And Harris didn’t trust the vicious Gordon. Gloomily, he thought, Gordon could be here to remove me as an impediment to some one or the other of his many nasty plans.
Harris drew his sword and held it down along his leg. Hanging the lamp on a hook behind him, he lifted the bar from the door and opened it a few inches, ready to slam his shoulder into it should someone try to force their way into the house. I wish I had backup, he thought. Eyeing Pongo, he said, “Good evening Sergeant. What can I do for you?”
“Um,” Pongo said uncertainly, “we were hoping to come in and talk.”
“We?” Harris said. “Is Lt. Gordon hiding somewhere?”
“Um, no. Lt. Gordon’s… He’s dead sir.”
Harris blinked. Not what I expected, he thought, suppressing the smile that threatened to leap onto his face. “What happened?”
“Um, you remember what happened at the Descartes’ home last night?”
“That Descarte supposedly killed a bunch of Shibone’s men, come to rob him?”
“Um, yes, sir. He didn’t do that by himself, sir.”
“No shit,” Harris said dryly.
“Um, yes, sir. The fellow that… um, helped out the Descartes, he killed Lt. Gordon too.”
“I see. And we know that because…?”
“I was there sir. Um, can we come inside sir? I’d rather not attract attention.”
Harris blinked again, realizing he’d forgotten Pongo’s earlier use of “we.” His eyes flicked to the side but he still didn’t see anyone. “We? We who?”
“Um, myself and…” Pongo’s eyes flicked to his right. He spoke in a whisper, though loud enough for Harris to hear, “I didn’t get your name.”
A voice came from the shadows beside the door—where Pongo’s eyes had glanced. It said, “Call me… ‘Hood.’”
To Harris’ surprise, the voice sounded as if it came from a fresh recruit.
After all his years ordering around young men, Harris found himself using a commanding tone when he said, “Step in front of the door so I can see you.” Then, with a little shiver, he thought, If this guy just sounds young, but he’s really the one responsible for the events at Descartes’ home, I could regret speaking so abruptly.
With a slight rustle of clothing, the man stepped away from the wall of Harris’s house. He didn’t step to the door as Harris expected but walked out into the yard behind Pongo, turning so Harris could see him. Tall and slender but with wide shoulders, the man was wearing a jacket with a hood that shadowed his face. Before turning, he’d placed himself so the shadow Harris cast—where he blocked the lamplight coming from inside the house—fell on his face. The young man’s features remained hard to discern.
However, Harris felt sure he’d never seen the man and continued to feel like he was only a teenager. Trying not to laugh, he said, “So, is ‘Hood’ a reference to your choice of clothing?”
“Sure,” the young man said impatiently. “Are you going to let us in? Or are we going to stand out here until someone comes to see what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure I want you in my house. Who the hell are you?”
Pongo answered, “Um, Sir, he’s the one.”
“The one what?”
“The one who saved the Descartes… And that did in Lt. Gordon.”
Harris’ eyes went back and forth from one man to the other. He spoke slowly, “If he killed Lt. Gordon, why isn’t he under arrest?” Not that Harris didn’t think Gordon deserved to die, but that he didn’t want someone going around indiscriminately killing king’s guards.
“Um, I wouldn’t want to try to put him under arrest,” Pongo said with a nervous glance at the young man behind him. “Sir, there’s important stuff for us to talk about, but we really should come in before someone sees us.”
“I’m not sure I want this guy and his men inside with my family. Especially if his men are really the ones who killed all those… people at Descartes’ house.”
The man let out a stifled snort then said, “How about if my men stay outside? I’ll be the only one who comes in?”
Harris was about to say “okay” if the man left his sword outside, then realized the man wasn’t wearing one. That seemed peaceable. “Okay, Come on in.”
“Okay,” the young man said, “but sheath your sword first.”
Harris thought to protest, then decided he trusted Pongo. If it was just this one guy without his men, against himself and Pongo, they should be okay, right…? And his sword could easily make its way back out of its sheath. Harris sheathed his sword and opened the door wider. He waved the young man into the ‘public’ room of their house. When Pongo made to follow, Harris touched his shoulder. When the Sgt. paused, Harris leaned close to whisper. “If Gordon died while you were with him, you could be in deep shit. Have you reported it?”
“Um, no, sir,” Pongo said. “That’s partly what we’re here to talk to you about.”
Harris patted his shoulder and waved him on into the public room of the house, telling him to take a seat. Harris wondered whether there was any way he could keep Pongo alive. Gordon wouldn’t have had any actual friends, but as the king’s fixer and general dirty-works man he’d had the monarch’s ear. The king was going to be pissed about the loss of his sycophant and when Uray was pissed somebody’s head usually rolled. Besides, most of the other savages in the upper ranks of the king’s guard also thought Pongo was too much of a do-gooder. The Sgt. wouldn’t have many defenders. Much as I like David Pongo, I probably shouldn’t waste any favors I’m owed trying to pull him out of this bottomless pit.
Pongo sat, but the stranger remained standing. Harris waved to a chair, “Take a seat.”
“No thanks. I’ll stand.”
Harris frowned. Sitting put you at a disadvantage in a fight, so Harris himself planned to stand until he was sure of the people in the room. But, Harris had a sword and the stranger didn’t. Standing or sitting, this Hood would be at Harris’ mercy. He was standing so his face was cast in shadow, perhaps that was what he was trying to achieve? Ignoring that, Harris asked, “Okay, what’re we supposed to talk about?”
The two men looked at one another. After a moment, Pongo turned back to Harris, “I don’t think you like King Uray, correct?”
Harris snorted, “Even if that were true, I’d be a fool to admit it.”
Sgt. Pongo took off on a tangent, “If the king died, what would happen?”
“Sergeant…” Harris said slowly, “admittedly, Lt. Gordon’s death’s a big problem for you, but… there’s no way you’d be able to kill the king. Even if by some miracle you succeeded in getting past all his guards, it wouldn’t solve your problem. His guards’d kill you before the king’s heart finished beating.”
The young man interrupted, “Let’s assume the king’s died and that Sgt. Pongo didn’t kill him. What would happen?”
“The guards’d track down whoever—”
“Not,” the young man interrupted as if he were at the end of his patience, “Not ‘what’d happen to the people who killed him.’ I’m asking what’d happen to Realth? Who’d take over as the new king?”
Harris shook his head, “It’s a ridiculous hypothetical. The king’s healthy. Why would he die?”
“Say someone killed him.”
“That someone would have to be insane. The king’s extremely well-guarded. It’d take an army and—”
“The same person that killed the last king,” the young man interrupted.
Harris blinked, thinking about how someone had killed the previous king. It’d happened during the commotion of a prisoner breakout. The king had been struck by an arrow when he stepped out on a balcony to see what was happening. Harris realized it not only could be done, it had been done.
But that had to have been a stray arrow. A shot meant for someone else. One that missed and accidentally went on to hit the king.
Done on purpose, it would’ve been an astonishing shot. Considering the high angle at which the arrow
entered the king’s body, it would’ve had to have been shot from quite a distance. It was dark, so at that distance, the shooter wouldn’t have even been able to see the king. In fact, they would’ve had to have been so far away they must’ve been outside the palace walls—yet another reason they couldn’t have seen their target!
No, it had to have been an accident. Someone involved in the escape, outside the walls of the palace, shooting up at one of the guards on the walls but missing. Thus a wild arrow had flown into the palace grounds. One that, by some kind of wild serendipity, struck king Philip.
Shaking his head, Harris said, “The arrow that killed the last king did it by accident. Even if—”
“Good God man!” the young man interrupted explosively. “That’s not the question! Stop trying to figure out how we’d kill this king and focus on the problem of what’d happen if he was dead. Would there be a war of succession with hundreds of people killed again? Is there someone who could take over without much trouble? Is there someone who could take over with a little help? Would whoever became king be better than the one you’ve got? Those are the questions that need answers!”
Hotly, Harris responded, “You can’t just ask me to ignore that problem! It’s insurmountable and—”
The young man interjected, “Peephole, door!”
Thinking someone was trying to peer in through the spyhole in his door, Harris spun to look.
With a “thwock” sound, a throwing knife suddenly appeared, sunk deeply into the eye hole, quivering from the impact. Moments later, with thwock, thwock sound, two more throwing knives appeared in the door. One was two centimeters left of the one in the peephole. The other was exactly the same distance to the right.
After gaping for a moment, Harris suddenly realized, It wasn’t a rapier that killed all those men at Descartes’ place. He turned to stare at the young man. Licking suddenly dry lips, he said, “You don’t actually have any men waiting outside, do you?”
In the shadow of his hood, the young man’s head shook. He spoke impatiently, “Now, what’s going to happen when the king dies?”
After a moment’s thought, Harris musingly said, “The king hasn’t designated a successor. Probably thinks he’s going to be king for decades. Even if he had a named a successor, there’d be a fight. The question is whether someone has the wherewithal to quickly win that fight, or whether it’d turn into a drawn-out battle with a lot of dead.”
Sgt. Pongo said, “Lt. Gordon would’ve attempted to take the throne. But he’s gone.”
“There’s that,” Harris said. “Capt. Keith or Lt. Lars might go for it as well. Last time several of the merchant princes threw their hats in the ring. I think we could count on Sergio Martin to try it again.” Harris glanced at the stranger, “Martin’s a vicious bastard who’s been hiring his own little army and calling them guards. He’d be hard to stop.”
Hood looked uncomfortable. “Sylvia Martin’s father?”
“If you’re talking about the Sylvia Martin who was being held by the king, yeah. I’m pretty sure the king only had her arrested in hopes of forcing some concessions out of her father.”
“It didn’t work,” Sgt. Pongo said. “Martin doesn’t give a damn about that daughter. When the king told her about his demands, she said as much. Her father proved her right by laughing in the face of the king’s demands. Said the king could do whatever he liked with the little whore.”
“Then,” Pongo continued, his eyes flicking over to Hood, “supposedly a ‘voice’ told the king to let all the girls go.” Pongo sighed, “That’s when the king came up with a plan to have the girls and their families killed one at a time, working their way toward the Martins. The idea was that Sergio Martin was going to blink when the threat got close to him.”
Revolted, Harris asked, “You’re saying the king ordered the attack on the Descartes?”
Pongo nodded, “Lt. Gordon took me with him when he went to arrange it.”
Dismayed, Harris rubbed his forehead.
In what felt like a non sequitur, Hood said, “Sgt. Pongo told me you’re ethical, and really good with tactics.”
Harris didn’t look up. He said, “I like to think so. But even in my wildest dreams, I don’t think I could put someone on the throne without a lot of bloodshed.”
“The sergeant says a lot of the guardsmen would follow you.”
Harris snorted, “I like to think that too but, realistically, I have to admit they probably follow me because of my rank. If I tried to get them to stop Capt. Keith from seeking the throne… he outranks me and they may follow him instead. Especially since, as the prospective king, he could make them promises.”
Hood turned to Pongo, “And you think Lt. Harris would make a better king than any of the men he thinks would attempt the throne, right?”
Startled, Harris lifted his eyes in time to see Sgt. Pongo nodding. Pongo said, “None of the others would be good kings, but Martin would be unspeakably—”
Wide-eyed, Harris interrupted, “I don’t want to be king!”
“I think,” Pongo said, speaking to Hood, “that men who do want to be king shouldn’t be allowed to have the job.” He turned to Harris, “Sir, that’s just why you should take the job. You wouldn’t be capricious in judgment. You’d make sure the city’s taxes were spent on public works. You once told me you’d like to convert Realth into a democracy.”
Harris gave a cynical laugh. “I must’ve been drunk.”
“In vino veritas,” Hood said. “Let’s figure out how to do this.”
Harris shook his head, “I’m not interested. I’ve got a family.”
“Sgt. Pongo tells me you’ve got a daughter. A pretty one…”
Icicles formed in Harris’ heart as he understood what the man was saying. “Okay… I should at least listen to your plan. See if I think it’s plausible.”
“Your plan. You’re the tactician…
***
Eva, Kazy, and Rrica stepped through the door the guard held for them. Baron Vail waited in the room with Ronald James, his financier.
Kazy found herself staring at the room’s back door. There’s something back there, she thought with intent curiosity. Something, no… someone. She shook her head to clear a sense of confusion. Whoever’s back there… isn’t bad. I need to ignore him. She forced her attention back to the meeting.
Ronald James’ eyes glinted irritatedly at Eva, but she gave him a big smile and asked, “How are your glasses working Mr. James?”
He gave her a nod, “They work very well. I’m able to read much finer writing than I could before I got them. But,” he frowned, “from everything I’ve heard, they don’t work any better than the lenses you’ve sold to others at much lower prices.”
“That’s true,” she said, still smiling. “But, those other people couldn’t afford to pay as much. And… they weren’t rude to me.”
The Baron blinked at his financier, then turned to Eva and said, “I don’t think I paid for my lenses, did I?”
“No,” Eva said, then tilted her head and gave him a wink. “You were pretty rude as well. It’s so nice to see you seemed to have matured and gained a conscience.”
James looked shocked at Eva’s candor. Though he didn’t turn his head, his eyes briefly veered toward the Baron. Kazy thought James expected the Baron to be angry.
Instead, Baron Vail turned to James. “It seems I should’ve paid at least as much as you did Ronald. How much was that?”
James glanced knowingly at Eva as he said, “Fifty silvers per lens. A gold for both.”
Even though she wasn’t very close to James, Kazy’s telepathy told her James—bearing a grudge—had quoted a lower price than he’d actually paid so the Baron would pay Eva less as well. Not because he thought he’d get the extra money, but because he was pissed and wanted to screw Eva out of it.
However, Eva said pleasantly, “Mr. James, it must’ve slipped your mind that, after our negotiations, you eventually agreed to pay us sixty s
ilvers each, or a gold and twenty silvers for both.”
James looked like he’d bitten into something sour, but he admitted, “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.”
The baron turned and studied James. After a moment, he said mildly, “That seems unlikely Ronald. I’ve never known you to forget a copper; owed, invested, received, or spent. Is there some bad blood between you and Ms. Hyllis?”
“Um, no Baron. I was just trying to get you a better deal than I received myself.”
The baron gave James a disappointed look, “Remember, I’ve decided to do my best to deal fairly with my subjects.” He turned a benevolent smile on Eva, “I certainly wouldn’t want to short our town’s best healer. Especially after she stopped the plague before it killed a lot more of our people. If I ever get sick, I’ll be wanting her help!” He turned back to his financier, “I’d appreciate it if you’d issue her a gold and thirty silvers out of my personal account.”
“Certainly sir,” James said, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he did so.
The baron turned back to Eva. “I trust the plague’s truly under control?”
Eva indicated Rrica, “Baron, this is Rrica Sani. She’s the one in our little group of healers who specializes in epidemics like the plague that just struck Clancy Vail. She’s been keeping track of what’s been happening with the plague.” Eva turned her eyes on Rrica, “Can you bring us up to date?”
Rrica bobbed a nod. “Yes, ma’am. As almost everyone knows, the plague started, then spread rapidly through the Grissom ghetto. We were fortunate in that Daussie Hyllis and Jadyn Gu were down in the ghetto helping with a difficult childbirth. They were called to a home with four dead at a point when only ninety-two households were involved.” She eyed the baron, “Sir your help in the response was critical. It markedly limited the spread of the disease to have the militia help enforce the quarantine and clean up the unsanitary conditions in the ghetto. Also using the town’s criers to educate the populace helped them protect themselves. I also can’t say enough good things about Geller’s chemistry. They rapidly scaled up production of their new medicines. Those were instrumental in curing many of the people who’d already been infected.”
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