“Are you a mage, guardsman,” Ed asked.
“Yes, sir. Completed two year’s training in the Men’s Mage Quarter in Zanf’r, the Holy City.”
“Medical or combatant?”
Taylor’s palm-light flickered. “Neither, sir,” he said. “I wasn’t very gifted. Barely finished first year. A waste of money. Waste of time. The Golden Lady seems to prefer woman to men, I hear.” Taylor seemed young enough to have only recently left the Mage Quarter, but Ed understood the disappointment in his voice. Growing up, he’d always envied Glen’s and Sera’s gifts. His were always too unwieldy and often frightened his parents —with good reason. Oh, how he tried to hone in his strength, logging, blacksmithing, mining…then fighting…and mercenary work, anything that could teach him to control it. Horseback riding, the thought of it used to terrify him. Many couldn’t understand why…until he explained that if a horse bucked under him, he would reflexively clench his thighs and break the horse’s back. On two occasions, that cost his parents more than he wanted to know.
“Gifts have their disadvantages. Mages have been known to be skewered by spears,” Ed said, trying to encourage him. “Your sidearm too.”
“More like distractions,” Taylor answered with a snort. “Can’t cast magic if they can’t focus and the runic spear tips will turn my spear into a torch, but I’m surprised you asked, sir. Very competitive to get into the school for combatant mages. Only the best can use magic that way, so they say. Dangerous, they say too. You can light yourself on fire and drown at the same time. …If I let my mind wonder my palm-light goes out.” He chuckled but it sounded forced.
“We can still do our part,” Ed said.
“Are you blessed,” he asked. “If you pardon me for asking.”
“Uh …yes, strength, it would seem,” Ed said, finally seeing the end of the hall, a short brick staircase leading up to a door on the ceiling.
“I’ve meet a few like that,” Taylor added, readying his keys. “They’re always into physical sporting, well these three I met, anyway. Wrestling and swordplay. They all come from these mountains too. They’ve told me their strength is a blessing from another Shard in the mountains. Mages. Strength. Memorizers. What’s the point of it all? Why some and not others? Why do the Shards of the Almighty give so much to one and only a touch to another?” Ed didn’t know but neither did he care. How did such a question help matters? It didn’t change anything. For him, these abilities were nothing more than outliers in a person’s makeup. Everyone had some strength. Everyone could memorize something. Beast, if no one had at least some magic, no one would be able to heal themselves from a scrap. The only question was how much an outlier one was, and the answer held more disadvantages than advantages, maybe even curses. He knew his, and he knew Glen’s too.
When Taylor climbed the short stair, he reached up with his key and unlocked the door, echoing a clank around them. But he didn’t open the door. Instead, he waited there, watching Ed as though he wanted Ed to expound on his question.
“I don’t know,” Ed said, with a curt shake of his head. “Ask the Junior Magistrate. He’s the philosopher.”
“He’s the one who brought it up,” Taylor answered, frowning. “He then recited a poem by some noble couple who died hundreds of years ago…I don’t remember. Didn’t make any sense. Old style words, you know. But, he was really serious about those Shards having nothing to do with divinity.”
Ed grinned. “Open up.”
And Taylor did. To his surprise, Ed climbed up to the back corner of a courtroom, familiar blueberry wine assaulting his nose—
“Hello Ed,” Glen said from behind his bench. “Thank you, Taylor. Now, go back and lock up. Make sure no one saw you.” Taylor climbed back down, locking the door behind him.
“I’m glad to see you taking things seriously, but isn’t this being a little scrupulous,” Ed said, walking out in front of Glen’s bench and balling his hands together behind his back. He didn’t feel comfortable being back there, too much like being behind enemy lines.
Glen placed his finger against his nose. “I remember a certain Corporal who would have pinned a medal on me for being ‘scrupulous.’”
“That’s because you never were.” Glen laughed, and Ed couldn’t help but grin himself. Glen seemed lighter than yesterday, more like his usual careless self. Or maybe he was drunker than his usual self? Judging by Glen’s drooping eyes and delayed movements, Ed leaned toward the latter. “I noticed a lot of people out there. Door’s closed,” Ed added, hoping to goad Glen into revealing how the investigation was going. “Taylor mentioned threats.”
Glen groaned. “Well, he shouldn’t have. I wish I could talk about it.”
“If you need extra help…”
“No, please, don’t. Not even if we did need it.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You, that’s what its suppose mean,” Glen said, putting on his pince-nez and lifting a piece of paper close to his face. “Now, let’s begin—”
“Me? You’re really just going to say that and move on?”
Glen let his hand holding the paper fall and smack the bench. “Yes, you. Come on, Ed. Do I have to spell it out? Everyone here is blaming the military for this whole mess, letting an injured girl walk out of a guarded jail cell.” Ed straightened his posture, letting a frown form on his face. “Really, you’re usually the clearer headed one.”
“And who are you blaming for letting her walk out?” Depending on his answer, maybe Ed could tease which way the investigation was going.
Glen closed his eyes for a moment before revealing a glass cup and a bottle of his wine from under his bench. He then poured some into his cup and drank it. “You know why I drink this brand?”
“You like it?”
“Beast, no! …Well, yes, I do like it. But as a junior magistrate, I get an open tab at any tavern, eatery, or brothel in the Princedom I chose. So I chose one that delivers to me.”
“I’ll remember that on your next birthday.”
“There’s a point here, Ed.” he continued. “Rochelle Von Davenance, you ever heard of her?” Ed shook his head. “She’s an owner of a half a dozen businesses, one of which, delivers that incredible red wine from our home town. Remember it? Trader House Blue.” He placed his hand on the bottle’s top, looking at it fondly. “But as it turns out she might have unhealthy relationships with the Princedom’s more unsavory subjects.” Ed shrugged, waiting patiently for Glen’s point, which how long depended on how drunk he was. Ed settled in for a meandering story. “So, after being not-so-subtly warned time and again not to order from her, I stopped ordering from her. Got this blue crap from some Sat’r place instead. I can’t put myself in a compromising situation, you understand?”
“You were warned…because you might be poisoned? It’s alcohol, Glen. It’s already poison.”
Glen smiled widely. “The difference between a poison and a remedy is in the dose.”
“It’s poison,” Ed repeated.
Glen frowned, pouring another cup. He then sighed, “It’s not for fear of being poisoned, Ed. It’s the scandal, the optics of it. Can’t put myself in a situation where I might appear to have links with her.”
Ed widened his eyes in mock surprise, suppressing a shrug from his shoulders.
“I’m not making sense, am I? Fine, alright, better move on then.”
“No clerk, today,” Ed asked, nodding to the empty seat beside Glen’s bench.
“No,” Glen replied, ruffing through papers.
“I thought I saw him earlier. One of mine had him in custody at the Town Crier.”
Glen shrugged, lifting one of the pages to his face again. “Guess I’ll see him soon enough then, but let’s get to the reason you’re here.” Ed took in a sharp breath, recalling his answers to mind “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
Confused, Ed asked. “News?”
Glen lowered his gaze onto his papers. “The good first. I think I fou
nd our man who helped Araa and it wasn’t Predt.” Ed swallowed with relief. Nothing to worry about then. But his fists were still balled tightly behind his back. I did nothing wrong! “That morning, there was another person who went missing, another maintenance worker who was often seen with Araa, a Mister Olse Loyt, a refugee from Drakendor. You hear of him?”
“No,” Ed quickly said. “But I must have approved his tour.”
“Yea, you did,” Glen replied before finishing his glass. “Some time the night Araa vanished, he was seen going into town and slipping a request form for three days off under Lady’s Roz’s Office building door before disappearing. You know what they say about coincidences, right? Well, we did some checking up on him. Get this, Ed. He’s not from Drakendor. He’s an Islander like Araa. Has accounts in various places by the name of Papp from La’Khan. It’s a northern island —like Araa’s from the north. One of our Chroniclers recognized him and drew up a face. Apparently, he does regular visits to the back-end of Sat’r.”
“But why would he lie about his origin? Islanders are welcomed here. And why would he help Araa?”
Glen shrugged. “I don’t know. Some Islander’s code to stick together? Though it’s a bit circumstantial, I’m moving the investigation in that direction so Predt is off the hook. I’m giving him over to you for your discipline. You’ll probably have him clean out latrines for the rest of his days. Might have rather hung instead.”
“That would be fine,” Ed said, relaxing his jaw and hands. One problem solved. But he couldn’t believe it, another missing Islander and one who lied about himself. That was odd enough, but why lie? A refugee from Drakendor would have been more suspicious than an Islander. Still, Ed knew Loyt didn’t take Araa. He still might show up the day after tomorrow ready to work. Hopefully, by then this whole affair would have settled down a bit.
“Don’t get excited yet,” Glen added, shuffling through papers. “Now, the bad news. I know how inconsiderate the military can be so I want you to hear it from me.”
“Inconsiderate?”
“Our prince is very spooked by Araa’s disappearance. The facts are we can’t locate nor have a record of Mister and Misses Winters and Summers —obvious aliases— and Dr. Alexander’s duty roster was forged to put them in charge of Araa the night she disappeared.”
“Conspiracy,” Ed mouth. “But Araa was an Islander, no one important,” he said, sounding more defensive than he wanted to. Why would someone go to such lengths? Araa’s exposer, an imposture Islander, now Winters and Summers. Who really was— Ed’s stomach churned but his mind refused to go down that path.
Glen poured from his bottle to refill his cup. “Yea, I know. It gets worse, Ed.” He slid a sheet of paper to the edge of his bench. “Here is the bad news. I’m sorry, but again, I wanted you to get this from me.”
Ed took the paper and read it out loud, “Concerning Major Edgar Omen of the Fifth Garrison posted in Ruby City. A command from General Arishia Sune and approved by His Highness Prince Landrie Ladress: You are here by relieved of duty upon the arrival of Major Niklas Doryene of the Forth Garrison in Sat’r unless requested by him for aid in the transition. The two garrisons…will…be united— Like hell!” Ed crumpled the paper in his fist. “Why,” he barked.
Glen took a drink—
“Stop drinking damn it and tell me!”
“They think you’re too much of a risk, Ed.”
“Why,” Ed shot.
“They know your history with Ninn. They know how much of a fuss you made over his body never being sent home. They know how much you hate that Mountain Beast we’re carving up. I told you, Ed. I warned you. People high up really do read what you say. …They think you were used, maybe compromised. I know that’s not true, but I’m only a Junior here.”
Ed felt crushed, like a mountain fell on him, drowning out the sun and suffocating the air. All he ever knew was here, in the military; what did being relieved even mean? Until when? Don’t give away control. He breathed calming breaths.
“Ed…”
“Where will I be transferred to?”
“I…don’t know. Maybe once our spring plan begins, you’ll get a command back.”
Ed closed his eyes. Was this for doing the right thing? For saving his and the Doctor’s conscience? For giving Araa a chance to die with some dignity? She wouldn’t compromise what we’re doing here! “Now I know why you don’t have a clerk here,” he said, softly.
“Ed, think of it as a vacation. You know damn well you need one.”
Ed walked up to Glen’s bench and avoided raising his eyes. He then whispered what he refused to acknowledge, “they think Araa’s a spy, don’t they? Sent in just to take advantage of me. Sounds so absurd,” he rose his voice at the end. “They’re not here. They never met her. They don’t know.”
“We will know when we find her body. We’ve already sent a runner to her island just in case.”
Ed nodded, his hands curling back into fists. Control. Ed let out a long breath. “I suppose I have a lot of time on my hands now… I should go, get things set up for Niklas.”
“That would be a good idea. The less you fight this, the quicker you’ll be back. You’re still valuable to them—”
“They don’t trust me.” For good reason, Ed added in his mind.
“Listen, Ed. I don’t really need your testimony, today. I already have a description of Mr. Winters and Ms. Summers from Predt. Go home. Have a bottle —well, just go home.”
Ed didn’t answer; he just turned and marched for the door—
“Ed,” Glen called out again. “The other door, please.” With a tight jaw and lips on the edge of cursing, Ed made for the floor door in the corner of the courtroom. He opened it up. “You know why I told you the story of that first wine I ordered,” Glen asked.
“No.” Nor did he care.
“Sometimes, we want something so badly, we over look who’s giving it to us.”
“You believe them, then? That Araa was planted here and then extracted.”
Glen stroked his beard. “You know sooner or later, that bastard Sig had to try something.”
Ed’s fingers tightened around the door handle, crushing it in his hands. “Araa was no spy,” he said, pronouncing each word slowly.
Glen only nodded.
“Just finish your damn investigation,” Ed said, before closing the door behind him.
20
Mend on the Mend, Araa’s Ordeal, and Ed’s Trials
“Glennie boy, you little shit, you brought your good for nothing sister here too. If she’s done whoring, bring me the coin. I’ve got—”
“I’ve brought someone with me.”
“Who’s this? One of your friends?”
“His name is Edgar Omen.”
“Omen? From the Traders’ Warehouse? Kid’s not old enough to spit seed, Glennie. What can he do for me—"
“What can I do for you? All I have to do is squeeze and your head’ll pop off from your body. Now listen to me. Glen and Sera are going their own way now.”
“Yea…that’s right father. We’re leaving and staying with the Omens now.”
“You bastard children! You murder you mother and now threaten your own father! Go on! Get out of here! Devil kids. I never want to see anyone of you ever again!”
-Conversation between Ed, Glen, Sera and Glen and Sera’s father
Mend didn’t –couldn’t— sleep all night. Either the relaxants wore off or maybe, just maybe, it was something Josie said yesterday. Not likely. The waning moon rose beyond his window view. No stars, just the ambient light of this metal town fogging up the window. Hours passed, and dawn came. No one usually visited until late morning anyway, but Mend wouldn’t be surprised if he was locked inside. Why didn’t he get out of here on his own, head back to Roach —Rochelle’s place…and what? Tell her he didn’t want Josie’s help because she got into his head? That’s what she’d expect, wouldn’t it? ‘Moody Mend.’
Mend snorted. “No
way,” he said. He knew he wasn’t the best sneak, that his acting was horrible, that he’d sooner get drunk on the job with his marks then pilfer them, but he always finished the job. One way or another. She was right about one thing. He was born under the bad star. Why the hell was he even alive, anyway? To chase coin and run around the continent? “And why not,” he said, nodding to himself. It’s no different than what those self-righteous stone-worshipers do. Almighty knew they’d slit their own mother’s throats if it’d wake their precious goddess. But Mend was different. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking what he was doing was for some ‘greater good.’ Incompetent? Maybe —doubtfully. Unserious? Definitely. Unprofessional? Yup! “But, I’m not a murderer, and I’m not delusional,” he declared to the empty room around him. “I’m a freak’n hero…” Wait, hold on; that was going too far—
A soft scrapping echoed inside his room. He recognized it right away. Someone was picking a lock. Josie really did lock me in! Click. The door slowly opened and in walked the last person he wanted to see, Sera Gallegos, the Chief Engineer of this Almighty-forsaken island.
Closing the door behind her, she whispered, “Glen. You awake?”
Mend stayed quiet, hoping she’d give up. What were the chances that’d work? She walked over. None.
“Please tell me your awake,” she said, sounding more urgent than angry. “I’ve been wanting to see you for a while now, but that damn nurse of yours is so damn protective of you.” She grabbed hold of his arm, squeezing it. “Wake up.” She shook his arm, but Mend didn’t move. He already had one woman trying to kill him, another waiting back at home to kill him; he didn’t need a third. “Alright. Just listen then. I really hope you can hear me. You might be in danger. You’re nurse, Lora. We think she’s an imposture.”
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 47