by Randy Nargi
The man smiled a gap-toothed grin and bowed. “Very good, sirs.” Then he left them alone. Finally.
Mortam Rowe wasted no time. He shut the door tightly after the innkeeper and then, from his bag, withdrew a roundish, flat item the size of a man’s outstretched palm. It was a scrying crystal, keyed to another in Lhawster.
Mortam Rowe glanced over at Keave, and was relieved to see that his partner had stretched out on one of the beds, happily winnowing down his sugar crystal.
Sitting down at the table, Mortam Rowe activated the device just as he was taught, speaking the steps half aloud as he went through them.
Half a minute later, the surface of the stone rippled and then fogged over. Tiny points of light swirled within the crystal’s depths—almost like stars in a night sky reflected in a slow-moving river. Then the image changed and the jowly face of an old, fat wizard appeared.
“Master Kodd,” Mortam Rowe nodded in greeting.
“Ah, Mortam Rowe. I trust you are interrupting the peace of my afternoon with good reason.”
Mortam Rowe knew that the old mage had the attention span of a baby shrew, so he quickly reported on his progress and described the quandary of Prichard’s.
“You were right to contact me,” Harnotis Kodd said. “I believe our employer would want this matter handled with a bit less attention than might result from the cold-blooded slaughter of thirty souls in the heart of the gem district.”
“Indeed, Master.”
“Stay where you are, but take no further action. I shall endeavor to contact you tomorrow or the next day. There may be another task for you gentlemen.”
Before Mortam Rowe could reply, the scrying crystal clouded again and Harnotis Kodd’s image faded.
Well, that was that.
Mortam Rowe took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Speaking with Harnotis Kodd always made him feel like he was being judged.
“Are you done?” Keave asked.
“What?”
“With your work?” He sat up and looked at Mortam Rowe expectantly. “I was thinking we could look at the riverboats in the morning.”
“Of course, my friend. First thing tomorrow, we shall take a stroll down to the Meredel and see what wondrous boats have appeared here in Gilweald from far-away lands.”
Keave had a perfect memory and a bit of a one-track mind, so when Mortam Rowe arose the next morning, the first thing he heard was Keave asking “Is it time to see the boats now?”
Mortam Rowe stretched and dragged himself out of bed. “Yes, right after we get some food and perhaps a nice cup of tea.”
Keave’s face brightened, and he jumped up from the bed. The motion caught Mortam Rowe by surprise and he dodged back. This caused Keave to erupt into laughter and come after him, with an open-handed strike to the face.
“Oh no you don’t!” Mortam Rowe parried the strike and then darted his hand in and flicked Keave’s nose.
“Bastard!”
Keave could move like lightning when he wanted to, and he stomped in and tapped Mortam Rowe’s cheek with three fingers.
Then the scuffle turned into a full-scale slap fight.
When they were done, both men found themselves sprawled on the floor laughing until tears clouded their vision.
Keave found his feet first. “Good one, Mortam.” He helped Mortam Rowe to his feet.
“I believe I scored three hits to your seven, but who’s keeping count?” Mortam Rowe smiled.
“Can we see get our meal now? And then see the boats?”
“Of course.” Mortam Rowe packed up the scrying crystal, straightened his clothes, and led the way downstairs.
As they exited, the innkeeper gave them a sideways look, as if implying something untoward. Mortam Rowe was tempted to remove the man’s scrotum and feed it to him, but then he reminded himself of the need to keep a low profile.
Chapter Eight
The docks were a five-minute walk south. All they needed to do was follow their noses towards the skunky reek of the river. The Meredel was wide and slow here, and the Gilweald harbor was choked with flat-bottomed riverboats—some from as far away as Nordowns—all flying their provincial colors.
As the last major port before Rundlun, Gilweald could supply just about anything a man wanted—legal or otherwise. If he and Keave weren’t currently engaged, it might be profitable to spend some time getting to know some of the players here.
Two streets down from the main docks, they found a tavern called the Allard whose kitchen was still open—even though it was past the time when most of the inn’s customers had departed for the docks.
The food and tea were passable, but still Mortam Rowe and Keave ate quickly so they could return to the docks. There they found a bench with a good view of the wharf near a net-maker’s shop. They sat in the morning sun and observed the hive of activity at the river’s edge.
After a time, Mortam Rowe glanced over at his colleague. Keave could spend all day on the docks watching the riverboats come and go and marveling at the dockers and lumpers as they swung crates from hoists and moved barrels along special ramps to a boat’s hold. Well, best to let Keave enjoy himself. So Mortam Rowe leaned back, shut his eyes, and soaked in the sun, trying to be patient.
But by noon Mortam Rowe was eager to move along. He had seen enough boats and the smell of the river was getting worse by the hour. In addition, he was irked that Harnotis Kodd had not contacted them yet. Keave was reluctant to leave—as expected—but Mortam Rowe lured him away with the promise of more candy.
They quickly walked back to Lowmarket where Mortam Rowe purchased some provisions, including wine for himself and more sugar crystals and a toy wooden puzzle for Keave. Then they returned to Tayton Street outside of Pritchard’s. Mortam Rowe wanted to see if the body of the Pritchard’s clerk had been discovered. But even after waiting around in the park for an hour or so, he had seen no sign of anything unusual at the shop. A few well-dressed people came and went, but no city guard. And no big sellsword.
The clerk had said that the man was named Leocald Grannt, which struck Mortam Rowe as a rather posh name for a mercenary. Still, it might not be a bad idea to ask around at a few inns.
“I’m afraid we’re wasting our time here, my friend.”
“Can I have a sugar crystal then?” Keave asked.
“When we get back to the hotel.”
“But I’m hungry now.”
“Let us get a proper meal then, and you may have your sweets afterwards.”
That seemed to satisfy Keave, and Mortam Rowe led the way to the closest tavern, where they enjoyed an early supper. Then they began canvassing the inns around the neighborhood, asking about a big man named Leocald Grannt.
Fortune smiled upon them at the fourth inn they inquired at: the Ryden Arms. The stout innkeeper told Mortam Rowe that a man named Leocald Grannt had stayed there, but had departed two days ago.
“Are you Gard Coverstone’s new men?” the innkeeper asked.
“We’re in consideration for the job,” Mortam Rowe said, improvising. “May we see the room where Grannt stayed?”
The innkeeper raised one bushy eyebrow. “And why would you want to do that?”
“As I said, we’re trying to make a good impression. Finding Mr. Grannt would be a real feather in our caps.”
The innkeeper hesitated, but eventually was swayed into helping them once Mortam Rowe produced some coins.
“Just a quick look then. But I don’t believe the man left anything behind.”
Mortam Rowe glanced at Keave. His friend had begun to take an interest in the conversation. The locestra only needed a scrap of cloth or some hair in order to pick up his quarry’s trail.
But they were out of luck. The bedclothes had been washed already and, unlike their own room at the inn in the warehouse district, this guest room was spotless.
As they departed, Mortam Rowe gave the innkeeper a few more coins to ensure his discretion and asked, “Did Leocald Grannt ha
ppen to mention where he was going?”
“I only said two words to him. Didn’t even know who he was while he was here. It was only yesterday that Lester and Milly heard the story of poor Mr. Jeigh and how Mr. Grannt had found him on the road, ambushed by bandits and such.”
As they left the Ryden Arms, Mortam Rowe checked the scrying crystal in his satchel. Still no word from Harnotis Kodd. Mortam Rowe wondered if he should contact the old mage with this new discovery. In the end, he decided against it. Harnotis Kodd was a stickler for protocol. Unless they had something more definitive to report, it was best to adhere to the mage’s wishes.
Mortam Rowe feared that the sellsword’s trail was too cold—even for Keave. Still, it would be nice to locate the man and question him.
As night began to fall, they headed back to the warehouse district, cutting through a deserted plaza ringed by tall, darkened buildings.
Keave was prattling away about a woman he saw in one of the inns. Apparently she had striped hair like a chipmunk which fascinated Keave to no end.
“Probably just a glimmer,” Mortam Rowe said. As he spoke, he caught sight of some movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and—at the same time—reached for Belle at his hip.
A half-dozen men—local street thugs by the looks of them—drifted into the plaza from all sides. They were armed with saps and daggers and truncheons wrapped in leather—probably to muffle the sounds. In less than a two heartbeats, the men had surrounded Mortam Rowe and Keave.
“Ho, ho, ho,” the leader called. “You’re not trying to evade the toll collectors, are ye?” He was a tall, thick man with thin sandy hair framing a hard, weathered face and a heavy brow.
Mortam Rowe stopped and wiped at his eyes, buying time. The sight of a quarry such as he and Keave must have caused this lead thug more than a moment’s deliberation.
On the positive side of the ledger was the fact that they were well-dressed with high-quality cloaks and boots and were laden with recent purchases. Also, one of the would-be victims was certainly slight of build and rather short.
On the other side of the ledger was Keave, a heavyset, lumbering man who stood several inches taller than the leader.
But another positive entry was the fact that the two men were unarmed and likely ignorant of just where they had stumbled into. Well-dressed gents did not wander into the warehouse district—especially after dark.
“Can we do this without blades?” Mortam Rowe said to Keave under his breath. “I wouldn’t want your new clothes to get bloodied once again.”
Keave nodded and his head lowered in that dangerous look he got.
“What you two prattling on about?” the lead thug asked.
“Nothing of concern, my friend,” Mortam Rowe said. “What is the amount of the toll?” He stepped forward, closer to the sandy-haired leader.
The man shot a grin over at one of his compatriots and said, “How about we say… oh… everything you’ve got?”
The closest thugs laughed in appreciation, relaxing a bit. That was good, Mortam Rowe thought. It gave Keave time to size up the opposition.
“Rather a rich toll, don’t you think?” Mortam Rowe bantered back.
“What? Were you interested in haggling?”
“Perhaps.”
Mortam Rowe inched closer, but it really wasn’t necessary. The sandy-haired thug stepped forward and slapped his sap against the palm of his hand. The sound echoed throughout the plaza.
“I have an offer for you,” the thug said. “You two give us everything you’ve got, and if it’s enough to make Bonesy happy, we’ll only break one of your arms. Each, that is.”
“And who is Bonesy?”
“I am!” Another thug called from across the plaza. This one wielded an iron pry bar as long as Mortam Rowe’s arm. “And the cockles of my heart ain’t easily warmed.”
Mortam Rowe made a show of surrendering. He slumped his shoulders and looked down at the ground. “Very well,” he said. “Serves us right for trying to take a shortcut.”
“Very wise, sir. Now hand over your purse.” The thug leader turned to Keave. “You, too, fatty.”
“Would you mind, terribly… holding this for me?” Mortam Rowe proffered his package, and the man reluctantly took it.
“What’s in here, then?”
“Our dinner, matter-of-fact,” Mortam Rowe said, reaching towards an imaginary purse at his waist. “Some cheese. Bread. Smoked trout…”
Then, in a flash, Belle whistled through the air in a savage uppercut. It struck the leader right under his chin, crushing the man’s windpipe and gouging out a good portion of his throat. The sandy-haired thug crumpled to the ground burbling blood, and Mortam Rowe handily caught the package as it fell from the man’s arms. He eased it to the ground and lunged towards Bonesy, stabbing Belle into the soft spot beneath the man’s breastbone.
Crack!
Bonesy’s eyes widened in shock and pain as the truncheon impaled him, then Mortam Rowe ripped it back out and kicked the man to the ground.
In the meantime, Keave exploded forward—moving faster than a bear running down a deer.
The thugs were lazy—or stupid—and didn’t keep enough distance from one another. Which was good for Keave because he took two men down at once. He got his hand around the neck of the closer man and slammed the man’s head into a stone gate pillar, then he backhanded the second thug he had targeted. With fists as big as teapots, Keave’s blows were crippling at best and often fatal. The man’s head jerked up and back as Keave hammered him again and again, shattering his jaw.
Mortam Rowe turned back—just in time to see a fist flying towards his face. He dodged back and felt the breeze tickle his cheek as the lanky thug who threw the punch lurched forward, off balance. Mortam Rowe used the thug’s momentum and spun him forward against a wrought-iron ornamental fence. As the man rebounded, Belle arced up and kissed him right on his temple. It was a passionate kiss indeed and the lanky man folded to the ground, twitching as he died.
The last two men tried to run, but Keave got lucky and caught a handful of the older thug’s cloak, which he used to jerk him off his feet. Then Keave fell upon him, snapping his neck, then hammering the older man’s skull against the cobblestones for good measure.
Mortam Rowe wagered that the last thug believed he might have a chance. After all, he was a good dozen feet away from where Keave was mashing his fellow gangster’s head into the cobblestones. And from the looks of the man, he was a proficient runner—with a lean physique and long legs.
But while it was true that Keave was occupied and Mortam Rowe might not be able to overcome the long-legged thug’s head start, there was one other factor which sealed the man’s fate.
Belle could fly.
While the impact of a thrown truncheon wasn’t enough to kill the thug, it was enough to momentarily stun him.
And that was the end of that. Mortam Rowe fell upon the man and snapped his neck.
While Keave dusted himself off and gathered their packages, Mortam Rowe used a very sharp, very thin stiletto to silently dispatch any of the thugs who were still alive. It was an efficient process. Just a swift jab through an eye or temple. The whole thing took less than a minute.
“Are you proud of me?” Keave asked as they left the plaza.
“You did well,” Mortam Rowe said. “Not a single drop of blood on your jacket.”
Keave smiled and popped a fresh sugar crystal into his mouth.
The walk back was uneventful, though the inn’s common room was now much louder and more crowded than when they had departed this afternoon. Rough-looking men sat shoulder to shoulder at the bar and packed themselves around a handful of round tables. Off in the corner a balladeer mangled a Southern folk song so badly, it was a blessing that most of his warbling was drowned out by the crowd.
Pushing their way to the back stairs, Keave cut a swath through the throng of drinkers as Mortam Rowe followed. In situations like this, he was happy to let
his large friend act as the vanguard. Thankfully they made it up to their room without incident although Keave was huffing and puffing by the time they arrived up on the third floor. To keep him occupied, Mortam Rowe gave his friend the puzzle he had found in Lowmarket and Keave squealed in delight and dove for one of the beds to play with his new toy.
After lighting the lamps and pulling off his boots and cloak, Mortam Rowe stretched out on the other bed and gazed into the still scrying crystal. He wondered if Harnotis Kodd would contact them tonight.
It would be easy enough for Keave to teleport them back to their own abode outside of Lhawster, but if Harnotis Kodd needed them here in Gilweald, they would just have to teleport back—and that would tire the locestra. Keave was not pleasant to be around when he was tired.
Yes, as uncomfortable as it was here at this squalid establishment, it made more sense to remain here until Harnotis Kodd beckoned once more.
Mortam Rowe took a deep calming breath and thought about their dead end at Prichard’s and Leocald Grannt.
A few possibilities played through his mind, but in the end, Mortam Rowe concluded that it was most likely that this man Leocald Grannt knew who Phaler Jeigh was and brought him to safety in order to claim a reward. The clerk had said as much.
In all probability, the sellsword hadn’t even seen the Dubbard lot. Which meant he was not worth getting too excited about and also not worth contacting Harnotis Kodd about.
Mortam Rowe would just have to be patient.
But then the crystal started to swirl…
Chapter Nine
Harnotis Kodd lived in a large estate in the Gold Quarter of Lhawster. Mortam Rowe and Keave had been ordered to report to the estate at noon the next day, but Mortam Rowe knew enough about their employer’s habits to make sure they arrived a quarter hour late.
The butler, Carlon, ushered them in and escorted them to the spacious parlor which the retired mage used as a reception room and office. The parlor was adorned with tapestries and expensive carpets and gilded furniture. All very ornate and ostentatious. Not to Mortam Rowe’s taste at all.
