Lair of Killers (8 page)

“Please! Please, wait a moment! One at a time please. Are there any here who work at the docks for example? Anyone?”

“Master Becket, I’m here. It’s Crocker.”

“Good. Stay where you are. Anyone else from the docks?”

“Sir, I am Joseph Miller.”

“Yes, Lawson’s second, correct?”

The man did not answer, and Becket thought Miller might’ve been nodding in the darkness.

“Fine,” Becket said. “Who else is here? Any leadership from the city here? Is Lord Cassius among us?”

“Master Becket,” said a rich, melodic voice. “My name is Royce Haller. I am not a member of the Guild’s cadre, but I am the head of the Treasury Department. I suppose that counts.”

“Sure,” Becket said. “I’ve never had the pleasure, but it is nice to meet you.”

Haller’s warm-hearted, nervous chuckle answered. “Same to you, sir. If only the circumstances were different, I would be inclined to buy you a drink.”

Becket smiled, even though he knew the man couldn’t see the motion. Maybe Miller wasn’t so stupid, it was easy to forget. “I’d like that. In fact, I’ll hold you to that. So perhaps it is up to us to organize things here. Unless anyone else objects?” No one did. “Come closer, you three, and let’s talk.”

Becket recognized the bent form of Crocker, the twitchy, fidgety young body of Miller, and the tall, straight posture of Haller. The others broke away and spoke to one another in hushed tones while Becket waved his group over to the side, near where the light from the door was.

“So,” Becket said, “what does everyone remember? Be as detailed as you can.”

“What’s the point of this inquiry?” Crocker said. “Hmm? We’ve been taken prisoner. What more is there to discuss?”

‘Damn you, Crocker,’ Becket thought. ‘Always so antagonistic. Why? Does it give you some kind of twisted pleasure?’

“I believe what Master Becket is implying,” Haller said, “is that it behooves us to learn as much as possible from each other so as to better our situation.”

Crocker scoffed. “Talk, talk. Phew! How do we free ourselves from this place?”

“We do not even know where we are yet,” Haller said. “Where do you think they would take us, Master Becket?”

“I don’t think it could be far from where they grabbed us. It would be time consuming to drag so many people like that. Maybe we’re in a warehouse near the shipping yards, though it doesn’t smell like it. There’d be some brine in the air if we were.” He turned his head and raised his voice. “Has anyone tried the doors?”

They glanced towards the sliver of light at the floor of what must’ve been the door, and the closest person to it yanked at the handle. They heard nothing but the grunt of man’s exertion.

“Locked tight,” he said. “Won’t move at all.”

“Must be bolted from the other side.”

“Oh really, Master Becket?” Crocker said. “Brilliant deduction.”

“Shut up, Crocker. Let’s feel around for something else. Spread out but be careful. We don’t want to trip over each other, and who knows what might be on the floor. Haller, Miller, take a wall, gentlemen, and use some of the others to help you.”

They went to it, stumbling in the darkness. Becket went to the door; ignoring Crocker’s sigh of annoyance, and dropped down to the edge of the light on the floor. He put his face close to the crack and tried to see out, but the angle was too narrow, and all he saw was more floor.

Easing back to the center of the room, trying not to bash into anyone, Becket attempted to glean more information from his three colleagues.

“It is a rectangular room,” Haller said. “I think it is fair to say this locked door is our only means of egress.”

“There are crates,” Miller said, as if that explained everything. Becket pressed him for more. “You said it was a warehouse. Crates equals this is a warehouse.” Miller sounded as if he were explaining something to a child.

Trying not to bristle, Becket nodded. “Fine, I was right then.”

Crocker harrumphed. “Ha! Wonderful. And this incredible piece of information assists us in our plight how? Hmm, Master Miller? Do any of you realize how many warehouses there are in this city?”

Becket could sense Miller’s frown in his reply. He sounded annoyed as if the question were either stupid or that he was upset the answer alluded him. “No. I have not had the chance to count them all.”

Crocker clicked his teeth and started to say something, but Becket cut him off. “Hold on. I still want to know how each of us got here. Maybe we can piece together some common thread.”

“All the good it will do you,” Crocker said.

Becket bit back a snide remark. Arguing with the old fool would have only escalated a tense situation.

Haller cleared his throat. “For my part, Master Becket, none of what happened is very clear. My memory is fuzzy, but I seem to recall reaching the outskirts of my compound, and then there was the flurry of activity behind me. I did not understand and then… someone must have struck me on the skull because my head is aching there.” He chuckled and Becket nodded, feeling how sore his own head was.

There were similar stories from the rest of them, and they all matched his descriptions of the sketchy looking security men.

“Yes,” Becket said. “They must have infiltrated our security system, including getting some of their uniforms.”

Crocker heaved a sigh. The older man sound tired. “The level of genius demonstrated here is staggering. I don’t feel well.” Crocker groaned, and Becket stepped forward reaching out a steadying hand.

“Then sit down, you old coot!”

He grabbed Crocker’s trembling hand and felt the livered spotted flesh, cold and clammy. His bones were thin. Becket eased him to a seated position on the floor. He started to feel around on Crocker’s skull for a possible injury there that might have been giving him trouble, but the old man swatted his hand away.

“I don’t need you probing me like some harlot. You are not a surgeon.”

“Fine then,” Becket said. “Be that way and bleed to death for all I care.” He stood and faced the others. “Does anyone have a serious injury that needs tending?”

There were minor scrapes and bruises, and almost all had bumps on their skulls. Others, however, were taken still awake.

“I was surrounded ‘bout midnight,” Devin O’Grady said, and Becket could hear the man’s fleshy body quivering. “They did not strike me. They only said they were taking me somewhere, and if I resisted, they would kill me. I did what they asked.”

“What did they look like?” Haller said.

Becket could feel the man shrug. Everyone did it, this compulsion to move while in conversation, even when the person you were talking to could not see.

“I could not see their faces as they were covered. But they wore the brown leather of our security forces.”

“That would be easy enough to manufacture,” Becket said, thinking out loud.

“There were other men with them,” someone else said in the darkness. “Others besides these. They wore black hoods, like executioners.”

The group muttered together in the dark. A nervous, anxious trill rolled through them. Becket realized he was holding his breath, and he when let it out, his head felt light and dizzy.

“Master Becket,” Haller said, “what do you suggest we do now?”

Becket regretted volunteering to be leader. There was more murmuring. The general hubbub was directed towards him and his potential leadership. He was senior Dock Master, no matter who else was there. But it was questionable if that outranked the department of the treasury. “I think we should find a way out of here of course. Does anyone have any tools on them? Maybe we can get this door open.”

“Oh brilliant,” Crocker said. “From Dock Master to master thief.”

Becket fought the urge to grab the old man and throttle him.

People shuffled around. More murmuring. A woman spoke up. “I’ve a hairpin. Those thugs took my broach. My beautiful broach! My grandmother gave it to me on her deathbed. Those bastards! It was made of the purest gold.”

“Let’s see that pin,” Becket said before she could continue to ramble. These rich people and their trinkets. But then he was no different when it came to his art.

She handed it over, and the flush of excitement over the potential for freedom was crushed by the discovery it was too small to do much of anything.

“Anything else? Anyone?”

A small figure stepped forward out of the darkness. There was a hovering aura of confidence about the man, despite his stature. When he spoke, everyone listened.

“Got something here that might work. Keep it tucked in my boot for special occasions. Heh. Gotta stay prepared.”

More murmuring, this time with a hopeful slant. Becket did not share their enthusiasm, feeling wary instead.

“Who are you, friend? How did you get here?”

“Well, see, got rounded up at The Prancing Pony with everyone else.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Name’s Zandor. I think we can get outta here, if you do what I say.”

Becket was listening.

Chapter Four

The Arc Lector’s office was adorned with many beautiful objects: paintings, sculptures, and large tapestries that dominated each wall to either side. A beautiful stained glass window stood behind Morlin’s shining hardwood desk, and after an acolyte ushered Muldor into the large room, he was asked to sit before it.

The chair was of the highest quality, with fine silk draping over thick oak. It was very comfortable and easy to get lost in. The environment was tranquil and serene, with light cascading down through the window in a transfixing kaleidoscope of colors. It was stunning and had the effect of lulling one to sleep with its power.

Muldor knew Becket would appreciate the scene, but he pushed the artistic ruminations aside for the moment and knuckled down his mental capacity, for it would have been needed in the minutes ahead.

Morlin stood at the window and remained there for a few moments longer, even after the Guild Master sat. The Arc Lector looked back over his shoulder and smiled. The smile and attempt to comfort him with the look seemed sincere, and this unsettled Muldor even more than a glance of contempt would have.

“What a beautiful city we have,” the Arc Lector said. “It is a wonderful complex entity that whirls and flexes with a myriad of parts all jumbled together to create a synergistic whole.” His smile deepened as he sat. “I sometimes forget how this city moves, the intricate parts and how they work together. It is fascinating to watch.”

“I suppose a man in your lofty position has a very good opportunity to watch many things, being so high above the common man.”

The smile crinkled. “Indeed. Guild Master,” he said and walked around to come in front of Muldor, his thin hand extended. Muldor took it, staying wary. The grip’s strength was surprising. “I have not yet congratulated on your recent promotion. Forgive the transgression. There is no better man for the position.”

Muldor shook the proffered hand and let go. “I thank you, Lector Morlin. The Guild has been my life’s work, but I would have never imagined being its leader one day. I am humbled by the placement.”

Morlin patted his shoulder and went back to his side of the desk. “This is the perfect reason for you to be promoted to the position. Your concern for your people is well known, Master Muldor. Kudos to your sacrifice. It has not gone unnoticed.”

They were watching Muldor. It was no surprise and was to be expected in fact. Perhaps he would have to assign some of his own people to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the church personnel.

The Arc Lector steepled his hands in front of his face. “So, Guild Master, what is it that brings you to our humble sanctuary this morning?”

“Nothing in particular, your grace. The church is something I have little experience with, and I had some spare time this morning, so….”

Morlin’s chuckle was airy and amused, not condescending. “I doubt very much you have ‘free time’ as you say. Forgive my amusement at your expense. I meant no disrespect, but you are far too busy a man to have time to spare to come here willy-nilly. Please, humor me and tell me what is on your mind. Believe that I am a good listener, it comes with the position as Arc Lector.”

Muldor gazed at the man, his eyes blank. The Arc Lector stared back, his intelligent eyes full of expectant warmth. It was like looking into the eyes of a loving parent. But Muldor had his doubts. He stood and indicted the window.

Morlin spread his hands. “By all means.”

Muldor went to the window and peered out. Among the stained glass, there was a clear spot of regular glass that allowed him to see the portion of the inlet leading to the shipping yards. The rushing water flowed by, slapping against the rocks on the north shore. The sheer cliffs rose above the limits of his vision. The rock was a light brown in color, nearer to where the water hit the sides, where an eternity of time had carved a path to the ocean beyond.

“Your mind is on your fleet,” Morlin said. “Is it not, Guild Master? I suspect they are making good progress by now. I congratulate you again on its construction. War and the resultant death are abhorrent, but I do believe it was the correct decision. Lurenz is a scourge upon this world, and he and his ilk should be stomped out from existence if we are ever to create a purer future.”

Muldor felt stunned, for the fleet had flashed into his mind the moment before the Arc Lector said anything. There was a high degree of calm about his persona, an unshakable faith and confidence in his being that was unnerving. Muldor was beginning to understand why Castellan had come to him for advice. Or perhaps the Arc Lector sought him out for nefarious purposes.

Muldor felt the urgency to find out more about the man, this thing. The future of The Guild might’ve been at stake, for it was obvious Morlin was interested in them. But it might’ve been too dangerous to delve too deep. Lives were at risk, even now, as the fleet sailed.

“Your concern for your men is touching.”

Muldor turned to him, shocked, feeling violated, as if the men were somehow reading his innermost thoughts with some witching device. The Arc Lector’s countenance had changed, as had his voice. It was more sonorous and deep as the oceans, old as the mountains.

“It is true your men are in peril. Even now, as we speak, many of them go to their doom. You placed them in this position because you believed it would secure your place as Guild Master. Is that not correct?”

Muldor shook his head to clear it. “No. I mean… no! My concern is with the men’s lives and the future of The Guild. We provide jobs, we….”

“Give men security, yes.” Morlin sat forward and was no longer smiling. “You also give yourself and the other Dock Masters security in your jobs. Money and control are powerful temptations and so is
pride
, my dear man. You are so very prideful.”

The man’s face was hard as steel, and Muldor saw a burning, eternal fire leap into his eyes as he came to stand in front of the window by Muldor.

“This is why you have come here today. You are sick, Master Muldor. Like most men of this town, you have let pride blind you to the One True Word, and this will lead to your damnation.”

Muldor swallowed and found himself so intimidated by the burgeoning force of the Arc Lector he almost turned away and ran. The man’s eyes bore into his, the sharp features as fierce as a hurricane.

“Yes, you are a very sick man. Make no mistake, your mind needs healing and only the One True Word can provide an ease of this suffering. Will you listen?”

Muldor could not answer, for he had no voice.

* * * * *

“You said you could free us,” the one named Becket said.

Zandor cleared his throat. “Sure but what happens then? Have you folks thought that far ahead. See, I don’t live here. You all need to consider how to take back control of the situation.”

The wealthy men and women around him muttered to one another. Some had answers, more had questions, and they all spoke over each other.

“What do you mean?”

“The police will handle it.”

“We escape of course! What else?”

“But where do we go? They had taken our homes! There’s nowhere to go.”

“They might be waiting for us right outside!”

“They could kill us as easy, right here and now.”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Quiet! All of you!”

Zandor chuckled. The last exclamation had come from Becket, and he admired the man’s leadership and nerve. The man talked to them like they were children, for that was how they were acting. Zandor wondered how far he could have swayed the man into chaos if needed.

“Waiting here gets us nothing,” Becket said. “There’s no reason not to escape. Maybe they think it’s secure enough not to bother to guard it. They wouldn’t take us hostage, only to kill us later. After we break free… we’ll go from there.”

Zandor felt eyes on him, and he held up his lock pick set and jingled it. “Do my best, boss.”

He went to the door and got to work. Meanwhile, the people around him talked again, this time with more enthusiasm mixed with impending terror.

“Oh, but those men are robbing us,” said a fat slob. Zandor could smell his sweat and blubber. “All my precious things… my home! Those vile men are in my home, right now!”

“Be quiet, Mister Devin. Crying about it won’t change anything.”

“Leave him alone, McGrady. He’s right. They
are
robbing us as we speak. Why pay so much to these security men if it is so easy to pull something like this off? All that wasted money.”

“Yes! It’s a scam, I tell you. That agency was already suspect in my eyes, now this! Oh, enough I say. It’s time for us to move on, find something else.”

“Whine all you want, gentlemen,” a woman’s voice said. “I for one have safety precautions in place. They will never get to my safe.”

Zandor let them prattle on some more, but it made opening the door more difficult than it was. The key for the door was in his hand. It was important to keep gleaning information from the fools, so it would’ve been easier later to rob them more.

“Got it,” he said a few minutes later and popped the door open.

A flood of relief tinged with apprehension washed through the crowd of two dozen as the door swung open and torchlight spilled inside. They blinked in front of the open door, muttering and unsure about what to do next.

“You are a handy man to have around,” Becket said.

Zandor smirked. “At your service, sir. It’s lucky I don’t live here, or I might be getting robbed like you all are.”

“Indeed. Yes, you said you didn’t live here. What brings you to Sea Haven?”

“Business. Run a security operation in fact. Maybe we should talk after this mess is cleared up.”

Becket hesitated, looking him up and down. “Perhaps we should.”

People started shoving them forward through the door, but Becket took charge once again. “Hold on, everyone! We don’t even know what’s out there. It’s best to proceed with caution.”

“Damn it, man, anything is better than here! Let us through!”

“I must get out! Let me by.”

People shouted and clamored, and chaos reigned for many moments. Zandor stifled a chuckle and motioned for Becket to come forward with him outside, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m sure it’s fine. You were right, too. Looks like some kind of warehouse here.”

Becket frowned but could not stop the forward momentum of two dozen people. They exited in a flurry of silk robes and huffing breath. The poor dock master got elbowed in the face by a puffing prune, and Zandor took note of how unskilled he was in a physical sense.

He stumbled back and put a hand to his face, cursing under his breath. Becket was tall and thin with a light step. He was handsome in a sort of aristocratic way, with curly light brown hair. He stepped back from the press of bodies, and Zandor stepped with him, having no trouble staying out of the way, and he steered him clear of the throng.

“Thank you, Master Zandor,” Becket said and looked around.

“It’s just Zandor.”

“Oh, well, my thanks. Yes, we’re near the shipping yards. But who knows how safe it is for all of us to be out in the open. I don’t think they would neglect to leave a guard, even though we were tied.”

“I reckon that’s true,” Zandor said, nodding, looking thoughtful. There were boxes and crates stacked outside the warehouse, with the inlet to their left. Moonlight spilled down, and the shock of light was mild enough. At that moment, there were some shuffling noises to the side of the warehouse, and many of the people gasped and yelled as two thugs, looking as if they had just awoken from naps, stumbled towards them.

“Hey, what’s this now?”

“How’d you all get out?”

The thugs rushed up, brandishing swords and kicking at the wealthy people. One man got knocked back with a broken nose, and a woman screamed.

Zandor sprinted at the thugs and launched himself into the air, driving a straight kick into the first man’s gut. He was careful not to cause much damage but enough to make it look good for the watchers. The man knew the agreed upon script and doubled over.

The other thug cried out and swung his sword, but Zandor was faster. He ducked and rocked him with a straight jab to his jaw. The man lost consciousness on his feet and fell like a brick, crumbling at Zandor’s feet. Oops. It was harder than intended but whatever. It looked more authentic.

Zandor shook his hand. It stung. And the knuckle on his right fist was split. Even better.

The other thug was beginning to recover, but the former prisoners became braver, and one man grabbed the fallen sword and held it to his throat. The hood raised his hands in surrender.

“Good job,” Zandor said and took the sword from him. “We’ll hold ‘im here ‘til we get some answers. And everyone else….” Facing the crowd, he had their complete attention. “If you all wanna reclaim your homes, you better follow me and do everything I say.”

Everyone listened.

* * * * *

It was close to midnight. The moon hung low in the sky, bathing the scene in wondrous light. A strong breeze sprang up, and the Lord Governor of Sea Haven shivered on his horse. It was cold for the season. Autumn had just begun.