Galows Pole

by Will Molinar

  Giorgio stared at him as if his head was on fire. “Have you taken leave of your senses? They have everything!”

  Jon frowned and stood by Muldor, ignoring Giorgio. “It’s an illusion, and it will collapse. We take away his support within the council and things go back, understand? Then we can find the evidence that the merchants, under his direction, stole from Janisberg. Muldor can take it to the council. There is nothing real here.”

  “Except thousands of mercenaries,” Giorgio said.

  Muldor chuckled. “True, but he pays them. Once we take his money that ends. I will speak with Cutter as well.”

  “Cutter? What does that cur have to do it?”

  “No doubt my counterpart within your Guild has been privy to the goings on here, Giorgio. Perhaps he was threatened, in fact I have no doubt to that. I can ease his mind as to the danger having passed if only he sides with us.”

  Giorgio reeled at that revelation, more because the thought had never crossed his mind. “I’ll ease more than his mind.”

  “No, we must not threaten Cutter with violence, Giorgio. You know it won’t work on him. The old curmudgeon isn’t intimidated by physical threats. It is money and tradition that will convince him.”

  Giorgio sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you two tell me what we’re gonna to do?”

  “It won’t be easy,” said Jon to Muldor.

  Muldor nodded. “No. But we must take each department back one by one from him. They will take orders from me in his stead. Castellan dare not counteract them for fear of them knowing I am ostracized from The Guild. It will be a major embarrassment and an indication that he is losing influence within his own organization.”

  “Even if he countermands the orders it will lose him time. Confusion will set, things will slow down.”

  “Yes, we can sow the seeds of chaos, and it will trickle down to his men.”

  Giorgio liked the sound of that.

  * * * * *

  Night settled in like a forgotten lover returned, frightening and nerve wracking at first, but once remembered warm and enchanting. The air was warm and wet. Rain threatened to fall.

  Zandor had a half dozen of his cohorts, the most that could be rounded up on short notice, plus two dozen young men, lads from the local jaunts frequented over the last couple days. Some of them would get hurt that night, maybe even killed, but he didn’t let it bother his conscience longer than a passing moment.

  Everyone died at some point.

  The dock was its usual self. People went here and there about their personal business, and Zandor couldn’t care less what they did. There might be a show in store for them. They would enjoy that.

  He met two of his subordinates, Kurgi and Ben, whom people mistook for brothers, but they had no relation.

  “We ready, fellas?” Zandor said.

  They looked at each other first then to Zandor. “Yeah, ready,” Kurgi said and Ben nodded.

  “For what it’s worth, you crazy bastard,” Ben said with a smirk.

  “Yeah, crazy. You gonna tell us what this is all about, Zee?”

  Zandor laughed a rough chuckle he didn’t feel and waved his hand. “It is crazy, huh? I tell ya, that Magistrate Harper’s a funny one. ‘Member that time he almost drowned hisself? I tell ya. No, he’s just out for a little fun, a little entertainment, trust me.”

  They shared another look with each other then shrugged.

  “Yeah, you’re paying us,” said Kurgi.

  “We’re here, Zandor,” said Ben. “Might as well get going.”

  “Well said, boys. Now is as good a time as any.”

  They stayed far off from the light of the docks, away in the corner of some boxes stacked up against the fence. The two men put on disguises that would make them look like common dock workers, simple clothes along with beards and hats.

  There weren’t well dressed, but compared to the workers of Sea Haven, they were foppish gentlemen.

  Zandor went much more elaborate, making himself look like an old man, bent and crotchety. He wore mutton chop sideburns and matching beard with a cane.

  Kurgi couldn’t help but snicker at him until Zandor whacked him on the side of the head with his cane. That shut him up.

  Ben laughed harder as Kurgi rubbed his head.

  “Ya damn dirty, disrespectful curs!” Zandor said and waved his cane at them. “Move on now ya little shits! Give this old man yer ear, or I’ll whack ‘em good!”

  They needed no further prodding and got to moving. They went to the edge of the boardwalk and hung back, waiting and watching. After some time, Magistrate Harper emerged from his office and spoke to a group of workers.

  Zandor tapped his cane on the ground. “Let’s move out, merry gentlemen, one and all.”

  Kurgi blew a sharp whistle that was repeated a moment later from somewhere not far off. Their group moved closer to magistrate. Zandor played his part by dragging his left foot and cursed under his breath.

  Soon, Harper became aware of someone moving towards him. He looked over and kept talking. “…so, I’m tidying some loose ends here tonight and… uh, yes I believe so. Can I help you sir?”

  Zandor pointed a shaking finger at him and stomped his feet. “You no good, thievin’ scallywag! You-you-you took my job and my life from me! Don’t think I don’t know no better.”

  The magistrate stunned and off guard, stepped back and raised a hand to his face. His red hair so pale in the moonlight. “Well, yes, so I will be heading back to my offices now, gentlemen. Good night.”

  Harper turned away, but the old man blocked his path with surprising quickness. “You ain’t gettin’ away with it, I says! No sirree!” Kurgi and Ben had mixed in with the other dock workers and stood to the side of the magistrate. Harper glanced around for dock security, and Zandor smiled. They were busy at the moment. “Hold it there, bub. You-you freeloadin’ son of a bitch! I ain’t done with you by damn sight!”

  Harper frowned and grew more courageous. He pointed an admonishing finger at the bent figure. “Now look here, my good man. I haven’t the faintest idea to what you are referring. Please make way. My office will not abide this type of treatment.”

  Zandor curse him and stomped his feet, all the while waving his cane around. Harper shoved him out of his way and hurried on towards the edge of the ramp from his office, yelling for security. Zandor chuckled under his breath and followed.

  Harper found some security men at the bottom of the ramp and approached them. Zandor stumbled along behind him. The magistrate turned and pointed behind him.

  “Guardsmen, if you would be so kind as to remove this ruffian from the premises. I will not have his kind at our docks. He is a miscreant and should be taken away.”

  The guard, a tall husky looking youth of about twenty, looked the situation over and shrugged. “I don’t see what the problem is. Seems to be having a bit of fun is all.”

  Harper looked askance at the officer, and then in consternation at the “old man” coming up behind him. A myriad of emotions crossed his face, from confusion, to fear, to anger, and then back to fear again.

  “Well, I… now look here soldier. I’ll have your name and your direct supervisor. You’re to take this man this instant and place him under arrest. Consider yourself under review.”

  “Easy there, magistrate, easy” the guard said, and several men stood behind him, all with black hoods. The magistrate backed away with his hands up as they surrounded him.

  “Now-now look here, all of you men, do as I command.”

  The men tried to placate him, but he wouldn’t listen. Harper yelled for help and almost got it. Several people wandered about the streets beyond the fence into the wharf area and they walked over to investigate the ruckus.

  Zandor was glad for it. For his plan to succeed, they needed third party witnesses, a lot of them. He gave a harsh whistle, and the men around Harper grabbed the magistrate and pulled him down towards the nearest pier, amidst his stammering protes
ts. They soon had his mouth gagged and arms tied behind his back as they carried him along.

  People yelled from behind the fence, and a few braver ones came closer and shouted for more security to come. Zandor pulled an object out of his pouch, a small emblem of Sea Haven’s merchants’ guild, and dropped it to the ground where anyone could find it. It wasn’t very subtle and anyone would half a brain wouldn’t fall for it, but people were pretty stupid. Arousing suspicion was enough for the time being.

  They were shouts of kidnap, and people yelled about the magistrate being taken away. Zandor chuckled as they ran up the pier to their ship, all ready to go. It would cast off at a moment’s notice from Zandor.

  A perfect execution, thanks to the lax security at the docks. Zandor couldn’t have planned it better. They had a thing or two to learn from Sea Haven. Paranoia had its uses.

  “Cast off boys!” Zandor said before his feet hit the deck.

  No more than a moment later did it spring away from the docks due to its small size and fast work from Zandor’s men. The first part was finished. The hard work was still to come.

  Chapter Three

  Jerrod was yet again given another responsibility that did not fall under his parameter of what he was paid for or good at doing. It wouldn’t be his fault if it fell through.

  Sitting behind a desk, at the impromptu office of the western docks, tapping the top of the table with his fingers like a bored school boy stuck in detention, was not a good time. Various liaisons with city departments would come to report under Jerrod’s command.

  City watch, police, dock masters, the market representative, all fell under his purview. Then it was expected to give a report to Castellan. By all accounts, this arrangement made Jerrod the second most powerful man in the city, much to his distaste. The assassin was the only one the guild master trusted these days. Castellan was paranoid. And a fool.

  Jerrod figured it was penitence for some earlier sin; he had been plenty of those. No matter what, this would not end well.

  Another swig of his flask burned all the way to his stomach. There hadn’t been enough of that these days. The quality was spectacular, and the idea of being back at the cabin away from these slugs hit hard. Jerrod wasn’t even sure how much his boss was paying him for this nonsense. A new contract was needed, some more coin from the back end of this operation.

  “Damn it.”

  The city watch representative, a middle-aged man that looked fit but poor, came to Jerrod’s desk and nodded a greeting. The man fidgeted while Jerrod said nothing. An uncomfortable silence stretched out. The man coughed.

  “Yeah, yeah, out with it,” Jerrod said, rubbing his face.

  “I’m to report to you, sir.”

  “Give me your damn report, then.”

  The man swallowed. They’d beefed up security around the dock yards per usual, using many of the regular folks that volunteered for city watch duty. They had seen nothing further from the saboteurs. Fighting at the taverns increased in frequency, but they were handled by the police force well.

  Common theft was the biggest threat, and there were complaints at the market, since now any normal townsfolk felt free to take what they wanted at any time. The thieves and their guild had been trusted to keep things under control and not hurt anyone. These thugs were different. They stole and fought and caused other problems.

  “Some of the merchants been askin’ us for extra security at the market. And, uh….”

  Jerrod looked up at the stammering yokel. “And what?”

  The man straightened up. “And what should we do about it?”

  Jerrod barked out a laugh. “Nothin’, you idiot. Tell ‘em to hire out extra bodyguards if they want to protect themselves. Plenty of mercenaries for hire round these parts, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Of course, sir. Good idea. I’ll let them know.”

  “Yeah, you go ahead and do that.”

  Another awkward silence followed, and the man looked at Jerrod with expectant eyes, but the assassin did nothing but glare. The city watch commander gave a weird kind of salute and walked away. Jerrod scoffed. Stupid bastards.

  The next man was Cubbins’ direct subordinate, Lieutenant Dillon. A handsome man in his late twenties with a trim, muscular build and light brown hair with a very short beard as if he had shaved a mere four days ago.

  Jerrod knew him a little. The man liked to drink and could put down some serious bottles. Dillon sat down across from Jerrod, smiling and looking him up and down as he shook his head. “One of those days, eh, Jerry?”

  Jerrod thought of an acid laced reply but coughed instead. He pounded his fist on the table and hacked up some phlegm, spitting it on the floor. Dillon looked concerned and leaned forward.

  “You okay?”

  Jerrod waved him off. “Just… give me your damn report!”

  Dillon frowned but sat back and spoke. “Fine. As I’m sure Raul told you, arrests are up. Our yard is full to bursting. Civil unrest is becoming a problem. People are fighting all over the place.

  “I’ve spoken with a few City Watch sub-commanders, three of them in fact. Brigands if there ever were any, one a former brute squad, man name of Brock. He says riots are gonna begin soon. Says if the money’s right, he and some of the boys will get back together and help.” Dillon smiled. “Funny ol’ guy. Missing some teeth but is as tough as they come, got scars aplenty.”

  Jerrod stared at him as if fish came out of his ears.

  Dillon cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Uh, yes, well, that’s all there is. Um, do we have the money if we wanna—”

  “Do I look like a fucking treasurer to you?”

  “No you don’t, Jerrod, but I believe you are in charge.”

  “If I’m in charge then go do your damn job. You’re an officer. You don’t get paid to hire anyone. Tell Brock to shove off unless we ask for help.”

  Dillon was a stern, professional man, and Jerrod knew he and Cubbins weren’t to be trifled with on most days, but Jerrod didn’t give a shit at the moment.

  Dillon eyed him. “If things get rough out there, and the people, well, I don’t need to draw you a picture. It won’t be good. If I need to draw some funds to form a brute squad, it must come from somewhere.”

  A headache had developed behind Jerrod’s left eye. He sat back and rubbed his temple. He only wanted to be left alone. It was time for a drink.

  “Go to Cassius then. You have my permission. Is that alright? Now get the hell outta my face.”

  Dillon didn’t look happy but argued no further. He left the room without looking back, and Jerrod was glad not to see his stupid face again.

  The afternoon dragged on. There was one more visitor scheduled, Nicoli Peterson. The royal guard was notorious for being prideful fools, and after the last meeting at the city council, Peterson had more or less declared his position concerning the new order for the city.

  Some fresh air was needed. Outside the normal, dreary weather held sway. Typical for late spring, with strong winds and the threat of rain omnipresent. Work unloaded, the incoming vessels continued unabated, and what with the additional security ordered by both Castellan and the head of commerce, it seemed every able bodied man in the city was present doing something.

  Jerrod stretched his back. It popped. He snickered at the dock “security” lined up against the warehouses. The workers unloaded from the ships or loaded onto to carts for pick up. They either looked nervous because they expected an attack at any moment or bored because this wasn’t their real job.

  It wouldn’t happen. Not another attack at the docks. Jerrod had seen the assignment sheet at Cutter’s, and most thieves had returned to work the docks and get paid, rather than get killed. Maybe they had half a brain among them after all. They couldn’t win.

  Jerrod had a hankering to snoop around the more worthy wares. Some of the wealthier merchants from foreign ports were signing additional contracts with the dock masters this week. No reason for him n
ot to look for some kickbacks or bribes as he was in a good position with Castellan. He couldn’t be denied.

  But he didn’t have the energy. The drink had gotten deep within his head, and his skull buzzed with a dull hum.

  Near the off-loading area, close to the office space was a wide open spot used to store extra spill-over from the warehouses. A constant guard stood by at all times, most of them hired from the individual merchants who had to store their goods there until the dock masters bought them off. Castellan wasn’t allowing any direct sales to the market anymore. Everything had to go through the dock offices.

  A few dock workers and security men, attempted to make idle conversation with Jerrod, and he told them to piss off altogether. Maybe it was a mistake to leave the office. At least there was booze there.

  But before leaving, he decided to find Marko. The stocky, bull necked youth was a year or two over twenty. He yammered with a few other toughs near the entrance to pier one. It was known as the place where more exotic goods arrived. He laughed with security as Jerrod came up, but quieted.

  “How can we help you, sir?” Marko said. “Some trouble?”

  “You and five others, come back with me now.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Marko grabbed five of his fellows, and together they followed Jerrod back to the office. Jerrod grabbed Marko and pulled him over to the side as the others stood by the door.

  “Listen, you. How many boys can you get together real quick?”

  Marko’s thick featured face scrunched up. “Well, sir, not sure about that. Maybe twenty or thirty.” Jerrod glared. “Fifty if I push it, sir. Me and Donald here can hit up the taverns and form up a squad if you want. We’ll get the hardest bastards in town.”

  Jerrod crossed his arms. “After we’re done here, do it. Make it seventy men. Regular rate.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Jerrod gave a mental sigh at the young man’s enthusiasm and shoved him along. “Yeah, yeah, move it along.”

  Now all Jerrod had to do was survive the meeting with the royal guard scum, and then it would be back to drinking