On the Matter of the Red Hand

by JM Guillen

  I snarled back at him, “You’ll leave when I drag you out of here by the hair. You will be lucky if you are conscious. I’ll have you in the stocks for a solid month.”

  I drew my stave.

  The mere act of attacking a judicar is a tier one offense in the eyes of the Codex. That’s without considering the additional crime of illegitimate entry. Their presence here showed that they had both the plans and means to do me harm.

  If I chose to, I could sentence them to death on the spot. It seemed extreme, even if he had spat on my rug.

  “Stocks?” The large man seemed to have a hard time wrapping his mind around the word. “Are you saying—?”

  I did not give the man time to finish.

  Judicar fighting stances are exquisite, ingenious things. We are specifically trained in graceful, sophisticated postures, most of which are intended to be fought with a trained raven at our sides. Each is a dance of move and countermove, designed to be both effective and elegant.

  There was absolutely nothing elegant about the beating I was about to pass around.

  The big man hadn’t done more than open his mouth before the end of my ebonwood stave smashed into the side of his face. He went down with a wet cry of pain to add his blood to the spit on the carpet. I was certain that he was missing more than a few teeth.

  I turned to the other man. As I did, thunder rumbled outside again, and this time the lightning came too. It painted the inside of my foyer with a sharp, angry light.

  In the bright flash, I could see the man’s eyes gone wide.

  “Judicar!” He held his hands in front of himself, wildly waving them in negotiation. “We didn’t know, did we?” He was part rambling, part backing away. He waved his hand. “Yer hat! You weren’t wearing—”

  “You didn’t know you had broken into my home?” I scowled at him. “I’ve heard much better excuses, much earlier in the day.”

  “Didn’t know you were a judicar, did we?” That was the one on the floor, his mouth sounded full of cotton. “Never would have come then.”

  I gave the man a stark look, stepping forward. “Doesn’t make what you’ve done legal.” I took another step. “Doesn’t mean you get to keep your teeth.”

  I thought that he was going to slip into a panic. “W—we weren’t supposed to be killing anybody.” He was stammering. “Just supposed to tell some pork belly that he’d stepped wrong. Get him to mind ‘is betters.”

  I look at them for a long moment. One was lying in a small puddle of his own blood and spit, moaning. The other held his hands out front of himself and trembled like he had wet his pants.

  “Will you desist and submit?” I looked from one to the other. “Or would you rather receive the wage of attacking a judicar in his home?” I gave the smaller man a sharp look. “You are guilty of the tier one offense of causing a judicar personal harm. You are also guilty of unwarranted entry, dire intention, and two counts of wrongful harm to a citizen of Teredon.” I leveled my stave at the men. “You are hereby detained.”

  “Didn’ know.” That was the man on the floor. Wearily, he pushed himself to his feet.

  I made my eyes hard, and my voice held stark inevitability. I asked the question again. “Will you desist and submit?”

  A long, heavy glance passed between them. Finally, the large one gave the tiniest shake of his head to the other.

  The bald man closed his eyes in silent resignation. Then, they both looked back to me.

  “Thom—” The young woman clutched my shoulder as if I didn’t see. I was already pulling my stave around.

  The big man lurched for me. He was still bleeding out the left side of his mouth, and as a result, his guard was high on that side. I stepped back and swung low. It was difficult to get any real strength behind my stave in these quarters, but still, I caught him well and good. He grunted and stumbled, landing on the floor again. As he went down, I gave him a second shot to the back of the head.

  I looked at the second gentleman. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” I tilted my head toward his friend, who was gasping on the floor. “If you desist and come quietly—”

  The man turned and ran.

  As I said, the men were in my flat when I and my pretty, little doe came in. Therefore, he had some idea of the lay of the place. The weasely man ran straight for my study.

  “Not today.” I started to step after him, knowing that he could easily scurry out the window and onto the small balcony there. I would have caught him too, had his friend not grabbed my leg and sent me sprawling.

  It was all the time that the second man needed.

  He turned and ran.

  I heard my small study’s window shatter open.

  The big man on my floor made a loud grunt as my sweet doe kicked him in the side. His grip on my ankle slackened. I realized she had caught him on the same side I had struck with my stave and grinned. I pulled my foot loose and scrambled up.

  These were desperate men who could not afford to be caught. These were men who had been sent by someone who was dangerous.

  Failure was just as frightening to them as the hand of the law.

  The man tried to push himself up again. I shook my head.

  “You are hereby detained.” I gave the side of his head my boot, and the man slumped down.

  “Thom.” My sweetling looked at me, her eyes wide. She was trembling. “These men—”

  “Have been dealt with,” I stated firmly.

  My mind was still swimming, more than a little from the drink. If anything, my form with these men had been clumsy, though still effective. I blinked and stepped to my lady.

  “Are you well?” I asked.

  She was quavering but only half from fear. As I grew close, she threw her arms around me and almost stumbled. She looked at me for a long moment. In the dim light, I could see her eyes were shining.

  She kissed me. She kissed me like I had never been kissed in life.

  Long moments drifted by as we enjoyed each other. The rain sang in the sky, and occasionally there was still thunder.

  Eventually, I sharpened up and pulled away from her. I kissed her forehead and then looked into her eyes.

  “I’m going to get some fetters on my undesirable, here.” I nudged at the man with my boot. “Then, I’ll secure that window.”

  She nibbled at my neck. “I’d rather those things wait.”

  I sighed. “They can’t.”

  I pointed into my vanity room. “If you need to freshen up, you might step in there. Or I have a collection of spirits waiting in the salon. I’ll escort my new friend here to the stocks a block over, and then I’ll be back.”

  She grumbled. “That sounds like something that will take a long time.”

  I kissed her again and let my hands wander down her sides to curve over her hips, feeling just a touch bold. “Are you saying that you won’t wait?”

  She sighed and pouted. “No. I’ll wait.”

  I nodded deeper into the flat. “I’ll be quick. Why don’t you find something refreshing in my salon?”

  She giggled. “Oh, I’ll be all refreshed when you get back.”

  I watched her step to my foyer and sighed.

  Then, I got to work.

  The Waning Dreams

  Striving, Fourth Bell Dawning

  There were stocks every few blocks in Teredon; it was the singular most common way for judicars to detain an undesirable.

  “Come now. Let’s not dally.” I shoved the man forward. The fetters kept his hands nicely bound. “There’s a long cold night ahead of you. I’d hate for you to miss it.”

  In no way was the stout man cooperating. He hadn’t stood until I had made it clear that I would give him my boot if I had to, and now moving him along was like driving a herd of boulders, surly, injured boulders with no mind to listen to reason.

  Fortunately for me, he had little choice.

  The moment we stepped outside, we were battered with sheets of rain. The man slipped just a touch o
n the wet cobbles, but I caught him.

  “Careful, sir, I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  He grunted and swore under his breath, his only reply.

  “I’d love to chat with you about what we were discussing earlier.” I pushed him along, not kindly. “In particular, I’d love to know who my betters are, and why I should be keeping out of their business.”

  “Fecking judicar.”

  “Things could be worse.” I pushed him again. “I could leave you in fetters and let you take my beating. I could leave you bleeding and toothless on the street, and no one would cry foul. You know that’s true.”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder but said nothing.

  I didn’t want to be in the rain any more than he did, but I had warmth and sweetness awaiting me at my flat. That thought made everything better. I cleared my throat and decided to try again.

  “I just want to know who sent you, chum. I need to know who to take up this business with.”

  The man spat again. I noticed he was still spitting blood. “I ain’t got nothing to say, Judicar. You know how it is.”

  I did. The man likely belonged to some guild or association and had probably been commanded to wait in my flat. Being caught presented him a problem. Which was worse: punishment by the hand of the law or his entire guild knowing he had given names?

  It wasn’t an easy choice.

  “You say that you didn’t know I was a judicar. Seems like whoever you’re protecting wasn’t much of a friend.” I pushed him forward again as the thunder grumbled. “A friend would have told you who you were threatening. Would have given a man a chance to know what he was doing.”

  The man again gave me a sullen glare over his shoulder but still said nothing.

  “Fine enough with me.” We were to the block now. I jangled the proper key into the large lock. “We’ll see how you feel after a day or two on this street corner.”

  I lowered the man’s head in. He didn’t fight me, exactly, but he didn’t make things simple.

  When I was done with his head, I secured his hands and retrieved my fetters.

  “Last chance.” I stood in front of him, looking down. “If not, I hope you enjoy the weather.”

  He tried craning his head, giving me a defiant look. “You can go tup your mother, for all I care, Judicar. I ain’t saying a thing.”

  I sighed. “Suit yerself, sir. I hope you have a pleasant morningtide.” I tipped my hat.

  The man spat at my feet.

  I walked into the rain.

  The Misplaced Man

  Shrouded Week, Striving,

  First bell Morningtide

  The next day came far too soon. It dawned misty and cool, as days in Teredon often did. It was the kind of day where it’s best to lay in bed as long as you can and let the day drift by.

  Assuming you aren’t a judicar.

  “Thom!” The voice was far too eager for this time of day.

  “No.” I groaned, burying my head deeper in the feather pillow. “Absolutely not.”

  The bed bounced right by my head. I rolled away, muttering a maxim about the evils of a judicar’s bird.

  “Thom.” It wasn’t questioning or even particularly insistent. I felt a weight on my back as she hopped onto me. My shoulder throbbed. It was as if every heartbeat was accompanied by a large man’s fist.

  “No.” I shifted so she slipped to the side. It could not be morning.

  “Good girl. Good bird.” Scoundrel took a short hop up, and I rolled back onto my side, feeling vindictive. The raven did not care. She hopped off me, landing next to my head.

  One of my eyes opened, but was terribly unhappy about it. It closed for a moment in rebellion against the light. Using every ounce of will that I had, I forced them both open.

  Oh. There was nothing good about this.

  It was morning. The sun stabbed its way through my window, seeking vengeance on my poor, alcohol-besotted mind. I blinked and tried to focus on anything that wasn’t searing, eyeball-burning light.

  No. Everything was brilliant. Brilliant and shining and out to ruin my morning.

  Scoundrel hopped in front of my face and cooed at me. “Good bird. Pretty bird.”

  I scowled at her and sighed. “Not yet. I’ll feed you soon.” Speaking was difficult. My tongue felt like a bolt of cotton, and my mouth was a dry as sand. Irritated, I rolled over and then, for the first time that morning, smiled.

  “Hello, little sweet.” A cascade of honey-brown hair covered my other pillow. My grin grew wider.

  Now I remembered exactly why I had gone out.

  She lay unawakened by my raven’s rude interruptions, snoring prettily, the way only a woman can. She had my bedsheets wrapped around her side.

  I looked at Scoundrel. “My late night was far better than my morning.” My mind reached for the young woman’s name, but my headache and throbbing shoulder promptly slapped it down. I thought for a moment. Did I know her name at all? I slid closer to her and winced.

  Moving wasn’t pleasant. It had been a long time since I’d had a hangover, but apparently now I was making up for lost days.

  I reached for her under my sheets. Her skin was like velvet, like soft satin. When I traced my fingers down her side and along her breast, she murmured in her sleep. I could smell her now, vanilla and cinnamon and something deeper, tangier.

  I nosed my way down her the back of her neck, as if I could inhale everything she was. I traced my way down her shoulder and toward her breasts. She murmured and smiled sleepily.

  In a nonce, I was waking up all over.

  “Thom.”

  There was a sudden jerk, right atop my head. Ow. I bit my lip, trying not to yelp in a pretty, little ear. I looked at Scoundrel. She tilted her head quizzically, looking me straight in the face. In the bird’s fecking beak there were a few long, brown hairs.

  Moments before, they had been on my head.

  “I’m going to eat crow for breakfast if you keep at it.” My voice was a hiss.

  “Pretty bird. Pretty, pretty bird.”

  I sighed, feeling delicious curves next to me. There was no fighting against it; I had work to do.

  I was going to have to get up.

  I eased myself away from soft sweetness and into the chill of morning. In my imagination, my mystery girl sighed, bereft of me.

  Unfair.

  I swung my legs off the side of my bed and found the carpet at my feet. Scoundrel hopped down to my feet, looking at me with brilliant black eyes. She cocked her head as if asking a question.

  “Thom.”

  I sighed. My head was bleary. It was just too early for this. “I know. We’ll get going. I just need to—” I blinked. “I just need to get the building to stop spinning for a moment.”

  “Thom. Thom.” Scoundrel scratched at my foot with hers.

  “I should not have gone to the revel last night.”

  She looked up at me sagely, as if she understood what I said. “Good bird.”

  It seemed cold in my flat. Slowly, my mind tumbled through the events of the night before.

  “Did I board up a window last night?” Even as I mused, I remembered I had.

  I’d have to bill the city.

  I groaned as I got up, stumbling my way to the washroom. Scoundrel, my most loyal friend, hopped after me, cooing and cawing.

  I ignored her. It was petty, yes, but I thought the bloody bird could wait for a nonce.

  My washbasin was full; the water still warm. That meant that Alia had already been in. My domestic was always quiet, never intrusive. I always wondered what she thought when she slipped in while I lay tangled up with some young beauty. Alia was old enough to be my mother but never seemed to scold me or reflect poorly upon my lifestyle. She just came in, did her job well enough to repay her time, and quietly left.

  “Thom.” I was actively ignoring Scoundrel now. I dipped my hands into the warm water, inwardly thanking Alia’s radiant soul. I pulled it up over my unshaven face,
looking in the mirror as I did.

  I looked like grim death. Grim death with a hangover.

  My mirror was not silver and glass—I’m not that well off. No, it was classic polished steel, rubbed smooth until my reflection was clear. The brown-haired man in the mirror glared at me, obviously annoyed at being out of bed. In my imagination, I saw him tilt his head back toward the bed. His grey eyes led me toward the slumbering girl. He seemed incredulous at my idiocy.

  “I hear ya, friend.” My voice was dry, cracked. I looked down at Scoundrel, who, ever hopeful, cawed again.

  “Cheese?” She was practically trembling with excitement.

  “Fine. You win. I’ll feed you.” Distractedly, I walked into the front hall where Alia had left me a platter of cheese, fruits, and cold goat’s milk under a glass dome. As I tossed the raven some fruit, my head thrummed.

  The king doesn’t notice that the man took the card. His eyes are on me. Then he glances down.

  “Where did she go?” His voice is a rising panic. He is looking at his cards, as if she will be there. He quickly lays down four others: A Fox. A Sword. A Spider. A Golden Coin. One by one, the mysterious man snatches them up, right in front of the king’s face. Yet, the king does not see him.

  The vision was a touch weaker today and still seemed a bit warbled from the alcohol. Usually, the serum only remained strong in my veins for three days, maybe four, before its effects were gone. After that, I would have only my memories of the dream-wisps to help me along—they would no longer force themselves on me at important moments.

  I needed to quit caper-fooling.

  I popped a piece of cheese in my mouth, realizing as I did that I could still smell something on my face and hands. It was like vanilla and cinnamon and something tangier.

  “Tainted night.” I sighed. There was one matter to attend to.

  The girl would have to go.

  2

  “You can’t be serious.” My pretty doe sat up, keeping my sheets wrapped around her. She sighed and stretched and pouted. “It’s not even mid-morning, Thom.”