by Mike Truk
“But a farce with purpose. As long as you were busy stealing personal seals, you weren’t mounting a rebellion.”
I sat back, head reeling. Could it be? That the entire sordid edifice of the Family - from the enforcers to the con artists, the burglars to the gentlefingers, the whores to the smugglers to the forgers to the fences - all of it was just a grandiose way to keep the worst elements of the city busy and distracted?
“Why?” asked Cerys. “Why go to such elaborate lengths when he could simply command anybody who caused trouble to cut their own throats?”
I felt a ripple of unease at those words, saw the sixteen men raising their daggers once more -
“Trial and error,” said Veserigard with a shrug. “In the beginning, he tried running the city with an iron fist. But he told me that no matter how many rebels or trouble makers he killed, a dozen more would spring up to take their place. It was a never-ending job, and he grew tired of it. So he created the Family, and in time it grew, became more successful and complex than he ever imagined. A self-perpetuating mechanism to employ and control the most dangerous people in the city.”
“More dangerous than the nobility and the priests?” asked Netherys.
“Far more dangerous. The wealthy and powerful are few and easily led. The millions of desperate poor? An endless source of talented, ambitious men and women with nothing to lose. So he gave them something to strive for, instead. A mirage, an illusion. A family to call their own, a ladder with distinct rungs on it which they could climb, and in doing so, convince themselves that they were important, that they mattered, that they were in control and not puppets dancing to another’s tune.”
“So if we destroy the Family…” I whispered.
“Then you destroy the finest means to control the city,” finished Veserigard. “You cast Port Gloom wide open to every dangerous man and woman to conquer and make their own. You allow discontent to blossom in the streets, for factions to arise against you, and doom yourself to a paranoid existence in which every shadow most likely harbors a threat, so that you can never relax, never consider your job complete, but must endlessly hammer and root out conspiracies whose sole goal is your destruction.”
I ran my finger over the seam of my closed lips, considering the butler. He stood, shoulders thrust back, chin raised, as if victorious. As if he’d defied the odds and scored a point that should have always been denied him.
“What is it you want, Kellik?” Netherys’s voice was soft. Not confrontational, but coaxing. “Now that Everyman Jack is dead. Now that your father is gone. What is it you want?”
I rubbed my finger across my lips and stared at the hempen sack. Ovoid. No telltale sodden side where any other decapitated head would have soaked the fabric.
“What do I want?” I asked softly. Thought of Baleric standing by my side in the tavern, staring at the shelves, issuing me his warning.
Thought of the Star Chamber with its constellation of notables. The high priests of Port Gloom’s administration. Thought of Everyman Jack as he’d once been, a roguish prince in the heart of his degraded court.
“I want Tamara back here. I want riders sent out after her. She can’t be too far along the road to Olandipolis.”
Veserigard nodded wordlessly.
“I want…” I tapped my fingers on the table surface, rippled them like the fin of a fish. “I want Imogen’s Web torn apart, the women liberated. I want those who know how to operate the web, how to rebuild it, silenced forever.”
Veserigard gulped and raised his chin a fraction higher.
“I want the Aunts and Uncles destroyed. They knew the truth behind the Family, accepted Aurelius’s plans without being coerced. So they’ll die.”
“That will see the Family destroyed,” said Veserigard, voice thick with emotion.
“It will. With the Aunts and Uncles gone, with the Web destroyed, the Family will be no more. I’m not saying there won’t be thieves’ guilds. Organized crime. That the remnants won’t find a way to continue operation. That’s fine. But the overarching plan. The machine. The oppression. I want that gone.”
“And in its place?” asked Netherys. “For something I have long observed over the course of my life, and especially during the darker times, is that it’s always easier to tear down then rebuild. What will you erect in the Family’s place?”
I pursed my lips, turned my gaze to Imogen’s portrait, then out the window. “I’m not sure. There’s the Star Chamber and the Provost to think of. Mellonis, who stole my achievements when I was still the Count of Manticora. The injustices I was fighting against. The causes I was ready to die for. I’ll fight for them still.”
Pogo tapped at his curved chin. “Economic equality?”
“Amongst other things,” I said. “Term limits, punishments for bribable judges, the works.” I sat forward again, growing eager. “On one hand we set the people free. Destroy the Family, allow them to determine their own priorities. On the other hand, we institute a series of reforms that level the playing field. Dismantle the systems that sustain oppression and injustice.”
“Laudable,” said Veserigard, then audibly gulped a couple of times before bringing himself under control. “But may I ask why?”
“Why?”
“Why go to such efforts for the people of Port Gloom?”
I stared at the man till he paled.
“It’s a good question,” said Cerys softly.
“You don’t agree with it?”
“I do, actually. But it’s crucial to understand one’s motivations. Why, Kellik? When we first met, your vendetta was personal. You were seeking to avenge a betrayal. Now those vendettas are over. The men who wronged you are dead. So why act in this manner?”
I stared at my hands, at the whorls over my knuckles. No cuts, no scabs, no scuffs, no scrapes. My hands would never look brutalized again, no matter how much I abused them. “Tamara started it, I suppose. When she first healed me. Changed the fabric of my soul. Caused me to start caring about the good.”
“But she stopped,” said Cerys. “And since then you’ve done things far beyond what she’d countenance.”
“True.” There was no doubt how she’d react to my ordering those guards to kill themselves. “I don’t know. I don’t have a neat answer for you. But somewhere along the way justice became important to me. Perhaps seeing how the Nautilus company was operating, enslaving the marsh goblins, profiting off pain and misery. Perhaps it’s a reaction to the Family, to Aurelius himself, the arrogance, the conceit, thinking that they were better than everyone else. Than folks like myself. Perhaps I just want to prove them wrong.”
“They’re dead,” said Cerys, voice stony.
“But their opinions live on within my head. Their judgments. I want to prove them wrong to myself.”
“Prove them wrong, how?”
“By showing them the common folk out there can do better. Be better. If given a chance. The six months Netherys and I traveled toward Port Gloom as the Count of Manticora, the speeches I gave, the things I saw and heard… I don’t know.” I shifted my weight uncomfortably in my chair. “I’m like a cauldron. All of those ingredients have been poured into me and set to boil. My approach is the result.”
Netherys hesitated, clearly picking her words with care. “If you are truly committed to equality, to allowing the people to better themselves, then perhaps you should remove yourself from Port Gloom.”
“Leave?”
“Leave. Let them determine their futures, for better or worse.”
“You think my help will be for worse?”
“I think it will be unnatural. That Aurelius became the monster he was after walking a long road. And that perhaps he started it with good intentions.”
“You think I’ll end up creating a new Web of Imogen?”
She met my gaze square on. “I don’t know. But if you leave, that’ll answer the question definitively.”
“And go where?”
“Wherever yo
u like. Wherever you’re not tempted to take control of others.”
“And the dozen Aunts and Uncles who are out there right now, carrying demons in their souls and in charge of pockets of Port Gloom?”
Netherys made no answer.
“What of the women still trapped in the Web? You saying I should just walk out on them, too?”
“Perhaps,” said Pogo, raising a knobby digit, “I could suggest a middle ground? It might be wise to remove the other supernatural pieces from the board, clear away the enemy, as it were, and finish the job you began with Aurelius. Then, with the Aunts and Uncles gone and the Web torn down, we can revisit this question, and determine how much more good can be done.”
I sat back, glowering at Netherys who refused to look away.
“A wise course of action,” said Cerys. “The Aunts and Uncles have to go. I agree with Kellik. They were willing participants in Aurelius’ scheme. We destroy them, undo the Web, and then see where we stand.”
“Alas, there is a complication,” said Veserigard. “We have below a half dozen important men and women who will not wait weeks to be given clarifications. If left untended, Aurelius’ government will collapse and cause far greater chaos than you can imagine.”
“What are you saying?” I asked. “That I have to deal with the nobility and politicians now?”
“I’m not saying anything,” said Veserigard obsequiously. “Simply that ignoring the Star Chamber, the Grand Provost and the provost of merchants will result in chaos. They have danced to Aurelius’s tune for so long now that the silence will drive them half-mad. If it is order and progress that you desire, then you must deal with these men, even if only for a short while.”
I dragged my fingers down my face then nodded. “Very well. At the very least I can order them to maintain the status quo. More chaos won’t help anybody.”
“No,” said Veserigard with a slight smile. “It won’t. If I may? I would urge you appear to them in the guise of the Count of Manticora. Then use your powers judiciously and with great discretion to assure them that all is well. We can say that Aurelius was called away on urgent business, and will soon return.”
Cerys frowned, but I couldn’t see a fault in Veserigard’s plan. “All right. I’ll be right down. Prepare them for my arrival.”
Veserigard placed a hand over his heart and bowed low, then turned and departed.
“I don’t trust him,” said Cerys the moment he was gone.
“Nor I,” said Pogo. “He reeks of insincerity.”
“But for now he’s useful.” I stood, came out from behind the table. “There’s much yet to be learned from him. And as long as he’s under my power, he’ll have no choice but to safeguard my priorities.”
“Still.” Cerys arose and approached me to tug at my jacket, brush dirt off my lapel, then look me square in the eyes. “You need to be careful. And since you won’t, I’ll remain by your side to ensure you’re safe.”
“As will I,” said Netherys. “Though of course, that should go without saying.”
“With Yashara and Havatier gone,” began Pogo, then coughed into his fist and tried again. “With Yashara gone, I shall endeavor to serve you with ever greater fervor. I have no doubt that Pony is of the same mind.”
I turned back to the hempen sack. The sight of it weighed directly upon my heart. “We’re going to bring her back. I don’t know how. But this isn’t the end.”
“If Iris were with us I might have some hope,” said Cerys softly. “But I don’t know anybody else who can help someone come back from a decapitation. We might have to let her go, Kellik.”
“No,” I growled, rage flaring to life within me. “I won’t lose her like this. I will find a way to bring her back.”
Silence greeted my words.
“Very well,” said Netherys, rising smoothly to her feet. “But in the meantime, we have a dozen demon-possessed master thieves to destroy and half as many women to liberate. Let us focus our energies on that for now.”
The fire left me and my shoulders slumped. “Yes.”
Netherys stepped in close and rested her head on my shoulder. Cerys moved in as well, hugging me tightly.
I wanted to break free, to resist the rising tide of emotion that their embrace was provoking in my chest, but when Pogo moved in to wrap his arms clumsily around us all, I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
Staring at the hempen sack I felt nothing but black grief, a gaping sense of loss that no victory in the world could mitigate.
So I laid my head down upon Netherys’s brow and wept, holding them all close, feeling exhausted, worn out, battered, and brutalized.
But even as I struggled with my emotions, my pain, another emotion arose within me. A cold monolith of purpose. An unshakeable desire.
A desire to avenge myself on the Family. On the remnants of my father’s machinery. To tear it all down with such utter finality that it would never be resurrected to oppress the people of Port Gloom ever again.
Chapter 3
I paused just outside the sitting room door and took a deep, deep breath. I held it, chest near to bursting, and smoothed down the fine fabric of the suit I’d borrowed from Aurelius’s closet.
It was a sober suit of black wool edged with pearls and subtle patterns across the chest. The fit wasn’t quite right, but by the Hanged God’s shriveled ballsack, it was a sight better than the filthy rags I’d been wearing just before.
I shoved the door open and strode within. “Gentlemen!”
A heated argument had been taking place, four men having surrounded Veserigard and looking like they’d like to lay hands on him. As one they turned to me and glowered upon realizing I wasn’t Aurelius.
“What contrary times we live in, are they not?” I strode right through the crowd, drawing their reluctant attention behind me like the wake of a bridal dress. “Deaths and upsets, revolutions and uncertainty. Enough to make a man of means lose his temper.”
Neither Berachul, Svanis, nor Mellonis was present. None of the councilors whom had fallen under my sway after the king troll’s death. I’d ordered them to look out after my best interests, but not insisted they come to the manor; most likely they’d hide as best they could within their own mansions, seeking a way to squirm free of my magical commands.
“Lord Manticora,” said Councilor Yavarn, his patrician features arranged into icy disdain. “I thought you quelled and set in your place after our last proceedings. What are you doing here?”
“Funny that,” I said, turning to rest my ass on the window ledge, crossing my arms over my chest and regarding the austere councilor. “I guess I’m like a bad penny. Always turning up when least expected.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Councilor Eamus, rotund and anxious, stepped up alongside Yavarn. “Have you news of Aurelius?”
“Why is everybody so suddenly desperate to see him? Hmm?” I looked from one councilor to the next. “It’s been, what, a day since you last spoke? Why the panic?”
There were grimaces all around. It was Yavarn who spoke, taking the role of the group’s leader in doing so. “We have no need to explain ourselves to a mere magistrate, especially not one who has failed at his every endeavor. If you know nothing of use, then begone.”
“Oh, I know a few things. But I’d like to learn a little more.” Time to lean into my power just a tad. “Councilor Yavarn, why do you need to see Aurelius so suddenly?”
Power resonated within my words.
Yavarn stiffened and answered immediately. “The edifice of government is collapsing. The Royal Provost Albrecht cut his own throat at some point last night. The Provost of Merchants has disappeared, along with both of his lieutenants. There is blood splattered across the Star Chamber. Four councilors have quit the city, riding out just before dawn with unseemly haste. Aurelius will know why.”
Then he blinked, astonished at his sudden verbosity.
I held on to my insouciant grin, but the news hit me
like a slap. “The Royal Provost killed himself?”
“So it seems,” said Councilor Tempork from the side, washing his hands together over and over again. “It’s, of course, possible that foul play was involved, but all evidence points at his cutting his own throat. Albrecht, of all people! Why?”
Councilor Eamus continued right where Tempork left off. “If his suicide was an isolated incident, we could have written it off as the tragic result of a dark mania, but along with everything else that has happened? We would be utter fools to think it a coincidence!”
Interesting. Yavarn’s sudden willingness to talk had opened the floodgates.
“There’s more,” said Magistrate Daramond from the back of the group. Dressed in the blues and gold of the Port Gloom marines, he was in his late forties, his hair grayed at the temples, his face as hard as knapped flint. “The streets are convulsing. The guard is overwhelmed. The commander of the guard has disappeared. I’ve called the marines in to quell violence around the docks, but everything south of the Snake Head is chaos.”
Tempork smacked a fist into his open palm. “What by Fortuna’s most revered and globular assets is going on?”
“And where is Aurelius?” Yavarn turned back to Veserigard. “Don’t tell me he’s away on business. Now? Is he dead? Tell us the truth, man!”
Time to exert a little control.
“We must all remain calm,” I commanded, and my power ensnared each of them, tamping down their tempers. “We are the remaining leadership of this great city, and if we cannot control ourselves, what hope do we have of controlling Port Gloom?”
Deep breaths, reluctant nods, and more than one councilor pushed their shoulders back and stood up a little straighter.
I plowed on before someone could interrupt. “The first order of duty is to elect a new Royal Provost. We need a steady hand at the rudder, especially given the storm we now face. We should host an emergency session in the Star Chamber this afternoon, and elect a new leader, regardless of how many councilors appear.”
I infused just enough power into the suggestion to make it insidiously appealing.
