Death's Reckoning (16 page)

Zandor looked back down into the flames. His eyes twinkled like stars in the sky, and Jerrod fought the urge to ram his fist down his throat. But he caught sight of the array of knives around his waist, knew there were more weapons, more tricks, hidden on his person. This wasn’t the time.

“So I guess,” Zandor said and turned back to Jerrod, “I only got one question for ya, pal. Are you ready to play with the big boys, or you gonna sit here and piss the rest of your life away like a maggot?”

Jerrod glared at him. His alcoholic haze began to lift enough to think better. What the man said stirred something within him. He blurted out a sharp laugh. “Big boys, is it? You always were a little smart ass, Zandor. You got some set of balls on you for such a tiny guy. I seen piles of shit bigger than you. I’m surprised you’re still breathin’. The things you try and pull.”

Jerrod wanted to get a rise of anger out of him, but Zandor only smiled. He rubbed his hands over the fire. “You build a good fire, Jerry. Good and strong. You always were a bit of a woodsman, and a good tracker. Makes me miss those times. It was great, yeah?”

Jerrod grunted and started drinking again. Zandor was wasting time with these games. “What was so great about ‘em?”

Zandor turned and put his hands on his hips. “That hurts. You know, we used to be friends. Or comrades in arms, that counts for something. You playing straight with me? I come here trying to help you, this is what I get.”

Jerrod started laughing. It came out harsh and brutal, much like his personality. “Why don’t you quit crying like a little bitch and tell me what you had in mind already? I’m sittin’ here, ain’t I? If I wasn’t interested, I woulda gutted you the second you came through that door.”

Jerrod was sober and let Zandor know it by the way he sat forward. His hands knotted tight against the front of his chair. Zandor shifted the tiniest bit, and therein lied the proof. Jerrod got his wish, got a rise from this sack of mush.

Zandor relaxed, taking the open threat in stride. “Fair enough. This little tiff you had with the betting people, though, it’s all over town. It’ll die down, but others might come after you. Your boys, these ‘toughs’ or whatever you call ‘em, they can protect you for a while but not forever. Someone’ll pay them enough to turn on you, believe me.

“But what you did with them is not a bad start, in fact. I woulda gone about it in a different way, though. See, you gotta think bigger, go higher. These slugs you rounded up the other night, though.” He shrugged his scrawny shoulders and took another swig.

Jerrod rubbed his face, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. “I’m still waiting for you to say something important, something I need to hear.”

Zandor frowned. “I am saying something important. You need to listen. That’s your problem, Jerrod. You don’t listen cuz you think you know everything. I’m trying to help you here.”

“Out of the kindness of your own heart, I’m sure.”

“I know what you’re trying to do. But you went about it the wrong way. You want results that pay, results that last, but you gotta do it right.”

Jerrod blew out a frustrated sigh and sat back. He covered his face. “You still talking, fella?”

“Shut up. The name Tanner McDowell sound familiar to you?”

Jerrod’s brow creased. “Tanner what? That old bastard is long retired, hasn’t been around for years. What does that matter?”

Zandor smirked and became more animated. “Wrong, bucko. He’s hiding somewhere, but he’s running things behind the scenes for the arena, getting a huge stipend cleaning off what’s coming in every night. I bet you didn’t know that.”

Jerrod locked eyes with the other man. The stirrings of interest fluttered in his belly and sobered him more than any amount of potential violence could. “The pits? What about the betting tents?”

“Forget about them for a minute. You’ve ruined your standing there, maybe forever. Let’s focus on one thing at a time for now.”

Jerrod sat back and scratched his unkempt beard. The stubble there was the same scant length as the hair on his head. “Fine. What’s your plan?”

Zandor smiled and stepped closer, rubbing his hands together. “We go to him. Find out where he is and ask if he needs help keeping things under control here with the locals. Get on board.”

“If we can kill Tanner McDowell then—”

“No, we don’t kill him! It doesn’t help us at all. We use him, keep things going the way they are, only we get our end for keeping things running. We give him a reason to trust us, a reason to pay us. Gotta keep him alive to do it this way. Listen to me for once, will ya?”

Jerrod stood and waved him off, his mind whirling. “Fine, fine. Quit your whining. You sound like a damn child that just pissed itself.”

Zandor slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “You outta know, Jerry. You helped changed my diapers.”

Jerrod shrugged him off. ‘And I’ll bury your ass someday.’ he thought.

They got to work.

* * * * *

Muldor knocked three times and almost a fourth before getting any kind of response from within.

“Come in,” the police captain said, and Muldor entered the drab, cramped office. Cubbins sat at his desk. He pointed to the chair in front, and Muldor sat.

Muldor smiled but didn’t feel it. “Captain Cubbins.”

Cubbins regarded him, seeming wary. The younger man looked exhausted and though Muldor had heard rumors of strange happenings the police were busy with, he didn’t know any of the details. The Guild had their own problems.

“Guild Master.”

“Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, there is an important issue I wish to discuss with you.”

Cubbins frowned and sat back, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “I know what you want, and you can’t have them. I won’t allow it. Get outta here.”

Muldor blinked. “Captain, if I may ask why. This is a mandate from the city council.”

“My authority comes straight from the king, and only he or his regent can countermand my orders when it comes to political prisoners. It’s very clear. I’ll show you the regulation if you want, but it is what it is. And as you know, we don’t have a regent in the city, so no one here can supersede my decision.”

“I understand that. The lack of response from the crown is another matter, for we should have a replacement for Lord Falston. But I see no reason for your lack of compliance, Captain Cubbins. If you sense your manhood has been slighted, then I suggest you grow up.”

Cubbins snorted. “You don’t know me at all if you think that. It’s got nothing to do with my ego. Your predecessor and I had an understanding and look where that got us.”

“Yes, on the brink of ruin. But this is not the same situation.”

“I don’t trust you.”

And there it was. Muldor knew at that moment his standing in the city had taken a serious blow.

“Captain, need I remind you I was the one who arranged your release from this very prison.”

Cubbins sat forward, and Muldor almost quailed. The captain had an intimidating presence when choosing to exert his will. “You let me go to save yourself. And it was your boss that put me in here in the first place.” Muldor started to protest, but Cubbins would have none of it. “Forget it. Look, I’m busy, so unless there is anything further… good. You can get outta my office now.”

Muldor’s face flushed and anger got the better of him. “Captain, I demand the release of those prisoners for the good of the city.”

“It won’t happen. Not as long as I’m captain. You can keep the one you have now, this Jon Baumgardener. I’ll let it slide because we have more important things to handle, but if you try any of that nonsense you did before, I’ll have you strung up so fast you’ll be dead before you can take another breath. Get out.”

Their conversation constituted the most the two men had ever said to one another. It was the second time in three days that someone had threatened to kill him, and Muldor didn’t like the feeling. It would be four days until the previous threat came to fruition.

Back to his office, his only place of solace. But peace didn’t come easy. Jon was safe for the moment. Cubbins wouldn’t come after him. He probably knew the foreigner was staying at Madam Dreary’s, but Muldor trusted his word. The police were indeed busy.

Maybe Muldor would recruit some other informants. Styles was a good candidate thus far. The dock worker loved being a runner for Muldor. It was an exalted position for any of them, and the young man had gusto. But investigating the threats to The Merchants Guild was beyond the ability of the young man regardless of his loyalty.

But there might be others. Muldor hadn’t had to initiate any information gathering in Janisberg in some time. The current situation demanded it.

If something wasn’t done, Muldor would be dead, and his organization would be in the hands of someone else. Perhaps Dollenger or Maggur were waiting to take control. The conditions at the docks would be even worse, the pay less, the work harder, the workers poorer, weaker, and the taxes heavier. Muldor wasn’t a perfect person but did his best to lessen the load of suffering wherever possible. Others would not be as accommodating.

A knock came at the door. Whoever it was didn’t wait for a response but rather charged in for Muldor’s desk. It was George, one of Muldor’s men. He used this dock worker for information at the betting tents and arena. He was a thin, nervous man that gambled too much but was trustworthy.

“Muldor, thank the heavens you’re here. There are some men outside. They won’t leave until they speak with you.”

Muldor felt an uncommon trill of panic seize him. “What men?”

“Out here! Come quick. They been out here all day looking for you.”

There was nothing for it but to follow George outside to the busy dock area. The early evening air brought the familiar tint of salt water to his nostrils, but Muldor felt sickened at the potential disaster that continued to overwhelm his nerves. Under normal circumstances it would have been nice to stroll along the Western Docks and interact with the business being played out there.

George went a block west in front of the central warehouse. The construct dominated the skyline to their left, hanging over their heads like an ominous portent of doom. Muldor spied a small group of armored men while George stopped and pointed at them.

“Right there, sir. Said they wanna know what happened to their men. They want some straight answers.”

Muldor breathed a mental sigh of relief. “Thank you, George. I’ll take care of them.” He gave him a few coppers

“Thank you, sir!”

George ran off to stand and gawk at the men along with a few others slacking off. There was work to do. The Dock Masters and their assistants were nowhere to be seen. These foreigners should be talking to them, for the docks were their responsibility. This nonsense was taking away working hours that could be used to better effect.

There were five of them. They watched him approach; their stances casual but ready. Their armor was sparse, at least on the surface, and consisted of chainmail under black leather vests and tarnished shin guards. Their gauntlets were of the same blunted metal, and their faces were swarthy and similar as if they were siblings or close cousins.

“Good day to you, gentlemen,” Muldor said and gave a slight nod. “I am Guild Master Muldor. I understand you have been looking for me. How may I be of service?”

An older man with a shock of grey hair streaked his otherwise rich black locks, he nodded to Muldor and spoke. His accent was odd, exotic, but cultured and educated.

“Greetings,” he said and bowed his head. “I am called Unri. This is my brother Yuri and our cousins Beni, Yoseph, and Karl.” Each man nodded in turn, and Muldor felt pleased. His earlier trepidation was replaced by curiosity. These men were not from Janisberg.

“We have problem,” Unri said. “Please, have questions concerning this murders have occurred here. Many murders have been. We come from far land, tracked great killer here and wonder if you help us.”

Muldor didn’t have time for any of this, intriguing a premise as it was. “A pleasure to meet you gentlemen. I am not certain of which murders you speak, but even if I did, that would be a matter for the police. The Merchants Guild is my area of expertise, not the investigation of crimes.”

The three cousins were as blank faced as statues, and Muldor surmised they did not speak his language. Yuri looked at his older brother while Unri frowned at Muldor. When he spoke, he sounded like a parent explaining something to a simple minded child.

“The murders have at docks are latest ones. Also at police headquarters they have many murders and other clues have led us here.”

“A number of grave robbing has happened here too,” Yuri said, his accent much less severe. He was a little shorter than his brother, the shortest of the five in fact. He looked younger by a decade than Unri. “This first part is what led us to this city in fact, due to the large number of occurrences. We have been close to tracking down this killer for some time.”

Muldor’s forehead creased, and he pulled his hands out of the folds of his thick grey cloak. “Gentlemen, it seems you have a greater knowledge of the events than I. I fail to see what I can do for you.”