A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (23 page)

BOOK: A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence)
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As William uttered these words, the company’s representative looked sharply at him and stared intensely for a few heartbeats before resuming his previous casual attitude.


What use has the warehouse been put to?

asked Vasile.


Um… I am not sure, but rumors have reached my ears of furtive comings and goings at all hours of the night, and I myself have seen a covered wagon entering the property in the small hours of the morning.

Vasile clicked his tongue in annoyance.

What you are saying is that you have no idea. You have seen a wagon entering the warehouse? Are not warehouses for storing goods?

William looked perplexed.

But surely you can see such activity is suspicious?


Actually, no, sir. I deal in truths and evidence. Do you have proof anything untoward is occurring there?


Not proof exactly… Suspicions.


I cannot entertain suspicions without credible proof, so obtain some or dispense with allegations of impropriety for the duration of this case. Am I clear?

William’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he nodded once, not pleased at all. He swallowed a few times.


Well – ahem – then I will without delay outline the grievance I am bringing to you today.


Please do.


A number of weeks ago it came to my attention that the property on Cuttlefish Street would be coming up for sale.

He stopped to wipe his brow with his handkerchief.

Through my agents, I was able to verbally secure possession of the warehouse from the owner, and the exchange of title for a sum of ducats was only a formality to be carried out in due course, once all details had been agreed to by both parties.

Vasile found his head tilting forward in boredom at William’s words. Another squabble over a property title, and no doubt a lot of hearsay and ‘He said, they said’ was on the horizon. He rubbed tired eyes.


However,

William continued,

the day we were to exchange title and ducats, we found a different situation. To my amazement, this man’s company,

he glared at Quiss,

had somehow taken possession of the property and title, and the previous owner had packed up and left for parts unknown. As you can see, there was no alternative for me other than to bring this case to the magistrates, who I am sure will deliberate the matter and come to the obvious and satisfactory conclusion.

Vasile looked up.

Indeed, we will come to a conclusion.

He saw William smile, assuming the matter was all but settled.
As with all the nobles, he thinks they’ve a right to trample over the less fortunate. But in this case, maybe he has something.…


Does the representative of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern have anything to say?

asked Vasile.

The tall man took a step forward.

My name is Luphildern Quiss, and I am by position and aptitude a head trader for the company.

His voice was incongruously firm and melodic.


An odd name. I don’t recognize the provenance.


Indeed, many of the company’s senior shareholders originate from a small city quite a way inland. You would not have heard of it.

He spread his hands self-depreciatingly.

The property in question also came to our attention, much as it did to House Voltain, and for reasons he has stated we were also interested in purchasing the title. Alas for William, our offer was accepted over his by the owner, due to it being substantially higher.


That’s outrageous,

interjected William.

The owner was adamant he would not accept another offer, and our verbal agreement was binding.

Interesting, thought Vasile. Both were telling the truth, but as he knew all too well, you could speak what you thought was the truth and not be correct.


Sir William, you believe the owner agreed to sell you the property no matter what other offers were made.


Yes,

came the reply. Truth.


And Sir Quiss, you state the owner did in fact sell to your company for a price substantially above Sir Voltain.


That is correct.

Truth again.


So the owner must have changed his mind and accepted the higher offer.


I simply cannot believe this happened,

exclaimed William.

The man had a longstanding relationship with my family, and we had both mutually benefited from many business deals. He would not have changed his mind without some coercion.

Truth again.


Ah,

exclaimed Vasile.

You are accusing the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern of bringing pressure to bear on the owner in some manner that he felt he had no choice but to accept their offer or suffer dire consequences?

William nodded.

That is my belief, yes.

Truth again.


And where is your proof?


Beg pardon?


I believe that you believe you are correct. But I am yet to be convinced what you believe is actually the truth and that you have proof of said facts, do you follow me?


I do, yes… ahem…

William coughed into his handkerchief.

Unfortunately, all I have to go on is the actions of the owner before and after the event, and my own feelings as to the situation.


I see,

said Vasile. He turned to the trader.

And you, Sir Quiss, do you deny any such underhanded maneuvering on the part of your company?


I most certainly do, and I object in the strongest possible terms that Sir William would suggest such a thing without being able to prove his claims.

Vasile paused. Sir Quiss was lying.

On the surface, there wasn’t anything Vasile could do. The deal was sealed and the previous owner uncontactable. All William Voltain and his house lost was a business opportunity, which he was sure they had plenty of. Why would Quiss be lying about the method of obtaining the property? And why would his company need to resort to such measures? He decided to probe a little more.


The warehouse itself, Sir Voltain, you said it is on Cuttlefish Street, correct?


Yes, across from the docks, a prime position.


But there is nothing else remarkable about it, apart from the location?


Not that I can think of.


And, Sir Quiss, there is nothing else that would have made the property essential to your company acquiring it?


No.

Interesting, a lie.


Gentlemen,

interrupted the attendant,

I am afraid we are out of time for today.

He gestured to the dimness of the room, which had visibly increased since the case had started, and the other petitioners, who had been waiting all day, reluctantly filing out the door.

Vasile shifted his weight in his chair again.

Tomorrow morning I expect both of you here, as soon as the building opens for the day.

Sir Voltain nodded curtly and took a step away from Sir Quiss before giving him a disapproving look and turning on his heel. He hurried across the emptying room.

Sir Quiss had a smile on his face.

Good day,

he said to Vasile before he too turned and, with an unhurried walk, exited the building.

 

It was late evening. Vasile sat at a table alone, elbows resting on the surface, careful to avoid the spilled puddle of wine in front of him. Although he had downed a drink or two more than was advisable, the puddle hadn’t been made by him, but by a drunk patron who decided he needed to talk to Vasile. After Vasile pointedly ignored him, the man had left and, the inn being the place it was, the puddle remained.

Smoke filled the air, irritating his eyes, which were red-rimmed and watery. The smell of sour beer, wine and puke mingled to create an unpleasant aroma. A few oil lamps around the walls did little to brighten the room. The main source of heat came from a stone fireplace burning peat. Although it was late, there were two men deep in conversation at a table, while at another three men had been playing cards for some time.

Vasile gazed into his cup, which had a few mouthfuls of cheap wine left. He fished out his brass timepiece, a gift from his wife, careful not to look at the inscription inside when he opened it. Sixth hour of the night. Dawn was five or so hours away. He knew he should have left a while ago but couldn’t bring himself to go home to an empty room. Clicking back the cover, he slipped the watch into his pocket and swirled the dregs of wine in the cup. He should leave the wine and go home. Really he should. But knowing and doing were two different things.

A blurred shadow appeared on the table, flickering in the dim light. Vasile looked up to register a thin middle-aged man in gray wool clothing, a serious look on his ruddy, bearded face. Despite the quality clothes, he had a rough look about him, a hardness.


Vasile Lauris,

the man said. It wasn’t a question.


Good evening. I am afraid you have the better of me, sir…?

Without asking for permission, the man pulled over a stool and sat opposite Vasile. He dropped four copper ducats on the table. A moment later a serving girl arrived bearing two cups of wine, which she unceremoniously dumped in front of him and scooped up the coins.


Let me buy you a drink,

the stranger said, pushing one of the cups towards Vasile.

The house red. We believe it is your drink of choice these days.

Vasile hesitated. He made it a point never to drink so much he couldn’t function the next day, and one more wine would put him close to the edge. But a free drink was a free drink.


What’s your name?

he asked.

The man shook his head.

Names can be dangerous to know, and I prefer to remain anonymous.

Vasile scratched his head, shrugged, and picked up the cup.

To your health,

he said and took a sip.

So, who is the ‘we’ you mentioned?


They said you were sharp, though I have to admit, in your current state, I thought you wouldn’t be thinking too clearly.


What’s wrong with my current state,

protested Vasile.


Why nothing, nothing at all.

The man looked around the room, as if searching for something.

Vasile started to feel edgy.
This man is acting decidedly odd.


Let me get straight to business,

the man continued.

I am a representative of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern. We believe there is a case you are currently undertaking in your responsibilities as a magistrate, whereby the good name of our company is being besmirched by the petty and unwarranted grievances of William Voltain.

He stopped, as if uttering such a long speech was foreign to him. His cup of wine was in one hand, but he hadn’t sipped from it, even to wet his lips.

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