Roon-Kotke closed his eyes. If he’d just stopped playing that night he won two thousand crowns, he could have quit whilst he was ahead. If he’d just stopped drinking. If he’d just ignored the giggling girls that stroked his hair and whispered how excited winning made them feel. If he’d just walked away… It sounded easy to say it now. So simple in hindsight, knowing what lay ahead. But back then, another good hand would have doubled his money; one more throw of the dice might have made him rich. It might all have been so different.
He crumpled up the note and tossed it into into the chest with the others, a depressing tally of mounting debt.
The sheet of paper was still where he’d left it on the table.
There was a way to get the money. All of it and more besides. But it was a way that made him sick to his stomach whenever he thought of it. Roon-Kotke put his head in his hands. Was this how Hannar-Ghan had felt as his two realities clashed? Did he feel the same hollow shame when he betrayed them? For surely his loyalties must have been just as torn? His choices just as limited? Roon-Kotke couldn’t forgive his old friend. But perhaps he understood him a little better.
“Hey Roon!” Trur-Gem knocked on the open door. “Anything for Meiwu? I’m making a run. Got to take some urgent message for the Mulai Watcher.”
Roon-Kotke stared at the paper on the table again.
44. THE RIGHTFUL WATCHER
TYDEK MORDUME SAT BEHIND his desk in the Watcher’s Eye, battling two piles of letters, reports, complaints, applications, invitations and petitions.
There were reports of a riot down at the docks. Confirmation that the Blue Caps legion had departed the Hierin Barracks. And news of a prison break at Thorn Cross prison, one Alhaz Merilla unaccounted for, the prison governor duly arrested.
Mordume stretched, pain in his shoulder flaring, the stab wound still not healed. He winced at the memory of the blade sliding into his flesh. Only a few more letters to go.
Denied: A petition from the Astoval to allow Tironomus Hisch to join the ruling council.
Binned. An invitation to an exhibition of animal paintings at the Wright & Gargostian Gallery.
Delegated: An application to rebuild a fire damaged warehouse down by the river. (Tedious. A job for one of his clerks)
Denied: An application for a Crick manufactory in the fields outside Wraxe. (Damn Crick didn’t support me during the election, so why should I help him?)
There. One pile done.
Mordume leaned back in his chair. A good chair. Comfy.
There were three things he hadn’t bargained for when he became Mulai’s nineteenth Watcher. The first was the sheer amount of paperwork. The endless decisions. The sheer volume of reports. The equally endless petitions demanding a ruling, the majority of them petty, selfish or both.
The second was the Sentinel’s continued stubbornness. Tydek had assumed that once her Blood party had lost the election, she would agree to work with him for the good of the Briar and of the Empire. Instead, she had refused to see him, locking down the upper levels of the Hourglass and stationing Mulai legions within its multicoloured walls — the Old Hundredth and the Fighting Fifth. Nobody had seen the Sentinel since the night Lokke de Calvas had disappeared. The city endured an uneasy peace, as everyone waited to see what she would do next. It felt like an open Fura charge, ready to ignite at any moment.
The third thing he hadn’t bargained for was the Envoy. He was the power behind the throne, or in this case the power behind the black buttoned leather swivel chair. He made all the important decisions — issued orders for the legions, controlled the treasury, formulated policy. Yafai lackeys vetted his letters and his visitors. As Watcher, Mordume realised he was little more than a smiling figurehead with a councillor’s powers. One of the Envoy’s recent decisions was baffling in the extreme. He had ordered the legions out of the city, the first time in over a hundred years that all three of its barracks — Wraxe, Hierin and Lyegrove — had lain empty.
Mordume couldn’t for the life of him understand why.
He reluctantly moved onto the second pile of papers and letters.
Approved: An application to install toll gates on the Old Winter Bridge (pending the acceptance of a tenth portion of profits payable to the city.)
Denied: Seven objections to the above.
Approved: A lengthy proposal for changes to the Court for the Relief of Insolvent Debtors. Administration fee payable.
Approved: A plea from a merchant to ban six milliners from forming a trade union. (Can’t have the working class upsetting the established order, can we?)
“And what’s this?”
A small letter. Grubby. Plain wax seal already broken. Its contents doubtless vetted by the Envoy’s underlings. He thumbed it open.
Dear Sir,
I know where you can find Lokke de Calvas and I hereby claim the bounty you have placed upon his head.
Mordume sighed. Ever since he’d put a ridiculous price on De Calvas, there had been no end of chancers and crackpots trying to claim it. Their letters were usually weeded out before they crossed his desk. He made a note to chastise the clerks for missing this one. But he read on…
You will doubtless require proof of my claim. So I offer you the following facts that none could know lest they were present that night in the Eye.
First, it was not Lokke who wounded you. He denies the claim.
Second, he says that you killed his wife. You pushed her from the top of the Spire as he watched.
And third, if you still do not believe I speak the truth, Lokke knows that you fear his return, because you lost the election and Lokke is the rightful Watcher of Mulai.
Right on all counts. Mordume found himself shaking with nervous excitement. This was it. Finally, this might be the breakthrough they’d been looking for; someone who knew where the elusive Caster-Colonel was hiding, who knew him, and yet was greedy enough to betray him.
“Shar!” he shouted.
If you find this proof satisfactory, deposit the reward at the Cam & Sons counting house in the town of Meiwu, two gates travel from Ocos. Account #2452. Upon receipt of payment, and all being well, you will then receive the location of De Calvas.
That’s where it ended. No signature. Mordume turned the paper over, looking for some clue as to who the message was from. The only thing he had to go on was the location of the counting house. Meiwu. Where was that? Sounded Ocosconan…
A clerk appeared at the door. “You called, Watcher?”
“Summon the Justice-General,” said Mordume excitedly. “Tell him to assemble a squad. His best men. We’ve finally found our man. Today marks the beginning of the end for Lokke de Calvas.”
THE STORY CONTINUES…
Read the thrilling finale of The Oconic Gates trilogy in:
Once Called Empire
PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW…
If you've enjoyed this book, I would be extremely grateful if you could spend just five minutes of your time to leave a quick and honest review (as short as you like) on the site where you bought it.
Reviews help independent authors like me gain a little extra visibility and enable new readers to discover my books. So if you liked this story, please spread the word.
Thanks in advance. You’re a star.
WANT A FREE BOOK?
The Oconic Prison is a page-turning fantasy thriller about a thief who’s not busting out of a prison, he’s breaking into one. Part Ripper Street, part Stargate, with a touch of The Italian Job, you can get this spin-off novella for FREE at lexeljgreen.com.
Just click the link below.
GET YOUR FREE BOOK!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lexel J. Green has been a writer of video game reviews, film summaries, technology features, artist interviews, accountancy advice (it paid the bills…), heritage leaflets and website pages. Now he’s having a go at writing books. He lives in a little English town called Marlow, not far from the River Thames, but far enough away when it floods in wet winter
s.
He is the author of the following books:
The Oconic Gates trilogy
Once Called Magic
Once Called Thief
Once Called Empire
Oconic Stories (spin-off tales from The Oconic Gates)
The Oconic Prison
The Hero of Zegoma Beach
To find out more about Lexel J. Green and his books, please visit:
lexeljgreen.com
ONCE CALLED THIEF
by LEXEL J. GREEN
Copyright © 2018 by GCC Books/Lexel J. Green.
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher/author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover image copyright: Shutterstock/Kiselev Andrey Valerevich
Book design and production by GCC Books, part of The Good Content Company, UK
Editing by Dean Evans
Once Called Thief Page 30
