by J. P. Ashman
‘Yes,’ the elf said, ‘I think it is only fair and I will not turn down the help of an obviously capable sergeant-at-arms, especially when the danger lies in your own city.’
Chapter 10: Answers
There were more than a few pairs of eyes on the duo as they approached the grand house in Park District, and they both knew why.
‘Reckon they’re not as comfy round here at the moment, eh Sears?’
‘No, ye little weasel, reckon they ain’t. Not used to murders and such in these parts.’
Sears stopped at a large door as Biviano stepped forward and hammered on it half a dozen times. His partner looked at him in plain disbelief as he stepped back alongside him.
‘What?’
‘Ye think he heard that?’
‘I dunno, Sears. It’s a big house, that’s why I hammered on it so.’
Still shaking his head, Sears looked around at the passers-by, who'd all looked over at the noise.
‘Ye think he’s not in?’ Biviano asked, impatiently.
‘How should I know? It’s early though, can’t see him being out, not with no reason to be, but that knock might’ve just put the fear of The Three up him. He might not come to the door—’
Biviano stepped forward and hammered on the door again, this time for longer.
‘Ye’re addled, Biviano, I’m sure of it.’
‘He’s in there gentlemen,’ a well-dressed woman said, from across the street, ‘of that I am sure.’
The two guardsmen looked at one another, before crossing the street to talk to the woman.
‘And who’re you, milady?’ Sears asked.
‘A neighbour of the man you’re looking for. I live here and I’ve not seen him leave since he bought and moved into the place. The shutters up top haven’t been opened you see.’
Biviano turned and looked back at the large house, before turning back to the woman, a suspicious look plain on his pock-marked face. ‘How’d ye know we’re looking for him, eh?’
Again Sears looked at Biviano in disbelief. ‘Because we knocked at his door I expect, ye damned fool.’
‘No need for that, big guy, and don’t be answering suspects’ questions for ʼem, can’t question ʼem properly if ye do that, can I?’
‘Suspect?’ the woman said incredulously.
Sears held up his hands to placate her. ‘No, no, not at all, milady. My colleague here meant nowt by that.’
‘I should hope not. Do you know who I am?’
‘Well if ye’d answered our first question, we would, yes!’ Biviano said, clearly pleased with himself.
‘How dare you, both of you! I’ll be having words with Captain Prior about this. Now go about your business, I’m done here,’ she said, before swiftly repairing to her house and having a servant slam the door behind her.
‘Ouch… what the heck were that for?’
‘I know ye know, Biviano, and if ye don’t know, I don’t care, ye deserved it for a lotta things. Now follow me. We know he’s in there and if he won’t open the door, we’ll have to let ourselves in.’
Rubbing his shoulder, Biviano suddenly perked up. ‘Ooh…I can help there,’ he said, darting ahead of Sears whilst pulling a small pouch from his belt.
‘Great, this should be good.’
‘Will be, aye,’ Biviano said, dropping to one knee in front of the door’s lock. ‘I got skills!’
‘Ye got fleas more than ye got skills.’
Biviano fiddled with some small wire implements and tried to poke and prod at the lock, his tongue moving back and forth on his bottom lip as he concentrated.
The snapping sound of whatever Biviano used was like music to Sears’ ears.
‘Great, ye put me off, ye ginger oaf. Now what do ye suggest?’
‘Knocking again? He may not have heard ye the first two times, although that’s unlikely.’
‘I’ve a better idea.’
‘Excellent, can’t wait.’
Biviano stood, puffed out his small chest, turned and strode several paces back away from the door before turning back and then running at it full tilt.
Oh, this is going to make my week! Sears thought, folding his arms and awaiting the inevitable.
Rushing past at some speed, Biviano dropped his bad shoulder and crunched into the solid door, a sickening crack audible over his impact and immediate curse.
Ye stupid bastard! Sears attempted to suppress his laughter.
‘Arrrgghhhh… me shoulder. I’ve bleedin’ broke it, I swear.’ Rolling on the floor in front of the unopened door, Biviano began visibly weeping.
‘What the hell did ye expect, ye fool? Come here,’ Sears said, lifting Biviano by his good arm.
‘Get off… I’m fine… don’t need yer help.’
‘Course not. Now hold yer arm still while I get us in here.’ Sears walked across to the large stained-glass window to the right of the door and put his maille covered elbow through it. The shattering green and red glass came second only to the noise of the cries of outrage from passers-by.
‘Guard business, so mind yer own!’ Biviano shouted, whilst gingerly trying to move his arm, wincing all the while.
‘Now, get through the hole and get this door open.’
‘Yeah yeah, always me having to go through holes and gaps and shit ain’t it…’ Biviano carried on mumbling, cursing and wincing as he climbed through the broken window, with an assisting shove from Sears as he was halfway through.
‘I’m in, fat boy,’ he shouted. ‘Now quit pushing. I think me shoulder ain’t broke ye’ll be glad to know, ʼcause it just popped back in.’
‘Lovely, now open the damned door will ye.’
‘Stinks in here,’ Biviano said as he moved away from the window and into the house.
Not a good sign, Sears thought.
The door opened from within and the smell of decay turned Sears’ stomach as he entered the house, despite the entrance hall’s size.
They both took out their short-swords, not wanting to take any risks, and set out to check the rooms of the house. Sears shouted ‘clear’ as he moved from room to room, and Biviano shouted random farm animals whilst doing the same.
Biviano finally found the offending smells source in the master bedroom, whereupon seeing no immediate threat, he shouted, ‘Goose!’
'You're not funny,' Sears said, entering the room; a garishly decorated affair with a grand four poster bed opposite the door.
‘He’s been here a few days by the looks and smells of it,’ Sears said. ‘Can’t see how he were killed though, there’s no wound; no finger marks by the neck to suggest strangulation… not even anything to suggest there were a struggle.’
‘Apart from his shit and piss stained pantaloons… bollocks, does everyone have ʼem except me now? I knew I should’ve taken Joinson’s. Anyway, beats me, big guy. What about suffocation?’ Biviano said, who stood by the door with one hand down his braes having a good scratch whilst testing his other arm’s range of movement with his sword.
‘Nah… Seen it before, this man’s face don’t show the signs. Ye’d be able to tell if he’d been suffocated, trust me.’
‘Well, ye ain’t exactly the best at postmortems, so we’ll let the clerics decide, eh?’ Sears snarled at Biviano, who grinned before continuing. ‘Anyway, they’re wanting to do autopsies on everyone at the moment.’ Biviano laughed. ‘Must have their work cut out lately is all I can say.’
‘Too true,’ Sears said, rising from his crouched position by the body and taking another look around the room, before moving to, unlocking and opening the window, sword still in hand. ‘We’ll send a message for them to have the body removed and checked over.
‘Strange though…’
Biviano frowned. ‘What is?’
‘Windows all around the house, and the door, none broken or forced like the other murders round here recently.’
‘Apart from the one you smashed.’
Sears continued regardless. ‘Makes me think Ine
son knew the killer.’ Sears turned to face his partner, a grim expression on his face. ‘Makes it even worse that does, if ye ask me. To think someone ye know could end yer life when there’s so many other crazy bastards out there who’re capable of it.’
‘Don’t go thinking like that, Sears, it’ll just get ye down and it ain’t like ye. Ye sure this is Peneur Ineson then?’
‘No I ain’t sure and no it ain’t like me, but there’s something about all this; the killings, the illness affecting folk everywhere. It don’t feel natural, Biviano… creeps me out.’ Sears shuddered visibly.
‘Don’t get all superstitious on me now, big guy,’ Biviano said, finally sheathing his short-sword. ‘If ye start up about curses from faraway lands, ye’re as bad as the sailors and drunkards in the tavs! Oooh… there’ll be zombies walking the streets next.’ Biviano shook his head, laughing, before turning to the door and leaving the room.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sears said, whilst taking a final look at the dead body, ‘as if I’d think such rot.’ With a final shudder, he left the room with a quickened pace, to catch up to his partner.
Outside the house, both guardsmen had a good look up and down the street.
‘So, we found Joinson up there, near the park,’ Biviano said, pointing to their right.
‘Aye, walking away from this place; reckon he did it? He knew Ineson!’
Biviano shook his head. ‘Nope, don’t reckon so. Hard to know where to look until we know how he were done in.’
‘Asking about until then, I expect?’
Biviano nodded. ‘Looks like. You go left, I’ll go home?’
‘Funny… Dick! You go right, towards the first murder.’
‘Unless this was the first murder, Sears, then I’d be going towards the second murder,’ Biviano said, at the same time as slapping his cheek then wincing. Sears just looked at him in disgust.
‘Ye’ve got fleas, I swear, and now they’re on yer ugly face.’
‘Whatever, just go ask questions of whoever, and I’ll do some too if it’ll keep ye happy, alright?’
‘Whatever. See ye later.’
‘Aye, later, ye donkey’s rancid arse!’ Biviano ran a couple of steps out of Sears’ reach as the big man swung for him, before heading off down the street to the left.
‘Sears,’ he called back, ‘go knock on that lovely lady’s door opposite, I reckon she’ll be more than happy to answer some questions. Ha!’
Sears responded with two fingers and nothing more.
***
‘Hi Sarge,’ Starks shouted, as he walked up the street towards Fal. ‘Late night last night? You look like shit!’
Fal raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Yes it was and thanks, Starks, for making me feel a whole lot better.’
Grinning as usual, the young crossbowman walked past Fal and gave a salute before hesitating. ‘Oh bollocks, I almost forgot,’ he said suddenly.
Fal stopped just after Starks had passed and turned to face him. ‘Forgot what? You have finished your shift I hope?’
Starks wasn’t wearing his usual grin however, which worried Fal. ‘Yeah Sarge, ʼcourse, on my way home, but it’s not me it’s Sergeant Heywood…’
Fal suddenly mirrored the young man’s obvious concern. ‘Franks Heywood?’ Seeing Starks nod, he continued. ‘What’s happened to him, lad?’
Starks looked like he didn’t know how to say it. Franks and Fal had worked together for years. Shortly after Fal had been promoted and employed by the Wizards and Sorcery Guild, Franks Heywood had been moved in from the north wall as a fellow sergeant-at-arms, and they'd quickly become good friends. Franks always worked separate shifts to Fal, but it didn’t stop them meeting up on the crossover of shifts or outside of work hours, whenever Franks’ family and duty permitted.
‘It’s the illness, Sarge,’ Starks said, solemnly. ‘He took ill during the night. They said he’s caught the illness filling up the infirmaries all over the city. Must admit, first person I know to have caught it.’
‘Where is he now?’ Fal tried to hurry Starks along with the information.
‘Still in Tyndurris, Sarge, Master Orix is tending to him… Sarge?’ Starks shouted, as Fal took off at a run in the direction of the tower looming above the other buildings in the distance. Starks stood on the spot, torn between chasing after his superior and carrying on home. In the end he chose home, thinking it unwise to interfere. There was nothing he could do anyway and there were others in Tyndurris who would be of more use than he in such a situation.
Fal ran as fast as he could, not even thinking about Starks as he left the young guard stood in the middle of the street. There weren’t many people about this early, but those who were walking towards Fal swiftly moved out of his way, one cursing the ‘painted foreigner’ but Fal was in no mood to respond.
His head thumped from the previous night’s combination of alcohol and revelations. Sav had still been sleeping when Fal left the house for work, but Fal had had little sleep himself, discussing what was going on in Wesson with the elf for several hours. His legs had felt like jelly when he started running, but now the adrenaline pumping through his body left the weariness behind.
Errolas had explained to Fal that he believed the illness sweeping Wesson was directly linked to the potion Fal released on the night of the storm. Great pangs of guilt had washed over Fal as he thought about all the people who had, or were still, dying… and now his friend Franks. Fal needed to get to Tyndurris fast to see how he was, to protect him in any way possible. Orix tended to him now according to Starks, but it was Orix and Severun who'd sent Fal on the mission to release the potion linked to the illness. He thought at the time they were his trusted superiors, but now… now he didn’t know what to think; all Fal knew was his friend needed him there and needed it all sorting out before…
If he dies it’s blood on your hands, Falchion… on your hands, you hear? You damned fool.
Fal had left Errolas strict instructions not to tell Sav what they'd discussed; they needed to know more and he didn’t want to drag his friend into the middle of a conspiracy. Errolas had wanted to come with Fal and act immediately, but Fal had disagreed. Promising he would discover more from within Tyndurris, he'd told Errolas to stay behind with Sav, to try and find out what he could on the streets, without raising the scout’s suspicions.
Fast approaching the guild’s entrance, Fal threw a quick salute in reply to those given by the two guards opening the gates for him. Once through and across the yard, he ran up the tower’s steps two at a time and in through the front door.
‘Where’s Franks?’ Fal shouted, as he approaching the porter’s desk at a fast walk.
‘Good morning Sergeant—’
‘Where’s Franks, damn it?’
The porter looked extremely shocked at Fal’s out of character outburst. ‘Downstairs sergeant, guards barracks with Master Orix.’
Fal took off down the curling stone steps as fast as he could without falling down them, until he came to the guard room. Upon hearing the commotion as Fal clattered down the stairs, three guards had taken up defensive positions. Two held up shields with their own falchions raised high and the third held a loaded crossbow at the ready.
Just before entering the room, Fal shouted, ‘Lower them, it’s Fal,’ and the guards relaxed a little. On seeing him and knowing for certain it was indeed Fal, they lowered their weapons fully, and the one closest to the barracks door pulled it open. Fal ran through and into a large room filled with bunks, tables and chairs. At the far end, a basic bunk was surrounded by two white-robed humans and a gnome, the latter stood on a stool. All three looked from Franks, who lay on the bunk besides them, to Fal, who'd slowed again to a fast walk.
‘Sergeant Falchion,’ Orix said, with a curt nod.
‘Master Orix, master clerics,’ Fal replied, returning the gnome’s nod to all three of the clerics. ‘How is he?’
‘He has the same symptoms as many lining the infirmaries throughout the ci
ty, sergeant,’ the taller of the two human clerics said, rubbing his bald head in frustration, his sympathy evident as he looked at Fal.
‘We’re trying to ascertain how long he’s had it’. This time the other cleric spoke; a young female with long dark hair tied up into a bun on the top of her head. She looked up at Fal with kind eyes before continuing. ‘Up to now he isn’t showing any physical signs like the characteristic boils, however, he does have a raging temperature and has been unconscious for hours. If the illness wasn’t so widespread and the symptoms known to us, I would have suggested a fever, but we must fear the worst.’
Orix, Fal noticed, had turned away from him after the greeting, looking again at Franks, who looked pale and clammy, yet peaceful in his unconscious state.
‘Master Orix, what do you think? No offence of course,’ Fal swiftly added to the other clerics, realising how it may have sounded.
‘None taken,’ the female cleric said. They both smiled and moved away from the bed, to give their master and the sergeant some privacy.
I want to hear what you have to say, master cleric.
‘I’m sorry, sergeant… there is no cure we know of at this time. The only thing I can say with certainty is Sergeant Heywood here will get steadily worse over the next few days, before passing away in his sleep.’
Like hell he will, bastard.
‘All we can do is try and make him feel as comfortable as possible when he wakes and hope we find a cure beforehand, although I cannot give you false hope regarding the possibility of that happening within the time he has left, sergeant.’ Orix didn’t look at Fal while he spoke. He kept his eyes on Franks’ wrist, through which he monitored the man’s pulse, and he addressed Fal by rank – something the gnome didn’t often do.
‘I won’t accept that, master cleric.’ Fal’s voice was steady, trying hard not to let his own guilt and anger show.
Orix looked completely surprised and put Franks’ hand back on the bed before turning to face Fal. Although Orix stood on a stool, the small gnome still had to look up at the tattooed face of his sergeant-at-arms. ‘This is a terrible tragedy, sergeant, and I feel for you and your men, but I must remind you I am a council member of this guild and you are to show me the proper respect.’ Orix’s cheeks flushed. He wasn’t the sort to chastise anyone, but Fal knew there was more to the gnome’s visible discomfort. The other two clerics moved across the room out of earshot, having a conversation of their own. It had become personal to Fal. A close friend was in danger and he suddenly agreed with Errolas; he wanted to act immediately, although he suspected the elf wouldn’t be happy he acted alone.
