by Duncan Lay
Munro shook his head. “We are no longer staying among the ordinary people. We are staying with merchants who will condemn themselves if they give us up. They know what happens to those who cross Fallon. And we have no choice. Yes, we shall be rewarded beyond our wildest dreams when Prince Swane takes the throne again. But only if he does take the throne. We have split the Ruling Council apart; now is not the time to give up. Now is the time to keep pressing. But, to spare your nerves, let us make this the last meeting for a moon. Devote yourselves to spreading word about how much food is in those warehouses and see if we can’t get a riot going, then tell the people that Swane will throw open all the warehouses when he returns, so all can eat until they can eat no more. Go to it!”
He watched his men and woman disappearing out of different doorways, down a variety of streets, and sighed. They were right. The risks were mounting. Posing as the dressmaker had got him into the castle but also meant they now knew his face. Crude but recognizable signs were everywhere in the city, offering ridiculous sums for his head. Many of his old safe houses had been raided and he went everywhere these days with his hood up and a woollen scarf across his lower face. Many in the city also wore that in the cold but when spring arrived, he would have problems maintaining that disguise. Worse, the reward was getting to the point where one of the merchants might just take the risk and hand him in. He dared not spend more than one night with them and often had two or more lined up as safe houses, choosing one only at the end of the day. Still, these men were black marketeers and had nearly as much to fear from Fallon as Munro did.
CHAPTER 59
Watching his new recruits put Fallon in an even fouler mood, because they varied from listless to useless. With most of his experienced men despatched across the country or guarding food warehouses and the castle, these recruits were not getting the right instruction. They would not be ready to fight Kottermanis any time soon. Once again it came back to Munro. Find him, track down Swane and Kemal and they had a chance. But would Munro even know where Swane was? And would Kemal be there? He clenched his fists. It felt like he was trying to fight blindfolded, while his enemies laughed at him.
“Maybe the lads out around the country are having more luck?” Brendan suggested hopefully.
Fallon just grunted.
“It would help if we knew how long we had,” the smith went on. “If we knew when the winter storms will end and when the Kottermanis might land, we could work more on these men.”
Fallon stood straighter. “Brendan, you are a genius,” he said fervently.
The smith cracked his huge knuckles. “One of my many talents,” he said.
*
“What are you doing?” Padraig asked.
“We need to make sure this city is ready when the Kottermanis come,” Fallon said irritably. “What do you mean, old man? Speak plainly!”
The old wizard sighed. “I had hoped to come and talk some sense into you. You can’t do this by yourself. There is too much going on. And what has happened between you and my daughter?”
“Nothing,” Fallon lied. “Anyway, I didn’t ask you here for a lecture. We need to know when winter might end and when we might see the Kottermanis.”
Padraig grunted. “That is far past my abilities. I need help unbuttoning my breeches.”
Fallon would have enjoyed making some comment about that a few moons ago and Devlin and Gallagher would have loved it. But he did not have the energy for jokes and Devlin had been banned from meetings, while Gallagher just sat there and glowered.
That set Fallon’s teeth on edge. He had asked politely for the Archbishop’s help and it had taken a full quarter moon before she agreed to turn up. It was insulting.
“Archbishop, is there any divine help we can get? How long have we got?”
Rosaleen sighed. “I will pray for guidance but I cannot promise anything. Winter’s end is hard to predict at the best of times and depends on many things. We don’t even know how that will help us, for storms in early spring can be just as destructive as the winter storms. Or we could get half a moon of calm weather in late winter and the Kottermanis sail here without any difficulty.”
“I just need any edge I can get,” Fallon said cajolingly. Aroaril knew he needed it. There was still no sign of Munro, let alone Swane, and putting more men into the recruits’ training had not worked yet. It seemed there were more grumblers than men willing to fight.
“I shall see what I can do,” Rosaleen repeated. “Meanwhile, I need to raise with you the issue of using food as a weapon to keep order on the streets.”
“What of it?” Fallon asked belligerently.
“In the past quarter moon we have been inundated with people begging for food from the church and we’ve tried to find a way to feed them,” she said.
“That’s easy. Don’t feed them,” Fallon snorted.
“I cannot turn people away from a church when they arrive wanting help, especially those with children!” Rosaleen snapped. “We have little but we have to help all that turn up at our door, or we betray everything we stand for.”
“How do you have food? I thought all food supplies had been brought to us for distribution?” Fallon asked suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’ve been giving your rations to people off the streets?”
Rosaleen pursed her lips but did not reply and he leaned forwards, feeling a now-familiar surge of anger.
“You’ve been buying food on the black market, haven’t you?”
Gallagher slapped the table. “You would do well to remember who you talk to! Show some respect to the Archbishop!”
“I thought I knew who I was talking to. An old friend who would help me. But it seems there is someone different sitting here,” Fallon retorted.
“The church has money, stolen and hoarded by Archbishop Kynan over the years, and we have been using it for good,” Rosaleen said stiffly.
Fallon shook his head. All this time he’d been trying to stamp out the food hoarders and see if they could link him back to Munro, and the church had been helping them!
“Then do some more good now,” he said through gritted teeth. “Give me names and places of the merchants selling you food and we’ll pay them a visit.”
“I cannot betray those who have dealt with us in good faith. What would that do to the reputation of the church? Besides, there is no evil in those we buy from, only greed.”
“No evil? They grow rich and fat while people go hungry!” Fallon said indignantly.
“It is the only way,” Rosaleen said firmly. “Your actions have left people starving on the streets. Whatever the sins of their parents, the children deserve better and we have to be able to feed them. The church has always bought food, now we use it to help others rather than ourselves.”
“Well, I order you to cease and turn over your food supplies and money to me, then tell me who has been selling you food.”
“And you will put it to better use,” Gallagher said sarcastically.
“Fairer use. With money I can put some enthusiasm back into the recruits and with more food I can offer a reward to find Munro. And once I have Munro then he will lead me to Swane.”
“And who will feed the starving children?” Rosaleen demanded.
“I haven’t cut them off from food, just reduced their rations for a day,” Fallon growled. “You sound as though I am personally torturing small children!”
“Well, you are,” Rosaleen said. “Your actions are causing them harm and you have the power to stop that.”
Fallon sighed. “I do not have the time for this debate. Are you going to give me your food and money?”
“No,” Rosaleen said firmly.
“What? You refuse a request from the Lord Protector?” Fallon asked dangerously.
“That was not a request. That was a demand. You might as well have been holding a knife to our throats when you said it,” Rosaleen snapped. “You cannot demand anything of us, anyway. We are not subject to your powers.”
&n
bsp; “Are you really going to turn against me and side with our enemies?” Fallon asked threateningly.
“It is not that simple!” Rosaleen insisted. “I will never stand with the Zorva-worshippers but neither will I stand by and let children suffer when I have the power to help them.”
Fallon forced a laugh. “So you would put the lives of a couple of urchins, whose parents are traitors, over the entire city?”
“You are trying to make this a question of black and white answers. But there is only gray in a Gaelish winter,” Rosaleen said. “And that is the best answer I can give you.” She pushed back her chair and stood, followed a heartbeat later by Gallagher. “I came here today out of respect but, in the future, you will need to come and see me. And you will need to speak to my secretary first.”
“And who is that? Gallagher?” Fallon stood also.
“I shall try and find some time for you, but I cannot promise anything, Lord Protector,” Gallagher said, putting a sneer into the last two words.
“Well, don’t come to me for help, because you won’t be getting it!” Fallon snarled as they walked out.
They both ignored him, Gallagher holding the door for Rosaleen and then shutting it behind him.
“That went well,” Padraig said dryly into the sudden silence.
“The arrogance of some people!” Fallon muttered.
“Imagine,” Padraig said mildly.
Fallon walked to the window and, heedless of the icy draft, forced open the covering to look out over the city, shivering in another day of merciless rain. A gust of it pattered onto his face and arms and he shoved the window covering shut again.
“We got one useful thing out of that,” he said, walking back towards the fire.
“Pray tell me,” Padraig said, shoving his boots up onto the table.
“Gallagher is doing the dirty work for her, buying food off the merchants. All we have to do is follow him and we will get Munro at last,” Fallon said with relish. “Munro can’t be getting any food from us. So he has to be buying it from somewhere. And, if he is smart, he is buying it from several of them, to reduce the risk. All we have to do is follow the trail of crumbs and it will lead to his hideout.”
“But how do we follow Gallagher?”
“You can use magic.”
Padraig sighed. “Well, if I do this, will you at least promise to apologize to Bridgit and make her smile again?”
Fallon chuckled. “A promise easily kept!”
Munro would be within his reach at last! He could nearly taste the feeling of success when he dragged the bastard down into the cells. He almost hoped Munro did not want to talk, so he could enjoy making him.
*
“There goes Gallagher now,” Padraig said, his teeth chattering. “Couldn’t we find somewhere warmer to wait for him?”
“We can’t have any fires. He’ll see it,” Fallon replied absently.
They had set themselves up in a wreck of a house that overlooked the back of the cathedral. Just in case, Brendan had other teams out the front but Fallon reckoned Gallagher would trust to the alleyways, for the front of the cathedral was always lit up and, even at this time, there were plenty of worshippers around. The only drawback to their hiding place was it being open to the weather—which, after dark, was enough to have ice forming on the floor.
“Send the birds after him. We’ll follow at a distance. He’s too clever to risk giving this away,” Fallon whispered.
Padraig closed his eyes briefly and then nodded. “I have two of them circling overhead. That way one can keep watching him while the other reports back to us.”
“Good.” Fallon blew on his frozen hands. “Now we know he is going tonight, we can go and get ourselves warmed up.”
“About bloody time. I daren’t take a piss for fear it might snap off in my hands,” Padraig grunted.
A few moons ago Fallon would have made some sort of joke about sex but he was feeling keenly the absence of Bridgit in his bed and it was hard indeed to raise a laugh about that. In fact, every word he thought of just reminded him …
“Come on,” he said roughly. “We’ll thaw out and then get the horses.”
A few minutes later, guided by constant reports from the pair of owls that hovered above Gallagher, they were able to stay two streets back, well out of sight and even out of hearing, as they crossed into the Merchants’ Quarter.
“I might have guessed those bastards would have been helping Munro,” Fallon muttered.
Padraig merely nodded. They had muffled the horse’s hooves with rags so that they moved almost silently through the city. Even the bridles and reins had been worked on, so there was nothing jingling to give them away.
“He has stopped,” Padraig said, an owl flying down to his hand. “They are in a small warehouse.”
“Guide us in. We surround it,” Fallon said. “Nobody is getting out of there, not even Gallagher.”
*
Gallagher stared at the merchant Docherty with disgust. “How much do you want for this?” he asked, revolted.
The merchant spread his hands expansively. “There is nowhere else you can buy this and my supplies are running low. I also have risks in moving this around the city. If Fallon was to hear of what I was doing, then I would be lucky to keep my head. I had to put my prices up. Besides, the church will be able to afford it. Just tell the peasants that Aroaril needs some extra help and then you and the rest of the church can stay warm while you enjoy the extra food.”
“This is not for us,” Gallagher snarled. “This is for the poor!”
Docherty smiled warmly. “It’s for whoever you want. Once you buy it off me, you can feed it to the pigs, for all I care. But the price is double what it was last time.”
“I don’t have enough to buy it all then,” Gallagher said, clenching his hands inside his coat to stop himself from punching this man. Once he would have done so but he was a different man now, although one sometimes sorely tested by the path he had chosen. He was tempted to grab this slimy merchant and drag him off to the castle, allowing his ill-gotten supplies to be shared out equally. But then the hungry would starve and, anyway, Docherty had a trio of burly guards, all of whom looked like they would love to use the shillelaghs they carried.
“Well, you can take what you can afford and remember to bring more next time,” Docherty said brightly.
Gallagher shook his head before removing his hand from his pocket slowly. He would have liked to be holding one of his knives in his hand but instead he handed over a small bag filled with gold. Rosaleen had given him more than what he’d paid the previous quarter moon, thinking the merchant would put the price up. But not by this amount.
Docherty hefted the bag with another sickly smile and then counted it swiftly before signaling to the guards, who swiftly tossed sacks onto Gallagher’s small cart, stopping well before it was full.
“A pleasure doing business with you,” Docherty said with a wave.
Gallagher restrained himself and climbed into the driver’s seat of the cart. As soon as he was ready, two of Docherty’s guards hurried over to the warehouse’s double doors and unlocked them, hauling the heavy wood back to let him out. But, before Gallagher could do more than click his tongue to the mule, armed men burst in through the doors, smashing over the guards and shouting at the top of their voices.
Gallagher sat there, stunned, while Docherty and his remaining guard turned to run. But an enormous crash announced the back door being beaten down and a familiar giant figure ran in, others at his shoulders. Docherty’s last guard threw his shillelagh aside and dropped to the ground, hands over his head. Docherty turned again but a pair of armed man grabbed him and walked him over to the center of the empty warehouse, kicking him in the back of the legs so he dropped to his knees.
“Evening, Brendan,” Gallagher nodded.
“Gall,” the smith acknowledged. “You might want to get down from there.”
Gallagher nodded and jumped down. “I do
n’t suppose you could just let me go, for old times’ sake?”
“No,” Brendan said.
Gallagher sighed. “You don’t mind if I pray?”
“Go ahead. You might need it. Fallon’s coming.”
*
Fallon congratulated his men as he inspected the haul. Three guards and one merchant, as well as enough oats to feed the city for an extra day at least.
“What about Gallagher?” Bran asked.
Fallon looked over to where his old friend knelt, praying. He was tempted to speak to him but knew that would not end well.
“Let him walk out of here. But he can leave behind the money, the food and the cart,” Fallon said. “This might give Rosaleen second thoughts about dealing with black marketeer scum again.”
He turned back to his prize. The guards would know nothing but the merchant could have anything in his fat head. It was all a question as to how to unlock it and how much force might be required. Rosaleen obviously was not going to help. But there were other ways to make men talk. He studied the merchant carefully, seeing the sweat trickling down his face despite the bitter chill in the cavernous warehouse.
“Strip him,” he ordered his men, who dragged the screeching merchant up and began to rip off his rich cloak, jerkin and trews.
“Fallon!”
He turned to see an irate Gallagher storming over. A pair of Bran’s men stepped in front of him but Fallon waved them aside.
“What is it?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you want to beg for mercy for this man?”
Gallagher shook his head. “Do what you want to them. But let me take this food back to the cathedral, where the poor can receive it.”
Fallon stared at his friend in shock. “You do realize the penalty for what you were doing here tonight? I was going to let you go. Don’t make me change my mind.”
Gallagher pointed at the cart of food. “There are children who are depending on that food. We cannot let young ones go hungry because their parents were foolish!”
Fallon laughed, but there was nothing humorous about it. “You are living in a strange world indeed if you cannot see the problems we face. I have a whole city to try and keep alive. And I shall do that best by adding all this food to the city’s supplies, and using the gold to pay for blacksmiths to provide us with arms and armor in time for spring.”
