by James Evans
“Frankly, I don’t really care how you run my gang,” said Marrinek, “as long as you pay. For now, I’ll take whatever you have stashed in your apartment - upstairs, right? If you make me kill any more of my men,” he leant forward, “I’ll take your legs and ears and one eye.”
He sat back and picked up his wine and raised the mug in a mock salute.
“I think we can work together, you and I. You just continue to do what you do but now, instead of paying the Watch, you’ll pay me. I’ll handle the Watch and soon you’ll be able to walk freely around the city again,” said Marrinek, sipping at his wine, “and you can call me Bay.”
“Bay? That’s where they’ll find your stinking bloated corpse you fucking cretin after I’ve taught you a lesson.”
Marrinek could feel Fangfoss sucking in power as he spoke, focussing it on some sort of small but dangerous fire charm held beneath the table in his hand. Marrinek threw himself sideways as Fangfoss released the charm, directing a gout of blue-tinged flame toward the now empty chair. It burned straight through the back of the chair, setting it alight, then went out. Fangfoss swung round toward Marrinek who rolled away and back to his feet, eyes on the charm.
“That’s me just getting warmed up,” said Fangfoss, focussing more power into the small charm. Marrinek backed rapidly away and drew his sword. Fangfoss snorted and released the built-up power through the charm to send another gout of flame at Marrinek, who leapt back just in time to avoid the searing heat.
“Keep jumping, little man, keep jumping,” said Fangfoss, gathering more power into the charm.
“Oh, what’s the point?” said Marrinek to himself. He backed off some more then tossed the sword to the floor. Fangfoss smiled.
“I’m going to enjoy this. Come into my inn, assault me and my men, try to rob me blind, eh?”
He released the charm, shooting another gout of flame toward Marrinek.
Then he stopped as he felt Marrinek drawing power, a great deal of power, and pushing it into the charm he held in his hand. Alarm showed on Fangfoss’s face as Marrinek raised his hand and then suddenly he was bowled over by a strong punch to the shoulder as a small part of the charm’s power was released in an unfocused blunt attack. He rolled across the floor and scrambled to his feet, swinging his arm to bring his fire charm to bear.
Too slow, far too slow.
Marrinek triggered the shock cannon fired again and Fangfoss was knocked back down, landing heavily, the fire charm flying from his hand and rolling toward the corner of the room.
Fangfoss scrabbled after it then flipped himself onto his back so that he could see Marrinek advancing across the room, shock cannon raised.
“Help, help!” he shouted, still scrabbling backwards, eyes wild and afraid at the sudden turn of events.
Marrinek, still focussing power into the shock cannon, pointed it at Fangfoss’s head.
“Shut up or I’ll kill you now,” he said quietly, waiting to see if Fangfoss would follow orders, “get up. You look pathetic, crawling on the floor like some sort of coward. Sit back down at the table and remain silent.”
As Fangfoss took his seat the door burst open and Moustache came back in, knives drawn, teeth bared, blood running down the side of his head. He looked around the room until he saw Marrinek, still standing by the table with the shock cannon in hand. Moustache moved forward cautiously, eyeing the charm in Marrinek’s hand, rolling his wrists and slashing at the air.
“Time to die, fucker.”
Marrinek swung the shock cannon around and hit him with a low burst of power, like the ones that had felled Fangfoss. Moustache staggered back but didn’t fall. Then he came forward again, lip curled in a sneer, so Marrinek hit him again, harder. This time Moustache went down, dropping his knives as he was knocked over backwards.
“Get him under control or I’ll kill him now,” Marrinek snarled at Fangfoss.
The gang lord raised a shaky hand towards Moustache as he struggled to stand.
“It’s alright, Chickie, we’re just talking. A misunderstanding. Get up, man,” he said, annoyed now, “and get someone to send in some more wine and some food.”
Chickie stood slowly, wincing at the pain in his ribs, and scooped up his knives. He glared at Marrinek.
“You sure, boss?”
“Just go,” said Fangfoss, wearily.
Chickie waited a moment longer then sheathed his knives and backed out of the room, face full of suspicion.
Marrinek picked up his sword and sat down. He laid his sword on the table in front of him and set the shock cannon beside it.
“I’m not really a fan of fire charms as weapons. They can be effective, undoubtedly, but they lack finesse and their effect is just too obvious to be hidden. This, though,” - he picked up the shock cannon again - “is quiet, discreet and controlled.”
He set it back down on the table.
“What do you want?” said Fangfoss, his eyes on the shock cannon. He forced himself to look back at Marrinek, tearing his gaze away from the weapon on the table. He’d never heard of anything like it and he wanted one, seeing in it a way to dominate his gang for years to come.
“I told you. I want half. I have plans for which I need funds; you’re going to provide them and then, when I’m done, I’ll leave the city in your hands. I might even leave you a shock cannon,” he gestured at the charm on the table, “or two.”
Marrinek could see from the expression on the face of the gang leader that he had found a price that would secure his cooperation, at least for a short while. Cooperation would be sufficient, for now.
With Fangfoss still glancing at the shock cannon, Marrinek began to give him instructions.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LADY CAMILLE SWEPT into the council chamber of the Traebarn Palace, skirts flying as her heels clicked across the marble floor. She strode past the elaborate furnishings, the tapestries depicting famous scenes from Imperial history, the finely decorated chairs, the exquisitely painted statues, sparing them not a glance. Instead she flung her gaze across the assembled councillors then took her place at the head of the great table. Rincon took the seat to her left, setting the curled message from Administrator Nison in front of him.
Lady Camille gestured to the councillors, two men and two women.
“I’m sure we all have things to do so let’s make this quick. We will continue this conversation in private,” she said, gesturing to Rincon, who dismissed the guards and clerks so that the councillors were left alone in the chamber, “and no minutes will be kept.”
“That is somewhat irregular,” said the Lord Justice, Lady Clara Fiethien, sitting furthest from Lady Camille as was her habit, “I seem to remember that the last meeting we conducted without minutes resulted in decisions we later came to regret.”
She stared hard at Lady Camille, who stared back, stony faced. The silence dragged for a few awkward seconds before Lady Camille spoke.
“Yes, well, whatever the outcome of the previous meeting, in this instance you will at least want to hear the news before we decide how to continue. Rincon, please read the message.”
Rincon cleared his throat and picked up the message.
“This was received late last night from Heberon, the new port town on the south west coast. Administrator Nison, the man overseeing the construction of the town, sent this to us by courier as soon as the news reached him. The message reads, ‘I regret to inform you that a transport ship, The Gilded Branch, foundered five days ago off the coast at Heberon. The only passenger was Abaythian Marrinek. Reports suggest he is alive and has escaped west to the town of Catshed. His location is unknown.’”
He put down the message and looked up at the councillors. Lady Fiethien lent back on her chair, staring at the ceiling. Lord Adraude looked slightly ill. Lord Trerrakath, the Lord Chancellor, and Lady Drocia, the Lord Spiritual, were staring, both aghast, at Rincon and Lady Camille respectively.
“That,” said Lady Fiethien, “is unwelcome news.”
Lord Trerrakath snorted.
“Unwelcome?” he said loudly, “Unwelcome? A tax audit is ‘unwelcome’. A dose of the clap is ‘unwelcome’. An inappropriate suitor for your youngest daughter is ‘unwelcome’. This is catastrophic.”
“Steady on, my lord,” said Lord Adraude, weakly, “there’s no need to despair.”
He paused, thinking.
“Not yet, anyway. There’s no reason to believe Marrinek will come here or that he will in fact bother us at all. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s decided just to get as far from the Empire as he can.”
Lord Trerrakath looked at him as if he had sprouted horns and wings.
“Are you mad? He’s an insane, power-hungry traitor whose lust for blood and death are well known. How can you possibly think he won’t want revenge after all that has happened?”
Lord Adraude opened his mouth but Lady Drocia leant forward, speaking in an unusually harsh voice.
“Revenge? Upon whom would he take revenge, exactly? The Emperor, hundreds of miles away and surrounded by his armies? The High Chancellor or the Council, safe in Khemucasterill? The provinces themselves? You? Us? We may need, as the closest Imperial seat of Government, to be professionally concerned about Abaythian Marrinek but I don’t think you need to worry unless you were the one who betrayed him to the Emperor.”
She stopped, aware that everyone was watching her, and relaxed back into her chair with visible effort.
“Marrinek may have had many failings and problems but an irrational preoccupation with revenge was not one of his flaws.”
Lady Camille smiled grimly, her interest piqued. Lady Drocia’s history was long and varied and her career before she became the Lord Spiritual of the Western Province had been illustrious. She had played the role of a caring, loving and supportive Lord Spiritual for so long that it came as a shock when she spoke with such forthright passion. Lady Camille found it strangely refreshing and just a little unnerving.
Lord Trerrakath sat back, also surprised by Lady Drocia’s outburst.
“Who knows what effect two years of imprisonment and solitary confinement have had on him? I might be tempted to behave differently if I’d just escaped from a life sentence on that god-forsaken rock in the sea.”
“About that,” said Lady Fiethien, “is there nothing in the message to say how he escaped? Do we really know nothing more?”
“That’s your area, I think, Lady Fiethien,” said Lady Camille, smiling without a hint of warmth as she said it, “personally, I’d like to know why adequate precautions weren’t taken to prevent his escape.”
Lady Fiethien bristled.
“Are you suggesting some fault or error on the part of myself? I can assure you that no efforts are spared and no failure is tolerated in the transportation of dangerous prisoners. Whatever happened won’t have been because of a fault in our procedures or people.”
“That statement would seem premature,” said Lord Trerrakath coldly, “given that we have no information at all about how he escaped.”
“Quite,” said Lady Drocia, “but so is the apportionment of blame. A full investigation, conducted quickly and discreetly, would seem to be desirable.”
“I agree,” said Lord Adraude.
“At least then we would know who to execute,” said Lord Trerrakath, glaring at Lady Fiethien.
“I think,” said Lady Camille, raising her voice slightly to forestall further argument, “that we will leave the question of executions to one side for the moment.”
She gave Lord Trerrakath a hard look.
“Investigation first, please, Lady Fiethien. I’d like to know who oversees prisoner transportation and how the ship came to founder. Was it seaworthy when it left port, did it sail into a storm, was it taken by pirates? Did we have enough guards on board, was one of them bribed? Was it bad luck, incompetence, deliberate act or something else? Find out, Lady Fiethien, find out.”
She turned back to the rest of the council.
“For now, keep this news close. I have sent messengers to the other provinces and to the Emperor. News will leak soon enough but for now I would prefer to keep it from the streets and the nobles. I particularly do not want Marrinek’s former associates to hear the news before we have had time to control the situation.”
Lord Adraude shook his head.
“I’m not sure that will be possible. As I said before, the soldiers under Marrinek’s command were widely dispersed when he fell. The regiments were broken and spread around but many soldiers left the army or took posts with the nobles. Sooner or later they will hear just because people talk, and people will talk about this everywhere, when the news leaks.”
They talked around the subject for another hour or so before Lady Camille brought the discussion to a close.
“That’s enough for now. It will obviously take some time for the message to reach the Emperor and probably the same again to receive a response, although I think we can all guess what his response is likely to be. I want to know everything about the escape, Lady Fiethien, before the Emperor asks for details. I want to capture or kill Marrinek before he can do any more harm; Lord Adraude I want options for the pursuit of Marrinek by tomorrow.”
She looked around the council, wondering whether to tell them about Krant and his message to Duke Rhenveldt, then decided against. There would be time to share that news later, if anything came of it.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
Nobody said anything.
“Right. Get to it, then.”
She stood up and the councillors followed suit, filing out of the chamber as Lady Camille stood at the head of the table.
“Lady Drocia, a word, if you please,” she said, still standing in front of her seat. Lady Drocia pushed the door closed and, leaning heavily on her stick and slightly hunched with age, turned back to walk slowly to her seat, lowering herself gently down onto the cushion. Lady Camille sat down, waiting for Lady Drocia to settle down before speaking.
“Adraude is very good with his men and clever on the battlefield but you have the experience and you knew Marrinek. What will he do now?”
Lady Drocia sucked her teeth.
“What do you want me to say? That Marrinek will forgive and forget and crawl quietly away to build a new life for himself as a shepherd somewhere far beyond our borders? I don’t think that’s likely, whatever I said to that fool Trerrakath.”
“But you knew him, you were a soldier, what will he do? How does he think? Where will he go?” Lady Camille pressed.
“Ha. I haven’t been a soldier for over two centuries. Might as well ask Trerrakath’s opinion for all I know. Yes, I knew Marrinek, but that was before his disgrace and arrest. Could he seek revenge? I have no idea. Would I, in his place? Maybe, but maybe not,” she paused, then said, “where is his wife?”
Lady Camille slumped back in her seat.
“That I don’t know. Fiethien might know but I’m not sure she’d tell me. There were rumours that she had been taken by the Inquisition at the same time that Marrinek was arrested but as far as I know nobody’s heard from her since then.”
“I heard those rumours. I knew his wife better than I knew him. She was tough and smart. Very smart. And very talented. She would have made a hell of a fuss if the Inquisition had tried to snatch her, so either they did it very discreetly or they missed and she’s in the wind.”
“How talented, exactly?” asked Lady Camille, not quite achieving the nonchalance she was aiming for.
“Very. Not as strong as Marrinek, of course, nobody was, but still very strong. I wouldn’t want to face her in a fight and I wouldn’t want to upset her. She was loyal and honest and reliable but she had no time for traitors or fools and her patience could wear thin very quickly,” said Lady Drocia smiling to herself, “I remember her losing her temper once with one of her husband’s friends over some piece of political trivia. She laid into him with such venom and at such length that nobody dared visit for a
month. Marrinek was furious - he was in the city for a rare visit and they had to cancel all their engagements until, finally, she relented and apologised to her poor victim. A strong woman.”
Lady Drocia chuckled to herself. Lady Camille pursed her lips.
“Yes, insightful undoubtedly, but not useful for the problem at hand.”
Lady Drocia pulled herself back to the present.
“My apologies, my lady, a fault of the very old. Reminiscing at inappropriate times, I mean. Even the near past often seems better than the present, at times.”
“Yes, well. Something we all have to get used to, I suppose. Did she believe the accusations against her husband?”
“I don’t know, for sure, but I very much doubt it. I saw her a few days before the storm broke but once Marrinek had been arrested I didn’t see either of them again, except him, briefly, just before he was shipped to the capital. From her I haven’t heard a word.”
“Theories? Where would she have gone? Were there particular friends or favourite places to which she might have gone? Can we find her and use her to help trap Marrinek?”
“Loyal, remember? She had a wide network of friends. She was popular and travelled far, both inside and outside the Empire.”
Lady Drocia paused, considering.
“No, you couldn’t use her to trap Marrinek, unless you plan to force him into some sort of rescue attempt and I think that would be foolhardy in the extreme. If the Inquisition don’t have her then finding her would be difficult. I’m sure she will have left the Empire, if she had the chance.”
Lady Camille sighed and stood up.
“Never mind the wife, then. That was always going to be a long shot. I have other irons in the fire.”
Lady Drocia raised an eyebrow at this, but Camille ignore her expression of interest.
“We’ll just have to hope that we find something through another route,” said Lady Camille.
With that she stood and walked to the door of the chamber.
“Thank you for your help, Lady Drocia. Until tomorrow, I think.”
And she swept back out of the council chamber leaving Lady Drocia alone at the table.