Lair of Killers

by Will Molinar

  Such fineries have not given the rich any comfort, nor did they stop Castellan’s slide into madness and depravity. Once they are taken away, they mean nothing, thus they mean nothing when received or possessed. I am empathetic towards my former boss as I understand now it was not of his doing. He was controlled by a force much stronger than any I have encountered. Yes, he was an ambitious man. But those ambitions were cultivated, even enhanced by a power greater than he that I do not understand.

  It is an ignorance I am content to maintain as the dark arts are to be shunned. I never believed in their existence, thinking ghosts and goblins to be nothing more than stories dreamed up to frighten wayward children. But now that I have seen it in a physical presence, and that the Arc Lector hides his nature behind the façade, a benevolent benefactor is not lost on me nor will I forget for it is the perfect cover for a creature such as he. Believe in the power of charisma, for it is the most powerful force known to man or devil. Morlin possesses it in abundance. I felt it while in his presence, and the strength of his personality is so deep that it goes beyond the veil of what can be seen.

  It is subtle yet omnipresent in its force and influence upon the people who attend his sermons. No one could be immune, including even a strong willed man like Castellan du Sol. I understand better now the spiral into madness he suffered. I do not yet know the specific mechanism which was used against him, but how strong could a mind remain that has been emptied, refilled, and rinsed again?

  How easy it could have been for Morlin to push me along the same path had I let him. Or am I fooling myself to believe I am of power to stop him? Could he be using me already? I do not think such a thing beyond the scope of his ability. Distractions pull my attention to other matters.

  The operations of The Guild take much of my time, even with its regular business so taken by other considerations. More complaints of theft lay at my desk and of the desks of my five Dock Masters, the rulers of our coast. The thieves continue their work with greater frequency, and something will break soon because of it. I am in support of their guild’s resurgence, but this current situation begs controlling, for the lesser, unaffiliated thieves are bad for everyone. They threaten to pull down Sea Haven into chaos, a city much on the verge of tragedy at the best of times.

  My thoughts turn towards the fleet and the brave souls that have put themselves in harm’s way. They have sacrificed for the good of The Guild. I understand money and consistent work is the primary reason most have joined our cause. I am not so blind in my devotion to believe otherwise. But I also know these men to be loyal to the job.

  By all reports, they have yet to make contact with the enemy. I wait with nervous excitement until such a time as they face Lurenz in battle upon the high seas. So much relies on their success. Have I sent enough ships? Will their resolve weaken in the face of hardship and death? Is the crew sufficient, the captains hardened enough, motivated enough, to see this through? Only time will prove my choice right or wrong. I am a mere man and can do only so much.

  * * * * *

  All of a sudden the room was in utter turmoil as complete bedlam ensued. People yelled, doors slammed, and guards shouted for order. They shoved people back in an effort to restore control.

  “Lord Governor Cassius, I demand this be handled! This instant!”

  Cassius sat at his desk. He felt a deep tension spread across his head and settle into his temples. The merchant standing in front of his desk, whatever his name was, was all bluster and venom. He did nothing but scream like everyone else.

  “All that can be done is being done,” Cassius said. “You have guards to protect your goods. The Merchants Guild has them too.”

  “This is no longer a Guild issue! Need I remind you it is the city’s responsibility to protect its citizens and their businesses.”

  “Yes,” said another one, a fat, squat man with heavy blue robes. “We demand you activate the City Watch and mobilize them.”

  “You demand?” Cassius said and sat back. His face went red. “You people barge in here and make demands of this office?!”

  No one backed down. They talked all at once, and he regretted letting them into his office in the first place. Never again.

  “Yes, we demand!”

  “Governor Cassius, I call upon this office to make amends.”

  “We need help, you fool! Yes, we need the City Watch. This is their job, for pity’s sake.”

  “Yes, you must call them in force, Lord Cassius.”

  “Yes, this instant! I too have lost a fortune thus far, and my home has been denied me. This situation is intolerable. If the police cannot do their jobs then find someone else.”

  Cassius shouted for order and calm. It was hard for them to hear anything over their own voices, and anger was often the great equalizer. Cassius waved to some of the security present, and they shoved the mob backward, but it only incensed them further. After a moment though, they began to understand where they were.

  Cassius stood. “Quiet, quiet, quiet! All of you be silent this instant! Listen to me!”

  The Lord Governor kept shouting long enough for them to settle down. He needed more guards, needed enough to toss these men and women out the window. The five present were in danger of being overwhelmed. A few moments later, the interlopers were listening.

  “The thefts will stop,” Cassius said. “You have my guarantee. Once we have the police back on duty, things will be fine.”

  “The police Bah!”

  “They’re on strike, Lord Governor, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “The situation is out of hand. Not to mention I have been ousted from my home. It’s intolerable.”

  “Yes, my home as well. Common thieves, in the wealthy quarter! Can you believe it?”

  Cassius pounded the desk with his palms. “Enough! Captain, I want this room cleared this instant!”

  They argued and fought with them, but the captain whistled for more men, and when they entered the room, more shouting and shoving occurred, but they got everyone out of his office. A moment later, the captain came back, and Cassius ordered him to keep order and that he would see no one else the rest of the day. Except for perhaps one.

  There was one man and one man alone that might’ve helped with the situation best, and Cassius sent word for him to come and meet with him. There was work to do elsewhere, but he let the papers sit on his desk. Even at Madam Dreary’s, sleep was hard to come by, and he wouldn’t sleep well ever again until the situation was resolved.

  Lord Cassius received a note in response an hour later, faster than he expected, and though he respected the man’s professionalism, the response was disheartening.

  The note read:

  -Lord Governor-

  I am much too busy at the

  moment. Speak with Captain

  Cubbins. This is a police matter.

  Muldor

  Cassius crumpled up the paper and sent the messenger on their way. He had reached out to someone he didn’t want to, only to have his hand snapped at with indifference. There was no hope.

  There was, however, another man that could’ve helped, but Cassius was loathe to turn to him. The man was powerful, the most powerful force in the city, and he was not happy with Cassius at the moment because of a former tiff.

  The Lord Governor had made appearances but had not seen the man face to face for some months. The man would want more from him, a deeper commitment Cassius was not ready to give. Cassius shuddered.

  Yet if he let things spiral any further, the thievery and civil unrest would get worse. There would have been more riots, a situation intolerable to Cassius, who had worked so hard rebuilding after the last. There would be death and destruction, untold suffering, and he would become even more upset with Cassius. There was nothing for it.

  Cassius called in his captain, and the man stood before him, armor glistening. “Take me to the cathedral.”

  The man nodded and started walking off when Cassius called him back. �
�And double my guard.”

  * * * * *

  It was almost more than he could carry. With his damn scar tightening around his right side and making him limp, Anders had trouble keeping all the goods in his pouches. He needed a full pack. Under normal circumstances, too much loot would have been a good thing for a thief.

  The outer sections of streets surrounding the marketplace were crowded. It was perfect for pickpockets, and Anders felt his blood quicken at the prospect of proving himself yet again. They worked in pairs, and with Cutter and Marston’s backing, they had all they needed to go ahead with their jobs like always. The Thieves Guild was back.

  Delora was his partner. There were those, himself included at times, that found the woman unattractive and her personality grating, but he liked her seriousness. None of what they did was for the timid or childish. It was all about survival.

  The woman stationed across the street, disguised as an old crone, with grey hair and a ratty cloak draped on her thin frame. Anders spotted her sharp eyes and intense gaze amongst all that make-up. She was ready and waiting for another go.

  A crowd gathered around a seminal figure in Sea Haven’s culture that went by the name of Mama Goodness. She was dark skinned, heavy set, and possessed a melodic voice that made people stop and listen. The middle-aged woman was a symbol for the impoverished, adult and child alike.

  The crowd became ensorcelled by the woman when she preached. Not always, though, as some days she was ignored. This day, Anders was glad to see they responded to her ramblings, for they fixed their peripheral attention on her instead of the thieves.

  Anders closed in and worked the crowd as she spoke. There seemed to be more people than normal, and that was good for business, but most of them did not have purses to steal, and those that did were light.

  “My darling children,” Mama Goodness said, raising her arms. “I prayed for this time to come. Believe that! Prayed that we would come together, here and now in these streets on this day, and become strong for one another….”

  Anders never listened much to her ramblings, thinking the woman belonged in the asylum with the other crazies.

  Delora crouched along in front of some other bystanders, bent over at the level of their waists like an old lady. Anders strolled right behind them in a random pattern, so as not to appear to be mimicking her movements. He bumped a man in the shoulder, and Delora snagged a purse off his belt. The man frowned at Anders.

  “Stupid bitch!”

  Another man in the crowd, a red faced, scruffy looking fellow, shoved Delora away from him. “Watch where you’re going, skag!”

  She whimpered and shuffled along. The man followed along behind and kicked her in the backside, and she sprawled in the dirt. Anders walked on, refusing to expose himself. Delora was on her own and strong enough to handle herself.

  Lucky for her, a couple men in the crowd grabbed the belligerent man as he went to kick her again.

  The man shrugged them off. “Get off me you slugs!”

  “Leave ‘er alone, Ed.”

  “Yeah, she didn’t do nothin’ to you!”

  Ed simmered down in the face of their insistence while Delora struggled to her feet, shaken but uninjured. She and Anders spent a few more minutes in the vicinity, snatching two more purses, three broaches, and one necklace.

  Enough for now. They headed back to a storage shack close to the market off an alleyway and dumped off what they were carrying. Delora took off her wig and hung it on a chair and shook out her long brown hair. She stretched her torso and lower back, the hunched posture having become painful.

  Anders eyed her toned body. She caught his look and grinned. “Time for a quick one, love?”

  Anders stared. “It’s time we got back.”

  She didn’t look happy at the rebuff but did not argue.

  Outside the shack, a commotion was occurring. They saw armed men, who looked like royal guardsmen with shining plates lined with red. They ran towards the marketplace. Anders first instinct was to run the other way, but when he eyed Delora, she flicked her head towards the market and ran off without a word. It was none of their business.

  But with no other choice, he followed, hand close to his dagger, and side aching like hell. They reached the marketplace a few minutes later and found the broad expanse of streets in turmoil. The tableau of endless stalls and numerous wheelbarrows was impressive under any circumstances.

  At the moment, a knot of furious activity took place. The group of guardsmen were brandishing their swords and attempting to round up several individuals who were doing their best to get away. Some of them were teenagers Anders had seen once or twice hanging around the southern docks, begging for handouts or odd jobs.

  They were scabs, miscreants, petty thieves, and all around trouble makers. Anders hated them. They got in the way and made it more difficult for the real thieves to do their work.

  Anders damned Delora and followed, thinking to stop her, going as fast as his physical limitations allowed. By dodging the crowded stalls and throng of people watching the hullabaloo, Anders caught up and snatched Delora’s shoulder to yank her back. She turned without looking and slugged him in the gut. Or tried; he felt it coming and twisted his hips away from the blow, and it hit his scarred side. She followed it up with a shove to his upper chest. The female thief screamed at him.

  “They’re just children!”

  Wincing, Anders grabbed at her wrists, but she stepped away out of his grasp and kicked at his shins. Anders ducked away as she struck at his jaw with a solid left jab, and then he scuttled away from her wrath. Delora ignored him and went back to helping the youngsters in trouble. To hell with her then.

  Anders hid behind a stall and watched the scene unfold. Delora made good time hopping over carts and around people. She was far more nimble then Anders, but by the time she arrived, all the work was for nothing. The rats had scurried out of sight, and the guards were turning their attention to other matters, such as more thieves, or at least the accusation of more thievery.

  A number of merchants along with their guards, a total of at least a dozen people, shouted at the armored guards as their chase of the miscreants petered out, and the plated men formed up in a line eight strong and looked ready to start a fight. The merchants and their guards pointed and shouted at them over something Anders could not hear.

  Delora was no longer visible in the crowd.

  Someone neared him. “Hey you, move it! We don’t want you slags around here. Buy something or get away.”

  But Anders was already moving away, searching for Delora. She was gone. Anders gritted his teeth, thinking he could’ve worked the market by himself. There were a few of his fellows working in pairs. They gave him cursory glances, but he ignored them.

  There was a merchant that dealt in jewels, a dark skinned man with a burn scar on his left cheek, set up near the center. Most of his customers tended to be foreigners, and Anders turned his nose up to them most of the time. They were the only ones that could afford such fineries. Jewelry did nothing good for anyone beyond an affectation of self-centeredness. It couldn’t keep you warm, couldn’t feed you, there wasn’t any point.

  However without it, the poor of the city would have little else to steal; jewelry was the best to snatch even when stamped by a certain seller. Cutter took it all and gave them a wage for taking it.

  The foreigners wore silk robes of every color imaginable; reds, bright and flashy like the rings that bedecked their fingers; blues, deep and rich like the sea they sailed to reach Sea Haven; greens, soothing like the broaches their ladies wore on their lapels; and yellows, similar to their character.

  Anders zeroed in on them. These foreigners came to his town and cluttered up the streets with their snobbery, treating their servants like scum. The young thief acted as if interested in a stall of apples as he watched the fools buying jewelry; baubles for imbeciles.

  One group made up of swarthy looking men and women in heavy yellow robes, the color
of horse piss. They had on gold necklaces and rings and all other such nonsense. There were three men, two women, and a couple of shit eating kids whining in their foreign tongue.

  They had only two guards, but they were some of the most massive men Anders had ever seen. They had black beards and the same dark, swarthy skin as their masters. One had a huge black mole on his cheek, and both wore strange wraps on their heads. They held huge curved swords with the tips pointed down on the ground with their thick hands resting on the pommels. The swords were long enough to reach Ander’s chest, and the image of them cleaving his ribs flashed through his mind. No one would have stood a chance against them.

  One of the yellow covered fops pointed to a strand of pearls. He seemed upset about something, but Anders could not understand the words. The merchant did, as he was busy arguing back and forth with the foreign scumbag. They had a heated exchange, and one of the merchant’s guards stepped forward when yellow robe tossed the necklace at the merchant’s chest.

  The merchant’s men held halberds and wore leather armor, but before they took two steps, the foreigner’s bears hefted their kill sticks and stepped in front of their master. They moved faster than any men their size should have. One swung his massive curved blade at a guard’s head and decapitated him like a giant scythe slicing the petals off a lily. Blood sprayed.

  Everyone nearby jumped back but got hit with blood spittle. The jewelry merchant shouted and tried to regain order, but the second scimitar wielding freak hacked down the other guard before he could react to his partner’s death. The sword struck him between head and shoulder, cutting him to open him to the opposite hip.

  His mangled body fell and spewed innards over the cobblestones. The smell of offal mixed with the myriad of other smells associated with a normal day at the market had to offer.