by James Evans
“Look at this, Pieter. Where do we find our officers, eh?”
The Duke shook his head.
“Jab, man, Jab,” he shouted, “and keep your short higher if you want to… oh, never mind, another hit.”
Rhenveldt and Mantior walked back into the palace leaving the fencers to fight on.
“Do we still teach fencing to our officers, Pieter? Maybe we should invite our guards and our watchmen to compete in a fencing tournament, see if we can’t improve the standards, eh?”
“Well, it has been a while since we last ran such an event. Fifteen years, maybe?”
“That settles it. On the strength of that display our officers could only impede an Ethrani attack by dying in an awkward spot and tripping them as they pressed forward. Let’s put up a hundred shillings and a promotion as the prize for the winner and invite all of our forces to participate. Final bouts to be held in the main square in front of the palace. In fact, let’s open it up more widely and allow anyone in the city to compete.”
“Very well. I will make the arrangements,” said Mantior, “shall we plan for a ball in the evening, maybe invite the last sixty-four and their spouses?”
“Yes, yes, let’s do that as well. I’ll leave the details to you, Pieter.”
They had reached the door to the Duke’s private apartments. Rhenveldt turned, his hand on the door knob.
“I don’t like the idea that the North Enders might be losing their grip on things, I don’t like it at all. Let me know as soon as you have news, Pieter.”
“Yes, your Grace. We should know more by tomorrow.”
“Very well. I’m going to change before this afternoon’s meeting. Was there anything else?”
“Not at the moment sir, no.”
“Good.”
Rhenveldt opened the door and disappeared into the room beyond.
Mantior stood in the corridor for a moment then walked slowly back toward his own office, thinking about how best to organise a fencing tournament. By the time he reached his study he had made some decisions and he spent an hour making notes and writing instructions for his staff. Once those had been passed along he turned back to the problem of the North Enders. Like the Duke he was worried that the gang was in danger of collapsing; losing five members in a single day was unheard of in recent times. He sat thinking for a while longer then reached a decision.
He pulled the bell cord by his desk and waited until one of his staff appeared through the door from the anteroom where they worked.
“Ah, Funteyn. Can you please find Commander Astiland and ask him to attend me at his earliest convenience?”
Funteyn curtsied and ducked back out of the room, leaving Mantior alone again with his reports. He turned briefly back to the report on Imperial agriculture then decided that life was simply too short for such matters and decided instead to review again the gaming board set on the small table behind his desk.
He played against an old friend who lived some leagues outside the city, exchanging moves by letter. This game had been in play for some months and was nearing a climax. Mantior had been hopeful during the middle stages of the game but those hopes had now waned in the face of an unforeseen and relentless assault along the right-hand side of the board. He was now fighting a desperate defensive battle but, all too soon, he would be forced to concede defeat. He could concede now and begin a new game but he had a stubborn streak and he liked to play to the bitter end.
He was still pondering the board, groping his way toward a move that might delay the inevitable for a little longer, when Commander Astiland knocked on the door and came striding into the study. A tall man, Astiland was the very model of a city Watch Commander. His uniform was spotless, his breastplate shone and his moustache was immaculately waxed. He stopped in the middle of the room and clicked his heels.
“Good afternoon, my lord. I understand you wished to see me?”
Mantior, still pondering the gaming board, said “Good afternoon, Commander. Thank you for coming so promptly. Take a look at the board, Commander. What move would you recommend?”
Astiland looked briefly surprised then strode over to stand beside Mantior, leaning forward to peer down at the board. After a long pause he said, “Well, I hope you’re not playing white. I would say that black is pretty much guaranteed to win from that position.” He straightened up.
“Unfortunately, I am indeed playing white. I have one trick left but my opponent has the advantage and probably won’t make a mistake now.”
Mantior took his seat behind his desk and gestured for Astiland to take the chair opposite.
“Tell me, Commander, do the North Enders still make the agreed payments?”
Astiland shifted in his seat.
“You know that I’m uncomfortable with this arrangement, my lord. I would prefer simply to remove the rest of their leadership and,” but Mantior cut across him.
“Yes, yes, I am indeed familiar with your opinions, Commander, but what I care about at the moment is whether the North Enders are paying their dues.”
Astiland took a deep breath, not used to being interrupted.
“Yes, they are paying. Things have been generally quiet in recent months, no big changes to speak of, no unusual complaints or problems, no mess or fuss on the streets.”
“Until yesterday, it would seem, when they lost five of their members including Hitton, who ran the Snarling Goat.”
Astiland furrowed his brow, his face showing scepticism.
“Five? All dead within a single day? I have heard nothing of this and certainly we haven’t yet found any more bodies than we might normally expect at this time of year.”
“Yes Commander, five. All dead. In one day. So, I ask myself, what has changed to trigger such an upsurge in violence? And who has caused the change? And what,” said Mantior, raising his voice slightly, “are the City Watch going to do about it?”
Astiland sat back, stroking his beard and thinking hard.
“My preference would be to raid the North Ender’s base in The Narrows and arrest Fangfoss so that we could ask him directly,” he looked at Mantior for feedback on that suggestion, “but I suspect that would be dangerous and difficult and in any case, it breaches the terms of our agreement,” he concluded, spitting out the last word like an insult.
“Barring that, our best option is probably to pick-up a couple of the mid-level enforcers, Old Ned maybe, and see what they know. That shouldn’t be too risky and if they don’t have what we need they can at least carry messages back to Fangfoss and his surviving lieutenants.”
“Very well,” said Mantior, “let’s see what Old Ned has to say on the matter. But be discreet. I don’t want to disrupt the agreement or bring unnecessary attention to our relationship.”
Once Astiland had left, Mantior turned back to the gaming board. He didn’t like to lose and he certainly wasn’t keen to surrender. He stared at the board for more than an hour, considering, pondering, imagining, trying to think his way into his opponent’s mind. Eventually he smiled to himself and made a move, happy that he now had a plan, a way forward, something that might even deliver him the game. He wrote the move on a fresh piece of paper, added a somewhat downhearted appraisal of the state of the game, then sealed and addressed the letter before tossing it into his out tray.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BY THE TIME Marrinek returned to the House of Duval, the party was in full swing. Elaine let him in through the front door and he quickly walked down the hallway to Madame Duval’s study, passing the sitting rooms to either side of the staircase where clients were being served wine and food as a prelude to their main entertainment.
Madame Duval was waiting for him in the study, sipping a glass of red wine as she sat behind her desk.
“I was wondering how much longer you might be. I had started to think you might not return.”
Marrinek grinned at her then grimaced as he raised his arm and felt again the cut from Chickie’s knife. He flopped into a chair
by the fireplace and examined the cut. It was not deep and had scabbed over already. He forgot about it and turned back to Madame Duval.
“It turned out they were open to persuasion, eventually. Tomorrow should be interesting.”
Madame Duval raised her eyebrow.
“Did you kill anyone? Throw them from a balcony, maybe, or tip them into the river? Maybe you set fire to them and sent them dancing down the hallway?” She poured him a measure of wine and held out the glass to him.
“No, it was very quiet, very easy. Well, fairly quiet; some blood, many bruises, no broken bones, no deaths. And I think we will get what we need from Fangfoss.”
Madame Duval kept her thoughts to herself. Marrinek could say ‘we’ and talk of them working together or having common objectives as much as he liked but she was still suspicious, still doubtful that anyone might offer so much in return for so little. She would play along while he kept his end of the bargain but she was prepared and ready to act when he eventually showed his true colours, whatever they might turn out to be.
“And I see you decided to reopen the house,” said Marrinek. Madame Duval hesitated, suddenly worried that she might have missed part of the conversation while her attention was elsewhere.
“Er, yes,” she said, taking a sip of wine to cover her momentary confusion, “it seemed like a good idea if you were going to have the North Enders under control. And if not, a full house makes it harder for them to act and easier for me to slip away in the confusion. Anyway, the regulars were starting to complain, which is never a good sign.”
“Good,” said Marrinek, sipping his wine, “makes a lot of sense. And I think The North Enders are fairly well cowed, even though some of their members may need a little more persuasion tomorrow. I’ve set them some tasks and we will see how they get on and what shakes loose. Did the twins give you any problems?”
“No, they appeared briefly to eat but other than that they’ve been very quiet.”
Marrinek stood and retrieved Bone Dancer.
“Good. I plan to spend a couple of hours with them but maybe you and I can speak again later. There’s something I want you to do for me.” He opened the door to the servant’s area and climbed the back stairs to the attic, leaving Madame Duval to nurse her wine.
When he reached the room where the twins were staying he knocked on the door before entering and was a little surprised to find Darek and Floost standing in the centre of the floor, waiting for him.
“We were watching for you from the window,” said Darek by way of explanation, “Watch.”
Floost held out the fire charm and concentrated. Marrinek could feel her focussing power into the charm and was delighted to see a small flame appear at its tip. Floost held the flame for a few moments then extinguished it and passed the charm to Darek, who repeated her trick.
“Excellent,” said Marrinek, impressed, “that really is very good indeed.”
The twins smiled and relaxed, evidently pleased.
“Tell me what you have learnt today,” said Marrinek.
The twins stumbled over themselves to explain how they had mastered the technique, how Darek had first produced a spark and then together they had worked until both could achieve a full flame.
“It’s all about confidence, isn’t it?” said Floost, “If you believe and you can see it happening then it happens. Seeing Darek make the spark allowed me to really believe and from there it was easy to see how to focus the power into a flame.”
“And we found an exercise in the book, Jensen, that helped us understand how to focus. It really helped.” Darek was clearly enthused by their success.
Marrinek fished in his pockets and produced a second fire charm.
“I want you to practice a few exercises to strengthen your abilities and help you to focus power whenever you need it.” He described the exercises in some detail, working through an example until both twins had seen enough to be able to follow the instructions.
“But don’t get ahead of yourselves. These charms are serious tools, just like hammers or swords; if you fail to take the necessary care you can focus too much power and produce a huge flame, like this!”
And suddenly the room was full of heat and light and flame, driving away the shadows and making the twins jump back in surprise and sudden fear. As quickly as it had appeared the flame was gone, leaving behind bright images and hot, hot air.
“You see? Very dangerous in a wooden building with furniture and fabric and flammable people wandering around. Take care not to focus too much power.” The twins nodded, both white-faced, and Marrinek tossed the charm to Floost.
“Good. Practice the exercises that we’ve covered from Jensen. Now that you can both produce a flame I also want you to practice the awareness exercise we did in the inn. That’s as important as producing a flame; more so, in fact, since detecting other people’s flows is the key to mounting a successful defence.”
“How?” said Darek.
“Oh it’s obvious,” said Floost, exasperated at her brother, “if someone’s standing outside focussing power into their fire charm then feeling the flow allows you to do something about it. Right?” she added, a little uncertainly.
“Yes. At the very least you might move away from them. I’ve got some other things to show you as you progress but, right now, the thing to concentrate on is detecting the flow of power even when you’re doing something else. Once you’ve mastered that, and it might take a while because it isn’t easy, we’ll move on.”
They spent the next couple of hours practicing the exercises as Marrinek lectured them on technique, principles and the framework within which power could produce action. Eventually he called a halt.
“That’s enough for today. We’ll stay here tonight. Make yourselves comfortable,” he gestured at the beds against the wall, “and we’ll move somewhere more permanent tomorrow, hopefully. I’m going to retrieve the rest of our stuff from the inn. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Floost yawned but Darek frowned.
“And what about us? We’ve been stuck here all day. Can we get out somewhere tomorrow?”
Marrinek looked at them from the door.
“Practice again tomorrow morning, then you will have the rest of the day free. Sleep now.” The door closed behind him, leaving the twins alone again.
Marrinek descended the stairs from the attic of Madame Duval’s house slowly, deep in thought. The twins were progressing more quickly than he had hoped and far faster than most students. They had achieved in days a level of control that most people would reach only after many weeks, or sometimes months, of training. At this rate, he would need a tutor and lots more books to keep them occupied. He grinned to himself; this wasn’t something he had foreseen but it was definitely going to make life more interesting.
At the bottom of the stairs he stopped. The hallway was quiet and Shad’s chair was empty. He padded softly to the sitting rooms; also empty. No sign of Elaine, either. Suspicious, he draped his cloak over a chair and walked back to Madame Duval’s study, Bone Dancer in hand. He pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
“Bay!” said Madame Duval, relief and fear and concern in her voice, “I was just explaining to these, ‘gentlemen’, that they needed to talk to you about this week’s payment.” She was standing with her back to her desk while two men poked around, evidently looking for something of value. A third man stood, hand on the hilt of his sword, watching Shad and Elaine as they sat on the sofa in front of the window.
“This ain’t your business, friend,” said one of the two men, “so just fuck off back the way you came.” He turned back to Madame Duval and said, “Where’s the money? You know what happens if you don’t pay.”
Marrinek closed the door behind him and grounded Bone Dancer.
“The arrangements have changed,” said Marrinek in a low voice, “who do you work for?”
“This is Sergeant Snitz of the city Watch, Bay, he…”
“Shut it,” said S
nitz, interrupting Madame Duval and turning to Marrinek, “I work for Captain Paltiel. What are you going to do about that, eh?”
Marrinek smiled at Snitz.
“Thanks. I will speak to your Captain tomorrow. Right now, you need to leave. You won’t be taking payment this evening and if you return,” he stepped forward half a pace, looming over Snitz and pushing Bone Dancer forward to rest gently on the man’s shoulder, “if you return I will be less polite. Do you understand?”
Snitz stared at Bone Dancer, a creeping horror showing on his face as he felt the wrongness of the staff. Marrinek pressed a little harder and Snitz took a quick step backwards, bumping into his colleague who had stopped searching and was watching the confrontation.
“All right,” said Snitz, his voice shaky as he looked from Marrinek to Duval, “we’re leaving. But we’ll be back. I ain’t forgotten what you owe.”
He circled around Marrinek, staying as far from Bone Dancer as he could, and backed toward the door. His men stood as if rooted to the floor, clearly surprised at the turn of events. Snitz opened the door.
“Out,” he snapped, holding the door while his men filed out into the hallway.
“You’ll regret this,” said Snitz to Marrinek.
But he moved quickly down the hallway to the front door when Marrinek stepped forward, still smiling, Bone Dancer bobbing in the candlelight.
When the front door closed Marrinek turned back to Madame Duval who was standing in the doorway to her study.
“That problem can wait till tomorrow,” he said, “I need to get my things from The Jewel and tomorrow I need you to find me a house and a tailor.”
Madame Duval looked at him.
“A house? Anything in particular? Some sort of palace, a small fortress, maybe a converted abbey with nuns as servants?”
“Something nearby. Clean, spacious, well-furnished, presentable. Minor nobility, that sort of thing. Nothing too ostentatious, just big enough to impress. Can you do that?”
