by RW Krpoun
“True,” Hanns nodded sagely.
“Now, Hanns is newly married, and I have a wife, but Lord Staifon is unfortunately widowed all these years; what better match could there be than to unite Houses Sorgen and Staifon? In that manner all of Sagenhoft’s interests are protected, and the new Duchess will have a steady hand to guide her.”
It was a neat move, and a telling one. Chaton eyed Staifon, who always seemed to have the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips; the man was rumored to prefer girls of Eithne’s age, although fifteen years ago he had married a woman his mother’s age to restore his House’s flagging finances. Before he could speak Lord Captain Pittmann heaved his bulk from his chair. “A clever idea, Lord Ademet, and one to think upon; naturally, we’ve plenty of time: a girl cannot marry for three months after a parent’s death.”
“That is tradition, not law, and a commoner’s tradition whereas Lady Eithne is of a noble House,” Lord Ademet.
“My vote says it’s a tradition that applies,” the Lord Captain grunted. Letort nodded.
“As do I,” Chaton agreed, thankful that the Lord Captain had countered the ploy so easily. In the shock of the Duke’s death now two hours past, he had not considered such a gambit.
“That will not be sufficient, I believe,” Lord Staifon purred. “In a case of a tie vote under these circumstances, the faction with the most noble votes gains the course. That is, I believe, the law.”
“You are correct that it is the law,” Chaton nodded. “But you have only two votes for the idea, not three: Hanns will not become a Lord Protector, with a vote in this Emergency Council, until tomorrow, when Lady Eithne receives her legacy. Well, I’ll have the papers drawn up stating that it is the will of this council by majority vote that the Lady Eithne not be betrothed for three months from this day, in honor of her father.”
“Married, not betrothed,” Lord Ademet objected.
“No, I think betrothed was what the Lord Captain had in mind, wasn’t it, Captain? Yes, good. And you, Fleet Captain, do you agree? Very good, then; thank you, Lord Ademet, for bringing forth such a vital subject.”
“My pleasure,” the nobleman’s eyes glinted like a sword blade.
“She looked like this,” Elonia held up the sketch done of the dead Nepas’ face. “I don’t know her name, but this is what she looked like.”
The florid, overweight woman hardly glanced at the drawing. “Don’t look like anybody I’ve let a room to,” she muttered, her semi-toothless mouth pursed. “And you’ve no right to be bully-raggin’ me so, either. I run a good house here, clean and decent.”
“See this?” the Seeress tapped her gorget. “This gives me the authority to arrest and search.”
“Just a bit a’ brass,” the landlady grumbled. “Alls I see is some young hussy with wearin’ britches so tight that all she’s searchin’ for is a ducat.”
“Look, here’s a gold Mark to show us the room,” Elonia tried to smile. “Easy money.”
“Don’t know as I want to get mixed up in anyone’s business, gold or no,” the woman scowled.
The mixed-blood Badger grabbed the woman by the tight gray-streaked bun at the back of her neck and laid the edge of a yataghan across her throat. “Look, bitch, take me to her room or I’ll cut your greasy little throat, understand?”
“One squeak outta me and my lads‘ll be in here with their clubs,” the woman quavered.
“One squeak out of you’ll be your last, and your lads’ as well, I’ve nine good killers outside your back door in full battle gear,” the Seeress hissed back. “Now take the blasted Mark and show me the room.”
“This girl inn’t one to be crossed.”
“The ‘girl’ is both older than you and dead,” Elonia released the woman and tossed her the small, heavy milled coin. “I know Eisenalder gold isn’t all that common here, but it’s worth twenty ducats and you can keep anything she left behind that I don’t take, which ought to be nearly everything.”
“You ought not to be grabbing people,” the woman whined, fishing a ring of keys out of apron. “It’s down cellar-way.”
Elonia opened the back door of the greasy, poorly-lit kitchen and motioned to Mad Dog. “Stay in the kitchen with three men, leave the rest outside. If she comes up alone, kill her.”
Half of the cellar had been closed off by a surprisingly stout wall with a solid door set into the center. “There, see? She added her own lock.”
“Of course she would,” Elonia muttered and took a tool-roll out of a pouch. Ten minutes careful probing by the light of a small glowing crystal glued to a short wood rod the Seeress held in her teeth opened the lock. Inside was a simple bedroom furnished with a good bed, a large wardrobe, a small plain desk, a couple paintings, and a few chairs. Everything was neat and tidy; a casement window had been carefully boarded up and barred so as to remain an exit, but not an entrance. “I bet from outside that can’t be seen anymore,” the Seeress nodded approvingly towards the window. “I suppose she bought all her own furniture, too, eh?”
“Yes,” the landlady looked around with greedy eyes.
“Well, its yours now, or once I’m done, that is,” Elonia repacked and stowed her tool-roll and set to work searching the chairs, then the simple washstand, the bed, and then the desk. “Did she have many visitors?”
“She was a quiet girl, stayed to herself,” the woman replied automatically, then caught herself. “Well, she did, in fact, I only saw her coming or going, or when she paid her rent, a day early and cash, every time. I never saw the inside of this room once she put on the lock and fixed up the window, that’s been a year now. Visitors, well, no one came calling, but she would bring home friends, if you know what I mean.”
“Lovers,” the Badger nodded, sorting through the desk. “Very many, and very often?”
“Not so many strange faces, but I suppose once or twice a week, she always had a good supply of coin, if you know what I mean.”
“She bought her friends.” The Seeress started on the wardrobe.
“Yes, girls and boys both, and sometimes more than one. And drink, she went through good brandy like there was no tomorrow. Quiet, though, that’s true. You never really knew she was here.”
“I’ll pay for the names of any she hired, a ducat a name, another ducat if you’re right, a good thrashing if you lie.”
“Sully would be the only one you could find, she was sweet on Sully, that I know. I knew a lad or two she fancied, but they’re gone now, off with the army and dead out east I’m told, sent to some place called Apar-ala, and killed there.”
“Apartia,” Elonia corrected absently, examining the lining of a cloak. “There was a big battle there, my Company and I fought in a graveyard a third the size of South Town.”
“Lands.” The landlady explained how to find Sully.
“Good.” Elonia dumped several items into a cloak, which she tied up into a bundle. “The rest is yours; her pouch was taken when she was killed, so someone will be coming around with the key to do what I’ve just done. If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of here until they’re gone; they won’t care about the furniture.”
Durek stood before the entire Company, which was assembled within their improvised barracks. “All right, settle down. By now all of you have heard about the raid, and about Serjeant Maidenwalk’s wounding. We should know in a few hours if she will survive; if Janna lives she will be unable to perform her duties for some time. Meanwhile Serjeant Uldo will assume command of Blue Platoon and Corporal Toulon takes over as quartermaster.” The Dwarf surveyed the ranks. “The fight today in the Amphitheater will count as a major fight, one worthy of a gold stud. Agents of the Hand of Chaos were responsible for the raid on the Amphitheater today, for the deaths of the Duke and his sons, and for the wounding of our comrade. This assault has changed everything: this morning we were mercenaries, fighting for our pay, loot, and honor; now we have a blood-grudge to call to account, now we hunt the agents of the Hand until we find the one who ord
ered this cowardly attack and lay him low, shorter by a head.” The ranks stood motionless, amazed at the passion in the Captain’s voice. The Dwarf surveyed them with smoldering eyes. “Our honor has been affronted, and we shall make this right. Dismissed. Officers report to me.”
“Elonia tracked down one of the assassins killed in the alley and pilfered her quarters,” Durek announced to the assembled Inner Circle. “Go ahead, Corporal.” The use of rank, everyone knew, was a sign of the Dwarf’s anger; normally, he ran the Company in the manner of an autocratic patriarch, both informal and untouchable.
“Yes, sir. I found a journal and assorted papers, and from them I’ve learned that the female assassin was a former Pargaie operative who took advantage of the massive breach in communications that Alantarn’s revolt created to leave her masters’ service. Apparently she came to Sagenhoft last summer from Arturia, working for various crime figures; during the winter she began working for the Hand, first as a low level-asset, then later as a contract artisan, and it was in the latter role that she was slain.”
“Could you explain those two roles?” Bridget asked.
“An asset is a local person who can be trusted with certain jobs for an intelligence agency, working strictly for pay, and often unaware of the exact allegiance of their employer; an example is a dock worker who will provide the name, captain, and cargo of every ship which docks at his employer’s pier for a few pennies a ship. An artisan is a skilled person who has achieved a level of trust; this would include killers, burglars, seduction experts, and so on, who can be used for specific jobs. Above those are associates, locals who are knowing servitors, whether because of pay, blackmail, or simple allegiance. Agents are actual members of the intelligence agency, in this case Hand personnel sent west over time.”
“Thank you. Where do we go from here?”
“Elonia got a name of someone who knew this dead artisan,” Durek explained. “Henri will make contact with her and find out what he can.”
“Ever into the breach, for the honor of the Company,” the wizard intoned solemnly.
“She’s a whore, send a mouse when you want to know about cheese,” Elonia observed drily to a round of chuckles. “Naturally, the Station Chief for the Hand here in Sagenhoft, whom this dead assassin referred to as ‘A’, hopes to open the city to Bohca Tatbik by various subterfuges; failing that, he hopes to weaken the defenders to a significant degree. To accomplish this, the dead Nepas notes in her journal, he has two major strokes, neither of which are known to her, but we can guess the Amphitheater Raid was one, and four secondary, long-term actions. These four actions the dead woman discovered: number one, commit arson against storage places for wood and food, and workshops; second, introduce disease into the city via infected rats. Third, spread dissent and start riots amongst the refugees and city poor; fourth, weaken the city government by the encouragement of dissention and factional fighting. All this, of course, is in addition to the usual spying.”
“Their first major stroke failed, then,” Arian suddenly spoke up. “They failed to eliminate the Duke’s entire family.”
“Exactly; we can assume that killing Lady Eithne and the Regent will be a new top priority, along with the second stroke whose means we do not know.”
“There we have the enemy’s situation,” Durek rumbled. “In a day or so they should sort everything out and we’ll know what we’ll be doing during the upcoming siege; once we’re in place, we start operations of our own, and make the bastards pay. Everyone give this situation some thought, we’ll need all the ideas we can get. Dismissed.”
Arthol Mane scowled at the figures on the paper before him. “Why was I not advised that the Duke had invited military officers and mercenaries to this reception?”
Quat Fussock, the Markan-Fet of the Third Degree who had been station chief before the invasion demanded the personal attentions of a priest of -Hern level, met his superior’s glare steadily. “The reception had been planned for weeks; the Duke amended the invitation list the night before, long after the invitations had been written and sent out. Ordinary clerks wrote out the additional invitations, which were hand-carried to unit commanders. Being military units getting the men there on extremely short notice was not a problem; those few of our people who knew of it had no idea that it warranted reporting, not that we’ve many assets left in the military. I had no idea it had happened until the troops and mercenaries arrived, by which time it was too late to change our plans.”
Mane shook his head. “I suppose it couldn’t be avoided; as it was, we nearly succeeded, as only the girl remains, and that but for a stroke of luck. Who are these blasted Phantom Badgers?”
Quat shrugged. “Mercenaries. We’ll know more in a day or two.”
“Make sure of it; a section of their Company investigated the room of the woman killed in the alley, and carried off her corpse as well. You knew her, how much did she know?”
“I’m not sure, she was one of the most promising of our artisans; I was planning on putting her up for associate status soon. I’ll put someone to back-tracking her.”
“Good.” Mane studied the list of names. “It galls me that we did not accomplish more: none of the military leaders were killed other than the Lord Marshal, and only one Lord Protector; we’ll never have them all bunched up like that again.”
“Unlikely; how did the council meeting turn out?”
“Badly; we missed that bastard Chaton, who not only got the girl’s inheritance confirmed, but a directive issued by the council prohibiting her from being betrothed for three more months. The Lord Chancellor shall be Regent, with all the powers of the Duke until she turns seventeen.”
“Bad news there, he’s a slyer dog than Sorgen ever dreamt of being.”
“At least our allies did well,” Mane extracted another sheet of paper from the pile on the table before him. “Eight warehouses burned, eleven cranes wrecked, and they cut out four cogs and seven cerns.”
“Actually, they’re pretty upset over the raid: the force that charged into the party expected a slaughter, and instead they ran into a wasp-nest, lost far too many of their warriors. We lost some good people, too, when one of our ships burned. The Navy caught and retook three of the cogs and sank a fourth before it could get out of range of the shore engines. They were promised an easier go of it.”
“That’s a pity, but war is like gambling: never bet more than you can afford to lose.”
“They want to talk about compensation or they’re threatening to leave our service.”
Arthol sighed. “When?”
“As soon as possible; we’ve a chieftain of sorts hidden in a warehouse who can speak for the fleet. Shall I go?”
“I’ll deal with them,” Mane stood and gathered the papers, stowing them in his pouch. “You keep a personal eye on programs three and nine.”
The meeting was in a ramshackle warehouse in the north port Mane took four good agents with him as bodyguards, as no one could ever fullt trust a Hobrec. Inside the decaying structure, which stank of rotting fish and wet rope, he found five reavers throwing some oddly-shaped dice on the top of an old barrel. Four spread out, hands near weapons, while the fifth, whose varka hilt boasted gold wire and elaborate carving, approaching, leading a ragged, battered Human male by a leash. The Hobrec spat a short sentence in his nasal tongue and the Human translated.
“This is the spokesman for the Fleet, his rank translates as ‘Commander’, and his name would mean nothing to you. He knows who you are, and would get down to business.”
“Very well, begin.” Mane kept an eye on the four fodra as he spoke; he was taking a risk coming in person, but the Hobrec were useful tools and he had no desire to lose them.
“The Commander says his attack on the gathering met heavy resistance where none was predicted; likewise, the harbor defenses were greater than allowed for.”
“Explain that there was a last-minute change in the composition of the party; I also lost good people because of it. Su
ch are the fortunes of war. As to the harbor defenses, we estimated them as best we could; the Hobrec had never attempted such a raid before, and it was difficult to guess how events would develop. We certainly did not wish to see the raid fail or for our allies to lose more troops than was unavoidable.”
Commander studied Mane for a bit after the translation had finished; Mane met the thing’s gaze squarely, keeping his face blank. He had dealt with Goblins, Orcs, Direthrell, and every type of Human to be found in Alhenland, but the Hobrec were unreadable, without much in their lives or culture that was comparable to Human norms. They lived on the waves, each Fleet maintaining small land bases for repairs and construction, these bases mainly manned by slaves taken in their constant raids. They were hermaphrodites and possessing a family structure that was undecipherable to non-Hobrec.
Finally the Commander rattled off a short speech to the interpreter, who dutifully relayed the message. “He understands, but requests five hundred pounds of iron as compensation.”
“That is acceptable; what forms of iron are suitable, as ingots will be hard to come by, while chains and similar iron-work would be easy to get.”
They settled the details of the transfer of the metal and both parties took their leave.
The first of Summteil (the seventh month in the Imperial Calendar) saw the state funerals for the fallen Duke and his sons, the announcement of Lady Eithne as heir, and the appointment by law of the Lord Chancellor as Regent to House Sorgen. Hanns Kornig VII assumed his late father’s title of Lord Protector, and Hergo Pittmann was appointed Lord Marshal, with Bruno Fassburg being appointed Lord Captain of the Sagenhoftian garrison; Fassburg, who was of common parentage, had commanded the Lifeguards Squadron throughout the campaign, having fought well in every battle and having been wounded no less than three times. A hardened soldier, he would command the Duchy’s army in fact while Pittmann oversaw the administrative details and commanded in name.
