by Will Molinar
They reached the office floor without being accosted. They found Dillon standing in the hallway with a notebook in his hands. His tall figure dominated the cramped area. Muldor didn’t realize how large the man was. He was a good deal bigger than most of the officers on the force, and they tended to be hearty men. He looked at them askance and lowered his carriage.
“What are you doing here? This is a restricted area. Get out of here.”
Dillon didn’t threaten to call for guards, and Muldor thought that spoke well of his confidence and bravery. He didn’t fear facing five men on his own. Muldor stopped a few paces away and pulled his hood down. Dillon looked surprised for a moment then relaxed.
“Guild Master Muldor. What is it? We’re busy here.”
“I can imagine. If you would, Lieutenant Dillon, we have need of an official seal from this department; an arrest warrant.”
Dillon’s face scrunched. His light brown beard masked most of his features, but there was genuine confusion in his voice. “The captain isn’t here. I’ll have to speak with him about this.”
“By your charter you have the authority to bring charges against individuals, in lieu of your superior’s absence. Please, this is of the utmost importance.”
Dillon considered, looking at the others in their party. “What is all this, Muldor?”
Muldor explained the situation—with the exception of telling him the city council’s real motivation to replace him as Guild Master—that some of the Dock Masters were facing charges of embezzlement, and if the city were to recover, they had to suffer. When he explained about Raul Parkins and the City Watch, Drake was their prime witness, Dillon became more animated.
“I knew that son of a bitch Parkins was no good. Told the captain that. He’s too ambitious, always looking out for himself and wants to take about some of the precinct’s budget. He wants money for the watch. They don’t need it. We do. Look at this place. We’ve been trying to build another jail for years, but they won’t give us the funds. Muldor, if I sign the arrest warrant, will you help us?”
“I believe that is a wonderful idea, Lieutenant Dillon. The Guild will push for not only a renovation of the existing police house but an additional building and jail facility. Is this acceptable?”
Dillon grinned like a wolf.
Muldor knew he played a dangerous game, promising things that weren’t guaranteed, but there was no choice. Now Dillon and Cutter were two men he had now made his alliances with and asked for favors. Someday the price would need to be paid.
They went to Cubbins’ office, and Muldor had the documents already prepared. They only needed the official stamp pushed into wax to make it ready for the city council. Drake signed as a witness and so did Becket, Lawson, and Muldor. They would have Crocker do his signature later when all of them went back to the docks and completed their planning.
When they left the station, Muldor was filled with a sense of confidence not felt for a while. They had the arrest warrants for both Dock Masters Dollenger, Maggur, and for Raul. And they had Dillon’s assurance when the time came, the police would be there with them, ready to put the men in irons.
But something nagged at Muldor deep down in his mind, a terrible, persistent foreboding. He put it out of his mind as they reached Becket’s office. There was time to kill. “I think we should separate,” Becket said, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. “For now, I mean.”
Lawson eyed him. “You’re not backing out of this, Becket. I will hunt you down and drag you back here to finish what we’ve started.”
“No, you fool. For the night, I mean. Too many people saw us today. We weren’t planning to talk to the council for two days hence anyway, so why not? Let’s spend a day apart and let it cool down.”
“I think that would be a splendid idea,” Muldor said before Lawson could say something he might’ve regretted. As they were saying their goodbyes and planning out the next day’s criteria, an urgent knock came at the door. It was not the standard for that day, only a repetitive pounding, so everyone tensed.
Becket froze while Lawson put a hand towards his inner shirt. Drake and Migel looked at each other, and then to Muldor who frowned and went to the door, unafraid.
One of Crocker’s runners stood outside, ready to pound the door again before Muldor stepped up to him. The man looked startled and reared his hand back.
“Oh, Master Muldor, just the man I was looking for. Here, this is from Master Crocker.”
He left before anyone could say anything to him. They all stared at Muldor as he opened the note and read it. After a few seconds he turned to them.
“He wishes to meet with me alone.”
“What’s this?” Becket said and came out from behind his desk. “Why does he want to meet with you?”
“Did it say why, Muldor?” Lawson said. His voice was quieted, even fearful.
Muldor raised a placating hand. “Gentlemen, please. There is no need to be worried as Master Crocker needs to sign these documents, so this will provide us with the opportunity to take care of this detail. Now, I leave our guests in your hands. I will send word as soon as possible.”
They weren’t happy, but he had no time left to waste. Bidding Migel and Drake good day and certain they would be taken care of, Muldor left. He kept his hood pulled low and tight. There were eyes on him all the way to Crocker’s office, one of the largest of the warehouses on the Western Docks.
These were his men, his workers, people that had seen him walk by countless times. They no doubt recognize his walk. They could smell him, they would know it was him, they would call to him, and the killers hired to murder him would descend upon him in the split second it would take to tell them not to speak with him.
People did stare, it wasn’t only his paranoia and imagination; it was odd to see someone walking the docks that didn’t belong even with the influx of persons arriving day to day, it was different, one lone man was strange enough to cause people to look and wonder. But they knew his walk for certain! Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to run.
Crocker was alone in his office, a simple affair compared with the other Dock Masters. It was organized and clean, unlike Becket’s, which looked like a sea storm had swept through and smashed apart all semblance of order. Crocker sat and waved Muldor forward. A slight smile played at the corners of his lips.
The senior Dock Master was old but not as wizened as Cutter, though the men could have been related, so similar in appearance they were. Crocker’s hair was thicker, but no less grey, and his eyes were filled more with anger than boredom and disdain as Cutter’s. He always wore his Dock Master robes low on his shoulders, as if he were about to take them off. Underneath was thin cloth and dry bones.
“Sit, Muldor, please.”
“I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.”
They stared at each other for a few moments. “Crocker, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind, Muldor. You know, I saw this day coming, years ago. It was in Castellan’s eyes. The man was mad then. It didn’t take long for him to push us to the edge. The Guild almost lost it all.”
“I’m sure you have a point. If you would be so kind as to come to it, it would be much appreciated.”
Crocker showed his first signs of frustration by pursing his lips and sighing. He looked old then, as old as the papers and books stacked behind him on his shelves.
“I’ve given my life to our Guild. More than you’ll ever know, Muldor. I’ve seen men come and go, leaders, men with agendas bigger than yours, bigger than Castellan’s. And they’ve all had one thing in common. Do you know what that one thing was?”
“No, but I’m certain you’ll tell me.”
Crocker sat forward but a coughing fit struck him. After a few gurgles and restarts, he spoke. “Of course I’ll tell you, Muldor! Hmm. They had the best interests of the Guild in mind. All of them, day and night, espoused about the best interests of the Guild and whatn
ot, yes. Whenever they opened their mouths, whenever they rationalized their decisions to themselves, they would counter any arguments that this was for our own good.”
Muldor felt like sitting down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He shifted his body and almost spoke but nothing came. All the tension of the last few weeks was bubbling underneath.
“Do you understand me, Muldor? Hmm?”
“I have papers for you to sign. It is necessary in order for us to see to the safety and… future of The Guild.” He paused and felt foolish. “I understand what you mean. But the circumstances are changed. Master Crocker, we must do this.”
“For our own good, so that the Guild prospers.”
Muldor calmed himself lest he scream at the man. “If you have an alternative, I would love to hear it. It’s easy for a man to have no course of action and criticize one who does. For you to sit there and judge me is fine. It is in your nature to be cynical. But if we do not proceed, I guarantee to you, this will be the end to what you have long worked for in your professional life. Tell me, is this what you want?” Crocker appeared mollified and said nothing. “I thought not. Now you will either sign these papers, incriminating two Dock Masters and a high ranking city official, or you will not, thus putting you on the side of our enemies. I leave it to you to decide.”
Crocker pursed his lips and seemed to chew on something in the side of his cheek. He picked up a quill from an ink pot and scribbled his mark on the proper place.
As Muldor hit the doorway, Crocker called to him. “Heed my warnings, Guild Master. This is the same road your predecessor traveled upon, all for the good of the Guild. Do not lose yourself along the way.”
Muldor left.
Chapter Twenty
The building was quiet, so still one might’ve assumed it was empty. But it was not so, for a lone man worked as he always did, much like many denizens of the city, whittling away the hours upon his chair, at his desk, the real power behind the functioning force of Sea Haven. Decisions were made, and lives changed. Minds were corrupted.
Lord Cassius, the temporary regent to the throne for the city of Sea Haven, finished up a few pieces of paperwork while Lord Olivier Damour waited in front of his desk, fidgety and annoyed. He’s lucky Cassius didn’t have him cleaning out pig sties or working in the asylum.
“Cassius, this is most irregular, and I must insist—”
Cassius raised a finger, and the fop went quiet. There was an item from the marketplace he needed sorting through. A new contract from some precious metals dealer wanted to sell at the bazaar. It was a complex issue that would take time. Politics was tiresome, even to a politician.
And then this business with Cutter; he was insistent that they reaffirm the Thieves Guild charter, but Cassius wasn’t so sure. The police could’ve dealt with them. But then the police needed a new facility; perhaps Cassius would give it to them, perhaps they deserved it.
The City Watch got theirs, thanks to Raul and his persistence. Cassius smiled when he thought of the betrayal, the cruel ploy that helped bring some of the Dock Masters on board with what Cassius wanted for The Merchants Guild and thus the City Council would reign supreme in this city, regardless of what Guild Master Muldor might think.
“What’s so funny?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing. The complexities of life, that’s all.”
Lord Damour fussed and sighed. He picked at his nails, but Cassius ignored him until he finished his work.
“I have made some arrangements,” Cassius said.
A knock came at the door, and Cassius frowned before calling. An aide opened the door and stuck his head in.
“Oh, many apologies, my lord, but I was wondering if you’d be needin’ anything else this evening.”
“No, that will be all, Matthew. Thank you.”
“I’m heading to the arena, want me to place a bet for you? Thruck is back on tonight. Should be quite exciting, sir.”
“No, thank you. That will be all.”
Matthew left, and Damour gave Cassius a look. “Arena is it? He bets on the fighters?”
Cassius waved off the remark. “The folly of youth. Now, as I was saying, I have made arrangements for you and your future position on the City Council. I believe a change is needed to better utilize your particular skill set.”
Damour raised an eyebrow, and his eyes gleamed. “Guild Master?”
“No. That has already been arranged. Instead, I have created a new position on the City Council. You will be head of City Affairs, a new title.”
Damour’s face flashed happiness then confusion in quick order. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what that means. What does the position entail?”
“I will show you. You will work with the various city offices, including City Watch, Commerce, the police department, and the Royal Guard as soon as the king sends a new regent.”
Cassius wondered if he were giving him too much information, but stoking the fool’s imagination made him more pliable.
Damour nodded, as if he understood, and smiled. “That sounds… interesting, Lord Cassius. My thanks.”
“And mine to you. I have drawn up the necessary papers, and at our next meeting it will become official, along with the new head of The Merchants Guild.”
Damour then looked bored; how fleeting his mind must’ve been. The Acting Lord Governor dismissed him, hoping his guards might make a mistake that night that cause him to get killed. It would have saved Cassius the trouble.
But no, the fop had his uses. Damour was the cousin to Lord Falston, the king as well, and while Cassius had often wondered why the king didn’t elect him to the position of Regent, he now understood the reasoning. They didn’t want a puppet. They wanted a true ruler. Cassius was dead set against allowing that.
Things were fine the way they were ran, once he had control of The Merchants Guild of course. Dollenger and Maggur were still questioning which one of them would take the title of Guild Master and Cassius liked it that way. As long as it wasn’t Muldor, it didn’t matter. Dollenger would be easier to control so it would go to him.
Sea Haven didn’t need a regent. With the Guild, the wealth it represented, and the sheer amount of trade coming into their port, he could’ve bargained with the crown however he pleased. They would’ve been forced to capitulate. End of discussion.
The lord smiled to himself, finished up a few more tidbits of work, and grabbed his cloak off the far wall. His guard waited in the outer lobby, four well-dressed men with swords at their sides, black leather leggings, and simple helmets. Cassius liked people in his employ to keep it simple.
The men were laughing about something and quieted when he waved them up. “It grows late, gentlemen. I wish to retire.”
They grunted and followed him outside.
The city streets were cold and deserted though Cassius, like any long time citizen, knew this to be a rouse. It was colder than it should have been deep into summer, and he shivered.
His home lay in a palatial mansion, in the wealthy section of town where more guards waited for him. Some shouting on the street made his guard sergeant pause, and Cassius almost smashed into the back of him.
“Now, now, sergeant. I am tired, move along.”
The man grunted a response, and they moved forward. Cassius looked over to where a large man and his fat wife yelled and scream at one another from a balcony. They were scum, every single one of them, fighting and scratching out their pathetic existence.
When they turned a few more corners, a sharp smell reached his nostrils. It was burning trash. A huge bonfire in the middle of the street pulled them all up short, and Cassius wasn’t sure if he should be frightened or amused. It wasn’t that uncommon for citizens to burn trash, but not in the middle of the street.
“My lord, I suggest we go around,” the sergeant said. “That would be best.”
“Oh, do tell.”
They cut through an alleyway, getting away from the blazing ball of trash where others were
gathering around and shouting for the water brigade. Raul and his bunch would be busy tonight if the fire was in danger of spreading. Cassius wouldn’t worry about it. With his bigger budget, Raul should’ve been happy and ready to do his job. Putting out a fire was beggar’s work.
The alley got them closer to the wealthy section of town. The glowing balls of gas powered lights pushed away the sullen darkness from the night. The cobblestones felt reassuring under his feet, and Lord Cassius smiled when he thought again of the glass of wine waiting for him in his bedroom.
Lost in his reverie, he almost didn’t notice when his lead guard stopped. A pile of broken crates scattered across the end of the alley.
“By the gods, what is it now, men? Haven’t we had enough of this?”
A dark looking fellow pushed his guard back at sword point. The rest of his men cursed and shouted, but someone above called out for them to put their hands on their hands and be still. Cassius scrunched his face and looked up. Two men crouched on the rooftop to the left and right, holding crossbows.
Cassius remained calm. This wasn’t some common robbery, but there was no reason to panic. They wanted something other than to kill him and his men. His sergeant tensed and looked ready to fight, but Cassius told them to remain still, shaking his head at the idea of fighting in the position they were in. Young men and their foolish pride.
A large, looming figure stepped out of the shadows at the end of the alleyway. Cassius peered and recognition flickered.
“Why, my dear Jerrod,” he said and stayed calm, despite a slight quiver in his voice. “What a surprise seeing you in this part of town. Moving up in the world, are we?”
Jerrod grunted and stepped closer. His stubby skull bristled from the light of the lamps. It looked sharp enough to cut glass. His entire form spoke of strength and vitriol. He looked Cassius’ guards up and down with disdain and then turned his gaze on the politician.
“You’d be smart to keep your mouth shut until I ask you a question. Got me?”
“Yes, indeed,” Cassius said, and at the moment the first spark of fear went through him. This was not a man anyone in the Sea Haven wanted to be face to face in a dark alley. His thoughts flashed back to the room where this killer had murdered Lord Falston, right in front of his eyes.
