by J. P. Ashman
‘So, Master Ineson’s and Master Joinson’s murders,’ he said, rubbing his chin some more whilst walking to and fro in front of the captain’s desk, ‘something more’n just someone thievin’ coin then? Tied in to the plague ye thinking too?’
Mannino nodded, before delicately lifting the fine glass containing his port. He raised the glass towards his first mate before speaking.
‘Care to take me on that wager?’
‘Aye, and I’ll cut me balls off too, just for fun, ye see.’
‘I’ll take that as a no then,’ the captain said, before knocking back the port and wincing slightly.
Hitchmogh grimaced. ‘Apologies, cap'n. Best port they ’ave around here. Ye can join me and the lads ’n’ lasses for some rum, if ye please?’
‘That won’t be necessary, we’ll be out of here and on our way before sunrise, so keep your wits about you.’
‘And the blockade cap’n? They’re setting up in the harbour mouth now. We’ll need to get us a movin’ if we’re to make it out in one piece.’
Mannino smiled broadly as he poured another glass of port.
‘Ahh… I see,’ Hitchmogh said, scratching the back of his head nervously. ‘I didn’t think we’d be doin’ that again in a hurry.’
‘Nor I, man, but needs must eh? What!’ Dropping his smile just enough to throw back another glass of port, Mannino winked at his first mate, before rising from behind his desk. He strode across to a small door which led to his bunk room. Turning before entering, he said, ‘Wake me when it’s time.’
‘Aye cap’n,’ the grizzled old man said, before grimacing and leaving the cabin.
Ah Master Hitchmogh, what would we do without you, eh? Mannino thought, as he patted Sessio’s hull from within his bunk room.
Dropping heavily onto his hard bunk, he pulled off his polished boots and placed them neatly to one side, before swinging his legs up and stretching back, resting his head on the down-filled pillow.
So, Peneur Ineson hires me at great cost to transport Master Joinson from Orismar, with little in the way of valuable cargo… but much in the way of magical value? Of that I’m sure.
Out of character for the man though and out of character for Master Joinson too. Experienced agent he may well have been, but that return journey he was different; skittish, afraid even?
If so, of whom… or what, I wonder?
What… aye, what, not whom; not directly anyway. That chest in his cabin. He was making sure I wouldn’t look in that. Not that I would have. Probably should have? Aye, probably, but not my way, no, and Ineson knows that, or knew it. Ha! Clever bastard, well what good that did you, old boy, eh? Shame, I liked the old coot. Good at cards and always played fair too. Makes what happened to him all the worse and makes me wonder whether I shouldn’t stick around to see what I can do, in his memory. Doesn’t sit well sailing out on the old boy’s death, nor before I find out how those two guardsmen are getting on, but needs must. Aye they do, and don’t we always know it, Sessio?
As for this plague… hah, a plague – to the depths with me if that’s not fishy. Coincidence is what it’s not, I’m sure of that and I’m damned sure Master Hitchmogh knows too. I’d be more than surprised if he didn’t, a man of his… skills. Then why’d he not mention it to me then? He’ll have his reasons, sure of that I am.
Well, things will work out for the best. They always do, for us anyway, eh Sessio?
Patting the hull once again, Mannino rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, forcing his mind to quietude so he could grab what little sleep he hoped he’d get before making a run on the blockade.
***
As the sun sank deeper into the sea, eventually disappearing altogether, the red sky was transformed and the cirrus clouds slowly cleared. The full crescent moon shone like a tear in the sky, its neighbouring stars dancing across the vast blackness to shine down on the infected city below.
The disappearance of the sun brought an increase in trouble for the City Guard of Wesson, for night was the time when the gangs of Dockside operated.
Learning of the plague and the overly stretched City Guard encouraged the gangs to step up their unlawful activities and prey on the already terrified populace. As well as facing a deadly plague, the citizens of Wesson, but most of all Dockside, heard the calls of the gangs from the rooftops and alleys of the closely packed buildings. They knew, as did the guardsmen working across the dangerous district, that the gangs were calling their men to arms, to take their chance to loot, murder and rape.
Houses were being evacuated whenever someone died or fell ill, and their doors marked with the black cross of death. This made the empty houses easy pickings for the looting gangers, and if any guardsmen were caught up and killed in the process then that was all the better, for the gangers hated the soldiers that raided their hideouts and arrested their comrades.
Fal stood in Tyndurris’ courtyard. He grimaced when a horn rang out from further down the hill, probably Dockside. He knew what that call meant. Three short blasts, to signify a unit of guardsmen needing urgent assistance. Another three blasts sounded soon after, closer than the last, but still a couple of miles away at least. There was no wind so the sound carried far. Lucky for those calling for aid, Fal mused. It also meant the fires burning the dead poured their smoke and sparks straight up into the starlit sky, lucky this time for the whole city, as just one house alight could spread rapidly, especially in the heavily built up district of Dockside.
Fal turned to look across Tyndurris’ courtyard at the fire his men had built earlier that day. That fire glowed now, reduced to an under-lit black mess on the stone floor. Hardly anything remained; no recognisable logs of wood or bodies and no smoke save for a few wisps here and there, slowly drawing lines up to be lost in the blackened sky.
All the bodies the clerics had examined – except a couple they wanted to examine further – had been burnt. Those bodies, Fal had believed earlier, had all been violent criminals, but now he couldn’t be sure. The plague had spread fast over the past couple of days, that much was now apparent and anyone could be a victim to its deadly grasp, whether violent or kind, young or old, rich or… well, mostly poor.
Always the poor.
Another three blasts from a horn, this one much closer than the previous two, sounded strange to Fal, as it seemed to come from within the Guild District, rather than Dockside, or at least on the edge of the latter.
The clatter of metal shod hooves on stone resonated around the street and guild gateway, as two mounted men-at-arms rode past the large iron gates of Tyndurris. They'd been visible for a brief moment, but Fal had seen the reflection of the gates’ torches on metal. The soldiers were armed with blades, not batons. Something was clearly very wrong.
‘To arms, to arms,’ Fal shouted, as he ran over to the large gate. ‘Bar the gate and double the guard, I want crossbowmen on the corner towers. No one is to enter or leave unless I give the order. Understand?’
‘Yes sergeant,’ two guards said simultaneously. They'd been stood either side of the gate in wooden guard boxes. One ran over to slam down a large bolt into a hole in the stone courtyard, locking the gates into place. He then clicked shut a large iron padlock that secured the sliding bar. The second guard ran down the inside of the wall a short distance and rang a bell until more men came running from both the large guild tower and a much smaller stone building next to the stables at the back of the courtyard. Some carried crossbows and climbed ladders to man the small guard towers in each of the four corners of the courtyard, whilst others ran to the gate with a mix of goedendags, arming swords, axes and shields.
This was more than one shift’s worth of guardsmen for the guild. Upon returning from the palace, Fal had sent out messengers to call in all available men-at-arms and most had come. Some weren’t anywhere to be found and Fal feared for their health, for their lives even.
‘Riots?’ a friendly voice asked, and Fal turned to see Sav walking across the courtyard with his ye
w bow strung.
‘I think so, aye, and I’m not taking any chances. Word of the plague got out and spread fast so it’s only a matter of time until this guild is named as culprits. I heard support requests from a horn first in Dockside and then closer, possibly within Guild District. They may be heading here?’
‘You want me on a tower or by the gate?’ Sav asked, his usual jovial character left behind at the palace, along with Severun, Orix and Errolas.
‘No, you stay with me, I have crossbowmen in the towers, and I want someone I can trust completely at my side if this gets nasty.’ Fal placed a hand on Sav’s shoulder and smiled. ‘It’s been a good long time since we had to deal with a riot. It’ll be like old times.’
Sav’s returned smile was half-hearted, Fal knew the scout well enough to see that, so he didn’t press the point. Instead, he turned his attention to the manning of Tyndurris’ defences. A riot usually petered out after an hour or so, but something made Fal think this was going to be a long night, so he moved off to check his men and to re-affirm their rules of engagement.
Shortly after Fal and Sav had arrived at the guild, the Lord High Chancellor had ridden in on a grand white mare which held its tail high and walked proudly into Tyndurris’ courtyard. After dismounting and greeting Fal, Ward Strickland had quickly entered the tower and called the guild council into meeting to explain everything.
The council, missing two of its members – one of them their Grand Master – once fully informed of the situation by Lord Strickland, addressed the rest of the available guild; all of which had been swiftly called back to Tyndurris from their homes and duties throughout the city. Many couldn’t attend, however, needed as they were to assist the King’s navy and City Guard, as well as the now heavily guarded infirmaries. A good number of mages were also spread throughout Altoln, working alongside the kingdom’s many noble families, magistrates and sheriffs in matters of state and local law enforcement; some were further away, as always, on matters of private business, experiments or quests.
The guild members present had been shocked and many had cried out in both surprise and outrage as they heard about Lord Severun and Master Orix’s experiment. Ward had pressed the fact the King himself believed both were attempting to act in the name of good, but because of Lord Severun’s use of arcane magic, no matter what the reason, King Barrison was forced to declare Lord Severun guilty and the charge, as it would be for anyone else enacting arcane magic, was death by fire.
Ward had also announced Orix’s sentence and advised all clerics present to await the master cleric’s arrival, so they could all work on ways to deal with the plague under his supervision and expertise. Several clerics had muttered to themselves when asked to assist Orix and a few had outright scoffed at the idea after what had been revealed to them. Others, along with Ward, had swiftly chastised those clerics and made sure they understood their obligation to work with the most gifted cleric in the city; to come up with solutions to the epidemic threatening the whole kingdom.
Shortly after the guild had met, Orix had arrived under escort from Sir Merrel and a dozen of Lord Yewdale’s own men-at-arms, who left after passing the gnome over to the guild’s own soldiers. Orix hadn’t been seen by Fal, as the gnome had been rushed to the clerics’ chamber to start work alongside his fellow healers on ways to try and stop, or at best slow, the deadly plague’s progression.
***
The smell of smoke filled the small hovel, its tendrils clinging to everything as it struggled to make its way through the small hole in the thatched roof. The smoke was a blessing though, since the smell of the sickness was the only alternative.
Elleth brushed her shiny, black hair from her tear-streaked face as she picked at the rat bones left over from a meal her mamma had made them only a couple of days ago. The pains in her stomach had subsided slightly as she pictured the bones to be a chicken. Oh, how’d she loved chicken when they’d been lucky enough to have one once, and although she’d been very young, she remembered that day well.
‘I’m sorry there’s no more for now, Elleth,’ her mamma said, her voice hoarse from lack of water.
Elleth smiled sweetly at her mamma, who lay on the straw-covered floor by the pitiful fire in the centre of the small room. The faint glow revealed fresh purple lumps along her bare arms; some large, some small and tightly packed, but Elleth’s young eyes saw them all. Her smile faltered for a moment as she thought of what those lumps had meant for her dada and baby brother.
‘Oh, how that sweet smile of yours lights me heart, Elleth. Yer dada loved it so.’
Her mamma’s eyes glistened then and a tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Elleth my love, ye need leave me now. Ye’re almost blooded and ye’re a strong willed girl, ye’ll be alright. Sir Samorl’ watch over ye.’
The young girl shook her head and put down the bones immediately, not quite sure what her mamma meant by ‘almost blooded’. She moved towards her.
The frail woman held up her lumpy arm, wincing at the pull it caused on the apple sized bubo consuming her pit.
‘No darlin’ no, ye stay away now and ye leave this place.’ The tears fell freely now, as did Elleth’s and she made to say something.
‘No child, no more words,’ Elleth’s mamma said. ‘Yer love is known to me as it was to yer dada and brother.’ She nodded her head, leading her child to do the same, before continuing. ‘Take nothing from this house my love, it’s all dirt of the sickness now and will do ye no good. Ye don’t speak of it to no one neither; the words may bring it on to ye or make ’em avoid ye. I’ll be happy to know ye live and that’s all I can ask. Ye need to do that for me Elleth, can ye promise me? Ye’ll live and live long?’
Elleth, her shoulders rocking with her sobbing, nodded strongly as her grey eyes held on her mamma’s own.
‘Ye’re a good girl Elleth—’
Coughing wracked the woman then, followed by blood filled spittle, and again Elleth made to move towards her mamma.
‘No Elleth, no.’ she managed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Ye go now, Ye do me that one last thing and go and live and don’t ye ever come back to this place. It ain’t our home no more my sweet girl. Now turn, turn and face the door and don’t ye be lookin’ back to me.’
Elleth struggled for a moment, then turned and placed her delicate hand on the door.
‘Push darlin’, push and don’t stop walkin’ until ye find somethin’ better.’
More coughing came from behind Elleth, this time mixed with the sound of her mamma crying, and Elleth’s black hair moved slowly up and down on her back as her head nodded.
She finally pushed and moved through the small doorway into the shadow of the narrow street beyond as she heard one last thing from her dying mamma.
‘I love you, Elleth.’
‘Love you too, mamma.’
***
Fal had been correct in his estimate of the horn blower’s whereabouts. Fighting had broken out deep within Dockside where the streets were narrow and muddy, dismal places.
In the dark side streets and alleys of inner Dockside, the gangs ruled. Although a rough place during the day, Dockside at night was a violent underworld where normal people unfortunate enough to live there bolted their doors and barred their windows; closing shutters behind them and sleeping away the night, only half re-assured by their crude fortifications.
Burglars, muggers, protection rackets and all manner of violent criminals worked the narrow streets at night, most controlled by various gangs and or guilds, and those who weren’t were either very good at their trade or very stupid, and both usually ended up being recruited or put out of business by one gang or another at some point in their lives, usually in a violent way.
The City Guard had been informed late in the afternoon of a whole block where people had died with symptoms matching the newly recognised bubonic plague. A patrol of guardsmen on foot had proceeded to check the row of closely packed hovels to discover their infor
mer was correct and there were indeed a large number of corpses in the buildings. These buildings, unknown to the patrol, had been the working centre of an exceptionally violent gang known as the Constrictors. They'd earned their name after squeezing every last penny out of their unlawful fiefdom through violence and robbery. This row, it was said, housed the gang’s womenfolk, which could easily have been true, since the majority of the bodies found by the guardsmen were indeed women, some as young as ten it seemed. The patrol had then proceeded to clear the houses of the dead and mark the doors with black crosses, before loading the bodies onto three hand carts to be pulled to the nearest bonfire, as their new orders demanded. Most of the guardsmen were vocal about how late it was getting and that their new orders should be left until the next day, but the sergeant-at-arms wanted to finish what they’d started, although he agreed it would be their last load before returning to the area at first light.
Once the carts were loaded and covered with sacks to hide the grotesque scene, the guardsmen made their way towards a large road separating Dockside from the Guild District. The unit made slow progress pulling the hand carts up Dockside, which was built on a natural hill, sloping down all the way to the harbour. Some of the narrow roads were in poor repair and quite steep in places. Most had turned to mud where the stone cobbles had been dug up and sold to the Masons Guild over the years by locals who needed money to pay the Constrictors. The climb took its toll on the men as the patrol pushed on.
An hour passed and the sun fell extremely low in the sky. The guardsmen grew increasingly nervous and replaced their batons with falchions and axes. Some people threw rotten vegetables and worse from alleys, whilst small children chose stones as their missiles. The gangs were hated throughout Dockside, but the City Guard was held with no higher regard, since they rarely set foot into the slums to help the people. Several times the carts had to be stopped whilst the patrol warded off angry locals, all of which took precious time.