He walked by the swinging cage and stifled a snicker when the young woman shouted, “You think you’re so tough, then let me out and let’s fight fair. I bet two coppers neither of you have the stones for it!”
Well put. Wren was starting to wonder if the contact poison would be enough for this pathetic camp filled with bullies and slavers. Perhaps he would have to increase the body count, and add a bit of dramatic flare for effect. War was a nasty business, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be fought honorably. Tormenting women and children was not something Wren could stomach. He would ensure his main target was dealt with, and then he would work through the night to devise something a bit more appropriate for the rest of the spineless wonders running the place.
After reaching the captain’s quarters, he pulled back the flap of the tent and entered. He found Captain Ratts, a tall, weasel of a man with dark, beady eyes and greasy hair smoothed back over his pale scalp, sitting with his feet up on a table as he nursed a bottle of wine.
“A courier, how wonderful. What news from the capitol this time? Are we to stage a frontal assault? Shall we cross the river during the night and attack?”
Wren dutifully kept his mouth shut and opened his satchel. “Sir, I carry orders regarding your patrols,” he said as he offered the letter.
When Captain Ratts reached out and took the envelope, Wren noticed the man was wearing gloves. He hadn’t expected that. The dried toxins would not be strong enough to get through any gloves. It had to be directly in contact with Ratts’ skin.
Captain Ratts cleared his throat and rang a small brass bell.
A porter came running into the tent, a boy of maybe fourteen years and too short for the uniform he wore. “Sir!?” the porter shouted as he brought his hand up to a salute.
“Open this,” Ratts said.
Wren’s heart skipped a beat. The young porter was not wearing gloves. If he opened it and read it aloud, then the wrong man would die. Worse still, the porter wasn’t yet a man, and Wren couldn’t have his death on his conscience.
“I was instructed that only you should open and read the letter, sir,” Wren said quickly as he took a half step forward.
“You said it was about patrols,” Captain Ratts fired back. “Hardly anything secretive there.”
Wren shook his head. “I’m afraid I really must insist, sir. I was given explicit instructions. I think, if you read it, you will see the virtue in those instructions.”
“Indeed,” Ratts replied with a sigh. He put the tip of his right middle finger in his mouth and bit down on the glove to pull it off. He tore open the missive while giving the porter a dismissive stare that seemed to spook the poor boy. Ratts then unfolded the letter, his fingers touching the paper in all the right places. His eyes briefly scanned the paper and then he grunted. “My porter could have read this aloud,” he said.
“Sorry sir, but I have my orders. Now, if you please, the letter is to be burned.”
“Burned?” Ratts said incredulously. “What for?”
Wren shrugged. “I don’t know sir, I haven’t read the letter. I was told it was about your patrols, and had other sensitive information,” he lied.
“Oh for the sake of Bornin the Blue,” Ratts grumbled. He turned and stuffed the paper down into a burning lamp.
Wren watched until the paper turned black and red as the fire overtook it, and then the ash floated away. The spy could breathe a bit easier now knowing that the young porter wouldn’t risk touching the letter.
“If that is all, you are disturbing my afternoon tea time. War shouldn’t mean that a man gives up all pleasantries, you know,” Ratts said.
“Yes sir,” Wren said. He turned to leave and then stopped. “Why is the young woman in the cage?” he asked.
Ratts slammed his bottle down onto the table hard enough that Wren swore it would shatter. “Because I ordered it. How long have you been a courier?”
“Not long, sir,” Wren said. “I transferred to the army after a stint with the royal navy. I used to be stationed at the port in Zulholm,” Wren lied.
“Well, I’m not sure how it is in the navy, but in the army, one does not question their superior. I don’t need thinkers out here along the front, I need doers. Understand?”
“Yes sir, but, was she a thief?” Wren pressed.
“No,” Ratts replied. “Now run along.”
“I would, sir, but it just seems odd to find her here, swinging in a cage, especially after all the rumors…”
Captain Ratts stood up and his hand hovered dangerously over a long knife at his belt. “Rumors?” he asked. “Goodness, I think you had best let me in on what you have heard.”
Wren frowned and put on a timid expression, but on the inside he was smiling. Ratts had taken the bait. “No, it’s nothing. Forget I said anything, sir. I’ll just go and grab some coffee at the mess tent.”
“No,” Ratts said as he gripped Wren’s upper arm and squeezed. “You don’t understand. I have asked you to explain the rumors to me, and I will not be refused. Look at me, I am a captain. I wield power a lowly courier like yourself couldn’t possibly fathom. The laws of society may govern the larger cities, but this is the front, and in this camp my law reigns supreme.”
“Very well,” Wren said, still putting on the timid face. “The thing is, people say that you are selling women off as slaves.”
“What people?” Ratts pressed.
“They say you capture anyone you can get your hands on, and put them in cells. But it’s not true is it? I mean, no honorable officer would do such a thing, would they? That’s why I asked what the young woman had done. I thought there had to be a reason, and that the rumors I had heard were exaggerated.”
Ratts squeezed Wren’s arm tighter. “The front is a dangerous place,” he said. “Especially for a courier. Why, I bet several couriers die every day in these parts.”
Wren continued playing the part of the intimidated subordinate, but secretly, as he kept his eyes down, he was watching each move of Ratt’s free hand. “I don’t have to tell anyone what I saw. I can keep it quiet,” Wren said.
“You know, I can do one better,” Ratts replied. “I could use someone on the outside, someone who could keep me abreast of these… rumors. What do you say? I can pay you five gold for any information you might come across. After all, we mustn’t allow outsiders to think poorly of my men.”
Wren had heard enough. He slammed his fist under Ratt’s jaw, shattering the bone and rendering the man unable to call for help. The spy then wrenched his other arm free of Ratts’ grasp, pulled the captain’s knife, then plunged it into the man’s heart. “’Fraid I won’t be joining in,” Wren said as he stared into the captain’s wide, dark eyes. It was tragic waste of poison, and honestly a better death than the man deserved, but things had changed.
Captain Ratts fell backward, landing in his chair. Wren quickly grabbed the man’s feet and propped them back on the table once more. He then draped a blanket over the dead man’s chest and forced the eyelids closed. Wren rang the small brass bell and then hurried toward the tent flaps to catch the young porter before he could come all the way inside.
The flap was thrown open and the porter slammed right into Wren.
“Sorry, sir,” the porter said.
“No need. Listen, the captain has taken ill.” Wren put a hand on the porter’s shoulder and did his best to show an expression of concern. “I think he has been drinking too much,” Wren added.
The porter tried to look around Wren, but the spy kept his wide shoulders in the way. “He does drink a lot,” the porter said after a minute.
“Be sure that no one enters the tent. He shouldn’t be disturbed until he can sleep it off.”
“Of course sir. You can count on me. I’ll stand here the whole time.”
Wren smiled and ushered the boy outside the tent, careful to close the flaps behind him. “I’ll have some food brought up to you after supper.”
The porter gleamed at that.
The spy glanced down at the hanging cage, happy to see that the soldiers had left the young woman alone for now. He turned and made his way around the back of the row of tents until he came to a peculiar looking door at the back of the camp. It was angled the way a cellar door might be, with earth heaped up around the wooden frame to hold the door in place. A single guard stood outside.
“What’s the matter, never seen a jail before?”
Wren shook his head and held out his hands to show he had no ill intentions. “No it isn’t that, it’s just that… well…” he demurred and let the words trail off.
“Well what,” the guard barked.
Wren took another couple of steps closer and rubbed the back of his neck as he frowned, putting on a show as if he was ashamed to say what he was about to say. “Listen, I just spoke with the captain, and it seems my nephew is down there.”
“Your nephew?” the guard asked.
Wren nodded. “Captain Ratts said I could come and get him out.”
“Did he now?” the guard pressed as a sneer pulled at the left corner of his mouth.
Wren caught on quickly and nodded. “I have three weeks to pay his…” Wren glanced around as if nervous someone would overhear him, “…fine.”
The guard’s sneer grew. “And he told you how much it would be?”
Wren nodded. “I gave him some as a down payment, but I have three weeks to come up with the rest. I won’t dodge. I mean, I have to come back here on my route anyway. It’d be silly to try and cheat him.”
“Describe your nephew to me,” the guard said as he moved the point of his halberd toward Wren’s throat.
Wren made a show of looking at the weapon and gulping loudly. In his profession, he was good at taking mental pictures of people and faces. He may not have remembered the boy under normal circumstances, but since the boy had been outside the bakery right as Wren was arriving there to deal with the baker’s husband, he had made an effort to remember. It was always good practice to take notice of potential witnesses.
“Medium height, medium build, not terrible looking, but he’s not prince charming either. Light brown hair that’s a little longer than most boys wear theirs, and brown eyes.”
“Name?” the guard asked.
“Dremmond,” Wren said without hesitation.
“Wrong,” the guard said.
Wren didn’t miss a beat. He started laughing and shaking his head. “Well of course he wouldn’t tell you his real name. He probably made up something stupid. Let me guess, did he call himself Arthur, or perhaps Phineas?” Wren cleared his throat and sighed. “Whatever he is calling himself, this is the last time I am bailing him out. The poor fool was supposed to stay in Astyr with his other uncle.”
“He isn’t alone,” the guard said.
Wren had expected that. “Yes, I saw one of his friends swinging in the cage in the middle of camp, but the thing is, I am just a courier. It will take everything my family has just to get my nephew. His friends will just have to fend for themselves.”
“Rather harsh,” the guard commented. Wren could tell by the man’s tone that he didn’t mean it as a reprimand, but more as a joking observation.
“The world is harsh, especially along the front,” Wren said. “It wasn’t easy to convince Captain Ratts, and with the price I have to pay, it’s simply impossible to pay anyone else’s fine.”
The guard nodded. “You taking him right away then?”
Wren shook his head. “No, I’ll let him stew in there another night so I can rest in peace. I’ll take him with me in the morning. Mind if I go in and check on him?”
The guard shook his head. “Be my guest, but don’t take long.” The guard pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
Wren went down, ducking his head so as not to strike it against the top of the angled doorway. The underground tunnel stretched out for about fifty yards, with cells flanking either side of the walkway. Each cell was approximately ten yards long and about half that in depth. The ceiling was high enough to walk upright under, but there were no windows, and only a few candelabra along the walkway gave off a bit of dim light. The spy walked toward the back and found the young miner he had seen in Astyr hanging by a set of manacles from the support beam in the ceiling.
“So, nephew, this is your idea of fun is it?” He glanced to the two other young men in the cell and smiled at them. “And these are your friends too I suppose?”
The largest of the three young men with thick, dark hair glanced to the other two. “Who is this, Liden? I didn’t know you had an uncle.”
“He doesn’t speak of me much,” Wren cut in. He motioned for the other boy to come closer.
“Go to him, Debir,” said Liden, the boy hanging from the manacles. The one called Debir rocked back and forth and his gaze darted to the walls and ceiling of his cage, but he didn’t move, as though he was fastened in place. “Not again.”
Wren stepped up to the bars, he really didn’t have time for what was an obvious case of severe claustrophobia. “Debir, I want you to focus on me for a minute, do you understand?” Debir silently nodded. “Stop looking at the walls. They will only seem to close in on you. Instead try to concentrate on the space you do have. You can walk to me, you have room.” He knew it wasn’t a cure for the boy’s condition, but it was a step in the right direction.
Debir stepped forward slowly at first, then took another step. His breathing started to regulate. “Who are you?” he asked as he approached.
“Reach out and take hold of my left shoulder,” Wren instructed. He had already lost too much time getting the boy moving. “I have told the guard that I am coming to pay for your release.” He pointed to Liden. “The truth is a bit more… complicated than that.”
Debir reached through the bars and gripped onto Wren’s shoulder. Wren carefully pulled a bottle from under his belt and poured some of the contents into the lock. A wisp of silvery smoke snaked out and faint sizzling pops and cracks sounded from within the mechanism.
“This mixture will eat away at the lock. In a couple hours you will be able to push it open, but first, you have to wait for my signal.”
“How will I see a signal?” Debir asked. “There are no windows.”
Wren smiled. “You’ll hear a series of explosions. Once you hear them, pop this cell door open and go for the set of keys hanging on the back wall. Release your friend there, and then open the other cells and run, but don’t head for the river. Go eastward, or southward. Understand?”
Debir nodded. “What about the guard?”
“I’ll weaken him with a poison on my way out. You’ll be able to overpower him easily enough.”
Debir smiled. “Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t worry about that. After tonight, we shall not likely meet again, so make the best of it.”
“We have friends outside,” Debir put in quickly.”
“More than one?” Wren asked. “I saw the blonde hanging in the swinging cage, but I didn’t see another.”
“Sarta is outside in the fields east of the camp. She’s in a small cage.”
Wren nodded. “I can handle that. As for you, make sure you meet up with her before running off. Leave this tunnel, and then make your way as fast as you can for your friend Sarta. I’ll make sure the young woman in the swinging cage gets the same instructions, so don’t bother yourself with coming back for her.”
“I understand.”
Wren nodded and capped the bottle. “Best of luck.”
“The Divine bless you, stranger,” Debir said, but Wren was already walking down the path toward the exit. As he approached the door, he pulled a small wooden box from his pocket and removed a single tack of sharp metal that was tipped with a violently malevolent poison. He inserted the tack through the palm of his left glove, careful to avoid pricking his own skin.
“How is your nephew?” the guard asked as Wren came up the stairs and closed the door behind himself.
Wre
n stepped up and patted the guard on the shoulder with his left hand, striking the large man hard enough that the slap covered the stabbing sensation of the tack. “He is doing well, but I think staying in there one more night will help it sink in for the thick-headed idiot.”
The guard smiled. “Some of the men get together and play bones at the other end of camp. Ratts is all right with it as long as no one starts fighting.”
Wren gave a pat to a small coin purse. “Perhaps I’ll go and try my luck.” Wren waved goodbye and then moved off toward the tents. It would be an hour or two before the guard would feel the effects of the poison, but once he did, his legs would go weak and his breathing would grow more shallow as his heart slowed to a stop. Wren spent the remaining hours of sunlight playing bones with a group of seven Kresthinian soldiers. He won somewhat less often than he lost, but he was fitting in nicely, and that’s what he was really after. Once the sun went down, he excused himself from the game and started for the mess tent. Along the way, he stopped in a tent, first checking to make sure its occupants were out, and then set about gathering anything he could find that was flammable. He made a large pile in the center of the tent and then pulled a cobalt bottle from his belt. The container was scarcely larger around than his thumb, and only about as long as his middle finger, but the contents were as potent as a gyuzi viper’s bite. He sprinkled a small amount of the powder on top of the pile and then replaced the bottle and set fire to the pile with his tinder kit.
Wren exited the tent and found another tent two rows over that was also empty. He set about making a similar pile topped with his special powder and then made haste through camp for the mess tent, careful to stick to the shadows and remain hidden from sight.
Wren and the Ravens Page 14