by Jon Evans
"It's not as if I was trying to throw him off the roof Merrick," Loft protested, "I didn't have much choice when he started to use magic. It all happened so fast."
"I don't care if you threw him off a hundred rooves, you idiot!" Gardener shouted, "I care about you, putting yourself at risk like that. !"
The yelling didn't stop, and Loft clutched his head in pain, "Do you think I give a tuppenny fuck about a child murderer and torturer? I spend half my life stitching up the victims of violent men. Do you realise how incredibly dangerous what you did was? I can unwind that bandage on your chest and give it a good slap on the chest if it will help drive the point home."
Loft warded him off with a hand, chuckled and then hissed with the pain that generated, "No, no, point taken, Merrick. Please be quieter, I beg you, my head is pounding. I'll try not to take a risk like that in the future. It's not as if I knew he was a magic user though."
"You bloody well knew how far it was from the roof of the pub to the cobbles and if you didn't, Corporal Skorta can tell you."
That left a sick feeling in Loft's stomach; he'd not thought about that yet, "How is he doing?"
"He was lucky, in a sense. He hit the roof of an indoor privy on the way down to the alley. He broke both legs and some ribs, lots of bumps and bruises but at least he was conscious. Until he passed out from the pain that is. I've set his bones as best I can but it's too early to tell if he'll ever walk again," Gardener said, wordlessly handing Loft the mercifully empty chamber pot to throw up in as he saw the colour change on his face.
Loft spat, several times and then spoke, "He might not walk again? Oh, Merrick, what have I done? I could have let him go; we could have tried to catch up with him when he got off the roof. I had to try and get him myself, and now, one of my men is facing life as a cripple."
"All good points, well made," Gardener said.
"But?" Loft asked.
"But what? I'm not disagreeing with you. If you'd done things differently, the bastard might be alive in your cells, you might not have got injured, and Skorta might be walking out with his wife tonight," Gardener speculated.
"Of course, you might have faced him on the street all at once and found he thrived on the challenge, killing a few of you before he even bothered to use magic. He might have got away. Skorta might have got thrown under a passing cart. You can't be second guessing your every action, or you'll never get on with living in the present," Gardener pointed out.
"Easy for you to say, you're not the one who got someone crippled today," Loft moaned.
"Stop being such a whiny little prick for a moment, would you? You didn't cripple anyone. Could you have made better choices? Possibly. Might it have helped? Maybe. You think I haven't crippled and killed people when I'm operating? You think my professional life is replete with success? Every single one of my patients dies you know. Every last one of them. Sometimes I make the wrong choice, and they die sooner. If I'm lucky, I can help them live longer or a better life, but they still end up dead, just like all of us. You'll learn from this experience, maybe next time you'll do things differently, but I know you, Loft, you'll always be doing the best you can. So stop moping about, clean yourself up and put on your least filthy clothes and come down to see your troops," Gardener said.
Loft looked around, awkwardly avoiding his friends gaze, "Um. Bit harsh maybe? Just a touch?" He looked up, and his friend was shaking his head vehemently, "No? Right. I suppose I best get up then."
"Good. Need a hand?" Gardener asked.
"No, I think I can manage, and in any case, I don't think clapping will help," Loft said.
Gardener stopped, hands just about to come together in applause, he looked disappointed, sniffed and said "Suit yourself, you humourless sod. I will see you downstairs in a few minutes, then." He flounced off in a theatrical huff that his terrible joke had been ruined.
It took more than a few minutes but he fought the pain in his chest and the bruises that seemed to join every part of his body to every other part and struggled to make himself look presentable.
He found everyone waiting for him, everyone but Skorta of course. Swint had a bandage around her head but the rest of them were fine. He got a little cheer from the assembled group and a few quips about his bandaged head.
Gurnt showed him through to the barracks where Skorta was laid up in bed. Doctor Gardener had given him something to help him sleep, and he was out cold. His legs were splinted and bandaged so heavily you couldn't really see what was going on with them. They hovered by the bed for a few minutes and then quietly left him to sleep.
Chapter Twenty Three
"Go on then Sergeant, I've had it from Dr Gardener already, but you may as well say your piece," Loft said as he sat down slowly in his office chair.
"About what?" Gurnt asked.
"Me chasing him on my own and taking him on before anyone else got there," he replied.
"Hmm. Head hurt? Ribs hurt?" she asked, and he nodded in response, "Pretty sure you'll think more about that over the next few weeks than anything I say to you then. If you'd waited we could have surrounded the building and picked him off with a crossbow, but you didn't, and there's no use crying over spilt milk."
"No, there isn't really, is there? It's Skorta that bothers me," Loft said.
"He'll be fine, or he won't. He should have waited too," she said, leaving something unsaid.
"Anything else?" Loft asked, sensing there most certainly was.
"I saw what you did," Gurnt said softly.
"Pushed him off the roof?" Loft said.
"No, just before that. I saw. Why did you tell me?"
"I'm sorry, Sergeant, I'm not sure what you are talking about. Tell you what?" Loft asked.
She stared at him, but he waited her out until she huffed and said, "You're one of them. A wizard."
That dragged a laugh from Loft's throat. "Me? A wizard? Hardly."
"I know what I saw; you used magic against him. A flash of bright light right before you hit him. That wasn't from him, his hand was glowing green," she insisted.
"I did use magic, but I'm no wizard. It was just a cantrip, not a killing spell," Loft said.
"What?"
"A cantrip. The lowest order of spell casting. It's something of a hobby; there was a bit of a fad for it when I was at the University when I was there," Loft explained.
"But it stopped him in his tracks, you stopped his spell and then he couldn't stop you pushing him off the roof. It was like he froze," she protested.
He laughed again and then forced himself to stop when he saw the look on her face, "Seriously Sergeant, I didn't do anything nearly so impressive."
"Then what's your version?" Gurnt said.
"I cast a cantrip we used to use as a practical joke. It just creates a bright flash of light, nothing more, no damage to a human, no pain, no noise even, just a little light. He was so surprised his spell faltered, and I was already moving when it fizzled out on my chest. He was far too close to the edge to keep his balance when I hit him, and I was moving forward before my chest went up in green flame. I'm sure it looked different to you, but I swear, if I knew the kind of magic he did, I'd have used it straight away, I wouldn't have risked confronting him like that if I had another choice," he said.
"The kind of magic?" she said, her eyes narrowing, "You bloody knew didn't you?"
"Knew what?" Loft said.
"Knew he had magic. You knew already. Before he did that to you," she said, pointing at his bandaged chest.
Loft smiled. "I didn't know, exactly. I suspected. It's not quite the same thing. If I'd been sure, I would have told you."
"Don't argue semantics with me, Captain. How did you know?" she demanded.
"Semantics, Sergeant? That doesn't seem much like you," Loft asked.
"I have hidden depths. Apparently, it's in the in thing around here. Now answer the question, how did you know he had magic?" Gurnt insisted.
"The lock in the shop. It was shattered a
nd not by a boot kicking a door open. It might have been a hammer or other tool, and I wasn't sure. I've never seen anything like it, but I thought it could have been magic or possibly some alchemical process," Loft said.
"Who was this man? A killer and a wizard? Where did he come from? Who did he work for?" she asked.
"All good questions which I don't know the answer too. Believe me, Sergeant Gurnt, I would dearly like to find out. I would bet he was expensive, whoever he worked for," Loft said.
"You said The Palace want us to look into the weapon smuggling Perl was involved in?" she asked.
"Yes, so we can get on with that after we've submitted our report about today's work," Loft said.
"Yesterday's work, actually, Sir," she said, beginning to calm down, "You've been out of it since then."
"Explains why I'm so damned hungry then," Loft said.
She nodded and flicked her head toward the door, "Let's go and get you some food then, Captain," Gurnt said.
"Has everyone eaten? I've no idea what time it is," Loft asked.
"Not yet, it's almost noon," she said.
"I'll buy lunch for everyone then, someone needs to stay with Skorta so pick someone to stay behind," Loft said.
"His wife will be back in a bit, she took their lads out for their lunch a while ago, we can go then. In the meantime, let's talk about your fencing, shall we?"
"I don't fence, Sergeant."
"I noticed, and that's a problem if you're going to brag about it. I don't remember seeing your name on the list of finalists in any recent competitions. Are you perhaps, an awful lot older than you look?" Gurnt asked.
"No, it was just a bluff I'm afraid," Loft shrugged.
"Well, if you're going to rush headlong at vicious bastards on a regular basis, you're going to need to get better at that."
"What do you suggest?" Loft asked.
"Honestly?" she said.
"Please," Loft said.
"Find out what spell he used on you and learn that one. You'd only have to burn a couple of people before word got round and they just started surrendering to Wizard Captain Loft," Gurnt replied.
"I think you may have drastically overestimated my magical ability and knowledge, Sergeant," Loft said.
"Maybe but I haven't underestimated your fencing. Seriously though, can you get training? Do you know anyone who can teach you something more useful?" she asked.
Loft shook his head, "No, a few people I knew tried to go further than cantrips, but it's years of study and most people don't have the necessary aptitude for it. I've never even met a real wizard."
"Pity. Having a wizard in the Thieftakers would be useful. In that case, we need to get you some training from a fighter who knows which end of the sword is for sticking in people," she said.
"I'm not that bad! It's the shiny end, right?" Loft grinned.
"Maybe we should try you with some other weapons, find something that suits you," Gurnt pondered.
"What's the discussion about?" Gardener asked as he sauntered into the office.
"How we can stop the Captain getting skewered by the next real fighter he comes across," Gurnt helpfully supplied. Loft sighed, Gardener didn't need feeder lines like that.
"Armour I would think. Lots of armour, like a knight. Perhaps two shields and a big bell to summon help? Big padded helmet to protect that delicate brain of his?" Gardener answered cheerfully.
"Bollocks to the pair of you," Loft grumbled.
"Maybe a crossbow? Remind me, how's your archery, Loft?" Gardener teased.
"Passable. I'm better with a bow than a crossbow, but I practised more with it. Bows don't seem practical for the watch though," Loft said.
"I dunno, I like the idea of not running after people and just shooting them. I suppose you want to arrest them alive though? Is it hard to hit a running man in the leg with a bow? I've never tried shooting one at someone without meaning to kill them," Gurnt said.
"Perhaps get some practice with a light crossbow then, you took some yesterday, didn't you? No reason the Captain can't be one of the people carrying one until you have time to learn how to lunge, parry and all that sword waving stuff, is there?" Gardener offered.
"If I say yes, will you two stop pestering me?" Loft asked.
"I imagine the Sergeant will, but I outrank you so, probably not," Doctor Gardener said.
"How do you outrank me? I'm a Captain, and you're a civilian," Loft said.
"Let's see. Try ordering me to do something," Gardener said and made a rude gesture that made even Gurnt raise an eyebrow.
"Did you want something Doctor?" Loft asked.
"Other than lunch? Yes, I want to get that old lift fixed. If you're going to be having me working here and bringing me severely injured watchmen and corpses to look at, I don't want to be winching people up by hand or carrying people up the stairs," Gardener said. "We haven't dropped anyone yet but we will sooner or later, and that would be painful for the living, and the dead would make an awful mess. Especially if they're fresh from the river."
"That's an excellent idea, and I fully support it. I have no idea where we'd get the money or even find someone to do the work though. I don't know anything about steam working," Loft said.
"Fortunately, I know someone who does. I'm sure I can convince him to give us a fair rate. Maybe it wouldn't be that hard to repair,"
Gurnt coughed, "There isn't an engine you know."
They both looked at her blankly, and she rolled her eyes. "There's supposed to be a steam engine, to power the lift but it was sold off years ago before I came here. There's nothing to repair. We need a whole new engine to get that thing working again."
Gardeners face fell, "Shall I get my friend in any way to see how much it would cost?"
"Knock yourself out, Doctor. We're not paying for him to just look around though," Loft said, "What we can do is make some space on the ground floor for you to treat patients. We could find you a living space as well if you'd like."
Gardener looked taken aback, "Are you serious? Run my practice from a Watch House?"
"Why not? We have lots of room, the people around here need a doctor, and I know you don't like working with the wealthy demanding patients. Quid pro quo, we give you space to treat people, a roof over your head and you help us out when we need it," Loft shrugged, "Maybe we can find some money somehow and fix the lift, you never know."
"Those smugglers probably have some, if we find them, we could take theirs," Gurnt said, "Mohran did say he wanted more tax revenue to fund things like the watch, right?"
Loft laughed. "He did indeed. Do you want to go and ask him if he'll put some of it our way, Sergeant?"
"I'd be happy to persuade him to, once we've got hold of it," she grinned back.
A knock at the office door announced Constable Libult who informed them that Skorta's wife was back in the barracks. Loft swallowed, stood and went to speak to her. He hadn't the words, he fumbled an apology and offer of support, and she smiled weakly in return. Doctor Gardener took over and checked on his patient and Loft took his leave.
Chapter Twenty Four
Commander Cadogan finished the last page of the report and tapped the papers on his desk, shuffling them into a neat stack again before placing them carefully in his out tray.
"So he admitted his guilt in the murder then? That at least means you can let the local merchants know the problem is taken care off. Do you know who he was working for?" he asked.
"Not yet, Sir, no. We do need to go through everything in his flat though. We're hoping we find something in there that will lead us to his employers or accomplices. My men are going over every inch of the place right now, Sir," Loft said.
"Good. When you're done here, go straight there and make sure they've done a thorough job. I don't want anything else missed like the brooch was. I want some smugglers caught, and I want that money for the Watch, Loft. Understood?" Cadogan ordered.
"About that, Sir. I was wondering if we could request
some resources to make some repairs to our Watch House, replace some of the equipment and so on," Loft asked.
"Repairs? Have you broken something? What is it you need exactly?" Cadogan asked.
"Doctor Gardener would like us to repair the lift mechanism in the gate tower so we can move his patients around more easily, the living and the dead ones," Loft explained.
"Really? Was he that useful then? I mean, examining the dead bodies. I think we can take it as a given that good doctors are helpful for injured Watchmen," Commander Cadogan asked.