by Will Molinar
“Forget about them for a minute. You’ve ruined your standing there, maybe forever. Let’s focus on one thing at a time for now.”
Jerrod sat back and scratched his unkempt beard. The stubble there was the same scant length as the hair on his head. “Fine. What’s your plan?”
Zandor smiled and stepped closer, rubbing his hands together. “We go to him. Find out where he is and ask if he needs help keeping things under control here with the locals. Get on board.”
“If we can kill Tanner McDowell then—”
“No, we don’t kill him! It doesn’t help us at all. We use him, keep things going the way they are, only we get our end for keeping things running. We give him a reason to trust us, a reason to pay us. Gotta keep him alive to do it this way. Listen to me for once, will ya?”
Jerrod stood and waved him off, his mind whirling. “Fine, fine. Quit your whining. You sound like a damn child that just pissed itself.”
Zandor slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “You outta know, Jerry. You helped changed my diapers.”
Jerrod shrugged him off. ‘And I’ll bury your ass someday.’ he thought.
They got to work.
* * * * *
Muldor knocked three times and almost a fourth before getting any kind of response from within.
“Come in,” the police captain said, and Muldor entered the drab, cramped office. Cubbins sat at his desk. He pointed to the chair in front, and Muldor sat.
Muldor smiled but didn’t feel it. “Captain Cubbins.”
Cubbins regarded him, seeming wary. The younger man looked exhausted and though Muldor had heard rumors of strange happenings the police were busy with, he didn’t know any of the details. The Guild had their own problems.
“Guild Master.”
“Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, there is an important issue I wish to discuss with you.”
Cubbins frowned and sat back, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “I know what you want, and you can’t have them. I won’t allow it. Get outta here.”
Muldor blinked. “Captain, if I may ask why. This is a mandate from the city council.”
“My authority comes straight from the king, and only he or his regent can countermand my orders when it comes to political prisoners. It’s very clear. I’ll show you the regulation if you want, but it is what it is. And as you know, we don’t have a regent in the city, so no one here can supersede my decision.”
“I understand that. The lack of response from the crown is another matter, for we should have a replacement for Lord Falston. But I see no reason for your lack of compliance, Captain Cubbins. If you sense your manhood has been slighted, then I suggest you grow up.”
Cubbins snorted. “You don’t know me at all if you think that. It’s got nothing to do with my ego. Your predecessor and I had an understanding and look where that got us.”
“Yes, on the brink of ruin. But this is not the same situation.”
“I don’t trust you.”
And there it was. Muldor knew at that moment his standing in the city had taken a serious blow.
“Captain, need I remind you I was the one who arranged your release from this very prison.”
Cubbins sat forward, and Muldor almost quailed. The captain had an intimidating presence when choosing to exert his will. “You let me go to save yourself. And it was your boss that put me in here in the first place.” Muldor started to protest, but Cubbins would have none of it. “Forget it. Look, I’m busy, so unless there is anything further… good. You can get outta my office now.”
Muldor’s face flushed and anger got the better of him. “Captain, I demand the release of those prisoners for the good of the city.”
“It won’t happen. Not as long as I’m captain. You can keep the one you have now, this Jon Baumgardener. I’ll let it slide because we have more important things to handle, but if you try any of that nonsense you did before, I’ll have you strung up so fast you’ll be dead before you can take another breath. Get out.”
Their conversation constituted the most the two men had ever said to one another. It was the second time in three days that someone had threatened to kill him, and Muldor didn’t like the feeling. It would be four days until the previous threat came to fruition.
Back to his office, his only place of solace. But peace didn’t come easy. Jon was safe for the moment. Cubbins wouldn’t come after him. He probably knew the foreigner was staying at Madam Dreary’s, but Muldor trusted his word. The police were indeed busy.
Maybe Muldor would recruit some other informants. Styles was a good candidate thus far. The dock worker loved being a runner for Muldor. It was an exalted position for any of them, and the young man had gusto. But investigating the threats to The Merchants Guild was beyond the ability of the young man regardless of his loyalty.
But there might be others. Muldor hadn’t had to initiate any information gathering in Janisberg in some time. The current situation demanded it.
If something wasn’t done, Muldor would be dead, and his organization would be in the hands of someone else. Perhaps Dollenger or Maggur were waiting to take control. The conditions at the docks would be even worse, the pay less, the work harder, the workers poorer, weaker, and the taxes heavier. Muldor wasn’t a perfect person but did his best to lessen the load of suffering wherever possible. Others would not be as accommodating.
A knock came at the door. Whoever it was didn’t wait for a response but rather charged in for Muldor’s desk. It was George, one of Muldor’s men. He used this dock worker for information at the betting tents and arena. He was a thin, nervous man that gambled too much but was trustworthy.
“Muldor, thank the heavens you’re here. There are some men outside. They won’t leave until they speak with you.”
Muldor felt an uncommon trill of panic seize him. “What men?”
“Out here! Come quick. They been out here all day looking for you.”
There was nothing for it but to follow George outside to the busy dock area. The early evening air brought the familiar tint of salt water to his nostrils, but Muldor felt sickened at the potential disaster that continued to overwhelm his nerves. Under normal circumstances it would have been nice to stroll along the Western Docks and interact with the business being played out there.
George went a block west in front of the central warehouse. The construct dominated the skyline to their left, hanging over their heads like an ominous portent of doom. Muldor spied a small group of armored men while George stopped and pointed at them.
“Right there, sir. Said they wanna know what happened to their men. They want some straight answers.”
Muldor breathed a mental sigh of relief. “Thank you, George. I’ll take care of them.” He gave him a few coppers
“Thank you, sir!”
George ran off to stand and gawk at the men along with a few others slacking off. There was work to do. The Dock Masters and their assistants were nowhere to be seen. These foreigners should be talking to them, for the docks were their responsibility. This nonsense was taking away working hours that could be used to better effect.
There were five of them. They watched him approach; their stances casual but ready. Their armor was sparse, at least on the surface, and consisted of chainmail under black leather vests and tarnished shin guards. Their gauntlets were of the same blunted metal, and their faces were swarthy and similar as if they were siblings or close cousins.
“Good day to you, gentlemen,” Muldor said and gave a slight nod. “I am Guild Master Muldor. I understand you have been looking for me. How may I be of service?”
An older man with a shock of grey hair streaked his otherwise rich black locks, he nodded to Muldor and spoke. His accent was odd, exotic, but cultured and educated.
“Greetings,” he said and bowed his head. “I am called Unri. This is my brother Yuri and our cousins Beni, Yoseph, and Karl.” Each man nodded in turn, and Muldor felt pleased. His earlier trepidati
on was replaced by curiosity. These men were not from Janisberg.
“We have problem,” Unri said. “Please, have questions concerning this murders have occurred here. Many murders have been. We come from far land, tracked great killer here and wonder if you help us.”
Muldor didn’t have time for any of this, intriguing a premise as it was. “A pleasure to meet you gentlemen. I am not certain of which murders you speak, but even if I did, that would be a matter for the police. The Merchants Guild is my area of expertise, not the investigation of crimes.”
The three cousins were as blank faced as statues, and Muldor surmised they did not speak his language. Yuri looked at his older brother while Unri frowned at Muldor. When he spoke, he sounded like a parent explaining something to a simple minded child.
“The murders have at docks are latest ones. Also at police headquarters they have many murders and other clues have led us here.”
“A number of grave robbing has happened here too,” Yuri said, his accent much less severe. He was a little shorter than his brother, the shortest of the five in fact. He looked younger by a decade than Unri. “This first part is what led us to this city in fact, due to the large number of occurrences. We have been close to tracking down this killer for some time.”
Muldor’s forehead creased, and he pulled his hands out of the folds of his thick grey cloak. “Gentlemen, it seems you have a greater knowledge of the events than I. I fail to see what I can do for you.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Unri’s face, and his features turned darker. Yuri put a restraining hand on his arm, and they spoke for a few moments in their own tongue. Their conversation was terse and heated. After they finished, Unri turned to Muldor and tried to smile, but it came across as a grim frown.
“Please, if you can, tell where is this police location?”
Muldor bowed. “Of course. Right this way.”
They walked towards the lay about group of gawkers, and Muldor pointed out George. “George, if you would be so kind as to escort these gentlemen to the police precinct, I would appreciate it. Master Unri, ask for Captain Cubbins, and I’m certain he will help you with your inquiries. Good day to you all.”
After a slight incline of his head, Muldor was off. George would fidget in front of the foreigners, but he would do the job. To hell with these men anyway. This would be a little revenge against the rude actions of Captain Cubbins. More trouble for him would make Muldor feel better about what happened in his office. Cubbins deserved nothing less.
Chapter Eleven
The pillows and sheets always felt softer and more inviting after sex. Madam Dreary knew she was spoiled by the rich silk under her back and around her body but decided long ago to run with it and not care. People got what they deserved, and she deserved this and more.
Her current client, an older man with a surprising libido, sat on the edge of the bed panting. His lust spent, and his body shuddered. Dreary ran a finger along his spine, and he shivered.
“A bit sensitive are we, dearie?” she said.
The man laughed, but it was strained and awkward. “Yes, yes. Always that way… after.” He took a deep breath and went to the table with the wash basin to refresh with warm water.
Madam Dreary lay on her back. Her toes curled, and her neck craning. She felt a few bones pop in release. Sometime later, a soft knock at the door sounded, and she stretched again and blinked. Her girls would not disturb her without good reason. “Come in, darlings. Come in.”
A girl named Marilyn entered. She was young and petite with curly blond hair. She wore a peach colored nightgown and stood in front of Dreary’s luxurious bed.
“Sorry to disturb you, Madam, but some of the girls are getting worried about our new charge, this young man.”
“Hmmm? Yes, Jon is his name.” She sat up. “Don’t you look adorable, Mary. I love this color on you, dear. Wonderful.”
“Jon hasn’t left his room since he got here.”
Madam dreary yawned. Annoyance flickered in her mind. She scratched behind one ear, a very unladylike habit her mother would disapprove of, and she waved the young girl away. “Scoot, girl. I’ll see to him. Perhaps all the boy needs is a spot of attention. Thank you.”
Madam Dreary tied a silk belt around her robe as she walked the hallways to Jon’s room. After knocking, there was a soft shuffling behind the walls as if the occupant was startled.
“Yes?”
“May I come in, love? It’s Madam Dreary, Jon.”
“Um, sure.”
The young man sat on his bed, staring like a frightened rabbit. She sat beside him and smiled. “Having some trouble, dear one? My girls are worried about you. They’d like to see a bit more of ye in the common area.”
Jon smiled but looked battered and tired. “Haven’t been feeling very sociable the last few days, I’m afraid. Sorry about that, Madam Dreary. I mean no offence. The girls are lovely and very nice. I appreciate you having me here.”
Madam Dreary smiled and put a gentle hand on his face. “How precious. I see why they like you so. There is no reason to apologize. Master Muldor has told me to give you the best possible service while you are our guest.”
“Oh, I am quite comfortable, thank you.” He shook his head and sighed. Her heart went out to him. “For the first time in my life, death has stalked me. I’ve never even been in a fight before I came to this city. My mortality has been made apparent. I don’t like it.”
She patted his thigh. “You are safe here, Jon. No one can hurt ye. I promise you that. Do you believe me?”
He looked her in the eyes and nodded. “Of course I do. I appreciate everything you and Muldor have done for me.”
“Good. I think it might be good for you to get out and walk around a little bit. Your body and mind will heal faster if you do.”
Jon agreed and made a pledge to leave his room more and get some exercise with the girls in the house. She stayed with him a few more minutes, and they spoke of other things, nicer subjects such as his family. It was heartening to hear of his political ties due to his brother’s position, and she surprised him by her knowledge of governments and history.
The madam left, feeling good about the visit knowing she had helped him a bit. She visited the common area and was pleased to see it busy already. A multitude of men and women drank together, laughed together, did business together.
A tall, well-dressed man with a wide black cape streaming down his shoulders socialized under a wide brimmed hat. It froze her feet to the floor. He was a phantom, a ghost, a specter come to destroy them all, but they spoke with him as if they were the oldest of friends bonded together for all time.
The man burned into her soul like the pulse of the blood through her veins. He locked gazes with her, and she was powerless to turn away. Madam Dreary felt faint as she walked to the table and sat down.
Malthus Benaire smiled as he sat beside her, and the world grew dark. “It is my great pleasure to be here with you, Madam. I see both the clientele and girls are in a joyous mood this evening. They are attractive and willing. How wonderful.”
“Yes,” she said in a dead voice, mind numb, “wonderful.”
His hidden eyes penetrated deep into every crevice of her mind. Her soul laid bare. She shivered, and her skin crawled around her bones.
“How interesting. You know, I could feel his great pain. He is a man unaccustomed to this type of physical torture, but he has strength enough to fight. How lovely. He has built up both physical and mental endurance in the past few weeks. He has great resilience but is tormented by it. Fantastic. And you care for him a great deal. He represents something special to you and to many here in this town.”
Had she possessed the willpower, she would have turned from his influence, but few humans could, and Madam Dreary was too susceptible to his charms. Being as he was in the guise of a man, she could not fight him.
“I will have him, this man close to you, the one you are guarding here with such jealousy.”
A heaving sob wracked her frame, and a terrible sadness overcame her mind.
“No,” she said as tears streaked down her face. “Please! You can’t have him.” Her voice was a strained whisper, but her volume didn’t matter. Nobody noticed her. There should’ve been men or girls coming to her aid, but none came.
“Now, now, my dear. There is no need to get excited.” Benaire chuckled, and she was torn apart. “I will have this Jon, and you will give him to me.”
Madam Dreary wept.
* * * * *
Giorgio sat alone at a table, a pariah among his people and outright shunned to the fringe of society. Other eyes in the room alighted toward him every so often. His eyes bore back into theirs until they blanched and glanced away.
The dog sat on its backside. Its devilish nature obvious to any that would bother to look, but it allowed them to interact in a limited way with the tavern dwellers. The animal’s baleful gaze swept back and forth across the room like a lighthouse beacon. It frightened even the heartiest man. They would think twice about approaching.
A serving girl took his drink order, looking scared when he told her straight whiskey. She had a bus boy deliver the drink. He held a broom in his other hand like a club. Giorgio sipped at his drink, tasting nothing. He went through the motions of a former mortal life. His forearms propped on the table. Veins stood out in stark relief like earth worms, the skin a ghastly pale grey like bleached paper. His hair was falling out in clumps. Pieces of bald skull showed through, and the rest a premature light grey. His eyes streaked with red as if a sickness invaded his skull.
Time passed, and the tavern denizens went about their business per normal. They did their best to ignore him, yet nervous glances came his way every so often. A group of five men arrived deeper into the night. They were dark, swarthy men dressed in black leather and stood by the bar. The dog shifted to them as they were obvious strangers, and although outsiders were known to frequent the tavern, they were exotic enough to stand out.