by Will Molinar
Another jailor came in and gave him a glass of wine. The man said their boss demanded all prisoners be allowed a final drink. Jon thanked him and it went down in one gulp. It tasted quite satisfying.
He stared at the wall for a few moments and wished for forgetfulness. It didn’t come. Wouldn’t come. Not for a few more minutes, perhaps a couple of hours.
The crowd gathered. The jailors were getting ready to move the prisoners out. The executioner checked the ropes to ensure they wouldn’t snap. Jon sat still on his cot. They would come for him soon. These men of this hard edged town with their evil intentions, death and duty in their eyes.
It would be time for him to face his destiny very soon.
* * * * *
Unlike the previous month’s hanging, this day found a layer of mist covering the air. The sun refused to show itself. The drizzle that went off and on like a ship bumping against the piers kept its strength up throughout the morning.
Muldor didn’t notice it much. Nor did he slow his stride one iota. He moved with purpose through the busy streets of his home town and kept only his destination in the forefront of his mind. The streets grew thicker with people as he neared the political center of town. That didn’t surprise him. The people of Sea Haven always enjoyed a good hanging.
Something churned within him that was as foreign in recent days. There was purpose and even a sense of righteousness that hadn’t been there the day before within his heart.
Images of cousin Carver’s destitute family flashed through his mind. The haunted look in the young girl’s eyes gave him pain. Maybe he should take them in after all, help them escape the institutional fate that doomed almost every poor soul that ever graced its halls. But first things first.
What he planned could come back to him in the worst way, but he pushed these negative thoughts aside as he focused on what needed to be done. Muldor couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore.
There were those in The Guild that didn’t even know what Castellan planned, but they were too afraid to do anything about it. Or lacked the power to do anything. They were all too tied to the apathy and routine their individual lives demanded of them.
Muldor thought about how many the percentage of Guild members that would assist him. How many would risk their careers, their lives, to help him fight Castellan. How many would help him save the very organization their leader jeopardized. It did not matter, for he would see it through alone.
It was still before dawn, yet people filled the streets around the gallows. They were ready to see men die firsthand, perhaps to feel better about their own situations. Their dreadful lives forgotten in the day’s entertainment. Muldor couldn’t begrudge them that.
The citizenry were dirty and scrubby, with torn clothes, scabby fingers, thin faces and vacant eyes. Muldor found it odd he had not noticed it much before, but his people, his city suffered. Because of a few bits of luck and a strong will, the Guild man had risen above them a mere fraction. It was enough for him to live in comfort by comparison. Many children were there, and in secret he hated their parents for bringing them. His city was capable of worse atrocities. If Castellan had his way, it would become worse. Muldor thought of the man and made sure to pull his thick grey cowl tight over his face, but he doubted it could hide his identity.
Reaching the jail was a simple matter of walking a few blocks from the gallows, but for Muldor it grew harder. To being branded a traitor was a one way street. His Guild membership would be forfeit, decades of work gone in a matter of minutes. Doubts dragged down his steps, but Muldor forced them away. His conscience would not be denied.
Outside the jail a few people milled about. Most of them officers of the law, but Muldor saw a few men and women nearby who seemed to be doing nothing. The guards recognized Muldor and nodded to him as he neared.
“Morning to you.”
Muldor eyed the man, and then the citizens. “Who are they?”
The man shrugged. “A bunch of vagrants is all, sir.”
“Get rid of them. You and a few other men are to see them off. They look dangerous to me, and I want them gone from here.”
The officer considered, but was dubious. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Need I remind you of your responsibility? You are to see to the safe delivery of the prisoners. Guild Master Castellan has entrusted you and I with an important job. Your duty is clear. Should I inform Captain Cubbins of your dereliction?”
The guard shook his head with vigor. “No sir! I see what you mean. We’ll get right on that, sir, no need to tell Cubbins. I mean, the Captain. We can take care of it.”
“See that you do. Good day to you.”
Muldor entered the jail as the officers approached the group of vagrants. He was confident that would distract them for a time. The interior was drab and drafty. The cold air funneled in from the lack of proper insulation.
To his right sat a desk as high as a podium, a duty sergeant stood behind it. Muldor hoped for lackadaisical nonchalance, but he knew there would be no such luck. Cubbins was too diligent in training his men. The desk sergeant was wary and alert when he saw Muldor approach.
“I need to speak with one of the prisoners,” Muldor said. “Under Guild Master Castellan’s orders. The man has information of vital interest to The Guild, and I must speak with him before he is put to death.”
The sergeant’s face grew suspicious. “Name?”
“Jon Baumgartner.”
The man looked down at his desk and rifled through some papers, no doubt looking for the location. He glanced up at Muldor. “Cell block four. Wait a moment, and I’ll have Carl take you.”
Muldor breathed a mental sigh and waited. Soon one of the jailors, a simple turn key, came to him and took him to cell block four. It was the highest level of security in the jail. The hallways were thick blunt stone and black iron, greasy with oil.
The air smelled of soot, and the torches wavered in their sconces. Black smoke plumed towards the ceiling where it stained the stone with blotches of darkness. They went down further corridors. Muldor took careful note of the route, for he had little experience in the physical layout of the jail. Soon they reached their destination.
The turn key pointed to an iron banded door, and the tiny barred window at the top. “There it is, sir.”
“Unlock it and leave me with him,” Muldor said.
The guard hesitated.
“Is there a problem?”
“Um, no sir. No problem. One moment.”
The turn key pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door. It swung it open.
Muldor struck him. Hard. It was a simple, direct blow to the side of his head, right on the corner of his temple. Muldor’s thick forearm gave sufficient force to render the man unconscious. Muldor grabbed his limp form and dragged him into the cell, taking his keys.
Jon looked up from his cot, shock in his eyes, and a flash of recognition of Muldor. The bedraggled young man backed away from the scene before him. “What on earth?”
“Here,” Muldor said. “Help me with him. Take his uniform. You must wear it. Be quick now.”
Jon was too stunned to move and hesitated. Muldor wouldn’t have it. He snapped his fingers.
“Hurry. The guards are on a set rotation. We have mere moments.”
Jon nodded, a dull look on his face. “Yes, of course. This is important.”
They stripped the guard down and replaced his uniform with Jon’s clothing. Muldor was grateful they were of similar size. Jon put the uniform on as fast as he could, breathing heavy and looking afraid. Muldor handed him the turn key’s helmet and put a steadying hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Take these keys and hang them on your belt. You must play the part and be at ease. Our success depends upon it. Do you understand?”
Jon took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course. I understand.”
Muldor allowed himself a smile. Perhaps there was more to this man than first surmised.
They arranged the guard on the cot, face do
wn, and pulled the lone blanket over his shoulders. It would have to suffice for the time being. Muldor went to the door and peered out. No one was present.
“Now, listen to me with care,” Muldor said and waved him forward. “Lock the door behind me and follow me down the hall. Stay behind me and over my right shoulder. Keep your head low and under no circumstances are you to speak to anyone. Is this clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Once we reach the outer office, I will go to the desk and speak with the sergeant there. Go to the small foyer by the front door but do not exit until I come to you. Avoid eye contact with anyone. Perhaps a grunt or a wave would be permissible. Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Everything will be fine. Let’s go.”
They walked. Muldor was certain every step must have lasted an eternity to the young man. He knew his thoughts were a jumble of disbelief and hope. They reached the front office room, and Muldor felt a level of trepidation. Three guards in total plus the sergeant spoke with one another.
No doubt most of them were setting up crowd control at the gallows, but there were still some present at the jail. Perhaps Muldor’s diversion outside had back fired, and the men were coming in right this moment. His plan would be foiled before it had a chance to succeed.
Jon tensed, and Muldor prayed the young man would keep his composure and follow through with the instructions. Muldor went to the desk to cover his movements.
The sergeant’s gaze followed Jon’s back. “Hey Carl! Come here. We need you for a moment.”
Muldor intercepted his gaze. “Sergeant, how many men can you spare?”
“What? Carl, hey—I don’t know. How many what?“
“Sergeant Bigus, how many men? I have learned some troubling news from the prisoner. Very troubling. I need your assistance.” Keep moving, Jon.
The sergeant looked at Muldor, his face clouding. “What news? What’s happening?”
“There is to be an attack before your contingent reaches the gallows. The thieves are planning a rescue of the men they believe loyal to their cause.”
The four officers perked up, and the three underlings looked to Sergeant Bigus. There had indeed been talk of the rogue thieves. They all knew it.
“What did he tell you?” the sergeant said.
“The details are unimportant at the moment. Rally your men, as many as can be spared. Call in off duty personnel if need be. Delay transport until counter measures are in place. Go now!”
The jailors snapped to it.
“Thank you, sir,” Sergeant Bigus said and began issuing orders.
Muldor went as fast as he could towards the door. There he found Jon standing alert, already sweating in his stolen uniform. Muldor grabbed his arm as they hit the door and went outside.
“Same position as before, Jon, but not too close. Follow me to the adjacent building. Move!”
The steps were deserted, and Muldor was buoyed to see the officers rousting the vagrants. They argued with them. They had a right to be wherever they wanted to be. Muldor smiled and walked faster.
They reached the building across the street and went down the first alley they reached. They made a left turn and continued on. At the next block they went right and found a small spot to hide for the moment, right behind a heap of garbage. Squatting down, he waved Jon over and looked for pursuit. There was none.
“Toss your helmet and leather armor here. We must not arouse suspicion. Hurry.”
“Yes. Of course. I-I can’t thank you enough. I thought I was finished.
Muldor held up a hand. “Please. There will be time for celebration later if we are lucky. But there is more to be done. We must not tally longer.”
“Forgive me.”
“Yes, yes, please, let us move on.”
Jon dumped the extra weight, and they headed far away from the municipal section of the city as fast as they could without attracting undo attention. Muldor made a point to avoid the gallows and all the streets leading to it as they headed for his office. That would be the most prudent place to be for a little while.
Muldor was glad to see his thieving skills, those of stealth in particular, had not atrophied in the years since last using them. The most frightening thing about the entire affair was that he enjoyed what he was doing. It was exciting. His years behind a desk for so many hours per day had begun to drain his life force.
Taking a circuitous route, they reached his office as morning dawned bright and fresh. The sun peaked out early from the stubborn clouds that hung above the docks. They entered through a side entrance, Muldor checking the immediate area for any sign of errant watchers and saw none.
“You’ll stay here for a bit,” Muldor said and went straight to the fire pit, wanting to make his guest feel comfortable.
Jon stood and looked around the room. The foreign man looked on the verge of collapse. His nerves must be pushed to the limit the poor boy.
“Here, have some tea,” Muldor said and handed a steaming cup to him.
Jon took it and nodded thanks. “I don’t know what to say. How-why, I mean, why did you do this? Did Giorgio plan this, what happened?”
Muldor considered. “Many factors contributed to my decision. Giorgio, yes, I know him because we’re old friends. Now, allow me a few moments to gather some items for both of us.”
Jon nodded and drank his tea.
Muldor went to his back room and looked for a few essentials. A heavy mace was wrapped in oiled rags, the metal dull iron, thick and rough. Small chips, little divots in the surface from repeated blows, marred the weapon.
It felt right somehow, for him to wield it once again, as if it had been waiting for him all this time. In the end it was an easy decision. The safety and future security of the city were at risk, and though it might’ve appeared he was betraying the Guild, nothing was further from the truth. Muldor acted to save it.
“So where to now?” Jon said as Muldor re-entered the main room. The young man stood by one of the many bookshelves and glanced at Muldor with expectant eyes. “Where are we going and to whom?”
“I believe you understand with whom we throw our lot in with. The thieves of course. Giorgio will be pleased that I have chosen to join them. We can only hope your associate Zandor will be successful in acquiring allies from your home port, for we cannot hope to overcome the forces arrayed against us alone. Castellan will be furious when he discovers the betrayal. We should expect sudden and overwhelming retribution.”
Jon looked crestfallen. “I was afraid you would say that.”
Chapter Two
Magistrate Harper raised his reddish eyebrows and studied Zandor for a moment before replying. “Prisoner, is it? How do you know this? Did you see Jon in prison, shackled?”
“I saw the man taken, that’s how. What else would they do with him afterwards? Throw him a birthday party?”
Magistrate Harper cleared his throat and gave Zandor a pleasant but very professional smile. “Zandor, you are one of my finest agents, one of my most trusted employees.”
Zandor raised an eyebrow in mock offense. “Employee, huh? Thought we was friends, boss.”
“Your humor is not appreciated. This is serious. What you witnessed, Zandor, would not be construed as kidnapping, arrest, or any other applicable crime we have. They were police, with duly appointed powers of law.”
Zandor sat forward and leaned over the Magistrate’s desk. “In case you hadn’t noticed, they ain’t playin’ by the rules. Not all were police. I know these other boys, saw ‘em out there on the streets, killed a couple. I used to train the same people. They took Jon.”
“I know. You told me. But this is—”
“Now you listen here,” Zandor said and raised his voice, something he almost never did. “These people’ll lie, cheat, kill, steal themselves mad until they control everything this side of the continent. They won’t stop. I saw enough to know better.”
“And yet here you are empty handed. Jon has been
captured or taken into custody, I’ll give you that. And neither of you were able to provide this office with the proper evidence, any evidence except hearsay and conjecture.”
“Take my word for it. That used to mean something, didn’t it? I saw them take away the Lord Governor and his aide, a Lord Cassius. This is serious as can be. They’re staging a take-over, this merchants’ guild.”
The magistrate considered. Harper rubbed his stark red goatee and blew out some air. He shook his head. “This makes no sense. This guild master, this Castellan fellow, I’ve heard of him, and I don’t think he could be so brazen. It is risking total anarchy in a city already about to boil over.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Sea Haven falls into chaos and more than half the trade routes on the continent shut down. How is this not your concern?”
Magistrate Harper harrumphed. “You believe it to be so simple. Tell me what you propose we do. Do we march upon them in full war? I snap my fingers and it happens? Don’t be a child. I answer to other men, and they in turn to further more.”
Zandor swallowed a cruse directed at the magistrate’s mother. He took a deep breath and thought about what he would say, for it was different from what he was thinking.
“Gimme some men. That’s all. Fund me and outfit them well. I can get some of my own boys together real fast, but we need official backing, and then these fellas can get a job done fast.”
“And you expect to go back to Sea Haven and do what? First, you know how well they control their own port so forget about the sea. No, no. If you travel over land it will take weeks, so what do you do then?”
“Doesn’t have to be so dang complicated. I ain’t askin’ for a whole bleedin’ army. I am asking you to outfit us, supply us, so we can save Jon. Let me worry about the details.”
“Ah, so your merry little band of rebel rousers plan to take on the entirety of the Merchants Guild. From what you tell me, the police force, a group of professional assassins, and perhaps hundreds of mercenaries face you. How do you plan on accomplishing all this? If the thieves, men who know their city better than you, can’t free him, how do you expect to?”
