by Brian Keller
Iona was working with the fragments of what she now knew. Jarell was Guild. Cooper was Guild and had been part of a raid on Jarell’s warehouse. A Guild warehouse? A warehouse that was being used to hold slaves. The dead bodies had to either be sellswords or slavers. It all boiled down to whether or not Jarell knew that slaves were being kept in his warehouse. But how could he not know that, and still know that Cooper had been involved in the raid? She’d always thought that the Guild had been fighting against the slavers, but now it was apparent that the Guild was directly involved in the slave trade. Financing it, even while fighting among themselves over it.
The Spymaster had reached her door and was about to open it when his voice cut through her thoughts, “The Guild is still active and functional, and this Cooper could be the key to taking it all apart.”
*****
A week later, in the dining hall, Cooper wondered aloud that despite the distraction caused by Birt’s efforts with the Griffin and Gilded Feather, he’d fully expected to see Tax Collectors and Planning Council representatives coming out to inspect the reconstruction. Owners of new businesses at the edges of the Ruins would have submitted their charters weeks ago.
The typical sounds of the dining hall went nearly silent. Rukle piped up, “Well, the Ruins is a dangerous place after all…” The way he let his response trail off made Cooper suspicious. Cooper guessed the most obvious, “Tell me you’re not killing off tax collectors.” Rukle glanced left and right, as if looking for assistance, or perhaps an opening to escape, “I’m not killing off tax collectors….?” Cooper sighed. He should’ve predicted something like this. He asked, “Can you tell me that and make me believe it?” Rukle grinned, “Probably not.” Cooper’s first impulse was to be angry but his mind flashed over several thoughts all at once. Maybe Rukle was right? The Ruins have been a dangerous place for a century, more or less. People disappeared all the time. Cooper shook off the notion. Something about it didn’t sit right. This was the kind of thing that would surely return to make problems for them later. He told Rukle, “Stop killing the city officials. We’ll need to start learning to work around them.” Rukle snorted, “Well, I certainly hope we’re not considering working with them! They’re far worse thieves than we’ve ever been!” This brought a chuckle from everyone who was listening, which at this point in the conversation, was almost everyone. It seemed like this conversation had been anticipated and all in attendance were now waiting to see how things turned out. Cooper stood and looked around the large room, then demanded, “How many of you knew about this?” Suddenly everyone’s attention shifted to their meal and the clatter of utensils on plates resumed with unusual fervor. Cooper turned his attention to Spen, “Am I supposed to believe you don’t know about this?” Rukle took advantage of Cooper’s change of focus and took a large gulp of water. Spen looked up from his plate and replied innocently, “Know about what?” Fortunately for Rukle, most of his water came out his nose or he might’ve choked. Spen realized immediately that Rukle’s near-choking fit had, in fact, implicated him. He glared sideways at Rukle and grumbled, “Thanks a lot.” Cooper would feel ridiculous asking Spen to explain himself, knowing the reality of the situation. Even if someone were to have witnessed a Guild member killing a tax collector in the Ruins, who would report it? Who would confess to having witnessed it? No one. Cooper took a deep breath and let it out, sat back down and simply let the question drop. Still, he felt certain that this conversation wouldn’t be the end of it.
As much as he gained satisfaction from watching the Ruins take shape, he knew time was growing shorter. He needed to move the plan forward. There would always be aspects that were beyond his control, especially with an operation like this, but he also knew he could trust everyone to complete their tasks as well as they were able. He started to think about who might be held in the prison, and how long they could be expected to withstand the treatment there. A week would feel like a month, a month would feel like a year. They haven’t quite been there a year yet, but how long will it have felt like? He turned his mind to other thoughts. It did no good to dwell on those types of hypotheticals. He was glad to have a task to set his mind against. He walked to the Waterfront to begin scouting his escape route.
The disguised soldiers of the Secret Police often chose one of five different taverns as their vantage point. The reasons for those spots undoubtedly had to do with the fact that there was either an awning or huge umbrellas providing shade over the outdoor seating areas. Sitting outside, in the shade, probably made them think that they’d separated themselves enough from City Watch behavior that no one would make the connection. The truth was, even if it weren’t already blatantly obvious, the jealous stares and glares they gathered from the passing uniformed Watch patrols made it even harder to miss.
Cooper had found a route that was outside the normal patrol patterns and had no stationary observation points directly in the path. He wouldn’t need a clear path all the way home, just for a few blocks. After that, he could just move normally and blend in with the town folk. To the Watch, he was just a potential informant, no one of any real consequence after all.
He’d spent several minutes considering where it would be best to set up the meeting with the Spymaster. Someplace he could get in and out quickly, and preferably unseen. Someplace where it would be difficult to bring in large numbers of Watch or Army soldiers. Someplace where he had more than only one or two escape routes. It had to be in the Waterfront, or somewhere nearby; he was supposedly a young man from the Waterfront, so to specify a location south of the river would be highly suspicious. He settled on a site, not far from the warehouse that Jarell had used to hold the slaves. There was a vacant lot and several roads and paths nearby. Now to decide on time of day… would this young man from the Waterfront feel safer at night? When no one could witness him speaking with the Spymaster? Or during the day when other things might distract potential onlookers? No, the Spymaster wouldn’t be traveling alone. During the day, he’d attract too much attention. It wouldn’t matter what else might be going on, people would stop whatever they were doing to observe him. A nervous young man, a potential informer, wouldn’t want that. Darkness might feel dangerous, but it would also provide anonymity.
He went to one of the other bars, paid a copper for a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal and drew out a rough sketch then called the bartender over to him, “Sir, c’n you write?” The barkeep shrugged, “A little bit. I can tally figures alright, an’ write a little.” He looked at the drawing Cooper had made, “Whadiya need? You givin’ directions?” Cooper nodded and pointed in the direction of the vacant building site, “I wanna meet wi’ a girl. Her da would kill me, an’ prolly her too, if he knew ‘bout us. She c’n read a fair bit. Tell ‘er ta meet me by that spot where there ain’t no buildin’. T’night, jes’ afore midnight. C’n ya write that?” The barkeep rubbed the side of his face as he looked at the drawing, then replied, “Yah. I think so. Too bad they burned out the scribes, ain’t it?” Cooper nodded, thinking, “I couldn’t agree more.”
A few minutes later, Cooper thanked the man and looked over his handiwork. He had wanted it to look rough and uneducated, but this would need a little touching up just to be decipherable. He took the stick of charcoal with him when he left and made some adjustments once he’d stepped around the corner.
He folded the paper into a tight packet, creasing each fold as he did. He then unfolded it, smoothed it out and then folded it again, differently this time. He wished to give it the appearance that it had been fretted over, as if it had been prepared for delivery and then withheld a dozen times, before being finally delivered in a fevered rush, as it would soon be. He backtracked along his chosen escape route, to make sure it was still clear, then approached the bar where the team of Secret Police were seated in the small pavilion out front. Cooper walked briskly up to the rail and reached across it, dropping the folded message onto their table. One of the policemen noticed his approach and reached to grab
his wrist but Cooper quickly withdrew. He explained, “Jes’ give that ta whoever in the Palace wants ta talk wi’ me. I’ll meet ‘em t’nite, if there ain’t guards ever’where.” Two of the men abruptly stood and one leaned over the rail to reach for him. He was well out of reach and drawing further away with each rapid step. One of the Secret Policemen called out, “Who do you think we are, lad?” but by then Cooper was already far enough away that the man needed to raise his voice to be heard. In moments he’d rounded the corner of the nearest building and quickly followed his planned route. It was still clear.
Now he just needed to wait until nightfall. He quickly returned to the Ruins and changed into his leather armor. Happily, the leather worker had taken the time to finish the needed maintenance and repairs. He asked the ladies in the kitchen for a quick bite to eat and they were only too happy to oblige. It was still well before dinner time when Cooper left the Ruins and walked through Batter’s Field and into the Waterfront to watch over the meeting place. He wasn’t too worried that Aporigh would send soldiers to the meeting place. As a young informer, he presented no threat to the Spymaster, so no troops should be necessary. Still, the Spymaster certainly wouldn’t be traveling alone and it would be foolish for him to ignore the possibility. If soldiers started coming in, he’d simply fade away and either set up another meeting or devise a whole new method to reach the Spymaster. He could use the rest of the evening as time to think.
A few hours later, it began to rain. It started as a light drizzle but built slowly to create well-defined drops. Cooper mused how raindrops against his hood sounded like approaching footsteps, except footsteps on the clay roofing tiles beside him would sound nothing like that. He’d selected a spot where he could observe, yet remain mostly unobserved, and just as importantly, un-cramped. He was able to stretch out on the rooftop of a building overlooking the vacant space, hidden behind a decorative façade. The only place where he might be observed would be from this roof, or from the top of the neighboring building to the northeast. He’d chosen tonight since such a short time between message delivery and response would require the Spymaster to rush his preparations. If he tried to move soldiers into the area, it would be forced and obvious.
The clouds that were carrying the rain moved on, taking the precipitation with them but the sky remained overcast. From his vantage point, it looked like it had been enough to settle the dust without soaking the ground. Cooper wished the same could be said for the roofing tiles, but the thin green layer of accumulated moss, (“or was it algae?” he wondered) only required a moist sea breeze to make them treacherously slippery. Later in the year, during the drier season, this layer would dry and flake off, but tonight Cooper would need to account for it when he chose to move. He shifted his position so he could reach down and touch the copper tube he had tucked in his waistband. It needed to stay there until it was time to drop it on the Spymaster’s corpse.
*****
Iona accepted the folded up paper that Yoren handed to her. As she unfolded it the Spymaster asked, “Feel anything?” Iona paused, then replied, “Nothing. Why?” His expression became a mix of disgust and disappointment. Iona deduced, “Did this come from Cooper?” Yoren nodded, “I suspect so. It was handed to a team of my Secret Police. Apparently, they aren’t much of a ‘secret’.” Iona unsuccessfully stifled a smile as she studied the note. Yoren growled, “Did I say something funny?” Iona recovered quickly and replied with more than a hint of sarcasm, “No, sir. I was just reacting to the stunning artwork and precise wording of this note.” Yoren wasn’t entirely convinced but he replied, “And what do you think about that?” Iona shrugged, “He’s trying to appear as an almost-uneducated person. He’s providing enough information here to make it possible to find the intended location, but his use of common misspellings and native dialect in the description makes it feel… I don’t know… innocent, somehow?” Yoren smiled, “I think the word you’re searching for is ‘unassuming’. And the fact that it’s been folded and re-folded. Very subtle. He’s clever. Too clever to allow us to get anywhere near him with soldiers, even if he had given us enough time to assemble them. We’ll add a few extra soldiers to the usual checkpoints and place a few more on the bridges, but bringing soldiers along for the meeting will do nothing except scare him off.” Iona folded the message again and handed it back to the Spymaster with the reply, “We should assemble the team of mages.” Yoren smiled, “Already done. I sent a messenger to the University at the same time that I sent for you.” Iona nodded and furrowed her eyebrows, “And my former professor?” Yoren smiled wider, “I’ve invited him specifically. He would have taken it as an insult had we attempted to exclude him.” Iona shrugged, “Well, he is a fairly powerful mage in his own right. Decidedly, he’s a better mage than he is a researcher.” Yoren chuckled, “No one was in a better position to assess those qualities than you, my dear.” Iona opened her mouth to retort but realized that in doing so, she’d merely be ‘taking the bait’. The Spymaster was mentally preparing himself for the upcoming confrontation, and as such, he was seeking a proverbial whetstone with which to sharpen his mind.
She wondered how it would feel to see Felis again. She hadn’t seen him in several weeks. She found herself looking forward to tonight’s walk to the Waterfront. Her thoughts were interrupted by a question from the Spymaster, “Do you need to prepare anything?” Iona almost replied, “Like what? I have nothing of my own!” but instead merely shook her head, “No, sir. Perhaps just a few hours of quiet before it’s time to go.” Yoren nodded, “I’ll post a guard outside your room. He’ll have instructions to bring you to me before we leave.” Iona left the room thinking, “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose the last thing he wants would be to have to search for me should I decide to sneak off at the last minute.” This gave her cause to wonder, “Assuming we capture or kill Cooper tonight… what will happen to me then?” She knew better than to ask but in the next few hours, instead of quiet contemplation, her mind was occupied trying to sift through every possible outcome she might face tomorrow morning.”
A few hours later the guard outside pounded on her door. She heard his gruff voice muffled by the door between them, “Miss! Wake up. Get dressed. It’ll be time to go in a few-” She pulled the door open and he nearly fell into the room. He recovered quickly and stepped back. She told him, “I’m ready. Take me to the Royal Spymaster.”
When she reached the Spymaster’s chambers, Yoren was wearing leather armor with metal plates sewn in across his chest. He had selected a tunic of the same colors as the flag. Iona waited as he pulled it over his head then belted his sword to his waist. Iona asked, “A sword? Won’t that seem too intimidating?” Yoren shook his head, “I never leave the Palace without it. To change that now would be foolish as well as suspicious.” He drew the blade a few inches, making sure there were no restrictions, then eased it back into the scabbard. Earlier, Iona had even considered bringing the axe she’d recovered but when she considered the fact that their prey was a trained Assassin, she had asked herself, “What am I going to do with an axe?” She felt certain that the Spymaster did not view his skills in the same way.
As they left his chamber she asked, “Guards?” Yoren replied, “Only as far as the North Bridge. After that, it’ll just be us and the mages.” Iona questioned, “Will that be enough? It isn’t as if the mages can freeze him, or throw fire…?” Yoren smiled, “The soldiers along the Waterfront have been waiting for this. A few minutes after we’re out of sight of the North Bridge, the guards will send a runner along the Waterfront boardwalk telling the rest of them to converge. If we fail to capture him initially, we will drive him to the Palisade Wall and pin him against it.” Iona couldn’t help but feel concerned. She thought, “If we fail to capture him initially, a lot could happen before the soldiers arrive.” She didn’t allow herself to speak the words.
They left the Palace with an escort of a dozen guards. Iona hadn’t really taken much interest in soldiers be
fore but tonight she took a moment to examine them. These men weren’t dressed for show, as were many of City Watch. These men had well-worn and many-times patched armor and the grips on their swords had been polished by repetitive use. Their boots were dusty and worn but looked to have been well maintained and recently re-soled. Iona recognized these men as professional soldiers, not sellswords that would readily shift allegiances if they found a patron who would pay them more.
