Night of the Chalk (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 1)

by Samuel Gately

  Aaron pushed him off. There were no others on the roof except those he’d already wounded or killed. He dragged the bodies to the edge and kicked them over the side. The guards below checked the men’s faces, then stabbed them again to ensure they were dead. Aaron scanned the perimeter and then the sky again. All was quiet.

  Aaron motioned to the guards to return the ladder to its position, now that the roof was clear. Aaron secured the ladder, then motioned to the guards to come up. They clamored up the ladder. When they arrived and surveyed the roof, Aaron said, “Keep your eyes peeled. We could get another round of visitors any second. Let me know when they arrive.” He needed a closer read of the situation on the ground before he decided whether he’d have to fight for the high ground.

  Aaron sheathed his sword and slid down the ladder, feet on the outside. The ground level was quiet. There was a cluster of guards near the front door of the barn. Aaron quickly scanned faces. He recognized everyone. There was another group near the stable gate and a few scattered men watching the walls for a ground attack. The men on the roof scanned the skies. Aaron leaned in to the barn and looked up to the loft, but it was dark. “Jon,” he called softly. A large shadow moved across the loft and then swiftly down the ladder at its front. It moved through the tense dragons, the Dura Mati in their center standing with his legs spread wide and his hammer gripped in both hands.

  “Too quiet,” Aaron said when Jon arrived. Jon nodded. “And only one wave?” Again, Jon nodded. Aaron scanned the group of guards closer, looking for the best option in a fight. “Erik, grab one more and come with us. The rest of you hold here. Be ready for another wave from above, an attack at the walls, or whoever managed to hide in here.”

  Aaron led his group of four towards the gate. The attack had never been meant to succeed. If they wanted to overwhelm the group, they could have just held the roof and sent in multiple waves of attackers. They could have staged the men only a few rooftops away so the dragons could just keep carting them over. If it wasn’t intended to succeed, at least not through overwhelming force, they may have planned on flushing out and hunting down anyone who left. Cal might be in trouble. But far more likely was that this whole thing had been a distraction to get a real assassin in the compound. Maybe more than one.

  Aaron recognized the first guard standing on a raised platform, watching over the east side of the wall. The guard turned nervously as they neared. The group moved on to a second guard, watching the northeast corner. “He’s good,” Erik said as they got close. “That’s Kellen.”

  The third isolated guard kept his back to them as they approached his small platform overlooking the north side of the wall. Aaron called softly to him, “Hey. Turn around.” There was no reaction. Aaron drew within a few feet of the guard. Finally, the guard turned, sword raised. The assassin wore the uniform of a Home Guard, probably stolen off a corpse he’d thrown over the wall. His thrust was fast and straight. As Aaron dodged the blade, he noted it was coated in a thick green substance, poison. Aaron struck at the man’s hands, knocking the sword down and bloodying him. Sleepy Jon ran him through. They pushed the body to the ground. Aaron glanced over the wall. Seeing no one, he gestured to their fourth companion to take over the guard position. He, Jon, and Erik continued around the compound, checking all the remaining guards.

  They had lost two of Vander’s men, one of the Home Guard, and, most frustratingly for Aaron, one of the Corvale who had accompanied Miriam and Conners. His new alliance had very quickly been sealed in blood. The bodies of the mercenary group who had attacked numbered twelve. It looked as if Cal had killed three and left a big splotch of blood on the western wall where he left the compound. Aaron would send someone after him after he finished searching the compound. A smart assassin would have gone to ground during the attack and would wait until later in the evening to attack.

  Aaron, Jon, and Erik began a slow search of the stables. The only thing they found in the office building was a scared Dan, waving an old sword while huddled protectively over the stable boys. As usual, the stable boys looked like they wished they’d chosen a different employment option. The old horse stables were clear. They ended the search at the cistern near the center of the compound.

  The cistern looked simply like a large wooden barrel, placed at the corner of the horse stables close to where they met the barn. All the gutters from the barn and stables emptied into it. There were taps to fill buckets for watering the horses. As the group approached, Aaron was thinking they would have to drain it. The enemy had already shown a proclivity for poison. The cistern was full, though the water level should have been low in the dry season. When Aaron saw it, he muttered under his breath. There was plenty of room for a man to hide in the cistern. He would displace a lot of water. Indeed, Aaron noticed the ground was wet around it. An assassin would need some way to breath. Aaron studied the surface of the water in the cistern. There was a small tube emerging.

  Aaron gestured to Jon, then leaned down to open all the cistern taps. The water flowed out into the dry yard, quickly sucked up by the dry dirt. Once the water level got low enough, a man’s head became visible, white eyes glaring out of the darkness. Aaron was reminded yet again of the Jerr hound in the tunnel. The assassin threw his head back, flinging water into the air. He climbed to the edge of the cistern, knives in both hands.

  Erik put a crossbow bolt into his neck. As the assassin fell back, blood pouring from the wound, Jon leaned over to stab him through the heart. The men dragged the body out to join the others.

  Aaron sheathed his sword. There could be another attack, but he suspected whoever had orchestrated this one would wait to see if his hidden assassin ploy worked. And by the time he was sure it had failed, the daylight would arrive. A fresh attack would expose to Delhonne that there was more than one force of dragons operating in the city. Still, Aaron needed to make some changes to the game before tomorrow night, or the next attack might come with greater numbers and be more successful. He would need to reach out to Derrick Issale, the leader of the Corvale Warrior Circle for reinforcement.

  Some of the guards had told him they saw Cal followed as he left. Aaron needed to get support to him. But who to send? Conners needed to maintain his cover as the Palace butler. He wanted Jon here to help him think through changes to the stable’s defenses. Miriam may still be unknown to the enemy and would be able to follow Cal wherever he’d gone. He decided to send Miriam after him.

  Aaron needed to scatter the people he trusted. He tentatively included Miriam in that group. Tonight had been a mistake. He had made things too easy for Carr by gathering everyone in one place, a place where the enemy knew to find him.

  Tomorrow he had two trips to make with Cal. For the first, they’d head to the Palace and pay their respects to the King. It would give the other political factions pause and give them a chance to check up on Conners at his place of employment, get a message to Issale through Conners. After that, they’d pay a visit to the Lower Sweeps, see if they could get to know this Gelden Carr a little better.

  Chapter 24. A Quiet Place

  Miriam had spotted Cal a few moments earlier at the party, talking in hushed tones with a server. She waited until he was finished and then stepped into his line of sight. She studied him as she waited for him to notice her. He looked at ease, comfortable in his skin and with the world. This despite the fact that he stood out. He was not dressed in all white and gold aside from an obviously borrowed or stolen coat. He was the only one at the party smoking and drinking a dark brown liquor in a different type of glass. And he was dripping blood on the white tiles.

  She was lucky to have found him. He had left quite a trail at first, including the spray of blood on the fence marking his western exit from the compound. Once in the urban mess of Delhonne the trail grew harder to follow. Aaron told Miriam to try his home or the Castalan Embassy, but as she passed through City Center she encountered the Marquis’ party. She thought it seemed the kind of play Cal would like, going t
o a fancy party to escape a group of assassins.

  She had carefully studied the entryway and those who watched it. After a few minutes, it became apparent that one group of men in particular was very interested in the men leaving the party. They were huddled in a nearby alley. And they wore red and black. Miriam scoffed at the amateurish uniforms. They could just as easily have worn signs. These were the men hunting Cal.

  She threw off her cloak, roughed up the neck of her blouse, and worked up a few tears. Then she entered the loose line of nobles headed into the party. It was only moments before she was noticed by a polished young courtier.

  “Is everything all right, Miss?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I must look a fright. Some dreadful men just tried to grab me. I had to leave my coat behind. Oh, I’m so embarrassed.” She started crying a little harder.

  “Where did this happen?” the courtier asked, shock in his voice.

  “Just moments ago. The men were back there. They seemed to all be wearing red and black. Some sort of…street gang.”

  They were nearing the entryway. The courtier said, “Wait right here, please, Miss. I’ll see something is done about this.”

  He stepped up to the guards at the curtain and spoke curtly, gesturing in her direction and then in the direction of the mercenaries. The guards’ faces hardened. Harassing guests attending a noble’s party was a major transgression. The guards’ duty was to make sure all guests arrived and left safely. It could cost them their jobs if that didn’t happen. No one wanted the embarrassment of hosting a party where any of the nobility had been robbed or killed. One of the guards leaned behind the curtain and made a quick gesture. As the courtier returned to Miriam, who continued looking bewildered, a stream of guards headed out the front towards the mercenaries.

  “Now,” the young courtier said, “I believe they will be taken care of in short order. Shall we see what we can do to salvage your evening? May I escort you in?”

  Miriam straightened her blouse, grateful that it was white and moderately fitting of the occasion. She nodded, smiling broadly and projecting gratitude with her eyes. And why not, he had been helpful. Maybe she could help him meet another girl before ditching him to find Cal.

  Of course, she had to keep her priorities straight. She snuck away when he went to get them each a glass of wine. It had been short work to find Cal.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Miriam told him, sliding up next to him. “I like your jacket.” She mockingly ran her fingers over the gold seams.

  “Nothing but the finest for me. I trust things are well with our friends?” Cal asked. If he was surprised to see her, he chose not to show it.

  “The attack went poorly for the other side. But we lost a few. Aaron wants us scattered for a while. He asked if you could make your way back around daybreak. Sounds like he’s got a packed agenda for you.”

  “Well, that gives us several hours to get to know each other a little better. My place or yours?” He downed the rest of his glass.

  Miriam laughed. “You won’t be getting to know me that well, Cal.”

  “Well, we’ll see, but let’s get out of here either way. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. I know a quiet place to get a real drink.” Cal took a step then paused. “I forgot about my tail. I had maybe six on me. They’re probably still outside.”

  “I took care of them.” When Cal looked at her, she said, “A lady has her ways.”

  “Impressive,” he said.

  “Actually, I was meaning to tell you,” Miriam said, “you gained much honor among the Corvale last night.” Miriam was surprised to see Cal’s face darken. She continued hesitantly, “Aaron told the story of the S’Rghat Prison. Many Corvale were saved in that rescue.”

  Cal relaxed and nodded. The reference to last night had taken him back to Zarus Coff, his knees digging into the ground, the blood running down his chest, the Chalk raising the long knife. He tried to shake the memory.

  “You got Aaron to tell that story? He doesn’t often tell that one.” Cal raised his glass to his lips then grimaced as he realized it was empty. “That was a messy job. The sandstorm was something else. If anyone did themselves proud it was those prisoners. It was no easy trek.”

  Cal led Miriam out of the party, dropping off his borrowed and bloodstained coat and collecting his freshly sharpened sword. He led them down the busy street. Miriam pointed out the alley from where the mercenaries had been watching. There were no signs of them, but there was a significant guard presence along the street.

  They turned west, Cal leading the way. As they entered a quiet restaurant district, he ducked into a small alleyway. An inconspicuous door was framed by two dim lamps. Cal knocked twice. The eyehole cover slid back behind the grille and a pair of eyes looked out. The door opened. Cal and Miriam entered.

  “Mr. Mast, very good to see you, sir,” said an enthusiastic barman. The interior of the bar was dimly lit by candles, showing a well-appointed but sparsely populated great room. The walls were lined with books and the chairs were plush, giving it the appearance of a gentleman’s club rather than a bar. Those few men in the place, all grey-haired, talked quietly or played games, drinks on the small end tables that flanked the carefully arranged chairs. Several looked up at their entry, a few raising their hands in greeting to Cal. Miriam noted she got a few appreciative looks. She suspected she had just added to Cal’s reputation amongst this rather odd group.

  The barman led them to a set of chairs near the fire. “Will it be the usual, sir?” he asked.

  Cal looked to Miriam. “They carry Dushens, it’s a…”

  “That’ll be fine,” Miriam interrupted. The barman nodded and headed to the well-stocked bar. “I like this place,” Miriam continued. “How did you find it?”

  Cal shrugged and pulled out a tobacco pouch. He began rolling a cigarette on the end table, briefly glancing around the room as if looking for someone. Miriam quietly watched him. When he’d finished, he offered it to her. She accepted and waited as he rolled another. He struck a match then lit first hers, then his. The barman returned with a bottle of Dushens whiskey, two glasses, and a pitcher with a modest amount of ice. Cal dropped a few rocks in each glass and poured them a couple fingers each. They drank silently for a moment.

  Finally, Cal broke the silence. “So, what shall we talk about?”

  “We exchange information,” Miriam said. “I am new to you, you are new to me. We both deal in information. We trade.”

  Cal grinned. “I don’t see why not. You ask one question, I’ll ask one question.”

  “I’ll start you with an easy one. How did Sleepy Jon get his name?”

  Cal nodded appreciatively. “That’s a good one. It has to do with the struggle between the Black Antlers and the Courtland Kings. Are you familiar with them?”

  “I am, and I was aware of some conflict between them, but that’s about all I know.” They were two of the stronger street gangs that ran the neighborhoods of Delhonne.

  “Well,” Cal continued, “it starts with Jon’s navy days. He grew up rough, not much school, working from childhood. He found a wife at an early age; he’s still with her. But when she had their first, he was struggling to keep food on the table. So he joined the Tannes navy for a three-year tour. That’s where that stupid hat he always wears comes from. He loves that thing. But anyways, he wasn’t stationed in Tannes. They don’t have much of a navy. They do have some military exchange programs with the other states. They sent Jon to Castalan, where I’m from. In a roundabout way that’s how we’re friends. But they loan him, or exchange him, to the Castalan navy. One of the things the Castalanians like to do with the transplants is make them do a lot of the grunt work, the stuff no one else wants. Looking out for their own first, you know. Some of the transplants end up as a sort of investigator type, like police within the navy. If one uniform knifes another they get to the bottom of it. Or figure out who stole a bunch of sugar and sold it to the black market. Stuff like that. Fore
igners just worked better. They’ve got fewer friends so they can be counted on to be impartial. And there’s less trouble if they upset someone and wind up floating in the bay. And Jon’s got the other quality they look for, he’s big. Real big.

  “So Jon spends his time hopping from ship to ship, pier to warehouse, trying to figure out who did what and who’s to blame. From what I understand, he was one of the best to ever do the job. Not that it made many friends. Some of the captains liked him, but they kept quiet about it because the enlisted men hated him. He did his three years and headed for home.

  “Jon had been sending the bulk of his salary to his wife every month, but it wasn’t much. The main reason anyone enlists is that lump sum pension payment on departure. But of course, enlisted men have a hell of a time collecting their pensions from the finance guys when they leave. You can triple that when their pension is coming from two different countries. The Castalanians tried to be slick and get Tannes to pay him. And Tannes tried to get the Castalanians to do it. So Jon arrives home without much money, only to find that when his kid got sick his wife had gotten suckered into some bad loans. Jon didn’t let the sharks get away with everything they tried to pull, but once they were in the picture, it took money to get them out. By the way, I eventually sorted out the pension thing with the Castalanians.

  “Jon was back home but he was poor. So he looked for work with the Home Guard, the Tannes army, the navy again. But it’s peacetime and they’re not hiring. They save their positions for people who’ve already done time in country. They all know each other. Nobody knew Jon Harpish.

  “So Jon starts hanging out with some of the mercenary groups that make their coin by helping the street gangs beef up before big fights. A lot of it is for show. The gangs actually understand pretty well that knifing each other is bad business. But every once and a while a real war breaks out. The Black Antlers were moving into the Courtland Kings turf, and they made the mistake of not leaving them a way out. They were stealing their territory, their life’s blood, challenging them for their corners. The street gangs don’t have much. Ty Cullmore and the real gangsters control the gambling, most of the prostitution trade and black market. The street gangs are left with mugging the middle and upper-middle class and trying to get protection money out of the few shops and craftsman who aren’t already paying someone like Cullmore. It’s a hard living. They’d make a lot more money actually working, but that never seems to occur to them.