The Vale: Behind The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  When Drake was still serving with the royal guard, word had reached him about Fisk stealing badly needed medical supplies and then charging desperate hospitals outrageous sums to supply them. He had pressured the magistrate’s office to take action, but no one could ever link Fisk directly to any crime. He was too clever for that. In the end, Drake had decided the matter was not worth his time to keep pursuing – a typical attitude for someone living in the upper city. Funny how things change. He had not known at first that it was Fisk who’d hired him; not that it would have mattered. He had never seen him until three weeks prior, when he’d been hired to find a runner who had stolen a truck filled with bolts of cotton. Though if he had known it was Fisk, he would not have been surprised to find out the runner had been killed. Or that the sheriff was too afraid to do anything about it.

  Xavier rose to his feet and turned on the lights. “If that is all, we should go,” he said.

  Drake regarded the magistrate for a long moment. Though her face betrayed nothing to the eyes of most people, Drake was highly adept at reading subtleties. She still had something to say. He was certain of that.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything more you can tell me?” he pressed. “If the life of Prince Salazar is at stake, even the smallest detail might end up saving him.”

  There was a lengthy pause before she replied. “Would you give us a moment, Captain?”

  Xavier bristled. “If there is more, then I should know of it. I am the captain of the Royal Guard. You have no right to keep information from me.”

  “And you are within my jurisdiction, Captain. So unless you come with official orders in your hand, I am the authority here. You will do as I say, or I will have you shown out.”

  The threat was not genuine; Drake knew that. Xavier, together with his two men waiting directly outside, could easily overcome whatever security the magistrate might keep in the building. All the same, she was right. He might outrank her, but she was still the ultimate authority inside her own building; not to mention that Velma had been around long enough to know everyone’s secrets. Even someone as careful as Xavier.

  “Once I return, we shall have a talk, you and I,” he promised.

  “You know where to find me, Captain.”

  Drake was forced to cover his mouth in order to conceal an ever-widening grin. After letting out a loud snort of exasperation, Xavier then strode from the room, slamming the door hard.

  The magistrate waited a few moments before pushing another button on the box. A soft hiss emanated from the ceiling. “That should ensure our privacy,” she told Drake. “And though I cannot prevent you from telling Captain Mortimer what I am about to say, I sincerely hope you do not. I am only revealing this because you are correct. If you hope to save the prince, then you do need to be fully aware of anything that might help.”

  He nodded. “If Xavier doesn’t need to know, he won’t find it out from me.”

  A thin smile briefly appeared on her face. “Yes. If I’m not mistaken, the two of you do have a somewhat troubled history.”

  “We’ve had our differences.”

  She had clearly done her research well.

  “From your earlier remark, I know you are wondering exactly how the prince was able to put himself into such a dangerous situation.”

  Drake nodded. “Of course I am. Just shaking off his escort would be a challenge. It couldn’t have been an accident. I figure he lost them on purpose.”

  “That he did. The plain truth is, Prince Salazar ran away. Unfortunately, I do not know all of the details. But I do know that the king was furious with him. So much so that he issued a warrant for his son’s arrest.”

  Drake cocked his head. “A warrant? Are you serious?”

  “Very. It has since been rescinded, though there’s no way for the prince to know that. As far as he is concerned, anyone coming for him has only one purpose – to bring him back to Troi for prosecution. So you see, even if you do find him, he might not be as cooperative as you anticipate.”

  “What was the charge?”

  The magistrate hesitated for a lengthy moment. “Treason. We’re not even sure how it was that the prince found out. King Nedar rescinded it the same day. But we think that was the reason he ran.”

  Drake did not bother to ask exactly what he had done. Even if the magistrate knew, she would never tell him. But this did complicate matters. Prince Salazar would think he was facing a death sentence. It wouldn’t be so easy to convince him to return – assuming that he was still alive.

  “Does Exodus know about this?” he asked.

  “We’re not sure. We hope not. If they believe his life is already forfeit, they may well decide it best to just kill him. Every effort has been made to erase all details of the charge from the records, though there’s always a possibility of them knowing about it anyway.”

  “I see. Well, that certainly changes things.”

  Her face softened to such an extent that, for a moment, she almost looked affable. “I know very well that you and the prince were friends. Which is why I stood with the king when he wanted to send for you. But heed this warning: Captain Mortimer may well try to work against you. He knows nothing of this. Nor should he. I believe that a man of his character should not be in possession of such knowledge.”

  After leaning back in his chair, Drake steepled his hands beneath his chin. There was no doubt that she was right. If Xavier knew any of this, he would certainly find a way of using it to gain leverage over the prince. Never before had a charge of treason been leveled against a member of the royal family. It would cause a huge stir among the nobles. What could Salazar have possibly done to make his father take such a drastic measure?

  “You must make sure the prince understands exactly what has happened before he speaks with the captain,” Velma continued. “Otherwise he might say something he shouldn’t.” She stood and crossed to the door. “If you do your job and this matter is handled properly, life for you in the lower city will be quite rewarding. That much I can promise.”

  Drake waited for a moment before exiting. Events had just taken a leap into the realm of the surreal. It had been hard enough to imagine the prince being abducted. But this – this was almost unbelievable. King Nedar loved his son fiercely. As hard as Drake tried, not a single thing came to mind that could cause him to do this. Not treason.

  Xavier was waiting impatiently just outside. “Are you finished wasting time?” he growled.

  Drake smiled. “It was anything but a waste of time, Captain.”

  When they reached the car, he jumped in quickly, flicked the locks, and then rolled down the passenger side window just a crack. “I’ll take it from here,” he told Xavier.

  “Open this damn door,” he demanded, jerking furiously at the handle. “You had better tell me what she said to you. You hear me?”

  Drake fired the engine. “Sorry. I know all I need to know, so I can’t hang around. I’m sure you can get a ride with someone else back to the upper city.”

  “If she told you something that–”

  He slammed Cal into gear and sped away while Xavier was still in mid-sentence. In the mirror he could see him shouting curses and shaking a fist. Drake couldn’t help but laugh. He had never liked the man. His conversation with the magistrate had been shocking, to say the least – yet one aspect was very clear. Xavier must not learn this information. A man like him would certainly use it to further his own ends.

  “You’ve only got yourself to blame,” he muttered. “You’re the one who recruited the smug bastard in the first place.”

  He reached to the console and pressed a yellow pad.

  “Hello, Drake,” came a soft, almost seductive voice. “Please state your command.”

  “Camouflage. Low profile.”

  At once Cal’s paint began to dull, and patches of rust appeared on the hood.

  He stroked the dash. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re still beautiful.”

  He was certain he was bein
g watched. Though this slight change in his car would not be enough to throw off Xavier’s people, it wasn’t them he was worried about. It was no coincidence that Fisk had tried to have him killed. Someone knew that he would be coming here and wanted to stop him – which meant that someone either in the magistrate’s office or close to the king was working for Exodus. He had thought to mention this to Velma during their private talk, but the magistrate was clever enough to piece it together for herself. So was Xavier, for that matter. Even though Drake couldn’t stand the man, he was too clever to underestimate.

  He peeled onto the ramp leading from Troi. Yes, Xavier was smart. But not nearly as much as he imagined. It was always good when your opponents believed themselves to be intellectually superior. It made it easier to outmaneuver them. He imagined it was this failing more than anything that had prevented Xavier from finding the prince. He was simply incapable of seeing the enemy as anything more than uneducated brutes. And though Drake’s own attitude had admittedly been little better in the days before his exile, he had since learned his lesson well. One did not need wealth to be clever.

  He eased Cal a little faster. There was a long road ahead.

  But not before he had made one more important stop.

  Chapter Six

  It was a few hours before dusk by the time he reached Dorn’s place. Directly across the street from this, Drake noted that the parking lot in front of the neighborhood bar was filled to capacity. That was a sure sign trouble was brewing. Before the night was over, there would be blood.

  Dorn’s garage door lifted open and an old man shuffled out. His gray hair was wrapped in an oily cloth, and his back had a permanent bend from countless years of toil. Adding to this picture of infirmity, the lines on his face were deeply carved. Only a pair of twinkling brown eyes as sharp as those of a man in his twenties told a different story. The moment he spotted Drake, he threw up his hands and let out a loud moan.

  “What have you done to her this time?”

  Dorn was the only person Drake truly trusted to work on Cal. Partly because he was the best mechanic in or out of the provinces, but mainly because he was the one who had actually built her.

  “It’s nothing I did, this time,” Drake replied, smiling.

  “And I suppose you think you can just show up here and I’ll drop everything for you.”

  Drake shrugged. “I can always go to Markus Drimsley’s place, if you like. He’s been dying to take a look under Cal’s hood.”

  “The hell you will,” he snapped. “I’ll see her in pieces before I’d let that hack touch her.”

  “If you’re sure you have the time. I mean, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Dorn ran his hands over the fender. “So what’s wrong with her? You haven’t been putting that cheap mana fuel in her again, have you?”

  “It was one time. And I didn’t have a choice.”

  Dorn raised an eyebrow. “You hear that, Cal? He says he didn’t have a choice.”

  “Look, forget about the fuel. The royal guard have installed some modifications. It’s making her run sluggish.”

  Dorn glared at him accusingly. “You let those butchers get their hands on her? What the hell did they do?”

  Drake told him about the alterations, adding: “They’ve put a tracker in as well. I need you to remove it…if you think you can.”

  He gave a derisive snort. “There’s nothing those morons in Troi can do that I can’t undo. She’ll be in shape right quick, I can promise you that.” By now his attention was completely focused on Cal. “I’ll get you running right again, girl. Don’t you worry.” He glanced up. “You can sleep in the shed out back.”

  Drake knew that it was useless for him to say anything more. Dorn would work his magic tirelessly. He was the very best at what he did, though where he had learned such skill was a total mystery. Several times Drake had asked him about his past – surely at some point in his life, he had once worked within Troi. But all his questions were brushed aside. He could never get the old man to say a damn thing. Not even where he was from originally.

  Across the street, cheered on by a small group of onlookers, two men were involved in a violent fight. Mable’s Haven was about as rough a place as you could find. But the food they served up was good, all things considered, and there was no way for Drake to know when the next opportunity to grab a hot meal might come along. Dorn was already rolling Cal into the empty garage bay. Once he had closed the door, nothing short of breaking it down would get it open again until he was finished with his work.

  After skirting the perimeter of the lot to avoid the brawl, Drake approached the bar entrance. A few of the onlookers glanced in his direction, but the attraction of the ongoing violence ensured that it was only a passing interest. If history was any indicator, this would be the first of many fights tonight. In that case, his shorter jacket would come in handy. People would notice his P37 and be much less inclined to give him trouble.

  The moment he opened the door, his ears were assaulted by the roar of virtually tuneless music blasting out from ancient speakers, the distorted sound competing against a cacophony of crude shouts and raucous laughter to produce a hellish symphony. Scarcely had he stepped inside when a security guard placed a massive hand firmly on his chest. He was a full head taller than Drake and bore the scars of countless brawls.

  “No weapons,” he stated.

  Drake reached into his pocket and produced a twenty note. “And I need a place to sit.”

  The guard snatched the twenty in a well-practiced movement, then let out a sharp whistle. Within seconds, a young woman in a short skirt and bustier bounded up, her bright smile and pleasant demeanor a stark contrast to just about everything else in the place.

  “Get this guy a table,” the man ordered.

  The girl regarded him with an exaggerated frown. “It wouldn’t kill you to ask nicely, you know.” Before he could reply, she spun on her heels and headed briskly away. Drake was forced to move quickly to catch up.

  The interior of Mable’s Haven was exactly as one might expect of such a place: just a vast open room with a few tables lined up along the left hand side near a concrete dance floor. Adjacent to this was a small stage and a booth from where a young man was playing the ear-splitting tunes. Away on the other side of the room was a round cage. This was what really brought in the crowd. Already more than a hundred people were gathered in this area, most of them busy placing their bets for the upcoming fights. A long bar ran down the middle, separating the cage side from the dance floor.

  With the fights due to start very soon, the tables were mostly empty. The girl showed him to one in a corner and then moved quickly away. Another girl, this one a bit older and wearing a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, arrived a few seconds later.

  “You hungry?” she asked.

  “Is the food here still good?”

  She shrugged. “About as good as you’ll get in these parts.”

  “A roast beef sandwich, then,” he replied. “And clean water…in a bottle.” He slid a few notes over the table, making sure there was a bit extra included. No one was served here unless they paid in advance. And without a tip, you could be waiting a long time.

  The girl snatched up the bills and hurried away, leaving Drake to take a long and careful look around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him, though he knew that could change in a second once the fights were in full swing. The combination of violence and too much drink invariably brought out the worst in people.

  He had spent quite a bit of time in this area. Set on the very edge of the border separating the provinces of Aurora and Jericho, there had been good work to be found during the first few years of his exile. Lots of black market goods had passed through here, which in turn meant lots of thieves and bandits. Catching that kind of scum was easy money. They never ran hard, and once you cornered them, they just gave up. They knew they could buy their way out of trouble. Whoever they
had stolen from was more interested in recovering their goods than seeing justice done. Eventually, though, the magistrate had caught wind of it and decided to run all the hawkers off. From then on, bounties were paid directly to the royal treasuries, and runners were jailed...or worse. Drake wondered if Velma Chase had ever understood, or even cared about, how much more dangerous she had made things around here.

  Just as his food arrived, frenzied cheers erupting from the direction of the cage told him that the fights were about to start. Cage fighting was a brutal sport, and someone died in one almost every night. It was illegal, of course. Not that the authorities really cared very much if a bunch of provincials beat one another to death. Once in a while there would be a raid, just to show the people who was in charge. But following that, nothing was ever taken any further.

  The food wasn’t as good as Drake remembered, and he shoved the sandwich away when it was still only half eaten. They used to have real beef here, not the processed garbage that most other places served. It looked like beef, even smelled like beef, but in reality tasted like dried up old leather. A memory of how delicious the recent manga juice had been drew a smile. Soon, now, all of this would be nothing but a bad dream.

  He was still imagining a new life in the lower city when, just a few minutes later, a sudden sharp pain in his stomach made him gasp. This was quickly followed by a burning sensation in his chest. Placing a hand to his brow, he could feel large beads of sweat forming. This shouldn’t be happening, not even if the food was badly spoiled. Something else was wrong – something that his mana was struggling hard to fight off. His hand moved to his weapon, and he forced himself to his feet. If this were a spell, he would have sensed it.

  Drake spotted the waitress on the far side of the room with her back against the bar, waiting for an order. He started toward her, but after only a few steps his strength drained away and he fell to his knees. From behind, he heard laughter.

  “Looks like he’s had enough,” said a man.