As Cal raised the cigarette to his mouth and struck a match, he jerked his head to the side, summoning Erik. He met him halfway between the crowd and the dragons.
“How many have we got?” Cal asked.
“Me, James, Stricks are all here. Kellen on horseback. There are another eight or so I could round up from the neighborhood. And we could recruit the off-duty Castalan embassy guards,” Erik replied.
Cal withdrew a handful of gold and slid it into Erik’s pocket. “Skip the Castalanians for now. Take this gold, send James and Stricks to Rosetta Stables with some coin. Have them tell the owner we’ll be buying out the place for at least a week and he should clear out any other guests. No expense spared. Have them scour the grounds, I want that place locked down tight by the time we arrive with the dragons. Set up a Corvale washbowl to greet Aaron with. Send Kellen to the house to get the cart with two of the oldest horses, his call which can handle hauling a dragon. Is Sleepy Jon here yet? No? What about Vander? Okay, grab Vander and bring him over to me in two minutes. Interrupt whatever conversation I’m in. Go, quickly please.”
Erik turned to go. “Wait.” Cal stopped him. “And find me a sword. I’m naked out here.”
Erik hurried off. Cal had no doubt his man and everyone else Cal talked to tonight would be shadowed wherever they went. All of their actions tonight were far too public for comfort. But the cards had already been laid out. At this point he had to work with the exposure rather than fight it. He needed to keep a balance in effect to prevent any one power from seizing control. Moving quickly was key.
The crowd was still respecting that arbitrary line of safety. As he neared them, several voices raised to demand an explanation or a private conversation. Cal wondered who had wandered close enough to the tent to upset the dragons. Brave, whoever had done it.
Cal raised his hands to quiet the crowd, lifted his head, and drew a deep breath. When the crowd quieted, prepared for some sort of speech or something, he lowered his head back down and moved swiftly through the first ranks. The angry murmurs grew.
“Captain Tulver,” Cal said, addressing the Home Guard Captain, “Mr. Lorne and I extend our sincerest apologies for creating a minor disruption to your city during your diligent watch. We will be immediately removing ourselves to quieter quarters. It would be a true honor if you and your men would accompany us.”
Tulver agreed. He did not enjoy being the center of attention, and could have done without the flowery and overly formal invitation from Cal, who he’d always thought of as a bit of a showoff. But his role at this point seemed to be largely keeping the peace tonight and having something to report to the city council leaders tomorrow. Both ends would be served by having a close eye on the dragons.
Cal knew this would buy him some space from the other governmental units maneuvering for attention and control. Having an official escort would prevent others from declaring the group lawless and attempting to seize them. And the Home Guard was well manned and not as corrupt as some of the other troops. The group he really wanted to keep away was the Tannes state government.
Its representative was once again nearing him, sliding snakelike through the crowd. Cal looked at the man. A wave of anger rose within him, threatening to topple his calm. Little prick friend. He pondered smashing the man’s face. Pounding on him until his jaw caved in. No one would stop him right now. Cal dragged fiercely on his cigarette, fighting the darkness inside him. The wave slipped past. Calm returned. Cal had work to do. He blew cigarette smoke in a fan around him, trying to will the four people who were talking to him all at once back several feet. It didn’t work. The crowd continued to press in.
Erik approached with Vander. Cal hooked Vander’s arm and pulled him in the direction of the dragons. The crowd reluctantly released its grip, fearing to get too close to the creatures. The dragons seemed to grow more alert and menacing as the crowd became bolder. Time was running short.
Vander was big and broad with long dirty blond mustaches. He wore chain mail and a steel helmet with a flat top. He was one of many mercenary captains in Delhonne, renting out security services for merchant caravans, private residences, and dispute settlements. Cal and Aaron had traveled with him some and found him to be trustworthy. He was not imaginative or ambitious, which was good for these unique circumstances. Cal didn’t want to bring anyone into the fold right now who was looking to do more than make some gold and impress a few people.
“How many men you have free?” Cal asked.
“Nothing’s free,” Vander replied. “But I’ve got twelve men you can have at twenty-five gold a day each, assuming you’re not going to ask us to kill your new pets, which would be extra.”
“You might want to check that humor around Aaron,” Cal said. “From what I can tell he’s rather fond of those pets. I’ll give you five hundred gold per day for the twelve and yourself. If I find anyone taking bribes to spill information, I kill them and you all only get one hundred fifty per day total. How’s that sound?” That rate would make it harder for others to bribe them and the condition penalizing all for the transgressions of one would force the men to police themselves.
“You got the gold?” Vander asked.
Cal threw the rest of the purse to Vander, making sure the crowd noted the transaction. “Get over to Rosetta Stables with Erik. Have him introduce you and six of your men to James and Stricks. Send Erik back. Secure the perimeter. Set up a ten-person guard with your guys and some of the Home Guard. Two on each side, a floater, and someone just outside the gate. Something like that. Tell your other six to get some sleep. They take over in the morning. Before you leave in the morning, we’ll clear out any rats’ nests who have set up nearby hoping to get a look at our new friends. If you wind up being short a man, no subs. I’ll pay you the five hundred but I don’t want new men around.”
Vander nodded and left with Erik. As they went, Kellen returned to the edge of the crowd with the cart, drawn by two past-their-prime warhorses. Cal again clanged his dagger loudly against his metal bracelet three times. He hoped Aaron would take charge of loading an injured dragon on a cart. It was new to Cal.
Aaron had not been idle. At the sound of the three clangs, he collapsed the tent, folded it quickly, and added it to the pack that was already strapped around the neck of one of the dragons. The rest of the gear was ready to go. With the tent removed, all five dragons were now visible. It was clear which was injured.
A pool of dark blood lay under the fifth dragon, who had a much lower stance than the others, shoulders and belly almost touching the ground. It was hard to see the dark bloodstain on his dark grey scales, but it appeared to begin high on his shoulder. Cal tried to equate it to an injury on a human and guessed it was similar to a knife thrust on the outside of the shoulder. Probably not a muscle severance, but painful and debilitating. After seeing the dragon drag himself forward with three legs, Cal revised his estimate and decided it was more like a knife wound in the thigh. They needed those front limbs for walking.
The lead dragons walked towards the cart. The crowd parted nervously before them, hard men trying to look like they weren’t in a hurry but hustling nevertheless. Most left a large distance between themselves and the nearest dragon, though many were clearly in awe of the beasts. Kellen led the pair of horses, followed by the cart, between the dragons. Aaron positioned the cart in front of the dragon, then jumped on it. He grabbed the dragon’s neck and directed him onto the cart. The beast made a clumsy and painful-looking hop to mount the cart.
Ignoring the calls for him from the crowd, Aaron waved Kellen forward, and the dragons and Cal fell in behind them. They headed down the street, making the oddest parade the city of Delhonne had ever seen.
Chapter 7. Sleepy Jon Wakes
Sleepy Jon opened his eyes as the floorboards of his hallway creaked. He had made his modest home as secure as possible. That included manipulating floorboards and windows so that stealth was impossible. His family slept nearby, his wife and baby shari
ng the bed, the two boys in another room that could only be accessed from this one. Jon saw light creep under the door and relaxed. Unlike an assassin to carry a lantern. And if he had, unlikely he would make it this far into Sleepy Jon’s home unnoticed.
Three of Jon’s long-term employees slept in the front area. It was one of them, a tall Delhonne local named Kent, who tapped quietly on the door in the telltale pattern Sleepy Jon encouraged his men to use to identify themselves as a non-threat.
Jon rose, sliding sideways to avoid disturbing the quilt which covered his infant daughter and wife. He moved gracefully for a large man. Sleepy Jon was tremendously thick. Of average height, he nevertheless weighed as much as any two or three men. One could call him fat and wouldn’t be wrong, but the real quality that leapt out was the thickness. His legs and arms were like tree trunks. He seemed to have little actual neck, just shoulders that continued up towards a large head, covered in a messy mop of dark hair.
He opened the door and joined Kent in the hallway. He carefully placed his feet on the floorboards he knew didn’t squeak and gently shut the door behind him. “What is it?” he asked.
“Earlier tonight Aaron Lorne crash landed a handful of dragons into an alley near the Crestland bar district,” Kent said quietly. “Cal Mast joined him, looked like maybe he came straight from the DeFlorre estate. Wasn’t wearing a sword. They are moving the dragons to the Rosetta Stables. They’ve already hired Vander to set up a guard.”
“Dragons? How big are they? They breathe fire like in the stories?”
“Not sure yet,” Kent said. “No one’s seen them really in action, but they seem pretty disciplined, a little aggressive like they’re spoiling for a fight. One of them fit in a two-horse cart, but barely. There are five of them. One’s hurt. Mutt is keeping an eye on things along with the rest of the city.”
“Okay, let’s go. Send a runner to the kennel. Get everyone up just in case.” In addition to housing three men at his place, Jon owned a small building in the nearby Printers district they all called the kennel. It doubled as an office to see clients and a barracks for the additional seven or eight men he usually had on the payroll for his security business.
Jon returned to his room. He was surprised to find his wife still asleep. She usually woke the second he shifted position in the bed. She had been getting less sleep lately with the new baby. He was unsure whether to wake her to tell her he was leaving, but he settled for leaning over and gently kissing her on the forehead. He spent a long moment staring at his baby girl, enjoying her soft snoring. He turned towards the dresser and was startled to see his eldest son Kevin standing there in the dark. Jon smiled and gave him the quiet sign.
Kevin moved aside as Jon approached the dresser and lit the candle on top with a match. He opened the drawers and drew out a simple shirt in faded blue and yellow, long pants, and a long coat with a high collar. His boots and hat were downstairs. He pulled the clothes on and then opened the lowest drawer to get his sword and sword belt.
His son, who would turn eight in a few weeks, grabbed his sleeve as he turned to go. “Did Kent say dragons?” he asked, eyes wide.
Jon smiled, thinking of the many bedtime stories he had read the boy about that very topic. “He did. I haven’t seen them so can’t be certain what they are yet. But I promise to tell you about it tomorrow. Now back to bed.”
He was certain there was little sleep in Kevin’s future tonight. He’d no doubt be waking his brother moments after Jon left. They’d spend the night inventing stories about the adventures on the horizon. Oh well, he thought, there were worse ways to pass an evening. Sleepy Jon rubbed his head and walked into the hall.
Moments later he reached the street with Kent beside him. They walked swiftly in the direction of Rosetta Stables. As they walked Kent filled Sleepy Jon in on the details he knew. Sleepy fingered the fringe of the purple tricorn hat he wore as he walked. The hat was a remnant of his Navy days. With its intricate folds designed to funnel rain off the brim and keep the wearer’s face dry, it was out of place in the dry season and so far away from the sea. But Jon wore it religiously.
Sleepy Jon had worked with both Cal and Aaron in the past. Most recently, he had accompanied Cal to the Ashlands border. This was after Aaron’s trail had grown cold several years ago. It had been easy enough to track Aaron. He was traveling with the Dura Mati, who made an impression on even the most worldly of travelers. Few people had ever seen a minotaur up close, especially a large one with only one full horn. Cal and Jon tracked Aaron to the old Corvale gathering point at the Tower of Sidvale, only to find that the Tower had been destroyed.
The Corvale were a nomadic people. They lived on horseback, endlessly roaming the eastern plains. The Tower had been one of their most sacred places. It had stretched up eight stories in elegantly carved stone by superbly skilled masons of an older era. The Corvale returned to the Tower every few years for ceremonial purposes, or at least had before they were slaughtered by the Chalk.
Signs of the Chalk had been all over the ruined Tower. Sleepy Jon and Cal had left quickly, leading their group of ten men farther from the dangerous Ashlands border. As they camped that night, Jon had noticed Cal stayed up late into the night, staring towards the Tower. Cal believed, as did Jon, that they were looking at Aaron Lorne’s grave. All signs had pointed to Lorne being at the Tower when it fell. The Chalk rarely took prisoners and were especially harsh with marked men.
Sleepy Jon felt exposed so near the Ashlands. He was grateful when Cal paid the men the next day and set off north, giving them leave to return to Delhonne. They had not seen any Chalk on the return journey, to Jon’s immense relief.
It had been years since Jon had seen a Chalk up close. They had the shape of a man, but were shorter. Their twisted spines forced them into a slouch. They wore tattered and decaying rags, always black and very dirty and dusty. Their faces were ugly with a skeletal appearance, upturned noses, and hollow cheeks. Most striking was the white powder that covered their bodies. It was odd, simultaneously looking greasy and dry. The Chalk left white marks on whatever they touched. The white skeletal faces made them look like the undead. Many thought they were demons or ghosts. But Jon had seen them die from the same wounds that would kill a human, a sword in the gut, losing a limb. There was debate about how intelligent they were. To some they were nothing more than dangerous animals. But the people who knew them well, like Aaron, and the people whose job it was to understand and prepare for danger, like Jon, feared the Chalk more than any natural threat. There was intelligence behind the dark eyes. Though it was extremely uncommon, some had heard them speak in the common tongue. They carried weapons, usually long knives, though they were not always sharp or well cared for.
Jon knew Aaron well. Though he spoke of it rarely, avenging the slaughter of the Corvale at the hands of the Chalk was never far from his mind. If he had arrived with new weapons at hand, one could only imagine he intended to point them east, towards the Ashlands.
The street of Rosetta Stables had fallen quiet by the time they arrived. There were several small groups talking in low voices and monitoring the stables. Aaron or Cal had wisely removed anything interesting from view. There was only a bored guard sitting in front of a locked gate. Nothing else was visible from the street.
Kent nudged Jon, pointing to a bar just down the street. It appeared to have a lot of action for this late at night and for this working-class neighborhood. Jon nodded and they headed for it. The sign said The Old Bellows. Jon allowed Kent to open the door and enter first.
The room was well lit and full. While there were a few locals, grabbing pints of cheap beer after their shifts at the nearby metal-working factories, the room was dominated by sword-wearing soldiers. As Cal had earlier, Sleepy Jon recognized representatives from many of the major powers in Delhonne. They strolled around and chatted casually, as though they had just happened to be in the neighborhood.
Jon spotted his man Mutt moving through the crowd towards him.
Over Mutt’s shoulder he saw that Cal and Aaron had a corner table near the back. It sat on the slightly raised platform which had probably once been a stage. They were in deep discussion, surrounded by the remains of a game of Talent. As Aaron leaned forward, Cal leaned back. Both men were dangerous alone, together they were a force. Everyone in the room had at least half an eye on that corner. Jon was surprised they’d managed to keep others from crashing their table.
Mutt arrived, slightly out of breath. “Hey, boss. They haven’t been here long. Spent about an hour locking down the stables. Then came here. The party followed. Everyone you’d expect plus one guest you’ll be interested in.”
Mutt turned his head, subtly directing Jon’s gaze towards the bar. Standing near it, holding a mug of ale, was Emmitt Thorpe. Jon doubted anyone else in the room knew or recognized Emmitt, but Jon had crossed paths with him several times. Emmitt was a murderer-for-hire of the lowest stab-and-run variety. Jon had never spared much thought for the man, aside from keeping him well away from his family and business. But his presence here could only be for a job. And there was only one target in the room that couldn’t have been killed yesterday and might not be available tomorrow. Thorpe was here for Aaron.
“Keep Mr. Thorpe company and watch for my signal. That may be his last ale,” Sleepy Jon said. “I’ll go welcome our friends back to Delhonne.”
He had only taken a few steps across the bar when Cal saw him, stood up and gestured to the single open chair at their table.
Night of the Chalk (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 1) Page 4
