by A. J. Smith
Utha stood behind him, staying outside the entrance awning but making his presence known. Sergeant Clement was still nervous and held his crossbow at the ready. Randall stood at the back, looking as if he was not prepared to take part in any violence, should it occur.
‘The fear of Jaa upon thee,’ one of the Karesians said with a florid bow. He spoke with a heavy Karesian accent. ‘What does a man of the One require of us?’ he asked respectfully of Torian, who answered with a shallow bow of his own.
‘We’re looking for a man of Ro called Glenwood. I hear that he frequents this… establishment.’ The last word was said with scorn and Utha shook his head.
The Karesian stood and smiled at Torian, revealing several gold teeth. He was a tall man, looking down on the Purple cleric. ‘Our clients are obviously men who desire discretion, my lord, and I regret that I cannot comment on who does or does not frequent this… establishment.’ His words were still polite, but Utha sensed an edge of defiance.
Torian confidently sized up the man, looking at his scimitar and warrior’s bearing. ‘Discretion does not matter to me, neither does your primitive weapon. You will tell me whether the man I seek is present.’ The words were spoken with authority and caused all five of the Karesians to become more alert as they looked at the two clerics and squad of watchmen.
The man who’d spoken narrowed his eyes, before letting his face flow into a broad smile. ‘My lord, we are simple men, not used to the presence of clerics.’ He bowed again. ‘I mean no offence.’
‘Then you will take us to Glenwood?’ Torian asked.
The Karesian considered it and glanced at his four companions, all of whom looked worried. Utha detected a hint of fear and was optimistic that Torian was sufficiently intimidating to speed their passage.
‘My lord cleric, I will take you to the man you seek for a small… price.’ He rubbed his hands together suggestively. ‘Think of it as a donation to the faithful of Jaa.’ His face was contorted into an unpleasant grin and his gold teeth glinted as the morning sun passed through a gap in the awning.
Utha stood next to Torian, lending his best expression of righteous annoyance to the one Torian already wore. The Karesian continued smiling, hoping that the two clerics would agree to bribe him. He slowly let the realization that this was unlikely intrude upon his grin and backed away, directing his eyes at the dusty street.
‘I have asked you twice. If I have to ask you again, I may become rather more insistent,’ Torian said plainly.
Utha smiled at the other four Karesians, showing a brazen confidence as he looked them up and down. Though they were obviously fighting men, they were poorly armed and would be no match for the two clerics.
The Karesian held his arms wide in a gesture of submission and bowed deeply. ‘I apologize for any offence caused, the ways of the Ro are still new to me, my lord,’ he said while still looking at the floor.
‘I’m about to ask again… I suspect you don’t want that,’ Torian snarled aggressively.
The Karesian looked up, letting a frown of contempt show before he smiled again and motioned for Torian to follow him. ‘You’ll have to speak to the mistress,’ he said as he led the way inside.
Utha continued smiling at the other men as Torian ducked under the low doorway that led into the brothel. Without turning, Utha motioned for the watchmen to go in, and then followed himself.
Inside, the building was dirty and badly maintained, with an unpleasant smell of incense which Utha suspected was used to mask the odour of sweaty men. A counter sat in the middle of a small entrance area, behind which sat a woman of Ro in her late forties. She was attractive but had hard eyes, and her tan suggested she had lived some of her life further south. Either side of the counter were yellow silk curtains hanging across doorways, and four mean-looking Karesian men stood idly around the counter.
Torian entered and all present looked up. Several of the Karesians appeared ready for action as the squad of watchmen followed, until the man who led Torian held his hands up to let them know that starting trouble was unwise. To emphasize this point, Utha walked in and did his best to look dangerous. His pale features, pink eyes and white hair made him distinctive, even amongst Karesians, and he thought that at least one of the men could connect the name Utha the Ghost to his face.
‘And what can we do for such fine gentlemen?’ the woman asked.
‘Your man here was about to take us to see a client of yours. There is no need to worry yourself,’ Torian said dismissively.
‘They want to see Glenwood and are… rather insistent,’ said the man who had led them inside.
The Karesian guards assessed the clerics and, much as those outside had done, deemed them too dangerous to be worth fighting. The woman looked flustered when she saw that none of her men was going to stop Utha and Torian from intruding.
‘We have rules here, sir,’ she said. ‘Our customers pay for cunt or cock, not to be interrupted by clerics. A face like yours would put them right off their stride.’ She screwed her face up in mock disgust and looked at Torian.
One of the Karesians laughed at this and the confidence shown by their mistress made all the guards feel more comfortable.
Utha made a low grunt of amusement and stepped past the Purple cleric. Leaning casually on the side of the counter and deliberately turning his back on the Karesian guards, he looked the woman square in the eyes. ‘I’m the one with the sense of humour. My pious friend here thinks of you as little more than a river-dwelling rodent, given your profession. So I recommend you direct any further jokes to me,’ he said with calculated aggression. ‘Now, is there a joke you’d like to make about my face?’ He stared her down with his piercing pink eyes.
The mistress maintained eye contact for a moment before looking over Utha’s shoulder and nodding to one of her guards. He felt a hand on his shoulder as three of the guards moved in closer.
‘There is no need for trouble. We can all be friendly, no?’ The man who’d recognized Utha held his hands up. He had not advanced towards the cleric and was staring at Torian and the watchmen.
Utha didn’t wait to see if the other guards had listened to him, as he judged the value of a quick show of violence would be considerable under the circumstances. He flexed his shoulder and elbowed the man who had grabbed him in the face, the steel plate making a satisfying clank against the man’s jaw before he crumpled to the ground.
The other two guards seemed to consider attacking, but seeing Torian extravagantly draw his longsword persuaded them otherwise.
‘I said that if I had to ask again, I would be more insistent.’ He levelled his sword at the nearest man.
The woman backed away and didn’t raise any more objections. She waved an arm towards the right-hand curtain and spoke quietly. ‘He’s in the fourth room along.’
Utha winked at the mistress and turned back to Torian. ‘Handle this for a minute.’
He pulled back the curtain and entered the corridor beyond. A few scared faces, mostly male, poked out from behind coloured curtains, their time having been interrupted by the commotion outside. Utha spared a few glares to make the customers disappear back behind their curtains and moved to the fourth room, where he could hear hurried movement.
He pulled back the bright red curtain and saw a wiry man of Ro attempting to climb out of a narrow window. He was only half dressed and carried his boots and a sheathed longsword in his arms. The naked woman who lay on the wooden cot in the centre of the floor appeared unconcerned at the intrusion and looked bored as Utha quickly crossed the room and grabbed Glenwood’s leg.
‘I’m fairly sure I’ve not done anything to annoy the One recently,’ he said as Utha roughly pulled him back. He was flushed from his recent sexual activity and barely struggled.
‘Just make sure your cock’s away. We need a little chat,’ Utha said, with a gauntleted fist around Glenwood’s neck. He picked the smaller man up with ease and held him off the ground for a moment.
Gle
nwood glanced over at the woman lying next to them. ‘I don’t suppose this makes me more desirable, does it?’ he asked with a weak smile. The woman snorted in derision and rolled over to face the opposite wall.
‘You’re in the same room as me, Glenwood, you could never compete.’ Utha smiled as he spoke and shoved the forger out of the room.
He stumbled to the ground, dropping his sword and boots on the wooden floor. A few faces again appeared from behind curtains, but most disappeared quickly for fear of involving themselves in whatever the Black cleric was doing.
‘That looks very much like a longsword, Glenwood,’ Utha said as he stepped casually out behind the forger. ‘I assume that, as a common man, you were merely looking after it for a nobleman.’ Criminals often thought they could get away with carrying a noble’s weapon if they stayed away from clerics.
‘Actually, no, brother cleric, it’s mine… my father was… sort of noble.’
Utha laughed and solidly kicked the man down the corridor. Glenwood made a strange yelping sound and did an ungainly forward roll through the curtain into the entrance room. All those on the other side turned to look at the figure that had emerged so loudly amongst them.
The watchmen held their crossbows drawn and Sergeant Clement swung his heavy mace threateningly. Torian still held his longsword and Utha thought his brother cleric looked quite impressive as he glared at the men, the purple sceptre on his tabard shining brightly.
Glenwood had emerged with little elegance and was now draped in the yellow curtain through which he’d been thrown. Utha walked past him, absently grabbing the forger by the scruff of the neck, as he stepped into the entrance room.
The mistress of the Blue Feather was looking daggers at both clerics. ‘Okay, you have your man, now get your pious arses out of my fuck shop.’
Torian directed his sword point at the woman. ‘We will leave you to your immorality, woman. I believe I may return at a later time to instruct your men on the correct way to address a cleric of the One.’
The mistress looked as if she were about to burst with anger, but kept her words to herself and directed her men to stand down.
Utha dragged Glenwood roughly past the watchmen, holding the collar of his shirt and giving him several kicks to speed him along.
‘Brother, I believe we have what we came for,’ Utha said with a smile. ‘Shall we depart?’
Torian allowed himself a slight show of amusement but quickly recovered his grim demeanour and backed away slowly, letting his hard glare move across the Karesians’ faces.
The men outside had left as Utha emerged on to the street, and the sun had disappeared behind a cloud. The weather in Ro Tiris was changeable and a storm was imminent.
Torian and the watchmen backed out of the brothel and Utha noticed Randall for the first time since they’d entered. The young squire had hidden behind Sergeant Clement and done his best to remain invisible as the confrontation played out.
‘You, Elyot,’ Utha said to the youngest watchman, ‘take hold of this minor noble and don’t let him move too much.’ He flung Glenwood at the watchman, who had his two short swords drawn.
Pulling Glenwood to his feet, Elyot placed one blade around the forger’s neck and the other against his back. ‘Move,’ he said with practised authority.
‘Is fucking suddenly against the One?’ Glenwood asked.
He received a solid kick to the back of his legs from Elyot in response and fell to the floor again.
‘Apparently so.’ The forger grimaced in pain.
‘We should take Glenwood somewhere more… appropriate,’ Torian said with menace.
‘Appropriate for what?’ the prisoner asked, pulling himself to his feet.
Utha came to face him. ‘I’ll bet that you’ve done a multitude of foolish things in your life, but we are only interested in one of the more recent ones. Now cooperate and I won’t bite your nose off. Clear?’ he asked coldly.
Glenwood looked terrified and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He smiled as Elyot, the young watchman, carefully placed the two short swords back where they had been a moment ago. ‘Okay, I’m ready, let’s go somewhere more… appropriate,’ he said with nervous humour.
They were still concealed by the awning of the Blue Feather, but Utha noticed several men glance across and see the forger in the custody of the clerics. A man of Ro, with the glare of a fighting man, took particular interest and even locked eyes with the prisoner for a second, before disappearing into a side street.
Utha decided that walking back through the Kasbah would be unwise, as Glenwood would no doubt have friends who might consider a foolish rescue attempt. Instead, he led Torian and the watchmen into an alley that ran between the Blue Feather and an adjoining spice merchant’s hut. It was wide enough for single file only, making Glenwood even more nervous, as he realized he was surrounded and unlikely to survive if he tried to get away.
Utha led the group down a second alleyway which passed behind the brothel and into a small yard. They were against the outer wall and in an isolated space used for alcohol storage. The back doors to several buildings opened out into the yard and crates of wine and beer were strewn around. Utha turned from his companions and perused the closest crate. Finding a bottle of Karesian red wine, he sat down on a low box. Torian stood next to him, his sword now sheathed, and the watchmen took seats on other crates. Elyot positioned Glenwood in front of the two clerics and then went to sit next to Randall.
‘Now, let’s get comfy shall we,’ Utha said, uncorking the bottle of wine and taking a deep swig. Wincing at the taste, he placed the open bottle on the floor. ‘Perhaps it needs to breathe a little.’ He spat out the residue of vinegary liquid.
‘Theatrics, brother?’ questioned Torian, with a raise of his eyebrows.
‘You have your sword, I have my theatrics; surely the value of both has been evident in the last hour?’
Torian shook his head and stepped forward to tower over Glenwood. The forger was around six feet in height, but thin and pasty-looking. The Purple cleric, in comparison, was fully armoured and looked like a mountain standing over the lesser man.
‘How is the business in Red church seals these days, Glenwood?’ Torian asked.
The forger looked surprised, but got the reaction quickly under control with the practised candour of a professional criminal.
‘How many do you want?’ he said, in a foolish attempt at humour, before quickly retracting the comment. ‘Just joking, just a joke, my lords… there’s no business in such things; no way of making enough money to justify the risk, anyway.’
‘So, you admit that you’re a forger?’ Torian asked.
Glenwood frowned and said to Utha, ‘So, I’m guessing you’re the brains?’ He turned back to Torian. ‘Of course I’m a forger… there are a thousand people in Tiris who can tell you I’m a forger and a thousand more who can tell you where to find me.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘But I’m not an idiot and I have enough friends in enough places to know that forgery is a relatively minor crime in the grand scheme of things and that two clerics are unlikely to be interested in minor criminal misdemeanours.’ He spoke with the swagger of a man used to talking to the authorities. ‘You want to arrest me? Be my guest, I guarantee I’ll be free within the hour… probably on some technicality or other.’
Utha narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re evading the question… you’re doing it very skilfully, but you’re still evading the question.’
‘Maybe, but I’m still not going to tell you anything, so put your arm round your lady friend here and go fuck yourself,’ he said arrogantly. Torian quickly drew his sword and growled at Glenwood.
‘Watch your tongue, piss-stain.’ The words came from Sergeant Clement.
The watchman stepped forward and held his mace in front of Glenwood’s head. Utha smiled at the forger, a vicious expression that made him shrink.
‘I think I can handle the insult, sergeant,’ the Black cleric said, before smashing h
is forehead into the bridge of Glenwood’s nose.
The forger instantly dropped to the floor and yelped loudly, an incoherent sound of pain, anger and surprise.
Torian looked equally shocked and Clement backed sharply away from Glenwood’s writhing form. Utha grabbed the forger by the throat and picked him up off the floor. He held the man away from him and punched him solidly in the chest, making him cough and spray blood on to the dusty floor. Utha then roughly spun him round and rested an armoured forearm across his throat.
‘I’m not a watchman, I’m not a judge and I’m not a man who gives a Ranen’s balls about what you think,’ Utha said through gritted teeth. ‘You sold a forged Red church seal to a man with an ornate longsword, yes?’
Glenwood was clearly dazed, his face covered in blood and his eyes unfocused, but the presence of a hulking Black cleric, ready to tear him apart, made him clear his mind quickly. ‘Yes… yes, I did,’ he said through a quivering mouth.
‘Good. Now, I want you to tell us everything you know about the man with the longsword. Do you understand?’ he asked.
Glenwood’s eyes were wide and he no longer held his broken nose, as if Utha’s words had made him forget the pain he was in. He nodded again in reply and started to retch. Utha released his arm and allowed Glenwood to double over and vomit on the floor.
The sound of Torian’s squire also retching made everyone turn quickly. Randall didn’t actually vomit, but he was clearly uneasy at the sight of blood and of Glenwood emptying his stomach.
‘Easy, lad,’ Torian said reassuringly, ‘this streak of shit isn’t worth feeling bad over.’
‘That’s a wise thing you just said, brother,’ said Utha, as he pushed Glenwood into a sitting position.
The forger looked terrible, his nose was mangled across his face and his lips had gone a strange blue colour. Clement stood behind him and kicked Glenwood’s leg to encourage him to straighten himself up. The other watchmen stayed back, thinking themselves largely unneeded.