Lair of Killers

by Will Molinar

  The beefy man stood straighter and clicked his tongue. “But I’m sure you know all this, Lord Cassius, you being the lord governor of Sea Haven and all that. Plus, you got all these strapping lads here.” He indicated the other security men by the gate. “Also, maybe you could get Muldor and the guild to help you out, considering they helped us out with the new jail and all.”

  The tall young man smiled, and the white of his teeth split his blond beard in the torchlight like an axe cutting wood.

  Cassius sat up in his saddle. ‘Oh, isn’t that rich,’ he thought. This simpleton thought he was getting revenge for Cassius throwing him under the ox cart for Muldor. The idea that he should have backed Dillon instead of Muldor when confronted on defaulting on the jail and road crossed his mind but was replaced with anger.

  “Lieutenant Dillon,” he said in his most haughty but irritated tone, “I will give you this one chance to make amends for this catastrophe, and that will only happen if you do as I command, right now, right here, and take back control of the wealthy quarter.”

  Dillon looked somewhat intimidated for a moment but then steeled himself. “Like I said, you gotta talk to the king, royal charter and all that.”

  He and the other officers began walking away and Cassius fumed, looking at his men, who did nothing to stop the police.

  “You-you can’t speak to me that way! You men here, stop them! I am the Lord Governor of this city, and you must do as I command! You-you come back here this instant! I command it!’

  They did not listen.

  * * * * *

  Becket flexed his stiff fingers, and pain lanced through the digits. Both hands, from the upper wrist all the way down to the tips of the digits, were growing throbbing harder by the second. Soon, if the bonds were not severed and the pressure relieved, there could’ve been permanent damage to his joints, and the same would happen to his legs, as they were tied tight at the ankles. All was darkness.

  This might’ve been a blessing considering the noises coming from all around. Doubtless, other people were in the same predicament. People shuffled, pulled at their bonds along with him, bound and gagged. They struggled to free themselves, shitting and pissing their pants. If the smell was any indication, there was no telling how bad things looked, and Becket was glad to be spared the sight.

  His eyes and mouth were covered, but it was obvious they were in a darkened room.

  Lack of security was the reason, thievery was the cause. The thieves had gotten braver and banded together for some massive ransom scheme, and the wealthy of the city were the target. Fine then. It would be over soon.

  ‘Muldor was right,’ he thought and lowered his head back to the cool floor. The Guild Master had recommended personal guards for all the Dock Masters and higher ups within the Guild months ago, but the idea of spending the money touched Becket’s frugality in a harsh way. The Guild should have paid for it.

  But then again, whatever was happening was far larger than what a couple of bodyguards could handle. There was nothing he could have done about it because they would have been killed defending him. Wasted money, wasted lives. But the thieves were not this ruthless, to take so many captives. A bigger operation was at play.

  “Mmf!”

  Becket flicked his head over towards the sound. It came again, louder and more insistent, and Becket realized someone was close by him on the floor.

  “Mmba-mmf!”

  Someone grabbed at his face and almost poked his eyes out. He pulled his head back and flipped over so his hands would be level with the other person’s with the clear intention that they attempt to free each other of their bonds. They worked together, and Becket felt thankful for small blessings. It was difficult work and Becket felt the other fingers twisting and snapping at his, but they found a rhythm and after some time, he got a solid hold of the rope holding the other person’s wrists together.

  They had to get free! He breathed heavy and kept at it. Soon his wrists were loosened enough to twist his hands apart. Becket rolled to his knees and pulled the gag and blindfold off his face. He gasped, looking around. A tiny bit of light hovered to his right near the floor.

  “Who are you?” someone said in the darkness, and Becket saw the outline of the person who helped him get free.

  Instead of answering, he busied himself with loosening the bonds on his legs. The rope was heavy and difficult to loosen. His dagger was gone, and the opportunity to use it for the first time disappeared along with it.

  “Hey! Who are you? What’s happening?” Becket pushed away a groping set of hands and tried to stand up, wincing at the pain lancing through his legs as the circulation began to return. “What’s going on? What is this?”

  “Calm yourself,” Becket said. “I don’t know what is happening. Maybe we can figure it out.”

  More grunts and attempts at speech sprung up around them. Becket frowned, wondering how many people had been taken.

  “Let’s get these others freed first, yes? Maybe one of them has a better idea about what’s happened and where we are.”

  His eyesight was improving. He could see shapes struggling on the ground, shifting and kicking in futile attempts to break free of the bonds. He and the other man got to work. Most people were tied together hand and foot, but there were some that were tied together in a straight lined rope that connected hands and feet in one tie. These were very difficult to undo.

  Becket made the mistake of taking their gags off first, and one man would not shut up.

  “Get me off the floor, for pity’s sake! Damn you, get my hands free, you bastards! I won’t stand for this, do you hear me? I—”

  Becket put the gag back in. The muffled speech was full of the same vitriol, and soon the entire room was full of more. He recognized the voice of his closest neighbor, a fat man named Devin O’Grady. The asshole could wait, and perhaps suffering for a bit might put him in his place.

  They got several of the people untied, and once free, they in turn worked to get more free. On and on it went, faster and faster, and soon Becket estimated there were perhaps thirty or more men and women standing in the darkness. Everyone began speaking at once.

  “Where are we?”

  “Where are my staff? What happened to Edgar… I need Edgar!”

  “What on earth happened?”

  “I don’t remember a thing. One moment I was….”

  “You are stepping on my foot!”

  “Watch it!”

  “Hey now! Settle it down a mite, would you?”

  Becket whistled and made it as loud and sharp as possible. It cut through the room, and he kept at it until most of the panicked and frightened people calmed enough for him to be heard.

  “Where we are is not as important as who we are, I would argue. I am Dock Master Samuel Becket. I would assume I am present with either my neighbors or colleagues or even both. Am I correct?”

  Some answering shouts drowned out any sense of calm, and bedlam ensued once more. Becket whistled again and raised his voice to be heard.

  “Please! Please, wait a moment! One at a time please. Are there any here who work at the docks for example? Anyone?”

  “Master Becket, I’m here. It’s Crocker.”

  “Good. Stay where you are. Anyone else from the docks?”

  “Sir, I am Joseph Miller.”

  “Yes, Lawson’s second, correct?”

  The man did not answer, and Becket thought Miller might’ve been nodding in the darkness.

  “Fine,” Becket said. “Who else is here? Any leadership from the city here? Is Lord Cassius among us?”

  “Master Becket,” said a rich, melodic voice. “My name is Royce Haller. I am not a member of the Guild’s cadre, but I am the head of the Treasury Department. I suppose that counts.”

  “Sure,” Becket said. “I’ve never had the pleasure, but it is nice to meet you.”

  Haller’s warm-hearted, nervous chuckle answered. “Same to you, sir. If only the circumstances were different, I wou
ld be inclined to buy you a drink.”

  Becket smiled, even though he knew the man couldn’t see the motion. Maybe Miller wasn’t so stupid, it was easy to forget. “I’d like that. In fact, I’ll hold you to that. So perhaps it is up to us to organize things here. Unless anyone else objects?” No one did. “Come closer, you three, and let’s talk.”

  Becket recognized the bent form of Crocker, the twitchy, fidgety young body of Miller, and the tall, straight posture of Haller. The others broke away and spoke to one another in hushed tones while Becket waved his group over to the side, near where the light from the door was.

  “So,” Becket said, “what does everyone remember? Be as detailed as you can.”

  “What’s the point of this inquiry?” Crocker said. “Hmm? We’ve been taken prisoner. What more is there to discuss?”

  ‘Damn you, Crocker,’ Becket thought. ‘Always so antagonistic. Why? Does it give you some kind of twisted pleasure?’

  “I believe what Master Becket is implying,” Haller said, “is that it behooves us to learn as much as possible from each other so as to better our situation.”

  Crocker scoffed. “Talk, talk. Phew! How do we free ourselves from this place?”

  “We do not even know where we are yet,” Haller said. “Where do you think they would take us, Master Becket?”

  “I don’t think it could be far from where they grabbed us. It would be time consuming to drag so many people like that. Maybe we’re in a warehouse near the shipping yards, though it doesn’t smell like it. There’d be some brine in the air if we were.” He turned his head and raised his voice. “Has anyone tried the doors?”

  They glanced towards the sliver of light at the floor of what must’ve been the door, and the closest person to it yanked at the handle. They heard nothing but the grunt of man’s exertion.

  “Locked tight,” he said. “Won’t move at all.”

  “Must be bolted from the other side.”

  “Oh really, Master Becket?” Crocker said. “Brilliant deduction.”

  “Shut up, Crocker. Let’s feel around for something else. Spread out but be careful. We don’t want to trip over each other, and who knows what might be on the floor. Haller, Miller, take a wall, gentlemen, and use some of the others to help you.”

  They went to it, stumbling in the darkness. Becket went to the door; ignoring Crocker’s sigh of annoyance, and dropped down to the edge of the light on the floor. He put his face close to the crack and tried to see out, but the angle was too narrow, and all he saw was more floor.

  Easing back to the center of the room, trying not to bash into anyone, Becket attempted to glean more information from his three colleagues.

  “It is a rectangular room,” Haller said. “I think it is fair to say this locked door is our only means of egress.”

  “There are crates,” Miller said, as if that explained everything. Becket pressed him for more. “You said it was a warehouse. Crates equals this is a warehouse.” Miller sounded as if he were explaining something to a child.

  Trying not to bristle, Becket nodded. “Fine, I was right then.”

  Crocker harrumphed. “Ha! Wonderful. And this incredible piece of information assists us in our plight how? Hmm, Master Miller? Do any of you realize how many warehouses there are in this city?”

  Becket could sense Miller’s frown in his reply. He sounded annoyed as if the question were either stupid or that he was upset the answer alluded him. “No. I have not had the chance to count them all.”

  Crocker clicked his teeth and started to say something, but Becket cut him off. “Hold on. I still want to know how each of us got here. Maybe we can piece together some common thread.”

  “All the good it will do you,” Crocker said.

  Becket bit back a snide remark. Arguing with the old fool would have only escalated a tense situation.

  Haller cleared his throat. “For my part, Master Becket, none of what happened is very clear. My memory is fuzzy, but I seem to recall reaching the outskirts of my compound, and then there was the flurry of activity behind me. I did not understand and then… someone must have struck me on the skull because my head is aching there.” He chuckled and Becket nodded, feeling how sore his own head was.

  There were similar stories from the rest of them, and they all matched his descriptions of the sketchy looking security men.

  “Yes,” Becket said. “They must have infiltrated our security system, including getting some of their uniforms.”

  Crocker heaved a sigh. The older man sound tired. “The level of genius demonstrated here is staggering. I don’t feel well.” Crocker groaned, and Becket stepped forward reaching out a steadying hand.

  “Then sit down, you old coot!”

  He grabbed Crocker’s trembling hand and felt the livered spotted flesh, cold and clammy. His bones were thin. Becket eased him to a seated position on the floor. He started to feel around on Crocker’s skull for a possible injury there that might have been giving him trouble, but the old man swatted his hand away.

  “I don’t need you probing me like some harlot. You are not a surgeon.”

  “Fine then,” Becket said. “Be that way and bleed to death for all I care.” He stood and faced the others. “Does anyone have a serious injury that needs tending?”

  There were minor scrapes and bruises, and almost all had bumps on their skulls. Others, however, were taken still awake.

  “I was surrounded ‘bout midnight,” Devin O’Grady said, and Becket could hear the man’s fleshy body quivering. “They did not strike me. They only said they were taking me somewhere, and if I resisted, they would kill me. I did what they asked.”

  “What did they look like?” Haller said.

  Becket could feel the man shrug. Everyone did it, this compulsion to move while in conversation, even when the person you were talking to could not see.

  “I could not see their faces as they were covered. But they wore the brown leather of our security forces.”

  “That would be easy enough to manufacture,” Becket said, thinking out loud.

  “There were other men with them,” someone else said in the darkness. “Others besides these. They wore black hoods, like executioners.”

  The group muttered together in the dark. A nervous, anxious trill rolled through them. Becket realized he was holding his breath, and he when let it out, his head felt light and dizzy.

  “Master Becket,” Haller said, “what do you suggest we do now?”

  Becket regretted volunteering to be leader. There was more murmuring. The general hubbub was directed towards him and his potential leadership. He was senior Dock Master, no matter who else was there. But it was questionable if that outranked the department of the treasury. “I think we should find a way out of here of course. Does anyone have any tools on them? Maybe we can get this door open.”

  “Oh brilliant,” Crocker said. “From Dock Master to master thief.”

  Becket fought the urge to grab the old man and throttle him.

  People shuffled around. More murmuring. A woman spoke up. “I’ve a hairpin. Those thugs took my broach. My beautiful broach! My grandmother gave it to me on her deathbed. Those bastards! It was made of the purest gold.”

  “Let’s see that pin,” Becket said before she could continue to ramble. These rich people and their trinkets. But then he was no different when it came to his art.

  She handed it over, and the flush of excitement over the potential for freedom was crushed by the discovery it was too small to do much of anything.

  “Anything else? Anyone?”

  A small figure stepped forward out of the darkness. There was a hovering aura of confidence about the man, despite his stature. When he spoke, everyone listened.

  “Got something here that might work. Keep it tucked in my boot for special occasions. Heh. Gotta stay prepared.”

  More murmuring, this time with a hopeful slant. Becket did not share their enthusiasm, feeling wary instead.

  �
��Who are you, friend? How did you get here?”

  “Well, see, got rounded up at The Prancing Pony with everyone else.”

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Name’s Zandor. I think we can get outta here, if you do what I say.”

  Becket was listening.

  Chapter Four

  The Arc Lector’s office was adorned with many beautiful objects: paintings, sculptures, and large tapestries that dominated each wall to either side. A beautiful stained glass window stood behind Morlin’s shining hardwood desk, and after an acolyte ushered Muldor into the large room, he was asked to sit before it.

  The chair was of the highest quality, with fine silk draping over thick oak. It was very comfortable and easy to get lost in. The environment was tranquil and serene, with light cascading down through the window in a transfixing kaleidoscope of colors. It was stunning and had the effect of lulling one to sleep with its power.

  Muldor knew Becket would appreciate the scene, but he pushed the artistic ruminations aside for the moment and knuckled down his mental capacity, for it would have been needed in the minutes ahead.

  Morlin stood at the window and remained there for a few moments longer, even after the Guild Master sat. The Arc Lector looked back over his shoulder and smiled. The smile and attempt to comfort him with the look seemed sincere, and this unsettled Muldor even more than a glance of contempt would have.

  “What a beautiful city we have,” the Arc Lector said. “It is a wonderful complex entity that whirls and flexes with a myriad of parts all jumbled together to create a synergistic whole.” His smile deepened as he sat. “I sometimes forget how this city moves, the intricate parts and how they work together. It is fascinating to watch.”

  “I suppose a man in your lofty position has a very good opportunity to watch many things, being so high above the common man.”