The Consuls of the Vicariate amob-2

by Brian Kittrell

  Piers entered from the hallway coming from the private gardens, looked around the room, and sighed. “Looks like it’s going to be soup today.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” Laedron asked.

  Piers stirred the cauldron hanging in the fireplace. “Caleb and your friend still haven’t returned.”

  “What were they doing?” The thought of having to save Brice and Caleb from some unnamed danger gave him an uneasy feeling. Such a rescue would be far more difficult in the heart of the Heraldan church.

  “You know… the usual.”

  “No, I don’t know. Perhaps you could explain.”

  “Since your arrival, we’ve made plans to step up our operations, so to speak. They have gone to gather information from any reliable sources.”

  “And who are these sources?” Laedron asked.

  “One of the consuls this time.”

  Jurgen raised an eyebrow. “You have a consul working with us?”

  Piers smiled. “No, but we can acquire secrets all the same.”

  3

  Seeking Out Secrets

  Brice heard the door close down the hall. “They’re headed to the coast.”

  “Good.” Caleb produced a thin bit of metal from a pouch on his belt. “We can get started. Ever handled a pick before?”

  “No, but I was pretty good with a needle and thread back home.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes. “Picking a lock’s a bit different from sewing. Pay close attention.” He took a lock in his hand, and Brice leaned over to see.

  “Most Heraldan locks have keys that look like this.” Caleb held up a key in his other hand. “You turn this end, the bow, and insert the shank into the lock. The other end is called the bit, and the bit is what unlocks the mechanism.”

  Brice noted the grooves of varying lengths cut into the bit. “Why is it shaped like that?”

  “Inside the basic warded lock, you have blocks in place. If the key isn’t cut properly, you can’t turn it.” Caleb ran his fingernail through one of the slots. “You see?”

  “I think so.” Brice stroked his chin. “How do you open the lock if you don’t have the key?”

  “We’ll get to that.” Caleb waved his hand. “Do you understand how the key works?”

  “Yeah, if the key doesn’t get blocked, the levers turn and the lock opens.”

  “Good. Now, I’ll show you how to feel out a lock.” Caleb held up the pick, then slipped it into the lock. He closed his eyes while he slowly manipulated the pick with his fingertips. “All right. You try.”

  “What am I trying to do?”

  “Put that end in there and feel around.” Caleb pointed at the curved end. “You’re a blind man feeling your way around in the world. Tell me what you see.”

  Brice crouched next to the lock and slid the pick inside. “I don’t see why we can’t just break it off. I mean, most locks aren’t strong enough to resist an axe.”

  “That’s all well and good, my simple friend, but you might not want people knowing their locks have been bypassed.” Caleb smiled. “After all, we’re trying to be discreet. What do you see in the lock?”

  Brice closed his eyes, trying to envision the blocks. “I feel a circle at the back. Next to that, there’s a short block.” He steadied his hand and moved the tip of the pick further along.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” he said, tilting his head. “Two more blocks. The middle one is the longest.”

  “Any levers in the back?”

  “Is that what you call those things sliding back and forth?”

  “Yes. Good. Withdraw the pick.”

  Brice leaned back and looked up at Caleb. “So, what do I do now?”

  “That depends. How many blocks did you find?”

  “Three.”

  Caleb handed Brice a few pieces of flat metal, each similar to the probe. “Take these and lift the levers, those ‘sliding things’ you found in the back.”

  “Can’t I use this?” He held up the probe.

  “No, you don’t use a probe for this. Notice the grooves?” Caleb ran his finger along the end of the pick. “They’re designed to help you keep hold of the levers once inside the lock.”

  Brice nodded, then took the picks and inserted one. After wiggling it in the lock for a while, he heard a faint click.

  Caleb apparently heard it also because he said, “Good, now the next.”

  Though he became frustrated throughout the process, Brice eventually picked each lever until the lock sprang open. He smiled proudly after the last.

  “Don’t be too proud of yourself just yet.” Caleb folded his arms. “These are the simplest of locks. They’re common, but you’ll have a hard time getting into everything.”

  “Well, give me something harder to practice on,” Brice said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

  Caleb went to a wooden crate on the far side of the room and returned with a padlock. Brice was amazed at the ornate carvings and gold and silver inlays across the exterior of the padlock. He had never seen another lock to match its quality or beauty.

  “I met my match in this lock. It took weeks for me to pick this one.” Caleb handed it to him. “Here’s the key, too.”

  “Weeks?” Brice eyed the lock, then held the key to a nearby candle. Slots and grooves of varying lengths were cut into every side of the key except the end attached to the shank. A series of holes had been drilled through it, as well. “What’re the holes for?”

  “Curved spikes within the lock. They make it even harder to get around inside the lock and pick it.” Caleb smiled. “A masterpiece, that lock.”

  “Where’d you get it?” Brice couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

  “Some merchants from Qal’Phamet were selling sandalwood strongboxes and other things a few years back. You can keep that one.”

  “Keep it? How much?” Brice asked as if he had any money to offer.

  “No charge. The merchants sold it cheap.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me so fast.” Caleb waggled his finger. “I’ve picked it once, but I never want to try again. You’ll be ready to toss it into the sea by the time you’re done.”

  “Thanks anyway, then. It’ll help me learn.”

  “Oh, yes. It’ll learn you, that’s for sure.” Caleb grinned. “Ready to do something more fun?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Like Piers said, our purpose here is to gather information about the church-information we can use against them. He didn’t tell you how we do that, though.”

  “Well? How?”

  “This time, it’s a daytime burglary, and I’ll need some help in case things get tight. You up for it?”

  Brice stared at his shoes. Burglary? I wonder how upset the others will be with me. “We have to break into someone’s house?”

  “What, are you afraid?”

  “No, not afraid. How can we justify that?”

  “Asks the one who came from an assassination mission against a priest? A successful one, I might add.”

  It looks like Piers has been spreading our business around. “Good point, I suppose.”

  Caleb patted him on the shoulder. “It’s simple. I’ve done it a hundred times before. You wanted to make yourself useful, didn’t you?”

  “All right, fine.”

  With a nod, Caleb led him out of the chapel and into the street. “It’s this way. In the Ancient Quarter.”

  “Ancient Quarter?” Brice asked.

  “That’s the middle of town. The newer portions of the city grew up around the ancient city of Uxidia, so that’s what we call it.”

  Brice swallowed hardy. “What’s there now?”

  Caleb whispered, “The Vicariate, for one. Don’t worry, though; we’re not breaking into the Grand Vicar’s house.”

  They turned a corner onto a wide boulevard which wound its way toward a high spot surrounded by walls. Behind the wall stood a huge golden dome, and at the peak of th
e dome gleamed the silver symbol of Azura-five hollow, elongated diamonds joined at one end and pointing outward like the petals of a flower. Azura’s Star. Brice vividly recalled the meaning of the empty petals from his early childhood in the Heraldan church-a reminder to the faithful that Azura would return someday. To the right of the gates, a building constructed of vibrant red bricks seemed newer than the wall beyond, but Brice didn’t ask about it; more serious affairs clouded his otherwise curious heart.

  Please forgive me, Brice prayed silently as they passed through the portcullis. I try to do only what is right. He followed Caleb to a luxurious three-story home, then through an alley to the rear of the residence. Even the back of the house was well-maintained, and he figured it must belong to some snobby aristocrat. I hope this is worth the trouble.

  Caleb glanced around before pulling out his picks. “Cough if you hear or see someone coming.”

  Unaccustomed to lookout duties, Brice did the best he could to eye the people walking the streets. He had no way of knowing if they were watching him back or if any of them knew what Caleb and he were doing at the end of the street, but he nonetheless tried his best not to appear suspicious.

  Turning the knob and opening the door, Caleb pulled him inside the house. Upon seeing the beautiful tapestries and lavish furnishings, Brice felt his heart rate pick up, and his palms became sweaty. We’ll surely be killed if we’re caught in here.

  Caleb wasted no time moving across the tiled floor until he turned, apparently noticing Brice frozen in his tracks. Hesitantly, Brice joined Caleb near the stairs.

  “Common thieves might waste their time picking silver from the cabinets,” Caleb whispered, “but we’ll be heading up to the sleeping quarters, where they’d keep their intimate belongings.”

  Brice matched Caleb’s slow pace on the ascent to the second floor, each step laboriously made on the creaking wooden frame. What sort of ‘intimate belongings’ are we here to find? Brice wondered. To risk our necks in such a fashion over gems or coin would be foolhardy. Information, he said. But what?

  Caleb crested the landing and slid along the wall like an assassin happening upon a sleeping victim. Brice matched his movements, creeping beneath the windowsills and being cautious not to bump into anything hanging on the wall. Caleb peeked around the first door, then closed it and moved on without saying a word. Looking into the second, he paused before slipping inside, and Brice followed.

  Closing the door once he had passed through, Brice surveyed the room. A huge wardrobe dominated one side, and an equally large desk with a matching chair occupied the other. Beyond two glass doors lay a balcony, and bookcases filled with tomes and expensive keepsakes lined the rest of the available wall space. Caleb rushed to the desk, snatched up a handful of scrolls, and glanced through each one.

  “I thought we were supposed to-”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll put them back the way I found them,” Caleb said, never taking his eyes off the parchment.

  Brice glanced over the books on the nearest shelf, whispering the titles under his breath. “The Tenet of Faith, The Miracles of Our Lady, The Heraldan Church: Foundation to Dominance.” He paused. “This is a priest’s house?”

  “Not just any priest.” Caleb glanced over at him, then returned to the scroll. “If you pull out any of those books, remember to replace them the way you found them.”

  He struggled to keep his voice from cracking. “Whose house is this, Caleb?”

  “Forane’s.”

  Brice hesitated. He had trouble placing the name, but before he could ask, he remembered the conversation between Jurgen and Velan, the innkeeper in Pilgrim’s Rest. The Vicar Forane. She had been at the cathedral in Pilgrim’s Rest to see the Southern Lights. “But-”

  “This one, yes!”

  “What is it?” Brice fought the trembling in his hands, but it was no use.

  “Listen to this.” Caleb held a parchment near the window and read aloud.

  Yes, madam, I am aware of your situation, and I thank you for your services thus far. You have made contact with a weak one in their ranks, and now is the time to increase his pay. Instruct him to keep a lookout for the priest Jurgen and tell him you will pay tenfold if he would see fit to do away with that problem. -D

  Brice gazed at Caleb. “They hired an assassin for Jurgen?”

  “Not just any assassin. Don’t you see?”

  “See what?”

  “The assassin was Lester.”

  Brice was filled with surprise. “They had a spy in the Dawn Knights?”

  “We have to go. We have to warn-” Caleb pressed his ear against the door. “Hide.”

  “Hide?” Brice whispered. “Hide where?”

  Licking his lips, Caleb pointed at the balcony door. “We’ll jump.”

  Brice stopped him when he opened the door. “We can’t jump out there. It’s twenty feet or better to the ground. We’ll be seen, too.” He searched for another option. “There, the wardrobe. Get in.”

  Brice waited for Caleb to get all the way to the back. Feeling a draft, he glimpsed the still-open balcony door, but he jumped into the wardrobe upon hearing footsteps coming from the hall. He closed the armoire and sat next to Caleb only moments before he heard the study door burst open. Silently, they arranged the clothes hanging above to hide them in case anyone opened the wardrobe.

  “Collette!” a voice shouted, muffled by the sturdy oaken construction of the bureau, but still discernible. “Left my balcony door open again, fool girl!”

  “Sorry, madam,” another voice replied. “I’ll-”

  “No, I’ll do it.” The angry woman had neared the wardrobe, and Brice tensed at her shouting. She’s going to find us; I just know she is. And when she does, poof-a pile of ash or worse.

  “Letters scattered. Do you not remember me telling you the wind blows in from this side and tosses around all of my correspondence?”

  “Yes, madam. Sorry.”

  A silence followed the girl’s apology, then Brice heard a few footsteps going away.

  When the steps paused, the woman shouted, “Have you been reading these letters, girl?”

  “No, madam, I swear-” Even through the dense wood Brice heard the slap and the crying that followed.

  The front of the bureau flew open, and he caught sight of a woman’s face. We’re done for. Hanging her silver and gold robe on the rod, the woman huffed and puffed with anger, then turned back to her maid. “Don’t lie to me. If it weren’t so difficult to find help these days, I’d have done away with you long ago.” She slammed the wardrobe door closed.

  The girl spoke with a sick desperation. “No, please. I knocked them over, madam. I didn’t read the letters, though. I was cleaning. I forgot to pick them up when you called for me.”

  Brice stared at his shoes with pity in his heart. I can only imagine the life this girl has, knowing she did no wrong, but admitting it nonetheless-only to keep from getting walloped again.

  “So long as you didn’t read them,” the older woman said, her voice no longer as angry. “Very well, I forgive you… this time. Prepare us some supper, and I’ll join you in a while.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Brice heard the door close, then the sliding of wood against the stone floor. The sound of cloth rubbing against leather followed, and he assumed Vicar Forane was seated at her desk. The scratching of a quill against parchment confirmed his assumption.

  * * *

  With no way to measure time, Brice didn’t know how long it had been since Vicar Forane started writing, but he was thankful when he heard the chair slide against the floor and the hallway door open. Caleb, who had been perfectly still the entire time, let out a quiet groan as he pulled a shoe from behind his back.

  Brice rose to his feet, but remained crouched since the ceiling was low.

  “What are you doing?” Caleb whispered, tugging at Brice’s pant leg. “It isn’t safe to leave yet.”

  Turning back, Brice said, “I want to see w
hat she wrote.”

  “No, get back in.”

  Ignoring Caleb’s plea, Brice emerged from the dresser. Only a few steps brought him to the desk, and he leaned over to read.

  My Lord,

  To answer your question, no. None of the priests in Balfan know Jurgen’s whereabouts, but he was seen in Pilgrim’s Rest briefly in the company of some monks. We can only assume that he fled when the cathedral was attacked, but he hasn’t yet resurfaced. I cannot agree more that having sorcerers in our country is a problem, and I work daily to discover their whereabouts.

  My contact is overdue in returning my latest reply, but I have faith that he will accomplish the task I’ve assigned by your request. As always, you are correct when you say we must keep Jurgen from the consulship. Nothing is of greater importance to our goal.

  As we agreed, I plan to meet our friend tomorrow night by the bell tower, and I shall demand to know why he has not answered my correspondence. If he does not attend, we may have to seek other ways to find and eliminate the pretender.

  Your Servant, F.

  The words shocked and surprised Brice so that he didn’t notice the door creak open until it was too late. He gasped and turned to run, then saw the face of a girl looking back at him, a fresh bruise marring one side of her otherwise pretty features. He wanted to run, to flee, to jump out the window, but he stood and stared, and the girl made not a sound. Brice couldn’t tell if she was too frightened to scream, or if she held her tongue so as not to alert her mistress. With apparent reluctance, the girl finally stepped through the door and closed it behind her.

  “I suppose you mean to do my mistress harm,” she half-whispered. “I knew the day would come, but I never thought it would be so soon.”

  “No, miss.”

  “No?”

  “We mean her no harm, not this day.”

  “Then you spy upon her. Will you undo her?”

  If only it were that simple. Brice sighed. “Probably. Eventually, we hope. Why do you remain quiet with burglars in your house?”

  “The house isn’t mine. My only purpose here is to make sure it stays clean and its residents well-fed.” The girl touched the bruise and winced. “Some days are better than others.”