Death's Reckoning (32 page)

They brainstormed for some time. Marston’s idea was a simple one: assassinate Raul and be done with it. While not without its merits, Muldor didn’t like the idea. They needed his legs to swing along with the other conspirators, Maggur and Dollenger. It needed to happen in public, so that The Guild would appear to be active in its pursuit of the ones responsible for the attack on their city and thus no longer complicit.

Muldor’s eyes widened. “The mercenaries.”

They looked at him, not understanding.

“What about them, Muldor?” Becket said. “I don’t understand. They are gone, as far as I know. How can we use them?”

“The City Watch,” Muldor said. “Their job is to keep our streets clear of foreigners. That is their primary objective. I know most people are not aware of this, but it is in their charter. With the exception of the Royal Guard, Town Watch is the closest we have to an active army force. The police are only supposed to be employed in city matters, not in case of invasion.”

He looked at Becket, and the man’s forehead creased. A moment later understanding entered, and he looked at Muldor with a slight gleam in his eyes.

“Yes, that might work. Raul, in effect, can be blamed for the mercenaries more or less invading our city; and for killing our citizenry during the riots. It was their job to protect the citizens, and they failed in that duty. And they failed to repulse the mercenaries when they arrived.”

“They had a leader among them” Muldor said, thinking, sending his thoughts back to when Castellan had talked of it. “I’m trying to remember his name… it escapes me for the moment. I have it written down, though, in my office. Let us find this man.”

“For what purpose?” Becket said. “We can leverage what the City Watch didn’t do with what their charter says they are responsible for, and we can prosecute Raul.”

“But this mercenary captain will be the witness we need to make it stick.” He turned to Marston and Delora. “I need that information. There is a notebook in my desk. If it hasn’t already been pilfered by our enemies, I need you and your skillful cadre to get it for me.”

Marston smiled and nodded, sharing a look with Delora. “Should be easy enough to break into your office. We’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you, Marston. Your part is very important. This information is paramount.”

“That’s all well and good, Muldor but then what?” Becket said. “So what if you know his name? He might be half a continent away by now or dead. A lot of the mercenary scum died during the attacks.”

“No. If someone of his stature had died, I would have known about it. Some of my contacts have close ties with the mercenaries on this side of the coast, and the man Castellan hired was well known. For some reason I cannot think of his name, nor his city of origin, and we must have both. Let us gather more forces, political and physical.”

“I want to bring Crocker into this. We need his people too.”

“Perhaps, my friend. But let us keep him on the fringe for the moment. The enemy is watching him. They know not where his loyalties lie, and I doubt they will approach him, so let us keep it that way.”

They spoke for some time longer, going over details. They decided after getting a hold of the documents from Cutter, that they had to get them protected from their enemies. So Muldor instructed Becket to rotate the documents incriminating Maggur and Dollenger between safe houses, with only communication between each other’s handlers. Even Muldor wouldn’t know where the signed papers were, but he could give the order, and they would be produced.

Deep down Muldor was worried over what Cutter would do. The wizened man had powerful resources. Most of it tied up in his stockpile of coveted goods the thieves had worked for so long to collect. It was his by right as benefactor of the now defunct but resurrecting Thieves Guild. Muldor figured that was the main reason he hadn’t refused when Castellan ordered Jerrod to kill the head of their band, Goodwin Turner, and started them all down this path.

Castellan had also killed Muldor’s superior, The Merchants Guild’s second in command, a man named Donello. Muldor had signed the man’s death certificate himself because his body had to be brought through the Western Docks, and that meant Guild business.

But whatever Cutter had planned for revenge would have to wait. Once they found the main mercenary captain, the man who had worked with Castellan, who could give evidence to the contract that caused them to enter into Sea Haven, they could make Raul culpable for his City Watch’s failure in protecting Sea Haven from foreign invaders.

Whether or not this man would help them remained to be seen, but someone from the City Council had to suffer, to be seen with the Dock Masters at the gallows, to be shown as responsible for the city’s fall. That way, Lord Cassius and the rest would understand The Guild’s power. They would give them respect in the future and understand they could not take away everything Muldor and his cohorts had worked so long and hard for. It had to be that way.

So they broke apart and waited for word from Marston and the thieves. It didn’t take long. Muldor waited inside a small house near the shipping yards. Styles was outside to give him the signal. Muldor felt like a raw recruited thief again back when he and Giorgio trained together.

Giorgio was always the most nervous but also most talented of their group. They were all orphans, raised on the street or in the Sea Haven orphanage. They stuck together during their thief training, hoping to join the Guild, so they could be a part of something bigger than they. They were taught to hide, to wait and be patient. Let the enemy think you were out of the fight, strike back when you could when the situation was more advantageous to your side.

Muldor glanced out his window, the pale, dark night all around the tiny shack, and saw Styles running across the street carrying something that looked like several of his notebooks. The young man knocked three times, then twice more and Muldor opened the door.

“They found it,” Styles said and handed a notebook over.

Muldor looked through them, hoping they had grabbed the correct ones. There were many papers on his desk, and it could’ve been confusing for anyone that didn’t understand the method behind his clutter. But they had found the appropriate notebook and subsequent entry where the information laid. He read it and pursed his lips.

“You find what you need, Muldor?”

Muldor blinked, forgetting for a second young Styles was there. “I did. But there are multiple names in the entry. Drake and Constance, two mercenaries that I believe held the reins of many of the mercenary contingencies… these two are the main commanders, and we need to contact them.”

Muldor had met one of them, Constance, and he found the man brutal but intelligent. Drake, from what he remembered, was Castellan’s main contact within their ranks. He looked over his notes as Styles stood there, looking nervous and awkward. Muldor smiled and waved him away.

“Go on, Styles. Thank you.”

He looked around the room, staring at the door and shuffled his feet. “Sure ya don’t need me for anything?”

“No, if you are tired have Johnson relieve you. You’ve done well, Styles. Good night.”

He scampered off, rushing outside and then on to home. Muldor wondered how long his runners and informants would last. It might have meant death for them to be caught alongside him. They were well paid, but that only went so far. These were dangerous maneuvers they were attempting.

After reading through his notes, he found out where Drake claimed city of birth, or at least the area. He lit a candle and held it outside the door, summoning another runner to him. A minute later, Styles surprised him by coming in.

“Where’s Johnson?”

“Wasn’t available. It’s alright, Muldor. I’m fine. What do you need?”

Muldor handed him several sheets of rolled paper. “Coordinate with Becket and Lawson. I have made copies, but inform them to destroy the paper once they have the information they need. They have their instructions. Make haste, Styles.”

The young man ran off, and Muldor trusted him to do the simple job well. He was smarter than the average dock worker, and after what happened at Dollenger’s apartment, Muldor knew he was trustworthy. A lesser man would have fallen prey to bribery or coercion.

The scrolls contained information on how they might find Drake, a small collection of towns south of Janisberg, where Castellan had found him.

There was no telling if they could find Drake or if they would be able to convince him to return. But Muldor was confident. Mercenaries wanted coin, and they now had plenty of it, thanks to Cutter’s acquiescence. Muldor ran The Guild in every conceivable way, both of them.

There was no choice but to plunge ahead with the plan. It was a perilous course, one with a hundred contingencies, dependent upon a dozen others, but it was what they had. The only thing to do was wait.

* * * * *

The sound of laughter, like the gentle tinkling of bells, filtered through the room. A welcomed relief to the men gathered there. A woman, a beautiful young whore named Shelby, shrieked in gaiety as a man said something into her ear that might’ve been funny, and she went along with it.

Many such conversations went on in Madam Dreary’s opulent meeting room. Men and women flirted. They drank and laughed and did whatever they wished. It was a festive atmosphere not everyone shared.

Captain Bartholomew Cubbins eyed his drink. It sat there, and it did nothing but stare back at him, stupid thing. It had done nothing to assuage his guilt and anguish over their failure. It was complete, and even the sweet release of his faculties would not eliminate the desperation deep in his bones.

It was more than emotional pain. There were physical ailments, along with the rest of his men, those with him at Madam Dreary’s. A stiff knee, bruised skull, and skinned elbow. His head hurt something fierce. Jenkins had a bandage across his scalp from a collision with a piece of debris from the explosion, and Bigus was still cleaning dried blood out of his mustache.

Maybe he could drink himself into a stupor long enough to forget the past few weeks. Numbness was always preferable to pain. He stopped flirting with his drink and downed it in one gulp. The burning whiskey ripped down his throat and landed hard in his gullet. Much better. It was time for more. Several more.

The man sitting to his left wore the same defeated expression, and Cubbins didn’t blame him since every living member of his remaining family had died horrible deaths only a couple hours ago. Unri stared at the table, his swarthy features drawn and haunted. His entire line was destroyed.

“Is over,” he said, the first words out of his mouth. It seemed by drinking his first shot of whiskey, Cubbins had opened a dam of emotions from all of them. Jenkins groaned and rubbed his head. Bigus, his mustache bristling, coughed and turned away as it turned into a fit of hacking phlegm.

“All we sacrifice, all gone. My life… my family.”

Cubbins pushed a drink under his face. Unri looked at as if it were a dead rat.

“Trust me,” Cubbins said. “It’ll make you feel better. Go ahead and drink up.”

After a few more attempts, Cubbins got him drinking. Soon, they all had a pile of empty glasses in front of them. A serving girl came to their table and asked to clear the top, but Cubbins told her not to bother.

“I wish to know how many it takes to make me feel this way. I wanna… wanna keep track.”

She smiled, looking uneasy, but let them be.

They sat in silence. Bigus excused himself. Cubbins knew the old man wanted a whore and good on him. They were all dead men soon so enjoy life while possible. None of it mattered. Nothing they did made any difference. Jenkins hadn’t drank much and eyed them with a sober, serious look.

“We need to round up everyone that saw that, Captain. All the witnesses, yeah? We need to contain this. People will get scared. They might riot again.”

“It won’t make any difference, Jenkins. People saw it. Everyone in the city will know about it, hear stories about it, before two days pass. So we should have a few more drinks.”

They drank, but Jenkins continued to piss him off by drinking little. Cubbins ordered him to have a shot, or he’d have him hanged for insubordination. Jenkins drank and coughed it down. He had better wipe that look off his face.

“You know, maybe this evil guy is finished,” Jenkins said a few minutes later. “Like maybe he’s had enough from this town and moved on. A lot of people have died. This thing’s gotten enough flesh, like they said, Captain.”

Cubbins felt very drunk and couldn’t quite focus on the noises Jenkins was making. It upset him that his men wouldn’t address Unri, that the foreigner was treated with mistrust like all the people from Sea Haven did. That was part of the problem with this city.

“He’s right here, Jenkins! He’s sitting right next to us, you ignorant city bastard. Unri’s lost his entire family. You show him some respect.”

His face felt flush with emotion, and the volume of his voice surprised everyone near them. They eyed them with suspicion. Cubbins sat up, but kept his eyes on Jenkins. The young man squirmed and understood what his superior meant.

“I’m sorry about that, Master Unri. Meant no disrespect. I am only trying to understand what maybe happens now.”