by Will Molinar
One merchant, Maximal Sundebar, was busy breaking down his stall to move it off until the next day. Becket knew the man well enough since the man’s goods came through Pier Two. Becket had made a profit on everything Sundebar sold at the market and beyond. It was a simple system everyone was happy with. Until now of course, when their world went to shit.
Becket sighed and went back to his desk. He thought on what he might’ve done to save the Guild and his home. He had limited resources left.
Muldor and his network of people were there, but the man was so busy and narrow minded in his own personal pursuits, it might not have been worth the effort to contact him. Becket knew his latest effort was convincing the city council to build more ships to fight the pirates; defeating Lurenz was his project. Maybe it was time for Becket to take over the fight here on land.
Perhaps he should have examined the real issue, the cause of the problems. It was thievery, pure and simple. It always happened at some point when there was such a huge disparity between people and social stratification in one place. Becket was under no delusions as to his ability to solve all of the city’s problems in one night by himself, but he was determined to try.
There had to be something. He could’ve sponsored the thieves’ guild’s reconstruction and get the thievery under control to a certain extent. Then he could sponsor the police and help them get what they wanted. They needed more money for officers and the new jail to be finished. That would have solved two problems.
But as a foreigner, he did not understand how the thieves really worked. No one knew, not even the thieves themselves, since the whole thing had been set in motion so many decades ago. Everyone did what they did because that was how it always had been and never questioned it. Ridiculous.
But it was the start of an idea, and he formulated a plan on how he could turn this takeover of his home without resorting to the obvious ploy of that Zandor fellow.
People were at his disposal. That was what Muldor did. He paid people outside of their normal vocations to fetch things for him, and they became “his people.” It wasn’t professional, and Becket knew for a fact Crocker frowned on the practice, but there was no other choice.
Haller was an ally now. The head of Sea Haven’s treasury had access to funds that could have pursed the police back to work. They would have needed the lord governor’s permission to sign off on something large enough to finish the jail, and there was no reason not to do so.
Haller was staying at a nearby inn, and Becket visited him. The older man looked much refreshed, his careworn face lighting up when he saw Becket walk in. “Dock Master Becket! A pleasure. I was wondering when I would see you again after our harrowing experience. Any news?”
Becket told him all that he had been thinking, and the man nodded but looked nervous. “I am not certain how agreeable the Lord Governor would be to any proposal. I and some of the others have called for an emergency council meeting, but he has not responded to our requests.”
“Damn. He’s like Muldor now, barricading himself behind a wall of bureaucracy to shield himself from all our problems.”
Becket paced, thinking. They had to start with the police. Once they were on the job, and the papers were signed for them to have their new jail, Becket and his side would have the necessary weight to not only get control of the wealthy quarter but also get the thieves back in line. It was that simple.
“Do you have any guardsmen nearby?” Becket said.
Haller squirmed. “I am not sure if, uh….”
“Never mind. I have scrounged up a few from the neighborhood. We’ll take them and go straight to the precinct.”
“Yes,” Haller said with a slight grimace. He sounded somewhat afraid as they went downstairs to the taproom. “I have heard of rumors that Captain Cubbins has returned. Did you know that?”
Becket elated. “Really? I hope that’s true. Cubbins is much more reasonable than Dillon. Maybe that’s being generous. Really, Dillon is a bit of a dullard.”
Haller chuckled. “So I have heard and seen. Let us hope Captain Cubbins is indeed back from his sabbatical and will be agreeable to our proposal.”
They met Becket’s guards outside, four sturdy men with swords and leather armor. One of them was a sergeant Becket hired for this purpose. He was a thick muscled man with graying hair and a goatee.
“Where are we off to, Master Becket?”
“The police station. Sergeant Stirling, this is Lord Haller. If you and your men would be so kind as to see to his personal protection as well, I would appreciate it.”
“It would be my pleasure. There are a few men I know of looking for work. We could use them beef up the watch as it were.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
The streets were busy. Becket always enjoyed walking down the cobblestoned area near city hall, but it was nerve wracking with so many people running about. There were few merchants walking with guards, some normal townsfolk scurried about and avoided the armored phalanxes marching through the streets.
Becket saw a young man bump into a guard, and the man shoved the boy to the ground and stood over him, barking obscenities and pointing. The boy scrambled to his feet and scampered off.
“It’s starting to get rough out here,” Becket said.
“Indeed,” Haller said. The middle aged man looked a little less frightened since they gained their guard following. Haller was too nice to live here, and Becket wondered how he got hired in the first place. He’s much too intelligent for Sea Haven’s city council.
Haller should have hired guards before, but maybe he was safer because no one knew who he was; even though his rich dress spotted him as a target. Near the docks, it was safe for Becket and his ilk. As long as they treated their workers well, the men and women there protected their bosses. Since Muldor was so loved, this kept him safest of all.
The police had built an impressive barricade around their precinct and turned it into a veritable fortress of good intentions and narrow minds. Carts, crates, and other heavy items they must have taken from some warehouse nearby stacked up and showed signs of active defense.
Becket noticed some big chips in the wood and scorch marks that could have only been caused by fire. By the gods, these men had gall. Big, strapping men like Dillon who stood up against the encroaching tide; not too bright but courageous and attractive in a masculine sort of way.
“Barbarians at the gate,” Haller said and chuckled.
Becket nodded. “That we are. Let’s see if we are successful in storming the castle.”
“I have faith we are capable.”
Becket had to admit he felt buoyed by the man’s calm presence, but he could tell Haller was not as brave as he acted. His face held tension, and he was licking his lips and glancing around a lot.
They approached the barricade. One of the officers poked his head over the top and shouted. “Stay where you are! Come no closer, or we’ll shoot you dead where you stand!”
“None too polite, are they?” Haller said and stopped cold. He was sweating.
“Relax,” Becket said to him. He raised his voice. “Officers, I am Dock Master Becket and with me is Lord Haller, Secretary of the Treasury. Both of us are members of the city council, ruling body in this city. I wish to speak with your commanding officers to discuss peace terms.”
The officer looked confused, and had the circumstances been different, Becket might have laughed at the odd way the man’s face looked under his helmet. It hung there over the lip of the crates. It looked silly. A whispered conversation followed with another man they could not see. When it ended, they said nothing to Becket but disappeared.
A tense few moments came and went. Becket looked at Haller, and thought he might’ve bolted. He wasn’t meant for this. He needed Lawson here. The undeniable thought he would never see that particular man again struck him with such blinding certainty he felt faint.
A shout echoed from around the corner, and their small party glanced over. Cries of pai
n rang out, followed by more shouting, and then the clang of steel striking steel. Sergeant Stirling and his men drew their swords and formed a circle around Haller and Becket.
“Stand steady,” Stirling said. “’Tis nothing but a small skirmish in an alley.”
They waited. After a few more shouts of rage and monetary chaos, the sounds faded away, they relaxed.
A few minutes later, they heard the scrape of something heavy moving across the ground near the barricade. Becket watched a few officers push a section of the wall out of the way, and then five men with crossbows filed out, carrying potential death with them.
Stirling and his men held their weapons higher and stood in front of Becket and Haller.
“Wait a moment,” Becket said. “Lower your weapons. We aren’t here to fight.”
“Then tell me why you are here,” a deep resonant voice said.
Bartholomew Cubbins strode in between his helmeted, crossbow wielding men, all dark fury and masculinity. Becket had met the handsome young man once or twice over the years, but he was thinner now. His skin was darkened by heavy sun from whatever adventures he had down south. He didn’t look happy to see them either.
“Captain Cubbins, I have a proposal I think will solve many of our mutual problems.”
“Let’s hear it, then. And be quick.”
Becket indicated Haller. “This is Lord Haller, the new Secretary of the Treasury. I don’t believe you were in town when he was appointed.”
Haller tried to smile but he looked like he was about to faint. “My pleasure, captain. What a lovely building you have here. A fine jail. ”
Cubbins did not acknowledge the man; he continued to stare at Becket, his lean, tanned face grim. “I’m waiting to hear your proposal.”
“Fair enough. In short, captain, we need the police to get back to work. The city is crumbling and ripe for another riot. There will be death, destruction, and people will suffer. We need you. And you need the new jail finished, you need more men. We will make certain you will receive the proper funds to have both. Can we make a deal?”
Cubbins stared for another moment and then flicked his eyes at Haller. Back to Becket. He was smarter than people thought, passionate but patient. The city needed him. “Show me the gold,” Cubbins said.
Becket nodded. “Of course. We will as soon as we can, but I need your assurance first that you and your men will go back to work and stop this lawlessness. You can start by locking up the thieves again, quiet things down, and we can get things under control. But we must do it together, all city agencies working as one. Too many people will die.”
Cubbins heaved a deep sigh and looked tired at that moment. He glanced at his men before responding. “I’ve been promised by one of your kind before. Forgive me this reticence, but I will need some physical reassurance, some concrete proof that you will fulfill your promise.” He looked sad for a moment. “I don’t want any further deaths either.”
Becket nodded. “Good. I’ll get the money, but first, show me a sign of good faith by taking down this barricade. War constructs breed an air of war itself. If you act like you are ready for a fight, you’ll get one.”
Cubbins looked unconvinced. Becket damned this foul city and the paranoia it bred. He pulled out a small bag and held it out to Cubbins, stepping between the armed guards. Cubbins narrowed his eyes and did not take it. It might have been a snake from the way he looked at it.
“Here,” Becket said. “It’s gold. Take it as a sign of my good faith. We’ll get you more soon. Then you can hire more men and finish that new jail.”
Cubbins bounced the bag in his hand. It clinked. “Our charter is royal. Can’t be interfered with by the city. But the budget is controlled by the Lord Governor. Get him to sign off.”
“Forgive me, sir,” Haller said, “but that is not true. I can put a budget into effect for any city agency I deem worthy, and I promise you I will do so if you and your men help take control of the streets. Lord Cassius may attempt to fight me, but I will push it through. You have my word.”
Cubbins nodded. “Fine. If you’re so high up with the council then you need to get a hold of this new City Watch Commander. We’ll need their help to round up the thieves. There aren’t enough of us to do it.”
“We’ll get him on board,” Becket said.
* * * * *
Journal 1530
We repeat ourselves like a sick, drunken fool that refuses to keep his mouth shut even when beaten. The city is diseased, full of thievery, fighting, and killing. It strips away the dead flesh of the sick and weary. These days we earn our moniker Murder Haven, an embarrassing nickname and phrase of irony I have always loathed but cannot deny.
Is it worth saving? I believe it is, or I would not work as I do, attempting to better the lives of as many men and women as possible. There are machinations within this city that I cannot control. I am only a man and can do only so much. But a simple ray of hope has reached my desk. After two weeks at sea, word from the fleet has come.
The enemy has been spotted; not Dark Destiny, Lurenz’ flagship, but one of his pirate vessels known to have attacked our merchant ships. The fleet is giving chase! I fear it may be a rouse. A single ship may only be bait designed to lead our men into an ambush. Seven ships. This was all I was capable of amassing. Pitiful. I feel in the pit of my queasy stomach that will not be enough. But what can I do further? I must leave their fate in the hands of their captains.
Our merchants are frightened. Most, if not all, have been harassed and threatened by common thieves. Some have been injured on the streets, two even killed. These were men I knew well and even liked. Somewhat. Samford Crawford was amicable enough if a bit snobbish while Mickle Jobson was a rude, brackish man that drank too much. But regardless, they were part of The Guild, and the rest of them fear for their own lives with good reason.
The Guild is in crisis. Attacked on the seas, attacked here on land, beset on all sides. What are we to do? There are hired swords aplenty in this town. Their cost can be prohibitive for many merchants that I would not consider wealthy people at all. How can they afford to hire extra protection the way things are now? It is dangerous to do business in this town, always has been but necessary, for this is how they provide for their families.
I know there are parties making moves to get the police back to work, but I fear to get involved in the process because of the blowback I would receive from those men. I have heard Captain Cubbins has returned, and he likes me even less than his direct subordinate Dillon. I think he would sooner stab me than hear me, so what am I to do? The City Watch must step into the void, and I am astonished that Lord Cassius has not called them into service during this time of strife.
This city needs them. They must keep the peace as the police continue their strike, and if supplemented with private security, perhaps we can curtail this lawlessness. I do not know their commander, Hark Williamson, very well, but I shall seek him out and discover what kind of man he is. I can do nothing less for the people of Sea Haven, who cry out for a helping hand.
Chapter Eight
Zandor walked faster, hurrying through the city streets but without running and drawing attention. There’s no telling who might’ve been watching; not that he really cared either way, but watchers had a tendency to cling and build up over time like tarnish on a silver necklace.
Felix stood waiting for him at the corner of an intersection two blocks down from the wealthy quarter. His tall athletic build was easy to spot as was his blond hair and sideburns that came down almost to his chin. Zandor had mentioned he should have shaved it, for it made him too conspicuous, but he swore everyone wore it that way from where he hailed.
“We got trouble, Felix. The police went and got themselves half a brain, so we need to move.”
Felix shrugged. “We’ll take care of it, Zee. You’re getting too worried in your old age. Take it easy.”
Zandor chuckled. “If you make it to my age, I’ll be impressed. Gotta grow up f
irst, pup.”
“Pup? Yeah, you got fleas as old as me!”
“C’mon, pal. Let’s move.”
They went down another side street and up towards the eastern road, and then over to where the gate to the wealthy quarter ended and a row of large homes began. Zandor stopped, looked around to either side, and saw naught but empty streets. He whistled, and moments later a window opened far above them. A knotted rope shot out and landed on the ground in front of them.
Since there was not enough space in between buildings to squeeze through, this was the only way except the front gate.
Felix indicated the rope and bowed. “Ladies first.”
Zandor chuckled and climbed, hooking his soft soled boots on any outcropping he could find. “Remind me to give you a good smacking later.”
Felix followed. “I’ll bring a stool so you can reach my face.”
“Ha! I’m long where I need to be fella.”
“So I’ve been told from the young boys in town.”
“Pike off.”
Zandor reached the top and accepted a man’s hand whose job was to stay there and wait for any of their gang who needed entry there during the day. Zandor did not want any of them to be spotted coming or going from their camp, and no one was allowed to leave without his permission.
They had a city of their own within the confines of the neighborhood, cut off from the other inhabitants of Sea Haven. He made it happen to glean even more coin from the wealthy, but Zandor loved the idea that it was all theirs, to do with as they pleased.
Supplies might become an issue but not for a long time. There were plenty of stores available in the mansions’ larders. His men also searched the lower levels of the mansion for any secret escape routes but had found nothing so far.
“Thanks, Carl,” Zandor said, and both of them helped Felix up. “When your shift is over, help yourself to an extra shot of whiskey.”