Dark Territory

by A. C. Cobble

  He looked around in the dim light from the window. It revealed the back of a simple peddler’s cart, the feet of several shelves, and not much else.

  Ben climbed to his feet with a groan and felt along the wall until he located the doors. By feel, he found two thick iron bars slid into brackets on the door. Simple, effective security. He slid the bars out and winced when they crashed to the floor. Probably not any louder than he was though, he thought ruefully. With the bars out, he pushed one of the doors open and saw Amelie patiently waiting for him. Ben bowed and swept a hand out, gesturing for her to lead the way.

  “Have you ever entered a warehouse without falling down?” she asked.

  Ben rolled his eyes.

  With the large door open, the back half of the warehouse was visible. Ben saw a lantern hanging on the wall next to the door and struck it alight. Lantern in hand, Ben shut the door behind them, and they walked into the open space.

  In the center of the room was a large cart. The center of the cart was enclosed. Ben guessed the peddler used it as a sleeping and living area when he was on the road. As they strolled around it, they found the back of the cart had a wide door that could be opened entirely or just on the top half. The sides had foldable tables that could be let down when he stopped to display the wares. Boxes and shelves lined the inside and outsides of the vehicle. The design was compact and efficient, perfect for a lone man to live in and travel.

  “The cart is here. The donkey is here. Where is the peddler?” wondered Amelie.

  Ben frowned and looked around the shelves surrounding the open space. A confusing variety of items was stacked on them. Some held obvious goods that any peddler might take to small villages, such as needles, cooking implements, and fabrics. Other shelves held more valuable items like wooden carvings, silver plates, and an array of gemstones. Ben peered closely at the gemstones.

  “This has to be worth a fortune,” he breathed.

  Amelie came beside him and poked at one of the gems with a finger. “I can’t believe he just leaves them lying out like this. If someone broke in like we did, they could easily find and steal this. This doesn’t make me confident in the peddler’s judgment.”

  Ben looked closer. He was no expert on gems, but he did know a little bit about people. “Would he leave this much wealth just lying around?”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” remarked Amelie. “He couldn’t have picked a less secure place.”

  “They could be fake gems,” Ben surmised.

  They kept looking around. The possibly fake gems were concerning, but it was better than it could have been. When Jolly Jon had mentioned contraband the night before, Ben had imagined the worst.

  The rest of the goods were uninteresting, particularly now that Ben suspected they were fakes. Silver plates could be tin covered in a glaze. Wooden objects covered in mysterious runes suddenly appeared amateurish, even to Ben’s inexperienced eye. A thin layer of dust covered most of the items, implying they were rarely handled. The more they looked, the more convinced Ben came that all of the objects were part of some con game.

  “Do you think it’s all fake?” asked Ben.

  Amelie shrugged. “The dagger he gave us is real.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow at her. Unless it had been lost in the fog of drink, he didn’t think they’d spoken about it the night before.

  “I need time to study it, but I believe we’ll find it has some very strange properties,” claimed Amelie. “It is definitely mage-wrought.”

  At the front of the warehouse they found a small office. The door was locked and didn’t budge when Ben tried to shake it. He bent down and looked at the latch closely.

  “I think I could break this open,” he murmured.

  “Keep in mind we’ll be travelling with this man for the next month,” advised Amelie. “I don’t think we should go breaking down his doors.”

  Ben stood back up. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he declared.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The man claimed he sold rare and unique items,” stated Ben. “At the very least, we know he had access to one mage-wrought piece. Even if he didn’t understand the properties, that must be exceptionally valuable. He wouldn’t give that to us just to walk to Irrefort with him. He wanted something. What was it?”

  Amelie didn’t have an answer.

  “Jolly Jon mentioned something about smuggling contraband,” continued Ben, “but this stuff wouldn’t pass the test for any serious buyer. I don’t think this trash is what he really wanted us to help him transport.”

  Ben raised the lantern and looked around. He was certain now. There was something they were missing.

  Amelie grunted and sat down on the back of the cart. “I’m too hung over for this,” she complained. “Is this what you feel like every time you drink with Rhys?”

  Ben snorted then paused.

  Under Amelie’s feet, the dust that covered the rest of the warehouse floor was disturbed. Everywhere else, the thick wooden planks were coated in dust. Only the marks left by the wheels of the cart and a handful of footprints showed where there had been activity. The footprints were hopelessly muddled by Ben and Amelie’s inspection of the place now, but near her feet was something different.

  “Do you think it’s strange the floor of this place is wood?” asked Ben.

  Amelie shrugged. “My head hurts too much to think.”

  “It seems strange to me,” continued Ben. “Everywhere else in this town they’re tearing apart wagons and cobbling walls together with leftover shipping crates. In here, Samuel has floored the entire warehouse. The wood floor is probably worth more than the garbage he keeps on the shelves.”

  Ben crouched down and started shining the lantern along the wood planks. Near Amelie, he found a hole in the floor the size of his fist. The wood was scraped and scarred. A quick examination showed the floorboards in that spot were cut into a square, about two paces on each side. Ben looked around. Under the cart he saw a long pole. He sat down the lantern and grabbed the pole. Amelie watched curiously.

  Inserting the end of the pole into the floor, Ben leaned against it and almost fell over when the floor lifted up. He recovered his balance, got his fingers under the square section of floor, and lifted it the rest of the way. The light from the lantern revealed the square was attached to a set of hinges. It covered a narrow staircase that descended below the floor of the warehouse. The pleasant scent of flowers drifted up to them.

  “Well,” declared Ben, “this is interesting.”

  Amelie climbed off the cart and joined him. Drawing his sword, Ben passed the lantern to Amelie. He descended the stairs, eyes straining to see in the dim light. It was a quick journey to the bottom. There was a small room with a simple table and more shelves. Ben barely registered those, though. He was focused on what was on the floor.

  Samuel was lying there, eyes closed, the bone hilt of a dagger sticking straight up from the center of his chest. Amelie joined Ben at the foot of the stairs and they both looked down at the dead peddler.

  “I did not expect to find this,” stated Ben.

  Amelie knelt by the body and examined it without touching the man.

  “His coat is still damp, probably from the rain,” she mentioned. “He must have come here last night after we went to bed.”

  “I wish I wasn’t getting so used to his,” moaned Ben as he knelt beside her and started patting down the body, looking for a pouch, weapon, or any other items on the dead man.

  “No signs of struggle,” she mused, glancing around the small room, “aside from the knife and pool of blood, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed Ben.

  Finding nothing on Samuel, he looked at rest of the room. Unlike above in the warehouse, here, the shelves had been disturbed. Ransacked might be a better term he decided.

  Oddly spaced gaps made it appear some items had been taken. Others had been tossed carelessly around. A tipped-over cloak rack leaned against the wall. I
n one corner, he found where the floral scent came from. Several shattered jars of perfume lay on the dirt floor. On the table, he found a sack filled with coins. Gold and silver reflected up at him.

  “If this was a robbery, it was a very strange one,” he remarked, picking up a few of the discs and toying with them. They didn’t feel fake. He slipped them into his belt pouch.

  “Some of these items are mage-wrought,” said Amelie, fingering a tiny wooden figurine.

  They spent several more tense minutes examining the room but found no clues on who killed Samuel or why.

  “Why did they leave the knife in him?” asked Amelie.

  Ben looked at the blade again. It had a pale bone handle and simple steel cross piece. The little he could see of the blade was narrow steel, but the bulk of it was buried in the unfortunate man’s chest. Blood covered his tunic and coat. Ben was about to stand back up when he noticed three parallel slashes on the butt of the knife. They looked deliberate, as if someone was marking the knife to identify it later. He showed Amelie but she just shrugged.

  “I think we should go find Jolly Jon,” said Ben, finally.

  “We could find him or just leave,” suggested Amelie. “I know it will be muddy on the road, but it can’t be a bigger mess than this.”

  Ben ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. We need to leave soon, but our travel packs are back at the inn.”

  Amelie grimaced before agreeing, “It’s stupid to leave without those.”

  They climbed back up the stairs. Ben blew out the lantern before hanging it where he’d found it. Peeking out the barn doors, they saw no one in the alley. They stepped into the bright sunlight. Not speaking, they scurried through the streets of Amum. There was no reason to think whatever happened to Samuel would happen to them, but still, they’d been with the man just before he was killed.

  Shortly, they reached the Hammer and Anvil and ducked under the metal sign into the inn. In the common room, one of Jon’s employees was dispiritedly sweeping the filthy floor.

  “Is Jolly Jon around?” Ben asked the man.

  Cow-eyed, the man looked back at Ben. “He’s running errands. If you’re looking for a room or a bite to eat, I can help you.”

  Ben shook his head. “We already have a room.”

  He and Amelie went upstairs to talk. They had to decide. Stay and discuss Samuel’s murder with the innkeeper or leave.

  “If we walk across the prairie grass instead of the muddy road, it may not slow us down too much,” suggested Amelie.

  Ben nodded. “It’s almost noon now. The sun’s been out all morning. The road conditions may be improving already, or, like you say, we can go cross country over the grass. It could be a little spongy. As long as we’re not sinking past our ankles, we could make progress. We don’t need to get far, just out of sight of this town.”

  Decided, they quickly stuffed their meager supplies into the packs and made for the stairs. On the way down, Ben heard shouting. He held up a hand and they paused, halfway to the common room. Amelie shot him a worried look, but she heard the commotion too.

  Ben held a finger to his lips then tiptoed toward the bottom. He kept his steps near the wall where he hoped there was less chance of a creak giving him away. The people in the common room wouldn’t have been able to hear him over their own scuffling, though.

  “You have no right!” shouted Jolly Jon.

  “Tell me where they are and we don’t have to do this,” responded a cool, familiar voice.

  Ben heard a thump and ferocious coughing. He risked a peek around the corner of the stairwell then snapped back.

  Amelie had followed and was right behind him.

  He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Lord James, his footman, and half a dozen soldiers.”

  “I already told you,” protested Jolly Jon. “They left this morning. They’re not here!”

  A smack and a grunt.

  Amelie slid a palm-sized mirror out of her belt pouch, the one Jasper had given her. She gestured for Ben to look. She briefly closed her eyes in concentration. When she opened them, an image appeared in the mirror. It was the common room as seen a pace to Ben’s left. She was far-seeing but not very far.

  Jolly Jon was slumped between two guards. Lord James was standing in front of him, rubbing his hand where he must have hit Jon.

  “What else?” asked James.

  “They left on foot, just the two of them. They’re going to Cormender.”

  The lord hauled back and slapped Jon across the face again.

  “Ian, the poker,” demanded James.

  The footman pulled an iron rod out of the fire. Ben’s eyes widened. The tip of the poker was glowing red.

  “Irrefort, I mean!” yelped Jon. “They’re going to Irrefort.”

  “That’s better,” snapped James. “What do they intend to do there?”

  Jon hung his head. “I don’t know.”

  James gestured to his footman and the grim-faced man advanced, red hot poker held steady in his hands.

  “Please!” begged Jon with a sob. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but they didn’t say why they were going there.”

  James, stern-faced, didn’t answer. Ian stalked forward.

  Words began to tumble out of the panicked innkeepers’ mouth. “The boy, he said his name was Mathias. The girl called herself Meghan. He had a sword, mage-wrought, I think. He must be some sort of warrior or a spy. The girl acted with highborn airs but then got drunk. I think they are lovers. She had a dagger…”

  James backhanded the innkeeper. “I saw them fight. I already know what weapons they have, idiot.”

  Tears and blood streaming down his face, Jon didn’t take his eyes off the fire poker. “I don’t know what you know. I’m trying to tell you everything I can. I swear!”

  Ian remorselessly thrust the fire poker into Jon’s stomach. The innkeeper howled, thrashing wildly, trying to get away from the burning heat. He almost slipped out of the soldier’s arms, but a third man came behind and looped his arms around Jon’s neck while two others held his arms.

  Ben tensed, poised to jump out of the staircase and confront the men. Amelie caught his sleeve and shook her head. Ben grimaced and settled back to watch the scene unfold in Amelie’s mirror. For a long breath, Ian held the poker, searing a hole in Jon’s flesh. When he removed it, the innkeeper sank, only supported by the soldiers. Smoke drifted away from the hole in his shirt where the poker had scorched his skin.

  Between deep, gasping breaths, he pleaded with James, “Please tell me what you want to know. I’ll tell you anything.”

  “Why were they going to Irrefort?” demanded James. His voice was calm and cold. “Why did they not turn my ring into Captain Vander? Who are these two that they do not care for good gold?”

  Ben grimaced and glanced at Amelie. She shrugged helplessly. It was too late to rectify that mistake.

  Ben glanced back at the mirror and saw Jon’s face twist in anguish. The innkeeper answered, “They’re spies, Alliance spies. They’re going to Irrefort for, for the coronation, I think. They were very interested in the coronation. They kept asking me questions about it, and about Lord Jason and what happened in Issen. They stayed here and didn’t collect the gold because they’re spies. Yes, I am sure of it.”

  James looked at his footman.

  Ian simply shrugged and admitted, “It fits.”

  In a flash, James whipped out his rapier and spun toward Jon. With flawless precision, the lord thrust the sharp point of his blade into the innkeeper’s eye, shattering the man’s spectacles. A hand-length of steel skewered the innkeeper, sinking deep into his brain.

  Ben felt Amelie grip his arm. None of the soldiers or the footman batted an eye at the sudden, unexpected brutality of the lord. Ben had seen enough. He gestured up the stairs. Amelie let the far-seeing mirror flicker out and she put it away. They ever so cautiously started creeping away.

  “Sir!” called a new voice. “You should hear this.
”

  “Go on,” replied Lord James.

  “I…” A small, quivering voice spoke up. “I think Jolly Jon, I think Jolly Jon was smuggling dingham powder through the inn. He has a cellar that only he goes into. I’ve smelled it on him when he comes out.”

  “Why didn’t you report this to the authorities?” challenged James.

  “I’m new. I just started working here two weeks ago. I didn’t know for sure.”

  “Search the cellar!” barked the lord. “Search the entire inn, from the bottom to the top. If this man was involved in the dingham trade, I want to know. I want to know everything about him, his drugs, and his relation to the spies.”

  “Shall we alert the garrison, lord?” asked Ian’s calm voice.

  “When we find the dingham, we’ll alert Vander,” declared James. “This is my find. The council in Irrefort will hear that it was me who disrupted the drug-smuggling ring.”

  “The spies, lord. They’re on the road, on foot. If Vander sends his men immediately, they could be captured by the end of the day. Sir, if we wait and they get away, it could reflect badly.”

  “Yes, of course!” snarled James. “Send a man now. Tell him about the spies but not the dingham.”

  Ben didn’t wait to hear more. He and Amelie, as fast as they dared, scampered up the stairs. They made it to the top of the staircase and darted down the hall. So far, no shouts of alarm went up from below. The soldiers must have started in the cellar where the dingham was claimed to be. It wouldn’t take long after that for them to come search the rooms.

  Ben was panicked. He grabbed Amelie’s arm and started toward their room. If they could squeeze out of the window, it was only a three-story drop to the ground below. It was risky, and he knew they’d likely injure themselves jumping, but it was better than being caught by the soldiers.

  A shirtless man poked his head out of one of the other doors. “What’s happening down there?” he demanded. “I was up all night. Between the damn smith’s hammers and the racket below, I can’t get any sleep!”

  “Soldiers,” Ben told him honestly. “They’re searching the inn.”