Lair of Killers (16 page)

The enemy has been spotted; not Dark Destiny, Lurenz’ flagship, but one of his pirate vessels known to have attacked our merchant ships. The fleet is giving chase! I fear it may be a rouse. A single ship may only be bait designed to lead our men into an ambush. Seven ships. This was all I was capable of amassing. Pitiful. I feel in the pit of my queasy stomach that will not be enough. But what can I do further? I must leave their fate in the hands of their captains.

Our merchants are frightened. Most, if not all, have been harassed and threatened by common thieves. Some have been injured on the streets, two even killed. These were men I knew well and even liked. Somewhat. Samford Crawford was amicable enough if a bit snobbish while Mickle Jobson was a rude, brackish man that drank too much. But regardless, they were part of The Guild, and the rest of them fear for their own lives with good reason.

The Guild is in crisis. Attacked on the seas, attacked here on land, beset on all sides. What are we to do? There are hired swords aplenty in this town. Their cost can be prohibitive for many merchants that I would not consider wealthy people at all. How can they afford to hire extra protection the way things are now? It is dangerous to do business in this town, always has been but necessary, for this is how they provide for their families.

I know there are parties making moves to get the police back to work, but I fear to get involved in the process because of the blowback I would receive from those men. I have heard Captain Cubbins has returned, and he likes me even less than his direct subordinate Dillon. I think he would sooner stab me than hear me, so what am I to do? The City Watch must step into the void, and I am astonished that Lord Cassius has not called them into service during this time of strife.

This city needs them. They must keep the peace as the police continue their strike, and if supplemented with private security, perhaps we can curtail this lawlessness. I do not know their commander, Hark Williamson, very well, but I shall seek him out and discover what kind of man he is. I can do nothing less for the people of Sea Haven, who cry out for a helping hand.

Chapter Eight

Zandor walked faster, hurrying through the city streets but without running and drawing attention. There’s no telling who might’ve been watching; not that he really cared either way, but watchers had a tendency to cling and build up over time like tarnish on a silver necklace.

Felix stood waiting for him at the corner of an intersection two blocks down from the wealthy quarter. His tall athletic build was easy to spot as was his blond hair and sideburns that came down almost to his chin. Zandor had mentioned he should have shaved it, for it made him too conspicuous, but he swore everyone wore it that way from where he hailed.

“We got trouble, Felix. The police went and got themselves half a brain, so we need to move.”

Felix shrugged. “We’ll take care of it, Zee. You’re getting too worried in your old age. Take it easy.”

Zandor chuckled. “If you make it to my age, I’ll be impressed. Gotta grow up first, pup.”

“Pup? Yeah, you got fleas as old as me!”

“C’mon, pal. Let’s move.”

They went down another side street and up towards the eastern road, and then over to where the gate to the wealthy quarter ended and a row of large homes began. Zandor stopped, looked around to either side, and saw naught but empty streets. He whistled, and moments later a window opened far above them. A knotted rope shot out and landed on the ground in front of them.

Since there was not enough space in between buildings to squeeze through, this was the only way except the front gate.

Felix indicated the rope and bowed. “Ladies first.”

Zandor chuckled and climbed, hooking his soft soled boots on any outcropping he could find. “Remind me to give you a good smacking later.”

Felix followed. “I’ll bring a stool so you can reach my face.”

“Ha! I’m long where I need to be fella.”

“So I’ve been told from the young boys in town.”

“Pike off.”

Zandor reached the top and accepted a man’s hand whose job was to stay there and wait for any of their gang who needed entry there during the day. Zandor did not want any of them to be spotted coming or going from their camp, and no one was allowed to leave without his permission.

They had a city of their own within the confines of the neighborhood, cut off from the other inhabitants of Sea Haven. He made it happen to glean even more coin from the wealthy, but Zandor loved the idea that it was all theirs, to do with as they pleased.

Supplies might become an issue but not for a long time. There were plenty of stores available in the mansions’ larders. His men also searched the lower levels of the mansion for any secret escape routes but had found nothing so far.

“Thanks, Carl,” Zandor said, and both of them helped Felix up. “When your shift is over, help yourself to an extra shot of whiskey.”

The crooked toothed man smiled. “Thanks, Zee. You’re the best.”

“He’s got a big enough ego as it is,” Felix said over his shoulder as they left. “Don’t encourage him.”

Zandor pushed him along. “Tell me again why I hired you.”

“My charming personality.”

Zandor scoffed. “You’re right. I am getting old.”

Felix laughed, and they jogged down a beautiful set of marble stairs and went outside. Another jog down a few streets brought them to the main camp. It was near a large fountain close to the middle of the quarter, close to many of the largest compounds.

“Hey! All of you lazy buggers!” Zandor said and whistled. “What do I pay you shits for, huh? Get off yer asses, and let’s get to work here!”

Most stirred and stretched while others chuckled.

“Where the women at, Zee?”

“Yeah, we’re ready for that kinda work, see. Ha!”

Zandor clicked his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Settle down, you gits. You gotta work a bit ‘fore you see any reward, get it? What have ya all done today but sit on your asses, anyway?”

A chorus of laughter mixed with boos followed. Zandor searched the crowd for Jerrod, but he did not see him. He went to Benedict, a smallish man with a thin beard and dark cloak.

“Benny, you seen Jerrod anywhere?”

“What’s got you all pissed off? Is there a problem?”

Zandor’s eyes flashed. “Answer the fuckin’ question.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. Zandor stepped closer to the man. Benedict swallowed. “Uh, I-I uh, I dunno. Hey, anyone seen that Jerrod?” He glanced around for help, and someone spoke up.

“I don’t think he’s here, Zee. Said something about needing a woman and stronger booze. I think he went to that Madam Dreary’s place.”

Zandor stewed and left them muttering to one another. Felix in tow, he went about tracking the man down. His anger and annoyance remained high all the way across the city to the whorehouse. As they entered Madam Dreary’s place, they were met by one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, a tall, statuesque auburn haired girl who smiled at them.

Zandor blew her off. “Save it, sister. I’m looking for someone.”

The girl recovered well, Zandor gave her credit for that, and smiled again and curtseyed. “How may I help you gentlemen?”

Zandor backhanded Felix in the chest. “Close your mouth, kid. We’re lookin’ for someone, the ugliest, most miserable son of a bitch that ever lived. Tall, rangy, stubble-headed bastard. Seen him?”

“Sir, our client’s whereabouts are private. It is not our policy to reveal them.”

“Forget it,” Zandor said and walked passed her, despite her best protests.

“Sir, you can’t—”

“Felix.”

Felix stayed behind, and Zandor trusted him to handle things. He stomped down a hallway, ducking under beads and silk curtains to search the rooms. He found nothing but angry customers in the first three. People cursed him for interrupting their coitus. In the fourth room, he found a sleeping Jerrod, laying among cushions with two naked girls.

The large man wore only his breeches, and his muscular body was lean and scarred. Jerrod had seen his share of battles, and he was about to see some more.

Zandor kicked the edge of the bed. Jerrod stirred. His brutal features were clouded over with recent drink and sleep, but he perked up fast. He regarded Zandor with detached disdain and a smidge of wariness.

“Get up,” Zandor said. “The police strike is over. They’re gonna move against the thieves, and then they’ll come after us.”

“Is that right? What you want done about then?”

“Kill them. Every single last one of those police slugs.”

Jerrod stood and shrugged his massive shoulders. He grabbed his sword belt. “No problem. Killin’ slugs is what I do. Bu killin’ police is special, though. Double payment for that type o’ thing.”

Zandor gritted his teeth. Jerrod and his men were the best with brutal efficiency. Plus, he didn’t want to expose his own people for this sort of thing.

“Do it. You’ll get what you want, but it needs to be done fast. Be quick about it, no fucking around, you get me?”

Jerrod smiled. “Done.”

* * * * *

Becket had never seen the city vault before. It was simple but impressive. It looked like a large circular tomb, similar to a mausoleum. Ten guards stood outside every second of every day, and Haller told him this was a false trail involved, for the real vault was down below in yet another series of vaults set with traps, some magical in nature.

The treasurer told him to wait while he went down and came back with a sizable amount of gold, enough to prove to Cubbins they were serious. Haller returned, smiling and carrying a bag as big as his head.

“I have a nice mix of both gold and silver,” he said and hefted it. “Enough?”

“Plenty,” Becket said. “They’ll be pleased. Take it to Cubbins. I must meet with Hark Williamson and get the City Watch involved. We need their numbers.”

“Indeed. Stay safe, my friend. And keep in touch.”

“Good luck.”

A nagging sensation that it had been too easy and the potential reprimand from Lord Cassius hung in his mind as they walked towards city hall. Becket did not know where the City Watch commander’s office was, but after asking around for a bit, he and his guards found it. It was a simple affair on the second floor of the main building. There were no attendants present, so Becket brought his guards inside the office and strolled in unannounced.

Hark Williamson was asleep, feet propped up on his desk. The young man, with brown unkempt hair and a scruffy beard that would never grow in all the way, wore studded leather armor with chain mail underneath. It would have cost as much as a common worker made in a month.

Becket kicked his desk. The man shook himself out of his stupor and sat up. He blinked, confusion spreading on his face.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to do your job, Commander Williamson. Summon the City Watch. The police force is back to work, and they need your help in getting this city back under control.”

Williamson blinked again. “They do, huh? I can’t do nothing without an edict from the City Council. That’s Cassius’ office. You’ll have to go see him.”

“No, you’re wrong. It’s your responsibility to ensure the safety of this city’s inhabitants. Do you know what happened to the previous City Watch Commander?” Becket stepped forward and put his hands on the desk. “Do you? He failed in his duty and was punished for it, strung up by the neck like an animal at slaughter. I was instrumental in carrying out that sentence. I helped make him die.”

Williamson flicked his eyes between Becket and his guards, licking his lips. “Well, the Lord Governor….”

“Is not here. Do your job or the full force of The Merchants Guild will come down upon you. Care to risk that?”

Williamson gulped. Becket would later reflect that it was having the guards with him that pushed the issue into compliance. They were handy fellows. Becket wondered why he hadn’t used them before. Such a simple show of force can accomplish so much.

They left but not before Becket made certain Williamson would comply. He watched as Williamson activated his men by calling in a scribe, for the man could not read or write. Couriers were sent off.

‘Now we’ve got it,’ Becket thought. ‘It will only get better from here.’

* * * * *

Anders ran because men chased him; big men with swords with the intention of using them. Whether they planned on arresting him or killing him was not certain. He assumed the former, but it was not worth assuming anything when death was a possibility. Plus, being under lock and key was worse than death for him.

Down another street and across a simple square brought him closer to the southern docks and potential salvation. But exhaustion threatened to bring him down, and his side hurt worse than ever. He had suffered a blow to his cheek from a police club, and the flesh there swelled and ached. There might’ve been bone damage underneath that welt. He needed water and rest.

Anders slowed down, forced by the seething pain in his side and legs. They felt unsteady. He glanced around. It was mid-day, a nice cool breeze of middle autumn rolling in, but he felt sweat trickling down his face. He wiped it clean with trembling fingers.

There were a lot of people walking the streets, so near to one of the busiest sections of town. He had lost his partner Delora some time back, and the rest of their sub group was scattered and lost. It was everyone for themselves.

A wooden door hung open on a smallish warehouse, cousins to the mammoth storage containers that housed wares that came from all corners of the world. No one was nearby. Anders limped over. The momentary respite made his body hurt more. He was stiffening up by the second.

Inside was empty space up front with crates and bags stocked up in the back. A man swept dirt off the floor. He noticed Anders and narrowed his eyes. “What are you about? Get on outta here! Scram!”

He hefted his broom, and Anders backed away. It was important to move forward, maybe stab this fool and hide until things settled down in the streets, but the man was large and pissed off. Anders was in no condition to fight.

Someone shouted from outside, and that made the decision for him. He turned and saw some security men pointing and yelling at him. Anders cursed and looked around for the best avenue of escape. Towards the docks the thieves had several safe houses set up, but he had to lose these fools first.

“Hey you!”

The beefy man with the broom shoved him out of the doorway hard. Anders lost his feet and spiraled to the ground, arms out front. He managed to catch himself with his palms, and under normal circumstances, could have rolled well enough, but his side hurt too much, and his body rejected the intended movement.

The downed thief gasped in shock and felt a sharp pain in his right elbow. He bent his knees and tried to stand, but the big man was on top of him, grabbing his shirt and yanking him about.

“Go on! Get outta here you!”

Anders stabbed him in the gut, not to kill but to stun. The man’s eyes widened, and his body stiffened.

“What? Hey!”