A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (40 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Just ahead of Buuren and his two men was the residence of House Kesmon, their objective. A gray stone wall to his left, as high as a man and then some, surrounded the House Kesmon estate, punctuated ahead of them by a broad iron gate.

Always wary, Buuren glanced around, searching for signs anyone was eyeing them suspiciously or they were being watched. At this time of night, they hadn’t expected many people to notice them. Nothing so far. This city had become too indolent for its own good, and corrupt. Which was why they were here.

In his mind, he ran over what he knew of the city and the district they were in, Cabbage Town. Home of the almost well-to-do, the not quites, and the might have beens. While Dockside had reeked, Cabbage Town merely exuded an odor of dung and urine from the streets, overlaid with the faint scent of plants from Parkside and Five Flowers to the west, improved with cinnamon, pepper, paprika, mustard and cardamom. For Cabbage Town district was renowned for its spice merchants and food houses, taverns, inns, street vendors and restaurants, all of whom vied to attract the hungry citizens of Anasoma. They were a fair distance from the worst of Dockside, and from what they saw as the decadence of Parkside, though all were unaware the empire they served was no better than a foul slaver.

Cabbage Town was situated east of Parkside, the nobles and wealthy merchants’ quarter, and east again of Five Flowers, home of the not-so-wealthy nobles and merchants. The streets were narrow — two wagons couldn’t pass without one pulling close to a wall and stopping while the other edged past, squeezing through the gap.

The substantial House Kesmon estate was managed by a contingent of household and garden workers: slaves, sentenced criminals or unfortunates that couldn’t pay their taxes, debtors and suchlike. Numerous guards were required to oversee such labor, though slaves hardly ever tried to escape, the penalty in law set by the emperor being hanging for such an offence. Punishments for minor offences, such as laziness or stealing, ranged from flogging to the amputation of a hand or foot. Many slaves used to be free citizens, having been forced into slavery when they couldn’t pay their taxes, or after flouting the laws of the empire.

A cold wind blew in from the sea, and a fine mist shrouded the streets. A dog barked in the distance; down deserted side streets scurried rats busy about their business.

Faint sounds of revelry from a tavern reached his ears and he could hear the conversation of the guards positioned just inside the iron gates — a debate whether they could taste any difference between white and brown-shelled chicken eggs. It sounded as if the dispute had continued for some time without any conclusion forthcoming.

At the height of a newly erupted bout of heated discussion, Buuren goaded his horse forward and his men followed. The gates were barred from the inside, and seeing this, he sidled his mount up to them and struck them three times with the pommel of his sword.

All discussion about eggs was forgotten as the clanging echoed into the night. The guards scrambled to their feet, rushing to see who or what had made such an awful din, each pausing only to grab a flaming torch on the way out.

Both guards pulled their short clubs from their belts at the sight of the three horsemen outside the gates, one with a sword resting across his thighs.

The older guard took the lead and spoke first, pointing his club at the sword.
“
What’s going on here?
”
he demanded.
“
You better have permission to carry that or there’ll be trouble. The Quivers don’t take kindly to unlicensed swords being bandied about. Best you be handing those weapons over now.
”

Buuren sniffed at the guards’ scruffy appearance.
Small chance of that. They’d have to pry his sword from his dead hands.
“
We can’t carry swords around? How would we defend ourselves if we were waylaid?
”

“
The watch takes care of that. Citizens aren’t to carry clubs or swords, nor knives longer than a handspan. It’s the law. Keeps everyone safe.
”

“
Or keeps weapons from the populace in case of trouble.
”

“
I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that. But you better not get caught without a permit or it’ll be off to the mines with you, or a labor gang.
”

“
I’ll remember that. Now, if you will be so kind…
”
Buuren waved at the locked gates, indicating for them to open it.

“
Hang on, hang on, I ain’t finished yet. What’s to stop us taking you in now for carrying a weapon without a permit?
”
The guard rested his club over his shoulder. At his words, the younger guard with the torch took a step back and whispered something, only to be waved away by his senior.
“
See, we’re law abiding men, and we do our duty. No one can say we don’t.
”

“
We have come a long way to see your master, Lord Kesmon, and it would bode ill for you if we were not to see him tonight.
”

The guard affected a puzzled look, unimpressed.
“
You have an odd look to you, I’ll grant you that. Definitely not from around here. Well, we are in a pickle now. Lord Kesmon always accepts visitors until a certain hour, and we usually have no troubles letting people in, but…
”
— he drew himself up —
“
we can’t very well ignore such a breaking of the law now.
”
He turned to his companion.
“
Can we?
”

“
Er, nope,
”
came the reply.

Buuren sighed heavily and rummaged around in a belt pouch. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a gold coin sailing between the bars of the gates to the feet of the guards, where it landed with a clink, gleaming in the flickering light.

“
I trust that’ll keep you silent until we can make arrangements to leave our weapons somewhere while we are in your city?
”

The older guard bent and picked the coin up and brushed dirt from it.

“
Strange make, this coin. You sure it’s gold?
”

“
Very sure.
”

The guard grunted.
“
Well, we think we can let you in. The poor light, you see, plays tricks on the eyes.
”
He motioned to his companion and they wrestled the heavy bar holding the gate closed from its brackets, then tugged one side open.

Buuren urged his mount through, closely followed by the two others. They continued towards the house at a slow pace. The guards lifted the bar back into place and retreated to the guardhouse. The guards’ faded behind them.

“
A fine score for one night,
”
the younger remarked.
“
We gotta split it at the tavern after.
”

“
Sure, sure. Just you don’t spend it all at once. I know what you’re like with the ladies at the docks. Mark my words, one time you gonna catch something that can’t be cured with some powder or a lotion.
”

“
But I’ll have fun doing it!
”

At the house, they dismounted and knocked on the door. A chamberlain spoke to them for a few moments, confirming their business appointment, before admitting them. A slave came to take their horses to the stables.

As his two men, Rechard and Naxel, were ushered into Lord Kesmon’s study, Buuren remained outside and positioned himself at the door. He waited patiently as they went about their sorcerous business. The thought of what they would do made him shiver, but it was a necessary evil. He heard the lock on the door click shut after closing.

Time went by as Lord Kesmon was closeted with Rechard and Naxel. The remainder of the night passed without the door opening. Outside the room down the hall, a servant waited in case their lord had need of anything, only moving to remove the dirty dishes of the supper Kesmon had consumed prior to their arrival. As another servant passed Buuren requested wine and coffee, politely but firmly, as if he had every right to be ordering Kesmon’s servants around.

The creak of floorboards and occasional raised voices were the only sounds he heard, and apart from opening briefly for him to pass the refreshments through to Naxel, the door remained closed.

Dawn came, and as the sun peeked through the windows opening onto the hall, the yawning servant was replaced by another. Slaves rushed hastily down the hall, traveling from one household task to another. One slave bore a branding over his right eye, a small circle, the mark of a tax defaulter.

Another hour passed. Long business meetings were not unknown, and this probably wasn’t the first time their lord had stayed up all night, if something big was afoot. Or so Buuren hoped.

The door cracked open and Rechard and Naxel stepped into the hall, heels clicking on the hard wooden floorboards. Naxel looked haggard, face drawn and wan, but the sorcerer gave him a nod. Success then. Time to leave.

The servant stood to attention and approached, looking nervously at the swords all three carried and had refused to leave in the hands of the house chamberlain.

“
Sirs, may I be of assistance? Will you be breaking your fast here or have need to refresh yourselves?
”

“
No, we’ll be leaving. Your lord will require some morning refreshments, though, and a large pitcher of coffee. See to it, will you?
”

The servant nodded and bowed respectfully.
“
Please allow me to escort you out. I will send word to have your mounts brought to the front of the house.
”

Outside a cloudless blue sky greeted them. They waited silently for their horses, breath steaming in the chill morning air, sun warming their faces, and it wouldn’t be long before the day heated up to a pleasing temperature.

As soon as their horses arrived, they mounted up and exited the house grounds, turning towards Parkside as they left the gates.

Their work was not yet done.

Inside his meeting room, Lord Kesmon sat sweating in his high-backed chair behind his ornate desk. It was carved with creeping vines bearing strange fruit, and tiny imp like faces peered out between leaves and from behind stalks. He had commissioned the desk, and it had cost a small fortune, the master craftsman cleverly adding hidden draws at his direction.

Atop his desk sat writing implements and a stack of papers, along with a mechanical clock and a promissory note with the largest bank in Anasoma, indeed the empire, for the sum of ten thousand gold ducats. Gingerly, he picked up the note and folded it, then popped open a drawer secreted in his desk. Placing the paper inside, he slid the drawer closed with a click and sat back into his chair.

Ten minutes later he was still sitting when his chamberlain, Renen, appeared bearing his breakfast on a tray covered with a linen cloth.

“
My lord, how are you this morning?
”
asked Renen, placing the tray on the desk and removing the cloth. His repast was comprised of braised eels, toasted bread, honey and spiced coffee.

Kesmon started and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t seem to organize his thoughts this morning. They were fuzzy and indistinct; he felt it was like trying to catch smoke from a fire. And he was sure there were matters he had to attend to, many urgent matters. If only this sharp pain in his head would go away he could concentrate.

“
Well. I’m well, thank you.
”

He saw Renen pause for a moment before continuing to bustle around the room, opening drapes and one window to let the sunlight and air in. Kesmon realized he hadn’t thanked Renen often enough for his services. When was the last time? He couldn’t remember.

He blinked in the light then reached for a piece of toasted bread. Dipping it into the honey, he took a bite and chewed. Renen poured a mug of coffee then stood in front of the desk, ready to receive this morning’s orders. Kesmon slurped a few times from the mug and relaxed, shoulders lowering slightly.

“
We have much to do today,
”
he said through a mouthful.

“
We, sir?
”

“
Indeed, we. You have been with me for what, five years?
”

“
Thirteen, sir.
”

“
Ah, and never a complaint or show of frustration in doing your job.
”

“
It is not my place, sir.
”

Lord Kesmon nodded wryly.
“
Indeed it is not.
”

Renen was a good man, a dedicated employee. Was there something he could do for him? Ah, a reward, perhaps? The pain in his head lifted, and his thoughts coalesced. He breathed a sigh of relief.