The commotion at the Draymen had alerted the entire city that something was happening. The Brewers quickly set extra guards around their headquarters and waited. They didn’t think anyone would actually attack them. They were the largest clan, and the deadliest. They were mistaken.
Drake dropped from the roof of a building and slaughtered a group of men who were guarding a back door. He had all the gold and silver he needed. This raid was to obliterate, or at the least decimate, the Brewers.
Men screamed and were cut down with blinding speed. Claws ripped out throats and stomachs. Severed heads rolled down the halls as men failed to outrun the daemon. Doors crashed open as Drake bulled his way through bolts and bars. He hunted by sight, sound, and scent, finding men in hidden holes that another man would miss. But he was not a man, and he did not miss anyone.
Finally, after he was running low on breathing bodies to kill, he set fire to this building as well. The gold and silver were already gone, spirited out of the building by a quick-thinking thief, but that didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that he had managed to end the lives of more than a hundred thieves that night.
Drake returned to the Black Dragon and transformed back into human shape. It was just past midnight, and the main room was still inhabited by a motley assortment of the dregs of the city. The innkeeper noted his passage, but didn’t say anything. In his room, he reviewed the night.
The Draymen had held more than five hundred gold crowns, though this city called them royals. There were sixteen hundred silver royals. No copper was present, which wasn’t surprising. Copper was for the rank and file to spend. Drake settled back in his room and contemplated his changed status. In the early morning he would leave town, circle around to the other side, and enter again as Laird Drake. He much preferred living an affluent lifestyle to living as one of the underclass.
The sun had not yet begun to lighten the sky when he left the Black Dragon. No one saw him go. No one would have cared. He left town quickly and circled until he found a road. He transformed his clothes into those of a wealthy man, then re-entered the city.
He walked with a confident swagger that proclaimed to all that he was an important person. People stepped aside for him, and he traveled to the wealthy part of town. Two and three-story buildings were common, and there were several that were all of five stories tall. These were the palaces of the Prince of the City, and the Royal Family.
Drake established himself in an impressive inn, a step up from the inns he was familiar with. The main room could have held a hundred people in comfort. The air was fresh, and the floor was bare, clean wood. No rotting rushes or sawdust to soak up spills. The room was brightly lit by oil lamps that gave off a perfumed smoke that relaxed Drake as he breathed it in. All in all, he was exceptionally pleased.
“Your pardon, good sir. May I be of service?” A woman in her middle years asked as she stopped at Drake’s side, looking up at him.
“Yes. I am in need of a room and a bath,” Drake replied with a nod to the woman, and she smiled.
“As you wish, good sir. Has Pel taken your horse?” She looked curiously past him out of the door.
“My horse is dead. She stepped into a hole and broke her leg. I had to put her down, poor thing. I have been afoot for the last ten days.” Drake saw the woman appraise him and nod.
“Very well, good sir. Welcome to Port Royal. I am Mistress Stienmetz, proprietress of the Silver Net. If you will follow me, I will show you to the bathing room.” She led off with Drake following a few steps behind her. The room that she led him to was empty except for a deep wooden tub sunk into the floor. She clapped her hands and two young women appeared. “Valas, Densa, this goodman wishes to bathe. Prepare the bath and make sure it’s hot.” She turned to Drake and smiled. “Is there anything else that you require, good sir?”
“Yes, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. As you no doubt noticed, I am not carrying any baggage. I will be needing the services of a good tailor to clothe me properly. I am afraid that this,” he indicated the rich clothing that he was wearing, “is all that I was able to bring along. I loaded myself with all of my coin, and had no strength to carry much else.”
The woman’s eyes lit for a moment. “Yes, indeed, good sir. A tailor keeps shop just around the corner.”
“Very well. I would appreciate it if you could send someone to ask him to come calling this evening. And, if it is possible, I would like these clothes cleaned. It will take some time for even a very good tailor to make my new wardrobe.”
Mistress Stienmetz smiled and nodded, then left. The girls, Valas and Densa quickly filled the tub with hot water. They looked slightly disappointed when Drake dismissed them, but he was pretending to be tired. There would be time for fun and games later that night.
Drake soaked in the water until it cooled, then emerged. His clothes had been taken to be cleaned, though the money belt and purse that he had manufactured were still secure. Valas was waiting outside the door, and she handed him a robe of some fluffy material to wear until his clothes were returned. She showed him to a room and left him there, though she showed some indications that she would have liked to stay. Drake again dismissed her, reflecting that money seemed to be a universal aphrodisiac. He actually only carried a small portion of the gold and silver he had stolen from the Draymen. The rest was hidden where only he could access it.
His clothes were returned within the hour, and he went to find Mistress Stienmetz after he dressed. “Mistress, I thank you,” he said with a slight bow. “There is one thing that we did not discuss before, and that is your fee for the room. What is this costing me?”
“Oh, good sir, I am sure you will find us quite reasonable. The room is one silver royal a week, or, if you prefer, fifteen coppers per day. The use of the bathing room is included, of course, as are three meals per day. The only thing that is not included is after dinner drinks and...entertainment.” She smiled slyly to ensure that Drake understood her meaning. “Those are paid for separately. Now, I must ask you a question. Who are you, good sir, and where do you hale from?”
Drake had been expecting a question along these lines, and had spent his time in the bath thinking up a good lie. “I am Laird Drake Standralson, from Chanders, in the north of the Darendian Empire.” It was a safe lie, this far south. “I am traveling about, making arrangements for trade and shipping as I go. The Merchant’s Confederacy, which my father currently leads, is seeking to establish a network of trade relationships throughout the continent.”
Mistress Stienmetz’s eyes lit when Drake named himself a Laird, and described the Merchant’s Confederacy. Such men in the Empire were much respected and feared. Trade was the life’s blood of most towns, and a trade alliance was a very desirable thing. “Laird Drake, you are welcome indeed. Very welcome.”
Drake nodded his acknowledgment and looked about. “If it is not too much trouble, I am a bit hungry. Is there anything prepared?” He knew that no inn was ever out of ready to eat food, and smiled as Mistress Stienmetz led him to a table. Within moments, he was facing a feast that would have fed Amberdrake. “Whoa, slow down Mistress Stienmetz. There’s only one of me.” Drake laughed.
Mistress Stienmetz looked slightly alarmed until Drake laughed. She went away smiling and Drake applied himself to his meal. Mistress Stienmetz had an excellent cook, and he was finding that ten years as a dragon had sharpened his appreciation of fine food. He was finishing a sweet pastry when an elderly gentleman approached him. “Laird Drake? I am Master Tailor Armer. I understand that you are in need of some clothes?”
Drake appraised the tailor and liked what he saw. The man was elderly, with snow-white hair, and was dressed in fashionable clothes for this city. “Yes, Master Armer, I am in need of several outfits. I had to abandon everything when my horse died. If I am to make a good impression on those I intend to form an alliance with, I am going to need to look my best.” Drake smiled at the tailor, and received a smile in return.
“Very well, Laird Drake. Perhaps we could retire to your room so I can measure you in private?” Drake nodded and led the tailor to the room he had been given. Once there he stripped, as requested, and Master Armer began measuring him in detail. “You are going to need small clothes as well, Laird Drake. Do you prefer cotton, or silk?”
Drake was momentarily confused by the term “small clothes”, but quickly understood that he was referring to underclothes. “Cotton. Silk feels wonderful, but I tend to chafe. Now that you have my measurements, let us discuss what kind of clothes are appropriate to a Laird in this city. I do not wish to offend anyone, nor do I wish to be dismissed because of my dress.”
Drake and Master Armer discussed the fashions of the day for some hours, with Master Armer sketching what the clothes would look like, and Drake either accepting or rejecting each design. In the end he ordered ten sets of clothes, and agreed upon a price that, in other days, would have left him faint. He deposited three gold royals with Master Armer, much to the man’s delight, and received a promise that his clothes would be completed with the utmost haste.
That night Drake availed himself of the “entertainment” that Mistress Stienmetz had mentioned. Both Valas and Densa were curled up in his bed after he had exhausted himself. The girls were skilled and eager, and reasonably priced as well. A silver royal apiece for a night of uninterrupted pleasure. Drake was lying back, enjoying the feel of Valas’ skin as he caressed her butt, when they were interrupted by a commotion outside the inn. Drake went to the window to see what was going on, and the girls joined him.
“It looks bad, Valas. Almost as bad as last night,” Densa said and Drake noticed that she was looking worried.
Drake couldn’t let on that he knew about the disturbance the night before, so he asked the obvious question. “What happened last night?”
“Something attacked the Draymen and the Brewers. Some said it was a demon, but most think that someone has hired a Mage to attack their enemies. That means it was either the Laborers, the Merchants, or the Commons, though only the Merchants have the resources to hire a Mage like that.” Valas never looked away from the scene on the street.
“Draymen? Brewers? Laborers, Merchants, Commons? What are you talking about?” Drake knew, but wanted it explained anyway.
Densa answered. “They are the Clans. The criminal clans. Each controls a part of the city, or some group. The Draymen control the docks and shipping. If they don’t like you, you don’t do business. The Brewers control all alcohol. Beer, ale, wine, or spirits, if they don’t produce it or sanction it, it don’t get sold. The Laborers control the workmen. If they don’t give their blessing to a project, no one will dare to work on it. The Merchants, they are really nasty, they control who opens a store. If they decide you are going out of business, you go out of business. The Commons control what is left. We, Valas and I, we pay dues to the Commons. All the whores do, even the boys. If we didn’t, they would disfigure us so we couldn’t get any customers.”
Hundreds of men were marching past the inn, carrying sticks and clubs. They were chanting something that Drake couldn’t understand, but he had the feeling that it was nasty. And deadly.
The rest of the night was punctuated by the sounds of shouting and screaming. The smell of smoke from a distant fire disturbed the girls, and Drake found himself holding them to comfort them rather than what he had paid for.
What have I started?
Morning found the main room of the inn packed with men, and many of them had signs of the night’s violence written clearly across their bodies. Drake found himself being ignored while Mistress Stienmetz and the girls tended to the wounded men. Out of a feeling of some remorse, Drake fed himself in the kitchen.
“Laird Drake, forgive me!” Mistress Steinmetz all but cried when she saw him sitting in a corner of the kitchen.
Drake held up his hand and shook his head. “It looks like you have enough to do out there, Mistress. I can see to myself for a while. It’s not the first time.” By midday, the inn was again quiet.
Mistress Stienmetz approached Drake late in the afternoon. “Laird Drake, I must speak with you. I understand that the girls filled you in on the happenings of the last few days. It is a terrible thing, the loss of so many lives. I was told that over three hundred men died last night, and a hundred and sixty-four the night before. That will affect you, I am afraid. Many of those who died were affiliated with the Draymen. They control trade in and out of the city. The trading houses all pay the Draymen, and with the Draymen off the job, they are all stuck. There are no workers on the piers unless the Draymen say for them to be there. And right now, all of them are arming up for a war against the Merchants. It is the consensus that the Merchants have hired a Mage to try and take over from the Draymen and the Brewers. That way they would control almost everything that gets sold in Port Royal.”
“So, until this Clan War is through, I am not going anywhere? I sometimes wonder if there is a curse on me.” He feigned sorrow for a moment. “Very well. If I am going to have to stay, I am going to have to stay. There is just no getting around it. Mistress Stienmetz, I will be needing my room for quite some time.” He smiled, and Mistress Stienmetz seemed relieved. She had probably been thinking that, because of the trouble, he would leave immediately.
That night Drake left the girls alone. There were still disturbances down on the docks and in the warehouse district, but there were no marches past the inn. Drake sent his mind questing for information, and learned far more than he intended.
* * *
Vundas and Cordor had formed a common cause alliance with the remains of the Brewers against the Merchants. “We saw it. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even human shaped. It was beyond description.” The speaker was a young man with bandages on his arm. He had fled the Brewers headquarters when Drake had attacked, though he had not fled fast enough to escape unscathed. Drake had almost ripped his arm off.
“We saw something of the nature in the flames when our place went up. It was larger than a man, and glistening black in color.” Vundas replied as he sat very still. The shock of what had happened was still affecting him.
“Yes, that’s it. Shiny black, and deadly.”
Cordor and Vundas, along with Darian of the Brewers, were the only senior members of the two clans left alive. The demon had killed many, while the Merchants had killed more when the allied clans had tried to raid the Merchants’ headquarters. But they had exacted a price for their dead. The Merchants had been dealt a blow that it would take them years to recover from. Their guiding hand, Master Werrington, was dead.
Darian laid out a plan to attack the Merchants again. Bribes to the Laborers had provided them with plans for the building where the Merchants had their headquarters. As they laid out their plan, they were unaware that they were being watched.
* * *
Master Mage Sahrendas sat on her padded stool and focused her mind on a crystal ball. Pictures formed, and sound followed, as she spied on the allied crooks.
“They conspire against you.” Her voice had a sibilant hiss that set Merchant Gelstan’s hair on end. “They believe that you have hired me to bring a demon against them.”
“But I didn’t. Do you know what attacked them? And why?” Merchant Gelstan paced about the room with his hands tightly clasped behind his back.
“I do.” She hissed. “It was not a demon. It was a daemon.”
“Demon, daemon, same thing.”
“Not so. Not so,” she hissed. “Demons are ethereal. They exist only in the mind, though the damage that they can do by acting through an intermediary is impressive. The daemons are real creatures. Creatures of flesh and blood. Creatures that kill for fun, hurt for pleasure. Only one other creature does that.” She looked up at the man and smiled.
Merchant Gelstan stepped quickly back away from the Mage. Her face was a bit too reptilian, and her eyes were slitted like a snake’s. “What other creature? Maybe we can get one to fight off this daemon.”<
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“Not so. Only man, of all creatures, shares this appetite with the daemons. Good day.” She swung her cape about her shoulders and vanished, leaving Gelstan gaping at the spot where she had been sitting.
So, they think I sent a demon against them. And the Mage said it was a creature called a daemon. What else can go wrong? Late in the night he found out.
* * *
Vundas led a group of men toward the headquarters of the Merchants. They were one and all dressed as well to do men, and they swaggered and staggered like drunks out to celebrate. Their off-key singing was punctuated with laughter and belches. Altogether, they presented a remarkably un-threatening picture to the door guard.
It was his last mistake.
Vundas struggled to pull his knife out of the guard’s throat. He had driven the thick, stiff blade all the way up into the man’s brain, and had to wiggle it loose.
“That is why you don’t do that, Master Vundas. You can die before you get your knife out.”
Vundas turned on the speaker and held a finger angrily to his lips. The man smiled, and Vundas was reminded that the man killed for a living. Mercenaries had always given him the shivers. “Inside, quickly.” Once in the building, Vundas consulted a map that had been drawn from the original plans of the building. “We split here. And remember, we want Gelstan alive.”
Vundas led one group toward the room where Gelstan was supposed to be found, while a minor Brewer led the other group to the room the Merchants were using as an armory. Lamp oil was spread over the swords and bows and a lantern thrown in. Let the Merchants try and defend themselves now.
Vundas and his group burst into Gelstan’s bedroom and quickly surrounded him. “No, wait. Please, you must believe me. We didn’t attack you. It was someone else. Something else. A daemon.” Gelstan was not allowed to say anything else. He was bound and gagged, then bundled up in his own blankets. Smoke from the fire was already permeating the building, and Vundas cursed. They started the fire in the armory too soon.
The Chronicles of Amberdrake Page 28
