Fortune's Fools

by Paul Tomlinson

  Double three. The hunchback grinned, they were equal once more.

  Edison picked up the little cubes and tossed them onto the green cloth. There was a hush as they tumbled, and then groans. Two and a four. No score. The game had been drawn.

  Edison smiled and leaned forward, picking up his own money and pushing Grimwade’s towards him. He shrugged. “My lucky night.”

  Grimwade nodded and tried on an ill-fitting smile. His look said: We shall see about that. “To business, then,” said the hunchback, as his minder rolled up the green cloth and stashed it away.

  Several people, equally puzzled as Grimwade, regained their money.

  Edison leaned back. “More ale barman!” he called. Several of those who had bet against him stood around and slapped him on the back, drank to his health, glad to have seen someone stalemate the hunchback at his own game.

  The hunchback’s bodyguard shouldered his way through the crowd, somewhere in town there was an enchanter who would not live to see the morning. The dice were against him.

  “To business,” Edison smiled. He took a large purse out of the front of his shirt and emptied silver coins into his palm.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight. Here is a ninth, to make up for the inconvenience I have caused you.” Edison smiled again, his face was ruddy from the warmth and the drink. His eyes were wide, the drink dulling their sense, otherwise he might have seen the emotion behind Grimwade’s strained smile.

  “It seems we have nothing more to discuss.” Grimwade rose to his feet. Undulled senses might have perceived him has an air-filled bladder not far short of bursting. “Goodnight, Edric. Until we meet again.” Grimwade turned and pushed his way across the room to the door. He left a roiling cloud of emotion in his wake, but Edison was too busy ordering a round of drinks for everyone around him to notice.

  Varian stomped up the stairs, glad that his duties were over for the day. Life in the Guard House had changed since the murder of Captain Torrance: The Guard seemed confused and directionless, like a ship waiting for a firm hand to take the wheel. Disagreements arose daily over the slightest thing, and several factions were developing, each distrustful of the other. Perhaps things would settle once Captain Sheldrake had established his own way of doing things – but in the meantime, they would all continue to feel uncomfortable and ill-tempered.

  He opened the door to Anton’s room, and immediately his spirits were lifted. “What are you doing?” he asked, laughing.

  Anton stood on a chair with a sheet wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, a sword in one hand and a copy of the play script in another. He was wearing a wooden bowl on his head.

  “Rehearsing. Did your mother never teach you to knock on a door before entering?” Anton said.

  “Yes, but I thought I would enter unannounced in the hope of finding you in an embarrassing situation,” Varian said.

  “It is a shame, then, that you failed.” Anton climbed down from the chair and moved towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” Varian asked.

  Anton cast aside the sheet and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. “Out for some air,” he said. Anton slammed the door behind him. He returned moments later, looking somewhat sheepish. “Why did you not remind me that I had a bowl upon my head?”

  “I thought it to be the latest fashion,” Varian said.

  Anton threw the bowl at him and slammed out again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Where is your captain?” Edison asked, catching the cabin boy by the arm as he stepped off the gangplank.

  “Don’t know, sir,” the boy said. He didn’t look Edison in the eye when he said it. He glanced back towards the ship. “Perhaps she’s in her cabin.”

  Tam was a boy of about twelve who Meg had rescued from a violent father, and adopted into the family of her crew. His blond hair had been bleached by sea and sun, and when he smiled half of a front tooth was missing at the top. He wasn’t yet a very good liar.

  “We both know she’s not.” Edison tightened his grip on the boy’s arm. “Is she with that skinny fellow? Tell me.”

  “I can’t say, sir, please.”

  Edison let go of him. He dipped his fingers into his purse and pulled out a silver coin. “You could give me a hint,” he said, “that wouldn’t actually be telling.” He tossed the coin and the cabin boy caught it.

  “If the captain finds out...” He said, looking down at the coin in his palm.

  “I shall tell her I beat it out of you,” Edison said. “Come on, Tam, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Tam the cabin boy grinned: he liked a drink, but everyone said he was too young. “And a pipe of tobacco too?”

  “If you’re sick, you have to clean it up yourself,” Edison said.

  “Deal!” Tam spat on his hand and held it out. Edison shook it.

  Tam sucked on the clay pipe again, and this time didn’t cough nearly so hard. His eyes were red and streaming, and his throat burned, but he thought he was beginning to enjoy it. Edison set another mug of ale down in front of him.

  “Tell me what you know,” Edison said.

  “You really don’t want to know, sir. And I’d gain no pleasure from telling you.”

  “Telling me what?”

  “About the other man sir.”

  “Anton Leyander?”

  Tam nodded. “Aye, that’s his name, I think.”

  “He and your captain have been spending time together?” Edison asked.

  The boy shifted uncomfortably. “You love the captain, don’t you, sir?”

  Edison nodded.

  “And she loves you,” Tam said. “She never even looks at another man. Not until now. If I hadn’t see it for myself, I could not have believed it.”

  “Tell me what you have seen,” Edison said.

  “Please don’t make me describe the scene, sir. Let it be enough when I tell you that I witnessed their embrace.”

  “I will know what you saw, Tam. All of it.”

  Tam looked down at the table, wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m only telling because you made me,” he said.

  “Duly noted. Please continue.”

  “I was walking on the beach the day before yesterday. I’d been for a swim, and was just letting the sun dry my hair. And then I heard laughter up ahead. As I got closer, I heard two people talking, a man and woman, and I was going to turn back. I didn’t want to intrude. But I then recognised the captain’s voice. I didn’t know who she was talking to. I was curious, so I went to see who she was with.” Tam’s pipe had gone out, but he waved it as he continued his story.

  “They was just laughing and talking, and I thought at first they were just friends: a woman can have man-friends, can’t she?”

  Edison nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  “But as I reached the rocks that separated me from them, I looked over and saw something that made me think they was more than just friends. Captain Meg would touch his arm as she spoke, and he would reach out and brush her hair away from her cheek.

  “Their first kiss was like a peck on the cheek that one friend might give another, but the second one... well, it went on for so long it made me light-headed and gasp for breath just watching them. It looked like they was in a battle to see who might eat the other.” The cabin boy stopped and took a drink of his ale to sooth his throat.

  “Go on,” Edison said, his face wooden.

  “That man, Anton whatever his name is, had his hand inside the captain’s shirt, and he was squeezing her breasts – he was a bit rough with it, I thought. But the cap’n didn’t seem to mind, and she had her hand in the front of his breeches and was doing some squeezing of her own. She unbuckled his belt and had his breeches about his ankles, kneeling before him and leaving him to stroke her hair and do some groaning as she got a taste of him, if you get my meaning?”

  Edison nodded.

  “Although I knew I shouldn’t be seeing this, I could not look away. It was
like I couldn’t believe it and wanted more proof. And there was plenty of that. Shall I stop now?”

  Edison shook his head. “Tell me all of it.”

  “After some kissing and stroking, Anton what’s-his-name pulled down the captain’s breeches and forced her up against the rocks, and joined with her in a very violent way, or so it seemed to me. But from the sounds she made, it seemed Cap’n Meg was getting more pleasure than pain from his brutal thrusts. I heard her more than once urge him to do it harder.

  “And that is where I left them. It made me feel odd, seeing them.” The cabin boy licked his lower lip, his face flushed and his breath coming in short gasps. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “I thank you for your candour and for recalling the scene in such vivid detail,” Edison said. His lips were pale and his voice without emotion.

  “I am very sorry,” Tam said.

  “It is no fault of yours that you witnessed this scene. I am grateful you brought it to my attention. You have saved me from making any more of a fool of myself. Thank you for that.”

  “What will you do now?” Tam asked.

  “I think I need a walk on the beach myself,” Edison said, getting to his feet. He pushed his untouched mug towards the cabin boy.

  Tam watched Edison leave, and smiled. He’d remembered almost every detail Captain Meg had asked him to include. She had walked him through the scene, demonstrating every move, and laughed at him when he blushed. She’d placed a hand over the swelling in his breeches, and told him that’s the response she wanted Edison to have when he heard the story.

  “Did all that really happen, ma’am?” Tam had asked.

  Captain Meg had laughed again before she answered. “Not yet, Tam, not yet.”

  *

  Lord Eòghan sat astride a handsome dapple-grey mare, surveying the activities of the market. Behind him two of his men sat on neatly groomed horses, keeping a watchful eye all around them. The horses were still wet, having been ridden hard along the beach, hooves splashing up surf. For the most part, people carried on about their business and carefully averting their eyes. When it was impossible for someone to ignore the men, they gave little bows as they passed, and Lord Eòghan acknowledged them with a nod of his head.

  It was Eòghan who decided which traders were permitted to ply their wares here, and it was to him they paid a fee for the privilege. He was careful about who he allowed to set up stalls, and about what kinds of merchandise was sold: he had businesses of his own to protect, and couldn't allow competition that might risk their profitability. He also saw to it that those who sold shoddy goods, or stale or rotten foodstuffs were punished. Torrance and the Guard had overseen this on behalf of their lord, but with the new Captain of the Guard still finding his way, Lord Eòghan was keeping a close watch over things in the short-term. What he saw in the marketplace pleased him.

  A small, bent figure loped towards Lord Eòghan’s horse. The two men behind him tensed as the figure approached, but relaxed when they recognised the fool. He was dressed in brightly coloured but tattered clothes that all looked to have been taken from different costumes. In his hand he carried a short stick with ribbons trailing from one end, and on the other end was a small painted head that seemed a cross between a clown and a death’s head. The brown boots he wore were several sizes too large, and the laces were unfastened.

  The youth looked up at the grey mare, one eye closed in a permanent squint. A large grin spread across his face as he admired the horse. The simpleton seemed wary of the animal. Overawed. He gingerly reached up a hand towards its neck.

  The horse looked down at the youth, snorted suddenly.

  The youth scurried away, startled. He hid behind the skirts of the mushroom seller, peering round her at the horse.

  Lord Eòghan laughed and beckoned the fool to approach. The youth took cautious steps towards the mare. He stood close to it and snorted up at it, imitating the horse, which itself seemed unimpressed. Eòghan encouraged him to pat the mares neck. Gingerly the fool did so. When the horse did not react, the youth grinned, running his palm along the mare's neck again and again. He laughed.

  Lord Eòghan dismounted, and the fool backed away, fearing a cuff round the ear, but he approached once more when he was beckoned forward. He gave out a yelp as Eòghan lifted him from his feet and set him upon the horse.

  Recovering, the fool sat straight in the saddle, as he had seen Lord Eòghan do, and grinned broadly at those who had gathered to watch him. “Stand aside, make way!” the fool said suddenly, his voice deep and commanding.

  The crowd parted. Lord Eòghan took the reins and led the horse forward. His men dismounted and led their horses behind him.

  “Move aside, you people!” the fool commanded. Some of them bowed as he passed.

  A figure in black followed the horses, walking in that way men do when both feet hurt. There was a satisfied smiled on Henrik’s lips.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The old man moved quickly through the streets, keeping to the shadows, ducking suddenly into an alley mouth or a doorway, then peering back in the direction he had come. Then he’d take off again, his black robes flying out behind him, stick-thin legs appearing and disappearing within their folds as they carried him forward. He changed the direction of his journey several times, moving off at right angles to his original course, doubling back on himself and once, when he managed to confuse himself walking in a circle of a half-mile radius. He was dressed completely in black, even to the skull-cap. He kept his forearm across his face, hiding his features with the sleeve of his robe. Even so, a casual glimpse would have told an onlooker that the old man was wearing a fake beard. An obviously fake beard, which seemed to have been cut from the pelt of a cat which had had an untimely meeting with a carriage wheel. The man’s hair had been artificially darkened too, and the sweat brought out by his exertions was trickling down his face in thin brownish lines.

  Henrik muttered to himself as he went. Most of it was cursing, but some of the time he seemed to be lecturing himself.

  “You have no-one but yourself to blame, Henrik Roseby,” he said. “You were the one went striding in saying, sir, I know the fool’s secret. And this is what it got you.”

  The old man hurried up a flight of stone steps and used an old wooden ladder to scale a wall. The ladder creaked alarmingly as he climbed it.

  “That fool must die! he declared, and for a moment I thought he meant me. No, it was the other fool. Not that I’m a fool. And not that he is either, come to think on it. If I had any sense at all, I would have forgotten to mention it.”

  Crouching low he ran across the flat rooftop and peered over the parapet into the tiny courtyard below. Then, satisfied that it was safe, he descended and stood in a shadowy corner of the same yard. He waited for the men he had arranged to meet.

  Some minutes passed, and the old man began to grow restless. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “Did you make sure you weren’t followed?” a voice hissed loudly in his ear.

  Henrik started, and seemed in danger of regurgitating his tonsils for several moments. “Yes,” he gasped. He turned and saw a darker patch of shadow that suddenly seemed to grow eyes and a smile.

  “You are Bryn the Blade?” Henrik asked. He peered into the gloom and saw a young man in a black hooded shirt. He could make out a clean-shaven, handsome face, blond hair. The moonlight flashed once on a heavy gold ear-ring.

  “At your service. And this is Gosling.” Bryn the Blade nodded toward a shorter shadow at his side, which too grew teeth and smiled. Here was a darker, older man, dressed also in black.

  “You will forgive me if I ask you to provide some proof of your identity,” Henrik said.

  Bryn drew a large knife and held it to the old man’s throat. “This is all I have.”

  “Mr. Blade, a pleasure to meet you,” Henrik said.

  The young man put away his dagger.

  “I am John Smith,” the old man lied.
“Have you waited here long?”

  “We saw you arrive and climb the roof opposite,” Bryn said. “At least, I did.” The large assassin stared meaningfully at his companion, who scowled.

  “I can see perfectly well,” the little man said.

  “Then the eyeglasses you occasionally wear are just for ornament?” Bryn asked.

  “I only need them for certain kinds of seeing...”

  “You stood by me all this time?” the old man asked, interrupting.

  “We were waiting for you to speak,” Bryn said.

  “I did not see you,” the old man who was not John Smith said.

  “In our trade, it pays not to be too visible,” Gosling said.

  “Indeed,” Henrik said. There followed a strained silence of some minutes’ duration: he wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject of their meeting.

  “It’s a nice night for a murder,” Gosling said, conversationally.

  “Ssssh!” The old man looked wildly around, afraid his ‘shush’ had been loud enough to attract unwelcome attention. He swallowed, regained his composure. Checking again that they were unobserved, he moved further back into the shadows and began to speak in low, conspiratorial tones. “This must remain a matter of the utmost secrecy. I have been instructed by my employer to procure the services of two gentlemen such as yourselves...”

  “Assassins,” Bryn stage-whispered.

  “Quite so. The personage to whom I myself have been retained has entrusted me with the responsibility of locating suitably qualified members of your profession to complete the task which he has in mind.”

  “Your boss wants someone’s throat cut?” Gosling rasped.

  “That is correct. The precise details of the how and the when have been given to me to arrange. My employer is a prominent and powerful individual whose identity must remain completely unknown to you: he must not be found to be associated in any way with this highly irregular undertaking in the unlikely event of anything going amiss. You or I might fall into the hands of the authorities, and our purpose might be revealed, and while I myself am relatively unimportant and, indeed, expendable, my employer must remain unimpeachable.”