The Mutilated Merchant (The Edrin Loft Mysteries Book 1)

by Jon Evans

  "Just the facts, Sir?" she asked.

  "Yes, Sergeant. Just the facts," said Loft.

  Sergeant Gurnt looked a little crestfallen at that. Presently she shrugged and summed it up, "If you insist, Sir. I found a goldsmith and after some discussion established that the lump of gold was from the chain they make for a councillor."

  "Wait, what? A privy council member?" Loft asked with a note of trepidation in his voice.

  "Oh no, Sir. The district council, Sir," Gurnt responded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "So having dealt with identifying what it was from I had to work out who it belonged to. That resulted in a trip to the council offices where two jumped up little…" Loft held up his hand again to forestall her.

  "Concisely please, Sergeant," he said.

  "Right you are, Sir. So, these two Constable's wanted to stop me going about my lawful business, on account of the fact that they perceived me as a vagrant, " she said, gesturing to her appearance, "I had to deal with that of course," she said.

  Loft groaned inwardly, the Thieftakers reputation was well known. He dreaded to think what that phrase might imply, "What do you mean, deal with, Sergeant?" he asked.

  "Well. I had to pull rank, didn't I, Sir? I let it be down that I was a Sergeant and on duty and then they were more than happy to let me go about my business, Sir. So I waltz into the council offices and start asking around at the reception desk. Do you know, Sir, they actually declined to answer the legitimate questions of an officer of the law? This squirrely looking chap at the desk looked right down his nose at me, as if I were nothing but scum on the end of his shoe," she said, incredulously.

  "By the forges, really? He impeded one of my officers? I shall have to go down and give him a piece of my mind!" Loft said, trying hard to be supportive.

  "That's alright, Sir. I insisted that he assist me with my duties by performing his duties and, after I had caught up with the little weasel on the third floor, he was more than happy to guide me to the office of a councilman who'd recently had to have his chain repaired," Gurnt replied.

  Loft tried to evaluate that carefully for a second before deciding it was best to push on and get to the nitty gritty. "What happened then?" he enquired, almost afraid to ask.

  "At that point, Sir, I don't mind telling you that there was the most almighty fuss. All because of a little thing like being arrested on suspicion of murder, as well. I've never heard a grown man whine so much in all my life. Anyone would think I'd delivered one to his cleft, Sir. Although at one point, I did, in fact, have to do that to get the cooperation necessary to detain the suspect, Sir. Councillors, it turns out, fuss and gripe a lot but they just let out the odd whimper after they've had a little attention from my knee," she said proudly.

  Loft felt weak at the knees. She'd arrested a District councillor, for murder, in the council offices and with considerable force. Apparently, Sergeant Gurnt was completely unaware that this might not be a great career move.

  He reminded himself that he needed to find out more about each of his people's backgrounds, as soon as humanly possible. Just days into his command at the Thieftakers and he'd already got them rousting politicians. There was no time to worry about that now though.

  "So where is he now then?" he asked.

  "In our cells, Sir, awaiting trial," she said.

  "Do you think he did it?" Loft asked.

  "Oh no, Sir. Him? He's a limp rag; I can't see him doing all that gruesome stuff upstairs. He might have stood there while someone else did it for him though, eh? Besides, he definitely laid hands on my person in a place a delicate lady ought not to be touched by a gentleman in public," she replied, sounding every inch the aggrieved party.

  "I'm sure you had no choice but to arrest him then," Loft said with another sigh. It seemed to be a day for a lot of sighs, he thought.

  "This is no good; we need more information about what's going on here. The Councillor must have had a reason to be there, and we can't rely on that gold link as our only evidence if we're going after a politician. The court will never let us prosecute with that alone," Loft said.

  "What do we do next then, Sir? No-one's running so I've no-one to chase," Gurnt said.

  "I think we have some time before the Doctor finishes preparing the body for transport. Let's see if we can't find out something more about this merchant. We need to speak to the locals, anyone who knew him and can give us information," Loft said. "Follow me, Sergeant."

  "Doctor, Captain? I thought we were pretty sure he was dead already? I know I was," Gurnt asked falling in beside him as he walked down the street.

  There was a mix of houses, shops and other businesses in the area. Some buildings were all three. To make the best use of space, even in the cheaper parts of town like this, a lot of the buildings were a shop on the ground floor, then a space for another business such as a scribe or a seamstress and then the dwellings were on the top floors.

  Loft felt the sarcasm was a touch unnecessary, but he responded anyway, "I have to agree with your conclusion there, it was the entrails that gave it away and the way way he wasn't screaming at the top of his lungs about being blind really cinched it for me."

  "What's the Doctor doing then, in all seriousness, Sir?" Gurnt asked.

  "He's a friend of mine, and he's going to try and see if there's anything he can tell us about how this man was killed that might help us find the man who did it," Loft said.

  A hundred yards from the shop was a small bakery, doing a good morning trade. It seemed as good a place as any to start.

  Loft stepped in through the open door of the bakery and was immediately hit by the smell of sweetly spiced bread. Then another odour slammed into his nostrils and he glanced behind him at his Sergeant. "On second thoughts, Sergeant. Why don't you go back to the house and see if you can freshen up a bit?"

  "Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," she said and retreated as gracefully as she could manage.

  He turned back to the shopkeeper, a cheerful looking woman and smiled at her, "Apologies for that, Madam. My Sergeant was pursuing a, " he paused and considered his words, "Dangerous criminal and got a little bit messy in the process."

  "Not a problem, Captain Loft," she responded, "What can I get for you?"

  "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Madam. Have we met elsewhere?" he asked in puzzlement.

  "Not that I recall," she shrugged, "It's a tight-knit neighbourhood. Everyone knows the Thieftakers have a new commander, an officer by the name of Loft. A Captain no-less."

  Loft nodded, of course, he should have expected his name would spread quickly. The Thieftakers had been without an officer at all for years now. He shouldn't be surprised that his appointment made the local gossip rounds.

  "At your service, Madam. Are you the proprietor of this establishment?" he asked.

  "No, you want, Alwyn. He's the baker and owns the place. He's out the back if you want to see him," she said, gesturing toward a door at the far end of the narrow space between the counter and the wall. Loft touched his forelock in thanks and went through the door.

  He found himself in a busy kitchen, that extended both deeper and wider than the shop it served. The front of the building must be split between the bakery shop and the shop next door. Regardless there were several bakers hard at work in here.

  "Captain Loft of the Thieftakers. I'm looking for the proprietor, Alwyn," he called out above the noise and bustle of the busy workplace.

  "I'm Alwyn, what seems to be the problem, Captain?" a man called out from the back of the bakery. He had a noticeable accent and bore the pale brown skin that was the distinguishing feature of those from one of the City States.

  "I'm looking for people who can tell me about the spice merchant who lived at the end of the street," Loft called out.

  "Lived? He's dead?" came the reply, "You'd best come out the back so we can talk where it's quieter, Captain." The man's Denethrian was clear and grammatically correct, suggesting he'd been here a long time. Loft weaved h
is way past the bakers, ovens and tables and followed the man out the back door into a small, neat herb garden.

  "Yes, I'm afraid he is dead. Did you know him by any chance?" Loft asked.

  "Aye, I knew him. Terrible news to hear that he's no longer among the living," said Alwyn.

  "Can you tell me his name?" Loft asked.

  "He went by Anar Perl. Although I'm sure, he once told me something that sounded a lot longer than that. People couldn't pronounce it though, too lyrical for your Northern tongues, so he always shortened it," he said with a wry smile. "What happened to him?" the baker asked.

  "I'm sorry to say that he was murdered. Did you know him well?" Loft asked.

  "Murdered? Were they after his chest of gold? I bet they were, the fools. I've told these chattering gossips time and again. If he made so much from his trading, why would he work here and live so frugally? Pah!" the baker spat on the floor and cursed in his native tongue.

  "There were rumours that he was wealthy then?" asked Loft.

  "Rumours yes but that's all they were. Anar, never showed the slightest sign of wealth to me. He got by, by being a canny trader, buying good quality products when supply was high and selling more when the supply was low. That's the advantage of things like spices you see? They keep well, and people will always pay for a little luxury if they can, I should know, half my sales are from sweet things," the baker explained.

  "You did know him well then, by the sound of it?" Loft pressed.

  "Yes, yes. I suppose if anyone could claim to be his friend, I was. We weren't close, but we shared a few meals and beers together. He kept himself to himself mostly but he sold spices, and I sell everything from bread to spiced cakes. Some of his stock was exactly what I needed, though a lot of it was for cooking meat and the like, not baking. He was popular with a lot of cooks in the city, plenty of places you can get salt or sugar, thyme or parsley but not so many you can get cinnamon. Half the great houses of the city get their supplies from old Perl, you know?" Alwyn said.

  "Thank you, that could be helpful," Loft said, "Did he have any enemies that you're aware of?"

  "Enemies? Anar? No, not that you'd take seriously. I never heard him have a cross word with anyone and I knew him for almost four years, ever since I setup my bakery here," Alwyn said.

  "No-one, in four years? You don't recall him arguing with anyone? He never said he was afraid for some reason?" Loft said.

  "No, nothing like that…" the baker trailed off in thought.

  "Yes? Did you think of something? Anything at all could help us," Loft prompted.

  "Well, not really. I mean, yes but I feel bad just saying it out loud. He was grumbling about a customer who was being difficult. Wouldn't pay for an order Anar had got in specially, at considerable expense," the baker said.

  "Do you know who?" Loft asked.

  "No, I'm sorry, I don't. Anar just said he was an important man, a man with power. I forget his exact words; it was weeks ago. I remember he cursed him, but in his own tongue. It wasn't like Anar to get that upset by a difficult customer. He didn't mention a name, I'm afraid," Alwyn said.

  "We'll look into that, thank you. It's hard to imagine someone doing this over a small matter like an order for spice, but criminals never cease to amaze me," said Loft, shaking his head before asking, "Did he have a family?"

  "I don't know them if he did. I assumed he had one, but I never met them. He didn't live at the shop, though he sometimes slept there if he was busy. He had an assistant, an oafish young lad who'd help around the shop sometimes. They only spoke their own language though so I've no idea what they said to each other, although the boy is a clumsy idiot, so the words were often harsh," Alwyn said with a hint of regret.

  "So he had a house elsewhere then? How did he afford that with a small shop?" Loft said.

  "Ah well, that story I do know, Captain. Anar used to be a caravaneer, trading all the way from the south to the City States and into the Shattered Empire, then back. He was bold as a young man, but then he decided to settle down, and I think he chose Kalider because it's as far from home as possible. The longer the trade route, the rarer the goods and the better the prices, at least, that's how he explained it to me, baking isn't the same at all," Alwyn said.

  Loft nodded along as the baker continued. "He had contacts with many traders and merchants by the time he came here so he was able to get high prices for his goods and obtain things others couldn't. He bought a shop here because it's cheaper than the nicer parts of the city, same as most of us I suppose. He wanted to hold on to what he'd saved from his years as a caravan merchant, so he bought the shop here, a house somewhere else and his customers came to him," Alwyn said.

  "Or else they sent their servants," he said with a shrug, "People won't travel far for bread and cakes, but they will go across the city for some spice they buy once a year."

  "You never met his wife?" Loft asked.

  "No. If you find her, let me know. I would like to pay my respects," Alwyn said.

  "Of course. Do you know if Mr Perl dealt with anyone else locally? Anyone that knew him, friends or business partners?" Loft asked.

  "There is a glass-blower down the street over there and about halfway along one of the alleys. That's where he bought most of his jars. I suppose they might have known him. That lad in his shop broke enough jars he must have been a regular customer," Alwyn said.

  "No-one else?" Lost asked hopefully.

  The baker shook his head. "No, sorry, Captain. Like I say, he kept himself to himself and kept pretty long hours. I'm the only one in the street that had a reason to buy from him regularly."

  Loft nodded. "Very well, thank you for your time and the information. If we find the family, I'll let you know. I'm sure there'll be a funeral. Now, I'm afraid I must be going."

  Loft walked back out of the shop, the smell of bread and cakes made his mouth water. He considered buying something to share with his officers before he remembered the grim task they were about to perform. Perhaps another day.

  Chapter Six

  Moving the body was a sweaty, bothersome and exhausting task. The merchant hadn't been fat exactly, but neither was he a small man. The stretcher Pelunt had found made it easier, but Dr Gardener was quick to point out that his stitches would only do so much. No-one much fancied the prospect of the deceased bursting and falling out all over the stairs, so they took their time.

  Once they had him on the cart and covered him up, the going was much easier. Fortunately, the cart Pelunt had borrowed from the inn near the watch house came with a cart horse which was elderly but more than a match for the task.

  They trundled through the streets, Pelunt driving the cart, with Dr Gardener sat beside him. Loft and Gurnt walked behind, he lost in thought about the case and she, grumbling about goldsmiths.

  Loft was chafing at the bit by the time they reached the Old Gate Watch House; he wanted to get the doctor settled as quickly as possible so he could get on with the case. The official name of the Thieftakers watch house was aptly chosen.

  The main building was a part of the ancient city wall which had once marked the boundary of the city. That boundary had long since been swallowed as the city expanded in all directions, and now, this was one of the few traces that remained.

  What had once been the western gatehouse of the entire city, was still largely intact. Two square towers and an arch wide enough for at least two carriages to pass through side by side.

  Facing the gate from the inside, as Loft thought of it, or at the least from the side where the oldest parts of the city were found, a long section of wall ran south from the left tower.

  At least, in Loft's mental image, the gatehouse was aligned north-south, though the streets and alleys in the area were so convoluted and the buildings cast so much shadow, he wasn't certain that was correct. It could very well be running east-west.

  He should probably find an up to date map of the area and study it thoroughly at some point. This wasn't where he'd gr
own up, and he wasn't familiar with the streets yet.

  The portcullis was still there, but it was locked permanently open, the mechanism long since rusted shut or failed. That had been one of the first things he'd asked when he was assigned here a few days ago. He thought he'd managed to conceal his disappointment that he wouldn't get to see it in operation.

  They couldn't close it if they wanted to, but as the wall was mostly gone that didn't make any difference to the city defences. A newer outer wall bounded a large portion of the city, but that too now had housing and businesses on the other side.

  As the Shattered Empire had been more or less at peace, with the brief exception of the Boy King's Folly fifteen years previously, that wasn't considered a real problem.