Galows Pole

by Will Molinar

  Good enough. Muldor dropped, hitting the ground hard, but the instincts of his thief training kicked in, and he rolled with the fall. He grunted with pain in his back as he scrambled to his feet. His knee was bruised, his elbow banged and bloodied.

  Muldor looked up. Peterson was there at the top window, peering out at the street. Sharp features highlighted by strain and his well kempt goatee. The noble tried to scramble out, but then he stopped and stiffened. A thick, scabby hand appeared on his forehead and yanked his head back fast and hard.

  Nicoli Peterson struggled and fought, but a knife slashed across his jugular. Blood squirted. A second later his body was thrown back, and Jerrod appeared at the window. He looked down at Muldor like the devil himself. The killer cursed over his shoulder, gave one last venomous look, and dashed off.

  Cursing himself for a fool and a coward, Muldor left the area, running around to the other side of the building where the rest of the men were. Peterson’s captain spotted him and pointed to the front of the building.

  “They locked it up, sir, right after you left,” the man said and looked askance at Muldor’s appearance.

  “I’ve been remiss in my duties, young man and made a mistake. I hope to redeem myself now.” He turned to the northeast, where his destination laid not far away. “Come, gentlemen, I will explain on the way. Let’s go get ourselves an army.”

  * * * * *

  Castellan looked with pity as Jerrod piled the bodies high in the center of the room. It was already beginning to stink.

  “Dispose of them,” Castellan said. “Then rendezvous with the mercenary leaders and speak with Drake. We have broken this little foolish partnership with Muldor and Peterson. A shame it came to this. But we now move on to bigger things.”

  Jerrod grunted and ordered some of his men to carry out the command. A moment later a messenger came into the room. He glanced at the carnage and paused. Castellan snapped his fingers and motioned him over. “What is it?”

  “Oh, sorry sir. My lord, there’s a problem. The people, they are rioting again. It is all over the streets this time.”

  “Well, of course they are.”

  “Sir—”

  “Shut up. Send a message to our docks. Tell them to block off the walkways to the warehouses. I’ll not have looting there.”

  “Yes, sir!” The young boy made a move to leave, but Castellan called him back.

  “I didn’t dismiss you yet.”

  “Sorry sir.”

  “Have Acting Captain Dillon report to me at once. I want the rest of Nicoli Peterson’s traitors rounded up this instant.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy stood still for a moment, while Castellan was lost in thought. He stared into space, the messenger forgotten, his mind spinning, always spinning….

  The boy coughed. “Will-will that be all, Master Castellan?”

  Castellan grunted. “Hmm?”

  “I asked if you needed anything else.”

  “What? No, leave me.”

  The Guild Master looked around for Jerrod, wondering where his enforcer was and saw him. He leaned against a bookshelf, smoking. Castellan frowned, as he hated the nasty habit. It wasn’t for the pure of heart or body. “Stop your loafing, Jerrod. We have much work to do this day. This is when it all happens, for everyone.”

  Jerrod said something under his breath, but Castellan was not paying attention. Instead, he looked at the floor, fingering his crystal necklace like it was the bosom of his mother. Castellan was oblivious to most things save the voices in his head.

  * * * * *

  A cold wind stirred and moved the warmer air of the docks further back, towards the west as Giorgio scanned the horizon. There was a line of ships heading their way. A large group bypassed the Southern Docks altogether and sailed straight for them, the largest section of available landfall.

  Several thieves stood near him. Some rogue but most of them converted dock workers. Men and a couple of women had been roused out of their despondency by Giorgio, Anders, and Delora. There were also several dock security men under Giorgio’s direct command, or at least they looked to him for direction. The police held their own council and many were still busy blocking off the streets from the crowd.

  If not for the clouds, the sun would have blinded them all as they stared at the oncoming fleet. Even so, it was difficult to gaze out. He counted almost twenty in total.

  More people gathered across the boardwalk, dock workers, merchants, police, security, more and more gaped in awe at what was murmured to be an approaching doom.

  Someone tugged at Giorgio’s sleeve. It was Melvin Crocker, one of the other Dock Masters. An old, cantankerous fellow with thick jowls and an attitude that would make Cutter look like Mama Goodness.

  “Guild man,” Crocker said. “What the hell you standing there gawping for? Times like this need some action. What do you plan on doing about this?”

  Giorgio blinked. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. What we doing here? Hmm? We need to block these vessels. They are of war, come to bash us against the rocks, hmm? You are Guild, you make a decision.”

  “Well, I… I don’t know.”

  Anders stepped forward and patted Giorgio’s back. “I think we need to blast those bastards coming outta the water. What do you think, Gi? Sound like a plan?”

  Giorgio nodded, numb. He didn’t know what was going on.

  Crocker cackled. “Fine! Wonderful idea. Guild approved action. I will go now to have signal flags sent up from the shipping yards. Our vessels will sail out to face the threat. Very good.”

  The old man laughed again and waddled off like a drunken duck. Giorgio watched him with an odd sort of detachment. Confusion and trepidation added weight to his thoughts. There was no more time to waste on it, for a bell tolled somewhere. A long, deep ring reverberated along the boardwalk that made everyone there turn their heads and chatter.

  It was the signal that no further vessels would be allowed to come to port. The docks were closed to all traffic. Giorgio had heard it once or twice over the years. If it was used it all, it would be due to an accident.

  He watched in fascination as ships broke off from the piers and formed a circle around the dock area. They hugged each other close in a protective embrace, blocking the incoming armada. They were very coordinated and worked in harmony to protect all of them there on the dock.

  To either side of the nine piers, the only access point any incoming vessel had to the city by sea were craggy, unassailable mountains to the north, a little passed the shipping yard entrance, which was accessible but no more than two vessels could fit at one time, or down south by the other docks. There, higher mountains blocked any possible entrance, and it made little sense why they skipped the southern docks. It made more sense to attempt to make landfall there; they had enough ships.

  A man beside him, a dock worker with tan features and dirty work clothes, shook his head. “Too bad our navy’s been disbanded.”

  Another man took offense to that comment. “Nah, Jerry, three’s been burned down, that’s all. Couple months back it was. They ain’t been rebuilt, but we got some left, I think.”

  “Damn me, that ain’t gonna be enough, I say.”

  Giorgio almost choked when the realization of who was responsible for the destruction of those vessels. The lighted cask rolling down the ramp sprang in his mind’s eye. It had exploded as it struck the first ship in line. Then the fire spread and engulfed most of Sea Haven’s fleet. Without a fleet to match, they didn’t have much chance against the invaders.

  Sea Haven was his home. It felt right somehow, to be here fighting the invaders, even though before he wanted them to come and fight Castellan. His mind was too tortured to care or understand the irony.

  The enemy vessels closed in.

  Chapter Eight

  The streets were getting rougher by the moment. A fire burned somewhere. Muldor could smell it, and a twitch worked his upper cheek when he thought of the havoc it would cause if it we
nt wild. His city could burn as well and fast as any. They could only hope the City Watch, those not working with his side, could spare some men for a fire brigade. Raul had said they would be with them, but there was never any guarantee this close to the end.

  There was no need to worry about it for the time being. There were enough problems to contend with as it was. Lucky for them the police station was a mere block away, but it no less chaotic. A small crowd gathered out front, and the officers held aloft tall riot shields. They propped them down on the ground in front of them and created a reasonable defense against the people. They held their cudgels in their other hands.

  There was peace at the moment, but from what Muldor could read in the crowd’s eyes, they wanted blood, and the police wouldn’t give it to them unless it was to spill their own. The shouting grew louder. It could’ve worked in Muldor’s favor if he played right. He and Peterson’s men needed to get into the jail.

  The crowd noticed them coming closer, and the sight of three dozen armored men would give anyone cause for concern. They tensed and shouted at them, spreading out across the street. The police looked happy to see them, thinking maybe it was a relief squad.

  Muldor paused, but there was nothing for it. The volatile situation would not improve if nothing was said. He and the Royal Guards stepped toward the crowd in the least threatening manner they could, and he put up his hands.

  “Please! We mean you no harm, good people of Sea Haven. I only wish a moment to speak with our fine law enforcers. Please give us room to enter.”

  Some of them stopped shouting long enough to hear but even then, Muldor had to repeat himself several times for them to back off. Tempers were hot. The people glared at him.

  “Please, my good people!” Muldor said. “Return to your homes. This situation will be sorted soon if you would be patient and allow us to do our jobs. Please move along, I wish for no one to be hurt. Go back to your homes. The streets are dangerous.”

  They looked at each other, a little dumbstruck, perhaps because Muldor was being humane with them, and they muttered together. His words carried meaning, however, and one or two of them said they trusted the Guild man to do what was right, so they dispersed.

  Peterson’s captain snickered. “Fine job, there. You could squelch this riot in the whole city over if you wanted.”

  Muldor’s smile was cold. “It is unfortunate, but we must have some of them continue their rampage if we are to be successful. Wait for me here and be vigilant.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The police outside were impressed as well and let Muldor through without comment. Inside, they were nervous and only a skeleton crew was present, some four men, a desk sergeant, a turnkey, and two officers.

  Muldor knew the sergeant a man named Bigus somewhat. He was the same man that he tricked when he sprung Jon from jail. “I have urgent Guild business, sergeant, straight from Master Castellan.”

  The man looked up, his brow rising, his sizable mustaches twitching. “Oh, yes? How can we help you, sir? There’s plenty of trouble about as it is. Why should I trust you?”

  “Because I have the ability to perhaps quell these riots, but I must have use of your turn key and your assurance that whatever I ask will be given. Do I have it, sergeant?’

  Sergeant Bigus looked very suspicious and tired. But nodded. “I suppose. The order of the city and safety of its citizens is our concern. If you help us, we’ll help you.”

  He ordered the turn key to walk with him to the hallway and give him whatever was needed. Muldor asked the man where they were holding Captain Cubbins. The turn key hesitated but was wise enough not to ask why. Muldor had control of things. The Guild had control of things, and it was much easier for an individual to lay claim to responsibility to others then oneself.

  Muldor planned on that and also planned on the cells being fit to burst. When they entered the front section of cells, he was rewarded with a wall of sound as men and a few women shouted and cursed the turn key. They threatened physical harm whenever and however they could.

  The turn key shouted back at them and struck his cudgel against the bars as they passed. When they reached Cubbins’ holding cell, Muldor told the man to keep the door open and wait there.

  Cubbins sat on a cot, calm as could be, and glanced over with sullen eyes at Muldor. He looked suspicious.

  Muldor bowed. “Captain Cubbins, good day to you, sir. The Guild requires your services. These are dark times indeed for our city. Are you up to task?”

  Cubbins regarded him with cold eyes and didn’t appear happy. But it was an opportunity for freedom he was wise enough to recognize. “Tell me what you need.”

  “Splendid.” He spoke to the turn key. “My good man, under orders by The Guild, and as Master Castellan is the de facto ruler of this city, and the commander of your direct supervisor, I ask that Captain Cubbins be released.”

  The man hesitated, but it was obvious to Muldor the police were loyal to Cubbins more than anything. When he acquiesced, Muldor was not surprised.

  Muldor and Cubbins headed for the holding yard, turnkey in tow.

  “Tell me, officer, how many arena fighters do we have in custody at present?”

  The man scrunched his face. “Uh, lemme see. S’pose we got close to seventy or eighty, including that beast of theirs.”

  “Take me there.”

  The outer holding yard was a mud splattered container of brick and iron. A tall fence reached as high as the building itself, running all the way around like the spiky, open end of a box. A general murmur of anger and uncouth language greeted them as they stood in front of the fence, a thick padlock attached.

  The turn key paused and glanced back at Muldor, then at Cubbins, who looked dubious. Cubbins faced Muldor as the crowd of arena fighters edged closer to the fence, peering at them with stern glances. “Tell me your play, Muldor. You need to think long and hard on what you’re doing here. These men aren’t here for your amusement. Or for your boss.”

  Muldor heard the venom in the man’s voice and didn’t blame him. Castellan had used him and tossed him out like a forgotten garden tool. The Guild man patted the captain on the shoulder and steadied himself. “I know what I am doing. We must work together for the good of the city. Trust me in this.”

  The prisoners were a sorry lot; dirty and disheveled but still hardened men skilled in the art of physical combat. They were gnarled, fearless fighters, as they had to be to survive in the pit. Muldor felt a trill of excitement as he considered the possibilities. They didn’t shy away as he looked them up and down. They held their angry gazes so full of hatred. They were a welling, rumbling swell of violence. That would serve their cause well in the hours ahead.

  The mighty ogre stewed by himself in the corner. No other man was brave, or stupid enough, to go near him. Muldor didn’t blame them. Thruck was terrifying, but also valuable. Perhaps more valuable than any other step in his plan. The city needed the ogre’s terror.

  Muldor raised his voice, and everyone listened. “Gentlemen, heed my words, for I have something of great import to share with you. Please, come closer and hear me speak.”

  The men responded and gathered closer to the fence. Even Thruck turned his steely gaze to Muldor, his fearsome features clouded over with consternation. Muldor waited until all of them settled down, and he had their full attention.

  “Our beloved city needs your strength. The next few hours will be remembered for as long as men live on our shores. As the duly appointed representative of The Merchants Guild and thus governing body of this city itself, I have the power to release you from bondage.”

  Cubbins bristled, but Muldor didn’t care. The policeman would have to deal with it just the same.

  “I assure you this is true. You will be restored to your former position as citizens of good standing, and the charges levied against you absolved. But there is one condition.” Muldor paused and waited for the dramatic effect. “You must fight for your city. Our systems of defens
e have been compromised. We have various agencies that can help purge this city of the foreign invaders already present. These mercenaries do not belong.”

  There was a general murmur within the group of fighters as they looked at one another. A second later they stepped closer to the fence and looked ready to fight, all with questions for Muldor.

  “Who do we fight?”

  “Where are they?”

  “Whatever you need, Muldor!”

  “Yes, tell us! Let us outta here!”

  A few laughed while men cheered and demanded to be released. They would kill anyone they needed dead. Muldor smiled and raised his hands, requesting quiet once again.

  “Remember the men who arrested you, for this is our target, and our goal is to destroy them.”

  Some calls of discontent reached him. Some of them pointed at Cubbins and indicated the jail where resided the seat of police power.

  “No,” Muldor said. “You must not issue your venom on them. They are our brothers. With Captain Cubbins free, we will join up with the police force and march upon the real enemies of our city, the foreign mercenaries, who were responsible for your incarceration. Turn your hate upon them.”

  “Bastard curs!”

  “We’ll kill ‘em all, we will!”

  “Let us out, Muldor. We’ll fight for you!”

  Muldor nodded, very pleased. “Good, I wish to kill every single one of them.”

  No man or beast disagreed. Even Thruck roared his approval.

  * * * * *

  “They done it now!”

  Zandor laughed when the ships at anchor broke off and formed a rudimentary kind of blockade designed to stop the armada from reaching port. “Ain’t gonna work, fellas. Leave off.”