by Will Molinar
“Why don’t you talk to that fella Drake? I thought he was in charge of the mercs.”
“No. I am in charge of the mercenaries. Guild money paid for their skills and it purchased your skills as well. Never forget that.”
Jerrod sighed. “Look, boss, these guys are fighters, ex-military, vagrants, bar room brawlers, murderers, things like that. They ain’t trained in crowd control, see? That’s different.”
Castellan pounded the desk. “Then train them!”
Castellan stared bloody daggers at Jerrod, and the assassin almost felt afraid. Almost. The Guild Master’s demeanor was feral and drawn to its edge. It hadn’t been there before as if Castellan were a beast, wounded and raging to be released. His eyes held a wild look that bordered on madness. It hadn’t been there before.
“You will take as many of your men as necessary and see that the mercenaries are drilled on the proper etiquette for dealing with riots, before they happen. Is that understood?”
“Sure thing. We’ll get to it.”
“I’ll not have this city ruined by rioters and looters. We must have control, for the good of the people. According to this Jon person, there is trouble brewing to the south, and we must be prepared to deal with Janisberg’s reprisal.” Jerrod didn’t argue. Castellan composed himself very well and spoke as if the outburst had never occurred. “Are the men well armed, well equipped?”
In truth, Jerrod didn’t know a definitive answer, for he had been too busy doing things more suited to his skills. Arming mercenaries wasn’t part of his job description. This was Muldor’s area of expertise. Ever since his defection, more duties had been shoveled to Jerrod. Castellan should have ordered him to kill the accountant.
Jerrod knew the order hadn’t been given because of the potential embarrassment and what it would do to his perceived level of power but it should have been done.
Castellan continued to wait for an answer, and Jerrod heard his bottle calling his name. The assassin felt torn. If he lied and turned out to be wrong, it would be found out at some point, and Castellan wouldn’t be happy. If he told the truth, it might’ve been worse.
He took a breath and was about to go with his first choice and lie, but Jerrod was saved by a loud knock at the door. Castellan frowned but could not deny the urgency in the call and told the man to enter.
A guardsman burst into the room. “Lord Castellan, forgive my intrusion, but an urgent matter requires your attention.”
Jerrod looked over his shoulder at the guard and flashed a nasty look. The man swallowed and looked at Castellan.
“What is it, guardsman?”
The man stammered. “I-uh, you-sir, you must come. Please.”
Castellan stood and followed the man outside. Additional guards had already gathered near the entrance, spilling onto the sidewalk. It was a gated entrance upon which stood a dozen more guards, plus a surprise that made Jerrod suck his teeth.
Muldor.
Good, then. The bastard had done a good job hiding from Jerrod, but now he was out in the open. It was time to kill. Jerrod wanted to rush forward and throttle him, this was not the place for it. The cocky pig Peterson was with him, along with a few dozen royal guardsmen.
Jerrod slipped off to the side to watch the proceedings from a vantage point a few feet away. It would afford him a chance to act unseen if needed be. Castellan met Peterson with his men in tow. Both groups squared off against each other like two dueling aristocrats.
It would be interesting to see how Castellan would play it.
* * * * *
The summons was unexpected though in its appealing urgency, undeniable. Giorgio looked at the sheet one of the former thieves—now a mere dock worker—handed to him. He studied it long after the man left, mulling over its implications though no solid thoughts of clear explanation came out. Cutter called for him.
He contemplated not going, but deep down he wanted to face the man. The other thieves had all but disappeared; Giorgio might’ve been the only one left.
The streets were crowded. Mercenaries marched up and down in a show of force. People crowded the edges of the streets in a show of defiance. Sometimes the citizens shouted; sometimes they threw rotten vegetables, but always they had a glare that would melt paint.
Giorgio took pride in seeing them not intimidated. They stood in front of their homes and businesses unabashed and defiant. Another riot was primed and ready to explode like an engineer’s charge. People stared out their windows, and when Giorgio skipped by, some of them smiled.
That made him nervous, so he decided to take the back alleys the rest of the way. Too many recognized him. The thieves had done what they could to ignite the flames of discontent. Now it was up to the people. The northeast side of town was deserted, in sharp contrast to the rest of the streets, and the Old Mill Inn was the same as it always was.
Past the anteroom, with smashed wood and broken glass, opening the door for the first time in months felt strange. Past the endless piles of bags, boxes, and tall stacks of crates, and other bric-a-brac drew him towards the center. Dust motes danced a lazy jig about the air.
An irrational fear gripped his heart. Giorgio stopped and panted. One hand leaned against the nearest crate; the other gripped his chest. It was preternatural and so sudden, it seemed an anvil had been dropped on his chest.
It was nonsensical, unbidden fear without reason or source. Giorgio shivered and glanced around the room. Shadows leered faces where only boxes stood.
The urge to flee from seized him, and he gritted his teeth and clamped down on his willpower. And then, as fast it had come, the feeling was gone, replaced by his normal calm.
Leaning against the side of a stack of crates, he felt foolish and strange. Giorgio gathered himself and moved on. The experience faded with every step. He rounded a few more corners and came to the center of the room, an open space like a forest clearing. The familiar wizened figure of Cutter sat at his desk.
The thieves’ accountant gave Giorgio a wry smile. “I knew you’d come, you stubborn fool. I told Muldor you would, that you’d stand with us in the end. He had his doubts, wasn’t sure you had anything left to give.”
Giorgio stopped and stared, wary. “Muldor? The two of you, is it? You’re trying to turn me against him, play with my loyalties, but it won’t work.”
“Oh, stop the melodramatics, Giorgio. I never wanted this. They killed Turner and would have killed me. Grow up, young man. This is serious now. We need you.”
A multitude of emotions ran through Giorgio’s mind. He wanted to scream and curse and tell him where to shove it. All the anger the thief had held came out at once, but a glimmer of truth rang in the old man’s words. Still, Giorgio couldn’t let it go.
“You should have fought with us from the beginning. We could have protected you. The other thieves would have joined us. We lost so many to the docks that first swell.”
Cutter shrugged. “We do what we must to survive. You’ve done the same.”
“I’ve done my duty to The Thieves Guild!”
The wizened man frowned and shook his head, slapping his palm on the table. “Are you going to cry about the past all day, or will you do something productive about our future? Which is it?”
Giorgio held back his next retort because the man had a point. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”
Cutter smiled. “Good man.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a dull edged badge, about the size of a fist. “Go to the docks, start with the Southern, then go to the Western, and speak with each Dock Master. When you show them this, they will do whatever you tell them. All of us are now working together. We must control the docks as soon as possible.”
Giorgio picked it up and went to work.
* * * * *
Castellan smiled, his confidence never wavering. He looked at both Muldor and Nicoli Peterson and made a small bow to the nobleman.
“Ah, my dear Lord Peterson, how wonderful to see you on this morning. I wasn’t expecting
either of you. Perhaps you could tell me the nature of your visit, or I could contact my secretary, and you could schedule an appointment.”
“Stop this foolishness,” said Peterson. “I will no longer listen to your silvered tongue. I demand you abdicate your position in this city’s seat of government this instant.”
Castellan laughed. “Oh, really? Under what authority? If you have any, I would like to hear of it. I am a mere representative of Lord Cassius, in lieu of a royal regent from the king. Of which you vowed to vouch safe us through these terrible times. As Guild Master I am a member of the City Council.” He looked around at Peterson’s men. “This vulgar display of intimidation is beneath a man of your standing. It is disheartening to see you reduced to this. I am disappointed.”
The Guild Master looked at Muldor and tried to read him, but it was challenging. Peterson was easy. Frustration bordered on rage. He was fidgety and thus easy to manipulate. Muldor hid his emotions and intentions well. The traitor held Castellan’s gaze, his grey eyes heavy and stern.
“Cassius is with us, Castellan,” Muldor said. “We have him somewhere safe. You cannot get to him.”
A muscle in Castellan’s jaw twitched, and his ire rose. That was Muldor’s intent, of course, to put him off guard with this news, and Castellan quelled it. It might be a lie. Plus, he would not let these men dictate how he felt or reacted.
Instead, the Guild Master smiled.
“I’m afraid I don’t see what you mean. Perhaps the two of you would like to come inside, so we can discuss this matter like professionals.”
Peterson barked a laugh. “I think not. Instead you should gather whatever pride you may still carry and leave this place at once.”
Muldor studied Castellan and at last spoke. “We’ll come with you. Lord Peterson,” he said before the man could protest, “assign a few of your men to escort us if you would. Is this acceptable, Guild Master?”
Castellan hesitated. Momentary confusion hampered his mind for a moment because he hadn’t expected such quick equivocation. But of course, they would concede to his request. They had to. They had no choice but to do as commanded. His position was too strong. They couldn’t win.
He smiled and gestured to the open gate. “Why, of course! Please, right this way, gentlemen. The rest of your men can remain here and enjoy the… festive atmosphere of the day. I believe we may have a rare day of sunshine in our fair city. Enjoy it… for now.”
They followed him, and Castellan felt nothing but confidence.
* * * * *
Excitement coursed through Giorgio’s veins for the first time in a long while. The air was crisp and clean. The sun rose on what would be a beautiful day. One long remembered by the entire city of Sea Haven.
He skipped along the normal thoroughfares towards the Southern Docks; Giorgio was unafraid of any prying eyes. So filled with energy and optimism, it felt like a casual walk through the park. But that was only his mind. His spirit, his body felt strange. As much as the sunlight was enjoyable, the glare hurt his eyes, and his skin felt hot from the beams humming down from above.
It was with these conflicting set of buoying emotions and physical discomfort that he arrived at the Southern Docks. There was a wooden palisade erected along the street that led to the wharf. Security had been beefed up with what seemed a considerable section of the police force. Perhaps they thought if the riots blew up again, they would sack the goods at the docks.
With guild badge in hand, Giorgio felt the irony of using it against Castellan. These Dock Masters would betray their own leaders at his bequest. The thief also knew he was being used by Cutter and Muldor. At this point he didn’t mind being a lackey. Whatever it took to strike back at his hated foe was fine. He was a part of it in an official capacity, and thus gave them respect.
The center warehouse was a mess of activity. People ran and shouted at each other like a virgin fire brigade fighting a raging inferno. Scattered scraps of paper, even spilled stacks that reached his waist scattered all over like a tornado had struck.
Accountants and merchants ran about, stumbling into dock workers who looked confused while security men stood farther back in line as if waiting to see how it all played out before getting involved. Giorgio waded through them like a pro, stepping around frantic men and ignoring the chaos.
The resident Dock Master, Gunnar Lawson, a young, shifty looking man with blonde hair and a clean shaven face, stood in the middle of the warehouse. Boxes piled and crates were being moved or checked. Merchants counted everything in their finery, accountants held ledgers with nervous hands. An air of unease permeated everything.
Giorgio took it all in and approached Lawson. He held up his guild badge, and the man eyed him.
“Yeah? What do you want? We’re a little busy here, man.”
“I’ve come from Muldor, on Castellan’s orders. What is this mess here? What’s going on?”
Lawson looked at the badge and relief seemed to flood through him. “Thank the gods. Muldor said he was sending someone. ‘Bout damn time. We got a problem. Look here.”
He turned and went to one of the offices in back. Giorgio followed, intrigued. When they arrived, Lawson grabbed a large ledger book and plopped it down on the desk spilling loose papers out the sides.
Lawson said, “See, we been keeping track of the shipments, helping Muldor with his books, see? For months.” Then he sounded embarrassed and nervous. “Skimming happens from time to time, every now and again. Normal stuff, nothing to get excited about, you got it? It’s expected. Nothing compared to what might get nicked if hit by Lurenz out on the seas.”
“Lurenz?”
“Yeah, the cutthroat buccaneer. Bad fella. But the pirate leaves us alone now. Castellan set up some payoff while back with him. He wouldn’t dare raid our fleet these days. But anyway, Castellan got a big greedy last season, started importing weapons, armor, hired these merc scum, all that. You know, right? It’s all bought by our business, or stolen from the sellers.”
Lawson sighed and looked deflated. But he also seemed happy to get the information off his chest.
“So what’s the issue here?” Giorgio said, still confused. Why tell him? They should drag themselves down to the jail and turn themselves in.
Lawson looked at him as if he were a madman. “They’ve launched! Don’t you know? Janisberg is sending a fleet. They’ll be here by day’s end.”
Giorgio’s dim witted mind worked, pieced together what it all meant. Zandor must have succeeded, that was his first thought. It was time to man the defenses. These men of The Merchants Guild were no longer his enemy. They were citizens of Sea Haven manipulated by Castellan to his own ends.
“We have to shut down the docks,” Giorgio said. “Prepare for an attack. If they’re coming, it won’t be as friends cuz we’ve done some bad things to their agent.”
Lawson seemed glad to have someone else take responsibility. This wasn’t his area of expertise after all. “Shit,” Lawson said and shook his head. “Anything you need, Guild member. Let me know. I’ll coordinate with Maggur. He won’t like it, but the old bugger will have to concede. We’ve no choice.”
They set to work. Lawson and Giorgio went to Maggur’s office, and the older, hideous man was mired down in his own mess. But when he saw Giorgio’s guild badge, he eyed it with suspicion before agreeing action must be taken. Giorgio noticed the two of them whispered together, but he couldn’t hear what they said. They were too busy ordering the dock security and police around to worry about it.
“Order the incoming off,” Maggur said to the security sergeant. As the senior master of the Southern Dock, Giorgio saw him take charge on the decision making. “The port is closed. No further trade will be permitted until this current military issue is resolved.”
The sergeant nodded. “Of course, sir. Shall I speak with the Western Dock Masters as well?”
“Yes. Castellan has a consignment of mercenaries on call so use them. Shut down all street access in coo
rdination with the Western Docks.”
The man left with his orders.
“A blockade,” said Lawson. “That’s what we’re doing.”
“Guild ordered. He has the necessary provocation or would not be here.” Maggur indicated Giorgio who squirmed. “Isn’t that correct?”
“Whatever it takes to protect the city,” he said and meant it.
The next place to be secured was the Western Docks. Giorgio went straight to Mal Dollenger, whom Lawson said was the senior master of that set of that docks and went through the same routine. Dollenger gave no protest to the demands, and already runners and security sergeants barked orders.
Giorgio felt a giddy anticipation for what lay ahead even though he knew it would end with bloodshed.
Chapter Seven
Muldor had never once set foot in the Lord Governor’s office. It was a bit more utilitarian than expected, yet it possessed a rich aesthetic that would impress the most ardent of artists. Lord Falston had picked his appointments well. The carpets were thick and well made, a twisting swirl of red, black, and maroon in a pleasing mix of similar colors. Ornate lamps and a chandelier provided illumination even as the setting sun cast its pale light upon the room.
Castellan was the consummate host. He showed them in and offered drinks. Peterson declined.
“I’ll have one,” Muldor said.
Castellan looked surprised and smiled. He asked an attendant to fetch a couple of glasses while he pointed to the desk of the Lord Governor. “Please, have a seat, gentlemen. Make yourself comfortable.”
Muldor sat in a stiff backed chair with a thick cushion while Peterson remained standing and fumed. The Royal Guard Commander huffed and a moment later sat next to Muldor, frowning all the while.
Castellan took the drinks and brought them over to the desk. Muldor saw something flash in his eyes, a sort of supreme confidence and guile. It sent a shiver through his spine. It was like Castellan planned to have everything happen the way it had all along.