And yet, Garett wondered, did Korbian Arthuran have nerve enough to try to kill him right outside the mayor’s front door?
Garett drew a deep breath and turned to his officers. “Blossom, Rudi, you’ll go to the High Quarter watch house and return with a patrol to take care of this mess. But say nothing of what we’ve just discussed.”
Rudi protested. “But, sir, if Korbian—!”
“Say nothing, Sergeant!” Garett repeated sternly, snatching his old sword from where he’d left it sticking in the road. “We were attacked. That’s all you know. I’ll han-dle the rest of the report.”
They recovered their horses. War-trained, the animals hadn’t wandered far from the conflict. Garett tied his sword to the saddle, as he had before, and mounted up. While the others mounted, he wrapped his hand around the familiar hilt. He reflected that in the street fight the sword now sheathed on his back, Guardian, had served him like any other sword.
They rode on along High Street, past the Grand Theater, now closed and dark, and another public garden. Near the corner of High Street and the Processional stood the enclosed compound that was the High Quarter watch house. Blossom and Rudi broke away and rode inside to carry out Garett’s instructions.
Across the Processional, Garett gazed at the empty High Market Square. The moons shone down on the tentless space, washing it with a sweet light. He thought of Ven-dredi and hoped that she was safe at home. Then, with Burge at his side, he turned his horse toward the Citadel.
There still was an hour or more before dawn and much work to do.
SEVENTEEN
You were absent from your watch last night!” Korbian Arthuran shouted. His face was purple with rage as he slammed a fist down on the table. Plainly, he wasn’t in a good mood. “The futile efforts of your men to hide the fact couldn’t fool me. I have loyal officers to report such things!”
Garett eyed his superior officer with cool contempt. He had bathed and changed into a standard watch uniform at the barracks in anticipation of the summons that had once more brought him before a full, early morning meeting of the Directorate. Garett had gotten no sleep, but he was wide awake. He let his gaze wander around the table as he studied the other directors’ faces.
Ellon Thigpen looked on impatiently, but he allowed the captain-general to rail on a little longer while he leaned back in his chair and sipped from a mug of broth. The mayor’s eyes were puffy and ringed with dark circles. He wore the face of a worried man.
But it was the magister himself who interested Garett most. Kentellen Mar sat at the far end of the table, and Garett felt the constant scrutiny of the man’s dark-eyed gaze. Kentellen sat hunched back in his chair, arms folded across his middle, as if feigning a weary, sleepy appearance. But Garett wasn’t fooled. From under that long shank of gray hair, those eyes took in everything.
On a chair directly behind the magister sat a young, blond boy, perhaps ten years old. With a discipline uncharacteristic for a child his age, the boy had said not a word, uttered no complaint, nor made any sound at all during the meeting. But he had quick, dark eyes, and the fire of a keen intelligence burned in them. Garett glanced at him time and again, unable to shake the feeling that the child understood everything being said.
“. . . tantamount to desertion!” Korbian continued unabated. He was on a roll now. It was no longer a sense of indignation that drove him, but a sense of theatrics. “I could break you for this, Captain! Your arrogance of late has bordered on insubordination. I could make you pay a very high price!”
At last, Ellon Thigpen reached out and touched the captain-general’s arm. “Calm down, Korbian,” he urged gently. “I don’t think ...”
Garett listened with only half an ear. He didn’t bother even to hide a yawn as he reached behind his belt and pulled out a new leather purse. Leaning forward in the chair they had offered him, he loosened the purse’s strings and upended the contents on the table. Ten silver nobles and a gold orb spilled out upon the tabletop.
Garett put a hand over the pile of coins as all eyes turned toward it. With a sharp outward thrust, he scattered them. Coins flew across the table. Some fell in directors’ laps. Some slid off the table and skittered on the floor. Garett had his own gift for theatrics when he wanted to employ it. The gesture was dramatic enough to shut Korbian up.
“Someone has already paid a high price,” he stated icily. “And ten youths paid an even higher price with their lives last night. My investigations required my brief absence, and I returned as quickly as I could.” He paused, daring to glare around the room. “One of you paid those boys to take me out. The details of the attack are in my report. You can all read it.”
He glanced around the room again, meeting each upturned gaze with cool disdain. They meant nothing to him, this collection of men, these politicians. They disgusted him. “And if I were you,” he continued, addressing his secret enemy, “next time I’d go to Axen Kilgaren. His price is steep, but he guarantees his work.”
Garett finished by setting down the gold orb. He had palmed it when he pushed the other coins across the table. He flicked it with the tip of a finger. It slid over the polished roanwood surface to a smooth stop right before Korbian.
“You go too far,” Korbian said in a deadly hiss. He rose out of his chair and leaned forward on the table, planting his hands on either side of the accusing coin. “You are suspended from duty without pay until further notice.”
Ellon Thigpen sat back in his chair with a look of pain. “Korbian, don’t be a fool!”
Such was the captain-general’s anger that he lashed out even at the mayor. “I run the City Watch!” he snapped, curling one fist and clutching it tightly against his side. “I will decide who is to be my second! ”
Axen Kilgaren rose slowly to his feet and pushed his chair back. Every eye in the room turned toward the master of assassins. “I do not approve,” he said, leveling a smoldering gaze at Korbian. There was no mistaking the veiled threat in his words.
But Korbian didn’t knuckle under. “It is not a matter for your approval,” the captain-general answered sharply, drawing himself up as if he stood a chance of matching Axen’s physically dominating presence.
A small, very subtle scratching sound drew Garett’s attention momentarily. A few chairs away sat Sorvesh Kharn with a fingertip on one of the silver nobles that had not fallen on the floor. He pushed it around in a small circle, then back and forth on the wooden surface. From the corner of his eye he glanced at Garett, and the barest hint of a smile teased the corners of his lips.
Exactly what it meant, Garett was not sure. If it was a signal, he didn’t understand, so he looked away from the master of thieves and back to Greyhawk’s captain-general. “Suit yourself, Korbian,” Garett said acidly, employing his superior’s first name as if it were an insult. He got up from his chair. “I can use the vacation.”
Dak Kasinskaia waved a hand in the air and spoke for the first time. “Wait, wait, Captain Starlen!” he implored in a conciliatory tone. “Just wait, everybody. Korbian, if you suspend the captain, just who do you intend should take charge of the night watch?”
Korbian Arthuran drew back his shoulders and lifted his nose a bit higher in the air. “A young man I’ve had my eye on for some time, a sergeant down in the River Quarter. He’s due for promotion, and with the rank of captain, I’m confident he can do the job.”
Ellon Thigpen shook his head and frowned. “And this young man’s name?” he demanded.
Korbian folded his arms across his chest and glared defiantly around the room, at Axen Kilgaren, in particular. “His name is Kael.”
“Kael?” Garett blurted. “Sergeant Kael in the River Quarter?” He threw back his head and let go a harsh laugh. “Good luck, gentlemen,” he said when he recovered. He pushed back his chair and headed for the door as he delivered his parting shot. “It was a nice city until you got a hold on it.”
Of course, that wasn’t really fair. Greyhawk had never been a nice city.<
br />
Garett stormed into his office and kicked the door shut. There was nothing he needed there. He merely sought refuge until he got control of his anger. He went to his window and stared outward as he smacked his palms down on the sill. When was the sun going to shine again? He was sick half to death of all the damned clouds! He slammed the wooden shutters so hard they shook on their hinges.
A knock sounded on his door and a moment later it opened. Kentellen Mar entered, holding the hand of his small, blond companion.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Captain,” the magister said politely. The boy at his side clung to Kentellen’s robes and stared at Garett with intense dark eyes.
With some embarrassment, Garett shook his head and forced himself to be calm. They couldn’t have helped but hear the bang of the shutters. Nor could they help but notice the heat-flush the captain felt still reddening his cheeks, though now it slowly began to ebb. “No, Magister,” he answered wearily. “I was just letting off a little steam.”
Kentellen Mar pointed to the chair behind Garett’s door. It was not heavy, and the little boy moved quickly to push it into the center of the room. The older man sat down somewhat stiffly, and his young charge went to his side. Kentellen slipped an arm affectionately about the boy as he spoke to Garett.
“ou certainly have a right to do that,” he conceded sympathetically. “Korbian overreacted. In fact, I came here to apologize personally for my silence during the whole unpleasant matter. But until the investiture, I am not truly a member of the Directorate and have no voice in the proceedings. They invited me today out of courtesy.”
Garett moved away from his window and leaned on the back of his desk chair as he regarded his visitor. There was a sharpness, a penetrating intelligence, in the older man’s nut-brown eyes. The dim lamplight reflected in those black pupils, and the whites gleamed moistly. Garett studied the wrinkles in Kentellen’s brow and the deep lines time had carved in his cheeks, lines that disappeared into the thick growth of lush gray beard, and he wondered suddenly at Kentellen’s age.
But why did he say he had no voice on the Directorate? Yes, he was the newcomer to that body, but was he truly so ignorant of its workings? Or did he think Garett was the stupid one? The investiture was a formality only, a show put on for the people of Greyhawk. The moment Ellon Thigpen had named him magister-to-be, the mayor had filled Kentellen’s hands with power.
“I just want you to know,” Kentellen went on, “that I’ll do everything I can to reason with Korbian. You are not without friends on the Directorate, Captain. Try to relax and let us do what we can.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Garett answered cautiously. Something is not quite right here, he thought, trying to hide his true reaction. He couldn’t put a finger on what was wrong, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. He had never met Kentellen Mar personally. He didn’t really know the man from a pimple on Boccob’s backside. Why was the magister here offering to see Garett reinstated?
Something brushed against Guardian’s hilt. As if snapping awake, Garett shot out his hand and caught the wrist of the little blond boy, who looked up suddenly with terrified, wide eyes. Garett hadn’t even seen him move! The boy had been standing beside Kentellen Mar. How had he made it all the way around Garett’s desk without Garett seeing?
“Cavel!” Kentellen Mar shouted sternly, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor by his side as he glared at the boy. “Get back here! You know better than to bother adults when they’re speaking!”
The boy, Cavel, jerked his arm free from Garett’s grip and ran back around the desk to his appointed spot. His two fists clutched at Kentellen’s velvet robes as he sidled up to the old man. Safe there, he dared to turn a glare of pure, unchildlike anger on Garett, and his lips curled upward in a soundless snarl. Only then did he hold out his wrist for Kentellen to see where Garett had grabbed him, and clutch it to his chest as he mimed a look of pain.
“There, there,” Kentellen said paternally as he patted the boy’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Grown men don’t like little boys—or anyone—touching their weapons. Now he didn’t hurt you, so be a big boy and don’t make such a face about it! ”
Garett watched it all with subdued interest. “The boy can’t speak?” he ventured.
Kentellen Mar shook his head. “Not a word,” he affirmed. “I apologize for his bad manners, but he was fascinated by your sword. It’s quite exquisite. I must confess, I don’t recognize its workmanship.”
Garett glanced down at Guardian’s hilt. He had left his old sword in the barracks with the ruins of his old clothes to be claimed later. “It’s just a sword,” he said with a shrug, peering at the pair as an uncomfortable sensation crept over him.
“May I see it?” Kentellen asked innocently, leaning forward in his chair and holding out his hand. His eyes locked with Garett’s.
But Garett hesitated, intrigued and startled by the power in the old man’s gaze, before he politely declined. “Forgive me, Magister,” he said by way of apology. “But, as you told young Cavel, a man keeps his weapons to himself.”
Kentellen Mar blinked and turned away a little. “Of course,” he said. “It is I who should ask your forgiveness. It was a stupid request.” He rose suddenly with a speed and ease surprising, considering how stiffly he had sat down. “Well, I must be going, but I did want to offer you what assurances of support I could. Greyhawk needs dedicated men like you, Captain. Now, Cavel and I must go home and see about some lunch, even though it’s a bit early. I’m afraid I have a full schedule for the day.” He did not offer his hand as another man might have, but moved around his chair and headed for the door with Cavel still clutching his robe.
“Where is Cavel from?” Garett called abruptly before they could get away. It was polite inquiry only. At least, he hoped it sounded that way.
Kentellen Mar gave a wry sort of grin that turned up one side of his mouth only. “Why, I found him on the banks of the Ritensa River,” he explained, “near where it joins the Nyr Dyv, His parents and family had apparently drowned in a barge accident, so I kept him and brought him to live with me.” He reached down and rumpled the boy’s blond hair as Cavel twisted around to face Garett once more. His small, round face was expressionless except for those dark, glittering eyes. Garett could feel it. The boy didn’t like him much.
“He’s going to like it here in Greyhawk,” Kentellen Mar went on, smoothing the hair he had just messed up. “Oh, yes, he’s going to like it here very much.”
The boy’s only response was to hug Kentellen and hide his face in the folds of the older man’s velvet robe.
Garett watched them go, feeling slightly cold inside. Then he went around to each of his lamps and turned the wicks down until the flames and the light died and left him in darkness. Then he pushed the door closed, pulled out his chair, and sat down. For a long time, he just sat there in the darkness, letting his thoughts lead him down whatever path they would. At last, he got up. The opening and closing of the door as he left his office filled him with a strange melancholy. Somehow, there was such a finality to it.
Once again, the halls were fall of faces he didn’t know, but that only made them easier to ignore as he worked his way down the levels and out into light and clean air. The sentries at the door saluted him, and without thinking about it, he answered their salute as he passed on.
Halfway across the Citadel’s courtyard, though, he paused and craned his neck to gaze upward. The sky above the Citadel was black with circling birds. He watched them until a pain in his palm grew acute enough to make him glance down. He opened his right hand, which had been clenched in a tight fist. A small, crescent-shaped wound, made by the bloodied nail of his middle finger, showed liv-idly in the center. With a silent curse, he wiped the blood on his trouser leg, gazed once more at the patient birds, and strode off across the courtyard and out the massive Citadel gates.
As usual, Vendredi was at her booth in the High Market. A small crowd was
gathered around her baskets of fruit, but as if sensing his approach, she looked up as he came down the Processional.
“Hi, handsome!” she called cheerily, tossing him an apple. “That’s not your regular uniform. 'You get demoted?”
She’d meant it as a joke, so Garett allowed himself to grin as he answered, “You might say that.” He took a big bite of the apple and chewed noisily. With his mouth full, he couldn’t be expected to explain any further.
Vendredi’s brows closed in on each other as she regarded him, and her face took on a serious expression. She put her hands on her hips, and leaned toward him. “I can always use a guard around here,” she whispered so no one else could overhear, but she said it with just the right amount of lightheartedness, too. He could take her offer seriously or as just another joke, whatever his ego allowed. She left the option to him.
He looked down at her tenderly. Why couldn’t he reach out and stroke that fire-red hair, brush a finger along that rosy cheek? What would the perfume at the nape of her neck smell like if he dared to bend closer? he wondered. What would Vendredi say if she knew he had such thoughts about her? Now, more than ever, though, he dared say nothing, do nothing. Without a job, he had nothing to offer her.
“Pardon me,” she said abruptly, saving him the trouble of thinking up a witty remark to answer her with. She picked up a fat orange from a basket and hefted it on her palm. “Clear!” she shouted. As if they’d been trained to her command, the crowd parted. Just beyond the far end of her booth, a man sauntered innocently away. Vendredi drew back and let fly. The orange smashed against the back of the man’s head, pitching him unexpectedly forward. As he flung out his arms to catch his balance, half a dozen pears fell out of his sleeves. The man looked fearfully around, rubbed the pulp-smeared spot on his head, and ran off.
D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch Page 24
