Death's Reckoning (21 page)

Cutter was lying, bluffing for some reason. The old man was still shaken, no doubt, by the dissolution of the Thieves Guild. Maybe the rumors were true. “Cutter, how goes the rebuilding? I’ve heard stories.”

Cutter sighed but kept writing. “Always in denial. Muldor, I am indeed busy, and it is that very topic by which I am stymied. Yes, indeed, the Thieves Guild is being rebuilt. I have contacted many of the remnants that are still abiding in the city, and they are willing to listen to reason. Much unlike yourself.”

“I require a good sum from you. We must pay Janisberg. There is no other option available.”

“I’ve told you the other option. You refuse to listen or even consider the possibility. There are things you know not of.”

“Such as?”

Cutter started humming a familiar tune. “Ah, Muldor. The follies of middle age. I have no money for you. No one does. Now, run along and do whatever it is you do.”

Muldor pulled out a rolled parchment from his bag. “As you can see, our initial payment consists of one majority share of the total, followed by percentage payments made at an interest that I deem excessive. The payments are to be doled out every quarter, with interest collected therein. I believe a mediator would go far in negotiating the sum, fees, and interest in particular. There is no reason both parties shouldn’t be able to come to reasonable terms in the near future.”

Cutter continued humming and singing to himself as he wrote. Muldor grabbed the paper on his desk and tossed it on the floor. Cutter became agitated, then upset, then full of rage in quick order. “There’s no money for you. I suggest you go elsewhere, or I will be forced to call my guards. Leave! I have important work to do.”

“I will have The Guild’s money. You’ve moved it somewhere, and I will find it. The persons responsible for this betrayal will suffer, and if you are among them, you shall hang along with the rest.”

Cutter, his wrinkled skin quivering with contained anger, crossed his arms and sat back. “The situation no longer concerns you. Go home. Resign from the Guild, Master Muldor and all be forgiven. No other option remains to you. Good day!”

Back at his office, Muldor sat and thought. The Western Docks were slow at this time, but men still fumbled about outside, and instead of giving him comfort, it made him feel paranoid. They didn’t care about him. No one did. They were all a part of this vendetta against him.

Castellan left Muldor holding the very rope that would see him on the gallows. The idea of quitting his position was unthinkable. The Guild could not function without his guiding hand. They were weakened by the recent catastrophe, and Muldor was the only one that could steer the ship into calmer waters.

Allies. There must’ve been some willing to assist him. But the most powerful members of the city council were against him. He made a mental list of his own cadre of informants, runners, and others relied on for information. They were all culpable, with the exception of perhaps Styles, for the youth adored the Guild Master. But none of them told him the unsettling news. There was no one to trust.

Fine then. Time to rebuild. It was time to take it back to the beginning, examine the situation and evaluate the circumstances that led to his current predicament. The Guild stole money from Janisberg, they came to their shores to not only get their money back but also for their political prisoners.

But this was bigger than a mere fee. Lautner wanted more. Jon had said so. His ambitions outweighed this minor theft. The ambassador wouldn’t send an entire fleet to recoup the amount they were asking for. It couldn’t and wouldn’t get approved, no matter the political prisoners involved, for the cost of a garrison of soldiers was high as well.

The Guild itself was under attack that was it. With Castellan gone, the reigns of leadership were passed to him, and now Muldor was a patsy, a disposable entity they feared because of his connections and respect within the organization. Respect no longer mattered. Survival did.

Lautner desired The Guild and all it represented. Janisberg wanted to control it, and since Sea Haven’s political structure was imploding, this was the perfect time to attempt a coup of The Merchants Guild. It all fitted.

Someone had made a deal with Ambassador Lautner, someone within the city council or multiple people, even within The Merchants Guild.

Muldor had some work to do.

Because his normal attire was far too recognizable to keep his identity secret, Muldor wore black leather pants and a brown leather vest instead of his grey cloak. He strode as a man with a purpose, far from his normal waddling gait.

He made his way across town towards an old thieves’ hangout near Cutter’s den, keeping his hood pulled tight to hide his features. There might’ve been some old friends there and after sitting and drinking for a few hours, he saw them enter the Wagging Tongue Inn and sit near the bar.

Anders looked much the same, save a scar on his right cheek. A wound the young thief had taken that fateful day on the docks when the armada attacked. His hair was longer, and he kept it hanging on the scar to hide the embarrassing mark. Despite this, the man seemed happy. He laughed with the bartender and bought a mug of ale.

His companion, a women named Delora, was a few years older than Anders but a bit younger than Muldor. Together they stood with their backs against the bar, talking with the others, smiling, laughing, perhaps buoyed by the recent rumors that the thieves were banding back together as a new guild.

The talk amidst the tavern dwellers was indeed more upbeat, and whether this would work well for what Muldor needed would be discovered. He needed to contact Anders and Delora without revealing his identity. How to do it without anyone else knowing was the real challenge.

He approached them, making sure to seem non-threatening and congenial. Anders’ eyes narrowed, and Delora made an involuntary move with her left hand to her sword belt, but they made no other threatening moves towards him.

“Greetings, fellow members of the blade,” Muldor said, making his voice different so no one listening would recognize it and made a graceful bow. “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private.”

Anders scoffed and turned away. Delora looked at him, trying to see his face under the hood.

“Who you?” she said. “We don’t spend time with strangers out in the cold night. Bit safer in hereabouts.”

“Indeed,” Muldor said and opened his cloak to reveal a heavy coin purse. “But what I have to say is of great import. And my business is private if you understand my meaning.”

He jingled the purse, and even the youthful anger Anders possessed could not curtail his curiosity. The young man shared a look with Delora who couldn’t hide a smile.

“You might be talking our talk now, master,” Delora said, and the three of them went outside.

Always paranoid, even for a thief, Anders made a show of looking around every corner as Muldor led them to a quiet portion of the neighborhood. Both of them were at the ready for any potential betrayal and stayed sharp.

“I assure you both my intentions are honorable,” Muldor said in his own voice, and Anders perked studying him.

After a few more steps he stopped and grabbed his arm. “Who are you?”

“Please, over here. Eyes and ears are plentiful in these parts. Permit me a moment.”

Anders nodded, and the three of them went to the corner of a one story building, near an abandoned barber shop. The windows were boarded up, the door covered with more wood.

Muldor removed his hood, and their eyes went wide. Anders looked around then smiled. He hit Delora in the arm with the back of his hand and laughed.

“Well, look at this, why don’t cha? We got ourselves a nice little guild master here. How come we got so lucky?”

Delora said nothing. She studied Muldor, her eyes wary.

“I need some information,” Muldor said. “And you of the Thieves Guild may be the only ones whom I can place trust.”

“There ain’t no guild no more,” Delora said. “Haven’t you heard?”

“There will be again. Now, there are issues I wish cleared up and discretion is paramount. I trust I can count on you both?”

Anders looked confused but nodded. Delora shrugged.

“Sure,” Anders said. “Sure, yeah, you can trust us. You’ve been good to us before. What do you need, Muldor?”

He told them, and they listened with rapt attention. Thieves understood the importance of information in any confrontation, even one of a political nature.

“Course we will Muldor,” Anders said. “You helped us the best you could when we needed it. Giorgio, he, uh, said you were the best friend he ever had.”

At the mention of the missing man, Muldor went stiff. He nodded his thanks and looked at Delora. She shrugged, seeming indifferent to the whole situation. “Whatever. Long as the pay is good.”

Anders seemed put out by her obvious greed, but Muldor wasn’t stressed.

“It will be, I assure you, Miss Delora. Take an initial payment now if you would.” He handed over some coins. “Now, what can you tell me with the state of things within the city council, what talk of restructuring? Anything?”

Anders shrugged this time and shook his head. “Not sure what you mean by that, but I hear things about them wanting to get rid of people, people that were in it from the beginning with Castellan.”

Muldor wasn’t surprised. In fact, he had heard similar rumors but had never considered he was one of those people. He sent the two thieves off, hopeful they would both find something out more specific, and that they would keep his name out of any discussion with others. Back at his office, sleep was hard in coming. There was too much left to think on.

* * * * *

“You’re lookin’ a bit pale yourself, Cubbins. Never thought such a husky fella like yourself would get so thin. Must be spending some time at the Madam’s yourself, have ya?”

The jibe was followed by laughter, and the other men at the table snickered. Some slapped Cubbins on the back. He wanted to say they were wrong, but they weren’t. His appetite was gone, and he’d lost weight.

“Blame yourself, Mikels,” he said. “You never invite me over for dinner anymore. Your wife’s cooking suited me well.”

“Ha! Well, that it did, captain, that it did. But tell me this.” He took the pipe out of his mouth and squinted. “What’s the latest on all these strange happenings I keep hearing about? Grave robberies, all kinds of nasty things. Lots of trouble in town.”

“Trouble,” Cubbins said as if the word had no meaning. “Sounds like your wife’s been telling tales again. I haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh, c’mon, now! You can tell me.” He leaned his head closer and looked about the table, but the rest of the men were busy smoking, drinking, and conversing with themselves. “You know what I mean. What is going on here in town? All kinds of nasty rumors I been hearing.”

Cubbins half considered telling him something in part because he wanted Mikel’s stink out of his face but also in part because the desire to tell another human being what he was going through was strong. But he was raised by a father that never said anything about his feelings and never a word when the rest of the family was suffering. So the police captain said nothing.

Someone offered Cubbins a smoke, but he turned it down. It was difficult enough sleeping as it was, and smoking so late at night made him twitchy. The conversations of the table moved on to other, more mundane topics.

Still, he found his concentration shifting towards the previous weeks’ troubles. Death and dismemberment, evisceration, mutilations, corpses, that was his destiny, all men’s destinies. The reaper would come. There was no stopping it; no point in fighting. There was no hope.

Talk was all over town about what happened at the gaming tents the other night, and their table spoke of it as well. Many employees were kidnapped by a group of police impersonators. No one knew who was behind it, but Cubbins had his suspicions.

It smacked of Castellan’s former thug, Jerrod, and Cubbins always thought Castellan had the maniac under control. Now that he was gone, things like this happened. He assigned a few men to go looking for him but not to attempt to bring him in. Jerrod was too dangerous. If they found him, they would watch him, and then Cubbins could decide what to do.

At the moment there were more important things to contend with, like finding the morbid people that liked to steal bodies and slaughter men in the middle of the night. Cubbins kept hoping against hope to hear something, anything amongst all this rumor and speculation, which would shift him towards the solution. He felt his very life was at stake. To fail would doom them all to death. It was an irrational, unreasonable fear with no logical origin.

“Hell of a night, eh?” Mikels said after they had left the tavern. He and a few others stood with Cubbins on the street. Mikels craned his head upwards and peered at the night sky. A deep shade of pale grey signaled the start of the dawn. The days grew shorter as summer equinox rolled in.

“I used to put little Kyle on the windowsill on nights like this. He loved it. That kid loved looking at the stars.”

Mikels grew wistful and pulled out a cigarette. Cubbins felt empathy towards the man. Little Kyle was dead past four years, taken as an infant by a wasting sickness for which there was no cure. There was pain in Mikel’s voice as he turned his head away and sniffed. To show emotion was a more difficult thing for a man to do in Murder Haven than win a bar brawl.