“Watch are milling around confused whilst someone I assume to be their sergeant is talking to the two farmers.”
“Why farmers?” Jonas said.
“One is holding a hoe, the other a scythe,” Daeholf said.
“Fair enough,” Jonas said. “That all?”
“One of them may have had a scuffle recently, though nothing serious, as he has a dirty looking bandage wrapped round his left arm.”
"Let's go then," Jonas said.
“Go?” Zedek said.
“Marlen’s not here.”
“You sound sure,” Trimas said.
“Dirty bandage is a giveaway. Marlen wouldn’t allow that to pass even if he was in hiding.”
“That’s a little flimsy,” Daeholf said sceptically.
“I know him,” Jonas said simply.
Zedek studied Jonas for a moment. “Good enough for me,” he said.
The others looked at him in surprise..
“I guess we’re trying somewhere else then,” Daeholf said, turning his horse.
"Wait," Alia said suddenly.
"What?"
"I think it might be worth hanging around and talking to the watchmen, see what they say."
Jonas smiled at her.
Daeholf paused. “Makes sense,” he said.
They watched as the guards gave up and turned away from the village, marching back up to the road towards them. Jonas moved his horse out to the front as they approached.
“Trouble?” he asked pleasantly.
“I wouldn’t bother travelling to the village,” the sergeant said tiredly.
“Something wrong there?” Jonas said.
“What’s your interest?” the sergeant said, looking them over.
“We’re on our way out of the area and were thinking of stopping there to buy a chicken or two for supplies.”
“I wouldn’t bother trying,” the sergeant said.
“What happened?”
“Bloody farmers,” the sergeant said. “Got it into their heads that we were there to arrest them all. All we wanted was a look around.”
“They looked ready for you.”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you think they were expecting trouble?”
“Some idiot has been spreading rumours I suppose. Now if you wouldn’t mind clearing the road, my men and I have places to be.”
*****
The keys had a good weight to them, and that always made him feel secure.
Larly jangled them in his hand as he went through his usual small routine of pondering: what was the actual weight, how far could he throw them, would some sort of sports event where the heads of banks competed to see how far they could throw their weighty keys make good viewing, or did people just go to see muscles and blood? The same every time, because there was as much comfort in routine as there was in knowing these were tough, heavy keys which fitted in stronger, weightier locks, which in turn kept the bank’s money secure.
Which, a rogue thought broke into his mind, was a little odd, but this was put aside as his mind turned to the next piece of routine. The wagons had arrived surrounded by the armoured and heavily armed guards, all ex-soldiers of the sort who wanted to keep hitting people rather than farm, but didn’t have the intelligence to hunt bounties. Or, it was increasingly obvious, plan a good robbery of these wagons.
So, more routine, and this involved having the money carried through and deposited in the safes, and having the same value carried out in goods the bank had acquired: jewellery, deeds, rare stones, entire ingots, everything used to pay debts that was sent back to headquarters for processing. Oh, and rebalancing the sums the bank kept.
And then the final piece of routine, the hidden one, the thought he rarely admitted to: wouldn’t it be wonderful if this money was stolen, from here or from the way here, if it was all taken and used to fund the rebels. Such an influx of cash would pay for a lot, especially if you changed the word ‘pay’ to ‘bribe’.
He didn’t admit that a lot, but he did admit it, despite being the sort of thought crime that would have him sacked at a minimum. He admitted it to the rest of the rebel council, when they sat around in their cellars, drinking their finest wines and discussing how they might lead a glorious rebellion against this suffocating empire.
They’d talk of history, of the time aeons ago when the empire didn’t exist, and they’d talk of the future, and whether it could ever fall. They’d dream of marching at the front of an army of peasants, who’d do what they were told, to throw off the yolk of subservience. It all seemed so fantastic as they dreamed together, getting ever more drunk, and as he stood there and watched chests being carried about, Larly could feel that warmth and hope. All men like him, people in charge of their regional offices but denied access to the imperial administration, the middle of the spectrum.
Not that the rebel council could ever agree on a plan, not that there was any rush for him to think up a sure-fire way of having the money taken without being implicated.
If that earlier rogue thought had been allowed to continue, it might wonder whether someone so keen on comfort and safety really made a good member of a rebel council. But of course being able to subdue such doubts was, in turn, a useful ability.
Larly smiled as he closed the safes, secure in the large sum of ready cash that replaced the items being returned. He stopped smiling when he heard one of the guards turn to the other as they left and say, “I hate these shitty backwaters, they probably think this is a lot.”
Had they been able to penetrate his mind? And if they had, would they know about the rebels?
Larly’s hand briefly shook, before he took hold of himself. Of course they hadn’t known his thoughts, there weren’t mages in the guards they employed. It was just coincidence.
*****
“Have you heard the rumours?” the merchant said.
“I'm not sure,” Daeholf said, stowing the supplies and counting his change. “Which one is this?” he said patiently. This had been going on all morning.
Although the populace didn't seem very happy about the increased watch activity, most of the stories had to be exaggerations. They'd started trying to collate them for any evidence of Marlen but it was hopeless.
“The village of Walbrook was raided yesterday.”
“Really?” Daeholf said, surprised. “Yesterday you say?”
“Yes, yesterday morning. My brother's nephew works by the gates and he said he saw the watch bringing in a number of farmers.”
“From Walbrook?”
“Yes.”
“What had they done?”
“Imperial dissenters apparently.”
“Dissenters?”
“They'd been having secret meetings against the empire. There's a whole conspiracy uncovered.”
“Conspiracy?”
“So I hear. Else why arrest them all?”
“Why indeed?”
The merchant looked at him suspiciously. “You're not a sympathiser are you?” he said.
Daeholf studied the man for a moment, gauging his response. “Not at all. Just a businessman trying to go about my trade,” he said.
The merchant nodded. “I hear that,” he said. “Let's hope the trouble is over quickly and we can all get back to making money.”
“Yes, let’s,” Daeholf said. “Good day.”
“Good day to you too,” the merchant said with a smile.
Daeholf walked back to the inn where the others were waiting.
“That was weird,” he said.
“What's up?” Alia asked.
“All sorts of rumours over town about the watch and what they're getting up to.”
“Yeah, we're hearing all sorts,” Trimas said.
“Some more likely than others,” Zedek said.
“This last one stuck out a bit though,” Daeholf said.
“Marlen?” Jonas said.
“Sadly not. No, apparently the village of Walbrook was raided.”
“Walbrook?” Trimas said. “Really?”
“We were only there yesterday,” Zedek said.
“That's the interesting bit.”
“Don't keep us in suspense then,” Alia said.
“Arrests apparently took place yesterday morning.”
“Didn't see much evidence of it whilst we were there,” Trimas said, frowning.
“They must have been very quiet about it,” Alia said. “Possibly even invisible.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Zedek said reproachfully.
“Sure it was Walbrook?” Jonas said.
“The merchant seemed confident. About his brother's nephew's story anyway.”
“Merchant's brother's nephew?” Zedek said, looking sceptical.
“As rumours go, pretty much from the horse's mouth then,” Alia said with a smile.
“What's a horse got to do with it?” Zedek said. “Oh.”
“Well I think we can safely discount this rumour then,” Trimas said.
“Makes me wonder how much else of what is floating around is just hearsay,” Daeholf said.
“Most of it probably. It's going to make tracking Marlen all the harder,” Jonas said.
“Who do you think is starting it all?” Alia said.
“Who knows. People are strange,” Zedek said.
“The rumours are coming from both sides though,” Jonas said.
“What did you hear?” Daeholf said.
“Two watchmen have gone missing. Absolutely no sign of them at all. Went out on patrol, didn’t come back.”
“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” Trimas said. “Probably just in a whorehouse.”
“An unsurprising suggestion,” Zedek said. Trimas sighed.
“There’s probably nothing to it,” Daeholf said. “That’s the thing with rumours.”
“There’s certainly an undercurrent of unhappiness though,” Trimas said.
“On both sides,” Jonas added.
“This is starting to get a little messy,” Alia said.
*****
After a somewhat awkward conversation with a squad of watchmen at the farm, Marlen had decided to find out what was going on. The watchmen had said that they were looking for 'unusual dissenters' but that could frankly mean anything. Whilst it wasn't exactly unknown for city forces to prowl the countryside looking for trouble, it was unusual. When it had happened previously it had been down to a power struggle between the 'General' and his uncle the Governor. This had felt different though, as a number of his men had failed to check in. And Marlen wasn't a big believer in coincidence. The timing was inconvenient with the schedule of his operations but he needed to find out what was going on. He'd travelled to the city to check in with his watch contacts but inconveniently they were all out roaming the countryside. That had given him pause, suggesting that this operation was big. It was clearly antagonising the populace for one, given the increased incidence of anti-imperial graffiti and the background grumbling. He’d had to smile at one of the rumours about the crackdowns being related to a new imperial tax. It was good, and not even one he’d started himself. But thanks to the growing unrest, there was now something of a curfew in place to crack down on it. Not that he paid it any real attention as he walked to meet another of his contacts.
“You there, stop,” came the call.
Marlen sighed. “What can I do for you, officers?” he said politely, turning to face them. There were two of them, and judging by their appearance he could see why they weren’t out patrolling the countryside. One was rather fat and would probably have had trouble walking far without having to stop for a rest. The other was so young he hadn’t even started shaving.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?” the fat one said.
“Is there a problem?” Marlen said.
“There’s a curfew for anyone without official business.”
“Perhaps I’m on official business.”
“I don’t like your tone. You’re coming with us.”
“I really don’t think so.”
The two watchmen approached him carefully. They were both armed with spears and lowered them to point at him as they closed. He’d left his staff behind at the farm as he was travelling light. He adjusted his stance and positioned his hands, studying the watchmen as they moved. The fat one, though out of shape, wasn’t clueless and held the spear as if practised. Marlen smiled. It had been a while and this could be fun.
“How are you going to arrest me?” Marlen taunted. “You’re far too fat to catch me.”
The fat man glowered, aimed and lunged with his spear. Marlen swayed to the side and caught the shaft as it passed. He turned with the momentum and using the spear itself as a lever disarmed the guard. Smiling, he swept the butt around, catching the guard behind the knees and sending him crashing to the ground. The younger guard started to back off.
“No running away,” Marlen said. “After all, you started it.”
The young guard turned to run. Marlen raised the spear to throw, weighing it as he did. It was horribly balanced but would probably just about do. As the guard took a couple of steps he launched the spear after him, taking him high in the back and dropping him to the street instantly.
“Damn,” Marlen said. That wasn’t quite what he’d intended as he’d wanted to question the man. The fat man started to rise and Marlen kicked him nonchalantly across the face, sending him down again.
“I guess it’s just me and you then, fat man,” Marlen said, grabbing a fistful of the limp man’s tunic and dragging him along the street with little difficulty in the direction of the second guard.
He got to the body and it didn’t take much to see that the man was dead, face down with the spear sticking proud from his back. Marlen collected the second spear, stuck the point in the dead man next to the one he’d thrown and dragged both bodies into an alleyway. He walked back into the street to look for evidence of the scuffle. There was a little blood but not too much and it was easily hidden by kicking dirt over it. Satisfied that the encounter would go unnoticed, he returned to the two guards.
The fat man was groggy and groaning, but a quick tap soon stilled him again. Marlen looked around. He wasn’t far from one of his safe houses so he wouldn’t have to take the bodies a great distance. Setting himself, he grabbed a fistful of tunic with each hand and walked down the alley, dragging the bodies with him. He followed a short sequence of back alleys and emerged behind one of his properties. He gave the signal and one of his men answered the door, admitting him silently. He dragged the bodies into the room beyond and laid them down.
“Dispose of this one,” Marlen said to the silent figure, indicating the dead young man. The man nodded, shouldered the corpse and disappeared with it back out of the door.
Marlen lifted the comatose fat man into a chair.
“Wakey, wakey,” he said, sending a shock down his finger into the man’s shoulder. The man started and looked around wildly. When he realised he couldn’t move he looked panicked.
“What have you done to me?” he gasped.
“Muscles are curious things,” Marlen said. “It doesn’t take much to cause paralysis.”
“What do you want?” the guard said.
“Information,” Marlen said. “I’m trying to find out more about why the watch are roaming the countryside, stirring up trouble.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” the guard said.
“I think you might,” Marlen said. “My usual sources have come up mostly dry so maybe it’s time to cut to the chase and question those involved directly.”
“I know nothing,” the guard said stubbornly.
“You can’t move,” Marlen said. The guard looked at him. “You don’t think that’s the extent of what I can do, do you?”
The look of panic returned to the guard’s face.
“Exactly,” Marlen said.
“I could call for help,” the guard said.
“You could,” Marlen said. “I doubt
anyone important would hear you though and besides, it might make me angry.”
“If I talk, will you let me go?”
“Perhaps. Talk and we’ll see.”
“We’re looking for dissidents,” the guard said.
“I know that,” Marlen said. “Give me more. What sort of ‘dissidents’? What triggered this?”
“Unusual ones were my orders, and they came from on high.”
“But you were curious and tried to find out more didn’t you? I hope you did otherwise you’re not going to be useful to me.”
“I overheard someone talking about a three-armed man. Some sort of special unit commissioned by the General found him and brought him in.”
“Three-armed man, eh?”
“I’m just telling you what I heard. I don’t believe it myself but I thought it might be helpful.”
“Oh, three arms is real. Was real from the sound of it though. Tell me more about this special unit. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
The guard looked momentarily horrified but gathered himself. “They’re a crack team of watchmen,” he mumbled.
“Are you sure?”
“That’s all I know,” the guard half squeaked.
“Crack team of watchmen, eh? Where are they now? What do they look like?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met them.”
“I suppose you’re not as useful as I was hoping then.”
“I’ll do anything,” the guard said.
“Hmm. Maybe I could use you,” Marlen said, studying the man. “There’s an alteration I’ve been meaning to try.”
“Alter me?”
“How would you like to lose weight? A lot of weight?”
*****
“Is that the last of ’em?”
He straightened himself up and towered over the bald man, who was disengaging his trolley from what was really the last crate.
“That’s it alright. We can go home.”
“Beer, beer, come to me,” and large hands mimed drinking.
“We sure there’s none left?”
The big man and the bald fellow turned to the third warehouseman, who was standing near the door.
Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1) Page 40