D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch

by Robin Wayne Bailey

  Garett watched the sun rise from a window in the

  barracks infirmary. It proved no more than a

  pale white ball in the overcast sky. The fog lingered. Tendrils of mist wafted eerily through the air. The wind, when it blew, carried a chill that was completely out of character with Greyhawk summers.

  With Blossom and Rudi worriedly looking on, he watched the physician take the final stitch in Burge’s wounds. A small spell of healer’s magic kept his friend unconscious during the process, and there was an expression of peace on the half-elf’s face that seemed completely at odds with the rest of the world.

  Despite that, Garett worried. As ugly as they were, the cuts on Burge’s neck and chest were simple matters. It was the wound on the back of his friend’s head that was the true cause for alarm. Apparently he had struck the sewer wall with considerable force, and Garett knew how dangerous such head injuries could be. The physician, however, could do no more than stitch the cut on

  the scalp, smear some salve upon it, and apply a bandage. Sometimes that was enough. But Garett once had seen a man awaken blind from such an injury.

  The physician, Dav Govaker, worked for the garrison on permanent retainer and enjoyed a considerable reputation among many of the watchmen. He set aside his needle and thread, rose from the cot where Burge lay sleeping, and stretched. Govaker was a tall, thin fellow with a nose as sharp as his instruments and a wit to match. His fatigue, however, was plain to see as he rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger.

  “He’ll sleep the day away,” Dav reported in a strained voice. “I suggest the three of you do the same. And I might mention I intend to charge twice my usual fee for this night’s work. It’s rude enough to be called from a sound sleep and a warm bed, but to have to perform careful work with the four of you smelling like a Nyrondian outhouse is simply too much for a man of my delicacy and breeding.” He wrinkled his nose and made a face as he waved a hand to clear the air. “In fact,” he added, “I may charge triple.” “Delicacy and breeding?” Rudi mumbled from where he leaned by the doorway. There was a gleam in his eye that had nothing to do with the glare from the oil lamps as he regarded the lanky physician. “The way I hear it, you got your start castrating reindeer in the Northlands and worked your way up from there.”

  Dav Govaker’s eyebrows shot up disdainfully as he looked down the length of his nose. “They were not reindeer,” he answered with an exaggerated sneer, “but gerbils. And I still like to keep in practice, so I may call on you sometime.” He ran his gaze up and down Rudi.

  “He must have seen you at the baths,” Blossom interjected with a wink and a grin, never able to resist hurling a barb.

  Rudi turned his own nose up at that in a mawkish imitation of Govaker. “He probably peeks through the knotholes,” he said.

  Dav Govaker gave an exasperated sigh and swept all his bandages and needles and instruments into a large, embroidered bag. Half the bandages were from the infirmary’s own supply, and Govaker had no claim on them, but Garett said nothing. The man took too good care of his watchmen.

  “Well, it’s been fun, Captain Starlen,” Govaker said, coming over to shake Garett’s hand. “Always nice to see you, and this fine lady, too.” He nodded courteously toward Blossom. “Next time, though,” he continued, casting a spare glance toward Rudi, “perhaps you can find a sitter and leave the little one at home.”

  “They can be such a bother, can’t they?” Garett agreed as he steered the physician toward the door.

  Dav Govaker gave each of them a final nod and passed wordlessly out the door.

  Blossom yawned and headed for her quarters in the barracks. Garett left, too, but, though he longed for his bed back on Moonshadow Lane, there was still business to finish in his office. One of the men who had died in the sewers had a wife-—a widow now—and the city paid a special bereavement bonus to the families of watchmen killed in the performance of their duties. Some other officers had taken it upon themselves to inform the woman of her loss, but it was up to Garett to push through that extra payment, and he didn’t intend to wait.

  It surprised him when he exited the barracks to find a crowd milling about the High Market Square. Then a furious racket drew his attention to the dais under construction in the square’s center, where a squad of bronzed and barechested workmen wielded heavy hammers.

  A minstrel appeared suddenly in Garett’s path. Wearing a plaintive and soulful expression, he sang and played on his stringed instrument, but the hammering nearly drowned him out. Garett ignored the man and walked on toward the Citadel.

  “What’s going on?” he asked the guards at the main entrance, though he already had a pretty good idea.

  All four guards snapped to formal attention and executed proper salutes. Their crimson uniforms were clean and neatly worn, their cloaks draped perfectly over the shoulders, their boots polished. “It’s official, sir,” one of the four reported crisply without meeting Garett’s eyes. “Magister Kentellen Mar will enter the city through the Duke’s Gate at exactly noon today, sir.”

  Garett had to give Korbian Arthuran credit. His daytime watchmen certainly looked and sounded elegant. The captain wondered what they thought of his fouled uniform and the rank smell he exuded. If they gave it any notice at all—and how could they not?—they kept it carefully hidden behind perfectly straight faces.

  He bid them good morning and entered the gloomy depths of the Citadel. No matter what time of day, the corridors of the mammoth structure were always dark and lit with lamps and lanterns. He made his way straight to the Office of the Paymaster and there gave the sergeant in charge the name of the dead watchman and the widow’s name and address, with instructions that the bereavement bonus be sent at once by a special watchmen’s representative.

  After that, he headed for Korbian’s office three levels higher. The upper halls were full of people he didn’t know—low-ranking bureaucrats, minor dignitaries, and secretaries. A steady stream of these functionaries flowed in and out of the Directorate chambers. When Garett failed to find Korbian in his offices, he also headed there.

  Korbian and Ellon Thigpen sat side by side at the large meeting table, a stack of papers before each, a map spread between them. Various aides bent over the directors’ shoulders, observing a red line marked on the map as Korbian trailed his finger along it and explained the route by which Kentellen Mar would enter the city.

  Garett pushed his way to the table and leaned both his hands upon it, deliberately interrupting Korbian in the middle of his instructions. “We need to talk,” he stated quietly, including the mayor in his gaze. Then he added pointedly, “In private.”

  Korbian put on a frown of annoyance and waved him away with a beringed hand. “Not now, Captain,” he declared bluntly. “We are in the middle of important preparations. Kentellen Mar arrives at noon, and we still have not determined exactly who will sit on the dais when the mayor presents his welcome. Such matters of precedence. ...” Ellon Thigpen reached out a hand and laid it palm down on the map. It was gesture enough to silence Korbian Ar-thuran. The mayor paused a moment to lean back in his chair and turn his penetrating gaze up to Garett. Then Ellon folded his arms across his chest, and his hands disappeared inside the perfect folds of the sleeves of the finest blue silk robe Garett had ever seen.

  “I believe our Captain has something on his mind,” Ellon said with quiet patience. He rose slowly from his chair. Without a further spoken command, the room emptied of all but Korbian, Garett, and Ellon himself. “I assume you have something to report. Does it concern Acton Kathenor’s murder?”.

  Garett shook his head. “I took a squad of men to Old Town last night,” he began.

  Korbian Arthuran pushed his chair back noisily and stood up. “We hardly have time right now to worry about a few low-lifes getting their throats cut before being dumped in the river.” He leaned on the table and glared impatiently. “It happens all the time in Old Town, Captain. That’s why there�
��s a wall down there to separate Old Town from the civilized part of the city.”

  Garett glared at his superior. At that moment, it was hard to contain the contempt he felt for Greyhawk’s captain-general. “If you bothered to read the reports that I have left on your desk every morning, you’d know the latest of those low-lifes was a young child, kidnapped from the streets while she was playing.”

  “So?” Korbian began to fiddle with the pile of papers and maps spread before him. “Her family probably did the deed because they couldn’t afford to feed her anymore. As I said, it happens in Old Town.”

  “Please, Korbian!” Ellon Thigpen slammed a hand forcefully down on the table, his face reddening with sudden anger. “Don’t make yourself sound any more like a fool than we already know you are!” The mayor turned away from a stunned Korbian and back to Garett. He let out a long sigh and straightened his resplendent robe. “Now, then, Captain. For better or worse, I am mayor of all Greyhawk, Old Town and New. What about these murders?”

  Garett ignored the deadly looks Korbian Arthuran gave him over Ellon Thigpen’s shoulder. With a few harsh words, the mayor of Greyhawk had accomplished what Garett had tried hard to avoid for the past year, and driven an unremovable wedge between his superior and himself. From that moment, he knew he had best never turn his back on the captain-general.

  He fixed his gaze on Ellon Thigpen and began a calm, methodical report on the latest murder, the events described by Rudi’s witness, and how it had led them deep into the city sewers last night. The mayor paced around the room as he listened. His expression grew grave, and he stroked his chin with one hand. When Garett began to describe the creature that killed two of his men and injured another, the mayor stopped his pacing and glared at Korbian Arthuran.

  “You said nothing to me about two watchmen dying last night,” Ellon accused angrily.

  Korbian stiffened. “Captain Garett is late with his report, as usual! ” he countered. He whirled to face the night watch commander and slammed his hand down upon the table for emphasis, just as the mayor had done. “Why was there nothing on my desk this morning about this?” There was nothing Garett could say. For once, Korbian was right. He was late with his report. The business with

  Burge and the physician, Govaker, had consumed his time. Since he had no excuse, he offered none. He simply ignored Korbian and went on, instead, to describe the altar and the temple they had found, in all its crudity, in the sewer depths, hesitating only before describing in detail the symbols painted on the walls. He stopped then and waited.

  Ellon Thigpen let out a long sigh and resumed his pacing. “And what conclusion do you draw from ail of this, Captain?” he asked finally, his hands disappearing once more into those finely crafted sleeves.

  It was Garett’s turn to draw a breath and give a long sigh. He rubbed his nose and looked askance for an instant before saying bluntly what he knew neither of the men before him would want to hear. “These murders are the work of the Homed Society,” he stated, “or one of its cults.” Korbian Arthuran slammed his hand down again. “That’s preposterous!” he shouted.

  “These murders’’ Ellon Thigpen repeated, turning his back to Korbian. “You mean just the Old Town murders?” Garett hesitated, then shook his head. “I think they’re linked,” he admitted. “The Old Town killings, Acton Kathenor, all the seers.” Without realizing he’d been doing so, he found himself with one hand tucked deep into his belt, his fingers playing with the amethyst crystals contained with a few coins in his purse. He pulled his hand out at once.

  “You think’’ the mayor said pointedly. “Do you have any evidence they’re connected?”

  Garett thought. He had to admit it was still mostly just a gut feeling. But there was one piece of evidence. “We tried to find an old seer in the Slum Quarter, a man called the Cat. He was gone, and investigation indicates that he fled the city. But in his quarters we found the symbol of the Horned Society—the horned skull above intertwined serpents—carved into his wall.”

  “Well, then he must have been the murderer!” Korbian declared. “He knew we were closing in and ran before he could be apprehended. If he’s gotten away, that’s probably the end of it.”

  Garett couldn’t hide the look of scorn that danced across his face. “The little girl was murdered after the Cat vanished,” he said with an open sneer in his voice. “And Rudi’s witness claims two men dumped the body in the South Stream.”

  Ellon Thigpen was barely listening. He paced back and forth with his head in one hand, deep in thought, his blue silk robe swirling about his feet. “bu know what it means if the Homed Society actually is involved, don’t you?” “Why would they be killing Greyhawk citizens?” Korbian asked in a more reasonable voice. “Especially Old Towners? How would it possibly profit them? When you deal with the Horned Society, you have to think in terms of profit!”

  Garett frowned. “We obviously don’t have the complete picture yet,” he admitted. “But it must be part of some bigger plan. I think that’s why they went after the seers who might have divined their schemes and given warning.” Korbian Arthuran came around the table and stood between Garett and the mayor. “This is sheerest conjecture!” he declared, glaring from one man to the other. He whirled on Garett, sternly tapping one index finger against the palm of the other hand. “When you described the symbols on the sewer wall, you said the skull had wings, not horns. That alone is enough to cast doubt on this ridiculous theory.”

  Ellon Thigpen looked suddenly peevish. He went to the table, gathered up all the notes and maps piled there, and pushed them into the captain-general’s arms. “None of this must spoil Kentellen Mar’s arrival,” he stated brusquely as he seized Korbian Arthuran’s elbow and ushered him toward the door. “And I’m sure you still have security arrangements to oversee, friend Kotbian. We mustn’t keep you from those duties any longer. I’ll finish up here with the captain.”

  “But, Ellon!” Korbian shouted with a look of hurtful

  surprise as the mayor moved to push the door closed in his face. “We still haven’t decided who will stand with you on the dais!”

  “I trust your judgment, Korbian,” Ellon Thigpen answered with a sweet smile that vanished instantly the moment the door clicked shut. He leaned his back against it and drew a breath before striding back to the center of the chamber, where he resumed his pacing.

  From outside the chamber windows the noise of the gathering crowd drifted up to Ellon and Garett. It was still hours before Kentellen Mar was due to arrive, and the hammering that rose from outside told that the dais was not yet even completed, but already people were staking out the best places from which to watch the welcoming ceremonies.

  Ellon Thigpen went to one of the windows and stared down. “Captain,” he said quietly, “how certain are you of any of this?”

  Garett could only shrug as he, too, moved closer to the window. Below, the High Market Square was half-full of colorfully dressed citizens, all milling about, waiting for something wonderful to happen. More and more people streamed up the Processional. Soon the square would be full. Some citizens had opted for the roofs of buildings that lined the parade route. They would not be able to hear the speeches, but they still wanted a glimpse of Kentellen Mar.

  “I’m not certain of any of it,” Garett confessed as he watched the mayor out of the comer of his eye. “These are not ordinary crimes, sir. We’re dealing with magic. Of that, I’m certain. And crime and magic are a very subtle mix. I request again that the city directors allow me to consult with the Wizards’ Guild.”

  Ellon Thigpen rolled his eyes melodramatically. “"You know what old Fester-face thinks about that,” he said, waving a hand in the air. He raised his voice an octave and whined in an almost perfect imitation of the fat tax collector. “The cost, the cost!”

  Garett was too tired for such games. “What of the cost to Greyhawk if the Horned Society is really involved?” he stated flatly. “There’s a powerful wizard behind these murder
s. And have no doubt—he is an enemy to this city. I say, consult with the guild and worry about the fee afterward. After all, Prestelan Sun lives here, too. He has a stake in this.”

  Ellon Thigpen moved suddenly away from the window and resumed his pacing. He glanced at Garett with a troubled expression, then glanced quickly away again. “Yes, well,” he started. “That was my attitude, also, Captain.” The mayor drew a deep breath and let it out in a gush, his shoulders suddenly sagging in the folds of his fine silk garment.

  “I trust you, Captain Starlen,” Ellon said abruptly. There was an intent gleam of determination and worry in his eyes as he fixed Garett with his gaze. “I think you care about this city in a way that Korbian does not. To him, the watch is just one step on a ladder to a better social position. But you actually care about the job you do.” He took another breath and paced to the window, where he looked out over his people. “So I’m going to tell you something that must not leave this room.”

  The mayor turned around and faced Garett. His expression was completely serious. His hands came together, and the fingers interlocked. The thumbs rubbed nervously against each other. “No word has come in or out of the wizards’ guildhall for two days,” he said, unable to disguise a raspy note of fear in his voice. “I’ve sent messengers,” he said. “I even went myself. The porters do not even answer at the gates, and the gates themselves are sealed fast.”

  Garett was incredulous. “There is no word from Prestelan Sun?” Even as he spoke, though, he recalled the archmage and guildmaster had not attended the meeting of directors the morning before, something that was unheard of.

  “None,” the mayor affirmed.

  Garett scratched his chin. “No one has tried to get inside?”

  Ellon Thigpen scoffed. “Come now, Captain. You know the dangers in that as well as I.”

  The mayor had a point there. It was a known fact that the walls and gates of the wizards’ guildhall were protected by formidable spells and wards. More than one petty burglar, usually a foreign adventurer not familiar with the ways of Greyhawk, but with more ego than brains, had learned that at the expense of his life, and possibly his soul.