A Burden Given

by James Bee

  “I don’t doubt that you gentlemen can handle your own business. It would be foolish for me to come into this town and act otherwise,”he said, struggling to sound mollifying.

  “I can feel a ‘but’ coming,”Lucan said with bland smile.

  “However,”Gerald put emphasis on the word, drawing a smile out of the priest, “I am not convinced that you can work together for the good of Redstone. We’ve been in the room for an hour, and nothing has come close to being decided. The Crown has decreed that I am to take control of this town, and I intend to do so.”The smiles vanished, replaced by tight mouths and narrowed eyes. Gerald groaned inwardly, sure that there was a more diplomatic way to handle that. A way to get them on his side without offending or threatening them. As the silence hung over the room, Gerald’s hand subconsciously went to his breast pocket, where the queen’s orders were nestled. The gesture did not go unnoticed.

  “No doubt the Crown has their reasons for sending you,”Rolan said, his tone plainly implying that any possible reasons were unknown to him. “Would I be wrong in assuming that you were sent with written orders?”Gerald knew that an important decision was upon him. To reveal the queen’s letter or to keep them hidden. To show it would lend him credibility and put the weight of the Crown behind his words. Yet showing it would limit him, force him to act in their spirit. Gerald ground his teeth, indecision weighing him down.

  Unable to think of a reason to refuse, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the parchment. Tossing it onto the table, he resigned himself to any trouble that it would cause. It landed flat, the red seal of the Crown clear upon the back. Rolan grabbed at it, but Blane was faster. Unfurling it, the garrison commander flinched. Tossing it back down, he put his finger in his mouth. Confused, Lucan grabbed it, holding it gingerly.

  “Careful, the bottom sliced me,”Blane said, glaring at Gerald as though it was his fault. Which of course it was. Gerald gazed back at him, furrowing his brows in an expression he hoped looked confused.

  “Hopefully the words inside are less dangerous,”Lucan said, slowly opening the parchment. In a moment his eyes took it in, and then he began to read it aloud. “Not much written on here. The queen’s reputation for bluntness seems to be well deserved. It says, ‘Keep the mine operational and the deliveries constant. Treat any northern hostiles without mercy. Investigate Banesfort’s death.’That’s it.”He folded the parchment back up and tossed it back over to Gerald.

  “Well, there you have it. ‘Keep the mine operational.’That’s why you’re here, no need to worry yourself about the phantom threats of northern boogeymen,”Rolan said, smirking. Blane bristled at his words.

  “These are no phantom threats! They are much too real! When they come screaming out of the trees, you’ll be convinced of that!”Blane shot back at him.

  “Is there no way of verifying these reports? Are there no scouts or woodsmen that we can send out?”Gerald asked, holding up his hands to keep the two men from arguing further.

  “I’ve been trying to send them out for weeks now!”Blane thundered, shooting a dark glance over at the guildmaster.

  Rolan waved his hand dismissively.“A waste of time and men. Should we send scouts to check under your bed for northmen every night too?”he said, causing a red flush to bloom on the soldier’s face.

  “I am responsible for the town’s protection, not you! I need not the advice of a money counter in the ways of war,”Blane half yelled, face growing more red by the second. Technically, the safety of the town was now Gerald’s responsibility, but he didn’t think that this was a good time to press the issue.

  “We will send the scouts tomorrow. There is little harm in being prepared,”he said instead. Blane nodded his approval, while Rolan rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. “The concerns of the mine are also my concerns. I would like to hear what it is you feel threatens it,”Gerald continued. Suddenly, Rolan looked uncomfortable. He coughed before leaning in closer.

  “I would rather discuss this is private, if that suits you. These matters are …sensitive in nature,”the merchant said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The man reeked of roses.

  “I can save you from wasting your time,”Lucan interrupted. “He wants to talk to you about the taxes. More specifically why they shouldn't have to pay them.”Now it was the priest’s turn to receive the brunt of Rolan’s glare.

  “What do you know of it! The Crown cripples us with them!”Once again, Gerald had to raise his hands.

  “I would be more than happy to meet with you. If this is true, then I must say that I doubt I’ll be much help with any tax problems. Beyond enforcing their collection, of course,”he said. Lucan snorted, clearly enjoying needling the dour-faced merchant. “In fact, I imagine meetings with all of you would be beneficial. However, I don’t feel as though anything else will get done today. I see no reason for this meeting to continue.”It was a clear dismissal, one that caught them unaware. Likely they would have protested had they not been so eager to be free of each other’s company. Murmuring their goodbyes, they stalked out of the room, Rolan racing ahead with Lucan and Blane trailing behind, talking in low voices.

  Once alone, Gerald slowly let out his breath. All in all, the meeting hadn’t gone too badly. He’d only managed to anger one of them. Not bad at all. Getting up to leave, the letter on the table caught his eye. Hastily, he slipped it back into his jacket pocket. His hand brushed a scrap of parchment. A scrap that he’d sliced off the bottom before the meeting. On it was one last order, one which would have made him the enemies of all those who’d been sitting at the table.

  “Seize control of the town by any means. Trust no one.”

  7

  Chapter 7

  The mansion towered ominously over the rest of town. In the capital it wouldn’t have seemed like much; Gerald would have likely passed by without a second thought. Yet in Redstone it stood apart, seen easily from anywhere. Gerald had asked for directions from a young lad, and he’d looked at him like he was mad.

  Walking up to the tall door, Gerald took hold of the knocker and made use of it. The sound echoed, setting his teeth on edge. Through a nearby window, he could see into the house. Despite it being midday, there wasn’t any light or movement from within. Just as Gerald resolved to try again later, the door swung open.

  A young man stood behind it, scowling at him. He was lanky, with pale skin and greasy hair. Gerald guessed that he had yet to see his twentieth year. His garb was simple but well made, not the type of clothes a servant would wear.

  “What do you want?”he asked with bluntness bordering on hostility.

  “My name is Sir Gerald, my lord. I’m here to temporarily manage Redstone. Would I be wrong to presume that you’re Lord Banefort’s son?”Gerald asked. The lad’s eyes narrowed, and he looked to be on the verge of shutting the door.

  “Aye, I’m Wylliam. I’d welcome you to Redstone, but it’s a waste of breath to utter words you don’t mean,”he said. Gerald hadn’t expected the lad to be happy to see him, but this was a much frostier welcome than even he had anticipated.

  “I don’t wish to trouble you in this time of loss, but I’m afraid I must ask some questions regarding the death of your father. May I come in?”Gerald asked. The muscles in Wylliam’s head worked as he struggled to think of a reason to deny him. Seemingly unable to conjure one, he stepped aside and let Gerald enter.

  “If you must. We’ll use my father’s study. Keep your voice down. My mother is still abed,”the youth said, leading him down a hallway. The inside of the mansion was well decorated, the walls covered in paintings and tapestries. Gerald frowned at the obvious display of wealth. The mayor was a position given by the Crown, the salary of which was not overly high. Clearly Lord Banesfort found other ways to supplement his income.

  “I would have expected a servant to answer the door. Seems hardly fitting for someone of your means to do it yourself.”Gerald couldn’t stop himself from provoking the youth. Everything about hi
m reminded Gerald of the noblemen he’d left behind. A constantly raised chin, dismissing everything under it as though their very gaze was a gift. Gerald’s words had an effect, but not the one he would have expected. Wylliam’s hands bunched up as his face reddened.

  “I’ve dismissed all of our servants,”he said hotly.

  “Might I ask why?”Curiosity prickled at Gerald. The young man had likely had servants around him his whole life, supporting him and making his life easy. To him they were as much a part of the house as the chamber pots. To dismiss them could be only be caused by some serious issue.

  “You can ask all you want, but I won’t tell you. You might control the town, but I don’t answer to you.”Gerald was taken aback by the venom in his voice. The young man may as well have spat in his face.

  “You speak as though I have given you some offence, yet we have just met,”Gerald said, more curious than annoyed. He was used to being dismissed, but usually not so soon.

  “Your presence gives me offence. You should not been here. You are not needed. It would be best if you left the way you came,”Wylliam said as they entered a large room. In it was a wide desk, surrounded on the walls by bookshelves, stacked to the top with a large number of volumes. Wylliam sat down behind the table, leaning forward and glaring at him. Gerald sat down in front of him, unhooking his sword and placing it on the table.

  “I see. I suppose there is someone else you would have rather seen take over from your father. Perhaps someone else in this room,”Gerald said, smiling blandly at him. The young man reddened, puffing his chest.

  “I’m not afraid to say it. I should have been the new mayor! My father groomed me for the task! Taught me everything! I’ll say it again, you are not needed here!”

  “Yet I am here, and you are not in command. In fact, you were missed at the meeting last night.”Gerald knew he shouldn’t taunt him, but he couldn’t help himself. In the junior Banesfort he saw every bully, every pissbrained nobleman who looked down on him. To have the power to disrespect him was intoxicating.

  “I should have been there! Excluding me was an insult! One that will not be borne! I demand to be allowed a place on the council. It is my right!”Gerald’s patience with the young man was wearing thin. He’d a lot to do that day, and soothing Wylliam’s ego was not on the list.

  “Allow me to be blunt with you. I was sent here to hold this place together until a more suitable candidate can be chosen. Make no mistake, this town belongs to the king, and it is ruled by his command. Believe me when I tell you that you will not be my replacement.”

  Wylliam slammed his fist down on the table, making Gerald’s sword rattle.“You don’t know that! How could you? Not likely that the king tells the queen’s bastard his mind!”Spittle flew out of the young man’s mouth and splattered on the table. Gerald didn’t react, smile still resting easily on his face.

  “I am here because you were deemed not unsuitable. The king told me as much himself before I left.”Wylliam sagged at his words, falling back into his chair. “Also, I expect that I will be required to give a detailed report upon my return. A report that will no doubt include you.”The young nobleman sank even deeper in his chair, all anger gone from his face. “I am a fair man, but I have my limits. I expect your full cooperation. Any less might be considered an offence against the Crown itself. Do I make myself clear?”Wylliam nodded, shoulders sagging. Gerald almost felt sorry for him.

  “One more thing, My name is Sir Gerald. Perhaps when we get to know each other you could just call me Gerald. For now Sir Gerald will do, understand?”Wylliam looked up at him, hatred burning in his eyes.

  “I understand …Sir Gerald.”He’d certainly made an enemy of the young man, though Gerald doubted there was anything he could have done to make him his friend.

  “Excellent. Now I understand that this is a delicate issue, and you have my sympathies. Who knows more than a bastard the pain of losing a father?”Gerald wasn’t sure where to start. Luckily, Wylliam made the choice for him.

  “My father was murdered. I don't care what everyone else says. He was. I’m going to find out who did it and revenge my family upon them,”he said quickly. Gerald was taken aback; somehow the possibility that there had been foul play had eluded him. The town seems so peaceful.

  “Why do you say that?”he asked, the room suddenly feeling warmer. If one mayor was murdered, then another one could be too.

  “He was found face down at this very table. Just hunched over! I’d talked to him not an hour before, and he was fine. He wasn’t sick or anything! He just died!”Wylliam spoke even more rapidly, as though getting the words out faster meant that he would be able to find the killer faster.

  “I’d heard he wasn’t in the best of health, that wine had its hooks in him,”Gerald said bluntly.

  “Know many people who’ve simply dropped dead from a bottle of wine, do you?”The youth’s scorn was back, as though it’d never left.

  “Have you any evidence that he was murdered? Anything at all that I can go on?”Gerald asked. Wylliam might be a colossal tit, but that didn’t mean Gerald could ignore claims that someone as important as the boy’s was murdered. However, uncertainty and reluctance flashed across the younger man’s face.

  “Not yet, but I will! I know that he was killed, I’m going to find out by who, and I’ll bury anyone that gets in my way!”he said hotly. Gerald rubbed his eyes; it was barely past midday and a headache was already building behind them.

  “Did he have any enemies? Anyone who would have wanted him dead?”he asked, eager to end this conversation and be away.

  “Of course he did! Great men always have enemies. My father cared little for the feelings of those who were beneath him.”

  “I see you’ve taken your manners from your mother,”Gerald said, rolling his eyes. Wylliam ignored this comment and barrelled on with his accusations.

  “Rolan and Lucan! They were always sniffing after him, trying to get him to back the other in their plots. They cannot be trusted! Either one could have hired someone to kill him!”The young man’s voice was growing louder and more shrill with each sentence. “His clerk too! She has an ill look about her, always skulking and staring. She could have done it! If I had to wager, though, I would point the finger at the garrison commander.”

  “Blane? Why would you say that? What does he have to gain from your father’s death?”The youth leaned across the table, voice dropping to a whisper.

  “His position. Father was going to strip it away from him. Put me in charge of the city militia instead.”The headache was in full force now, pulsing behind his eyes. He’d hoped that this would be simple, that he could send a report back out today. Instead, he was getting more question than answers, more reasons to mistrust the members of the council. Could Lord Banesfort have been murdered? There was no way to know for sure, unless something turned up.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’m not saying I believe you, though.”

  Wylliam waved him away.“I don’t care if you fucking believe me! I don’t need your help. I’ve a duty to my father, and I’m going to carry it out.”

  “Well then, I wish you luck. Just don’t try to execute anyone without me; I’d hate to leave your mother all alone in this house.”Gerald stood up and strode out of the room, eager to be rid of Wylliam’s company. A fresh gust of wind blew in as he opened the front door, refreshing and cool, but before he could step out a hand pushed the door shut.

  The hand belonged to a grey-haired man, well past his middle age but looking no worse for it. He was dressed in military garb, short sword strapped securely around his waist. The stranger had a few scars, indicating someone who’d seen combat. Judging from the sour look on his face, he wasn’t happy to see Gerald.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,”he said, stepping back to give Gerald an appraising look.

  “Sir Gerald, at your service,”Gerald replied, holding out his hand. The man didn’t take it.

  “Ashtin Fletcher.
I know who you are, boy. Whole town knows by now.”

  “Well, I suppose news travels fast around here. What are you doing in young Master Banefort’s house?”Gerald asked.

  “The Baneforts pay me to protect them. And to offer advice from time to time.”

  “Ah well, you’re just the man I want to talk to then. Wylliam was just confiding in me his fears about his father’s death. Surely you must have an opinion, being that it was his body you were guarding,”Gerald asked, focusing on the older man’s eyes. The eyes were the gateway to the mind, and they could betray its intentions.

  “I do not share my master’s suspicions.”Fletcher’s eyes were dead as a fish, giving nothing away.

  “Well, it can be a very troubling thing, losing one’s father. We must forgive Wylliam for his fancies.”Fletcher said nothing, his grizzled face staring blankly at Gerald. They stared at each other for a moment, Gerald becoming more uncomfortable by the second. Then, remembering that he was now the mayor and didn’t have to ask permission, he turned to leave.

  “Wylliam should be the new mayor. Not some up-jumped bastard from the south.”Gerald was thrown by the hostility in the man’s voice. One would have thought that he’d stolen the old soldier’s place. Gerald was suddenly painfully aware of the man’s hand gripping the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t turn to leave; his back would be exposed. Nor could he reach down and grab his own sword; it could provoke the man into action.

  “Perhaps one day he will be. But it is not this day. Today Redstone is under my command, and I plan to hold it.”The tension in the room grew until Gerald’s heartbeats were echoing in his head. Forcing himself to stare into the man’s eyes, Gerald tensed, reading to spring backward.

  Instead, Fletcher nodded, taking his hand off of his hilt. “That might prove to be a difficult task,”he said. He stepped forward and opened the door. Swallowing a retort, Gerald walked out of the house, the back of his neck prickling with the old soldier’s glare.