessly optimistic that he would find sufficient evidence with which to prove his innocence, and yet, the time was here, and he had nothing—could prove nothing—and in truth, knew nothing, other than the fact that he was not the murderer.

  “Well,” Leobald prompted, looking down on Sal over his hooked beak of a nose. “If you would rather confess to your crime, I am certain no one will object. It will make the decision much easier for—”

  Just then, the doors of the transept burst open. Abbot Jacques strode to the dais like a man moving with the intent to kill. “What is the meaning of this?” the abbot burst out.

  Sal felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sight of Jacques. Surely everything would be all right now the abbot was there.

  “I have called for trial,” Leobald said, standing. His teeth bared as he glared at Brother Tanao.

  It was that look which revealed all. It was then Sal knew just what had happened. Prior Leobald had called for the trial, and he had invited everyone but the abbot. Yet, it seemed the prior suspected Brother Tanao of giving Jacques an invitation anyhow.

  Jacques stepped up to the dais and closed the distance to Leobald. “It is my place to make such a decision. You had no right—”

  “I have every right,” said Leobald. “Or will you now contradict the laws of our Holy Order?”

  Sal held his breath.

  Jacques looked as if he would put Leobald in his place. To tell him the trial was off. Jacques opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and looked down at the flagstones. It all happened in a span of three heartbeats, but to Sal, it seemed a moment that would not end.

  Then, the abbot raised his head, yet no words left his lips. In silence, he began to walk again, and Sal’s heart sank as Jacques seemed to accept defeat. The abbot climbed the dais and took his open seat upon the high table.

  Leobald wore a victorious smile, oily and malevolent. He eyed Sal like a predator might eye a piece of bloody meat.

  “My brothers,” boomed Tanao, standing and facing Leobald. His round, red face set in stalwart repose. “As in the time of Abbot Bethelmure, I propose we place the abbey under a state of Hannivour.”

  The word sounded vaguely familiar, but Sal had no idea why, nor what it meant.

  “You what?” said Leobald.

  “I am proposing we place Knöldrus Abbey under a state of Hannivour,” Tanao repeated.

  “On what grounds?” said Leobald, his features twisting with an angry tilt.

  “On the grounds of crisis.”

  “Crisis!” spat Leobald. “Crisis? And to what crisis do you refer? It seems to me that we find ourselves in a time of stability. The only crisis I can imagine would be for this animal to go unpunished,” said the prior, stabbing a finger at Sal.

  “There has been open murder done within the walls of our abbey for the first time in a hundred years,” boomed Tanao. “That alone would be crisis enough, and yet, it falls shortly after the death of our long-standing abbot. The proximity of Abbot Tarquin’s death and the murder of Brother Dennis leads me to suspect we erred in our presumption of natural causes toward the abbot’s death and hereby intend to correct that error. I submit before the Enlightened Council that we declare a state of Hannivour, as in the times of old, and we launch a full-scale investigation into the death of Abbot Tarquin.”

  Sal stood frozen in place, his heart in his throat as he watched the faces of the old men seated above him, a flicker of hope stirring within as each of the Masters looked to have been rendered speechless by Tanao’s proposal.

  “It is far too late for such a thing,” said Leobald, his voice taking on a somewhat higher pitch than before. “We have no use for a state of Hannivour. The death of Abbot Tarquin took place months ago. Therefore, I find your claims baseless and your reasoning unfounded.”

  “That is not for you to decide.” Said Abbot Jacques, standing to tower over Leobald. “I support our Master Brewer’s charge. I agree that we find ourselves in a time of crisis, due to further reflection of our situation.” Abbot Jacques bore down on Leobald, fixing him with an accusatory stare. “A new investigation will begin regarding the death of Abbot Tarquin. Until the completion of that investigation, Knöldrus Abbey will be placed in a state of Hannivour.”

  A hush fell over the Enlightened Council, no one willing to take a breath, with fear of breaking the silence. Sal could hear his heart beating like plugs in his ears.

  “This is madness!” shouted Leobald. “We are not here to discuss the matter of Hannivour. We are here to pass judgment upon this murderer.”

  “Know your place, Brother Prior,” Said Abbot Jacques, standing. “I have spoken. We shall evoke a state of Hannivour, by the ancient traditions of our holy order.”

  “I’ll not accept this,” said Leobald.

  “The abbot has already told you, Brother Prior,” said Tanao, standing and thrusting his round belly toward Leobald. “Know your place.”

  Jacques placed a placating hand upon Tanao’s shoulder. “This trial shall needs be postponed. Please, undo the bindings upon our guest.”

  Leobald shouted his irritation, throwing his arms in the air as he swept away from the high table and off the dais.

  As one of the monks began to unbind his wrists, Sal met Tanao’s eyes and did all he could to wordlessly thank the man.

  16

  The Up Before The Down

  Sal could scarcely believe his luck. Surely, the Lady White had been watching over him du
ring the trial. Somehow, Sal had made it out alive, something he’d hardly thought possible a day before.

  With the scare of the trial, Sal had nearly forgotten the discovery he’d made that morning before the monks had hauled him to the cathedral. The names of two dead men, Lord Garred Peaks and Brother Dennis, both found upon the same shipping manifest. He had the manifest in his pocket, as good a piece of evidence as anything he’d found thus far. He decided he was going to show the manifest to Lilliana. Perhaps they could work out the rest together. Follow up on the rest of the names on the manifest and see what else they could learn. Whatever the case turned out to be. It seemed Dennis and Lord Garred had found themselves caught up on the wrong end of the same raw deal. Sal meant to find out exactly what that deal had been and whoever else had been involved.

  Sal crossed the yard as quickly as he could, when he noticed movement in his periphery. He spun left to see Philip standing atop the parapet, pulling a wooden ladder up to the top of the wall.

  Sal stopped dead in his tracks, watching the young monk in fascination, laughing to himself about his odd behavior, and wondering where Philip would be going just then. And for that matter, why wasn’t he simply using the abbey gate? Could this have something to do with Brother Leobald and the conversation Sal had overheard, or was the monk acting oddly of his own accord? It occurred to Sal that Philip had acted strangely before, on the night he had helped Sal sneak back into the abbey. Where had Philip been that night, and why had he been out past curfew? Philip had been eating a peach. Where does one get a peach this time of year? Sal knew of only a handful of places, and they all came from the land across the sea, Naidia.

  Sal broke into a run, sprinting headlong for the gate. Once outside the abbey, he took a sharp left, making for the broken tower, but knew by the time he reached the watchtower, it was too late. Philip had already moved on.