Duke Grandfather- The Whole Story

by James Maxstadt

  I still had quite some money, so I didn’t really need to work quite yet and I found that I still wasn’t paying attention as I looked over the Board. Instead, I was trying to think of how I could find out where Sarge was, and what I could do to help him out. Not knowing what the problem was, or if there was indeed a problem, made that a little tricky.

  I realized that I wasn’t going to work that day, and that I was going to need to attempt everything I could think of to at least locate Sarge. With a sigh, I turned away from the Board, knowing where I needed to go, but not looking forward to it.

  “Have a good day,” I said to Private Smithfield as I left.

  He didn’t bother answering, but he followed me with his eyes until I was out of sight, to make sure that nothing that I had stolen fell out of my pants.

  I walked a block away from the watchhouse, took a right, and there it was. The sign hung over the street and read, “The Beat”. The picture carved on the wooden sign was of a watchman, holding a club. Clever play on words there.

  The Beat was a tavern that specialized in serving the Watch. There was no law that said no one else could enter and drink there, but it was known none-the-less. You didn’t want to piss off the Watch by insisting on your civil right to get loaded wherever you damn well pleased. They had ways of making your life very, very unpleasant.

  Nuisance Men were not considered to be part of the Watch. Some of the watchmen, like Sarge, tolerated, and even developed good relationships with us. Most thought we were taking money from their pouches and food from their kids’ mouths. Never mind that they had more than enough to do, and according to Lilly, a three-month backlog. We were still parasites to some of them.

  So it was with a vast degree of trepidation that I walked in, trying my best not to show it. Since it was still only late morning, the place wasn’t packed. There were a few watchmen drinking there who worked the night shift and hadn’t yet found reason to go home. There were probably a few who worked the night shift and were there getting some liquid courage to face the coming darkness.

  I didn’t really blame them. Capital City was a great place, but it had its share of problems and tough spots. There were areas that I tried to avoid during the day, when I could see everything around me. Going into those areas at night took a special kind of bravery.

  At night, when some of these men would be out walking the streets and trying to have each other’s backs, the Beat would really come alive. Watchmen would flood the place and all hell would break loose. Even walking by it could be hazardous, since you never knew what, or who, might come flying out of the door.

  But when I came through the door, any conversation stopped and all eyes turned to me. I looked around hopefully, but didn’t see Sarge, just a whole lot of frowns.

  “I think you might be in the wrong place, friend,” said one of the watchmen, seated at the bar.

  “Sorry folks,” I said, trying to disarm them with my natural charm. “I’m not trying to cause any problems.”

  “Then it’d probably be best if you turned around and walked out of here,” a man seated at a table growled.

  “I will certainly do that,” I said, not moving an inch. “But I have a question first.”

  No one said anything. They all stared at me, including the bartender. I’m sure they were wondering how it was that someone so obviously mentally deficient managed to stay upright all by himself for this long.

  “I’m looking for Sarge,” I said.

  “Don’t know nobody by that name,” the first man said, turning his back on me and raising his mug to his lips.

  “Of course, you do,” I said, and took a few more steps inside. “I only want to make sure he’s okay. He’s a…well, he’s a friend.”

  The drinker at the bar chuckled at that. The other patrons continued to glare at me.

  “I doubt that, Grandfather,” he said.

  “Yeah, we all know who you are,” the other man who spoke before said. “You’re one of those nasty little Nuisance Men.”

  This was turning out pretty much as I expected. I was hoping for one of two outcomes. Either I would find Sarge here, or someone would be sympathetic to my claim that I was friends with him. At the least, they had to know that I meant him no harm, but it seemed fraternity was thicker than suspect friendship. They weren’t going to tell me anything.

  “Nasty little Nuisance Man or not,” I said, “something is wrong with Sarge. I want to find him and see if I can help.”

  “Maybe you need help hearing,” said the man at the table.

  Every watchman in there rose to his feet, all glowering at me. I braced myself, ready to take a beating, resolved that if that was how I needed to show that I was serious about finding Sarge, then so be it.

  “Hold up!” a voice shouted from the back of the bar.

  A moment later a large man waded through the watchmen that started to surround me. He was stout, with that kind of physique that suggested a lot of muscle buried under the softness.

  He looked me up and down.

  “Why aren’t you running?” he asked me.

  “I’m not leaving until I find Sarge.”

  He continued to regard me for a moment, then said, “Come with me,” and walked toward the back of the room.

  “Ah, come on Solly,” said the first man from the bar. “His kind don’t belong in here.”

  “You sit back down there and finish your drink,” Solly replied. “I’ll handle this.”

  I followed him and as we passed the bar he held up two fingers, and proceeded on to a table in the corner.

  “Sit,” he said, continuing around the table to take the chair opposite of the one he indicated for me.

  The bartender brought over two mugs of ale and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I pulled out my coin pouch and handed over the ten silver ingols, plus a couple more for a tip. Before leaving, he looked over at Solly with skepticism on his face, then shook his head and walked away.

  “Thanks for the ale,” Solly said, taking a deep drink. “Now, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Like I said, I’m looking for Sarge.”

  “Yeah, you did say that, didn’t you? And that you want to help him. I got all that. What I’m asking is why? What’s it to you, what happens to one of the Watch?”

  I started to say that it was because Sarge was my friend, but then I remembered my conversation with Lilly the night before, and the words died in my throat. Instead, I went for honesty.

  “Because Sarge has always been decent to me. Even when he didn’t understand what I was doing, or why, he was always one of the good ones. Because when my friend was in trouble, Sarge went out of his way to let me know. Mostly, because I think he’s good people, and I don’t like to see bad things happen to good people.”

  I stopped, a little embarrassed. Solly continued to regard me as he took another drink from his mug.

  “Okay,” he said finally, “I believe you. What do you want?”

  “I’m ashamed to admit this, but I don’t even know where Sarge lives. I thought I’d start there.”

  “He’s not there. I checked already.”

  “Then he’s not home and he’s not at work. What else can you tell me?”

  “Not much. Sarge and I go way back. Came into the Watch at about the same time, and have seen a lot change over the years. Some things you keep private though. This might be one of those things, know what I mean?”

  He took another drink and raised his hand for two more. I copied his drinking, thinking while I did that.

  “One more thing,” I said, “the other day when I saw him, he seemed distracted. He kept looking at something that he was keeping out of sight. And he wasn’t himself, at least not to me.”

  Solly waited for the ales to come and picked his up. I paid the bartender again and left mine sitting.

  “Hmm,” he said, after a moment. “That could change things. Could be that he was looking at a token. He had one out there still, told me that he
was hoping it never showed up.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a marker, used to call in a favor,” he said. “I haven’t seen one in years, but it used to be fairly common practice. Back in the beginning, if someone helped you out, someone non-Watch, you’d give them a token. They could give it back to you when they needed something. It’s not legally binding or anything, but they were honored.”

  “But who would still have a token to turn in to Sarge?”

  “No idea. Like I said, I haven’t seen one in years. We stopped doing them a long time ago, and as far as I knew, they were all given back.”

  “So basically, someone from Sarge’s past could have turned up and slipped him this thing, and now Sarge feels obligated to do them some sort of favor. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “In a nutshell, yes.”

  I picked up my first mug and finished it off while I was thinking.

  “What kinds of favors were these things for?” I asked.

  For the first time, Solly looked a little uncomfortable.

  “You have to understand,” he said, “that this was in the early days of the Watch. We were all brand new, and so was the Watch itself. Before that, there was no one making sure people obeyed any sort of law. It was tough times. Sometimes, someone helped you out, by telling you where to find someone, or jumping in if the odds were too high, things like that. In return, they got us to look the other way on certain things, or maybe go speak to someone for them, lean on them a little.”

  “Bend a few small laws to help enforce the big ones, huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Never anything big. We didn’t look the other way on murder or anything like that, no matter who gave you a token. But other things, sure.”

  “So at some point, Sarge got some help, of some sort, gave someone a token, and now they’ve come to call.”

  “Could be. The only thing I can’t figure is what the big deal is. I don’t know why Sarge would get so preoccupied with it. It really shouldn’t be any sort of big problem.”

  I nodded.

  “Except that it looks like it is,” I said.

  “It looks like it is,” he repeated.

  I thanked Solly for the information and stood up.

  “Aren’t you going to drink your ale,” he asked.

  “Nah. It’s yours. Enjoy.”

  I started to walk away.

  “Hey Grandfather,” he said. “Let me know what you find out.”

  I nodded to him, and went on my way, ignoring the looks of the other watchmen in the bar as I left.

  Solly told me where Sarge lived, so I went by there on my way back to my house. As he said, no-one was there, so that ended up being a dead end. Lilly showed up a little later on and we spent a nice night together, even though our conversation mostly centered around Sarge and what we could possibly do. But without any idea of where he was or what he was doing, it didn’t seem like much.

  The next morning it was way too early when I was being shaken awake and Lilly was yelling at me to get up.

  “Come on, Duke!” she said. “You need to come to the watchhouse with me. It’s Sarge.”

  “What?” I mumbled, not quite fully awake yet. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s been arrested. They’ve got him at the watchhouse now, but there’s talk that they might ship him to the Lock-ups.”

  That got my attention. Watch who ended up in the Lock-ups themselves didn’t tend to fare too well.

  I fell out of bed, pulled on clothes and followed Lilly at a run to the watchhouse. We weren’t the only ones. There were several other Nuisance Men around, as well as more than the usual share of watchmen. So far, everything was peaceful, but there were some dark looks passing back and forth.

  Since I was with a necromancer, it wasn’t hard to get through the crowd and inside. A couple of times one of the Watch tried to stop me, but at a look or word from Lilly they passed me on. Moments later, we were inside the relative calm of the watchhouse.

  Lilly walked up to Private Smithfield at the desk.

  “Where is he being held?” she asked.

  I have to say this for Private Smithfield, he didn’t rattle easily.

  “That’s privileged information. Need to know only.”

  “I need to know,” Lilly said, “now.”

  Private Smithfield looked down his nose at her.

  “I’m going to try this one more time,” Lilly said, her voice dangerously low. “And before you answer, look around and tell me if you see anyone in here willing to help you.”

  Sparks were dancing around the ends of her fingers with little popping sounds and there was a faint smell of lightning in the air.

  Private Smithfield did look around. Most of the other watchmen cleared out and the few that were left were looking at other, much more interesting things.

  “But I’m not supposed to,” he almost whined. “Only Watch…”

  “I am Watch,” Lilly told him. “Didn’t anyone fill you in on that?”

  “Well, yes. He’s in the last cell, but I can’t let him go back,” he said, pointing his chin at me.

  “He’s an important witness,” Lilly said. “I need him for the interrogation.”

  Private Smithfield looked doubtful, but didn’t say anything else as Lilly and I walked around the end of the counter and through the door leading to the holding cells.

  In the very last one, we found Sarge. He was sitting on the bench, head down, and didn’t look up as we approached.

  “Hey, Sarge,” I said, trying to sound as if this was an everyday visit.

  “What are you doing here, Duke?” he said, not looking at me.

  “Looking for you.”

  “You found me. Now go away. You too Lilly.”

  “Not going to happen,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing you’d understand.”

  “It’s about a token, right?”

  For the first time, Sarge looked up at me.

  “How do you know about that?” he asked.

  “I just do. So someone asked you to do something that landed you in here? I find that a little hard to believe.”

  Sarge sighed.

  “No,” he replied, “not exactly. All I needed to do was lean on someone. That’s all. But when I did, he got scared. Really scared. Next thing I know, he’s on the floor, gasping for breath, and then, he…he died.”

  There was such a look of anguish on Sarge’s face as he said this that I thought he might end up doing the same thing. He dropped his head again.

  “I did the only thing I could. I turned myself in.”

  “But Sarge,” Lilly said, “people die all the time. It doesn’t mean you caused it.”

  “I killed that man as surely as if I ran a sword through him. Like I said, this isn’t something you’d understand.”

  Lilly and I looked at each other.

  “Who was it, Sarge?” I asked. “Who’d you go lean on?”

  He sighed.

  “Not that it matters now, but his name was Maxwell Frothington. He was some rich merchant, lived up on Silvertree.”

  “And who turned in the token?” Lilly asked.

  “A guy named Cladius Moore,” Sarge said. “He was a good guy. I didn’t expect this of him.”

  “How do you know him?” I asked. “I mean, why did he have one of those token things?”

  “Enough, Duke,” Sarge said quietly. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done and in the past. I can’t change that. It caught up with me finally, and now it’s done. I’ll do my time, or hang, for this, and the whole thing will be over.”

  He turned away from us and faced the wall. Both Lilly and I tried to get him to talk, but he ignored us as if we weren’t even there. Finally, we wound down.

  “This isn’t over, Sarge,” I said. “No matter what you think.”

  We walked away from his cell and left the watchhouse, feeling like we let him down.

  Later th
at evening we sat at dinner, trying to enjoy each other’s company, but the specter of Sarge’s situation loomed over us.

  “There has to be a way to find out what happened,” I said. “Maybe I could go ask that Solly guy.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Lilly said. “Old timers like that stick together. If Sarge won’t tell you, Solly isn’t going to spill it either, even if he does know. It’s weird, and stupid, but it’s also how it is.”

  We ate in silence.

  “You know,” Lilly said, sitting back, “there is one other person we could ask.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked around a mouthful of food.

  “Maxwell Frothington.”

  “But he’s dead…” I began. Then I remembered that my girlfriend was a world class necromancer. Speaking to the dead was child’s play for her.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That would work wouldn’t it?”

  She grimaced.

  “Don’t be so chipper about it. It’s not going to be pleasant.”

  Lilly wasn’t exaggerating. I had the impression that for a necromancer, calling the dead back to talk to them was a walk in the park. It wasn’t, especially if the dead didn’t want to be spoken to. Lilly cast the spell, and Maxwell resisted. She cast more spells, her hair stood out from her head and her eyes turned completely black. Winds howled in the chamber and finally, there was Maxwell Frothington, or at least a pale copy of him.

  Lilly had drawn a circle on the floor of the chamber down in the necromancers’ part of the watchhouse, and warned me not to cross it, no matter what. It was inside that circle that Maxwell appeared. He was an old man, with wiry hair in a fringe around an otherwise bald head, glasses perched on his nose. He was bent with age, but his eyes were sharp and focused. I didn’t know if that was due to the spell, to death itself, or how he really looked when he was alive.