“We’re almost out of shafts,” whispered the man who had come at Rowgar’s last call. If we do hold them next time, I fear that will be it.”
Heavy raindrops fell from the sky, their pitter-patter loud on the roof above them. It was something he had not heard for over two years. Jack blocked out the conversation of the men and listened to the rain. He had always liked the sound of a storm on the roof. It helped him sleep. ‘You’ll sleep soon enough.’ He couldn’t stop the thought from coming to him.
He stood and contemplated going to the back of the house where the men were once again piling stone. He crossed the narrow chamber instead, drawn to a black hole in the wall. One of the rafter timbers had fallen amongst a pile of stone from the adjacent church. Working the shattered stone loose, he piled it to the side. His curiosity peaked, he wriggled headfirst into the black opening.
He could see nothing in the darkness, yet forced himself through anyway. Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The dim outline of a stained glass window was detectable high above him. To his right a massive pile of debris obliterated any means of conventional entry into the house of worship. Several dusty pews remained in tact, looking more like coffins in the dark. He heard the wind whistle over the chapel and felt the slightest breeze on his face.
Jack blinked in the movement of air, inhaling the cool draft. Threading his way through the pews, he crossed the chapel. The hint of moist air grew stronger as he approached a darkened archway. Looking into the hollow, he could see musty steps descending into the earth. Without thinking, he entered through the arch.
The stairwell led him less than twenty feet into the bowels of the hill. When he reached the bottom he surveyed the undercroft with wonder. A concrete mausoleum, thirty feet in diameter, was visible in the pale light. At the end of the chamber, two stone doors were smashed inwards, opening the sacred hold to the night air. Outside, the heavy rain fell with a steady rumble that filled the night.
Jack crossed the room unhurriedly. He took in the tombs of the knighthood, committing a silent prayer to the vaulted ceiling so as not to disturb their rest. In the center of the cavern he stopped and stared at the intricate display of stonework set in the floor. The knight’s long forgotten armorial seal was caked in moss and sand, blown in from the open gates.
Continuing to the destroyed entrance, Jack felt his heart hammering in his chest. Warily, he peeked into the night. Ahead of him, a circular stone slab hovered above the waters of the Pimoke. Jack crossed the walkway, the rain soaking into him. He did not feel the sting of the droplets or the chill of the wind. White waves crashed against the stone of the quay and Jack discovered a series of steps leading into the water. He glanced back along his path, but could see nothing of the ruins above or the enemy surrounding them. The tall banks of the Pimoke hid all from sight.
He ran back into the undercroft, making his way to the upper level. Passing through the archway, he stopped and stared at the bench seat before him. Hastily he went to it and lifted it from its stone perch. It remained a solid piece of wood, six feet in length, a foot in width, and two inches thick. Leaning it against the base of the pew, he ran to the opening into the longhouse.
He stuck his head and upper body through the broken tunnel and heard Rowgar issuing orders. “Chief,” he called quietly and repeated a little louder when the other man did not respond. Rowgar heard him the second time and climbed over to him.
“Where have you been?” hissed Rowgar. “I thought the worst when we realised you were gone.”
“How is that man’s leg?” asked Jack, ignoring Rowgar’s question.
“Bad,” admitted Rowgar.
“Help him over hear and bring the others,” said Jack excitedly.
“They’ll be coming soon,” argued Rowgar. “We can’t leave our posts.”
“I found a way out!”
Rowgar was silent for a moment. “We have defences here Jack,” he said at last. “If they catch us in the open, they’ll tear us to pieces.”
“We can’t hold here,” said Jack. “You know it’s true. Besides, they won’t catch us in this storm!” Rowgar scratched at his dirty scalp. Jack could barely make him out in the dark, but smiled when Rowgar called for the others to gather.
The four able bodied men helped their wounded comrade through the narrow gap into the church. Once they were on his side, Jack went to the seat he had prised from the bench. “Everyone will need one of these,” he whispered. He passed the plank to one of the men and went to remove another. Rowgar was silent as Jack supplied each of them with a bench seat. Leading the men through the archway, he could tell the others were impressed with his find.
“The Pimoke!” hissed Rowgar, understanding hitting him as he stared out at the white capped river.
“You mean for us to swim for it?” asked one of the men. “We might be better off defending down here instead.”
“No,” said Jack adamantly. “Even if we survive the night, it will only be a matter of time before they discover these gates. If they get in here, we don’t stand a chance. We must go tonight, in the storm. The river will carry us home!”
The others nodded their agreement, their sense of hope once more awakened. Jack smiled to himself in the darkness and felt Rowgar’s arm come down on his shoulder. “You did good, Jack,” said his friend.
22
Two and Two Does Make Four
Garrett leaned against the cushioned carriage seat and looked across at B.S. The day was bright and the sun warm on their heads. The little driver on the front of the wagon paid them no attention as he steered the police barouche down the park lane toward the precinct.
Three days had passed since their ordeal at the lighthouse, and B.S’s face remained bruised and scratched from the assassin’s attentions. The boy realised Garrett was staring at him and looked over with a smile. ‘Warm day,” he said. Garrett nodded, but remained silent. B.S. closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of flowers in the park was a heavy perfume, and Garrett knew what the boy was thinking. Life always seemed sweeter when you had cheated death.
“They tell me you have your memories back?” asked Garrett at last, unable to contain his curiosity.
B.S. grinned from ear to ear. “It’s true,” he said. “I’ve slept really good the last three nights. I haven’t felt this at peace since I was a little boy.”
“But how,” asked Garrett mystified.
B.S. laughed and put his feet up on the seat in front of him. “Doc says it was the shovel to the head – snapped all the missing pieces back into place.” He fingered the bruise on his forehead. “It’s still tender, but it’s worth it.”
Garrett nodded as the carriage passed beneath the shade of a giant oak. “Does that mean you remember what happened when you were found in the water all those years ago?”
“Yes,” said B.S., “some of it anyway. There are a few blank spots left.” His smile faded, and Garrett recognised the old B.S. in the boys face. “It’s what happened before they found me that I don’t like so much. It’s weird. I spent all this time trying to remember my past, and now that I can, some of those memories are horrible. Still, I won’t go so far as to say I’d like to forget again.” He knocked on the wooden door of the carriage for luck.
“Can you tell me how you ended up in the water?”
B.S. was drawn from his thoughts. “It’s like Mr. Honi said. I lived with my mother and my grandfather on their farm in the hills until I was seven. My grandfather taught me many things about hunting and trapping.” B.S. held up his notebook and smiled. “Funny how these little things could find their way through the fog in my brain. A few days ago I couldn’t remember anything about Mr. Honi’s story. Well, maybe the river.” B.S. was silent for a moment. Shaking his head he continued. “Now I remember it all. The farmstead and the old fireplace on a cold night. The sable pens and the animals my grandfather trapped. My grandfather teaching me to hunt. I even remember Honi bringing my mother flowers. Grandfather never much care
d for him.” B.S. chuckled.
Garrett was quiet for a moment and the sound of the horse’s hooves echoed up from the front of the wagon. “I’m no expert,” he said, “but I have seen men with head injuries. No one as severe as you though. I once had a friend fall from the back of the wagon and hit his head on the ground. I was about your age when it happened. He kept asking who I was and where we were. I’d tell him, and then five minutes later he’d say, ‘And who are you?’ I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. When we got back to camp his little dog ran up to him, and he knew its name right away.” Garrett nodded. “He recovered in a couple of days.”
“It’s not a pleasant experience,” agreed B.S. “It scared me half to death, not knowing who I was.”
“So, when you were seven, men came to your grandfather’s farm to steal his litter of sable?” he asked steering the conversation back to B.S’s past.
“Yes,” agreed B.S.
“Men paid by Kline,” added Garrett, watching the boy for his reaction.
“They burned the farm, stabbed my grandfather and attacked my mother.” B.S. stopped talking and swallowed. A look of pain crossed his features. “Now I know they killed her, but the last time I saw her she was alive. It’s so strange, Garrett,” he looked across at the other man his honest features vulnerable in his grief. For years, I couldn’t remember myself or my family. Then whack - right to the forehead - I get that shovel. I woke up in the lighthouse feeling different but not comprehending that I could remember. When the realisation of it struck me, I was elated. And then I remembered Mr. Honi’s words, and I knew that my mother was dead. She has been gone these many years and I could not even mourn her.”
Garrett reached over and patted the boy’s knee. “I imagine the feeling was awful,” he said, his voice husky. “It doesn’t matter how long a person has been gone, it’s still painful when you learn of their death.”
B.S. nodded his agreement. “I was playing on the hillside by the river when I saw the smoke from the cabin. I ran to see what was going on. I saw them hurting my mother and I ran to help. One of the men hit me hard and I tumbled from the rocks and into the water. I tried to swim, but the current was too strong and I was carried over the falls. The river emptied into the bay near their beached ship. Others in their crew had lit a cook fire on the shore. They saw me floating by and pulled me from the water. I was half dead by then and succumbed to the darkness soon after. I woke up not knowing anything.”
“Do you know why they rescued you?” asked Garrett with interest.
B.S. shrugged. “I don’t think killing a seven year old boy was something many of them would tolerate. In any case, the cook took a liking to me and protected me. He saw me safely to Deep Cove.”
“I don’t want to stir things up,” said Garrett carefully, “but you’ve spent the last three days with Mr. Kline. Are you angry with him for the part he played in this?” he asked.
B.S. contemplated the question for several moments. “I haven’t thought about it much,” he admitted. “Mr. Kline and I did speak about my abduction from my grandfather’s farm. He expressed his genuine regrets over the whole affair. And, although it’s true that I would still be with my family had he not been so greedy, he is not the one who burned the farmstead. He did not tell those men to kill my mother or to attack my grandfather. He has also taken care of me since he discovered the truth about my situation.”
Garrett nodded. He was not certain he would feel the same if the tables were turned. He said nothing of this but instead slapped the younger man on the knee again. “I guess this means I should call you Yuri?” he asked.
“It’s okay to call me B.S.,” said the boy, grinning again. “It’s my name now and I am used to it.”
* * * *
The police coach pulled up to the precinct and the driver applied the brake. He jumped down and opened the door for Garrett and B.S. A second man approached the wagon and nodded to them. “You are B.S?” he asked, offering a hand to the boy. At B.S’s nod, the man pointed to an adjacent brick building and the glass entrance. “Detective Honi has asked that I escort you to the cafeteria. He will be joining you in a few minutes.”
Garrett measured the man, noting the newcomer’s outfit was not the same as their driver’s police uniform. He had been to Cassadia many times in his life and recognised the Royal Officer’s apparel. It had seemed odd when Honi sent summons for him, and odder yet, when the carriage arrived with B.S. aboard. Now Garrett was certain something of import was taking place. The presence of the king’s police was not an everyday occurrence outside of the nation’s capital.
The officer half turned to Garrett. “The detective is in the communications division. It’s the third door on your left. The man placed a hand on the boy’s back, steering him towards the dining hall. Garrett made his way to the main building and was not surprised to see dozens of Royal Officers inside. No one paid him any attention and he discreetly made his way to the third door on the left.
The door opened outward as he was reaching for the handle and Detective Honi barked out something, when he realised Garrett was blocking his passage. “Garrett!” he said warmly, and thrust his hand out for the younger man to shake. “Come in and have a seat. I’ll be one second.” Garrett took the offered hand, staring at the metal contraption strapped to the policeman’s broken leg. He didn’t comment on it as Honi limped into the hallway, bellowing for Officer Johnson to get a move on.
Garrett entered the moderate room, absorbing the sterile government setting. A viewing globe hung from the ceiling and several benches had been arranged beneath it. Two report covered desks were located across the room and behind them, a sizeable window revealed a view of the back lawn and a small pond. Garrett turned as a man in a Deep Cove police uniform approached the doorway. Johnson made no effort to hide his angry look when Honi asked him to retrieve a report for him.
The detective ignored the man’s glare and re-entered the room, closing the door behind him. “It doesn’t matter how friendly I am,” he said, “these boys just won’t seem to warm up to me.” He laughed when Garrett raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug. Hobbling to the desk on the right, he pushed aside a stack of papers as if looking for one in particular. “Something wonderful has happened,” he divulged over his shoulder. Garrett remained silent, waiting for Honi to explain.
The detective gave a grunt as he located his prize. Crossing the floor, his eyes were bright as he held out a newspaper to his guest. Garrett accepted the offering and turned it right side up. “Vellian Soldier Escapes Ponce Prison,” he read aloud. Glancing to the top of the paper, he noted last week’s date.
“Yes!” said Honi excitedly. “Read on!”
“A military insider has confirmed the arrival of Commander Edward Rowgar at the armed force’s base in Temang. Reports from the outpost indicate that Rowgar and several former prisoners have arrived after a harrowing escape from the Ponce prison at Gibet. Rowgar has remained behind closed doors with the king’s top brass since his arrival and several Cassadian military advisors have met with the officer over the past two days. Insiders indicate that Rowgar and the other men were tortured and sustained gruesome wounds, during their tenure in the Ponce prison. Earlier this spring, Commander Rowgar was branded a traitor to Vellia when he led an elite unit of soldiers on an impromptu raid against the Ponce prison. Rowgar is now contesting this status and claims he was ordered by the High Command to assault the prison.”
Garrett looked baffled. “But you already knew Rowgar was ordered into the prison.”
“Yes,” agreed Honi, “but with Rowgar alive, he can confirm the fact he received his orders from General Omik. It doesn’t matter that Omik was acting on behalf of the Syndicate. In fact, it adds greatly to our case against the organisation, by proving that Omik is under the Syndicate’s control.”
“I don’t understand. You already had this proof, with your reports from the Dragon Council showing the orders were issued to Omik and down to Rowgar and
Hawks.”
“Unauthorised network taps are not permissible in a court of law,” divulged Honi. “Before, it was our word against theirs. Now, we have the word of a distinguished Special Forces officer to back us.”
“Lucky for you,” said Garrett quietly.
“Yes indeed,” continued Honi. “In fact, as you no doubt noticed on your way in, we have brought in a squad of Royal Officers to arrest Kline! We’re just awaiting the G.V. communication to authorise the raid. That’s why I called you and B.S. here. I wanted to make sure you guys were clear of the property and any needless harassment.”
“Arrest Kline?” asked Garrett mystified. “I thought you told me he was small time and that the Syndicate was your main concern?”
“They are,” agreed Honi. “But Kline is also a thorn in our side. I couldn’t tell you our intentions, because I was unsure of how deep into Kline’s activities you were. That’s why I downplayed our interest in the man. Maury will be quite pleased with his arrest, I am certain.”
“How is Maury doing?” asked Garrett. “I know he was close with Hector.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Honi. “For now he will remain at Kline’s until we arrest him with the others. We’ll ease him out of the system as gently as we can without raising suspicions.”
Garrett nodded. “Did you find the body?” He didn’t have to elaborate for Honi to know he was referring to the assassin Merle had electrocuted. After fleeing the lighthouse, Garrett had asked Honi to send the police to investigate the scene. By the time they arrived, the body was gone.
“No,” said Honi. “B.S. told me the assassins were brothers. I am sure the one Kline tangled with is alive. No doubt he returned to gather his kin.”
Welcome to Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 3) Page 23