by Will Molinar
“Let’s go again. Same bet.”
Marko nodded. “I think they’ll go more.”
The other patrons shouted for another match and were about to get one. Two more toughs stepped out of the crowd with raised hands and shouted and clapped. The energy in the room increased. One of the security men stepped forward into the circle and pointed at the combatants.
“Whoa, whoa! What’s this, now? This isn’t allowed here!”
Nobody listened. They kept shouting for the match to begin. The toughs, Renner and Tuy, obliged them. But Marko sensed trouble. A few other security glanced over. If an organized force wanted to stop the fight, they could have. He moved, slipping through the gawkers, his experience with crowd control a valuable asset.
Some of the crowd helped him with the lone security man. They pushed him back to the edge of the cleared circle. Marko got up behind him.
“Stop this right now! I said it isn’t—”
Marko slammed his elbow in to the back of the man’s head. He stumbled forward catching himself with his right foot. Then he crumpled to the floor, falling into Marko’s arms, and the lead tough dragged him backwards. Not many people noticed. The match was too entertaining. Plus, many of them were drunk, and those closest to him seemed to want the man to shut up. A few of them smirked and smiled at Marko. One man nodded and tipped his mug of ale to him.
They had other plants within the crowd, men that were better at setting up bets and would get the most money out of the continuing matches.
They would make good coin that night. If the security got organized, Marko and his men would stomp them down. That would have been fun too.
Chapter Three
“Here’s the latest list of missing goods, sir. Reports on The Foolish Lady are all hands either lost or captured.”
Becket took the proffered list and did his best to smile. “My thanks, Bruce. That will be all.”
The man left.
“This is getting serious,” said Gunnar Lawson, senior Dock Master of the Southern Docks. The younger man leaned against the wall of Becket’s office, near one of two windows. From that angle he could see the far end of Pier One. He was looking over his shoulder at something Becket couldn’t see.
“It’s been serious,” Becket said. “Now it’s rushed forward into unbearable. It’s one thing to steal the goods but quite another to imprison the crew and passengers. That’s horrible.”
“Imprison? Only if they’re lucky. Shit man, these are pirates! The people they don’t want or think will cause trouble, they kill. I used to run security on some of these things back before Castellan took over. I heard stories, man. Crazy stuff!”
“I’m sure you did. But I don’t believe your expertise in that area can help us now unless you have an idea about what to do.”
Lawson stepped away from the window and approached Becket’s desk. He never sat down, he had too much energy.
“Hell yeah, I do. We get a couple hundred cannon and blow that son of a bitch outta the water. What else do we need? That’ll take care of it.”
Becket sat forward. “Oh yes? And you are paying for this enterprise I presume. Out of your own pocket.”
Lawson squirmed. “No, damnit. Of course not. The Guild pays for it. Why wouldn’t they? They have the money.”
Becket noticed how Lawson said “they” instead of “us,” even though he was as much a part of the organization as anyone. More than most, in fact.
“You know how they are, Lawson. They keep their purse strings tighter than a corkscrew in one of my wine casks. They won’t want to part with any gold unless it’s an emergency.”
“Emergency? This doesn’t qualify?! C’mon, Becket. They have to do something. We’re getting hit here at the docks. My expenses stay the same, but the profits go down. This is an emergency.”
“I agree. But many of the merchants will not see it that way. Most are still making money. The ones that get hit on the high seas are either captured or dead. The former are out of power to help, and the latter’s problems are over. Some feel this is part of the risk of doing business. Paying for a fleet of destroyers or whatever you propose would seem an unnecessary risk.”
Lawson scoffed and looked around the room at Becket’s art as if seeing the paintings and sculptures for the first time.
“Hmm, yeah, well. I still think it’s bullshit, though. These fops should be mad as hell and hire an army-er, I mean navy, to deal with this fella Lurenz. And where’s Muldor in all this? Why isn’t he doing something?”
“Who says he isn’t? I don’t know what’s he’s doing these days, but I’ve heard he spends a lot of time in the shipping yards as they rebuild Sea Haven’s navy. Maybe he has plans to get us some ships.”
“Huh? Yeah, sure. Maybe.”
Becket frowned at Lawson’s single-mindedness. The younger man could only hold one train of thought. Becket grabbed a sheet of papers off his desk and plopped it down on the edge in front of his colleague.
“We have more pressing concerns here at home. Look through them if you want. These are all formal complaints against my office and The Merchants Guild for failure to protect goods in transport. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten any. This type of thing should channel through the individual piers and on up to the Dock Masters.”
Lawson stared at them and grunted. “Maybe I have. I’ve been busy, you know. I’ll speak to Miller when I get back to my office.”
Joseph Miller was the new Dock Master in charge of Piers Four, Five and Six of the Southern Docks, having taken over Lawson’s former slot when he took over the head position vacated by the missing Del Maggur.
“How is Miller working out, by the by?”
Lawson shrugged but looked annoyed. “He’s great. Sure, whatever. We’ll take care of this, don’t worry about it.”
“It’s fine. I doubt the complaints will amount to much anyway. They must funnel through our docks after all. If they wish to use our facilities, they must deal with us.”
“Right. Hey, what’s Muldor doing about all this? He should do something. We should go talk to him.”
Becket noticed Lawson said “we” and not “I.” He needed to achieve some maturity. Perhaps some horrific trauma would teach him some real courage and lose this young man bluster. It didn’t suit him.
“I’m sure our fearless leader is up to something,” he said. “Some scheme to set things right with these merchants. I don’t blame them for being upset, this affects us all.” Becket took a deep breath. “But talking to Muldor is important. There’s something else I need to speak with him about.”
“Huh? What was that?”
Becket didn’t answer. As much as he wanted to speak to someone about what he saw at the Sea Haven Asylum, he held back. It was important to keep secrets, about his personal life in particular, and what he’d seen frightened him too much to divulge yet.
“Nothing. It seems our illustrious Guild Master is indisposed. I’ve tried to get a meeting with him, but his aides tell me he is too busy to see me. I’m stymied. But don’t think I haven’t been trying.”
Lawson frowned and half pouted like he did sometimes, like a child who hadn’t got their way.
“What the hell is he doing? Damn it, this is Guild business! And he’s the damn Guild Master. He should be dealing with this, not us. We got enough shit to do as it is. Castellan would never turn away from his responsibilities.”
The mention of their former leader caught Becket’s throat while Lawson glanced around the room.
“You sure got a lot of shit in here, Becket.”
Becket looked up. “Hmm?’
Lawson stepped up to his desk, forgetting about the picture he’d been fingering. “I don’t like this. Muldor’s a smart man and knows what his job is.”
Becket felt that crawling sensation of paranoia familiar to almost anyone who spent enough time in Sea Haven. “Like what?”
“I dunno. Like anything. You know Muldor. The man’s a schemer, always thinkin
g about what he can do to better his position. Or the Guild’s position, which is the same thing. The Guild’s his whole life. He’d do anything to protect it. Look what happened to the others. Dollenger is rotting this minute.”
Lawson slammed the top of Becket’s desk with an open palm. “Man, this is no good! There’s no reason to let Lurenz damage us like this. Don’t you see? He’s gonna let us take the blame. They’ll feel like the Guild isn’t doing anything, and he’ll—”
Becket put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hold on a second. Muldor is a bit of a hard liner when it comes to protecting our interests but wouldn’t….”
He paused, and the Dock Master started shaking his head. He did not feel conviction in his heart.
“You know it’s possible,” Lawson said, reading his thoughts. “Look what he did to Dollenger and Parkins. He sent them to the gallows, and we helped him, all in the name of keeping the Guild alive and prosperous. Maggur got lucky by escaping. But his life is finished here. Now Muldor wants to get rid of the rest of us; you, me and Crocker. Or maybe he’ll keep that old bastard and use his testimony against us.”
Becket shook his head, and this time it felt right. “No, don’t be so paranoid. The docks can’t run without us. We wouldn’t be that easy to replace.”
“Says who? Everyone is replaceable. I thought we’d never survive without Castellan leading us, but here we are, doing fine.”
“Fine? I thought you said we weren’t doing well at all, what with these pirate raids and all and defecting members.”
“That’s my point! Muldor needs someone to blame, and we’re it. Oh man!” Lawson started walking around the office, spouting his rhetoric. “This is perfect! I can hear him now. ‘Oh, it wasn’t the Guild’s fault! Oh no, not the precious, perfect Guild. No, no! It was these guys right here. The Dock Masters wouldn’t listen to me, they didn’t do what I told them, let’s murder them!’”
Becket sighed and rubbed his temples. An awful headache popped up all of a sudden. The idea that Lawson might be right formed in his mind. As if they didn’t have enough problems already.
“Are you listening to me? Hey, Becket! You there? Hello!’
“Yes, I’m here,” Becket said, unable to hide his irritation. “I’m thinking.”
Lawson stormed back to his desk and planted both hands down on the edge. “I’ve done enough thinking. We need to start doing something to protect ourselves.” He stood back and crossed his arms over his chest, doing his best to sound both dramatic and sincere. “The best way to do that is to take out the one that wants to take us out first.”
Becket frowned. “Oh, stop acting childish. You’re being irrational. If Muldor wanted us dead he would have done it by now. Plus, we’re too valuable to him. The Guild needs us working.”
“Muldor needed us to testify against the others. Now he needs us to take the fall in order to save his precious Guild. First he needed some stability after Castellan got arrested, then someone needed to pay for his mistakes, that was Dollenger and Maggur on our end, Perkins on the city end, now this crap with Lurenz… can’t you see what’s happening? We gotta do something!”
Becket considered. There was truth in what his younger colleague said, and nothing was wrong with taking precautions.
“What do you propose?”
Lawson frowned and tried to speak, but nothing came out but a frustrated grunt.
“I thought so,” Becket said. “I suppose we could put out some feelers, speak with Tomlinson, see how things are at the marketplace. I haven’t been around there in a while anyway. Maybe we have Miller and my new man, Tanis Bolvin, watched.”
“Bolvin? I thought you promoted him yourself.”
“I did. He was assistant to Jenson on Pier Four, but what does that mean? Muldor knows him as well as I do.” His chuckle was dry. “Muldor knows everyone. Maybe he allowed the promotion on purpose.”
Lawson smiled. “Heh. Now you’re learning. Don’t trust anyone. How can we trust Tomlinson?”
“Who says we trust him? We watch him and keep track of business there a little closer. That falls under our purview anyway. It won’t arouse suspicion.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s good. We can find out where people stand. What about Crocker?”
‘Good question,’ Becket thought. He felt tired and wanted to go home to the comfort of his house but this was important. “I don’t think we include him in this,” he said after a minute. “Not yet. Let’s do some investigating first. If we tip him off, he might go to Muldor.”
“Sure. So how do we go about watching them?”
“I might have someone in mind.”
“Great. Keep me updated.”
Becket would do just that.
* * * * *
For the first time in a long while, Zandor was wracked with doubt. This nonsense at the tents wasn’t like Jerrod. The man was a dull instrument; he was direct. He wasn’t underhanded and subtle like the betting scam the toughs perpetrated days ago. It was too complex for him to be behind it.
“Stupid bastard….”
“Pardon me?” Ignacio said beside him.
Zandor glanced at him and smiled. “Nothin’, son. Just thinkin’ out loud is all.”
Ignacio nodded but looked displeased. The young man had a nasty scar across his left cheek and along with several others. He worked for Zandor in continuing the façade that Tanner McDowell was still due his homage from the betting tents and arena. If anyone knew the old man was dead and buried years ago, that portion of Zandor’s income would stop.
“So what do you want done?” Ignacio sounded impatient. “We lost some decent money that night. People left the tables for a long time. And some even followed those men back to some other tavern to watch them fight some more.”
Zandor knew that of course and knew most men in his position would strike back at Jerrod’s group as soon as possible. But he also knew rushing things could cause more trouble. Men got sloppy when they acted out of emotion.
These types of gang wars, if he wanted to think of it as that, tended to get out of hand very quick. There were better ways than direct confrontation. Easier ways that kept the body count lower.
“So what do we do? This needs to be dealt with. We’re losing money.”
Zandor held up a hand. “Take it easy there, pal. Drink your drink. Have some fun, relax a little bit. This is a nice place.”
They sat in the taproom of The Prancing Pony, a luxurious tavern in Sea haven’s wealthy quarter. The richest people in the city populated the neighborhood and made this spot their regular hang out. Merchants, politicians, and foreign travelers sat around them, and Zandor found the situation amusing. Rich people acted so stiff around their peers. They wore the best jewelry they owned, trying to show off their wealth, to make the others jealous.
None of it impressed Zandor. The merchants worked hard, but they were so frightened of losing it all, it made them cautious, and cautious men were easy to manipulate and crush. Men like Jerrod, with his brutal, chaotic nature, put fear in them because he couldn’t be controlled. Zandor lamented the fact Jerry was no long in his stable. The man was very talented.
But he was also predictable. That’s why he needed someone like Zandor to guide him, to aim his power in the right direction where it would do the most damage. They had built something very lucrative here in this den of criminals. They had risen to the top of the pile, making money at the tents and arena like nothing Zandor had seen before. Now all that was in danger of collapsing because of Jerrod’s misguided desire for vengeance.
“Damn bastard,” he said and took a drink of wine. It was one of the best vintages that ever passed his lips. It wasn’t that he cared all that much for fineries. It was the challenge of making it happen that thrilled him. Using his skills to create whatever reality he wished was the best thing in life. Now here was another problem to solve, and he would make it happen.
“Zandor, what is it?”
“How ‘bout you hang here
a while, huh?” He stood up. “This ain’t such a bad place to be, is it? I’ll check in with you later. Relax and drink some more.”
Zandor left him there, looking annoyed but content enough. The kid needed to learn some patience. Outside, the air was cooler as autumn pushed deeper into winter. He breathed in a crisp, cold breath, and it felt invigorating. He started walking and kept thinking.
Going to the police wasn’t possible, of course. They had their hands full dealing with the rise in theft around the city. Word was, the jail overfilled with men and women, former members of the thieves guild or normal citizens that were hungry or poor. The latter’s crimes were exploding due to the former’s lack of an organization. They had one before, Zandor had seen the last vestiges of it before Castellan shut them down.
He had never heard anything like it; for a city to allow thieves to steal without punishment, which was something interesting. Of course, the majority of this city’s officials were corrupt anyway, garnering kickbacks and bribes from various local agencies whenever they could. But outright thievery on the level where it had been was impressive.
But it had worked. It kept the normal populace checked. If you weren’t a member of the guild and stole, you were hanged. So most people didn’t steal unless they had to. The professional thieves stole enough to survive and even thrive if they were considered “elite.” And speaking of which… there was an idea.
He went to another tavern called The Silver Charger, a known place where thieves congregated. Zandor had been there once or twice during the time when he worked with Jon Baumgardener and the thieves trying to take down Castellan. Giorgio had been their de facto leader, and while they won in that situation and Castellan was taken away in disgrace, the thieves’ guild was finished.
The merchants, however, flourished. He wondered if any of the thieves realized this truth. In trying to win their freedom from control, they destroyed themselves. The city council didn’t see the increased rate of thievery on the streets, or how it might’ve affected them.
The thieves had slunk away to this tavern, drinking away their sorrows. Thus entered Zandor and his needs. Men like that could be used.