The Agent (36 page)

Gordon cleared his throat and stood. “You know, Artemisia’s independence celebration begins in a few days. Nearly their entire shipping armada will be sailing through Leva’s waters and right past our port. If Garran did have an army, it would be the perfect way to land a massive force. Perhaps we should require an inspection before allowing them to come near Anatolia?”

“As I said, those ships belong to The Guild,” Joshua argued. “You are talking about nearly a hundred vessels. Not only is that unnecessary, it would delay the armada by days and cause diplomatic strains that could complicate my plans in Artemisia. Their independence only came about thanks to Anatolia’s army. It is as much our celebration as it is theirs.”

“You are both right,” Gregor said. “I think for the time being, it would be prudent to increase the watch along the docks. I don’t like not knowing what Garran was doing in Artemisia. He never does anything without good reason.”

CHAPTER 36

“What is this place?” Adam asked as they rode up the packed dirt road and looked upon the small village nestled in the trees of an expansive forest.

“Wooder’s Bend,” Garran answered.

“Wooder’s Bend…” Adam chased the memory flitting about near his brain’s periphery. “Isn’t that the name of the town you are from?”

Garran stared straight ahead and nodded.

“What are we doing here?”

“It’s on the way and is as good a waypoint as any. The next closest town is Westhill, and it’s nearly a full day’s ride. I need a drink, and I’d like to sleep in a bed tonight.”

“Who’s?” Liam asked with a snort.

Garran shrugged. “We’ll see how the night goes. You best pray I get lucky, or it might be yours.”

“Garran, please don’t make a scene. I know you have a history here, but we don’t need the attention,” Adam cautioned, almost pleading.

“Don’t worry, these people wouldn’t know you from a proper toilet, and I have no intention of reconnecting with my past in any way. I’m perfectly happy with slipping in and out of town without anyone even knowing I was here.”

“Uh-huh,” Adam responded, doubtfully.

“So…I guess we’re just going to let that ‘slipping in and out’ comment go?” Liam asked. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it had become my fulltime job. I’ll get him next time.”

Garran cast Liam a sideways glance but did not comment. “There’s no real inn in this crap hole, but Old Lady Mirabelle rents out rooms to travelers on the rare occasion they stop over—if she’s still alive.”

The boarding house was easy to find, second only to Mayor Alessi’s in size. An old woman knelt in a flower patch near the front, dutifully plucking out the invading weeds.

Garran swung out of the saddle. “Miss Mirabelle, do you still rent rooms?”

The old woman looked up and narrowed her eyes as recognition dawned. “Only to merchants, travelers, murderers, and thieves, but certainly not to the likes of you. My standards might be low, but I have some.”

Garran smiled at the cantankerous old woman. “Please, my companions and I need a place to sleep for the night. We’ll be gone in the morning, and I promise to behave.”

Mirabelle snorted. “Your promises could fertilize my daisies.” She looked at Liam and Adam. “Your friends look proper enough. I guess I can spare a room if you have coin, but no drinking or fornicating! I run a Godly house, and I’ll have none of your shenanigans!”

“You have my word.”

“More promises. I’m sure to have some prize-winning flowers this year. Supper is in an hour.” She pointed at the front door with her garden trowel. “Go through there. Take the second room on your right.”

“Thank you, Miss Mirabelle. Speaking of low standards, is Claire still around?”

“No, she married that fat boy in Westhill shortly after you ruined her.”

“Did she…conceive?”

A wide grin split the old woman’s craggy face. “No, not her…”

“What do you mean, not her?” Garran asked, his fear spiking and making his heart pound.

“Not for me to say. I’m no gossip.”

“The hell you’re not.”

“Fine, I am, but it’s more fun not to tell you.”

Garran held a hand over his stomach. “I really need that drink now.”

“Garran, you promised to not cause trouble,” Adam said.

Garran ignored Mirabelle’s derisive snort. “I’m just going to have a drink or five. I’m not going to look for trouble.”

“A man never looks for his own ass, but it’s always there stinking up the place,” Mirabelle muttered as she dug out a weed.

“You know…” Garran rolled his eyes and sighed. “Take care of the horses. I’ll be back tonight—unless I find better accommodations.”

It took less than ten minutes for Garran to walk across the town and find the tavern. Despite the town’s growth, likely sparked by the trade road, it looked smaller than ever to Garran’s eyes. Living in the capital and seeing so much of the world, he now wondered how something so insignificant could have such an effect on his life.

The town was big enough to warrant two taverns now, but Garran chose the one he remembered. It was after work hours, and the bar was full. He paused just inside the doorway, the number of strange faces rivaling those he recognized. He moved in when a man stood up at the bar and vacated his seat.

Garran sat and ordered a whiskey. He had just finished the glass and ordered a second when a voice cut above the general din.

“Hey, you louts need to check your boots before you come in! It looks like someone tracked in a big pile of dog crap and scraped it off on the barstool!”

The announcement earned several laughs, but Garran ignored them. The man sitting to his left got up, and someone took his place.

“Don’t start with me, Dwight,” Garran warned without turning to face his stepfather.

“I thought maybe you got killed on that road crew,” Dwight said. “So much for answered prayers.”

Garran flicked his eyes to his left. Impossibly, Dwight seemed to have aged even worse than he had. His skin was sallow, his eyes jaundiced, and a network of tiny veins crawled across his nose and face. He picked up the glass the bartender had just refilled and took a sip.

“What happened?” Dwight asked. “Wait let me guess. You finished with the road, went to Leva, and tried to whore yourself out as a fancy boy, but when that left you penniless and lying in the gutter, you decided to crawl back under this rock.”

“Dwight, I’m going to give you one chance to leave me be before I kill you despite knowing that you are too stupid to heed my warning.”

Dwight chortled. “You haven’t got the balls. You were a worthless little turd when you left, and you’re a worthless little turd n—”

Garran flicked his wrist, his sleeve knife dropped into his hand, and he buried it in Dwight’s chest in the blink of an eye without spilling a drop of his drink. The talking ceased and several men made to move toward him.

He set the glass down on the bar and stood with his hands touching the tops of his reaping blades. “Four seconds.”

The man nearest him held the handle of his knife but did not draw it. “What?”

“Four seconds. That is how long it will take me to add every one of you to the body count. Is he really that good a friend to you?”

The men in the bar looked to each other, marking the cold certainty in Garran’s voice. Most of those who had advanced took a step back. One of them told someone to fetch the sheriff.

Seeing that the crowd was not going to turn violent and risk death on Dwight’s account, Garran retrieved his knife, wiped it clean on Dwight’s filthy shirt, and slid it back home before resuming his seat and finishing his drink. He had just gotten a refill when someone else took Dwight’s vacated stool.

“Dammit, Garran, did you come back here just to kill Dwight?”

Garran turned his head, noted the sheriff’s badge, and smiled. “Matt, you’re the sheriff? How the hell did that happen?”

“After you left and the attacks on the road increased, Mayor Alessi decided that we needed a proper lawman. I petitioned for the job and got it.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, but it’s not good for you. I have to arrest you, Garran.”

“No you don’t.”

“Dammit, yes I do!”

Garran looked behind him and saw five men, two wielding crossbows, ready to make good on his arrest.

Garran turned his collar and flashed his agent’s pin. “No, you don’t. He was interfering with an agent in the performance of his duty. I was fully within my right kill him for that and a host of other things, paramount of among them being that I damn well felt like it.”

Matt’s face blanched. “Good God, Garran, they’ll hang you for pretending to be an agent!”

“Oh, they’ll do worse than that, but don’t worry; Remiel himself bestowed this pin and the duties that accompany it upon me himself.”

Matt let out a long breath and forced his muscles to relax. “You’re really an agent?”

“Hard to believe, eh?”

Matt motioned for his posse to stand down. “I would have an easier time believing that you renounced your wicked ways and was ordained Arch Bishop.”

Garran turned at the sound of a commotion near the tavern door. Nina burst into the room and dropped to her knees next to Dwight’s body, wailing.

“How could you?” she cried.

“How could I not? A better question is why did I wait so long?”

“You are a vile, despicable monster!”

“I suppose there are worse things than for a son to meet his mother’s expectations. Thanks for setting the bar so low.”

Nina gazed upon her son, her eyes red and her heart filled with sorrow. “Are you truly so coldhearted? Have you nothing to say for what you have done?”

“Um…you’re welcome?”

Nina stood, her instinctive fury crying out to strike her petulant son, but she refrained. “You are no son of mine. I disavow you, and I hope you die a most horrible death.”

“All in good time,” Garran responded without emotion.

Nina took a deep breath, turned her back on Garran, and stalked toward the door.

“Mother,” Garran called out. “If it makes you feel any better, I met my real father.”

Nina stopped and turned, her face slack with shock. “What? He’s alive?”

Garran flashed a cruel smile. “Not anymore. I killed him too.”

Nina’s entire body convulsed. She was barely able to summon the strength to keep her legs beneath her and bolt through the door, her face buried in her hands as she fled the room.

“Garran, that was cruel even for you,” Matt said as several men lifted Dwight from the floor and carried him away. “Was it true?”

“Yes, but in my defense, he tried to kill me first.”

“Does anyone not want to kill you?”

“No, it’s pretty much everyone these days. Speaking of people who probably want me dead, Miss Clarabelle hinted that I might have…left a something behind when I last departed. Do you know anything about that?”

Matt slowly nodded. “Yeah, you knocked up Ada Penders.”

Garran slapped his hand against his forehead and laughed. “Oh no, not Ada. She was such a homely little tramp, but she made up for it by being generous. What ever happened to her?”

Matt’s face creased into a deep scowl. “I married her.”

Garran stopped laughing and had the decency to look chagrined. “Shit, sorry. So…you’re raising my child?”

“I am. We’ve been able to convince most people that he’s my son.”

“Should I meet him or something?”

“You absolutely will not.”

“Thank God. Well…this sure took an awkward turn.”

***

Garran stumbled back to the room he had rented, tripped over his bag, and barely managed to catch the lamp he knocked off the nightstand before it crashed to the floor.

Adam sat up in the bed, ready to fight or flee. “Garran?”

“Sorry.”

“I’m surprised you came back here instead of defiling one of the local women.”

“The night’s still young. Scoot over,” Garran ordered as he kicked off his boots and climbed onto the bed.

“Not a chance!” Adam protested. “You have a cot over there against the wall with Liam.”

“I’m not sleeping on a damn cot tonight. Don’t worry; I’m not in the mood for your boygina tonight.”

Adam scooched to far side of the bed as Garran lay down and stared silently up the ceiling. “What did you do?”

“Oh, not much. Met with some old friends, had a few drinks, killed Dwight.”

Adam flipped onto his side to face Garran. “You killed your stepfather? Is that why you went to the bar?”

“What? No.”

“You knew he would be there.”

“No I didn’t. He could have died while I was away for all I knew.”

“Garran…”

Garran sighed, and his voice trembled as he spoke. “I thought it would give me some closure. I blamed him and my mother for all the shitty things I’ve done.”

“So you killed him.”

“I gave him the chance to walk away! He chose!”

“You knew he wouldn’t do that.”

“I thought…I thought that by killing him I could kill my past, that maybe it would free me from whatever held me.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No, it’s just one more crappy thing I’ve done on a long, long list. It wasn’t a totally selfish act. I thought it would free my mother from an abusive life, but now she despises me.”

“You can’t save everyone from themselves. Sometimes, you just have to let them live the life they have chosen, and if it hurts you, then you have to choose not to be a part of it. Your problem is that you never let it go. You never really left Wooder’s Bend and the life that created you, so you continue to hurt and do things to numb the pain. It’s like being shot with an arrow, but instead of removing it so you can heal, you just keep changing the bandages. It will never heal until you pull it out.”

Garran chortled. “Pulling out has always been a problem for me. I have a son here.”