A Fool of Sorts

by Taylor O'Connell

  Sal touched the trunk of the tree. The next moment, he was leaning his weight against it as he vomited upon the orchard floor.

  He pushed off the trunk, staggered away from the pardimon tree, and out of the orchard. He wanted nothing more than to find a deep, dark hole and bury himself in.

  He walked toward the Tamber, hoping that he might take refuge from his memory within the brewhouse. The red-faced Tanao called out a warm greeting, but his face quickly changed from quiet geniality to disparate concern as Sal drew closer.

  “Whatever is the matter, boy?”

  Sal only shook his head, and the monk wrapped an arm around his shoulder and led Sal into the brewhouse. Tanao seated Sal upon a cask while he filled two horns from a tap. When he handed Sal the ale, Sal drained his horn without a word, stood, and refilled the horn—only to drink it all in one swig once more.

  “Seems something is wrong here,” said Tanao. “Feel free to quell my worry when it suits you, but the sooner, the better, where my heart is concerned. Has something happened, something to the abbot?”

  “No, not the abbot. I—it’s stupid really, a damned fool of a thing to worry over.”

  “Ay, well, I imagine there is a good bit for you to worry over of late. Can’t say I would blame you if the feeling took you from time to time. Anything you were feeling a need to divulge?”

  Sal didn’t dare tell Tanao the truth. If he did, the man would—he would—Sal realized he didn’t really know what the monk would do. Might be he would help, and at worst, he wouldn’t. Sal was already scheduled to go on trial for murder. Really, there wasn’t much Tanao could do to make things worse for him. It could be, telling the truth was his surest course of action.

  “I’ve remembered something. Of the night when they found me unconscious in the cathedral.”

  “What sort of memory?”

  “The unpleasant sort.”

  “A memory of something you did?” the monk asked, frowning.

  Sal shook his head. “It was more to do with what I didn’t do.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Sal sighed and refilled his horn with ale. “I ran.”

  Tanao gave him a blank look. “Why don’t you start from the beginning.”

  “Right. Well, I was in the orchard. Went on the abbot’s request that I retrace my steps from the night they found me. As far as I could recall, the orchard was the only place I’d been. Had a fleeting memory of that big pardimon tree, the one where they found the monk, and so I walked over not half a turn past. Walked up, and nearly touched the trunk, when it happened.” Sal took a swig of his ale, and Tanao did the same. “I remembered what I’d seen that night. Remembered seeing them fighting under that tree, and that scream, I’ll never forget that scream. And I—I remembered running.”

  “Saw who fighting?” said Tanao.

  “Monks, only two of them. Saw them fighting under the tree—but the storm—and it was night. Never did get a look at them.”

  “Yes, I think I understand. I imagine we can presume one of these monks was the late Dennis. A stunning revelation this,” Tanao said, taking another long drink of ale. “You are certain you saw two monks, not Brother Dennis and perhaps another man?”

  “Two monks,” Sal said confidently.

  If there was one thing he was certain of, this was it: there were two monks struggling beneath the pardimon tree that night.

  “And you were not able to get a good look at the other man?”

  “I didn’t get much of a good look at either man.”

  “Two monks, you say. This is quite the charge, quite the charge indeed. To accuse a brother of the Vespian Order.”

  Sal took a drink.

  “I suppose the question is, what we are to do with this information?” said Tanao.

  “I’m going to use it to prove my Sacrull damned innocence.”

  “Ay,” Tanao agreed, “but it seems to me you will need more than an accusation to convince the Enlightened Council of your innocence. Thus far, you have Abbot Jacques and myself on your side, and eleven others who doubt your innocence, our dear prior chief among them.”

  The mention of Leobald jogged Sal’s memory. After what had happened in the orchard, he had nearly forgotten all about the incident at the library.

  “I think it would be best if we kept this information to ourselves,” said Tanao, brushing foam from his mustache. “If what you have told me is true, it is to your benefit if the true killer does not know what you know.”

  “So, you believe me? About the killer being a monk?”

  Tanao shrugged. “Anything is possible in a place as large as Knöldrus Abbey. There are nearly five hundred men living within these walls, a town of its own, if not for the city without. Yes, I suppose it’s possible this vile act was committed by a brother of my order.”

  “And would you believe that monk was Leobald?”

  “Leobald?” said Tanao, bursting with laughter. “That scrawny shrew, a murderer? I’d believe him a poisoner of women and children, but a strangler of men? No, not Leobald, the man’s craven as a gelded goose.” Tanao refilled his horn and drank deep. “I can see why Leobald would be the first name from your lips. The man is a horse’s ass, but I have trouble imagining him a killer.”

  “But I heard him today,” Sal said.

  “Heard him, heard what?”

  “Today, when I was in the library, I overheard him. He was talking about when he was to become abbot.”

  Tanao laughed. “This would not be the first time Leobald has been talking of becoming abbot. He’s made such talk for years, yet he is no closer to the post than when abbot Tarquin still lived.”

  “Yes, but this was something else,” said Sal, the effects of the alcohol taking a noticeable effect. “Listen, he was scolding Philip. Telling him he had to do what they had agreed. Otherwise, Philip wouldn’t become prior because Leobald wouldn’t become abbot.”

  “Philip, become prior?” said Tanao, a smile spreading across his broad fleshy face. “I think you’ve misheard. Philip is a long way from becoming second to the abbot, the boy is an apprentice scribe, for Light’s sake.”

  “Look, I’m only telling you what I heard. Philip said he didn’t want to do it because someone knew whatever it was they planned to do.”

  “And what was it they planned to do?”

  “Wish I knew,” Sal said, beginning to grow frustrated with the monk. “They didn’t say what they’d planned, only that someone was on to them.”

  “And you don’t know who this person was that had uncovered this…plan?”

  “No,” Sal admitted.

  “I think you would do best not to worry over this,” said Tanao. “God only knows when my brothers will overrule Jacques and insist on a trial. You should focus your attention on the problem at hand.”

  “And how would you suggest I do that?” Sal said, his frustration getting the better of him.

  “You say that you are looking for a monk. A monk who had a reason for Brother Dennis to be dead. I would start there.”

  “What do you know of Dennis?”

  “He was young. During his time at the abbey, we crossed paths rarely. Though, I had heard his name a time or two involving some rather nasty rumors.”

  “Nasty rumors?”

  “The sort of thing one would hope did not take place in a house of God, but as I have said, when a place grows so large as Knöldrus Abbey, well…” Tanao said, trailing off.

  “What did Dennis do?”

  “Apprentice, I believe he served as an assistant to the quartermaster. Brother Adolphus is his name.”

  “I don’t know Brother Adolphus.”

  “Ah, well you can’t miss him. Adolphus will be the tallest man wearing the robes of my order.”

  Sal realized by the description that he had in fact seen Adolphus on more than one occasion. The first time was when the Enlightened Council had gathered beneath the pardimon tree. The second had been just that morning in the library.
>
  “Ah, it seems I do know of the man. Tell me, Tanao, where does the quartermaster hold office?”

  11

  The Shipping Manifest

  “Brother Adolphus,” Sal said. The sky grew dark as the sun began to set. “A word, if you please.”

  “I fear it does not please me at the moment,” said the tall monk, hardly sparing Sal a second glance.

  “Please, I have some questions, about Brother Dennis.”

  The tall monk froze. “I—no, I don’t have the time. The evenfall prayer will begin any moment, and I must return these to the storerooms before I join my brothers in the cathedral.”

  “I’ll join you,” Sal said, lifting a sack of flour.

  Adolphus scowled but seemed unable to offer sufficient protest as to why Sal should not help him. Adolphus lifted the other sack and began walking, the pace of his long strides difficult for Sal to match. Sal was grateful he’d slept off the drinking he’d done with Tanao that afternoon, but he still felt groggy, his mind clouded by alcohol.

  “Tell me brother, what did Dennis do as your assistant?”

  “What all my assistants do.”

  Sal smiled to hide his irritation. “And just what is it your assistants do for you?”

  “Keep track of inventory, move stock between the warehouses and the Abbey storehouse, co-sign shipping manifests,” the monk shrugged. “As I said, all the things a quartermaster’s assistant might be expected to do.”

  “I see. And what was Dennis doing the night he was murdered?”

  “How should I know that,” said Adolphus. “I do not keep so short a leash on my assistants that I know their whereabouts each waking hour.

  “But you could find out for me, could you not?”

  “I could check my records.”

  “The effort would not go unappreciated.”

  Quartermaster Adolphus sighed. “Yes, well, the necessary documents would be in the storeroom.”

  The pair crossed the rest of the abbey grounds in silence. The storeroom was connected to the frater, a large stone walled room, packed floor to ceiling with goods and provisions. There was a small work desk covered with a scattering of papers.

  Adolphus laid his sack of flower against the wall, and Sal followed suit, looking around the storeroom as Adolphus went to the desk and sorted through the paperwork, eventually pulling out a list written on parchment.

  “The South-docks Eighth Harbor, Dennis co-signed the manifest and supervised the delivery of a shipment that day.”

  “A shipment? A shipment from where? What was on it?” Sal asked, his curiosity peaked.

  Adolphus cocked an eyebrow. “See here, I need to be going. As much as I would enjoy wasting away the evening with idle chatter, I don’t have time for such luxuries.”

  “Idle chatter?” Sal asked. “Is that what you think this is? Clearly, you don’t realize the severity of the situation here. I’m innocent, and yet you and your Sacrull damned brothers have decided to try me for murder. The only way I will prove my innocence is by learning the truth about what really happened to Dennis. Now, I don’t know about you, but I would not consider that idle chatter, I would consider it talk of the utmost importance.”

  Adolphus cleared his throat and shuffled through the papers once more, head down, unwilling to meet Sal’s glare. “Here we are. This here is the shipping manifest, shows the ship’s name, captain and owner of the vessel, harbor inspector, where the shipment is coming from, and an inventory of the goods on board. From what I can tell, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Seems all was accounted for, and the document has all of the proper signatures.”

  “Would you mind if I had a look?” Sal said, extending a hand.

  Adolphus hesitated before handing over the document.

  “Shiikal,” Sal read. “You’re still getting shipments from Shiikal?”

  “Oft as not,” said Adolphus with a sly smile. “Of late, we have managed to purchase the contracts for eight of every ten. With the tariffs ever rising, bids on the shipments have become far less competitive.”

  “I’d not be surprised if the tariffs didn’t soon choke off all trade from Naidia,” Sal said.

  “It’ll never happen,” said Adolphus. “The duke himself could tell his High Council to impose an embargo, but it won’t stop the ships from coming. The shipping routes between Nelgand and Shiikal have been open since the fall of the First Empire.”

  “And what of pirates?” Sal asked. “Once word gets out that the Nelsigh Navy is no longer defending the trade routes, no sane captain will risk the open waters.”

  “And who do you think will be running the trade goods? Pirates make the best merchant princes on the great waters. They will have no trouble defending their goods, and fewer scruples about trading, whether legal or illegal.”

  “And you have no qualms with such practices?”

  The monk cleared his throat, and Sal thought he would decline to answer such a pointed question, but after a moment, the monk spoke. “There has been only talk of an embargo, but thus far, there has merely been an increase to the tax. I see no way in which an embargo would benefit the duke or the High Council and would find myself in disbelief if an embargo should be imposed any time in the near future.”

  Sal decided to drop the topic of embargo for the moment and glanced back at the manifest, quickly scrolling through the inventory, when he came across a word he didn’t recognize.

  “What’s that,” he said, pointing to the word. “What does it mean?”

  “Sorry?” said Adolphus, craning his neck to see.

  “Here, this word here.”

  “Looks to be Shiikali.”

  “Something you’ve seen before?” Sal asked.

  The monk shook his head slowly.

  “Well, but no—I think—no, in all honesty, I don’t know what it is.”

  “You started to say something there. What was it?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I only thought, well, sometimes when a captain is hauling a certain item of less than reputable standing, such goods will be labeled with a coded word of sorts, a name that will be used on the manifest inventory report. This way, when the goods are inspected and the harbormaster, or any other harbor official, sees that the crates are labeled with the same names that are on the manifest, they will assume it to be legitimate by nature.”

  “You seem to have an awful lot of knowledge concerning this.”

  “Some men join the Vespian Order when they are young, others join after they are old and have lived full lives. I am of the latter sort. I joined the order in my forty-second year, but I did not forget what I was before I became a servant of the Light.”

  “So, this word is—”

  “Listen,” said Brother Adolphus. “I would like to discuss the particulars of trade for hours to come, but I really must be going. I am expected in the cathedral.”

  “Could I hold on to this manifest?” Sal asked.

  The quartermaster made a sharp motion with his hand as though irritated. Without another word, Brother Adolphus left Sal behind and went for Knöldrus Cathedral.

  With the sun setting, Sal thought it would be best if he headed for the guesthouse.

  They sat upon the edge of the fountain. Valla lounged, her bare feet dipped in the water, while the younger woman beside her sat upright, arms crossed, brow slightly wrinkled as though she was irritated or perhaps only uncomfortable. Despite her vinegary look, the younger woman was rather cute, in her own way. She had a freckled face, her nose slightly upturned. Though, truth be told, she was a touch skinny for Sal, and her eyes were too far apart, giving her a somewhat fish-like quality.

  As Sal drew closer, it seemed the younger woman noticed him. She nudged Valla with an elbow. Valla sat up, stretching like a cat waking from a nap. She turned lazily toward Sal, her eyes flashed, a coy smile played across her visage. Valla raised her hand slowly, like a goddess in a mummer’s show. She pointed to h
im, turned her hand upright, and beckoned him with the seductive curl of a finger, her tongue gently playing across her top lip.

  Sal’s legs felt stiff, he nearly stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding in his throat. He hated when she toyed with him.

  “Who’s this?” Sal asked as he neared the fountain of Uthrid Stormbreaker.

  “Now, is that any way to address a lady?” Valla chided. “Talk to me that way again, Salvatori, you may find yourself short a prized appendage.”

  “Dear lady, do excuse my disgracefully tactless entry. It would seem I was momentarily overcome with an inexplicable spell of irritation, brought on by sickening displays of the most unholy nature. I beseech you, tell me your name, for I would be honored beyond all measure if you would bestow upon me the blessing of such knowledge so that I might address you properly whilst I beg your forgiveness.”

  The younger woman turned away, blushing red as a cherry tomato.

  “Fuck sake,” said Valla. “You always take things too far, don’t you? Can’t fucking help yourself, can you?”

  “I am what I am, Val.”

  “Aurie, this is Salvatori Lorenzo,” Valla said. “Stefano Lorenzo’s little weasel of a nephew. Though insignificant in status and stature as he may be, he still manages to be greatly obnoxious at all the wrong times. Salvatori, this is Aurianwyn. She’s been playing snatcher for my crew the past few months. Has the swiftest soft touch I’ve ever seen.”

  “The swiftest you’ve ever seen?” Sal asked. “Better than Anton?”

  “Best I have ever seen,” Valla said.

  “Better than me?”

  “Salvatori, she would put those clumsy mitts of yours to shame.”

  Sal put a hand over his heart dramatically, feigning pain. Though, in truth, the statement did somewhat hurt.

  A singer wielding a lute a few paces away had begun to gather a small crowd about him as he strummed the cords of his lute and sang.

  “A diddler will diddle, that’s what diddlers do.