by Tony Roberts
Metila gave him a long look, her brown eyes holding his deep blue, then she concentrated on putting more salve on his bruised face. “You know. Not I. Kastanian men want Bragal girls for sex. They not understand Bragal girls do it for reason. We not see marriage as end of sex with others. Why you not feel guilty? Perhaps you know it was to seal contract.”
“Perhaps,” Vosgaris said. “What about my two guards?” he asked suddenly. “They were set upon at the time I was taken captive.”
“They fine. They were found last night, brought here. They told Thetos they were attacked, he sent out patrols to look for you. They ready to be guards again. They no good.”
“Why so?”
“They not protect you. Guards guard. They not guard.”
“We were set upon suddenly by a large group. I can’t remember everything, but I do recall that – they came out of alleyways suddenly.”
Metila shrugged and hummed to herself. She wiped her fingers and studied him. “You heal. You need to sleep.”
“Thetos said you’d give me a potion.”
She nodded. “He know. He wise. You be wise to listen to him. Maybe you not get beaten up again.”
Vosgaris twisted his lips. “I will listen to him, don’t worry. When is the emperor coming down?”
She smiled. “Three days. I see Landwaster again.”
“Well he may not be that happy to see you, now he knows of your child. I think he feels deceived you never told him.”
“Landwaster my master. He your master. He everyone’s master. He strong….”
“Yes, yes, and I’m weak, you’ve said that.” Vosgaris sounded irritable. He felt irritable. He felt he was not doing a decent job. “I think you’re playing a dangerous game, Metila. Don’t think because you’ve had the emperor you can get away with anything. You know what people are like with witches – you get too well-known not even being the emperor’s part-time lover and the governor’s girl will save you.”
“Thetos rules Turslenka. They do what he says.”
“Unless he gets unpopular. Look, I’m the emperor’s representative, yet I was attacked here, because I’m looking into the case of someone who found out what you and the emperor have been up to and wants to cause mischief. Do you understand what that means? Someone here wants to cause you harm. If they succeed in bringing down Astiras, then Thetos will fall and if he falls, you’ll be burned in the town square here.”
Metila squatted, looking at the battered captain. “I understand. Then you must find out who. You get well quick, then you find out, yes?”
Vosgaris waved a lacklustre hand. “I have no idea who it is. It’s one of two, but which one, I don’t know.”
“Then kill both; you will be right with one.”
Vosgaris sucked in his breath, then exhaled in a part-laugh, part-hiss of pain. “You would certainly cause a riot! Executing an innocent member of the nobility? That’s one sure way of causing a revolt. The other noble houses would club together. Metila, there are rules to play by and you just simply don’t go round chopping off the heads of suspects. Not in these days, at least. You might have got away with it a few centuries past, I don’t know. Nowadays we have Councils and Houses, and an emperor can only remain at the top with the support of both.”
“That stupid! Execute all rebels, like Landwaster did in Bragal!”
“Bragal was different – for one there were no Kastanian families to oppose there – your people had taken care of that in the first place. Secondly it was a revolt that got the full backing of all the military and the Houses that had a vested interest in Bragal or the military. It was only when the Houses which had no interest in Bragal tried to stop the fight-back that Astiras took action. Frankly, he got away with it because everyone other than the few who were in power had got so tired of their corrupt practices they allowed it to happen.”
Metila pulled a face of distaste. “Politics I not know.”
“I don’t, either, and I’m a noble. Agh, I’m tired and in a lot of pain. Put me to sleep, for Kastan’s sake, Metila.”
She nodded and passed a small cup with a single leaf in the bottom, a curled dull green one. Vosgaris held the cup while Metila poured water into it. “Now crush leaf, and drink all.”
Vosgaris did as she told him, and drank it in one go. It was a very bitter taste and he grimaced. “Ugh, that was foul.”
“Make you sleep rest of day. You need recover.”
Vosgaris settled comfortably into the bed and took hold of her hand as she turned to go. “Wait. Stay until I go under. I want you to hold my hand until then.”
Metila sighed and complied, looking at him smiling at her. “You weak.”
“Yes, I’m weak,” Vosgaris said happily. The potion was beginning to have an effect on him; it was sending waves of sleepiness through him, breaking over his mind like waves on the seashore. He knew he would slip into unconsciousness very quickly. “But I still want to look at you.”
She waited until his eyes grew heavy, then flickered a few times, and his face slipped into stillness and his eyes closed. She untangled her fingers and placed his hand on his chest, then leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Fool,” she said softly in Bragalese. “Cute, but a fool.”
The potion kept the captain out for the entire day, and it was around the middle of the following night that he woke, ravenously hungry. The duty servant fetched a hastily assembled meal and drink for him and Vosgaris downed it in no time. Dismissing the servant he lay back, gingerly feeling his puffy face. His ribs were painful and in the flickering candlelight he saw they were still badly bruised. His face would be, too, no doubt. Some maniac probably had kicked him a few times when he had been knocked out.
It was at daybreak he rose, dressed, and called for Arkanin and Hendros. He sat on his bed, wishing for the dizzy feeling to abate, and the two guards made their entrance, looking a little subdued, and sporting bruises and bumps. “You two alright?”
“Sir,” Arkanin said, standing stiffly to attention. “Apologies for the failure to protect you.”
Vosgaris waved the apology aside. “Enough of that – next time be better prepared. I want you to have drawn swords when we go visiting anyone.”
The two men saluted. Vosgaris led them to the governor’s quarters and he was allowed entry, leaving his two men outside. Thetos was tucking into a hearty breakfast of a huge avian egg and bread. Vosgaris had never seen an egg the size of that before.
“What is that, Governor?”
“Sea avian called a Gurocka. Nests on the shores of Makenia. A bit sharp tasting but once you get used to it, very nice indeed. I have this once every other day. Good way to start the day. Metila says you’re fine to continue, but you look like a canine’s shit, if you ask me.”
“Thanks, Governor,” Vosgaris sighed and sank gratefully into a chair Thetos indicated with a wave of his hook. Metila entered the room carrying a tray of steaming mugs.
“Klee,” she said. “I make you one too. Drink.”
The captain took one mug and nodded his thanks. He glanced at Metila who was more conservatively dressed, her tunic buttoned up almost to her throat. Her skirt was still short, however.
She smiled once, then attended Thetos. His hook was the one designed to hold his mug and he used it while scooping more of the white flesh of the cooked egg out with his spoon. She knelt by his side and the gruff old governor smiled once, then jabbed his spoon in the direction of Vosgaris. “The emperor is going to want some good news about the investigation, and your face isn’t going to give him any comfort. Now it won’t be any use going into the guild building and turning it upside down. You’ve not been all that clever so far, and all you’ve got for your work is a battered face.”
The captain grimaced as he sipped the hot, bitter brew. “So what do you recommend? It’s your city, so you ought to know something or someone; I have no idea who runs the guild here, anyway. Lord Anglis?”
“The Masons’ Guild, yes. Loo
ks bad for him, doesn’t it? The Mirrodan are thick with the Carpenters’ Guild which is in the same building.”
“Oh? Now that’s interesting,” Vosgaris pondered on that piece of news. “Still gives me no clue though. Metila here is for hanging both Houses.”
Thetos guffawed and leaned over to stroke her face. “Well, that’s Metila for you – and frankly there are times I agree with her, although it’d provoke a full-scale uprising. No, we got to have proper cause to move in on one or the other of them.”
“So what do we do? The emperor will want to rip the place apart if I don’t have anything for him!”
“Take your two men with you to a machine shop on the Frasian Gate Road – you can’t miss it. It’s run by an old bugger called Rakinn, he’s a disreputable type but one of the few independent traders left in the city; the guilds are trying to bully him into joining and he’s telling them to piss off. There was a fight the other day, so I hear.”
Vosgaris sucked on his lower lip. “Machine shop?”
“Makes furniture – he has a load of lathes and looms and what have you. I won’t tell you what to expect since he’s as unpredictable as anyone I know. He detests the guilds so he may have something of use to tell you. I don’t know, but you can’t miss the opportunity, can you?”
Vosgaris decided that Thetos’ advice was as good as anything he had – in fact he had nothing else – so after a hastily eaten breakfast he set off with Hendros and Arkanin along the streets of Turslenka which were beginning to get busy. People were beginning to open shops or go out to buy items or food, or begin their day’s work whatever it may be.
The Frasian Gate Road was a main street, the one running eastwards towards the exit that led over the Storma River right outside the city via a many-arched stone bridge. It was what Turslenka was famous for. It had been built many centuries ago, and often repaired, and looked impressive, stretching from the gates in a series of spans across to the far bank, over two hundred paces in length.
Vosgaris was not going that far; he was looking for the machine shop, and found it. The doors were open and inside a diminutive elderly man was sweeping the floor, brushing out sawdust and other detritus. “Stay outside, don’t let anyone else in while I’m talking to the proprietor,” Vosgaris ordered his two guards.
The elderly man looked up in alarm as the captain’s shadow fell across him. He had a bruised face and a cut forehead, half healed. Vosgaris leaned against one of the stout wooden lathes. “You are Rakinn the wood turner?”
“Who are you?” the elderly man replied.
“Someone who has met the same gentleman as you, with similar results.”
“Klimat.”
“If that’s his name, then yes. I was a special guest of his a night or two ago. Warned me to leave Turslenka.”
Rakinn eyed the insignia on Vosgaris’ upper arms and chest. “You are the emperor’s man? Klimat hurt you?”
“He did, which is why I’m eager to make his acquaintance again. I reason he’s no friend of yours, and if I can find him I’ll remove him from your life – and mine.”
Rakinn laughed deeply and scratchily, his lungs crackling. “You think you’ll stop them from trying to put me out of business for not joining their guild by removing their chief enforcer? Hah! They’ll have his replacement lined up in no time. You’re wasting your time.”
“I’m not bothered with the guild – I just want this man’s hide. Where can I find him?”
“The guild won’t let you touch him without punishing you – even if you are the emperor’s man. You’re dabbling with danger, Captain.”
“Let me worry about that – what will it matter to you? Whoever they employ they’ll still bully you. Anyway, why are they picking on you specifically? I would have thought they’re not that bothered with one trader.”
Rakinn leaned on the pole of the brush. “I make good quality furniture, and the guild wanted to buy me out since I won’t join them, then they began threatening me. Same happened to two others in my trade elsewhere. One died, the other left after his daughter was set upon, had her hair shaved off and left naked in the street. Nobody said anything, nobody saw anything, nobody did anything.”
Vosgaris was shocked. “The governor did nothing?”
“The governor doesn’t want to know – not that anyone was brave enough to go against the guild, anyway.”
“Carpenters’ Guild, or Masons’ Guild?”
“Carpenters’ – the Masons are nothing to do with what I do. There are some new types running it these days, nasty types. You won’t find them, of course, they’re out of the way, pulling strings from afar, giving people like Klimat a job in the first place, then allowing him to have plenty of free reign to make sure everyone does as they’re told.”
Vosgaris folded his arms. “So what if I take this enforcer out along with his boys, and give the guild leaders to the emperor?”
Rakinn cackled again. “You can try – others have failed and this bag of wind Olskan who runs this cesspool of a city turns a blind eye. The only time he stirs from his rutting room is when his own rule is threatened, then he acts worse than any enforcer.” The wood turner spat in disgust on the floor.
“Well I’m not the governor. I’m a soldier, and I want blood. Give me that pile of shit Klimat – it’s the least you deserve to be put out of his clutches.”
“Ah what the heck, sure. Makes no difference to me. He’ll be carousing this time of day at the Dockside Tavern. Watch out for him, though, he’s got some hefty types with him. They spend the mornings there getting courage in their bellies, then go round the day’s list of people to intimidate in the afternoon.”
Vosgaris pushed himself away from the lathe. “Thank you. I’ll take care of this Klimat so he’ll never bother you again. Good day.”
Rakinn snorted. “You’ll need a bit of luck; he’s protected at high levels.”
“So am I, wood turner,” the captain said as he left, waving the two others to follow him. They retraced their steps to the town square, then turned south towards the docks where the district turned rougher and the people more sullen. The smell of the sea came to them as they approached, and before they knew it they were close to the harbour, where a number of fishing vessels were moored.
“Wonder if any of those belong to the Mirrodan?” Vosgaris asked himself. He looked about. There were warehouses and stalls, the harbour master’s office, people bartering for goods, buyers, sellers and a few onlookers. To the left stood a shabby tavern, a wooden construction that may once long ago have been clean and white, but now was dingy, filthy and covered in growth. “Stick close to me,” Vosgaris said and loped over to the doorway.
A man lounged against the doorway and looked the captain up and down insolently. “What’s your business here, pretty boy?”
Vosgaris grabbed him by the throat and threw him aside. The man slid across some ordure lying in the gutter of the road and swore loudly and violently as he got to his feet, stinking foully. By the time he looked around the three men had vanished into the tavern.
Vosgaris stood looking about the main room. Patrons sat at chipped wooden circular tables, some hidden by beams that held up the roof. His eyes settled on a group of men in the far corner. No others looked like ruffians and men capable of wielding swords. He pushed through the mass of people, nudging some out of the way, attracting dark looks and muttered curses, but the two following him with their swords very much in evidence stilled any thought of rising up to deal with the rude-mannered man.
“Good morning,” Vosgaris announced his arrival at the table with the five men. One, the man in the centre, a big, bushy-haired man with thick eyebrows and a long nose, glared up at him. Vosgaris smiled cheerily. “I thought I’d come and join you gentlemen for an early morning quaff and share ribald tales of dragging people in off the streets and subjecting them to a thorough beating.”
“You’re brave to be here, you fool,” the bushy-haired man growled. Vosgaris nodded; the vo
ice matched that of the man who had assaulted him the other night.
“This time, Klimat, I’m not a play-thing for you and your sadists to kick around the room.” He planted a boot on the edge of the table and pushed with all his might. The table went up and deposited the entire contents over the men, mostly Klimat, and sent him toppling against the wall, the upended table pinning him there for a moment.
Vosgaris and his two men spread out, swords at the ready.
There came a mass scraping of chairs and the rest of the patrons rushed to the door to get out. Two of the five ruffians got to their feet, the ones on either end. Vosgaris nodded to Arkanin and Hendros. “Kill them, they’re unimportant.”
The clash of steel filled the room. As the fight went on, the table was pushed angrily back and Klimat rose, roaring in fury. The two others with him scrambled to their feet, dripping ale from their clothing.
“You’re gonna die for this, emperor’s lickspittle!” Klimat growled.
Hendros slashed down across his opponent’s chest and the man staggered back, hitting a beam, then slowly fell to the ground. One of the two dripping ale came at him, sword high. Vosgaris met the other’s attack, parrying the first slash, one aimed at his neck. The captain countered, bringing his blade close to his own neck, then slashing hard. The ruffian blocked the blow.
Klimat waded in, pushing the man out of the way. “Go kill the other fool, this one’s mine!” he said. Klimat jabbed for Vosgaris’ chest, stepping over the now upturned table. Pieces of broken mug crunched underfoot. Vosgaris backed away, wanting space. To one side Arkanin now had to face two men, but they were getting in each other’s way. Hendros battled with the other man.
Klimat stepped towards Vosgaris, his face a twisted mask of hatred. “You’re going to regret coming to Turslenka.” He wielded his broadsword, bringing it down hard, aiming to slice the captain in two.
Vosgaris smashed aside the blow and he cut up inside the reach of the ruffian leader. Klimat took the thrust in the shoulder and gasped, staggering back. With a moment’s grace, Vosgaris turned to his left and slammed his blade down into the neck of one of the two taking on Arkanin. The man clutched his spurting neck, looked wild-eyed at the roof, then fell slowly to the stained floor.