by Will Molinar
The crooked toothed man smiled. “Thanks, Zee. You’re the best.”
“He’s got a big enough ego as it is,” Felix said over his shoulder as they left. “Don’t encourage him.”
Zandor pushed him along. “Tell me again why I hired you.”
“My charming personality.”
Zandor scoffed. “You’re right. I am getting old.”
Felix laughed, and they jogged down a beautiful set of marble stairs and went outside. Another jog down a few streets brought them to the main camp. It was near a large fountain close to the middle of the quarter, close to many of the largest compounds.
“Hey! All of you lazy buggers!” Zandor said and whistled. “What do I pay you shits for, huh? Get off yer asses, and let’s get to work here!”
Most stirred and stretched while others chuckled.
“Where the women at, Zee?”
“Yeah, we’re ready for that kinda work, see. Ha!”
Zandor clicked his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Settle down, you gits. You gotta work a bit ‘fore you see any reward, get it? What have ya all done today but sit on your asses, anyway?”
A chorus of laughter mixed with boos followed. Zandor searched the crowd for Jerrod, but he did not see him. He went to Benedict, a smallish man with a thin beard and dark cloak.
“Benny, you seen Jerrod anywhere?”
“What’s got you all pissed off? Is there a problem?”
Zandor’s eyes flashed. “Answer the fuckin’ question.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. Zandor stepped closer to the man. Benedict swallowed. “Uh, I-I uh, I dunno. Hey, anyone seen that Jerrod?” He glanced around for help, and someone spoke up.
“I don’t think he’s here, Zee. Said something about needing a woman and stronger booze. I think he went to that Madam Dreary’s place.”
Zandor stewed and left them muttering to one another. Felix in tow, he went about tracking the man down. His anger and annoyance remained high all the way across the city to the whorehouse. As they entered Madam Dreary’s place, they were met by one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, a tall, statuesque auburn haired girl who smiled at them.
Zandor blew her off. “Save it, sister. I’m looking for someone.”
The girl recovered well, Zandor gave her credit for that, and smiled again and curtseyed. “How may I help you gentlemen?”
Zandor backhanded Felix in the chest. “Close your mouth, kid. We’re lookin’ for someone, the ugliest, most miserable son of a bitch that ever lived. Tall, rangy, stubble-headed bastard. Seen him?”
“Sir, our client’s whereabouts are private. It is not our policy to reveal them.”
“Forget it,” Zandor said and walked passed her, despite her best protests.
“Sir, you can’t—”
“Felix.”
Felix stayed behind, and Zandor trusted him to handle things. He stomped down a hallway, ducking under beads and silk curtains to search the rooms. He found nothing but angry customers in the first three. People cursed him for interrupting their coitus. In the fourth room, he found a sleeping Jerrod, laying among cushions with two naked girls.
The large man wore only his breeches, and his muscular body was lean and scarred. Jerrod had seen his share of battles, and he was about to see some more.
Zandor kicked the edge of the bed. Jerrod stirred. His brutal features were clouded over with recent drink and sleep, but he perked up fast. He regarded Zandor with detached disdain and a smidge of wariness.
“Get up,” Zandor said. “The police strike is over. They’re gonna move against the thieves, and then they’ll come after us.”
“Is that right? What you want done about then?”
“Kill them. Every single last one of those police slugs.”
Jerrod stood and shrugged his massive shoulders. He grabbed his sword belt. “No problem. Killin’ slugs is what I do. Bu killin’ police is special, though. Double payment for that type o’ thing.”
Zandor gritted his teeth. Jerrod and his men were the best with brutal efficiency. Plus, he didn’t want to expose his own people for this sort of thing.
“Do it. You’ll get what you want, but it needs to be done fast. Be quick about it, no fucking around, you get me?”
Jerrod smiled. “Done.”
* * * * *
Becket had never seen the city vault before. It was simple but impressive. It looked like a large circular tomb, similar to a mausoleum. Ten guards stood outside every second of every day, and Haller told him this was a false trail involved, for the real vault was down below in yet another series of vaults set with traps, some magical in nature.
The treasurer told him to wait while he went down and came back with a sizable amount of gold, enough to prove to Cubbins they were serious. Haller returned, smiling and carrying a bag as big as his head.
“I have a nice mix of both gold and silver,” he said and hefted it. “Enough?”
“Plenty,” Becket said. “They’ll be pleased. Take it to Cubbins. I must meet with Hark Williamson and get the City Watch involved. We need their numbers.”
“Indeed. Stay safe, my friend. And keep in touch.”
“Good luck.”
A nagging sensation that it had been too easy and the potential reprimand from Lord Cassius hung in his mind as they walked towards city hall. Becket did not know where the City Watch commander’s office was, but after asking around for a bit, he and his guards found it. It was a simple affair on the second floor of the main building. There were no attendants present, so Becket brought his guards inside the office and strolled in unannounced.
Hark Williamson was asleep, feet propped up on his desk. The young man, with brown unkempt hair and a scruffy beard that would never grow in all the way, wore studded leather armor with chain mail underneath. It would have cost as much as a common worker made in a month.
Becket kicked his desk. The man shook himself out of his stupor and sat up. He blinked, confusion spreading on his face.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to do your job, Commander Williamson. Summon the City Watch. The police force is back to work, and they need your help in getting this city back under control.”
Williamson blinked again. “They do, huh? I can’t do nothing without an edict from the City Council. That’s Cassius’ office. You’ll have to go see him.”
“No, you’re wrong. It’s your responsibility to ensure the safety of this city’s inhabitants. Do you know what happened to the previous City Watch Commander?” Becket stepped forward and put his hands on the desk. “Do you? He failed in his duty and was punished for it, strung up by the neck like an animal at slaughter. I was instrumental in carrying out that sentence. I helped make him die.”
Williamson flicked his eyes between Becket and his guards, licking his lips. “Well, the Lord Governor….”
“Is not here. Do your job or the full force of The Merchants Guild will come down upon you. Care to risk that?”
Williamson gulped. Becket would later reflect that it was having the guards with him that pushed the issue into compliance. They were handy fellows. Becket wondered why he hadn’t used them before. Such a simple show of force can accomplish so much.
They left but not before Becket made certain Williamson would comply. He watched as Williamson activated his men by calling in a scribe, for the man could not read or write. Couriers were sent off.
‘Now we’ve got it,’ Becket thought. ‘It will only get better from here.’
* * * * *
Anders ran because men chased him; big men with swords with the intention of using them. Whether they planned on arresting him or killing him was not certain. He assumed the former, but it was not worth assuming anything when death was a possibility. Plus, being under lock and key was worse than death for him.
Down another street and across a simple square brought him closer to the southern docks and potential salvation. But exhaustion threatened to bri
ng him down, and his side hurt worse than ever. He had suffered a blow to his cheek from a police club, and the flesh there swelled and ached. There might’ve been bone damage underneath that welt. He needed water and rest.
Anders slowed down, forced by the seething pain in his side and legs. They felt unsteady. He glanced around. It was mid-day, a nice cool breeze of middle autumn rolling in, but he felt sweat trickling down his face. He wiped it clean with trembling fingers.
There were a lot of people walking the streets, so near to one of the busiest sections of town. He had lost his partner Delora some time back, and the rest of their sub group was scattered and lost. It was everyone for themselves.
A wooden door hung open on a smallish warehouse, cousins to the mammoth storage containers that housed wares that came from all corners of the world. No one was nearby. Anders limped over. The momentary respite made his body hurt more. He was stiffening up by the second.
Inside was empty space up front with crates and bags stocked up in the back. A man swept dirt off the floor. He noticed Anders and narrowed his eyes. “What are you about? Get on outta here! Scram!”
He hefted his broom, and Anders backed away. It was important to move forward, maybe stab this fool and hide until things settled down in the streets, but the man was large and pissed off. Anders was in no condition to fight.
Someone shouted from outside, and that made the decision for him. He turned and saw some security men pointing and yelling at him. Anders cursed and looked around for the best avenue of escape. Towards the docks the thieves had several safe houses set up, but he had to lose these fools first.
“Hey you!”
The beefy man with the broom shoved him out of the doorway hard. Anders lost his feet and spiraled to the ground, arms out front. He managed to catch himself with his palms, and under normal circumstances, could have rolled well enough, but his side hurt too much, and his body rejected the intended movement.
The downed thief gasped in shock and felt a sharp pain in his right elbow. He bent his knees and tried to stand, but the big man was on top of him, grabbing his shirt and yanking him about.
“Go on! Get outta here you!”
Anders stabbed him in the gut, not to kill but to stun. The man’s eyes widened, and his body stiffened.
“What? Hey!”
Anders twisted his knife. The man’s body was struck by a spasm, and he turned away. Anders tried to move fast to the outside, but the security men were already running towards him, so he went inside the warehouse and shut the door.
It had a latch-a wooden board- and Anders slammed it in place, and he leaned his battered body against it. They pounded on the other side and shouted. He tilted forward a few inches and then snapped back, putting his legs into it. The board could not have lasted long.
Anders heard the groans of the man behind the door, and some shuffling as they assisted him. Strong cursing followed. Anders looked around at the room. On the other side, where the crates were stacked, was a closed door. His nose was bleeding somehow; he had no idea how it had happened.
The door was unlocked, and the wharf greeted his tired eyes. Various people went about their business.
“There! Get him!”
Anders hesitated, thinking to jump back inside the building, but at that moment they bashed open the door he had propped shut with the wooden latch. He cursed and ran the opposite direction, but men were already there, and they swung at him with clubs. Ducking away, he tried to sprint, but he was too tired and too slow.
Someone smashed a long wooden board into his face. It did not quite knock him out, but he felt his consciousness slipping and his vision dim. Anders fell to his knees as they kicked him. Someone shouted for them to stop, and they proceeded to tie him up. The thief was caught.
* * * * *
A group of men walked down the street towards city hall. They were large and strong, armed with steel and muscled enough to use their weapons to great effect. They wore dark clothes, black tops with thick leather over that and dirty pants. They had masks over the lower portion of their faces, having discarded the full executioner masks in favor of better vision.
Jerrod had never liked the full masks anyway because they interfered with fighting. Still, they had the extra benefit of intimidation. Men were cowards to let something like a stupid mask make them fearful.
Their orders were to kill as many of the police as they could. The police were rounding up thieves by the dozen, and soon they would turn their attention on the wealthy quarter. Zandor did not want that. Neither did Jerrod. The brutal man never thought he would be helping out the scrubby thieves in any capacity, but killing people held its own source of joy, and truth be told he would have killed cops for free if given the opportunity.
The pigs were all over the place at the moment. There were only about four score in an entire city of tens of thousands, but they were supplemented by private security on loan from the merchants’ guild, and it was difficult to distinguish between them and the police. Except the cops wore their riot helmets and carried short swords and clubs while the private security had a variety of equipment.
It mattered little to Jerrod because killing was easy. Dead was dead. Maybe it was better to charge Zandor by the body. That would’ve been more than a flat rate and give them some extra incentive to kill more.
Some of the police in front of them down the street were busy roughing up some young men, boys really, and the officers had them down on the ground ready to be put in irons. Jerrod and his group came up behind them.
There were only four cops, spread out as they were around town, and two of them glanced his way as they neared and slowed. Jerrod eyed them with disdain.
“Off with you now,” one of the police said. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Jerrod scoffed and pointed to the young boys. “You know, that used to be me down there. Yeah, got my ass kicked a few times when I was kid, roughed up by pigs like you even when all I wanted was food. Can you believe that? Beatin’ up a hungry kid? I betcha all they wanted was the same.”
The other officers noticed the conversation and quieted. The original speaker stepped closer. “Move along!”
Jerrod chuckled as he waved his men forward. The officer kept his bluster even when faced with two dozen rough looking men in masks. Fool.
The cop pulled his sword and held it in front of Jerrod’s face. “Get outta here! This has nothing to do with you.”
“You givin’ me orders? You seein’ the same thing I am, fella?”
The other officers got up to stand by their fellow, leaving the street urchins to glance around and squirm face down. Jerrod pointed at them. “You kids get goin’ now. I wouldn’t want to get blood all over your clothes. Cleaning costs money.”
The brats ran off, ducking underneath the stunned officers, who were beginning to understand the dire straits they were in. “Now, hold up here! You can’t do that.”
Jerrod hacked at his face, and the man tried to dodge away but took a nasty cut across his cheek that bit deep enough to reach his teeth. He fell, stunned and bleeding on the ground. The other officers reacted by shouting. They tried to draw their weapons, but Jerrod and his men were too fast.
They had them backed up against the building behind them and cut them down in seconds. They bled, screamed, and died.
“Nice work,” Jerrod said and shook his blade clean of blood over a twitching corpse. “I hope your arms are warmed up, boys, lots more ahead. You ready?”
They were.
* * * * *
Initial reports were positive. The police were working hard to round up the thieves on the streets with small pockets of City Watch and private security assisting when and how they could. It seemed to be going well, but Becket was concerned. The Watch had been slow to move and standing with Cubbins and several other senior officers inside the precinct meeting room did not make him feel any better.
“We don’t have enough men,” Cubbins said and not for the first
time.
Becket frowned. “I told you, captain. The Watch is mobilizing. It takes time, so I would ask you to be more patient.”
Cubbins looked back at the maps they had spread on the table. “I’m not impatient, only stating a fact. There are not enough men to cover the whole city. So we must concentrate on two key areas: the southern docks and market square. We’re coordinating with dock security, on loan from Muldor, and as many private security as we could get from merchants willing to volunteer their men.”
“It behooved them to do so,” Becket said. At the moment they had a full one hundred and fifty men to use, but once the Watch were called up, that number would have been more than triple. That was good.
In the meantime, the jail was filling up more and more, and as time went by, things should have gotten easier. Thieves and ruffians were being brought in by the dozen, yelling and fighting all the way. At the same time, more men would join in helping them continue the round up.
No deaths had been reported thus far, but many of the police officers and security were injured. The thieves fought hard when cornered, but most of them ran if they could have. Chasing them down became the most difficult part of the whole enterprise. But the whole town knew it was on notice. The police were back to work.
Dillon came running in, his bearded face flushed with exertion. “The cells are full, captain. We’ll have to use the yard from now on.”
Cubbins nodded. “Good news and bad news. Do it. But get some extra chains from the storage rooms. We don’t have enough men to spare guarding the yard, and I don’t trust that gate to hold fast when it gets to overflowing. Then we will stuff as many of them in there as we can. Reinforcing it should be fine.”
Dillon nodded and ran off.
Such strong and capable men. Cubbins was smart, smarter than most on the council and anyone Becket worked with in the Guild, with the exception of Muldor. The police captain was exacting and direct. They could win this thing and take back the wealthy quarter.