by Brian Keller
It took a little more than twenty minutes of sporadic sprinting to reach center of the Waterfront. It was easier than expected, almost all the extra Watch points had been vacated. He wondered, “Surely they haven’t been called away to look for me?”, but he supposed it was certainly possible. The death of the Royal Spymaster in such close proximity was certainly cause to reposition, or even reassign much of the Watch. He ventured further northeast and hunkered down near one of the Lukasi warehouses, one of the first that he’d revealed to the Watch. Surely by now it was leased to a different business but he'd studied the surroundings long enough to feel comfortable waiting here, to see if anyone was actually still chasing him.
He waited for nearly an hour. In that time, he hadn’t seen a single patrol. He thought, “I’d be willing to bet my boots that this time last night I’d have seen two, maybe three patrols go by already. Tonight, I seem to be the only one here.”
He walked south toward the boardwalk and stopped after he’d passed two buildings. He waited another ten minutes. He heard a dog barking somewhere to the west and some kind of vermin scratching through some debris nearby, but otherwise he heard nothing to draw his attention. He walked to the boardwalk and out onto a pier. His night wasn’t finished yet. He needed to speak with Mardon, and he didn’t dare wait until daylight.
He hadn’t expected Mardon to be pleased about being visited so late at night, but he also hadn’t counted on the man being such a sound sleeper. By the time he’d lit a candle beside the First’s bed and given him a shake to wake him, Mardon’s wife awoke and took a breath to scream. Cooper held up the candle to reveal his face. Mardon’s wife clamped a hand over her own mouth, then drew it away, quietly pleading, “Please tell me you’re not here to kill my husband! He nearly loves you like a son.” Cooper was trying to gesture that she should calm herself, which proved a challenge while still holding the candle. He set it down while making ‘shushing’ noises. It was then that Mardon awoke. His roar brought the entire boat to life, and likely woke everyone on the neighboring vessels, “What’s this?!? Attackers?!” He rolled partway out of the bed and reached for a saber propped at the side of the headboard. Cooper rushed forward to pin the man’s arm to the mattress while explaining, “Sir, I am just here to talk-” Mardon flung Cooper away as if he were a child and grasped the hilt of the saber. Cooper caught his balance easily and paused long enough to push back his hood before drawing his own blades, continuing to speak, “I apologize for waking you. I won’t kill you, nor will I allow myself to be harmed by you.” His voice finally seemed to register with the large man, either that or he finally heard his wife’s repeated exclamations, “Don’t fight! Don’t fight!”
Mardon’s eyes came into focus, “Kinsman? What in the murky depths of hell are you doing in my bedchamber?” Cooper sheathed his blades, trying to keep his expression impassive and his voice steady, “That task we discussed? The one I needed you to help me with? If it happens, it’ll be in the next two days.” The First was sitting on the side of the bed, rubbing his face. He’d released his grip on the saber, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. Cooper could hear the sounds of people waking, the sounds of belongings being knocked to the floor, the stuttering grind of furniture being pushed out of the way, and the abbreviated squeak of rusty hinges as doors were being pushed open. Cooper added, “Might I suggest you let your family know that you’re not repelling boarders?” Mardon stood, towering over Cooper in the cramped space, “I should let you face them all, but since I don’t want any of them harmed…” The large man opened his door and announced, “Go back to bed. All’s well.” Cooper remained concealed behind the door. He heard one of the crewmen, “You shouted that someone’s aboard, sir? I saw no one. I swear it!” Mardon growled, “Go back to your post. I’ll speak with you in the morning.” Cooper felt bad for the crewman. The man hadn’t been asleep. Before Mardon closed the door, Cooper stepped around him, placing a hand on the big man’s arm to get his attention, “I’ll go now.” He then added, “What kind of Assassin would I be if I couldn’t slip past a single guard? Hmm?” Mardon stepped aside to let him pass but replied, “Stay a moment. At dawn, I’ll remember your intrusion, but might not recall the purpose for it. Give me a moment to wake up.” He pointed into the galley, “Sit. I’ll only be a minute. After an awakening like that, Nature’s call is too insistent to ignore.” He turned to his wife, “Coffee, please, my dearest. Or some of that fruit juice we had yesterday, if there’s still any?”
Cooper sat uncomfortably in a chair. The First’s wife said nothing as she bustled about in the galley, but the looks she gave him bridged the gaps between anger, disappointment, and fear as only a mother could. True to his word, Mardon emerged after a minute or two and joined him at the table. His wife placed a mug in front of each of them. The sweet scent of the unfamiliar juice filled space between them. Cooper could see it was a bright orange and the amount of fine pulp made it the consistency of buttermilk. As Mardon reached for his mug Cooper suggested, “Your wife may be angry enough with me that I shouldn’t drink. Perhaps if we exchanged mugs?” Mardon managed to stifle the boisterous laugh that threatened to follow his stunned expression. He chuckled, “It’s my dealings with you that’s brought you here. Perhaps my mug is no safer than yours.” Anger flashed across his wife’s eyes but she quenched it almost immediately, and in an exasperated tone she retorted, “I would never!” She focused her ire on Cooper, while shaking a finger at him, continued, “It may be your business to poison someone…” Cooper held both palms up in surrender, “Ma’am. I most sincerely apologize, both for my entrance and for my poorly chosen jest. Please forgive me. I had every expectation of waking your husband silently without disturbing everyone aboard.” She returned to the bedchamber muttering about ‘best laid plans’ and ‘good intentions’.
Mardon waited until she’d closed the door behind her, then he leaned forward and inquired, “The next two days, you said?” Cooper nodded, “As we discussed. If you can manage it. Otherwise, I’ll need to think of something else, or we just take our chances.” Mardon nodded, “I can manage it, as long as my people aren’t forced away, as sometimes happens. There’s been quite an increased presence on the docks lately.” Cooper nodded, “Your task might not be crucial, but then again, it might mean the difference between success and failure. It’s impossible to know how everything will unfold. This task I need from you just provides an extra assurance, and we’ll need all of that we can muster.” Cooper stood to leave and Mardon pointed at his mug, “You really should try it. It’s made from a fruit that grows very far away. There aren’t many things sweeter.” Cooper took a drink and had to agree. It was delicious.
He made his way back to the docks, grateful that no one from the neighboring ships were standing by to accost him. If he were completely truthful with himself, he was still feeling a bit out of sorts following the blast of whatever-that-was from the mages. There was still so much he didn’t understand about Talent and affinities, but that shouldn’t be surprising, considering there were entire curricula devoted to those studies at the University. He wondered if the death of the Spymaster might dampen the mages’ interest in him, or if it would merely serve to further pique their interest.
As he passed through the Waterfront, he looked to see if the Watch had returned in force. They hadn’t. Could they still be looking for him?
Cooper slept later than usual the following morning but the fearful shouts and the clatter of people gathering weapons and rushing out of the main hall woke him quickly. He hadn’t undressed fully for bed last night. Instead he’d merely loosened several straps and buckles for comfort, took off his belt, and fell into bed. Now, he quickly gathered his belt and ran for the door. Once his vision adjusted to the morning light, he saw a tight knot of people to the south and a loose crowd of Ruins residents surrounding them. There were no happy faces to be seen.
Cooper rushed forward, not knowing what lay ahead. He heard several voices from the small knot
of people in the center of the gathering, shouting that they’d already paid their taxes. As he drew closer he could see that there were several armored men-at-arms surrounding a worried-looking man. The soldiers were facing away from the man, protecting him. Their hands never left their sheathed weapons, but it seemed as if they weren’t even looking at the people, they were watching for some unnamed evil that was reputed to dwell in the Ruins. Mister Ysel was near the center of the crowd, attempting to bring order from the chaos but his voice could barely be heard over the shouting. His frustration was evident. He turned his back to the soldiers, faced the crowd and swept his arms wide. He shouted, “Quiet!” What followed wasn’t total silence, but now a conversation could be possible. He turned back to face the man at the center of the guards, “Now you’ve seen our deeds, showing that we are rightful owners of the land, but you can also see that we’re hardly conducting taxable commerce here.” He gave the man a casual, dismissive wave, “You should leave and come back once we have businesses established.”
The frightened man at the center of the bunch of soldiers sounded hesitant, timid, but he was unwilling to ignore what he knew was his duty. His reed-thin voice carried well enough, “Well, t-t-there’s construction materials here, so there’s tax to be assessed against the sale of those materials.” Mister Ysel seemed to have an answer prepared, “Those materials were purchased elsewhere and carried here. Taxation occurs at the point of purchase, unless there’s an “Unloading Tax” that I’m unaware of.” The Tax Collector fussed with his satchel, then replied, “If they were shipped from elsewhere, then there are shipping taxes to consider.” The noise from the surrounding crowd had ceased entirely now. Mister Ysel smiled, “Shipping tax is assessed at the point of origin, not at the destination.” The city official’s fidgeting increased, “Then there are tariffs to be levied.” Mister Ysel had obviously rehearsed this scene many times in his mind. He puffed his chest as if playing to the crowd, “Tariffs are assessed against imported goods. These materials came from within the Principality.”
The small man was now searching for something, anything he could tax, “You’re all eating meals here. Who’s selling the food?” He leaned from side to side to peer around his guard detail, as if to see someone holding up a hand to confess. Mister Ysel called out loud enough for everyone to hear, “The ingredients are purchased elsewhere, same as the construction materials. This is then provided to the cooks, they prepare it and it is consumed communally. The only transaction taking place was when the raw meats and ingredients were purchased.”
Cooper had remained silent. He chose this moment to be an anonymous voice from the crowd. He called out, “Has he shown his own credentials? Sounds to me like he’s not really sure why he’s here. How do we know he’s not some kind of shakedown artist?” The men-at-arms jostled to try and see who had just spoken, but Cooper had ducked behind several other residents. Mister Ysel smiled, “That raises a valid point. You’ve arrived unannounced and demanded taxes. How do we know that you are who you say you are?” This flustered the already frustrated bureaucrat, who replied, “I am here by the expressed order of the Prince, himself!” Mister Ysel crossed his arms over his chest, “I highly doubt that. It would be far simpler to display your credentials than it would be to convince me that the Prince takes a personal hand in assigning tasks to tax collectors.”
The tax collector ripped open his satchel and stepped out from behind the soldiers. He thrust a small sheaf of papers at Mister Ysel, and with voice filled with indignation, he retorted “My credentials. Inspect them all you like, if you can read.” Mister Ysel made a show of perusing each page and began to pace a few steps as he read through them. By the time he’d finished, the tax collector was fairly quivering with rage. Mister Ysel calmly returned the papers to the man, “Everything seems to be in order, though I’m still not entirely certain why you’re here.” The man stamped his foot, his voice had almost become a screech, “I am here to assess taxes!” Mister Ysel turned a full circle, as if to encompass the entirety of their surroundings, then returned his attention to the smaller man, “Taxes on what?” The tax collector had clearly lost his patience, “I should have you arrested for obstructing me!” Mister Ysel replied calmly, “Obstructing you? We’re still trying to determine why you’re here at all. If you can’t identify what your here to collect taxes on, then it’s equally valid that I could have you arrested for trespassing.” The city official’s stuffy veneer had dropped away completely as he shouted, “Should I suppose the construction crews are working for free?!” Mister Ysel palmed an already prepared pouch with a few coins in it and presented it to the tax collector, “There now. Was that so difficult? Same time next month?” The open-mouthed tax collector accepted the pouch and Mister Ysel turned and walked away, his step so light he was almost skipping. Rukle chose this moment to pass near Cooper, close enough to mutter, “Now wouldn’t it have been simpler to just kill him?”
Cooper watched the small, enraged, and now undoubtedly vindictive man count out the small stack of coins then dump them back into the pouch and yank the drawstrings closed. He glared at Mister Ysel’s back for a second or two before he issued commands to his guards and then turned to leave the Ruins. Cooper had to admit, Rukle could be right. He wondered what next month’s tax collection might look like. He assumed Mister Ysel had a plan, or at least, he hoped he did.
He’d decided to remain in the Ruins for most of the day. “Where better to ‘lie low’?” he thought. He waved to several of his colleagues and gathered those in sight to inform them, “In case the news hasn’t reached any of you-” Rukle spoke, “The Spymaster’s dead. We heard.” Cooper nodded, not even irritated at being interrupted. In fact, Rukle appeared to be the one who was upset, “You don’t suppose you could’ve brought a few of us along for that? Had to do it all by yourself, did you?” Cooper’s answer was for the benefit of all, “He was a contract.” Birt shook his head, “Nothing about that says you couldn’t take some of us with you. Master Loril wouldn’t have expected you to take on a high profile person like that without help.” Cooper shrugged, “Well, it’s done, and I dropped off the message. Now we just need to see if the Prince agrees to our terms. If anyone hears about or sees the flagship sail out, please find me and let me know. If that ship makes a short turn out into the bay, with flags lowered, then we’re committed to act even if the Journeymen haven’t returned; even if they haven’t made their delivery.” Everyone was silent. They all knew what that meant.
He worked with the crews until the sun was just a little above a few of the remaining second story walls to the west, then have gave himself an extra coating of dust and walked to the Waterfront. He noted that none of the recently-created guard vantage points were occupied, nor were any of the extra patrols evident. It was as if the death of the Spymaster returned Waterfront life to normal, except for the fact that Apex merchants were taking full advantage of the reprieve. It almost looked like they were attempting to make up for lost sales. During the last week, one team would make a few furtive sales every hour, now there were two teams blatantly and aggressively selling, only to disband for a few minutes if a periodic guard patrol came into sight. In all honesty, it didn’t appear that the men of the Watch were even interested. It appeared the only thing they were interested in was to finish their shift and have a drink or three.
It didn’t look like the flagship had moved. He stopped in one of the boardwalk taverns. If the flagship had left the docks, only to turn around and re-moor, that was sure to be a topic of conjecture and gossip. He could expect to hear several theories, “Why the quick turn? Was the ship taking on water?” and “They brought the flags down and raised ‘em again. Was it to show respect for that dead Spymaster?” But there was no such chatter. It was just the usual ‘tavern banter’. One patron cryptically explaining his next money-making endeavor and someone else trying to be clever as they asked whether the Tavern owner’s daughter was ‘of age’ yet, accompanied by rough laughter from all
that heard and the owner’s red-faced reply that he ‘had no daughter, and certainly none for the likes of them’. Cooper decided he could ask innocently enough, and when a barmaid came to his table to take his order he pointed towards the warships, “I know those ships go out a’times ta patrol the waters, but when wuz the las’ time that ship went out?” He pointed at the flagship. The barmaid swept his coin off the table and set down one of the dozen frothy mugs she was carrying on a platter, “It’s been weeks. Mebbe two, mebbe three. Ya ask me, it’s ‘bout time fer ‘em ta take ‘er out agin. Give her sailor’s sumpin’ ta do ‘sides reachin’ fer me rump.” She made a ‘hmpf’ sound through her nose as she picked up her tray and turned away. From the exchange, Cooper learned two things, the flagship hadn’t yet left the dock, and from the way the barmaid paused after she turned, she didn’t much mind having patrons reach for her rump, despite her earlier complaint. He took a few swallows of the stale beer, enough to wash down some of the dust from the work he’d done today. He might have finished it if it was good beer, or at least cold; but as it was neither, the mug was still half full when he left the bar.
There was nothing left to be gained by remaining on the Waterfront. He made his way back to the Ruins, taking a few extra turns to avoid a couple of addicts. He wondered why he never saw or heard of any occasion with two addicts accosting each other. Perhaps they somehow managed to recognize the futility, at least subconsciously, and left each other alone?
