by Jon Evans
Centuries ago, at the end of the wall running from the left tower, some enterprising builder had constructed a large inn. In a fit of imagination, they'd called it The Old Gate Inn. Even then, the West Gate had already acquired its modern name, though the city district still retained the name, Westgate. The inn's builders had used the last section of the wall as one of the walls of the inn itself, saving costs and permanently attaching the two structures.
Naturally, The Old Gate Inn was a Watch pub. There were several in the city, as there were for most of the guilds and the trades. The innkeeper was friendly to the watch, so they were friendly to the innkeeper. He didn't get a lot of trouble or inspections, and in return, he put up with a small but regular crowd of watchmen drinking sullenly in the snug.
They provided a steady income and a ready way to dispose of cheap beer and leftover wine. Coppers would drink anything and weren't too proud to eat a meal which consisted entirely of leftovers. They kept themselves to themselves and didn't disturb anyone.
As a result of this amicable status, the men and women from some of the other Watch Houses drank there too, those that were able to remain on friendly terms with the Thieftakers that is.
Now and then, some young watchman, fresh from training and full of the bravado of youth would visit the inn and repeat some of the less flattering stories told about the Thieftakers, quite unaware of the risk. Their older, wiser colleagues would drop hints for him to shut up, then subtly back away.
By tradition, the offending party would wake up, in their britches if they were lucky, in some awkward part of the city. Bruised, battered, with a hell of a hangover and entirely unfit for duty.
Rumour had it that one unfortunate had ended up, naked and in the bed of the University Librarian, a ginger bearded giant who had not taken kindly to waking up only to find a drunken watchman in his bed. Students were trouble enough without going through the ignominy of being chased through the grounds of the University by an enraged book custodian wielding a cane. The students had all seen this bizarre tableau and the incident now lived on in both watch and University lore as a cautionary tale. Such reputations were not easily lived down.
For some Watch Houses, it was a kind of initiation for new watchmen. Take them to the Thieftakers local, let them get a pasting and a humiliating morning. It taught manners, humility and let them wash their hands of doing something similar to bring their new people in line.
The Thieftakers weren't popular but no-one else wanted their job, and no-one wanted to cross them. The attitude that got them sent there meant they weren't people you wanted to try winding up. The skills that kept them alive guaranteed the consequences would be unpleasant and you could never get away from them. Best to leave well alone.
As for the other tower, that too had a section of the original wall still attached to it, though much shorter. A couple of hundred years ago, when the city was very much different, more affluent and spirited, they had extended the watch house. The tower and northern section of wall had been added to. A new building had been constructed and had everything needed for a brand new watch house.
There were cells in the basement, far more than the Thieftakers could ever use. The ground floor had a kitchen and mess hall as well as some offices. Upstairs was a large barracks and a few rooms for junior officers.
There was a primitive gymnasium on the top floor, most of the moveable equipment had long since been sold off, but they still had climbing bars and rings. It was still a usable space for combat practice, if not as well equipped as the equivalent facilities at the major Watch barracks.
If he had any money in his budget, he'd have the whole place repaired, but it had all seen better days, much like the Shattered Empire itself.
The biggest benefit of the building was the plumbing that had been built-in throughout. There were modern, flushing toilets on every floor, upgraded since the original construction and even some simple showers, complete with a boiler for warm, if not hot, water.
By the standards of this area of the city, this was positively luxurious, and many of the older, grander watch houses still had far less modern facilities. Of course, the senior officers had such things, especially at Northridge Court, but the rank and file often did not.
Most of the time the Thieftakers spent in Old Gate was in the gatehouse itself. It was more comfortable in some way, probably because the small number of constables made the rooms feel properly occupied. It was to the gatehouse that they were headed now.
They passed under the arch, into the inner city and stopped the cart by the side of the road. With a bit of team effort, they hoisted the stretcher bearing its grim cargo, out of the cart and over to the wide double doors in the rear of the north tower.
"Where are we going, Captain?" asked Gardener.
Loft looked at his friend and pointed up the tower, to a series of large, leaded windows, "Up there, Doctor. Plenty of space and good light."
"How on earth are we to get him up there without a disaster?" Gardener exclaimed. He wasn't keen to try and reverse the kerfuffle they'd had getting him down the narrow stairs at the shop.
Libult opened the doors wide, and light dawned, "Ahh you have a lift. Well, that's a surprise, I must say."
Loft shook his head regretfully, "No. Sorry, Doctor. We just have a hole where a lift should be, not an actual lift. The lift itself is still there, but the mechanisms no-longer work. It was for arming the tower, so it's ancient. However, we have a nice big hole in each floor which means we can hoist the stretcher up fairly easily."
Gardener looked somewhat disappointed but helped readily enough as Libult dropped ropes down the shaft from above, so they could tie them around the poles of the stretcher.
It took some care and precision, but once they were tied off, they were able to hoist the deceased up through the shaft until he was at the right height, then tie off the ropes to hold the stretcher in place. After a little planning time, they were able to manoeuvre it into the room without too much problem.
"Will this do, Doctor?" Loft asked.
Still catching his breath, Gardener looked about the room. The lift shaft was closed off by a sliding gate and a cage, so that wasn't a problem. There was an exit on one side to the staircase that they'd used to get up here and on the other a doorway that presumably went into the wall toward the Old Gate Inn.
There were large, east-facing, leaded windows from about halfway up the wall almost to the ceiling. They looked far more modern than the tower and not at all defensive so they must have been added much later. The other side of the wall just had arrow slits that had been blocked off with more leaded glass.
The room was quite large in all, even once you took out the area for the lift shaft. It probably had to be, to defend a tower like this against an invading army.
There was a large, metal topped workbench in the centre of the room, battered but serviceable, a small writing desk against one wall; there was even a sink with a shiny new pipe leading up into the ceiling somewhere. A fireplace had been built into the stonework in one corner. The room was conspicuously clean. He looked back at Loft to find him smiling at him and smelled a rat.
"It looks like it'll do, Loft. What a happy coincidence that you should have just the type of space a doctor might need to examine a body, complete with a bench that looks almost exactly like a real autopsy table. It looks just like the ones that they had at the old Hospital of Mercy that was pulled down last week. Even a nice big sink with brand new plumbing, I wonder what that was used for, hmm? Presumably, the new plumbing is because you had someone in to repair a leak recently?" Gardener said.
Loft's face was the picture of innocence, "Yes, that wasn't a good day, water everywhere, running down the staircase. A spot of luck about the table though, we saw they were throwing stuff out and were able to replace some of our old equipment with things they didn't need. I saw this table and thought to myself what a waste it would be for such an unusual workplace antique to be just thrown into a scrap
pile. I felt sure we'd find a use for it, sooner or later."
He walked over toward the archway that led into the length of the wall, "Look down here, the wall is well over twenty feet thick, so this corridor is a lot wider than you'd imagine. Did you know, this wall was only an internal wall? The main defensive wall for the city was further out, so historians have speculated that this wall was mostly built to segment the city. The gatehouses allowed them to see who was visiting the nicer bits in the inner city and keep the riff raff out. Of course, you'd have needed an army to get past it, but the stonework isn't as thick as you would think. Which means, there's plenty of room back here for storage. It's more of a long room than a corridor."
"How very fascinating, Loft. I do so appreciate the history lesson and look; you've even managed to find some shelving and lots of boxes full of who knows what?" Gardener replied.
"Doctor, we do know what. Those boxes are full of medical supplies that were about to be thrown away as well. Now, I have no idea what use those tools, bandages, containers and bottles of who knows what might be used for but it did occur to me that someone should look them over before they were disposed of. There might be all manner of dangerous material that shouldn't just be thrown into any old scrap yard," Loft said. "Perhaps you might find a use for some of it?"
Gardener sighed. Loft grinned back at him.
"Let me see what I can do about your unfortunate guest first, shall I?" Gardener said, opening his bag up and bringing out a wicked looking bone saw. Loft's grin faltered just a touch.
"Wonderful, Doctor. If you'll excuse me though, I have a lot of work to do. Do let me know if you find out anything useful, won't you?" he said.
The rest of the Thieftakers looked at the bone saw with interest, right up until the point that the doctor squinted at a point on the forehead of the merchant and rested the blade on the imaginary line he saw there. At that point, they all suddenly found reasons to be elsewhere. Gardener chuckled to himself. They might be the toughest watchmen in the city, but not many people had the stomach to watch someone get the top of their skull sawn off.
He put the saw down and looked at the body thoughtfully. No need to open the skull, unless he found something to indicate damage but where should he start?
To give himself time to think about what Loft might find useful to know, he moved to the sink and dampened a rag. First things first when performing an autopsy. Clean and strip the body so you can see what's going on properly, he thought to himself, setting about his task with grim determination.
Chapter Seven
Loft returned to his office while he waited for Gurnt to avail herself of the washing facilities and a fresh set of clothing. It had become apparent to them all that wiping her face and jerkin with a damp rag at the spice shop, wasn't sufficient to get rid of the stench of stagnant water, refuse and whatever else she'd encountered while apprehending the Councillor.
He pondered going to the cells and dealing with him there and then but concluded that it was going to end his day, whenever he did it so he may as well wait. Instead, he made notes on the information he'd gathered so far. Then he sketched lines between them and added questions.
What could he hope to find that would lead him to the owner of the unpaid debt? He imagined there was a ledger of sales, maybe a separate file of names and addresses for Perl's best customers. Perl might well have written letters or employed legal counsel to pursue a debt.
They could look for delivery paperwork as well and evidence of the goods being purchased by Perl in the first place. The taxman of Kalider expected decent records to be kept of anyone who wanted to avoid appearing before the magistrates. If it were that much money, they would need to do an inventory of the shop and make sure nothing had been stolen.
It still gnawed at the back of his mind though, if the murder was simply about a dispute over money, what was wrong with a good old fashioned stabbing? Or possibly a violent outburst with lots of stabbing. One of the training sergeants at the academy had told Loft's class about a victim he'd found who'd been stabbed so many times that they gave up counting.
This crime was much more deliberate than that, the violence was calculated. Just enough to incapacitate the victim and then inflict pain for quite some time. That suggested either a warning to others or torture to extract information.
If it was a warning, at whom was it aimed? Who needed to people to be afraid to cross them? One of the city's many and varied gangs, most likely.
If it was torture, was that just to punish the victim for something he'd done, or was there an end in mind? Had the murderer questioned the merchant while he was gouging out his eyeballs or opening his belly? Had he done other things to him Dr Gardener hadn't yet discovered?
The sergeant's voice broke him from his reverie, "Ready to go, Sir?"
He nodded and stood up, taking a quick swig of his now lukewarm tea before they left. Thankfully, Gurnt smelt more of carbolic soap than rotting vegetables now, which made for a far less pungent journey back to the shop than when they'd brought the body back.
With the body gone and Dr Gardeners preventative worn off, the shop still had an unpleasant odour about it, but it was starting to get more tolerable. Loft had explained what he thought they should look for on the way, so they went inside and began to look around the shop itself.
It didn't take long to find a large sales ledger under the counter. Each entry was neatly written in black ink. The entries in the debit column were red, and the credits were inked in blue. Even Loft and Gurnt, neither of whom had experience in this kind of work, could easily follow the amounts involved.
They soon found the entry they were looking for, on a page a few weeks old. Gurnt's finger stabbed at the incriminating record, "That bastard!" she said with a conviction that surprised Loft, and he turned to her with a quizzical expression.
The entry listed a substantial amount of money, more than Loft saw in his monthly wages and it showed as outstanding. Everything else more recently was already paid, and they didn't find any other outstanding debts in the book.
"He's the one I've got in the cells, Sir. Councillor Estabian Mohran. We've got him already," she scoffed, "Honestly I thought this one was strange and we'd end up at least having to roust a few pubs on the wharf or break down a few doors to find our man. I didn't expect we'd find him sitting around like he hadn't a care in the world, dictating letters to his secretary."
"You sound almost disappointed, Sergeant," Loft said with a faint smile.
She glared at him, "This isn't what we're for, Sir. We hunt the worst of the worst, the real dregs and we go where the others Watchmen don't dare. We're the Thieftakers, not one of the parade commands. We're real Watchmen."
"You don't think he's the worst of the worst? A City Councillor how spends his free time plucking people's eyeballs out of their heads? You must be quite jaded, Gurnt if he doesn't seem that bad," Loft said.
She pondered that for a moment and then nodded, "Yeah. I suppose it's not a total waste of time. He has got more dried berries than the finest three tiered Solstice arrangement."
Captain Loft looked askance at the Sergeant in puzzlement until she saw his expression and elaborated, "He's a proper fruitcake, Sir. Has to be to do that to someone. Especially over some spice being delivered late. I wonder if it was for a fruitcake?"
"That might be a touch too much irony to be real, but I'm sure we can ask him later when we interrogate him," said Loft.
"We'd best get back then, no time like the present," Gurnt said.
"No, I want to have a proper look around to make sure we've found everything. Who knows what else might be here? Letters sent between the merchant and the Councillor? Illegal goods that the shop sold? We must scour the place thoroughly, including the bedroom," Loft said.
Gurnt sighed. "We've got our man, Sir. He obviously did it, and I bet he breaks when we talk to him. We've found everything we need."
"But what if he doesn't, Sergeant? We've convinced ourselves tha
t we have the right man, but we've not got much to throw at him in a court of law, and he's a District Councillor, not some petty criminal. He'll have lawyers. Expensive ones to boot and they'll defend him well. If we want to see him hang, we'll need as much as possible," Loft explained, "The magistrates might even grant a man like that a jury trial."
Gurnt took a deep breath before replying, somewhat reluctantly, Loft thought. "Fair enough, Sir. Although I think they let them choose to get the chop, rather than the hangman's noose if they're on the Council. Or maybe that's just if they're gentry as well, I can't remember".
"Regardless of how they execute him, they'll want more proof than we have," Loft said. "I'm going to go and look around the bedroom, see if there's anything we missed. You have a look around down here."
Gurnt nodded glumly and walked to the other end of the counter, starting to rifle through the odds and ends the shopkeeper had put under it in his years of business as Loft went upstairs.
The room didn't smell quite so bad now the body had been removed, but even though the window had been left open, the mattress was still quite ripe. Loft wished he'd got more of the salve that Dr Gardener used. He stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to work out where anything might be hidden. There wasn't much furniture other than the bed, a wardrobe and the chest of drawers.
