Death's Reckoning (23 page)

So he wore a stupid hat pulled low over his eyes, shaved his face, and wore some shitty cloak that covered his normal attire. Once they were in, Zandor said not to worry too much over who they thought Jerrod was. Zandor had a plan bigger than all this. Then they could do whatever they wanted.

Ignacio spoke with one of the guards, and the three of them went to a back office area, away from the bleachers but close enough to hear the rumblings of the swelling crowd. It was only an hour or so before the matches started.

They waited outside while Desmond and Derek were informed of their presence. Some said they were bothers, but Jerrod didn’t think so. They were nothing but a bunch of queens that somehow wrangled their way into owning the fighting arena.

Ignacio fidgeted, looking contrite but a little nervous as they waited to be shown into the office area. It was similar to the other portions of the arena with pieces of wood nailed together in such an inconceivable way.

At last a man came to them and turned them away. “They’re busy. What do you want?”

“Tell them I have an important message from McDowell,” Ignacio said. “Remember him? He’s the man who runs this bird house. Tell them now, Berk.”

Berk gave him a sour look but went back in and came out soon. They were to go on in but be quick about it. The slovenly fat man tried to act tough and use the same smarmy glare he’d used on Ignacio, but when Jerrod walked by, he used a glare of his own. The man tried to turn away, but Jerrod made sure to press his towering bulk against him close enough for the man to smell his breath as he passed.

Berk swallowed and grimaced. “Uh, excuse me sir.” He backed away.

The inner office, down a narrow corridor, was similar in make to the rest of the maze. One side faced the inner arena space to their right, and a wide open window stood about chest height where one could see the entire arena floor. Jerrod thought it must have been much better watching the fights from this perch than amongst the slugs. The floor was invisible. Perhaps of pure magic, but it held the room above the arena.

The men in question, Derek and Desmond, glanced over to them from their large couch on the far wall as if they were watching a match at that moment and that they were being interrupted. But they didn’t have a care in the world. All they had to do was count their money.

Ignacio gave them a bow before speaking, and Jerrod was surprised at how much respect he showed. “Pardon my interruption sirs, but I have an important matter to discuss with the two of you. It concerns a new directive from Tanner McDowell.”

Derek, the taller, lankier of the duo, arched an eyebrow and sat forward. “Oh yes? Pray tell me the details, dear Ignacio.”

“Perhaps these gentlemen,” Ignacio said motioning to Zandor and Jerrod, “representatives of Master McDowell, would be better suited for that task.”

Jerrod sniffed and rubbed his face. The smooth shaved skin made him feel like a boy.

Zandor swept forward and gave a formal bow. “My name is Zandor. This is my associate Oliver. First allow me to say what a fan I am of your fine arena. I have been a spectator for many years, and I must say this is the finest entertainment on the continent.”

Derek smiled and seemed to take the compliment with genuine pride while Desmond looked uninterested the lazy fuck. He sat there with his hands folded on his knee.

Jerrod shuffled his feet. He’d forgotten, but Zandor had a way of changing his voice and the way he spoke, depending on the situation and the person in front of him. It was an unnerving, uncanny ability, and seeing both sides caught him off balance. Of course, a good knife in his ribs would square that deal real quick.

Derek looked at his partner, and communication passed between them unsaid. When Derek smiled, it wasn’t a pleasant sight. Jerrod thought he looked like a big fat rat. His face was too long, his cheeks pinched. He shifted his enormous bulk, which was covered by a large brown robe, identical to the one Desmond wore, and some of their jewelry tinkled. They had long gold necklaces and other adornments that would make a princess blush arrayed on their bulky frames.

“So,” Derek said, his voice a mellow lilt, “tell me of this arrangement, Master Zandor. I’ll assume it is of great import, or Tanner would not have sent you.”

Zandor smiled and stepped forward, pointing to an ornate chair across from the couch. “May I?”

Derek seemed amused by the show of proper etiquette and waved to the chair. “You may. Please be seated, gentlemen. Of course.”

Jerrod frowned and declined. Zandor glanced at him and made a slight frown, but it was quick and forgiving.

“Master McDowell has become concerned of late with the performance of the arena, as compared with the betting tents and their revenue. He feels they are not on par with each other.”

Derek perked up. “Oh really? Are we falling behind? How dreadful. I had no idea. Desmond?”

Desmond didn’t move a muscle. He continued to stare at Zandor and Jerrod. Jerrod considered himself good at reading people and thought Derek was being sincere. Derek was much different than people would have thought, Jerrod included. He was too nice, too effeminate for someone that ran a business of death and strife.

“Yes,” Zandor said and raised a hand. “And let me state that it is through no fault of yours the situation has come this far.”

“Well, of course!” Derek said and chuckled. “Why would it be because of us? We see to the fighters, see to the business, yes.”

Desmond’s fat jowls hung over his propped hand. He shifted on his seat but said nothing.

Zandor chuckled, but Jerrod could tell he was taken aback by this cheerful idiot as well. “As I said, I have been coming here for many years. Because of my experience in this area and the knowledge my associate has of this town, Master McDowell has hired us to improve the financial output of this arena.”

Derek widened his eyes and slapped Desmond’s knee. “That sounds fantastic! Far be it for us to stand in the way of more money. Tell me, what did you fine gentlemen have in mind? Please, give me all the glorious details!”

Zandor outlined a few minor changes, a simple streamlining of the betting tables, designed to give the house a bigger edge and to trim the winnings from spectators. It gave them a chance to win more in one shot, but also a chance to lose more at once as well, and over time this would be to their advantage. It all made it more enticing for group betting as well, enabling bettors to go into a communal pool with the risk taken by them and not the house.

Zandor also suggested a more complicated system with more matches strung together. A bigger payout entices bettors to wager larger sums but also makes it more difficult for them to win.

All of these changes had Derek nodding his head with enthusiasm. “Wonderful! Yes, I’ve often thought of enacting similar changes myself. Haven’t I, Desmond?”

“Indeed,” Desmond said. “We’ll have to turn people away at the door.”

Derek gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, hush, you. You never want to do anything exciting. Always the same with you, every day.”

“You’ve never complained before.” He turned his eyes to Zandor. “Besides, what he proposes is risky. People have become accustomed to the way things work here. They know what to expect, they pay their money, and nothing more is needed. I wonder why Tanner would want to change what works fine. That isn’t like him.”

“Think of it as more of a streamline of existing rules,” Zandor said and flashed a smile. “Master McDowell has decided to shake things up a bit as it were. Sometimes men get concerned about their futures. The end stares them in the face and all that. I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand rampant greed from an old man,” Desmond said and didn’t blink.

“Stop it, Desmond,” Derek said, his voice more serious. “You don’t know him as well as I.” He looked back at Zandor, impressed. “I can see why Tanner chose you, Master Zandor. Tell me, what else do you have in mind? I sense something climatic you haven’t shared yet.”

“Right you are,” Zandor said and sat forward. He rubbed his hands together like an ass and made sure to have their full attention. “Let me start by asking a question to you fine gentleman. If there was something missing here, something very important that no longer was, an attraction that used to be like no other… what would it be?”

Derek and Desmond went blank for a moment, not understanding. But then Derek lit up. “You don’t mean….”

Desmond shook his head. “He can’t.”

“What if I said I could get him?” Zandor said and smirked.

“Not possible,” Desmond said and sat back. Derek frowned at his partner and motioned for Zandor to continue.

“Please finish, good sir,” Derek said. “If you could deliver, you would have my undying loyalty and the thanks of every member of this organization.”

Jerrod glared at them all because he had no idea what they were talking about. Zandor must have sensed his frustration because he sat back and patted the back of his leg.

“The ogre Thruck. Remember the big fella? We get him back, and this place’ll make more money than it ever has before. Guaranteed.”

Jerrod couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping.

Chapter Fourteen

One day to go. Muldor got one bit of information from his ever growing cadre of messengers, runners, and informants.

A folded piece of paper lay under his door with a few words scrawled in unrecognizable lettering. It said:
dock masters, city council

That was enough of a clue for him, and a gnawing feeling crawled through his mind. They wanted him and everyone associated with Castellan gone and out of the way to prove to the king no more trouble would come. Any regent would be safe if they were to come and take over the mantle left by Lord Falston’s assassination.

Muldor should have known better, should have known he was a wanted man. They should have killed him, just stab him in the back and be done with it. Perhaps they shied away from a murder because of the potential reprisal from the workers. That was what Muldor’s pride said, that the men would be outraged and demand answers for his death. He was so loved and cherished the common man would rise up and overthrow the city government.

Of course that was the reason.

His disguise got a serious upgrade in the form of an expensive cloak. It was a wonderful deep blue silk, with toggles and stripes of gold inlayed into the cuffs and sleeves. The time was close enough to the deadline, and there was no reason to risk being seen. He also used some color in his hair and lightened the skin on his face with powder. Muldor looked like a proper dandy with money and not a care in the world.

The upper echelon section of town held a single tavern called The Prancing Pony. He hoped to find one or two of the Dock Masters there, and from what Styles had told him, perhaps it would be either Becket or Lawson. The two younger Dock Masters often visited the wealthier section of Sea Haven. Greed had infected The Guild, and Muldor could use this to his advantage.

In the back of the tavern, at his own private table, he studied the people around him, soaking in the strange ambience of the surroundings. It was so much different than what he or anyone from the other parts of town had become accustomed to. People were well dressed, haughty, and rude. Sympathy for the staff was large as they were ordered around like slaves by demanding, wealthy assholes. Still, the serving folk had it better than most in the city, and in fact working at the Prancing Pony was a coveted position. They got paid well, and the atmosphere was clean, polished much like the wood surfaces and silver and gold dinnerware.

Muldor drank wine from an ornate goblet with burnished silver on the bottom that crept its way up the side of the glass like the gauntlet on a king’s armor. It was heavy, and though it pried at his frugal sensibilities, it felt nice to be so surrounded by such luxury. If greed and ambition were as strong with him as Castellan, it would’ve been simple to live this way. He was Guild Master after all.

The inevitable stress crept into his thoughts, for his life, the future of his life’s work, the organization so integral to the safety and security of the entire city’s livelihood, all of this was in danger of being controlled by those that did not care about the little details. Lives would be ruined.

People in the tavern eyed him for strangers were few in this side of town, but he paid them no heed, taking an arrogant, disinterested air and focused his attention on watching for Lawson, Becket, or perhaps Dollenger. The man was very intelligent, and Muldor felt it important to have the man on his side in the days to come.

The night’s entertainment, a rarity in a town like Sea Haven where minstrels and bards or any type of singer operated at their own risk, was a young singer. She was young and beautiful, and Muldor marveled at her appearance and voice. Such a reality didn’t exist down by the docks.

She was lithe and talented. She appeared to be obsessed with the music. Others played instruments Muldor had never heard before. A lute, a lyre, and small fey like instruments emitted cool, smooth tones that lightened his heart and stirred hidden desires Muldor’s heart had never known. The feelings gnawed at his belly with every song she sang. It was glorious. Another girl, who looked to be the sister of the singer, plucked at a harp, and the dulcimer trill filled the room.

“Her name’s Denaire.”

Muldor blinked. “I’m sorry?”

His serving girl laughed then tilted her head towards the playing stage, where many other patrons gathered around and watched in rapt attention. “The singer. Her name’s Denaire.”

Muldor nodded, regaining his composure. “I see. She is very talented. How often does she play here?”

The girl, very young and pretty herself, shrugged, and her pony tail bobbed on her dainty shoulders. “As often as we can get her. She’s in quite high demand you see, from all over the continent.”

“I understand. It is quite obvious why. Another glass of your wonderful, delicious wine if you would. Thank you.”

“As you will, sir.”

Muldor kept his hood low, feeling like one of Jerrod’s nasty ilk or more like Giorgio’s brood. The horrible man was in his thoughts often, but Muldor pushed aside the emotional drama and focused on the night’s mission. He needed additional allies.

The wait was not long, for Becket came in, and the youngish looking middle-aged Dock Master stopped by the door and waited for a servant to take both his cloak and give him a towel to wipe off his face. It must have started raining outside because Becket’s curly locks were dripping.

Muldor grew curious as Becket headed for a table with young men and women, including a merchant or two. The Guild Master had never encountered any of the other Guild members in a social setting. His personal life was secretive but no one was beyond reproach.

It was what Castellan did from time to time. He learned how to use information against them, to find their weaknesses, use their friends and family as leverage, benign or malignant, and whatever happened Castellan always improved his station. If this was what being Guild Master meant, Muldor was happier being second, or third, which was the position he’d had for most of his tenure within The Guild.

To have enough influence to ensure the safety of everyone’s interest but far enough out of the command structure that the full responsibility was off his shoulders. Or maybe the operator of The Guild hired people to do this. Castellan had Jerrod and other thugs to do his unsavory work. And Muldor.

Becket sat and ordered drinks for his friends. All of them dressed well and lounged around like decadent royalty. They ordered roasted boar, and drank fine wine. Muldor bought them a round of the finest ale available on the menu, a brew from the far south. He soon garnered the table’s interest.

Becket smiled at him, and they made a toast that Muldor returned. They ordered more food and drink all the while Becket stared at him, a thin smile on his face. Yet a cloud of confusion laid there as well.

Muldor stared at him under his hood, every so often raising his glass to his lips. Becket’s expression went from festive, to confused, and then to worried over the course of several minutes. He never returned to the same jovial mood from before Muldor sent the wine.

When the wonderful young singer Denaire finished, she received a standing ovation from almost every single patron, including Muldor. He made sure to stare at Becket some more as everyone applauded. A young man next to him ogled Denaire as he pointed and spoke in Becket’s ear.

Becket smiled at her, but his eyes went to Muldor, and after everyone sat down, he stared back. Worry creased his handsome features. At last he stood and worked his way through the crowd towards Muldor’s table and made a formal bow. “I am at a loss, sir, as to your generosity. The ale you sent was most welcome but most confusing. How is it that you know us? Have we met before?”

“We’ve met many times, Becket. But under less savory conditions as these. I had no idea you led such a glamorous life. If I had known, I might have joined you out some night.”

Becket recognized the voice in an instant and stiffened. “Mul—”

Muldor raised a hand. “Don’t say it. If you value this lifestyle, sit and speak with me but give no indication to my identity.”

Becket balked for a moment, but at no time did his eyes leave Muldor’s form. He sat, and they looked at one another.

“Ease your tension and act as you would with an old friend,” Muldor said. “For of course that is what I am. Do you agree?”

Becket took a deep breath. “There are people tracking you. If they see me with you then it’s both of us for it.”

“Let no doubt enter your mind. You are culpable in this matter. You and all the rest.”

“No!” The word came out louder than intended. Becket looked around and then lowered his voice. “No, Muldor. I wanted things to be back to the old Guild, to the way we used to run things, even before Castellan took over. It was fair. Now they wanna tax everyone and everything.”

“Using the armada attack as an excuse,” Muldor said. “Yes, I have come to the same conclusion. Yet the question remains: who had knowledge of these new usurpers and who would gain? Not the Dock Masters, no, not these beacons of free trade and masters of all that is righteous.”

Becket’s face grew pained. “Listen, I didn’t want this, really. But what was I to do? They would have gone after me, killed me. Not all of us have the connections you do. They fear you, fear what might happen if they killed you outright, so they thought to discredit you first, make you take the blame for what Janisberg did.”

“Whom do you mean?”

Becket hesitated. “I don’t know who started it, but it began in the city council. I swear I don’t know the person. You’ve heard the rumors that they won’t send a regent to the king unless they know it’s safe. They won’t let it be safe unless Janisberg is paid.”

“And they purchase The Guild by selling me off and giving the reigns of command to a proxy, someone ambitious. Not you of course, who has been so loyal to me and trustworthy.”

Becket looked sincere when pain crossed his features. “I didn’t know what they were planning before. Once I did, I was in the same situation as everyone else. Do what they say or die. What would you do?”

Muldor thought of several things, but before he could speak, Becket continued. “I do know that Maggur made a deal with them, maybe Croker too. The old bastards don’t care about selling you out because they want your job. They’ve wanted you to swing for a long time.”

Muldor seized his opportunity to learn more. “Where does Lawson stand? I find it hard to believe he would side with them.”

Becket shrugged. “Doesn’t know much but does his job. I think if we approached him, he would side with you, but there’s too much against us. I’m putting myself in danger right now talking with you.” He leaned forward and sounded pleading. “But listen, you can still step down. They know you’re valuable. They know what you mean to the operation of the Guild’s business at the docks. Step down, and they’ll let you live. The money ultimatum was just a way to make you hurry. They have the money, Muldor, they have it all, but they want you out of the way.”

Muldor nodded his mind spinning. It wasn’t all that surprising. “I’m certain we’ll have the workers on our side.”

“For certain because they worship you. That’s why the council fears you. The workers would riot worse than before if you were murdered. The dock security are a given on our side. What are you planning?”

Muldor considered whether or not it was possible to trust this man, but there was no choice. “Get Lawson on our side. Tell him as little as possible. Keep it between the two of you. I will see where the others stand, and we will go against the city council in any way we can. Give them what they want, which is control of The Guild.”

Becket frowned. “Are you sure that’s the right move?”

“I’m afraid you will have to trust my judgment from here on out. I will offer them terms. If they want is someone to blame, I will give it to them. Have a good night, Master Becket.”

Muldor left him there confused but motivated. The Guild Master had another place to go to that evening, and the fact that it was later at night provided him the perfect opportunity to see to that.

The old ways of thieving came back to him easier than expected. Dock Master Lawson perhaps with Dollenger would be on board with everything. That would constitute the majority of them. If Maggur and Crocker wouldn’t go along, Muldor could toss them out with the rest of the garbage.

But without Dollenger there would be no deal. In secret, Muldor could and would fight them all. Muldor already had Delora and Anders working for him, and the rest of the former thieves would follow.

In fact, Muldor was confident in the possibility to sway the new Thieves Guild under his own control. He had earned their respect during the conflict against Castellan, and all of them admired him. Word had spread among them that he planned to fight the city again, and it would facilitate the thieves’ return. Dissolving the city council was not possible; however, he could wreck it pretty well though that was not the prime intention.

Dollenger lived in a simple building, effluent, but not at the level Castellan had lived. It was in a nice comfortable neighborhood very close to where the Prancing Pony did its business. As the elaborate mansions and luxury grounds did, this building had security patrolling the outside.

Muldor had that problem taken care of. He passed by one of the guards, and the man smiled under his helmet. Muldor passed a small purse to him filled with silver and walked on.