Lair of Killers (9 page)

Cassius felt exhausted. The hour was much past the time he would have retired for the evening. His guards grew restless as well, and so were the remaining security men, though he did not cast them more than a passing glance of disdain every so often. After the rebuke by Dillon and the other police officers, he had sat and stewed for several minutes, thinking up ways to exact revenge upon the simpletons. Torture would have been too good for them. They might’ve became martyrs. Blackmail was better, for they would become his tools to use as he saw fit.

But an hour had passed, and the thoughts no longer gave him pleasure, for it began to dawn on him that the impudent men were not coming back. They had meant what they said. This was a clear dereliction of duty.

His captain of his guards whose name escaped him stirred in his saddle. He eyed Cassius with open annoyance. Cassius had had enough. “Is there a problem, captain? Thinking of getting another job? Leave if you wish. There are plenty of ditches need digging.”

He gave the man credit for keeping his calm. “My lord, sitting here does nothing for us. My duty is to safeguard your life. If this neighborhood is barred to our party, then we can find a tavern to bed down for the night and settle this in the morning.”

“Yes,” said another guard. “If the police won’t do their job, send in the City Watch. They have superior numbers.”

Cassius gave them his best condescending glare. “A scenario I have considered, gentlemen. Alas, the purview of their duties does not cover this particular neighborhood, as ownership is through a private, foreign administrator. Political bureaucracy is a burden at the best of times.”

“But, my lord, if the private security is compromised,” the captain said, “this would constitute an emergency, would it not?”

“Yes, and a situation that can only be rectified by the police of this city if the security furnished by the foreign investors are unable to fulfill their duties. You don’t understand, our good man Dillon is correct. Their charter is royal, and they are privy to their own authority. The City Watch cannot interfere as this neighborhood is outside the confines of city administration.”

The captain bristled and sat straighter. “Then maybe we go and settle this.”

Cassius smiled. “Very brave of you, captain. But a dozen men against an unknown force capable of taking out the entire security force with such ease is a poor plan. I would be sending you to your deaths, and then I would be unprotected.”

“Then we go to the police station and demand they do their job! This is ridiculous, my lord. You are the Lord Governor and should not be treated this way.”

Cassius rubbed his temples. His bones ached. “Ah, fine. We shall go. I have no argument in mind that may persuade them, but I suppose it is worth the attempt.”

Even though he felt deflated and annoyed, his exhaustion and desire to end the night, one way or another, overrode his better judgment. He let them lead him towards City Hall and the police station. The burning lights of the wealthy quarter, hanging on their gas bulbs, faded behind them. They rode by the remnants of the new jail, and the husk of a foundation stared back at him with cruel eyes.

Braziers burned and lit up the paved street around the station, and the only sound was the clip clopping of their horses’ hooves. Cassius’ captain had them pull up short, and the Lord Governor glanced over at the steps leading to the front of the jail. Several men stood and regarded their group with gazes as stony as the surrounding buildings.

The captain spoke, his commanding voice echoing across the street. “In the name of his Lord Governor Cassius, I command the police force, under employment by the city of Sea Haven, to perform their duty to safeguard citizens in need.”

The police ignored him for the most part, but some scoffed and others chuckled. Most of them were smoking and drinking. One of them spat on the street in front of the captain’s horse. The captain bristled, and his men looked ready to defend his honor as their hands went to their swords.

Cassius rolled his eyes. More male posturing and machismo nonsense! It never changed. He addressed the police. “Officers, if you would be so kind as to inform Lieutenant Dillon I wish to speak with him, I would appreciate it.”

The officers looked at one another for a moment and then muttered to each other. After a short conversation, one went off and returned a few minutes later. He stood on the steps and looked Cassius straight in the eyes.

“The Lieutenant said to pike off. My lord.”

His bodyguards shuffled their horses, and the steeds blew steam in the cold night air. Cassius shook his head and hung it, feeling the pounding sensation that came with extreme fatigue and dehydration.

“How poetic,” Cassius said. “The lieutenant is quite the wordsmith.” He turned to his men. “I’ve had enough of this. Let us be off. Captain, you mentioned perhaps staying at an inn. I believe Madam Dreary’s is open to all weary travelers.”

They rode off.

* * * * *

Muldor stared. He held his breath and prepared for flight or fight. It was an animalistic urge. The Arc Lector had changed, become something beyond a man. His presence was palpable, intense. Morlin was no longer a being of flesh and blood but a force of preternatural nature.

But Muldor steeled himself and stood his ground. “Your words have no meaning for me. They are baseless.”

“Baseless? Bah! You know nothing. The One True Word is known to all men, whether they realize it or not. It teaches us we are brothers and sisters, that we are all connected as one.” Morlin put his hand on Muldor’s shoulder. The limb was like steel. “You have a following, Guild Master, as I do. The common man loves you. They speak of you here at Tranquility’s Palace. You make a supreme effort to safeguard their livelihood. Your pride does you well in this case. You desire prosperity for all. Is this not true?”

Muldor looked at the hand on his shoulder. The physical contact had jarred him out of his lassitude, the opposite of what the Arc Lector had intended, no doubt. He turned away and went back to the desk. Morlin dropped his hand, and the fire in his eyes dimmed, though the man was no less intense.

Muldor had to steady himself on the desk. “I desire… I desire that my actions may relieve suffering for those under my care. That these men at the docks may feed their families by the jobs I help provide.”

Morlin smiled. “That is noble of you, Muldor. I understand what you mean. It is important for men like us to stand together in times of great strife. We can unite this city and quell this petty squabbling. Don’t you see? We can end this suffering, of all peoples! We can end this chaos that has plagued our city for so long.”

Muldor shook his head and found his focus. The Arc Lector was alternating between confrontational and coy. He recognized the ploy and now realized how dangerous the man before him was.

“This is what happened to Castellan. You planned on bringing him under your thumb, so you could take control of the city council, but your coup failed. All of it was orchestrated by you, though.”

The Arc Lector’s gaze held menace and amusement. “You presume much. Castellan du Sol was one of my flock, this is true. His actions were his own however. Do not assume they had any connection with this office. What proof have you?”

“I have Castellan. I have seen him at the asylum. Do you deny you placed him there? When last I saw him, that day when Janisberg’s Navy blasted apart much of the city, he was taken into your care. Do you deny this?”

Morlin’s eyes flashed with surprise, for only a moment, but then he smiled, nodded at Muldor. “Well done. I should not have underestimated you. Yes, Castellan needed further guidance, that of a professional, and thus I placed him with Warden Harris.”

“For what purpose? He committed many crimes, and should have been sent to Janisberg to face justice.”

“Where he would have received none. His punishment now is far worse than any he would have gotten by some foreign power, I assure you.”

Muldor nodded. “That I agree with. I can imagine no worse place, with the exception of the city orphanage, than Murder Haven Asylum.”

The Arc Lector’s eyes flashed, and Muldor grew wary.

“What did you say?”

Muldor said nothing but rather stood still, trying to regain his focus, wondering what he had said to trigger this response. Morlin looked like a volcano about to explode, and had Muldor been a weaker man, he might have fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness.

Morlin stayed still and spoke, his voice like thunder. “I will
not
have that phrase uttered in my presence! I have spent my time here attempting to erase this city’s reputation of depravity and violence, and you will not call it such when you speak with me. Do you understand?”

Muldor stared.

“
Do you understand
?”

Muldor gave a slight nod and bowed, feeling that his knees may give out. “I’m afraid I have taken up too much of your time, Arc Lector. Good day.” He stepped away to the door but felt the eyes of the man on his back, boring into him.

As the Guild Master left, he felt glad, even lucky, to have escaped unscathed.

* * * * *

Becket had no idea what they were doing or why, but he was too frightened by the prospect of doing nothing to question anything. The last few hours had shaken him. He thought he was accustomed to a certain level of violence, considering how long he had lived in Murder Haven, but with his house, his only source of salvation, his one true haven from the disease the city festered, with it threatened, there was nowhere else to turn.

This Zandor fellow was his only hope. They had lost some of their original group and there were now around eighteen other escapees. The rest had run off the instant it seemed safe. Becket did not blame them. It was natural to be wary of a helping hand, but he also believed there was safety in numbers so here he was.

Plus, there was no guarantee of safety inside the city. Things were breaking down again, just like before the riots started. The citizens were revolting, taken up arms against the ruling elite. It happened from time to time and seemed to becoming more frequent as years went on. Now there was a direct threat to the wealthy. Men had control of their homes, their entire neighborhood, and Becket was willing to do whatever it took to get it back.

Zandor appeared to know what he was doing, and though Becket did not trust him, there was no choice. He wanted money, but Becket was in no position to deny assistance. The man had skills and promised to find his own people, men that would help keep them all safe and perhaps try to win back the neighborhood. They were not far away.

Becket walked along the streets on the outskirts of the shipping yards, very close to the diminutive yet powerful man. They were near the Eastern Road and the tree line that hugged the wealthy quarter to its north eastern side.

“So what can your people do for us, Master Zandor?”

“It’s just Zandor. And I told you before. They will get you all safe enough. Plus, we can get your neighborhood back under control.”

“For a price, I assume.”

Zandor shrugged. “It’s what we do. For services rendered. That’s what happens most times, yeah? We can discuss that later, don’t you worry.”

Becket kept walking. Something didn’t feel right about the whole thing. It was too convenient for Zandor to show up all of the sudden, but it was impossible to conceive of someone having the full resources to pull something like this off. Plus, Becket had no other solution to the problem at hand.

He slowed down and pulled up short when he realized they were heading back towards the wealthy quarter. Zandor stopped and looked at him as the rest of the group stared and muttered.

“Zandor, listen, I think for safety’s sake we should go to the police station. It’s not far from here. There’s no need to put these people in harm’s way.”

Others agreed with him. Zandor surprised him by nodding.

“Sure thing, boss. If that’s how you wanna play it, fine. The offer still stands, though. My people can take care of things faster, you know.”

“Understood and appreciated. You are welcome to accompany us to the precinct to give a report. I’m sure they would appreciate whatever information you can impart.”

“Whatever you say.”

Becket took a moment to speak with the others of the plan. It was too dangerous to risk going back to their neighborhood, regardless of Zandor’s assurances. Everyone agreed. Sea Haven residents were suspicious of outsiders by nature and Becket was glad for once.

The man’s eyes were on the back of his neck as they walked, and Becket felt guilty not trusting him. But this town was not long for the gullible. More often than not, trusting someone got you killed. And Becket would rather be rude than dead.

Dawn was approaching, and Becket realized how tired he was. He wanted only to crawl into bed. The stark realization that it might not happen every again, that his home was gone forever, struck him.

The streets were beginning to come alive. There men and women walking with him were a ragged bunch. Crocker looked exhausted and older than ever. He was about to turn to dust. Even the genial Haller looked crestfallen and sullen. Dock Master Miller was an odd duck, walking with his head down and hands in front of his body. He kept sighing, fidgeting, and twiddling his thumbs as if the boredom drove him mad. Becket wondered what level of excitement it would have taken to stimulate the young man if kidnapping, violence, and the prospect of a city wide riot weren’t enough.