his gums to double check.
'No,' Winterburne said, looking into Cromwell's mouth, 'your smile is as lovely as it ever was.' He turned his attention back to the sailors, several of which swayed as they tried to focus their vision on anything they could. 'You lot!' he shouted. 'Move yourselves!'
They marched the men, in single file, back along the quayside and towards their ship which was tied up in the deep water on the far side of the harbour. It had moored close to the wooden crane-frames as they waited patiently for their next unloading job. It was not common for the larger ships to tie up in Highport docks, as they usually sat out in the bay, but on occasions, when heavy goods were involved they could do it.
Before too long, Winterburne had led the procession to the gangplank of their own vessel, with Cromwell following at the rear. Waiting to greet them, standing on the deck of the ship next to a burning brazier was the ship's Master. He didn't look best pleased, glowering at his men as they marched up the plank to join him.
'I was just thinking about sending out a search party for these,' the Master said. 'Don't tell me, they've been making a nuisance of themselves.' He offered his hand in greeting, to Winterburne.
'I thought it better that we saw to their safe return ourselves,' Winterburne took the man's hand and shook it, 'before they got themselves into any more trouble.'
'What have they been doing, this time?'
Winterburne looked over at the men, who were now subdued, and seemed a completely different set of characters. He took that to mean that the Master must run a tough ship for them to react in that way.
'Nothing, really,' he said, 'it was just a case of high spirits. There was no real harm done. Least nothing that a few coins, and a word or two of apology, didn't fix.'
The Master nodded and took a look at the men as they filed past him with their heads bowed in shame. 'Get below,' he said. 'I'll deal with you all in the morning.'
Winterburne smiled as he watched them climb down the ladder, disappearing into the hold. He imagined them trying to climb into their bunks below which, no doubt, would be hanging between the beams and difficult enough for a sober man, let alone those with a few jugs in them. Now that would be amusing to watch, he thought.
'A word of advice for you, my friend,' he said. 'Tensions between our nations seem to be increasing, and as such I don't see anything but more trouble for you and your men if you stay here any longer than you have to.'
He looked around the deck of the ship, the ropes and crates sat in regular piles and it seemed that everything was well ordered. On the face of it, he certainly had no due cause to justify a search of the ship from what he could see. His gaze came back to the Master. 'And you can take that warning in the spirit of friendship in which it was meant.'
The Master nodded in response to Winterburne's words. 'I hear what you say, Captain,' he replied, 'and I promise you that we will leave as soon as we are able. Unfortunately, though, our shipment is not yet ready, so I regret that we will be a little while longer yet.'
'A shipment? Of what?'
'Odds and ends. Fabrics, spices, stuff like that.'
'Very well,' Winterburne said, 'you've been fair warned. But, I would suggest you keep these men under tighter control, before they get into any more mischief. Judging by tonight's escapade, it would seem that there are those around here that would have a preference in seeing your men inspecting the lobster pots on the seabed of the harbour with a knife in their back.'
He nodded a good night at the Master, and walked across the deck of the ship, stepping onto the plank. It bounced a little as he made his way back to dry land.
'Good night, Sir,' Cromwell said, to the master, then turned and followed Winterburne down to the dockside.
As they reached the far side of the gap, the recognisable shape of Sergeant Moore lumbered towards them along the side of the quay. His breath was laboured, and even in the darkness Winterburne could see that his face was flushed.
'I’ve been looking for you all over, Sir.' Moore gulped in some air. 'The barkeep told me that you might be down here.'
'Why?' Winterburne asked. 'What's up?'
'There's been another killing, Captain. Up in the North District.'
oOo
Winterburne lifted the tarpaulin that had been pulled over the man's body. A gaping wound reached from the left of his throat across and down to the right. Whoever had done this had not spared his strength and the man had almost been beheaded. Blood had spurted all around where the blade had severed the blood vessels and it had pooled beneath the body, collecting around the man's brown waistcoat.
Winterburne trod carefully as he tried not to stand in the dark liquid. The dead man's long, dark brown hair, had been tied in a tail to keep it away from his eyes, and he wore a beard and moustache. Other than the killing blow there was very little evidence of a struggle.
'I'm guessing he was attacked from behind,' Winterburne said.
Beneath the waistcoat the man wore a white shirt that had been stained red by the blood from the wound. He touched his fingers into the blood, lifting them up to his nostrils. He sniffed and rubbed them together. 'This didn’t happen very long ago,' he said, looking up at Cromwell's pale face. It was getting paler by the second.
The Lieutenant gulped as he looked down at the body. 'No, Sir,' he said.
'The blood hasn’t set yet,' Winterburne added, 'and there is still a little warmth to the body.'
'This is sickening, Sir.' Cromwell wiped his brow with the back of his hand. 'No killings in over a year, and now two in close order. What's going on?'
Winterburne's mind raced. 'It does seem too much of a coincidence, doesn't it?' he said. 'In the same part of the city, too. Of course, there's nothing to say that they are connected.'
'I don't suppose that man we followed earlier this evening had anything to do with this?' Cromwell asked. 'I'll wager we may have seen him leaving the scene of the crime.'
'Maybe,' Winterburne replied, 'although let's not jump to conclusions too hastily. There's no direct evidence for it.' At face value the Emperor's presence could well be seen as more than a mere coincidence. If only Cromwell knew the truth of who he had just named as his chief suspect, especially when the movements of that particular robed man could not be accounted for at this moment in time. 'Let's not forget that there are also four thousand killers camped right outside the city walls, Lieutenant, not a mile or two from here. For all we know it could also have easily been one of them, along with any other number of people.'
'You have to admit that he did look shifty, though, Sir.'
Moore stood beside the Lieutenant looking down at the body.
'Has he been searched yet, Sergeant?' Winterburne asked. He dropped the cover down over the man's gaunt face.
'Only a quick search,' Moore replied, 'we didn't want to disturb things too much. We found a purse with some coins, and a small key. Nothing else.'
'Probably not robbery then,' Winterburne said. 'Let me see the key?'
Moore reached out his hand. He held a thin iron key, about four inches in length, and Winterburne took it, turning it over and trying to picture in his mind the lock that the key might match. 'Seems too light to be an external lock,' he said. 'I'd like to see what's on the other side of the door that this key fits. See if you can find that door for me, Sergeant.'
'I'll try, Sir.'
'Lieutenant,' Winterburne said, looking over at Cromwell, 'find out who this man was and what he did for a living.' He lifted the sheet again to take another look at the face of the dead man, but whoever he was, his was not a face that Winterburne had noted before. 'When you've done that,' he said, 'try to piece together his movements over the last week; where he's been, and who he's spoken to, that kind of thing.'
Winterburne replaced the sheet over the man's face and looked up into Cromwell's eyes. 'I want to know everything about him before this time tomorrow. But, especially, I want to know whether he had any connections that might link him to the Lovell girl.
'
17
The Twenty-Seventh Day of New Year,
Imperial Year 2332
'This is outrageous!' Martell jumped out of his seat and slammed his fist onto his desk. His face burned with anger and he could feel the vein in his forehead pulsing. 'What is he thinking?' He picked up the decree and grimaced as he read the words to himself again. Despite every wish he might have uttered to himself, the words were the same.
'Your reaction is completely understandable, of course.' Courtenay remained calm and collected as he sat cross legged in the chair. His foot rocked back and forth as he watched Martell vent his anger in front of him. 'However, as you can see,' he said, 'the Emperor’s decision is there, in writing, before your own eyes.'
'Does he not understand?' Martell said, throwing the sheet of parchment onto the desktop and shaking his head. He sat back down into his chair with a bump. 'The Imperial Guard has reported directly to the Emperor for the last five hundred years. Never before in the history of the regiment has this been done. It is a sacred trust. A trust that must not be cast away so lightly.'
'Oh, come now, Commander,' Courtenay replied, 'don’t you think you are over-reacting somewhat. These are modern times. Nothing of importance really changes with this decision.' He uncrossed his legs, and pushed himself off the arms of the chair so that he sat upright. 'All it really means is that I represent the Guard in meetings with His Highness, and, we agree between ourselves that no large scale troop movements take place without first gaining my approval. There is nothing covert intended by the Emperor in these instructions. I was there when he raised the idea with me, himself.'
Martell looked over at the Lord Chamberlain. It seemed to him that the man was relishing the prospect of effectively taking control of the protection of the Emperor. 'And there is there no way that I can get this repealed?' he asked. 'Perhaps if I petition the Emperor myself, on behalf of the men of course, he might see reason.'
'Commander,' Courtenay said, shaking his head and pointing at the paper on Martell’s desk, 'the wording of the Emperor’s decree is quite specific. I checked it myself.'
I bet you did, thought Martell as he drummed his fingers on his desk. This was bad news. The men themselves would not approve of this, and he could see it affecting morale in the corps. 'I have no idea how I am going to tell the junior officers of this change.'
'Then don’t.' Courtenay reached up and brushed a hair from his sleeve with the back of his hand, and then he smiled. 'If it makes it easier for you to deal with your men, Commander, then keep it between you and I.'
If the Emperor could give this authority away, Martell thought, what else would he consider doing? Had he gone mad? It then occurred to him what it was about this whole matter that really annoyed him. 'What about Winterburne?' he asked. 'Does this decree include the Watch?'
'Perhaps, in the future,' Courtenay said. 'The Emperor does not see the requirement to change things in that regard at this point in time. Reporting lines will remain as they are. At least for the moment.'
Martell felt his blood boiling again and he thumped his fist on the table. God damn that man! If anyone needed keeping on a tight leash it was that incompetent fool and his band of imbecilic reprobates. 'Then, Lord Chamberlain, my feeling is that we shall keep this between us.'
'As you wish, Commander.' Courtenay gestured assent. 'Whatever makes it easiest for you.'
Martell remained silent. He stared past the Chamberlain, breathing deeply and focussing on the far wall of his office as he allowed his temper to subside. There was very little he could do about it and despite his bluster, once the debate was over, he would still have to do whatever he was told.
'My Lord,' he said, once he had calmed a little, 'did you have any orders in
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