by RW Krpoun
“Those who directly assist us, yes.”
“How? I mean, you aren’t going to just leave us here in the woods, are you? The Goblin’ll be looking for us once the deal is torn.”
“We will take you to Teasau and put you on the docks in the clothing you are wearing; depending on how well you perform, you may receive a bit of cash as a bonus.”
He had over a hundred Marks in a money-lender’s lock box in Teasau; the cargo and boats belonged to a merchant house which dabbled in smuggling on the side, so all he had invested in this trip was his wages and profit-shares. “I’m in so long as you keep my brother alive as well.”
“Fair enough,” the mercenary officer nodded. “Now, we shall discuss what your normal mode of operation is.”
“The smugglers have the following to trade,” Axel consulted his notes. “The three skiffs, a thousand pounds of bar steel and the same of iron, four hundred pounds of lead, two hundred pounds of tin, two hundred pounds of copper, two hundred pounds of iron studs suitable for use in studded armor, three thousand steel arrowheads, two hundred steel spear heads, one hundred steel small axe heads, two hundred assorted steel knife and dagger blades, and a hundred pounds of beads, ribbons, needles, thread, and the like. They expected to receive payment in raw gold (mainly nuggets and dust), furs, some coinage, and sap from the peteca poppy.” The latter was the basis for several narcotics whose possession or and use carried stiff penalties within the Empire. “A supposedly legitimate merchant house in Teasau puts up the money and boats for the operation, while Turhan provides the men and expertise.”
“We also took a good quantity of arms and armor, not to mention the three fishing boats and a small amount of money,” Henri added.
“Sort through the war gear and keep what is of first-rate quality, we’ll be receiving new recruits soon and some will need to buy their gear from the Company. The arrow and spear heads should be useful for the Ravenmist and our own stocks if they’re of good quality.” The Captain and the Company officers were meeting in the early evening of the day the smugglers were taken “And once again, a fine plan, Bridget.”
“And a pretty one,” Henri leered. The advocate blushed as the others chuckled.
“The plan for the sale is for the Goblins to make contact, examine the goods, and then return in two days with their valuables to make the trade, with first contact in eight days or so. The smugglers came earlier in case the Goblins planned to set up an ambush; neither group trusts the other, but they have some safeguards: the smugglers couldn’t carry off the Goblins’ valuables and their own with the ships they have here, and the Goblins know that if anything happens to the smugglers the word will be spread that the Purple Spider can’t be trusted. With the Spider’s constant operations against better-armed enemies, they can’t afford to alienate smugglers; they have no mines of their own and must trade or capture every bit of metal they use.”
“I must say, this is exciting,” Yvonne van der Jabs commented to no one in particular.
After a few minutes silent thought, Durek stirred. “How many of the smugglers have dealt with the Goblins before?”
“The Capron brothers and Nagel Sterndale; Hanns, the younger brother, speaks Ganjon and acts as an interpreter.”
“Good. Rolf, you’ll hang the other seven tomorrow, set up a platform beneath one of the smaller cranes, I’ll clear it with Haakon. Arian, you’ll be in charge of the smugglers, take Henri, Rolf once he’s done, and eight rankers, all male. For the second contact we’ll bring in more troops.”
“Are we going to honor our promise to the smugglers?” Arian asked.
The Captain thought about this. “Yes; I don’t like doing it, but after we hit the Goblins they won’t dare trade with the Spider again. They deserve to hang, but we’ll have to settle for taking everything they own. Make sure they are aware of what we’re doing with the other seven; it’s important that they know whom they should fear more, us or the Goblins.”
Chapter Eleven
“We may have the Butler identified,” Elonia announced, looking up from the narrow strip of paper she was reading.
“Really?” Maxmillian looked up from his sandwich of sausage slices and fried onions smothered in two kinds of cheese. “Pug’s really getting a feel for his grill, by the way.”
“I’m happy for him. Tonya and Philip have managed to get a good look at each of the individuals from Stotz’s address book whose last name begins with ‘C’, and they say Rodolf Cens gives the impression of a manservant in his mannerisms.”
“That would be useful, and likely, too: after all, van Feuchter, the Duchess, Ansel Pogot, Myra Soutar, and both of the Duchess’ ‘helpers’ were in the book; it stands to reason the Gerhard would know the ‘Butler’.” The scholar paused to wipe cheese off his face. “The question I have, is where do we go with this now?”
“Tonya and Philip will play Stotz a bit longer, at least until something better comes up.” Elonia held the strip of paper to a candle’s flame and watched it burn. “I’m going to tell them to drop Cens’s name and see if he reacts. If we can find the Butler we’ll have another piece of the puzzle.”
“You think that the Butler is what Arian called an artificer, someone who handles the support work for the cult?”
“Yes, a highly placed artificer; after all, someone has to get the victims, bit players, and props for the ceremonies.” The Seeress drew out a blank strip of paper and began to write. “As for you and me, we have the dinner party at the Duchess’ tomorrow night.”
“Yes, ‘Lyris Meurer, Fifty-Seventh Duchess of the Empire, blah blah blah, requests your presence at a gathering of friends on the second of Natterteil’ and so on, I’ve got the invitation memorized. Tomorrow night, and a tricky business it will be. As you’ve pointed out, that’s where they separate the prudes from the potentials.”
“We’ll have to be on our toes, but I believe they’ll be subtle in their efforts, ease us along smoothly and slowly as the evening progresses. That’s what will save us, the time factor. We’ll just keep agreeing until the key moment.”
“Why don’t we just find out were van Feuchter lives, grab him, and drag the information out of him?”
“Because he’s a recruiter, the most visible of the cult members, and thus the least likely to know the ceremony dates in advance. We need to get further into the group and learn all we can before we make our move. Additionally, before we can ‘drag’ the information out of him, we’ll have to know enough to prevent him from lying to us. Don’t get impatient, we won’t be here long.”
“I certainly hope so. I think I’ll get a sausage pie when you’re ready with the note.”
“That will take care of your lunch, I take it?”
“Lunch and most of dinner, I suspect.”
Tonya gave Gerhard’s shop door a brisk double rap; a short while later the leather worker opened it and beamed at the sight of her. “Tera, how nice to see you, won’t you come in?” They had only crossed paths once since the second trip to the club three days earlier, seeing each other at a distance in a large warehouse that sold hides.
“Of course.” Once seated in the office and sipping a glass of wine, she smiled at him. “I’m glad to see you aren't angry with me over my mishap the other night.”
“I would never hold that against you, just one of life’s little impositions. How have you been?”
“Busy, we’re pricing and planning, getting a cargo together and checking on haulers. Yourself?”
“Always busy, the demand never seems to taper off, thank goodness. I was wondering if you might like to get together again sometime.”
“That would be nice, although I’m not sure about going to the Basement again.”
“Oh, there’s other things we could do.”
“I would imagine. I was wondering, do you know a Rodolf Cens?”
Gerhard was immediately on guard. “Yes, I believe I do, if we’re talking about the same man; where did you meet him?”
“Oh, I didn’t meet him, I overheard the name at the Basement, two women in the ladies’ room were talking about something, I only heard part of the conversation, but they seemed very impressed with him, he apparently took them somewhere or did something that was very incredible. Would that be the Cens you know?”
“I don’t know, exactly; Cens is a customer of mine, a good one, but mainly on a commercial level.”
“He’s a middle-man, in other words.”
“Yes, a supplier for private parties and groups, while I do most of my work on an individual basis, or for businesses like the Basement.”
“Have you ever been to a private party, Gerhard?” Tonya favored him with a sultry smile. “One like Cens hosts?”
“Cens doesn’t host parties, he arranges them.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes, you see, someone contacts Cens and says, I want a party, this many people are coming and this is the theme I want, and for a fee Cens sets it up.”
“And he buys the toys from you.”
“Yes, the leather goods, yes.”
“How fascinating. But you didn’t tell me, have to been to any of these parties, and what do you mean by ‘theme’?”
“I’ve been to the parties, a few, but not as a guest; as I said, Cens sets it up, and he brings in people to do certain things, actors, like. And a theme would be, oh, say Conquered Village, that’s one I was at. The guests come as the conquering heroes, and the party is set up in a captured enemy camp, tents, weapons racks, that sort of thing. Feasting, raping, pillaging, all that.”
“What did you do, Gerhard? Were you eaten, raped, or pillaged?”
“I stood around dressed in soldier’s gear and said things like, ‘this rebel needs to be interrogated, Lord General’. It was really boring, but I owed Cens a favor and he was short a body. That’s a theme. Other parties are more like what goes on in the Basement, shows and entertainment, that sort of thing.”
“How perverse. I must say, Gerhard, playing with you can certainly show a girl an entirely different world.” She picked the portfolio off the floor and looked at the drawing Gerhard had shown her on the first visit. “Did you ever get to play any entertaining roles?”
“Oh, yes, a few; most of the theme parties are pretty amusing, and Cens always gets me the better roles.”
“That might be fun, acting; do you suppose Cens could get us into one of these parties?”
“Um, I’m not sure...he’s pretty...you see, strangers are sometimes something he doesn’t like.”
“But I’m not a stranger, I’m Gerhard Stotz’s new playmate, his hawk-masked woman, the bird of prey from a dream.” Tonya crossed her arms and pouted. “And I thought we had such a nice first evening together, after we left the Basement.”
“You’re right, of course,” the leather worker hastened to assure her. “Cens owes me plenty of favors, I did a rush job on no notice for him a few weeks ago...I’m sure I can arrange things.”
“I knew you could,” Tonya gave him her best smile, wanting desperate to beat the man senseless and never set foot in Teasau again. “When do you suppose he will host another party?”
“Soon,” Gerhard stared off into the distance, thinking hard. “Very soon, I think.”
“Good. You can leave a note for me at the Lion, saying my belt is ready when you’ve set it up, and I’ll come along to get the details.” She kissed Gerhard lightly, and too quickly for him to respond. “You don’t mind making me a nice belt, do you Gerhard?”
“I’ll get my tape,” the leather worker fumbled in the mess on his desk.
“And another sleeping draught for Peter, don’t forget.”
“Here we are”, Maxmillian muttered as he handed Elonia down from the carriage. “Once again on the field of battle.”
“Steady in the ranks,” she whispered back.
Lights were on in the main area of the mansion this evening; they passed through the open gates and found a maid waiting at the front door. She took Elonia’s shawl and Maxmillian’s hat and led them through a clean and polished, if worn, front hall and off into a side room, which turned out to be a beautifully furnished sitting room with ceiling panels of richly oiled black oak, walls done in patterned scarlet velvet with polished walnut wainscoting, and waxed pine flooring the color of old honey. The furniture was carved and hand-rubbed ebony frames with scarlet cushions, all the pieces done on an extravagant scale; as Maxmillian later commented, every chair was a love seat. A walnut sideboard carved to match the wainscoting held a staggering array of crystal glasses, goblets, decanters, and bottles, the latter two tinted with the various liquors they contained. The lighting was soft but even, coming from lamps of polished copper with elaborate crystal covers burning smokeless, slightly perfumed oil on engraved brass stands, one in each corner of the room.
They were not late but as it turned out the last to arrive; present were the Duchess, Leopold, Geraz van Feuchter, Myra Soutar, Adelot Harwood (one of the two ‘helpers’ Elonia had vowed to repay), and her husband Bledsoe, a lively enough gathering and one, with the ‘Dorfellers’ added, that just filled the room to an intimate level without the slightest hint of overcrowding.
“Ah, the Dorfellers have arrived, our group is now complete,” the Duchess swept across the room to them, pecking the air near Maxmillian’s face and kissing Elonia on the corner of her mouth. “I’m so glad you came, my little gathering has been plagued with bad luck: Geraz’s wife’s best friend took ill just hours ago, Myra’s husband was called away on some dreary business matter that simply could not wait, and two other couples were forced to beg off entirely.” She seized Elonia’s arm. “Come, dear, let me get you a glass of wine.”
“We’re reduced to a pitiful handful, but our spirits are high and our hearts are brave,” Bledsoe quipped, offering his hand to Maxmillian. “You’re the careau player who showed Ansel Pogot the top of the table and the flat of the ground, I believe.”
“Just good luck and a bad temper,” Maxmillian did not have to fake his embarrassment as he shook hands. “You’re Bledsoe Harwood, we met at that party before I made a fool of myself. Hello, Myra.”
“Maxim,” she purred.
“What are you drinking, Maxim old boy?”
“Is there ale? Good, I’ll have a glass, if you don’t mind, sir.” He turned to Myra after checking to insure that Elonia was busy with the Duchess. “You’re as lovely as ever, Myra.”
“I’ve been thinking about you, Maxim; you never did bring me my drink, or go with me to see the observatory.” Myra pouted.
“Well, I can get you a drink now, and we’re closer to the observatory than we were that night, now aren’t we?”
“Closer than you think, Maxim.”
It was an intimate little gathering, in more ways than one; the eight people drank, ate from the trays of hors d'oeuvres a silent maid carried in at intervals, and talked; at times Maxmillian found himself wondering if their investigation into cult activity and dark practices was merely a paranoid dream, and then Myra would brush her breasts against his arm, or he would catch Bledsoe watching him with a speculating look, and snap back to reality.
For the most part Elonia was capitalized by the Duchess, although Geraz was never really far away; Maxmillian came to appreciate that the furniture in the room was laid out in such a fashion that it was quite easy to position oneself completely out of another person’s field of view, for instance, that of his ‘wife’s’. Myra stayed close to him, of course, and the few times Geraz spent any time away from Elonia he was hanging on the edge of Myra’s conversations with ‘Maxim’. The rest just drifted back and forth between those two groupings and split off into deep conversations amongst themselves; although keeping tabs on both Myra and Elonia was a full-time occupation, Maxmillian got the impression that both of the Harwoods were courting Leopold, a situation the young man clearly found to his liking.
“Your wife is very beautiful and very exotic,” Myra observed as the night w
ore on. “You must be a very happy man.”
“Exotic is in the eyes of the beholder,” Maxmillian shrugged. “Diamonds are beautiful and rare, but they aren’t fun to take to bed. To tell you the truth, Myra, I prefer a woman of warmer disposition than one of cold beauty. To be completely honest, ours is more a marriage in name only, for the sake of the business to hand...good grief!”
The Duchess had suddenly sat bolt upright from whispering in Elonia’s ear, her face pale and sweating. As the guests gathered around she waved off any helping hands. “No, no, leave me be, I don’t need anyone holding me up, I just had a twinge in my back. Can’t a lady have a muscle spasm without everyone running around like a house afire? Leopold, fetch me a glass of brandy, a drink is all I need.”
“Actually, I have something that would work better,” van Feuchter murmured, drawing a gold case out of his jacket. Laying in out on a small table next to an engraved silver tray bearing tiny sandwiches, he opened it and revealed four small gold pipes with delicate crystal bowls and block of something wrapped in oiled silk. Using a small gold knife that was clipped to the lid of the case, van Feuchter slit the seal on the block and unwrapped it, exposing a moist, pearly substance. While the tall silver-haired man cut tiny cubes off the block with exacting precision, Bledsoe got a lamp down and removed the crystal hood. Someone else, Maxmillian didn’t see who but suspected Bledsoe, blew out another lamp.
“You’re right as always, Geraz, that is exactly what I need. Have you ever had lomba, dear?” She turned and asked Elonia, who was sitting next to her on a small couch.
“It’s made from the sap from those plants, peteca isn’t it? I’ve had the paste, zanga, but I’ve never tried lomba. Isn’t it terribly hard to get?” Elonia asked.
“You travel with the best now, my lady,” van Feuchter murmured. Delicately impaling a cube on the end of the knife, he waved it through the lamp’s much-reduced flame and then placed the smoking cube in the bowl of a pipe before handing it to the Duchess.
