by Will Molinar
They agreed and snatched up whatever weapons were closest. Marko didn’t even think to get the best one and grabbed a war mace. The balance was good, and he had no further time to ponder his choices.
Mistakes would either cost him his life, or he could have grinded it out with his tenacity and skill.
The match started.
The arena fighters came forward, each pairing off one on one in a battle royal. Marko sized up his opponent with a quick glance. He readied himself by bending his knees and squaring his shoulders with the man. His opponent was tall and lean, with rippling muscles and armed with a trident and net.
Marko moved in, lifting his mace, thinking of what the heavy weapon would do to the man’s head. It wouldn’t be pretty. He rushed forward, but the man stabbed with his trident, and the superior reach made Marko dodge to the side.
The follow up with the net caught him off guard and off balance. He understood the strategy of the duel weapons. They worked well together.
The man struck again with the net, and when Marko threw his hand up to ward it off, it left his torso exposed. He started to turn and get his mace up higher to protect himself, but it was too late, for the arena fighter had already thrust forward his trident.
Marko tried to turn but the sharp edge of the spear hit his right side and pierced the flesh. He twisted away but not before it raked across his ribs, bursting his senses into fiery pain. The shock made him wince and suck his teeth.
But his opponent was not done attacking. The arena fighter stabbed over and over, the crowd noise rising and falling in rhythm with the action of the man’s arm.
Then Marko heard someone scream, and the crowd moaned in sympathy. He flicked his eyes over to his left and saw Greaves on his knees, trying to hold his guts in with both hands. The entrails slipped through his fingers to make a puddle on the floor. His opponent showed mercy by stepping forward to slash Greaves’ throat to end it.
A sudden, undeniable realization struck Marko at that moment. They were all going to die.
* * * * *
Anders felt tired and hungry. These were two conditions to which he had become accustomed of late. It was common among beggars within Sea Haven’s slums. Now the thieves suffered along with the other dregs. Everyone was a thief now, and he and his fellows were shunned and pushed to the side like trash.
The streets were busy but subdued. Near the southern docks, where a lot of thieves hung out when they weren’t trying to work the marketplace or western docks, security was tighter. He ducked into one of the many empty buildings around the mammoth warehouses where the dock masters stored their extra goods.
Inside stood a few other former professionals, and Anders felt a pang of how far they had fallen. Their clothes were ratty and threadbare. It wasn’t that they had ever been rich, but they had been better off than the homeless. They had gotten by; it had been enough.
Delora eyed him and flashed a crooked smile. She had lost a couple teeth the last few months fighting the police. She and the others were going through some boxes. Anders went up to them.
They were full of clothes, simple looking frocks and brown pants, similar to what the dock workers wore every day. Wage slaves, blind to world, good as dead.
“These should do,” Anders said and picked up a grip of them to try on.
A lookout stood by the door as they stripped. Delora eyed the men with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Best thing about clothes is takin’ ‘em off, boys.”
The men chuckled, but Anders wasn’t in the mood for levity. He lifted his arms as he took his shirt off and felt a stab of pain in his side, where a long scar went from just above his hip and up to where bone met flesh on the bottom of his right ribs. He had gotten it trying to save Muldor when Dollenger’s men had captured him. Anders had almost died and was still recovering.
Delora’s body was difficult to ignore as she stood there naked, and Anders caught that look from her again, a lusty, come hither glance that bespoke of times past. She had a nice, lean body, tight where a woman should be but curvy as well. She was a bit mannish in the face and was often mistaken for one when they were all together, but she was still pleasant looking enough.
“Hurry,” Anders said. “We should be on board soon. Then we move back to the second house after we grab the crates.”
“What’s the cargo?” one of them said. Anders didn’t know the man well since he was a scab named Robert. He was a tiny man, smaller than Anders, young and foolish, a mere common thief, not a professional.
Anders ignored him. “We move now. Let’s go.”
They grumbled but worked faster to get dressed like dock workers. Robert looked hurt, but Anders didn’t give a damn. They had a job to do.
They left the safe house one by one slow and steady. Each one glanced outside first, but there were no dock security around so far from their station. Anders saw a couple workers dragging a broken cart out of a rut in the street. One man whipped the poor mule hitched to the front.
“C’mon! Move it, boys! Push!”
Anders felt nervous. All that noise and commotion would only draw people. But after a good tug or two by the beast of burden, the men pushing from the back got the cart rolling again. The rut was small, only a low groove in the dirt road that could have been filled easy enough if someone took the time. But the southern docks were trashy in comparison to its larger cousin on the west side of the city.
Trash piled up in places along the edges of buildings as if someone had shoved it all out of the way of the center of the street. Anders strolled near the edges of the street, picking his way across the garbage. It was where they belonged, all of them; the thieves, the poor, the castaways… lying there in the trash.
Several men, each in pairs, walked back and forth on the dock from a large galleon anchored at pier three to one of the massive warehouses. The building was one of two, where the lofty dock masters had their offices and stored the overflow. Anders thought there was a lot of that.
They had tried many times to rob them, but security was too tight during the day and more so at night. During the day they figured they could filter in with the regular workers and lift off what they could.
Delora and he would have approached the ship, along with another pair while the rest set off a diversion. “Always have a diversion,” Giorgio would say. Anders wondered for perhaps the second time in months what happened to the man, but then he focused his mind on the job at hand.
He reached the gangplank and stepped aside as a duo marched down carrying a heavy looking crate that should have had three or four people lifting it. Yet it had two overburdened, underfed workers. The thief scooted along the side and went as fast as possible into the queue. A few returning workers were already behind he and Delora, pushing them forward on deck.
“Act like you belong, and no one says a thing,” Giorgio would say. Anders stayed close to his partner, but Delora stepped ahead of him and went straight for one of the crates. They didn’t know what they contained. The ship was a random choice but guaranteed to deliver something of value because the thieves assumed the workers never unloaded empty crates.
Delora smiled at a merchant holding a sheet of papers and bent down to grab the side of a crate.
The man eyed her. “Good morning, my lovely. Haven’t seen you before.”
Delora flashed her crooked smile, and Anders fought down the urge to spring away and flee. He steeled himself and faced her on the other side, bending and hefting. She followed him, saying nothing to the merchant, and Anders was happy she kept her mouth shut. Better to say nothing and keep it simple.
“When you finish this assignment, my dear, come back here and see me,” the merchant said. He was fat and scabby. “I have a special shipment I need help with in the captain’s cabin.” Laughter drew from the crewmen nearby.
Delora kept smiling as they worked their way down the gangplank, but the sliver of hate flashed in her eyes. Anders felt buoyed. The man was lecherous, but not s
uspicious of their activity.
The crate was heavier than it looked, and his side bothered him. Walking backwards down a steep angle didn’t help either. It was difficult to keep it straight, and by the time they reached the boardwalk, he was huffing his breath out in short gasps and stumbling.
“Hold it still!” Delora said, her mouth tight.
Anders couldn’t hold it. His grip was slipping fast, and as he slowed, Delora kept moving fast. The crate slipped out of his grasp. His end hit the boardwalk hard, and the top cover cracked open.
Delora cursed. “Blasted fool! You bitch of a cripple, look what you’ve done!”
Anders recovered and tried to put the lip back on but a glance inside made it seem superfluous. The items weren’t worth stealing. Large bits of pottery, bowls, flower pots and plates, crammed together with straw to protect them in their transport.
“Pick it up, damn you!”
Anders didn’t blame her for her agitation. People were already looking their way, with even some security men glancing at them and pointing.
“Not worth it,” he said and got ready to move.
The distraction, the other thieves were supposed to act like drunken louts and get the security to peel off from watching the ships and warehouses, was nowhere in sight. The situation became more and more precarious by the second. Anders glanced around, and Delora stopped and stared.
Without another word he walked away, churning his legs as fast as his injury allowed. Their gamble was a failure, a complete mess; better to get away and try again another day than be caught. Delora hissed at him, but she had no choice but to do the same. Soon they were trotting down an alleyway between warehouses, out of sight, out of mind to the workers at the dock.
“I knew it was a bad idea to partner with you,” Delora said. “Damn cripple! Damn stupid idiot!”
She was near enough to him for Anders to smell her breath, and he couldn’t resist shoving her away. She yipped in surprise and snarled, landing in a crouch. He faced her, staying still. The female thief pulled a dagger and waved it.
“I’ll stick you with this, bastard. Like you stuck me with your… thingy down there. It won’t feel good for you, though.” She laughed, and Anders knew she was not serious about doing him violence.
He walked away, the pain growing in both body and mind. Her mocking laughter followed him down an alleyway fill with refuse.
* * * * *
Lord Governor Cassius rubbed his chubby face, disbelieving he was forced to repeat himself yet again.
“Lieutenant Dillon, I have stated this before, so perhaps I have not made myself clear. It is not the responsibility of this office to see to the rebuilding of your jail or the construction of a new facility. Your department has a budget, sir. Whatever deal you claim to broker with the Merchants Guild is no concern of mine. Good day to you.”
Cassius thought he was almost as tall as Jerrod but not as broad and with blond hair instead of brown stubble. Dillon leaned his impressive physique forward against the Lord Governor’s desk. His hands whitened under the weight of his body.
“Look, Muldor promised me money to cover construction costs. We’re overflowing, bursting at the seams! If we don’t do something soon, it’s bad.”
“Then I suggest you take it up with him. The entire city is undergoing renovations. We have a navy to complete, construction on the Eastern Road that is ongoing so our coin is spoken for, as you can see.”
“I’ve tried. He won’t see me or anyone else. The man’s turned into a damn hermit!”
“Not my concern! Not my concern! How many ways must I say to you the same thing before you understand?”
“Hey, the damn thieves are out of control! You realize how many we’ve caught the last few months since the thieves’ guild was shut down? Hundreds. We let some go after so much time because we don’t have room, but they’ve figured out the time spent behind bars ain’t much, so they realize it’s worth stealing. Plus, we got common folk stealing more than usual because they see how easy it is for the other thieves, the old pros. They steal everywhere. The market is worse than ever.”
Cassius steadied his breath and spoke in the calmest voice he could muster. “Unless I am mistaken, Carl Tomlinson is the head of the marketplace. He is one of the most valued and respected members of the merchants here in this city, so you should speak with him if you have trouble there. Why don’t you coordinate with market security instead of haranguing me? And where-where is Captain Cubbins? Why doesn’t he do something about these problems?”
Dillon frowned and looked uncomfortable. “Captain’s taking a little vacation. Went somewhere with that foreign fellow, said he’d be back in a few weeks. Said he needed a chance to refresh hisself.”
Cassius raised an eyebrow. “Did he now? What a shame. He felt so out of sorts he needed to leave this fine city. Okay I have had enough of this Lieutenant, and if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters that require my attention. Good day to you.”
Dillon didn’t make a move right away, so Lord Cassius waved his attendant to come closer. The man stepped over to Dillon, reaching for his arm. “Lieutenant, if you would, please?”
Dillon heaved a sigh and turned away, snatching his bulky arm out of the grasp of the aide, and he stormed out of the room.
Cassius smiled. There. Much better.
The Lord Governor, yes, full Governor and no longer acting, finished much of his office work, and a few hours later found him at his home, a palatial estate in the wealthy quarter of Sea Haven’s northeast neighborhood. He had on double the guard; an extra precaution since Jerrod’s attack. They had failed him before and might’ve done so again.
It was customary for the ruling Lord Governor to stay at the same domicile as the previous lord, and when Falston was murdered by Jerrod on Castellan’s orders right in front of Cassius’ eyes, the home became vacant.
Cassius knew his title was not official yet, and it was deemed by the King to be temporary until they promoted a member of the family to the post, but he would go by Lord Governor until that day. There was Lord Damour under his tutelage, or control depending on who asked, and as long as the fop was content to be bombarded with menial tasks and paperwork, Cassius could do what he wanted.
If anyone refused to acknowledge his title, he would use the facilities befit the Lord Governor of Sea Haven and the power bequeathed therein. There was an idea of giving Damour the title of Lieutenant Governor, but City Planner was more ambiguous and thus easier to manipulate. Lieutenant Governor, according to the crown, was still Cassius’ title.
Handing off his horse at the guard tower by the front gate, Cassius realized how tired and sore he was. Twelve hours of sitting behind a desk sapped his energy day to day. He waddled up the stone walkway to his home and glanced around at the yard. It looked a bit unkempt to his eyes in the dusky light. The bushes and grass needed more attention.
The gardener needed a talking to. The incompetence seemed to never end. At least his butler was on top of things. The man opened the front door before Cassius put a single foot down on the first step of the stairs. The thick marble steps and stairs were comforting. There was something about the solidity that made him forget how he put his life on the line every single day when he went to City Hall, exposing himself to the dangers of Murder Haven.
It was a sacrifice he made for the betterment of the city, for nobody else had the capability. They were all fools and incompetents. It was up to him and his skill to right the wrongs perpetrated by the Guild and that monster Castellan. Now that his crony Muldor was in charge only meant that Cassius need be even more on his guard.
In the bedroom, his huge, green silk couch was one of the few extravagances the city could afford. It was more expensive than most houses in Sea Haven. He stretched back and called for dinner. He also grabbed a sheet of papers on a side table and looked them over.
More demands for increased funding from various city departments. Cassius sat back and sighed. His job was never do
ne. His staff brought some berries dipped in chocolate, and he felt better.
After the last course, he shooed away his staff. “I am not to be disturbed further this evening. Not by anyone.”
The butler nodded and said something about whatever he desired, but Cassius never listened to his staff. What they had to say did not matter to him.
Near midnight, while he was still working on shifting some funds from one part of the city’s budget to another, the first visitor of the night arrived. A panel in the wall fell back into the open space behind and swung inwards.
A thin, swarthy man entered and glanced around the room. He wore a dark gray shirt and baggy breeches. There was also had a dagger at his belt, but the leather sheath made it dull. Only the glimmer from the silver pommel casted any light.
“Ah, Ignacio,” Cassius said and sat up. “Please, be at ease. It has been some time since we last met. How goes it at the arena? I’ve heard rumors. I trust our flow of coin has been healthy.”
Ignacio looked over his shoulder at the dark, hidden hallway behind him before replying.
“Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout rumors, but yeah, things are good. Good money coming in as always… uh, this Zandor guy.”
Cassius frowned. “Yes, what about him?”
“Said he’d kill us if we crossed him. I think he’s a man to be reasoned with, but that other guy, Jerrod, I don’t want to mess with him. He’s pretty mean.”
“Indeed. What was your question?”
Ignacio looked confused. “Huh? Well, shouldn’t we be careful with them? What if they find out?”
Cassius put down his papers and tried to speak as slow as he could. He chose his words with care, so the befuddled man would understand everything.
“My dear Ignacio. You and your compatriots made a mistake and were caught. I warned you years ago you should be more careful about who might come to Tanner McDowell’s former residence and poke into things. You should have been more careful.”
Ignacio looked troubled. His face creased. “Yeah, but paying them out?”