Galows Pole

by Will Molinar

  * * * * *

  Muldor almost felt like a teenager again, skulking about like one of the thieves, like heroes that would rescue his beloved city from itself. Giorgio, Marston, and a few of their associates were nearby, filtering in and out of the normal evening crowd.

  They garnered information about Nicoli Peterson’s whereabouts and his plan for the evening, but it came at a price. Two thieves were recognized and arrested outside city hall. Too near the enemy as it turned out, but Muldor felt it worth the price.

  There’d been a row over wanting to bust them out of jail, but in the end cooler heads prevailed. There would be time for that later. Greater concerns faced them. They needed an ally that was on the city council, and they followed the man at the moment.

  Muldor ducked behind a building as Peterson and his guard stopped. They wanted to find him alone or perhaps subdue his guard if need be. The problem was Muldor wasn’t sure if the man would be inclined to work with them, scoundrels that they were.

  Their one reliable thread was Muldor, and he believed that Castellan had yet to reveal the betrayal. To any outsider he was still the second in command to The Guild. It had worked thus far.

  The Royal Guard were hard lined, well trained men, handpicked to protect the king’s regent. They moved with authority through the crowd towards the Western Docks.

  Muldor frowned. Not only was he in poor condition to be running around like a boy, but his ploy would be easier to discover should anyone at the docks see him. It was hard to believe for no one would realize Muldor had been gone for a few days.

  A few moments later, back on their heels as close as they dared, a presence behind him tugged on his arm. Turning, there was a smiling Giorgio; a grin without mirth.

  “You’re getting lazy sitting behind your desk for so long. We have to be sharp here. This is important.”

  “Indeed.” Muldor turned back to Peterson’s procession. “They make their way into dangerous waters.”

  “When did you become so cryptic?”

  They watched as the group headed towards the docks. Giorgio stepped forward and looked back over his shoulder at Muldor. “How far you wanna take this?”

  “To its conclusion,” Muldor said. “There may be a chance to separate him from his men and have a word.”

  “Why not speak with him yourself in front of them? Peterson will give you an audience.”

  “There are too many witnesses about. We need to get him alone and somewhere quiet.”

  “You know me. I’m a big fan of diversions. We can set something up fast.”

  Muldor considered. “No. It may come to pass we need your services, but I have considerable pull with the denizens of the docks. It has come time for me to put that theory to the test.”

  Giorgio shrugged. This wasn’t the first time Muldor worried over him, for the man looked ragged. “We do what we can.”

  Muldor squeezed his shoulder. “Indeed. Carry on, my friend. But please, if you would be so kind as to attempt a jail break for me, should I be captured, if only for old times’ sake.”

  Giorgio grunted. “Only if you promise the same for me.”

  Muldor promised, and they were off after their quarry. The group appeared to be in a hurry, or perhaps it was the way of military types rushed about. When they reached the Western Docks, they did a curious thing and headed straight for a smaller building that Muldor knew wasn’t used for much of anything, an inconsequential one story structure.

  It was used by Mal Dollenger, the senior Dock Master, on occasion, and Muldor felt his skin crawl at the implications. Their view afforded them a poor vantage point to see what went on, but there was inner turmoil of getting closer. He steeled himself and stepped forward, but Giorgio restrained him.

  “Too close. Let’s wait and see what happens when they come out.”

  Muldor took a deep breath and shook his head. “I think I have done enough watching. This could be a momentous meeting.” Giorgio started to protest. “Ease your mind. I will go alone and speak to Peterson’s retainers standing by the yard. Perhaps my reputation still counts for something.”

  Giorgio looked over and a muscle on his cheek jumped. “Fine. But move as fast as you can. We’ll cover your retreat.”

  Muldor smiled. “Very well. But remember who often bested you in our ground training, during our stint together.” Giorgio grunted. “Besides, if these men are to be our allies, we must trust them.”

  ‘For now,’ Giorgio thought, and they waited.

  * * * * *

  The man was on his way. Jerrod’s men saw him trudging up the road towards the dock. This was it.

  Jerrod got ready by posting Marko and some of his men behind the desk while he sat with an air of arrogance. The toughs felt it, too. They were strong, nasty looking men with black vests and thick arms. Men not to be trifled with. A show of strength would put Peterson in his place.

  Jerrod put away his flask, already salivating at the thought of having it again in his hands. He wondered if Peterson would come or send one of his jack ass soldiers, like Allenmyer or Jones. Both of which were on loan from the king. Two trusted royal guardsmen sent to protect the king’s cousin, the late Lord Falston.

  To hell with them both. If they had any proof Castellan was behind the assassination, there might’ve been trouble, but they didn’t have squat. They deflected blame to the police, and now that Cubbins was in a jail cell, they would be placated. Even if that wasn’t the reason the police captain was in jail, it didn’t matter. No one could understand the difference or care. It was one of the sociological things Castellan was good at, and even Jerrod appreciated the subtlety. The man knew how to manipulate people and deserved credit where credit was due.

  At last a booming knock resounded across the empty space in the room. The men stood straighter. There was a stern authority to the knock, like an enemy at the gates pounding away with a battering ram. Jerrod smirked. Fucking let them come.

  Another knock did not follow. Instead, a thick, gauntleted arm shoved the door open and the royal guard swine swooped in followed by their commander, Lord Nicoli Peterson. They were impressive and only perhaps Castellan’s own guard was better trained than they. Red cloaks draped over their shiny armor, and they carried halberds with a casual yet ready hand.

  Jerrod was lucky to pry away the Lord Governor. He realized it too. If not for his assassins, it would have been impossible. Or without Cubbins’ capitulation and greed.

  As Nicoli Peterson came forward, Jerrod hid his demeanor. Peterson came in, looked around at the men already there, and pulled off a fine pair of leather gloves.

  Jerrod smirked and looked up at him. “What can I do for you?”

  Peterson was not amused. He slapped his gloves down on the table and glowered at Jerrod. “Your associate is a silver tongued devil. He may have some of the council members fooled or cowered by his vulgar display, but I assure you, I’ll not be dictated by such people. I answer only to the king and so shall you.”

  Jerrod wasn’t in the habit of trading verbal jibes, but there was something so haughty and annoying to the man’s manner. He had to knock him down at least a peg.

  “The king, is it? Howzat that king feel about you losing track of his cousin? Can’t be too happy about that. How is Lord Falston feeling these days anyway, fella? Should be called Lord of Worms by now.”

  His men laughed while Jerrod sniggered at his own joke.

  Peterson’s face went slack. His reddish blonde goatee seemed all the more stark amongst his features. His guard stiffened, but the numbers were against them, and Marko’s band looked prepared to act.

  The royal guard commander took a deep breath and spoke, his voice echoing his controlled rage. “There will be a full accounting for what has happened, on a day not of your choosing. I will be there to remind you. Count on that.”

  Peterson turned away to leave with Jerrod scoffing at his back. Jerrod no longer wanted to drink. He only wanted to kill the prick.

  *
* * * *

  Giorgio couldn’t wait any longer. They saw Peterson enter and waited. It made the young thief fidget. It shouldn’t take so long.

  “Calm yourself, Giorgio,” Muldor said. This is the time for patience. We must wait.”

  The thief shrugged it off. “Then what? We wait and what happens? They’re making moves, setting their plans into action, trying to end us for good. We gotta do something now!”

  Muldor surprised Giorgio by nodding. “Yes, we must act. Thank you for bringing that to my attention. For too long I have sat by the side of things.”

  With that he turned away and strolled towards to some of Peterson’s guard waiting outside.

  Giorgio sputtered, dumbstruck. “Wait, hold it! I can’t protect you down there! Muldor, hold on!”

  An attempt to grab him and hold him back was foiled by too great a distance; Muldor was faster than appearances would indicate. There were too many people about this area, too many knew his face. To risk exposure would be foolish. Jerrod had people down there.

  Giorgio whistled and felt gratified to hear the return call from Marston. He no doubt stood somewhere nearby, in case they needed him and the others. Anders was still with them, so was the cranky Webster. If things didn’t go well with Muldor and Peterson, they would have to do something.

  But Giorgio didn’t know what.

  * * * * *

  On the outside, Muldor appeared calm. Anyone that saw him would see the same dour man they all knew. He was a regular sight at the docks on any day. But on the inside, his stomach churned. This was an important ploy for their group. Without it they might be finished. There was only so much that could be done.

  Keeping his hood down, the Guild man nodded to a few people that recognized him. His nerves loosened as they acted normal. It wasn’t far to the building where Peterson was, but even then there was no need to worry. The Royal Guard Commander exited the building and one of his guards slammed the door behind them. They were angry.

  That was a good sign. A direct approach would work best.

  “Pardon me! Lord Peterson, a word if you would!”

  Shouting loud enough to be heard over the fading sounds of the wharf caused the men in Peterson’s party to turn with suspicious gazes. Peterson looked curious.

  “There is something we need to discuss,” Muldor said and approached him.

  The guards raised their halberds, but Peterson held them off. “Hold.” He looked at Muldor with recognition alighting his features. “Yes, I know you. Perhaps we should speak, Master Muldor. Is there somewhere nearby we may go?”

  “There is. If you will follow me, gentlemen?”

  Muldor took them to the closest thief safe house, the city whorehouse; though it was a risk to be seen with a large group of armored men, there was nothing for it. Getting Peterson on their side was essential.

  On the other hand, people did not think much of a large group of men entering Madam Dreary’s whorehouse, even if it was the Royal Guard. The only thing that might suffer would be Peterson’s professional reputation. The man stopped short and gave Muldor a questioning glance, but they entered without much of a fuss.

  Muldor could tell by most of the guard’s reactions, this was not their first time they had come here. Several of the girls noticed them coming in, and they either looked frightened or happy. Muldor tried to calm both groups.

  “No need to get excited, ladies. We come on business.” One girl he knew well, Mandy, approached them. “I wonder if you would be a dear and find the madam. We require the use of her office or somewhere private.”

  Mandy nodded, and Muldor looked at Peterson. “I’m sure your men wouldn’t mind waiting here with these beautiful women?”

  Peterson huffed. “An honest man should be so lucky.” He told them to stay but be alert. They had no issue with that directive.

  Mandy returned, and the two men followed her down a silk curtained hallway. Madam Dreary met them on their way. The vivacious red head walked up to Nicoli Peterson and rubbed his arm. She smiled, looking him up and down, and curtsied.

  “I’ve never had the pleasure, I’m Madam Dreary.”

  “Um, yes, a pleasure. Nicoli Peterson. At your service.” The Royal Guard Commander bowed and kissed her hand.

  She twinkled. “Ah, such chivalry is rare in these parts. To what do I owe this wonderful surprise?”

  Muldor couldn’t help but smile. She was indeed a lovely woman, and more his age which was appreciated.

  “My dear Madam Dreary, I wonder if we might get some privacy?”

  “Of course, love. Mandy, be a dear and get these gentlemen and their men some refreshments, would you? That’s it, run along now.”

  Mandy managed an awkward smile and ran off.

  Muldor and Peterson were left alone in the very quant office of the madam, and Muldor indicated a chair by the desk. “Please, be seated. We shall not be disturbed.”

  Peterson looked around the office, impressed perhaps by the rich appointments given their location. There was amusement in his eyes. “I had no idea these people lived so well. I think I’ve chosen the wrong profession.”

  “No, your honorable field is to be lauded. Trust me, this is a harsh life and not to be admired.”

  Peterson raised an eyebrow. “Yes? It seems you understand them. I didn’t know the Guild worked within the same sphere as the whores.”

  “To some we are one and the same. Now, let us dispense with pleasantries. We need your help, but first I must determine your loyalties and where you stand. Tell me, what is your sole duty?”

  Peterson considered. He was a handsome man in a way, though older, and his face held a certain respectable dignity. Muldor thought he must be highborn. “I have no sole responsibility,” Peterson said, “True, my command position means I am to safe guard the royal line of this city, but I am also concerned for the sanctity of Sea Haven as a whole, a difficult task, as I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, I understand. What of the coming regent? Shall your responsibilities garner a new occupant soon?”

  Peterson paused before replying. “I have sent dispatches to the king to send a replacement for Falston as Lord Governor.”

  “But why? This is a volatile city, no place for a noble and whomever is sent will no doubt have a target painted on his forehead.”

  “Why dammit man, you are right. I had thought only to restore order to the city. This being the best—”

  “Another thing,” Muldor said and did his best to sound contrite, “your dispatches would never reach the king, not until Castellan has secured his position within the city’s hierarchy.”

  Peterson huffed. “How do you know these things? Aren’t you his second? His closest confidant? Why would you tell me this?”

  “Separate questions that can be answered with one statement. I am a traitor to Castellan and have betrayed his trust. But not to this city or to my beloved Guild. Things have gone beyond my control. The Guild, under his direction, now controls everything coming in or going out of the city.”

  Peterson’s face twisted with open emotion, his thoughts readable. He would never be a good card player, or a Guild Member.

  “But, I-I sent runners only last week, they must have made it. Damn! Damn that man! The king must know of this assassination! How could he not? Castellan cannot silence every tongue in the region. Gossip spreads.”

  “Yes, it does. But how can you be sure of what message reached the king? It could be doctored. I think maybe Castellan plans on having Lord Damour take a place at the head of the council, as a controllable proxy of course.”

  Peterson steamed. “I should have seen it sooner, blast him! I knew he was ambitious, but this is dreadful. We’ve grown much too lax in our duties, it is shameful. We failed our duties to protect Lord Falston. Now I have doomed more men to their deaths by sending them off to cover for my mistake. They must be lying in the road somewhere, buried in a ditch.”

  “I doubt they ever left the city,” Muldor said.
“I will make further inquiries into the matter if you wish. I have various agents still loyal to me. Now, the question remains… what do you intend to help us do about this situation?”

  Peterson sat forward, and Muldor saw fire in his eyes. “Whatever it takes to kill that son of a bitch.”

  That was more like it.

  * * * * *

  “Okay, so all I need is your signature and of course your seal, my lord, and we can get this silly business over and done with.” Zandor pointed to the spot to sign, but Magistrate Harper did not look pleased. Not in the least. A permanent scowl marred his otherwise plain features, and most of the time he kept his arms crossed over his chest.

  But the man had stopped fighting them. So far out to sea, it wouldn’t matter anyway. There was nowhere to run. The captain’s cabin was a fine place, and Zandor thought the beautiful appointment would warm Harper’s demeanor. Thus far it hadn’t worked.

  Zandor nudged over the finest glass of liquor in the ship, but Harper didn’t pick it up.

  “Now you are trying to bribe me, eh, Zandor? It won’t work.”

  “No, no, not at all. Thought we might have a drink together on an otherwise boring night. That’s all.”

  Harper scoffed. “You’ve kidnapped me, damn you! If you expect me to sit here with you and have a drink, then you are mistaken.”

  Zandor raised his hands. “Calm down, sir. No need to get riled up. Kidnapping is a strong word, ain’t it? I mean, not to mince words, here, but….”

  Magistrate Harper looked at him as if his head were on fire. “A strong word? Are you jesting with me, Zandor? Have you taken leave of your senses? I knew you were a raconteur, but this is preposterous!”

  Zandor grunted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought we was jus’ a couple of guys having a drink together, both after the same thing, yeah?”

  “You know, you are not as smart as you believe, nor as smooth of tongue.”

  “I ain’t trying to be. I’m trying to help our boy Jon out is all. Aren’t you? That’s what you want, yeah?”