Below lay a narrow lane between the back of the stone wall, which surrounded the compound, and the rear of the warehouse. In one direction, the lane led to the rear entrance of the main hall where a lit oil lamp provided some illumination. In the other, the lane led past the warehouse and around the corner.
Positioning himself at the edge of the light, the man lowered himself to the ground. After listening to make sure all was quiet, he took out a piece of paper and studied it while he waited.
It wasn’t long before he heard the soft slither of sand and pebbles crumbling to the ground behind him. He turned and saw a slight crack form in the perimeter wall as the stone blocks and their mortared joints shifted. The crack grew wider as more and more joints compressed, but the sound remained as soft as that of sand in an hourglass. Pudgy fingers emerged from the wall, followed quickly by the stocky form of the dwarf. The stone and mortar softly slid back to their original position, showing no traces of passage.
The dwarf looked in both directions, and then at the human, who motioned toward the far end of the warehouse. With the dwarf leading the way, the two immersed themselves in total darkness. The man followed, keeping one hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
As they rounded the corner, a lit lamp from the courtyard cast a long shadow across the narrow alley as a bullmastiff approached cautiously, sniffing the air. The man gripped the dwarf’s shoulder tightly, stopping him.
A low growl grew louder as the guard dog stepped closer, but when the man stepped in front of the dwarf, it inexplicably stopped.
Crouching as he moved forward, the man murmured to the dog in smooth tones. He offered it a jerky treat from his pouch with one hand and warned the dwarf back with the other. The dog approached with his head low to the ground and gingerly took the dry meat. Behind it, two more mastiffs appeared, and the man continued his murmur and produced two more jerky treats.
All three dogs, having deemed the tall man to be their friend, stood by him and looked up expectantly, their tails wagging excitedly. One leaned into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. The dwarf smothered a laugh when his friend turned to him with a helpless expression and shrugged.
With the bullmastiffs following, the man walked casually toward the nearest oil lamp, supported by a corner bracket on the warehouse wall, and snuffed it out. Continuing on, the dwarf, the man, and their entourage of dogs turned toward the main entrance to the warehouse. As they went, the man murmured again; however, this time, the tone and words changed. The dogs backed away and laid down.
At the warehouse entrance, the dwarf scanned the courtyard one more time before giving the man a quick nod. In front of them stood a pair of thick, wooden doors, barred by a long oak timber. At one end, the timber had been set snugly into a metal socket bolted to the wall just beyond the door, while the other end was held in place by a hinged bracket closed with a padlock.
After the dwarf finished examining the locking mechanism, he whispered to the tall man, “Xandor, I can’t open this without permanently damaging it. Any ideas?”
Xandor reached into his pouch, pulled out a small graphite rod, and gently slid it into the lock. The black bar slowly expanded until it filled the hole, filling all the tumblers. With a twist, the padlock opened with a click. He put away the rod as the dwarf worked the bracket and moved the timber out of the way. Looking around to make sure no one had heard, the two pushed the door open just enough to get a glimpse inside.
The dwarf’s eyes shone with a gold tint as they scanned the darkened room. It was one large, open space with two intermediate rows of solid oak columns supporting rough-hewn timber roof trusses. Between the columns sat three broad-wheeled wagons—two filled with crates, while the last and shortest one was empty except for a tall box at the rear.
The two entered the vast room, closing the doors behind them. No light was present, so Xandor pulled out a small, hollow tube made of bone and shook it. A small, reddish glow spread out from his hand, providing just enough light for them to see a few feet ahead. He cautiously approached the wagons, listening for any sounds of danger. Not hearing any, Xandor pulled out a thin journal and stuck the light into a fitted sleeve at the top. He produced a small stylus and began taking notes.
Xandor walked around the loaded wagons and roughly sketched their shape. Water barrels hung on either side, along with toolboxes for any potential repairs. The wheels were iron-rimmed, with the front a little smaller than the wheels in the rear, causing the front end to dip slightly. He noted that the bed and driver’s seat were constructed using thin hardwood planks that were more conducive to speed than comfort or safety. He continued around and stepped over the long tongue-and-neck yoke that lay on the ground, waiting for the horses. In the back, eight crates sat nestled together, all their lids nailed tight.
At the chuck wagon, Xandor flipped the page. He drew a diagram of the tall wooden box with a hinged face, made to fit in the back of the wagon. Xandor reached up and lowered the odd-looking panel; as he did, spindle legs rotated out and the inside surface of the lid became a worktable. Inside, cast-iron pots and pans filled the box, along with a small, three-legged stand used for cooking over a campfire. Looking underneath the wagon, Xandor noted a piece of canvas stretched, hammock-style, across the underbelly.
While Xandor checked the wagons, the dwarf searched among the nearby stacks of empty pallets, various tools, bits of wax paper, and the scattering of straw. Not finding anything, he joined Xandor who stood in the back of one of the larger wagons, leaning over a crate.
Chert climbed up and focused his attention on the nails along the edge of the lid. He closed his eyes and whispered in dwarven, “áhátian.” The nails glowed with an inner light, and the wood panels around them began to blacken. Then the dwarf said, “ácwencan.” Immediately, the nails hissed and steamed as if doused in freezing water. When the dwarf tugged on the lid, the brittle nail heads snapped. Putting the lid aside, he took out a pair of pliers filched from the toolbox and tugged out one of the nail shanks.
Xandor looked at the dwarf and whispered, “Chert, we’ll have to replace those.”
“Yeah, I know. There’s a hammer and more nails in the box where I found these pliers,” he replied quietly. While Chert continued to pull nails, Xandor searched the crate thoroughly. There was only straw and bundles of wax paper.
Satisfied, Xandor reached back in, pulled a bundle out, and unwrapped it, revealing a plain bar of soap. Using his knife, he shaved a sliver off one end. Chert handed him a scrap of wax paper in which to wrap his shaving. After placing the knife and sliver of soap in his pouch, he rewrapped the bar and placed it back in the crate exactly where he found it. He moved to the next bundle and unwrapped it—another plain bar of soap. Rewrapping it, he moved to the next one and the next one.
By the time Xandor finished, Chert had returned with the hammer and enough nails to repair the damage he had done to the crate. Between the two, they replaced the lid, pushing and tapping the nails back into the original holes.
They had just stepped down from the wagon when they heard someone outside the door yelling at the dogs, the words slurred.
“Shut up, Pyotr, you drunken kopele,” someone shouted in the distance. In response, several men laughed.
“Tseluni me otzad!” Pyotr yelled back, but the laughter outside just increased. “These lazy dogs are just sitting here.”
“Did you give them something from your flask?”
The man outside grumbled something incoherent. Chert and Xandor waited just inside the doors, peeking through a slim crack. Pyotr hunched over the three dogs, gesticulating wildly. Then he kicked one dog in the ribs, too drunk to cause any real damage, and yelled, “Get up!”
Chert held Xandor back. The dog seemed completely unfazed by the assault. Someone from the main hall joined them. “Do you think they were drugged?”
“Viktor, you think everyone is drugged. No! They are not drugged—just look at them. They’re . . . They’re happy!” Pyotr threw his hand
s up in exasperation.
Viktor laughed at the horse doctor. “Come on. I’ll help you inside before you fall in any konski tor.” The two were just about to walk away when Viktor noticed the door to the warehouse.
“Hey, didn’t we lock that door earlier?”
Pyotr was a bit unsteady, but he stared at the door. “How would I know? I was in the barn.” They walked up to the doors and opened them all the way. The light from the oil lamp in Viktor’s hand illuminated the three wagons, but deep shadows filled the corners of the building.
“Branimir and Daniil!” Viktor yelled. “Come over here and bring more lights. I want to make sure everything’s in order.”
The door to the small office opened, and Sachin asked, “What’s going on out here?” He stepped out and walked across the courtyard, Grendel right behind him.
The horseman turned as Sachin approached and replied, “Pyotr noticed something strange about how the dogs were acting, so I came over to see for myself. That’s when I noticed the warehouse wasn’t locked.”
“Do you remember the door being locked?” Viktor asked the small man.
Sachin pursed his lips and frowned in concentration as he picked up the padlock. He took the oil lamp from Daniil and was about to step inside when he seemed to think better of the idea. Instead, he asked, “Grendel, do you see anything? I know your vision is much better than ours in the dark.”
“No, sir, but let me look around. Just keep that light back so I can see,” Grendel replied calmly as he walked inside. He took his time and walked all the corners, looking behind all the columns and up into the roof framing. Meanwhile, the other men checked the crates on the wagons and made sure nothing had disturbed them. When Grendel finished, he returned to Sachin and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Everything seems in order,” Daniil said. “All the crates are here, and it doesn’t look like anyone messed with them.”
“Make sure it gets locked this time,” Sachin ordered as he handed the padlock to Viktor. “I’ll talk to Dragahn about replacing those dogs in the morning. Meanwhile, have someone guard the door.”
While Sachin and Grendel returned to their office, Viktor closed the warehouse doors and slid the beam back into place. He looked at both men and said, “After I lock this, I want you,” he pointed at Branimir, “to walk these grounds. Daniil, stand guard here until morning. I’ll wake the chief and let him know the door was left unlocked. He may want to search the warehouse himself. I know how important this trip is to him.”
Several minutes after the doors closed, Xandor slipped quietly out from the bottom of the wagon hammock and Chert stepped out from behind a column. Xandor remained where he was, blind in the darkness until the dwarf walked over and took him by the arm. The two abandoned the idea of going out the front door. Instead, they worked their way to the middle of the common wall between warehouse and the main hall. This wall, unlike the other three warehouse walls, was made of stone.
Chert closed his eyes, focusing his concentration, and stuck his fingers, palms facing outward, into a mortar joint. A small crack appeared at first as he moved his hands apart and then gradually grew as Chert applied more pressure. The wythes of stone split open, revealing a small room beyond.
From what he could see, it was a storage room of sorts. Perspiration dotted the dwarf’s forehead as he widened the fissure large enough for the two to crawl through, and then held it for Xandor, who quickly slid in, leaving room for Chert to enter behind him. As soon as they were clear of the crack, Chert released the stone and the wall snapped back into place with a clink of stone.
Xandor cringed at the noise. The two kept still, listening for any sign that someone had heard. After a few long minutes, they crept across the room. Seeing no light under the door, Chert quietly turned the knob.
Outside was a long corridor that led toward a lit room—probably the main hall marked on their map. Echoes of two men discussing the dogs’ odd behavior traveled to them. Xandor and Chert quickly tried the first door on the left. Finding it unlocked, they ducked inside.
Several workbenches and tables, laden with mounted lathes, stone sanders, and other tools crowded the room. Sawdust lay piled along the edges and in the corners. Not hesitating, they made their way across the room and went out the rear exit.
Xandor jumped up and grabbed the top of the wall as Chert prepared to open his way down below. Luckily, the streets were vacant when the two suddenly appeared on the opposite side. They crossed the street and then separated, both traveling circuitous routes to be sure no one followed them.
* * *
It was just before dawn when the cook was startled out of his favorite dream. Jasper blinked owlishly at Xandor and the lit candle beside his bed. Once his eyes were in focus, he scrutinized the tall man and the short dwarf behind him.
“What have you been up to?”
“We went by the warehouse and picked up a piece of that soap for you. Can you take a quick look at it?”
Jasper stood up in his nightgown and cap and rolled his shoulders, then moved his head side to side. “Just trying to get the blood to flow,” he said as the two watched him curiously. “Next time, I get to wake you up.” The two studiously looked at the other items in the room. “I’m ready. Let me see it.”
Xandor reached into his pouch, pulled out the scrap of wax paper, and handed it to Jasper. Whispering to himself, the cook stared at the small bit of pale-white soap nestled inside the wax paper for a long minute. Tilting the soap in his hand, tiny blue-green flecks reflected the candlelight.
“Seems normal enough,” he said as he broke it unevenly.
Putting both pieces to one side, Jasper retrieved a half-empty jug of water. With a quick chant, a partially formed, semi-transparent sphere of energy appeared, floating just above the dressing table. He poured a small amount of water into the magical container, causing it to have a semi-spherical shape as it conformed to the lower portion of the ball. Holding the candle and the smaller piece of soap over the water, he touched it to the flame. As he did, a few milky drops fell. When the melted soap passed the upper surface of the sphere, his friends heard Jasper mutter something and make a gesture with his hand reminiscent of putting a lid on a pot.
With a barely audible pop, the sphere sealed. The visitors watched, fascinated, as the liquid soap slid slowly down the surface of the arcane vessel into the water. Chert and Xandor leapt back as the water hissed and splattered against the inside surface.
“Is it supposed to do that?” Chert asked cautiously.
“Yep, that’s just the lye. Fellows, this is normal soap. Did you find anything else?”
The two glanced at each other, disappointed in the night’s haul. Chert dug into his pouch, pulled out several nail shanks and popped nail heads, and laid them on the edge of the dresser.
“What’s that?” Jasper asked.
“Those are the nails they used to fasten the crate lids. I grabbed them just before we left,” Chert said sheepishly. Jasper picked up a nail head and examined it.
“That’s funny,” he said as he stared down at it. It bore a symbol, something he couldn’t quite discern. He inspected the cut portion. “This nail is silver with a copper core.”
The three stared at each other, uncertain what this new information might mean but convinced this was where the real mystery lay.
* * * * *
Meet the Teamsters (October 12)
Jasper arrived at the warehouse later that morning to find Dragahn reviewing the previous night’s events with his men. One of the workers had just handed him a small piece of metal from the ground near a wagon. Nearby, several men busily sealed cracks along the bodies of the wagons with tar while others stretched tough, white canvases across each bed, covering the crates.
Dragahn stuck the metal in his pocket and motioned Jasper over. “We need to discuss a few things before we leave tomorrow morning. I’ll be here for a little longer so go on to the main hall and I’ll meet you there.”
>
* * *
When Dragahn arrived, Jasper was pouring himself a cup of coffee from a black kettle. “Want some?”
Dragahn grinned. “That sounds great.”
Once he had taken a couple sips, Dragahn said, “I’ve been a caravan chief for ten years now. Started in the stables, younger than Lucky, and worked my way up the ranks.” After a pause, he continued, “I’m forty-three years old and finally have a real chance here to get out of the business. The last thing I want is for you to mess things up and this trip go sour.”
He searched Jasper’s face, trying to read him. “Jasper, once we’re done here, go down to the larder and oversee the loading of the chuck wagon. It’s the last wagon we have to get ready. Got that?”
Jasper nodded and said, “I’ll have it ready. No excuses.”
“Good. You will need to coordinate with Pyotr, because we also need to find room for the sweet feed and hay bales. Fortunately, we’ll only have a small ride for the first leg of the trip, but I want you to be thinking about how we can store additional bales when the time comes.”
Dragahn held up three fingers. “There are three things you need to know. First and foremost is that we have no room for heroes on this trip. You pull your own weight or you get left behind. Second, we are not part of the Teamster’s Guild. They normally leave us alone, but I want you to be aware so you can keep your eyes open. I don’t want to take any chances this trip. Third, our hand signals. We have prearranged signals used by the drivers and the riders to communicate during the trip. I don’t expect you to know them all, but you need to know the important ones. Daniil will instruct you this evening. Make yourself available.”
Jasper nodded.
“Now, let’s talk about some basics before I let you go. Our team consists of three wagons, along with four guards on horseback. I’ll be driving the chuck wagon in the lead, Sachin the second, and Pyotr will be driving the third. I want to cover forty miles in a ten-hour day, including time for one break. Jasper, that will be your time. That break must be efficient; if we are delayed, it will disrupt our whole schedule.
Son of Cayn Page 3
