In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

  “We may use this to our advantage,” Joseph suggested, addressing Hezekiah. “Should we wait several minutes, then send Baith into the pub to cry the man’s death by a rival brigand, it will cause enough of a stir as to draw many of the guards away from the cathedral.” Hezekiah smiled back at Joseph.

  “Excellent,” he said. “I saw a walled garden behind the cathedral; in it a tree grows right up to a second story window. We can access the cathedral from there.” Turning to Baith, Joseph looked at the young soldier.

  Baith grinned and handed Joseph his gray cloak.

  “I can do it, sir,” he said. Joseph nodded, pleased. Dunner sheathed his scimitar with a clang.

  “Pre-starting a riot?” he said, his good humor restored. “Fine by me.” Hezekiah peered out around the corner of the pub.

  “We make for the walled garden, on the far west wide of the cathedral,” he told Baith. “Make your announcement and leave quickly, as if you cry elsewhere. Meet us at the wall and we’ll let you in.” The young soldier nodded and walked from the alley, into the milling crowd. Slowly, the shamar worked their way across the plaza, moving as to not rouse suspicion.

  Within a few minutes, a loud outcry rose from the direction of the pub, across the plaza. People who’d been gathered for the sermon turned and made their way towards the shouting. As predicted, a priest guard captain came out of the cathedral and signaled to many of his men in front to go disperse the disturbance.

  Once the guards pushed their way into the crowd, the three Shamar slipped into the alley alongside the large cathedral. Gaining the wall, Dunner and Hezekiah helped Joseph up over the wall; once inside, the young lord let them in through the gate. Watching by the sides of the gate, they saw no one enter from the cathedral.

  Soon, a familiar figure darted down the alleyway towards the walled garden. Dunner grinned.

  “Good work, lad,” he said, letting the young soldier in. Baith slipped inside the gate, shutting it softly after him. Speaking in low voices, the Shamar discussed what they would do.

  “Our goal, brothers, is to quietly capture the priest and get out,” Hezekiah said, emphasizing the word ‘quietly’ and glaring at Dunner. “This place will be impassible soon.” The men nodded and proceeded to climb the tree, one at a time, and climb into the second story window. The bushy, green leaves hid their accent well and they entered the room without incident. Taking out their swords, the men hovered by the door, listening. Hearing nothing, Joseph slowly opened the door and looked out. Seeing none about, he closed the door again. The room they stood in was a bedchamber, one richly furnished.

  “I see a way out,” Hezekiah said, suddenly. Turning, Joseph saw the Marshal peering into a large, carved wardrobe. Throwing back the door, Hezekiah revealed rich priestly robes hanging along with guard uniforms. Dunner scowled.

  “Give me a guard’s uniform,” he scoffed. “I prefer death to wearing a priest’s garb…”

  TWELVE

  Bishop Ostene looked up from his writing as four men entered his study. Hezekiah walked in front of the group with marked distinction in his stride, wearing the long, flowing crimson robes from the wardrobe. Dunner, Joseph and Baith followed him in formation, dressed as priest guards.

  “Forgive the intrusion, my fellow humble Bishop…” the Marshal announced, smiling condescendingly. “I am Bishop Marcus Justinian Vandenberger, the third, just arrived from Fortress Morronai.”

  At this rather loud introduction the aging bishop behind the desk stood up; he took off his spectacles.

  “Honored and pleased I am to greet you…” the man said, a little awestruck. “Though, I must admit, sir I have not heard your name… ever before.” Hezekiah waved this idea away.

  “As Bishop Sytel’s special counsel, he has oft told me my name is so blessed with grandeur it often slips his own recollection.”

  Bishop Ostene nodded; he indicated a ornate chair on the other side of his desk.

  “He has forgoteen my own as well, on occasion… ” he bishop said, moving behind his desk again. “Please give me a moment, if you will. I must finish these orders of internment.” He sat down and resumed writing, glancing up at his guest now and again.

  Hezekiah strode about the office with his hands clasped behind his back, the crimson robe swishing imperially around his ankles.

  “Interment?” he asked, with mild interest. “Ah, another poor soul lost to us forever…” The bishop nodded, sadly.

  “My men apprehended him yesterday,” the be-speckled priest told them as he wrote. “A bandit by name of Jack Rhine. A real thief that one… sharp as a tack. He was attending services here then somehow stealing bread from our larder; making quite a tidy profit selling the loaves, until yesterday.”

  “How taxing for you,” Hezekiah said, sagely. “I suppose he’ll work it off before he’s hanged.” The bishop smiled, a little.

  “Indeed he will,” the man said. “It’s to the caves, for him.”

  The door opened and a robed priestly assistant entered hurriedly, bowing to the Bishop.

  “Your eminence…” the young assistant said, looking concerned. “The disturbance in the plaza worsens by the minute! The crowd grows and cannot be calmed.”

  Bishop Ostene nodded, heaving a long sigh.

  “Secure the doors and windows against looters,” he said. “Double the guard on all entrances. No one goes in, or out.” The assistant bowed again and hurried out.

  Through open door, the sounds of moving guards and the clanking of weapons could be clearly heard echoing through the halls.

  “At least a score of guards,” Dunner whispered to Joseph. “Maybe more.” Glancing towards the door, Hezekiah caught Dunner’s eye; the aging soldier shook his head, slightly.

  Hezekiah cleared his throat.

  “I intended to conduct some business today within the sector,” he said, addressing the Bishop. “It appears that may be delayed somewhat.” At this, Ostene chuckled.

  “The dogs find the smallest things to squabble about,” he said, writing. “You will have to take the tunnels out.” Hezekiah smiled.

  “How fitting,” he said, gravely. “The good bishop Sytel would be glad if I inspected the tunnels personally… just to give him peace of mind.” Nodding, Ostene wrote out a final line and put his quill into the inkwell.

  “Certainly, my good sir,” the man said. “Anything Sytel wishes will be done. I will take you there myself,” he said, pouring fine, black powder on the parchment. A puff of breath dried the ink sufficiently; rolling it up, Ostene stood up, smiling. “Please follow me, my good sir.”

  Hezekiah did, pausing now and then through the halls to bless a servant or priest’s assistant with flagrant motions of his hand.

  “May the easterly wind drive you ever south to a western shore…” Hezekiah chanted gravely as they passed some servants. “Bless you… bless you…” With an effort Joseph managed to keep a straight face as he marched next to Dunner; the old sailor coughed to hide a grin each time Hezekiah ‘blessed’ someone. Baith marched behind them, glancing around often.

  Ostene led them through a locked door; a staircase leading downward lay beyond, which the bishop began descending, his robes lifted carefully off the ground. The air was very dark here, save for a small lighted lamp every once in awhile. A basket of torches stood on the ground, by the head of the stairs; Joseph and Dunner each took a torch, lighting them by a lamp. In the stronger light, they could made out rich tapestries hanging along the walls, and gold-filigreed lamps. The stone steps they walked were carpeted in thick, woven cloth.

  At the bottom of the steps the Bishop opened another door and ushered them through. Beyond was a small room, half of it fitted with the iron bars of a brig. Inside stood a single sleeping bench, where lay a man in ragged clothes, turned towards the wall in sleep. Nearby a man sat in priestly guard raiment, his hood up over his head. Ostene looked through the bars at the prisoner.

  “Is he still unconscious?” the bishop asked of the guard.
The man stood and nodded his head. Ostene shrugged, stepping away from the bars.

  “They’ll have use for him down in the tunnels,” he said, to Hezekiah. “All the better, he’s almost escaped twice from here. My men had to knock him on the head.” Hezekiah nodded, looking inside the cage, himself.

  Dunner did not look at priest, nor prisoner; his craggy face was turned to the guard, watching him with keen eyes. Joseph saw the aging sailor tense a little and looked over at the guard. The man was smaller than they as he stood, and his fingers nervously gripped his sword; the man’s uniform appeared to be a few sizes too big for him. Looking into the cage, Joseph saw the man laying unconscious on the bunk seemed a mite too large for his clothes. Dunner grinned at the guard and drew his large, curved sword out in a flash, pointing at the hooded guard.

  “He be a wily one, alright,” the aging sailor said, admiringly. Ostene was staring at Dunner in shock.

  “Put down your blade, guard!” he ordered, pointing to the ground. “Do not threaten my man…” Dunner did not put away his sword.

  “He’s not your man, your holiness,” he said, quietly. The two bioshops looked at the hooded guard. “Unhand your blade, boy and I may spare your arm.” Dunner said, with narrowed eyes.

  The guard slowly lifted one hand above his head, then the other. Walking forward, Joseph took the man’s sword, then pulled back his hood. The thin, bruised face of a young man met their gaze, his hair sooty and stained a little on one side with dried blood.

  “Jack Rhine!” Ostene spat. He looked in at the man laying on the bench. The man’s chest rose and fell, showing that there was yet life in him. Relieved, Ostene darted an angry glance back to the escaped prisoner. “You’re swine fodder I’ll see to it you are treated deservedly in the tunnels!”

  “I’ll escape!” the young man said, with difficulty; his lip was bruised and swollen, but he spoke regardless. “I’ll tell the wall guards what you’ve done here; keeping the food from us all this while!” Dunner and Joseph exchanged a look with Hezekiah at the young man’s words. Ostene laughed.

  “They will not believe you,” he said, simply. To Dunner, the bishop nodded his head. “Well done guard,” he said, making a brief gesture of blessing towards the gruff-looking man. “Your eyes are keen. I’ll see you are rewarded.”

  “Yes!” Hezekiah boomed, smiling. “A hawkish guard is well worth many golden trinkets…”

  “Bind him and bring him along,” Ostene said, walking onward. Joseph and Baith did so, leading the prisoner between them. Jack Rhine did not fight them, but walked along in miserable silence.

  A door stood at the far end of the room, with a large iron lock. Stopping in front of it Ostene brought out a huge ring of keys. Unlocking the door he stepped through, descending down another long fight of winding steps. When they ended several minutes later, they came upon a room with no doors. The bishop walked to a wall, and brought out his keys. Selecting one, he walked forward and drew aside a tapestry. Behind it, a wooden door stood, with a carved Latin word scrolling across it.

  “Benevolius…” Hezekiah mused, aloud. “Benevolences.” Hearing this, Ostene beamed.

  “I do not often hear the old language spoken aloud,” he said, putting the key into the iron lock. “My scribes were ‘transferred’ to Morronai some years ago, but for a good cause.” The lock squealed a bit and opened with a low clang. The bishop opened the door and stepped through, beckoning to the others. “Though it requires of me much labor, writing reports and messages, the Acts of Benevolences have enriched us greatly…”

  The room they stood in was a vast storage room, cut directly from the rock. Stacked up to the rock ceiling were barrels and barrels of wine and ale, and row upon row of grain sacks. All the barrels and sacks bore the word for Benevolences. From what Rubar told them at the monastery, this food was specially collected and marked for feeding the poor; the people above on the streets were starving and here was enough food to feed the entire sector for months. Anger sparked in Joseph’s brown eyes; he kept silent, though his knuckles showed white as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

  Guiding them down the long, central aisle, Ostene pointed out a few items to Hezekiah as they strolled along.

  “That is some very nice aged Bordeux…” the man said, indicated a particular wine barrel. “Senator Reblyn gave us several compliments on it, when he came to dine here in March.”

  “He must have come under heavy guard,” Hezekiah remarked, walking along beside the priest. Ostene glanced at his guest with a puzzled look.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Bishop Vanderberg…”

  “Vandenberger,” Hezekiah corrected, gravely. Ostene looked at him closely.

  “He came through the tunnels,” the man said, his brow drawn. “Most do not venture here topside, let alone the Senator…” Sensing he’s made a critical error, Hezekiah waved his hand nonchalantly.

  “It is well he should,” the tall man said, clasping his hands behind his back. “The risk of exposure is high these days…” Ostene nodded, but said nothing; he appeared to be contemplating something weighty as he strolled along.

  The long aisle ended at a stone wall. The wall was ten feet high and seemed solidly built; gray-stone blocks were fitted precisely and evenly all over its surface. Taking out his ring again, Ostene looked through them methodically, glancing over at Hezekiah uncertainly; he apparently found comfort in the man’s confident expression and nodded at him. Finding a thick, iron key, the Bishop felt along the wall until he found a hole, covered in shadow. Inserting the key, he turned it with difficulty until a hidden door grated open nearby.

  Beyond the hidden rock door sat a small, narrow room, with three jail cells along one side; they were empty but here and there lay a ragged piece of clothing. The room continued into two, wide corridors, one leading into another chamber, and one which turned away from sight, with stairs leading upwards. The sounds of bustling activity could be heard echoing down the straight hall.

  Ostene turned to Hezekiah.

  “You are familiar with this passage, correct?” he inquired, smiling. “The one entrance that leads to the cavern?” Hezekiah nodded, going along with the man’s words. Ostene’s face fell. “You do not know Sytel,” he stated, slowly, narrowing his eyes. “He always orders two passages cut, in case of cave-ins…” The man turned, to yell for the guards; he was cut off from doing so. Dunner hit the priest on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. Ostene fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Jack Rhine saw this activity and began throwing his slender frame about, trying to get away; the young man’s eyes were filled with panic. Almost immediately, the prisoner felt a cold, sharp blade at his throat.

  “Be still,” Joseph whispered to him. “If you value your life, you will give us no trouble and work alongside us.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Jack Rhine saw a curious glint in the hand of the man who held him fast; focusing his eyes, the thin man glimpsed the seal of Joseph ‘sShamar ring, hidden in his palm. Calming himself, he swallowed as the shiny blade left his throat.

  “I will,” the man said, looking at Joseph warily. “You are not priest’s guards…”

  Joseph took his dagger and cut Jack Rhine’s bonds.

  “Neither are you,” he said, looking the young man in the eye. “I’ll arm you; do as you are told and no harm with come to you.” Jack nodded, accepting a dagger from Joseph’s hands. Hezekiah and Dunner picked up the priests arms and dragged him into one of the open cells.

  “Quickly…” Hezekiah said, taking out a dagger. “We must dress him in common clothes.” He looked over at the thin young man they had rescued. “We must make him into Jack Rhine.” At this Jack smiled, a little.

  Joseph ducked into another cell, snatching up any articles of clothing he could see. Leaning down, Hezekiah found the rolled parchment in Ostene’s pouch and tossed it to Joseph. Catching it in one hand, Joseph handed down the peasant clothes. With a smile, Dunner cut away the priest’s crimson
robe with his dagger, leaving Ostene in his fine linen tunic and leggings. As they dressed him in the dirty, smelly rags, the priest began to move his head and groan with pain.

  Balling up a large scrap of priestly robe, Dunner stuffed the wad into the priests mouth, securing it with another length of cloth around Ostene’s head. Hezekiah bound the man’s hands tightly with the cords that had held Jack Rhine captive. The former prisoner stood by, watching all this with interest.

  “Put up your hood, Jack,” Joseph told him, quietly. The young man did so, his eyes taking on an anxious look.

  The rhythmic sounds of marching boots on stone came faintly down the passage; hauling the groaning bishop to his feet, Dunner nodded at Baith; the young man held Ostene’s other arm fast. Opening one eye, the priest began trying to talk through the gag. Taking up an empty sack, Hezekiah pulled it down over the bishop’s head. A unit of heavily armed priest guards filed into the room; they saw Hezekiah standing there in his crimson robe and bowed slightly.

  “Bless you, men of the tunnels!” Hezekiah said, grandly; he made a gesture at the men and looked over at the struggling prisoner. “By order of Bishop Ostene, we hereby intern to the tunnels one Jack Rhine, villainous thief of cathedral bread!”

  The guards nodded and clumped by, heading into the storage chamber. “May you crush the dissenters above with spears of conflagration and all the vicissitudes of mortality!” Hezekiah continued, waving blessings at the guards as they went by. Once the guards were out of sight Dunner looked over at Joseph.

  “I say those cursed robes are giving Brother Hezekiah delusions of the mind,” the aging sailor said, gruffly. Hezekiah grinned at him.

  “If you light your pipe, you may find the smoke sweetens your temperament,” he replied.

  Jack Rhine could contain himself no longer.

  “Whoa re you men? Why are you here?” he demanded, glancing at first one, then another. “No citizens venture into the tunnels…” Lighting his pipe, Dunner puffed a bit of smoke.