by David Bokman
“Nay, Bo’sun. Might be I can help you anyway, though. What’s on your mind?”
“Your ship, and its travels. Where are you off to next?”
The Bo’sun held up his hand, quieting Jaio. “I’ll stop you right there, friend. Not that kind of ship, no stowaways. Sorry.”
“Not even for the right price?”
“Well, our kind of ship is the right one to ask if you want to be a stowaway, ‘tis true. Small or medium sized carracks have often given me a lift. But we’ll be staying in Kardh’Ao for a while, and our next trip will just be to the next port.” The Bo’sun took a few steps along the pier, scanning the ships. “There!” he exclaimed. “That ship there, that one is your friend. See? Has the North Sea Cross on it, so clearly travels far. Northerners seem keener on taking on stows, too. Best of luck to you, friend.”
The Bo’sun had spoken true. After a short conversation with the captain of the northern ship, Jaio managed to secure himself a place on their next voyage, in equal parts thanks to his money and his charisma. They were leaving in two days, their destination some northern town he had never heard of. As long as it is far away from this place, it will suffice.
Despite his young age, it seemed like Jaio was soon about to start his third life, and it could not come soon enough. He wondered what his next life would entail, how it would be spent. No crime this time, Jaio, he told himself. Find somewhere quiet and avoid as much attention as you can. In the north, he hoped, nobody would even know of Laentar, and would not ask too many questions. He could be Jaio of Kardh’Ao, Jaio of Grensby, or Jaio of nowhere in particular. What he wanted to be right now, though, was in a tavern. Such establishments seemed scarce in this part of the city, but the Laentarian was eventually able to find one, its sign too old and worn to be read. On the inside, it was not too different from The Barrel in Grensby; this tavern too was not of the spacious nor quiet type. As long as they had food and a bed, Jaio would still be more than happy. “Barkeep!” he shouted, approaching the desk. “I have for you, a proposition most strange.”
“Hm?” said the burly man behind the bar.
“I have in my possession one of the finest threadfins of the port. I suggest the following: I give you my fine threadfin, along with your desired pay for food, and you, in turn, prepare my threadfin for me, so that it may be eaten.”
The barkeep responded with a look of confusion, trying to puzzle the words together in his head. “I guess… If you were to pay for a normal meal, I could cook your fish.”
“Excellent! Most excellent. I’m starving. A room, too, if you would.”
That night, fed from his threadfin, Jaio for once did not have trouble falling asleep.
⧫ CHAPTER X ⧫
Compared to some of the places where Cadwell had been forced to camp in the past, the prison dungeon could almost be considered comfortable. Admittedly it was unpleasantly dark, and the stench would probably have made him ill if his sense of smell was better, but he had been given a bedroll, which was far more than he had hoped for. In places like this, he had learned, a simple bedroll could be the difference between life and death. The floor was surprisingly dry, too. Cadwell had feared that an underground location would take in much more water and sewage, but the infrastructure of the city proved solid. Cadwell had expected there to be some sort of grand prison in a remote location, but instead, the prison was located on the Townsguard premises. Perhaps this solution made sense. If the prisoners are kept not only right next to all the guards, but also in the middle of the city, escape would be all but impossible.
Even though they had arrived late at night, the grounds had still been sprawling with life. Guards were moving crates and conducting exercises, even at the late hour. Probably do it to keep themselves busy, or at least pretend to, Cad had thought to himself. The guards had brought him far into the grounds, into a rectangular building with a low ceiling, and down a myriad of stairs. He did not know how far below ground they were, but it was certainly far enough that he would not be heard should he decide to scream. They had thrown him in a cell with three other men, although it was probably only designed to house two in total. Like him, the cellmates too had angered the nobility in one way or another. And, like him, none of them seemed very talkative.
Aro had been imprisoned the longest. He had served four years of his five year sentence, and was eager to get out of the cell. He kept to himself in one corner of the room and avoided talking or otherwise interacting with the others. He had apparently stolen a considerable sum of money from his employer while working for another noble family. The others shared similar stories; one of them had been incarcerated for theft, the other for violence. In other words, Cadwell should fit right in. “You’s lucky you didn’t succeed,” the violent cellmate told him. “Grave crime ‘gainst noble folk means they put you in the lower levels. Makes this look like paradise, I tell you.”
“No light, no bedroll, but a lot more sewage,” the thief agreed. “But with the Fishbanes, you’re lucky if you survive all the way to the dungeon at all.”
“How so?”
“You’s new in town, ain’t you? Zena ain’t got no sympathy for the likes of us. Guards are told to kill us at any sign o’ trouble. An’ they see trouble real fast.”
The thief nodded in agreement. “Aye, ‘tis right. And the Townsguard must have doubled in size since that woman took over, what do you reckon?”
“Tripled!” said the violent one. “An’ she put so much money to the guards, ain’t none left to feed us, an’ she wonder why we act like this!”
“She elected recently, this Zena?” asked Cadwell.
“Half a year, perhaps,” said the thief. “And elected is the wrong word. Wasn’t no election that made her townmaster.”
Cadwell’s cellmates continued to inform him of the Townmaster’s history. Zena Fishbane had served as the city’s Minister of War for about a decade, and quite ruthlessly so. Under her guidance, the city had managed to stake its claim in several areas, but not without severe loss of men. While the rich admired her for her effective and daring methods, the poor despised her for her apparent lack of care for civilian lives. While Minister of War was certainly one of the most powerful positions in the city, she was by no means the second in command under Townmaster Isa Sharktooth. Because of this, it came as quite the surprise when Sharktooth resigned about half a year ago and named Zena as her successor. While it was the Townmaster’s right to name the next townmaster upon resigning, it was mutually understood that the Townmaster’s Second would always be elected as successor, and the rite of naming a successor was seen more as a formality. “I don’t know what kind of dirt Zena had on her, but it must’ve been something special,” said the thief. “I doubt Isa decided to resign out of the blue just for the fun of it.”
Zena had not been townmaster more than a day when she relieved the old Portmaster of his duties and placed her brother Paavo in his place. Paavo, in turn, had not been portmaster more than a day when he relieved the old Captain of the Portsguard of his duties, and placed his cousin Frida in his place. And so, the Fishbane family went from a minor power to the only power in Kardh’Ao in the span of forty-eight hours. Paavo had been a relatively unknown figure in the city up until then, running a decently successful stall selling fishing gear in West Kardh’Ao. He had, however, on multiple occasions denied his sister’s offer to get him into East Kardh’Ao, citing his loyalty to the western part of the city. Because of this, Zena figured the people would be quicker to accept him, which unfortunately had not come to pass. While he was certainly liked more than she was, he seemed to care about as much for the well-being of his citizens as his sister did.
“So you’re not too fond of the new status quo?” asked Cad, once the history lesson had finished.
“It’s a paradise if you’re rich,” said the thief. “More guards, so you’re safer than ever. More money to infrastructure and science, so business has gone up. Less money to the poor, so they’re too busy starving t
o rebel.”
“And none of the other ministers disagreed with this, tried to fight it?”
“Stonehand respects tradition more than he respects his wife, so Zena had the backing of the Townsguard.”
“Stonehand’s an idiot,” added the violent one.
“The Townmaster’s Second, Nikolaus something, tried to fight it. He turned up dead, and then the other ministers got real quiet all of a sudden.”
“Is Sharktooth still in town?”
“Left even before the news broke. Probably afraid people wouldn’t take too kindly to ‘em. Now be quiet and get some rest.”
After what Cadwell judged to be half a day, a fifth convict joined them in the cell - a broad-shouldered aeni who looked to have lived about half his life. The thing that stood out most about the muscular man was his lack of a left arm. He told his cellmates that he had willingly sacrificed it to settle a dispute. “Whatever the reason,” said Cad, “taking a man’s arm is a coward’s move, a half-measure. Should’ve killed you and been done with it, no offense.”
“‘None taken. I manage just fine with one arm, though. Takes more than that to kill one of us,” said the Aeni, pointing at a tattoo on his remaining arm. It depicted a black sheep.
So that crime syndicate is still around.
The Aeni sized up Cadwell, and continued, “One golden sun says a one-armed aeni can beat you at arm-wrestling.”
Not one to back down from a challenge, especially not one from someone half his size, Cadwell quickly obliged, and they made space at the cell’s sorry excuse for a dinner table.
The stage was set. Cad had to kneel down to get to the same height as his contender, looking the rough Aeni in his bloodshot eyes. As their duel began, the demeanor of both men quickly changed into one dead-set on victory. Eager not to miss the most exciting thing in the cell since the violent one tried headbutting the door, the others gathered round in anticipation. It did not take many moments to realize that the two men were evenly matched; both of them looked like they were trying to move a mountain, and none of them looked like they were succeeding. It must have been close to a minute before any sort of advantage started to present itself. It was only by an inch, but the broad-shouldered Aeni had managed to move Cad’s arm ever so slightly. Cursing, Cadwell tried to regain his lost ground, draining his arm of any and all available strength. The Aeni, however, seemed bolstered by his success, and pressed his advantage. Inch by inch, Cadwell’s arm began falling to the table, and he found himself powerless to stop it. It must have taken still another minute for the Aeni to finish the job, but with a last offensive, he pushed the old man’s hand into the table, and let out a laugh of victory. “Told you, one arm’s all I need.”
Cadwell begrudgingly nodded, acknowledging his defeat. “What’s your name?”
“Vilk.”
“You’re strong, for an aeni.”
“You’re weak, for a human.”
And getting weaker by the day, thought Cad. There was a time when I could have beat a man of twice his strength with half the effort. There was a time when I would not have allowed myself to be thrown in some damn dungeon with the likes of him, too.
By the time the guards came for him, Cadwell had lost track of time. If he had to guess, two days had probably passed since his incarceration. His cellmates had told him this would happen; the Townsguard moved fast between capturing someone and having them stand trial. In some cases, it was straight back to the dungeon after the trial had ascertained guilt. Other times, paying a fine was enough. Cadwell was not especially keen on either of these options, but he doubted that whoever was deciding his fate would be sympathetic to his situation.
To his surprise, the guards escorted him into the main building of the grounds, a cold building fortified enough to withstand an army and a half. They walked past an armory, a few storages, and several offices before finally coming to a halt. Cadwell looked at the sign at the door they had stopped at. “Surely not.”
The guards answered by knocking on the door bearing Commander Stonehand’s name. “Sir?”
“Enter,” came a faint voice from inside the office.
The office looked like one belonging to a low-ranking officer, not the Commander of the Townsguard. The design seemed to have sacrificed luxury to the benefit of practicality; an impressive number of drawers, papers and tools had all been crammed into this not especially large room. Behind the desk sat an ancient relic of a man, older than any person Cadwell had ever seen. His skin looked almost withered, his eyes tired from close to a century of living, yet he sat with his back surprisingly straight. “Welcome, Lieutenant.” Stonehand spoke quietly, but not weakly. There was still a conviction, a confidence, in his voice.
“I haven’t been a lieutenant for a while, sir.”
Stonehand looked down at one of his papers and let out a faint chuckle. “Ah, indeed. My mistake. And you are no longer Ser Churchcross, either, if I understand correctly?”
“A different life.”
“Of course, of course. I have lived many myself, but I fear this one is my last. I hear you broke into Colgrove Manor?”
“Why are you dealing with this yourself, Commander?” Cadwell interjected. “This does not feel worth your while.”
“We share a bond, you and I. You and the guard next to you, too. You may no longer be a lieutenant, but that does not mean you are not still one of us. I won’t have that scoundrel they call Minister of Law decide your fate when I am perfectly capable myself.”
“I was discharged from the military, so in that case I’m the black sheep of the family.”
The Commander let out a hearty laugh, which ended in an even stronger cough.
“What’s so funny?”
“In this town, we have plenty of black sheep, so do not worry. But yes, you were discharged, but your records up until then were impeccable. I must say, your actions during the Karga Offensive were most impressive.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Which makes your fall from grace all the more sad. Breaking into Colgrove Manor? You know better than this, Lieutenant. Thankfully, Castor does not want you dead. And neither do I, young man. You look like you could do the work of three oxen, and that is precisely what I intend for you to do. Now, can you promise you will behave yourself if I decide not to have you executed?”
No. “Of course, sir.”
“Very good. I sentence you to a year of community service to the Townsguard, and a fine of one hundred golden suns. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“No, no need. But whatever quarrel you have with Castor, I recommend you forget it, Lieutenant. This city does not offer third chances, nor do I.”
“Of course. It was foolish.”
Back at square one, Cadwell thought to himself, walking back to the dungeon to collect his belongings. He was not back at square one, though. He had not only lost the money he had made, but also his freedom. Between the pay from Grigor and the money from the heirlooms, he barely had enough to pay the hundred suns to the Townsguard. That’s probably going to pay for their drinks the rest of the month. In any case, the punishment could have been far worse. He dodged both the dungeon and execution, so he should probably count himself lucky. Don’t feel that lucky, though. Should’ve done the job myself, never turns out well when you trust others.
He had been instructed to report to Uvi, who was in charge of storage, whatever that meant. She did not prove hard to locate; as soon as Cadwell stepped out onto the yard he spotted a big woman shouting and directing crate-carrying soldiers with great enthusiasm. Cad approached her and informed her of his situation. She, in turn, informed him of his duties. He was to help with storage, which mainly seemed to consist of carrying crates from one point to another. Cadwell did not entirely understand how moving something to a different place in an endless cycle would create more space, but that was probably a question best left unasked. Twelve hours of manual labor for twelve months, then his debt to the city w
ould be paid, and he would be a free man.
I don’t have any intention of seeing the twelve months through, though. Twelve hours of work a day left ample time to fulfil his task and get out of town. He would probably have to wait a few days before striking again, though. Castor would undoubtedly have increased security by now as a precaution. Might as well haul some crates in the meantime, Cadwell thought to himself, and set his sights on the storage rooms. This is what you’ve become, huh, old man? Carrying crates for the bloody Townsguard, you should be ashamed of yourself. For a brief moment, Cad even caught himself missing the adventures with the people from Grensby. He quickly dismissed the thought. Don’t be ridiculous; those people are bloody insane.
⧫ CHAPTER XI ⧫
The next morning, Mae and Florianna woke to find a letter pushed in under their door. The parchment looked as though it had travelled far, yet the ink was fresh. Florianna, eager as ever, picked it up, and read it aloud.
Florianna and Mae,
I’ve left for West Kardh’Ao, to find Jaio.
I believe he has much left to teach me, and somebody needs to keep an eye on him.
You two have each other, and Cadwell probably prefers to be left alone. I feel this is right. I’m sure we will meet again, and I look forward to it already. Thank you for these last days. Thank you also for getting me out of Grensby, and good luck on your search!
Your friend Samson.
“Oh,” said Na, after finishing the letter. “He’s gone?”
“Let’s just hope Jaio has no problem with this.”
“He could’ve at least said goodbye! Was it something we did?”
