The Messenger

by Mark Charan Newton

  They did not need asking twice, and within a heartbeat they had begun to cause a ruckus in the tavern. It provided all the diversion we needed. Before long I could hear the screams of the landlord, followed by Marcius and Jaleh’s voices, who were promptly involved in the action.

  Meanwhile Leana and I scaled the outside of the tavern, climbing the brickwork and a sloped roof to the second floor. Leana levered open the window to the guest bedrooms, which Marcius had indicated were on the eastern side of the building when he told me they had a sea view.

  After checking we were alone, I quickly jumped inside. I rummaged around in their belongings, keeping one eye on the doorway – it did not sound as if the youths were getting any quieter downstairs.

  Their bags contained mainly clothing and a few trinkets, but little of interest. That is, until I found a purse of coins in one of the side pockets in Jaleh’s satchel. I looked inside and angled them so they were in the moonlight, so I could examine them better. They were silver coins, stamped by the Sun Chamber’s central Vispasian treasury – but there were several gold coins also. I picked one out and the markings seemed curious, so much so that I slipped it into my pocket and replaced the purse, before heading back outside. Leana nodded discreetly at me: we got away with it.

  Back inside the apartment, we sat at the table, my heart still racing.

  I was stumped. The coin possessed weird markings, of a kind I had not seen before. I handed it over to Leana, who tilted it this way and that. ‘The relief is too faint,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t work out the figure’s face either, but what about the rest of the markings?’

  ‘I cannot tell,’ Leana replied. ‘I think maybe I have seen something like it before. It could be nothing though. You let these things get to you, busy your mind. We need rest before tomorrow.’

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I laid down my head.

  We didn’t quite get to morning. Leana woke me up, sometime before dawn. In the darkness of the room she was leaning over me.

  ‘There are people gathering in the courtyard,’ she breathed.

  ‘What people?’ I rubbed my eyes and focused on her face.

  ‘I overheard them discuss this address as they walked past the window and around the side. I am not sure they were aware that this was the back of the building. Around ten of them. Now, I think, they are round the front.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘I do not know. They were carrying weapons when I looked through the shutters. We should prepare for the worst.’

  I nodded. I knew when to trust Leana’s hunches. She had already changed into her warrior garb, her short sword at her side. We began to pack in silence and in haste, ready to make a quick escape. I picked up my own weapon. I made sure to take with me the coin I’d found in Jaleh’s bag.

  Then we waited, while she opened the shutters ready to exit from them a second time in one night.

  I closed my eyes listening to the far-off noises of the city, wondering if any one of the strange calls was in relation to the men paying a visit.

  ‘I do not trust this,’ Leana said. ‘We should go now. If there is no problem, all we suffer is a lack of sleep. If there is a problem, then we escape it.’

  Sighing, and knowing that Leana was probably right, I quickly tied my boots up before we both eased ourselves out through the window. I was groggy and the sky was about to change hue from its dark black to purple; there were very few signs of life at this hour. I was barely there myself.

  Bags slung across our shoulders, we stepped cautiously for some distance around the edge of the building, slipping in one of the narrow passageways at the far end of the courtyard, careful all the time not to step out of the shadows.

  There, up ahead in front of our building, were the men – eight in all. Two of them carried torches, the others held swords beneath their cloaks. They were standing in a semicircle that closed in on the door – I heard an almighty crash and half of them piled inside the apartment. Moments later they came out, empty-handed, and looking concerned. Just then, two more men came from the direction of the Al Nuyam tavern, with a figure screaming in their clutches: it must have been Marcius with his hands pinned back behind him.

  ‘Not me, not me!’ he shouted.

  Marcius was forced to kneel on the cobbles while a torch was brought forward in order – so it appeared – that these others could get a better look at him.

  Then another man cut his throat and he slumped forwards.

  The others quickly filed out of our apartment and then gathered outside. Leana made to move away, but I held her back. ‘Not yet.’

  I cautioned for her to be still and hoped that she’d mimic me as I pressed myself against the wall.

  The dawn was beginning to lighten the sky, and I realized that one of the men in the group was in fact a woman. It was easier to see Jaleh’s face as she looked around near the shattered doorway.

  ‘So where is he?’ I overheard her say.

  She was met with silence. Seemingly satisfied no one was watching, Jaleh stepped over to Marcius’s corpse, crouched down and went through his pockets. Without taking anything, she stood up and headed back, having a final look around before she pushed shut what was left of the door.

  Leana looked at me. ‘What was that about?’

  ‘More importantly,’ I replied, ‘why is she still alive, and fine, and Marcius is dead?’

  ‘She knew our visitors,’ Leana said. ‘You were probably intended to be killed along with Marcius.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Then why the stern face?’ Leana replied. ‘You are still alive.’

  There was no point in trying to get any more sleep, so a little later we headed to an old friend of mine, Stantra. She was a craftswoman of supreme skill, having created many decorative items for the city’s elite. In fact, she was famed for her abilities to work metal, and was often invited to dine with those high up in the civil service.

  Leana and I entered her workshop just as she was lighting her furnace for the morning’s work. There were bronze vases, silver plates and an array of intricate ornaments arranged neatly on shelves. A circular window provided a view of the harbour.

  ‘Lucan Drakenfeld,’ she said, standing to greet me. Nearly twice my age, Stantra was a lady of substantial proportions and walked with a limp in her left leg. She always wore amazingly outrageous costumes – today’s vibrant red and white tunic being no exception. She embraced us with her unnervingly firm grip. ‘What a surprise! Always nice to see a handsome face early in the morning – though I prefer such handsome faces to be on my pillow looking back at me. It makes life so much sweeter, doesn’t it?’ She paused. ‘You’re in trouble.’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Well, I’m not sure actually.’ I told her briefly about my situation, before producing the coin I’d found in Jaleh’s bag.

  ‘I know this might not exactly be your area of expertise, but I wondered if you’ve seen any of these markings before?’

  She took the coin from my hand and limped over to the window to examine it in the light. Turning the coin over to its other side, an expression of surprise showed on her face. ‘This is good quality gold, I would say. Very good quality – no other metals have been used. It is a coin you can trust. But it is also the coin of a warlord.’

  ‘A warlord?’

  ‘See this marking? The crescent – and this is a dagger. These are the markings of Dreddan. Whoever this belongs to is taking money from a warlord who wishes ill on the nation of Venyn. The only question is, how did such a rare coin get into this person’s hand? What would they do with it?’

  ‘It could be melted down and used later.’

  ‘Very true. You are mixing in strange circles, as always, young Lucan.’

  ‘What do you know about Dreddan?’

  ‘All his life he has wanted to unseat the boy prince, this much I know. Venyn protects its trade routes vigorously. Dreddan has always raided these for gold and arms. He is power
ful. If Bassim is gone, there is instability here – Dreddan is free to claim all the gold he wishes. What is more, if his warrior tribe is big enough, he may push for control.’

  ‘Does he have a claim?’

  ‘No more or less than every other noble warlord. Even Bassim’s father was a pirate, once. Of course, all of this is simply gossip. Nothing can be proven – for if it could be proven, the army would have full blessings to rout him and drive his army from the desert.’

  ‘Bassim would need Sun Chamber permission for that.’

  Leana and I strode with urgency through the busying streets. ‘Jaleh has used me right from the start.’

  ‘Yes,’ came Leana’s blunt reply. ‘But we weren’t to know.’

  ‘The letters that came to my door. My first reaction was what any good officer would do – to ask my superiors how to act. They then dispatched the closest officers to help: Jaleh volunteered herself in response – she had stationed herself close by. All very convenient, perhaps. And, of course, she uses the more serious point of the Venyn soldier’s ring to get inside Prince Bassim’s palace. Bit by bit, she manoeuvres herself ever closer to Bassim. Each of the messages helps press for more urgency.’

  ‘What about the messages that came when we were all together?’

  ‘It’s possible, if she’s working with this warlord, that others would be on hand to help her. It’s also possible that the young man she killed was simply an innocent victim in all of this.’

  ‘All the while,’ Leana added, ‘she is making sure that this training, and our attention, is focused on attacks that are coming from the outside.’

  ‘We need to get a message to the prince. Who do you think he will trust – an inside advisor or me?’

  ‘You are an advisor too,’ Leana replied.

  It was true and we headed straight to the ziggurat. However, the guards greeted us warily. A conversation broke out among them and I could hear the local slang word for ‘traitor’ uttered. They must have thought that we had killed Marcius. As if to confirm this realization, one of them made a move to arrest us, but Leana battered him away. We ran back through the darkening streets.

  Festival of Zanth

  Prince Bassim was not yet outside, but the crowds were waiting nonetheless. It was a curiously cloudy day, but incredibly humid. Soldiers suffered the heat in their glorious, highly polished armour. Their glittering line marked the edge of the procession, pinning back the masses. Of Jaleh, we could see nothing. We kept ourselves concealed, not wanting to be arrested for Marcius’s murder. There was little we could do but look on, watching. That said, Leana still maintained vigilance and we both held crossbows beneath our cloaks in case we saw an assassin.

  After an hour of waiting, amidst the blaring of horns, Prince Bassim’s palanquin came forth. His black banners stood tall, fluttering in the breeze, and I thought I could just about make out his figure sitting serenely on top. We managed to push our way to the front of the crowds behind the line of soldiers and followed the flow of people along the route. As far as I could tell, security was not great. There were no guards alongside Bassim’s entourage, which infuriated me.

  The noise of the crowd changed. Screams came from the distance, and the confusion spread down towards Bassim’s carriage. Horses lurched from a side street, trampling soldiers. The crescent and dagger of Dreddan’s tribal army could be discerned on the dark blue cloth of the riders. Hundreds of them flooded in, carving bloody arcs with curved swords.

  Then many of the people further along the street shed their cloaks and, to my surprise, were garbed in the black colours of Bassim’s own forces. As Bassim’s carriage collapsed, a figure burst out – that wasn’t the young prince up there at all, but a decoy.

  Leana and I stood agog. The black soldiers brought down Dreddan’s forces, dragging riders into the street and stabbing them before they could get up. A great dust cloud rose up, obscuring my view. Then someone next to me pulled on my cloak.

  ‘Officer Drakenfeld. Please, step nearby.’ It was the female messenger who had called upon me previously.

  She led us down three winding passageways, to a sector of the city far from the ziggurat and away from the crowds. We entered a simple room with terracotta walls and wooden floorboards. She opened a shutter to allow in a small square of light.

  ‘Is the prince safe?’ Leana asked.

  She smiled. She said nothing else for a while, contemplating her options. There was something strange about this whole thing. ‘Prince Bassim will be delighted with the outcome.’

  ‘You knew how to find me in the crowd,’ I said.

  ‘The prince has his methods.’ The messenger paused. ‘It is only fair you should know we have Jaleh.’

  ‘You caught her?’

  ‘Of course. We had used her perfectly and it was time to arrest her.’

  That was a slip. The messenger said ‘we’. That implied she had been involved, somehow. ‘How did you know Jaleh would be a traitor? I had only recently discovered the fact myself.’

  ‘Prince Bassim set her up to be so. Jaleh does not know fully what she has done.’

  My expression must have been one of extreme confusion. ‘She’s not the only one. I’ve been used as well, haven’t I?’

  ‘I am sorry to say that you have.’

  ‘At least tell me how and for what reason – it’s only fair,’ I replied. All the time I wondered who this woman standing there really was. I doubted a messenger would have access to any of this.

  ‘You see, Bassim wishes to prosecute the warlord known as Dreddan.’

  ‘Dreddan? It was he who gave coin to Jaleh.’

  She gave one simple, firm nod. ‘He has been troubling Venyn for many years. Because of him we are essentially only able to trade by sea and not across land.’

  There was that ‘we’ again. Suddenly I was struck by a thought: was this messenger . . . Bassim?

  ‘We know that Dreddan wishes the prince dead,’ the messenger continued, ‘and we needed to provide him with an opportunity.’

  ‘I see now. Jaleh started your opportunity.’

  ‘She did. My spies discovered she had spent some time working for Dreddan. One of my best agents, who I inserted within Dreddan’s tribe, encouraged Jaleh to worm her way into Bassim’s defence operation to allow the warlord to make his move. For her to do so, she had to create a situation of concern – the letters you received. Our agent with Dreddan suggested such a method.’

  ‘Secrets within secrets,’ I muttered. ‘And so I, Lucan Drakenfeld, became the concerned party in all of this, and asked for help within the Sun Chamber.’

  ‘As I would have hoped.’ She gave a soft smile. ‘Jaleh saw to it that she was the only official within the region. Having taken the warlord’s coin, it was she who came first to the city, albeit with her unfortunate colleague. Jaleh had not bargained that he would be here too, such is the way with large organizations like the Sun Chamber.’

  ‘It definitely was Jaleh who killed him,’ I replied. ‘So, I thought she was just using me as a vehicle to get close to the prince, but Bassim was in fact using us both? I guess it allowed Dreddan to make his move.’

  ‘That is so. He can be now prosecuted within Vispasian law. To kill him otherwise would have risked insulting many of the tribes, caused instability to my nation, but caused even greater trouble with your own organization. I would have been the one on trial.’

  ‘But by luring Dreddan into making a move, with proof, you can now be rid of him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dangerous, but . . . I didn’t think you were so intricate in your planning . . .’ I dared to say it. ‘Bassim.’ I let the name hang in the air, but whoever it was they made no physical response to my statement.

  ‘A lot of people know very little about the boy prince. Bassim prefers to keep things that way.’

  ‘I understand entirely.’ For a moment I saw something in that expression. I wanted to ask the question, but the young prince – if it was g
enuinely him standing there, and not his messenger – held up a hand to terminate our meeting.

  ‘I must go now. Remain peaceful, Lucan Drakenfeld. I will see to it that you are . . .’ A pause. A smile. ‘I will see to it that the prince commends you highly.’

  If you enjoyed The Messenger, read on for the first chapter of Retribution, the second novel in the Lucan Drakenfeld series.

  Having just solved a difficult case in his home city of Tryum, Sun Chamber Officer Lucan Drakenfeld and his associate Leana are ordered to journey to Kuvash, the exotic capital of Koton, where a revered priest has gone missing. When they arrive, they discover the priest has already been found . . . or at least parts of him have.

  But investigating the unusual death isn’t a priority for the legislature of Kuvash; there’s a kingdom to run, a census to create and a dictatorial queen to placate. Drakenfeld finds that he is suddenly in charge of an inquiry in a strange city, whose customs and politics are as complex as they are dangerous.

  For Kuvash is a place of contradictions; wealth and poverty exist uneasily side-by-side and behind the rich facades of gilded streets and buildings, all levels of depravity and decadence are practised.

  When several more bodies are discovered mutilated and dumped in a public place, Drakenfeld realizes there’s a killer at work who seems to delight in inflicting torture and pain. With no motive, no leads and no suspects, he feels as though he’s running out of options.

  And in a city where nothing is as it seems, seeking the truth is likely to get him killed . . .