by JM Guillen
Even if that business was still nothing but mysteries.
The Golden Coin
Striving, Fourth Bell Morningtide
For once, I was able to make my way through the city without the trouble of duty. It seemed like a quiet morning, which always made my life simpler. Usually, a judicar couldn’t travel more than a few blocks without being stopped by citizenry, but today it seemed that Elsador’s grace was on my side.
Half a bell later I stood in front of Gould’s small, unassuming shop.
Gould did business in the far duskward side of the Warrens, near prosperous Dockside. Even though the man’s store-front was small, there were a couple things that set it apart from the buildings along the street. For one thing, I had never seen anyone enter or exit the shop the entire time I’d patrolled the Warrens. For another, there was a large-muscled rock of a man standing next to the door. He looked like a man who not only could deal in pain but could take it and smile back.
The man gave me a slow nod as I approached. He was bald with a sharp little Riogiin beard and mustache. He looked menacing, as much in his muscle as the confidence in his eyes.
“Judicar.”
I nodded but paid him little mind. The most important bit wasn’t the shop or the man who watched the door. The thing that mattered just now was a small etching in one of the windows, down in the corner next to the door. It appeared to be a tiny palm. Someone had dabbled it with just a touch of crimson paint.
The mark of the Red Hand.
I smiled at the man. “Mornin’.”
“State your business, Judicar.” His voice rumbled in his chest, like grinding stones. “I’m not to let anyone inside without knowing their business.” His steely eyes flicked to my belt. “Or with any weaponry.”
I sighed. “Well, I do in fact need inside on city business.”
“Does your business imply the need of your weapon?”
Apparently, kindness wasn’t going to be an asset here. “Are you suggesting that I go and get a writ, sir? I’ll have you know that Mr. Gould knows me, knows me quite well.”
The man held up two massive hands. “Not my say, Judicar. Not my shop, not my word.”
“How about you step inside and find someone whose word it is?” I gave the man a sideward glance. “I can give you my guarantus that someone in the shop wants to talk to me. If I’m wrong, then I’ll be on my merry.”
Of course, in fact I had no conception that this was the case.
The massive guard gave me a long, shrewd look. He slowly nodded. “Sense enough. I’ll do that, right soon. Not on my hands either way.”
“Good man.” I gave him another nod. “I’ll wait right here.” I glanced up at Scoundrel and signaled my good girl: Wait.
She looked from me to the man and then back again. “Wait. Wait,” she croaked.
The man stared at my girl for a long time and then stepped inside without another word.
“Good girl.” She hopped close to me, more asking for affirmation than stating her general quality.
“Yes, you are.” I gestured, and she flapped up to rest on one of the shop’s wooden beams. As I looked at the timber, I realized I didn’t know what wood it was constructed from.
That spoke to how old Mister Gould’s shop was.
In fact, most of the buildings on this street were quite aged. They were the solid, thick stone that had been quarried and brought long ago, long before the area was named “The Warrens.” They were made from old wood, families of trees that might not even exist anymore in our blighted land.
The man poked his head back out the door. “She’s coming, Judicar. Just a nonce.”
I nodded. “My thanks.” I didn’t really mind. I stepped closer to the shop and scratched at the wooden beam before sniffing at my fingers. It smelled like spice and rich earth. It was like nothing I had ever smelled. A grin crept across my face.
I was right. Whatever this wood was, it was old. Mister Gould’s shop was a relic of a bygone age.
I loved finding small bits of history like this. It always reminded me of being a boy at the Havens. The cantorès had educated us well, but I always had a soft spot for Cantorè Bergin, one of the Masters in my ‘tiquities year.
I couldn’t help but grin, as my mind drifted to thoughts of the man.
He had taken his time with the Warrens history, since that was where we all lived. Bergin had been like an old piece of weathered wood, with a voice like sweet rum. He would stride back and forth in Jerrum Hall, pointing at maps with a long switch while he spoke. He lectured like a thunderstorm, and it was sometimes exhausting just to watch him.
Most of his stories were still carved in my memory. I could hear him, even today:
“Times have certainly changed since the days of rich and powerful citizens living in beautiful manses in this area.” Cantorè Bergin would always wave his hands while he lectured. “A clever observer can still see the history of the borough written all around them, in the buildings and the people. No other part of Teredon has undergone as much change.”
Jerrum Hall had only held about twelve students at a time, which meant that Cantorè Bergin lectured four or five times a day. I had my round with Jaque, one of my best friends when I was young. We typically sat with Riley, a boy who lived in another hall.
Cantorè Bergin, of course, knew the difficulties of holding the attention of young boys. We always knew his eye was on us and stayed sharp while he lectured. Once, the cantorè had given Riley the side of his switch, and we hadn’t caper-fooled since.
“Now, the Warrens were once named Oldtown and were the pride of Teredon years ago. There had been legacy families here, with large, sprawling manses, especially out toward the dawnward side of things, near the Eastyrn Warrens and the Remnants.” The cantorè pointed at a map with his switch. “It was a beautiful area, with meandering gardens and public works of art.”
“Was this before the Shroud fell?” That was Amelia, a cute girl with dark hair.
“It was, yes.” The cantorè nodded. “Once the stars drifted and the world withered, everything changed. Gloaming storms raged across the sky, leaving only the dead and the mad in their wake. Entire nations fell as tides of depravity assaulted our lands, and darkened abominations awoke in the twilit shadows.” He tapped the maps again for emphasis. “After that, our world had come to an end.”
It was a horrifying story, and so it was one of my favorites as a boy. I devoured information about the drifting stars and the coming of the Shroud. It was the reason I could still remember the lecture so clearly today.
Cantorè Bergin cleared his throat. “Refugees had come into the city during that time, gathering in Oldtown, which held many of the cities older, nobler buildings. At the time, it simply had the most space. So many cultures, so close together, and the area soon became a firepowder keg.”
“Why couldn’t they get along?” Amelia again. She hadn’t even raised a hand.
Cantorè Bergin gave her a sharp eye; he hated being interrupted. “Generations of fighting, Amelia. Even the Shroud wasn’t enough to quell some hatred, unfortunately. Once families were safe behind our bounds, old rivalries flared up.”
It was the story that shaped much of our lives today.
The people had eventually rioted, and blood had run in the streets. Of course, the Offices of the Just were quickly overwhelmed. There weren’t nearly enough judicars to deal with the problems, and the Teredi militia were vigilantly warding the bounds and holding back the darkness. The entire time, they kept the hungry darkness at bay, far beyond the city walls.
“It was a time of chaos, and the city almost fell—not to the darkened abominations, but to our own people. As Oldtown burned, the city officials scrambled to find a solution.”
I remembered being nailed to my seat, my eyes wide. Just the thought of my home burning, even as darkened horrors attempted to hungrily slither their way past the bounds, was riveting.
“Of course, salvation was found in the Wri
t of Guilds.” Cantorè Bergin walked to the center of the room. “Teredon’s Guild council was amended to allow private soldiers to act in the name of the city. Of course, they would never be accorded legal weight, but they could assist or be requisitioned for official use. Soon, contingents of judicars and guildmen took Oldtown back, but the borough was never the same.”
Jaque held up his hand. “Did any of the people stay?”
“Not many.” Bergin nodded at him. “The wealthy were terrified that they were no longer safe. The established Oldtown nobles left the borough, some for Uphill and some for South Teris. Soon, refugees with money were buying up buildings or rebuilding ruins. It was a chaotic time, and there was no planning nor planning councils established.”
The result was the Warrens. The borough was full of oddly bent alleyways, and buildings constructed that would never pass code elsewhere in the city. For generations now, new construction had been happening in the borough, and the affluent that had once lived here were gone. Since the moneyed had left, more enterprising denizens took up residence. Money still coursed, but it ebbed a lot more than it flowed and often had hidden turns.
Mister Gould’s shop was just such a turn.
“Thom?” Scoundrel hopped closer, noticing that I was distracted in thought. My sweet bird didn’t like it when she wasn’t getting attention.
“Sorry, pretty girl.” I reached up and scratched her head. She cooed and nuzzled my hand.
“Good bird. Smart bird.” She leaned toward me, and I gave her my shoulder. Then, I stepped away from the building and the old memories.
I needed to sharp up. Dealing with Gould might be dangerous.
Word on the street was that the man had once worked with the Bureau of Debt Consolidation. It was a massive bureaucracy that tallied and tracked the flow of financial assets all through the city. The Bureau was also responsible for resolving issues of debt slavery and occasionally had to call upon judicar assistance in this regard. Often those who owed large debts did not feel it within their purview to have their services sold to those that needed them, whether or not contractuals had been signed.
Those who worked for the Bureau were known to be clever, calculating minds that could always find opportunities and ever played three moves ahead of everyone else.
That described Mister Gould quite well, I thought.
Moments later, the stony-faced man re-emerged. He didn’t say a word but gestured to me with one large hand, holding the door open. I nodded at him and stepped inside. Immediately, we were wreathed in shadows.
To all outward appearances and effects, what lay inside was a small pawn-shop, smelling of lamp oil and old wood.
Pawn-shops had recently become quite common in Teredon, since no guild body governed over them. In practice, however, pawn-shops were often facades for other businesses, covering them over with a thin veneer of respectability. These fronts not only served as covers for illegal businesses, but they also redirect monies gained illegally through them. Sullied money gained from certain ‘occupations’: extortion, tax evasion, prostitution, drug trafficking, or illicit gambling. It needed to appear to have come from non-criminal activities so that other businesses would accept it without suspicion. In this way, a business that wanted to operate away from the eyes of a guild could do so, particularly if they kept quiet about things.
I cleared my throat. “We well enough?” There were three people in the small room besides myself. A thin man worked with some papers behind a counter to my right, and a young woman stood behind the doorguard.
“The lady has a busy day, Judicar.” The man glanced at her. “Make haste.”
The woman was a slender, little doll. She had long, dark hair, which hung over her spectacles in messy tangles. From behind the glasses, her bright blue eyes studied me curiously.
“Miss.” I took off my hat. “I had hoped for a moment.”
“How can I help you, Judicar?” Her voice was soft but quite serious.
“I’m here to speak about Killian Gould.”
“Do you have a writ, sir?”
“I’m not here to question or detain him, Miss.” I gave her my most charming smile. “I’m here for the man’s good. We are acquainted, he and I.”
My charm fell absolutely flat. “He isn’t here. I can speak with you on any business, Judicar.”
That all but confirmed things for me. Killian Gould was, in fact, missing.
I raised one eyebrow at her. “I’m interested in knowing how long the man has been away.”
“I’m not certain what you mean.” Her lips pursed.
“I think you are.” I gave her a genuinely friendly smile. “Miss, I am on the business of Senír Il Ladren. I’m here to speak to you on his behalf.”
The young woman’s gaze flickered downward. It was the tiniest of motions, but it said much.
She thought little of the Red Marquis.
“Understood,” she said. “I’m Mister Gould’s daughter, Bryana. Won’t you please come inside?” She looked to the large man. “I’ll be fine, Cadai.”
“I can step with you.” Cadai gave me a looking over. “His bird could stay outside. We—”
“It will be fine.” She turned. Please follow me, Judicar.”
“Yes, Miss Gould.” I nodded at Cadai, and he nodded back.
“Martin, I’m leaving the front to you.” Bryana spoke to the young, bookish man behind the counter. “I’ll only be a moment.”
The young man nodded, keeping his eyes pointedly averted.
Scoundrel peered at him with one beady eye, and then seemed to decide that he was not worthy of her attention. She shuffled on my shoulder and preened my hair.
“I need you to be my good girl.” I spoke to her quietly. “I’ll give you a treat in a moment.”
“Treat! Corn, corn cracker.” Scoundrel caroled, delighted.
The door behind the counter led to a short stairwell. The floor board steps creaked beneath our feet as we walked down.
“It’s narrow here.” Bryana looked back at me. “Watch your sides and your head.”
She was right. The air grew stale and cool as we wended our way down. The stairwell continued to snake around, twisting at odd angles until we were under the city street. At the bottom we came to a wooden door with an old, yellow gas light lantern hanging next to it.
Bryana fiddled with the door for a moment, and then opened it just wide enough to slip inside.
“Please, come in, Judicar.” She mumbled.
The office was small but meticulously attended. There was a small collection of books to one side, and a large painting that hung over the desk. It depicted a portion of the Warrens quite well but it must have been quite old, as I did not recognize most of the city streets.
Bryana walked around the desk, pivoted to face me, and raised her head. She stared at me, her blue eyes all but hidden behind the spectacles she wore. She grimaced and belatedly gestured to a wooden chair.
“Did you find…” she trailed off, swallowed, and then asked in a rush, “Is he dead?”
I noticed that her hands trembled, just the smallest bit.
I pulled one of Scoundrel’s crackers from my belt and tossed it on the floor as I sat. Happily, my girl hopped after.
“No.” I tilted my head to one side. “I mean, not as far as I know. Is that what you thought? That I was here to tell you he was dead?”
She shrugged, not quite meeting my eyes. “I didn’t know what to think.” She reached under the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a decanter of amber liquid. Her hands still trembled. She eyed me questioningly, pulling out first one tumbler, then two.
I smiled. “I’d be happy to, Bryana. This isn’t anything official with the Offices. I’m doing Santiago a favor.”
Bryana poured us each one and immediately knocked back a couple fingers of amber liquid. She then refilled the glass and set it on the desk. “Careful with that. That’s what got my Da done, I’m certain.”
“Your Da did Sa
ntiago a favor?”
She pushed my drink across the desk and then set the bottle down. She chuckled dryly and lifted her tumbler in a mock toast.
“Of course he did. You can’t get by in the Warrens without doing favors for the Red Marquis.” She sipped at her drink.
I tossed Scoundrel a second cracker. “Not all favors get a man killed.” I reached for my tumbler. “Do you happen to know the kinds of favors we are talking about?”
She gave me a skeptical look. “I thought you said you were here doing Santiago a favor. How is it that you don’t know what my Da was up to?”
I sipped and then shrugged. I was casual as a cat. “To be honest with you, I’m kind of worried we might be on the same errand. Your Da didn’t happen to die while looking for a pretty young woman, did he?”
She scoffed. “I don’t know that he’s dead.” She set the drink down and fixed me with one eye. “I know that Jakob came in, asking favors for the Senír, and my Da jumped like a puppet on a string. I know that a few days later my Da, who steps in here nine days a week, leaves out in the middle of the day. Next day, doesn’t show up at all.” She picked her glass up and took another nip. “I haven’t seen him since.”
I let the silence hang in the air for a long moment. I took a sip of my own and then explained, “I’m looking for Santiago’s sister.” I leaned in, placed my drink on the desk, and folded my arms across its grainy surface. “I know that if I don’t find her, people are going to die.”
She shook her head ruefully. “I’m pretty sure people are already dying, Judicar. Why weren’t you looking in on this a week ago, afore Jakob came walking in here?”
It was a good question. It was the kind of question that we judicars often mused over in our spare time. After all, the serum gave us glimpses at what was to be. Why then did it seem so often like we were arriving just a touch too late?
“That is the second time you mentioned Jakob.” I placed my palms on the rough desktop and pushed back. “You mean Jakob the Fox, don’t you?”