Death's Reckoning

by Will Molinar

  “I want you and your men to leave this building and our shores at once. I am Guild Master Muldor, this is my associate Dock Master Becket, and your presence here is disruptive to our business.”

  The man looked at Muldor for a second and licked his lips. He glanced at his men. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen.” They grunted, and he turned back to Muldor. “I got an office in the back set up. Come on. Your men can wait outside.”

  Some of Muldor’s bluster dissipated. The man was too calm, but Muldor was wary. Men didn’t act this way. Men were hard edged, hateful beings that pushed, fought, and did whatever they could to improve their positions.

  The two Guild representatives followed the man, a captain judging by his rank lapel, to a small room with a desk and chair in the back of the warehouse.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  The captain sat back and acted as if he were in his own home, having a drink with friends, lounging for the evening. Muldor felt off balance. The man was much too comfortable in foreign lands. If he or any of Sea Haven’s ilk were to go to Janisberg under the auspice of invaders, they would sleep with one eye open and a hand on their knives.

  Muldor needed to take back control from this odd man and his strange ways. “Captain, do you realize the severity of your situation?”

  The captain, for the first time, became wary, and rubbed two fingers together. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “No, of course you don’t. You are not from here. This is Sea Haven, known in other parts of the continent as Murder Haven. You have no idea what goes on here. If you had any grasp of the situation, I doubt you would be sitting here at this moment, looking at me with that particular countenance.”

  The captain sat forward. “Excuse me? What is this about? Is this some kind of threat?”

  “No. I never threaten. A simple warning. I am giving you information you may not be privy to. Consider this: this city has suffered a recent upheaval, an injury if you will, not only to its military component but its citizenry as well. Perhaps you are not aware, but there has been a rash of riots on our city streets.”

  “Eighty one people have been killed,” Becket said, “in the riots alone. Once the real fighting began… hundreds dead now. We’re still counting the dead. Our graveyards are fit to burst with citizens and soldiers alike.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the captain said and sounded genuine. “But what can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you or any of your men have left this area of the docks and ventured into the city proper,” Muldor said.

  The captain cocked his head. “Have we left… well, no. Most of us only arrived yesterday. Others arrived today, and there may be more tomorrow, I haven’t seen the copies of the orders yet.”

  “Let me give you some free advice. This town offers a variety of temptations. The taverns where drink is cheap, the fighting arena and betting tents where a poor man can win money, the house of prostitution where the girls are clean.”

  The captain shifted in his seat. “We’ve heard of them. In fact, some of us were planning on visiting the fighting pits tonight. Heard they got an ogre. Big fella.”

  Muldor saw a gleam of excitement in the man’s eyes and took pleasure in quashing it. “Sorry to disappoint you on multiple fronts, but the ogre has not been seen since the fighting broke out. He was clever enough to escape to somewhere safer than our town. It’s dangerous even for an eight foot tall monster.”

  “Hmmm, that’s too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

  “Another thing to keep in mind is that this town is not kind to strangers. Ask anyone. You will be recognized as soldiers from Janisberg, the city responsible for the death and destruction of much of our city. This will not sit well with much of the populace, even more so with the criminal element, which I assure you is very active and very dangerous.”

  The captain considered. He nodded and looked away from Muldor, stroking his chin. “I see. There is that to consider. Master Muldor, we’re only doing our jobs. I wasn’t here before.”

  “No doubt you are a fine soldier, Captain….”

  “Oh, Sparks. Captain Sparks.”

  “Captain Sparks. This will make little difference to the common populace. Men and women are reeling and hurting. These people are killers and vagrants capable of anything.” Muldor stared at the captain without a shred of compassion in his eyes. “They’ll stab you in the back without a moment’s hesitation even if you are one of them. What chance do you think you have being a member of an occupying force?”

  Muldor let the question hang, for the man had no reply. He turned to Becket, and the man did his best to hide his smile. Becket played along with Muldor’s bluff though in reality, the Guild Man didn’t think it was a bluff, only an exaggeration.

  “Good day to you, Captain Sparks. I tell you this only out of concern for the lives of you and your men.” He made a point to lean forward and take on a more aggressive stance. “I would hate to see any more useless bloodshed occur.”

  The captain looked more confused than cowed when they left, but Muldor decided it was a good start.

  Chapter Five

  Madam Dreary laughed a faux laugh designed to make her potential client more relaxed. She gave him the impression that he dictated the conversation. The man was handsome, young, and had money. She could tell by his clothes and the entitled sort of way he carried himself. Also, the rings on his fingers and his two bodyguards were obvious cues. Perhaps he was some noble’s son, here from a faraway land to explore and experience debauchery only Sea Haven could offer. Men came from around the continent, the world even, just for a taste of Madam Dreary’s House.

  Madam Dreary and her girls would make sure he got everything desired and more. That was their job. She considered herself an unofficial ambassador for the city, almost as important as the merchants and their silly guild. People wanted trade, but they wanted sex even more, and they were willing to pay for it. It was a long standing tradition since the dawn of man.

  “Tell me, my love,” she said and touched his arm. “What kinds of games do they play in your land?”

  The young man looked around the gaming tent. Dice games, card games, various games of strength, including arm wrestling, darts, and all manner of betting took place.

  “Oh, I suppose I’ve always been a dice man. Though I have been known to play a few hands of skewer from time to time, seven card straight of course. Father taught me a great deal.”

  Madam Dreary laughed again. This time it was from legitimist amusement at his awkwardness. There was nothing like a self-conscience, awkward man trying not to be. She put her hand on his chest.

  “What an imagination you have. Of course,” she said and looked around the room before lowering her voice and speaking in his ear, “there are other games you and I could play. Doncha think?”

  The man blushed. How adorable! She thought at first to hand him off to one of her best girls, maybe Margaret, but she wanted him for herself. He would enjoy someone closer to his own age. The younger the better, but she had to stay available to snag more clients for her House.

  The night continued, and she managed a dozen more clients. All of them had obvious wealth. She introduced them to her girls in attendance, working the rooms at the betting tents. Dreary never allowed them to work the streets unless it was closing a deal outside a tavern. It was far too dangerous even for her well known girls, whom everyone knew and even looked out for. Plus, it gave the whole affair an air of depravity her detractors would love to use as an excuse to shut her down.

  The money was a means to an end. The House never took more than they needed to provide the best service and atmosphere. Madam Dreary didn’t consider herself greedy, and no one accused her of it, so things were fine.

  She’d grown up in the city orphanage. It was dreadful place full of darkness and despair. The children ate spoiled food and drank dirty water, and she would be damned to let other girls on the streets of Sea Haven g
o through the same thing. Whenever she found a young girl, she took them in. She fed them, trained them, and made them look prettier for any person to desire.

  Madam Dreary spent a few moments to smooz with the bar men and some of the prettier serving girls. The latter were potential ladies of the night, young girls tired of working for pennies when they could have a better life. Sea Haven had one beneficial surplus, it was beautiful women.

  She put together a few more couples. She chose men that looked trustworthy and wealthy and girls who would show them a good time. Most of the employees were good about throwing clients her way. The foreigners came into the city via the docks, and the brothel was north of the western docks and south of the shipping yards. It was a prime location for them.

  Leaving the betting tents, Madam Dreary felt giddy. The small bit of wine had gone to her bladder so fast, she felt like a child. She patted her belly and laughed.

  “You’ll never change, love, never! Thank the gods for that at least.”

  The buxom redhead never bothered with an escort. Several of the girls didn’t like it. She felt heartened by their desire to protect her, but in truth it wasn’t needed. The distance was minimal, and since it was so close to the docks, there was plenty of security men walking around. They all knew her, and all watched out for her. Plus, there was a very sharp dagger under her red silk dress.

  A few dock workers smoked and talked after a long day no doubt. They smiled at her and even whistled. She smiled, believing with good reason she might be the most loved person in Sea Haven, even more liked than Mama Goodness, the old vagabond that spoke good tidings on any street corner.

  Walking into the brothel, her mind spun from the excitement of the night. The betting tents was always a raucous place; the men’s faces, the young fops’ strapping bodies, and how it might’ve felt, the guards and their bored looks, lecherous glares from men who couldn’t afford her, men yelling in victory, and crying in defeat.

  The tents, even more so after their reopening, were an assault on the senses. Time was needed to unwind. Perhaps it was time to start a new book. That would be a nice way to drift into sleep.

  The brothel’s inner foyer was awash with activity as well. A quieter, more subdued swell of laughter compared to the betting tents. This was home. Dreary grabbed one of the hangers-on, a serving girl, and told her to go to the large storage room out back and take some male guards along.

  “A round of our best vintage for everyone!” the madam said. “This is on us, gentlemen, so drink up and be merry.”

  A soft cheer rose from the clientele, and many toasted her. She smiled and wished them the best night of their lives.

  “Madam Dreary,” a girl said at her elbow, “there’s a man here to see you.”

  “Oh yes? Who is he, dear?”

  “I don’t know, madam. He wouldn’t give his name. But he’s well dressed and waiting in the eastern wing, two doors down.”

  Madam Dreary narrowed her eyes. “What does he want, child? Why has he not been taken care of already?”

  The girl looked chagrined, and Madam Dreary regretted her harsh tone. “I-I don’t know, ma’am. He didn’t say, only asked to speak with you. But he appears to have money.”

  “That’s fine, dearie. Fine.” She squeezed her shoulder and patted her on the rump. “Now run along and don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Beth.”

  The girl blushed and ran off.

  Curiosity aroused. There had been a tremendous amount of turmoil in recent weeks. Madam Dreary had been worried about the brothel’s city tax. With Janisberg soldiers settling in, there might’ve been a new deal to set up. She and Lord Cassius had an understanding, in part due to an indiscretion she caught him in some years ago. A situation his wife would be none too happy to find out about.

  Before entering, she steeled herself for a confrontation, trying to wrap her mind around what to say, how to act. She put on a cheerful expression as if everything was enticing in the world. She walked in and spoke. “I was wondering if you might like something to—”

  The words died on her lips. Something was wrong, very wrong inside this room. Some pure form of malevolence she had never experienced before and never wanted to again. A man in a wide brimmed hat and long black cape turned with a flourish as she stood in the doorway. His cape floated about his shoulders like a black wash of doom. The redhead shivered when he spoke.

  “Something to drink? I would love some brandy if you have it, Madam Dreary. And if it is not too much trouble of course. I would hate to put you out.” He smiled and all of a sudden the former fear and dread flew away.

  She smiled. “Why, why yes! No trouble at all.”

  Two steps brought her to a liquor cabinet. All client rooms had one, and she tried to be nonchalant about getting a better look at him. The man’s wealth was obvious, since he wore fine black gloves to compliment the rich cut of his cape. A cane tipped with a silver handle and a wide brimmed hat covered much of his face.

  “I’m sorry, but all we have is whiskey,” she said and turned back to him. “I know of brandy in some of the other rooms if you want.”

  “Whisky will do very well,” he said, and somehow he stood in front of her. She gasped afraid to move. Fear was strong, but the man was also somehow alluring, hypnotic even.

  The stranger smiled and took the glass from her though she saw only the glimmer of his lips. He turned and strolled about the room, taking an occasional sip as he glanced at the tables and couches.

  “I admire the pieces of art you have collected,” he said and pointed to one of the vases. “Quite beautiful, yes. And this sculpture.” A bust of some nobleman, Dreary couldn’t remember the name. “It’s magnificent. I am impressed with your devotion to the arts, in particular to historical figures, men prominent in victorious warfare.”

  “But,” she said and cleared her throat for composure, “but, no war is ever won, Master, uh, Master….”

  “Master Benaire. Forgive my rudeness as I am not often in other people’s company. And yes, I see what you mean. War is survived, not won. How wise of you to say. What an interesting mind you have. How glorious. But please, let no formalities stand between us. You may call me Malthus.”

  Malthus Benaire made a formal bow.

  Madam Dreary smiled, and this time the gesture was sincere. As shocking as his initial presence had been, his charm overwhelmed her, and the middle aged woman felt giddy. “I thank you for the kind words. You may call me Beatrice.”

  She curtsied and even giggled, covering her mouth. She felt drunk or twitter pated. She couldn’t decide which, but both sensations were enjoyable.

  “Beatrice. What a wonderful name to match such a beautiful woman.”

  “Oh, you-you flatter me sir.” She blushed and felt dizzy. She ran a hand through her hair and wished for a mirror.

  “Not at all,” he said and stepped closer. Her body stiffened, and once again the icy grip of fear radiated throughout her being and took her breath away. In a moment it released, and she was struck with a strong arousal, not one of a sexual nature but of intellectual and emotional.

  The strange man stared. His eyes gleamed under that dark, odd hat, and there was a sort of amusement in his stance. “You flatter me, madam and honor me as a guest. I thank you.”

  She smiled, but it was only a stretching of her flesh with no feeling. The words tripped out of her mouth, tongue leaden. “My pleasure. How is it that I may be of service to you this evening? We have many girls, each one lovelier than the last.”

  “I’m certain of it. I have seen them. But that is not why I have come.”

  “Oh no?”

  She saw his image for a single moment. The outline of his hat, the cut of his cape, the smooth solid flow of his fingers poking out from those gloves, the air blurred in front of him like heat waves above a fire, and her head grew dull and heavy.

  Then everything was clear, and Madam Dreary stood before Malthus Benaire.

  “I need
something far more important from you,” he said and grabbed her shoulders. She melted. “You traffic the sins of the flesh. Evil men, wicked men, come to you, yes?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  “Ah, good, my dear. Very good. You and I are to do business together.”

  “Yes, of course. Anything you want. Tell what you need, and you shall have it!”

  “Yes, I shall. You do believe in me, do you not?”

  “I do! Oh, gods I do! I am yours, Malthus!”

  Malthus Benaire turned away and left without another word, leaving Madam Dreary weeping on her knees.

  * * * * *

  Light flickered through the upper window. It signaled the start of yet another day. Dust motes floated in the air. Outside, on the other side of the mucky, smudged glass, men went about their business for the day. Early risers prepared for a long shift of turmoil, heading westward to the docks.

  Muldor sat at his desk and felt a familiar tug at his sensibilities as he worked. It was good to be home. This was where the Guild man belonged. If the political pigs at City Hall wanted him, they knew where to find him.

  That afternoon they did. There was a commotion outside the door, and Muldor looked up with annoyance. A few men waited outside the window. Some wore armor, and a few that looked like city officials, Cassius among them. It was unusual for the temporary regent to the crown to go outside, being smart enough to stay where it was safe.

  They were speaking together, too low for Muldor to understand, their muffled conversation filtering through the glass, only to be stolen by the dead air in the room. He couldn’t understand them, but could get the gist of their words by the inflection and their body language.

  They were hesitant. Muldor considered going to the door and asking them to come in but decided against it. Let them come. They might lose their nerve and leave alone to his work. But it was not to be. They knocked a few moments later, and after Muldor bade them enter, Cassius entered his office alone.

  The pudgy man looked cold, wrapped in a maroon cloak. He looked at Muldor, somewhat sheepish, and came over to the desk. “I hope we are not disturbing you,” Cassius said, his voice as quiet as a mouse. “But the Janisberg officials have made a final tally. I have it here.”