A Company of Heroes Book One: The Stonecutter

by Ron Miller

  He turns to the large-scale wall map of Blavek and its environs that is the room’s only decoration.

  The palace causeway’s the only option for miles in either direction, he decides. Two bridges cross the Moltus on the other side of the City, one due north of the causeway and the other from the Catstongue district. If she went west, she’d have both the Slideen and the Moltus to cross. If she goes to the east, she’ll have only the Moltus, though it has fewer bridges because of the shipping. Blocking them all would be simple. Of course, easiest of all would be to keep her from leaving Palace Island in the first place.

  Praxx turns to the captain, who still stands exactly as he has been. His eyes have a lusterless look, as though he has not even blinked while the general’s back was turned and his eyeballs have dried out. This, in fact, is exactly what has happened.

  “Captain,” says Praxx, “the princess must at all costs be prevented from leaving the island. If she’s indeed on the south side, we want to keep her there. Double the Guards on the south causeway.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I want a report every half hour.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “That’s all.” And the captain spins on his heels as though he is on ball bearings and leaves the room. Praxx goes to the single small window of his apartment. A pigeon rests on the sill and he chases it away. Time passes. The first three or four reports from the captain or one of his aides bring no news of the princess, which is only probably not good. The next report is definitely not good.

  “General, Sir,” says the captain, “there’s been an incident.”

  “An incident?”

  “Yes, Sir. There’s been a fire and an explosion.”

  “That is that strange thump I heard?”

  “I expect so, Sir. It was in the heating plant for the stables.”

  “How many abandoned their positions in the search cordon to investigate?”

  “Eight, Sir.”

  “You have their names?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Then you know what to do about them.”

  “They are being taken care of, Sir, as we speak.”

  “So that’s when she left the island.”

  “So I presume, Sir. Do you have orders?”

  “She’ll avoid the roads to the west and south. Besides, to the west of the city she’d run into the Macska River as well as having to pass the garrisons. I suspect she’ll not stray far from the Slideen. That leaves the Transmoltus. So far as I know, she’s never been there nor knows anyone there. She ought to be easy to pick out of the rabble. Alert your men and agents to be on the lookout. As long as she keeps moving in any direction but north, all’s well; but I’d very much like to get my hands on what she’s carrying.”

  “Yes, General,” replies the captain, saluting and exiting the apartment geometrically.

  Two more hours go by without significant news. The next time Praxx hears from the captain is by way of a handwritten note delivered by messenger. After perfunctorily dismissing the man, Praxx breaks the thick seals and reads the letter, written in such a neat hand it might have been typewritten. It says ‘after the usual greetings):

  The trail of our quarry was easily picked up. She has been seen passing through the Slideen Gate by the one man who had remained at his post when the others had abandoned theirs. I have recommended this soldier for a commendation ‘please see attached memorandum). He did not pursue the fugitive since his orders were only to report any observation. I alerted the commandant at the garrison as a precaution, though, like you, I do not believe she would try to escape in that direction. I also established roadblocks along all roads to the south. The Guard post in the Transmoltus was notified, as were the police in that district. The police were told nothing other than that we are in pursuit of a fugitive and gave them only the most superficial of descriptions. They have learned in the past not to ask questions. They are ordered to not interfere with the fugitive, but to report directly to me. It is in fact through a police report that we got our first sighting. I sent a squad to her last reported location. By then, I had received two more reports, which gave me a rough indication of the direction she was traveling. The reports were from random points: as I had suspected, she is giving every indication of being lost. I had my men circle the area in which she had been seen and it was not long before she was sighted. Unfortunately, she saw the Guards as well ‘they are often too distinctive to operate effectively and I have attached a memorandum proposing a plain-clothes police force) and took flight. As you know, the Transmoltus is a crowded district and pursuit was made difficult by the number of civilians on the streets who are unfortunately not always willing to cooperate with the Guards. Warning shots wee fired, which tended to help, but the men wee never able to approach closer than a few score yards. She disappeared while hotly pursued. She had turned a corner, just ahead of my men, and apparently vanished. I am convinced that she has found succor in a factory there, a firm of stonecutters. I am presently having the building thoroughly searched.

  Praxx crumpled the flimsy paper and angrily threw it into the big ceramic stove that fills a corner of his room. There are no further reports until the next morning.

  A Guard had been murdered ‘says the first report of the new day) in the main drainage canal that runs through the Transmoltus.

  Praxx puzzles over the significance of this for some time. There have been no other reports that seem to mean anything, yet he can not understand the meaning of this one either. Still it bothers him. The man has been placed in the canal as an afterthought by the captain, who in his thoroughness meant to leave no exits unaccounted for, however unlikely they might seem. And of all the Guards in the district, this man had been the only one to have experienced any difficulty, if difficulty is not too great an understatement since the man’s neck had been broken like a pencil; very much, in fact, like the broken pencils that now litter Praxx’s desk. There is simply no way the princess could have been responsible for that. At least not while she was alone. But, Praxx knew very well, Princess Bronwyn has no acquaintances outside of the palace and aristocratic circles, and certainly none within the Transmoltus. So far as the outside world is concerned, she has no existence. Could she have appealed to a stranger? There are, Praxx knew too well, all too many who would be glad to frustrate Prince Ferenc, Payne Roelt and himself. Can she have found someone like that? When and where? How? He presses a button on his desk and almost immediately the captain enters in response. Although the man must not have slept a minute since the last time Praxx has seen him, he looks exactly as before, like a photograph cut out of a recruitment poster.

  “Yes, General?”

  “What is that place, where the princess was last seen?”

  “The general refers to the factory where she was lost?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “It’s a firm of stonecutters, Groontocker and Peen. A highly respected firm, Sir.”

  “Any kind of record with us?”

  “None whatsoever, Sir. Silvanus Peen has been dead for some years, but Groontocker, the elder Groontocker, is an enthusiastic friend and supporter of both the prince and Lord Roelt.”

  “I see. Can you check their employees? I want to know if anyone’s missing this morning.”

  “Yes, Sir. I can have that information within the hour.”

  “All right then, see to it.”

  It is going to be necessary to see the prince again, Praxx decides with considerable distaste; summonses from Ferenc had been piling upon his desk with ever-increasing frantic urgency all morning. It is not that Praxx fears the prince, it is just that time spent with Ferenc is invariably time wasted. But then, there is little else to do until he hears from the captain.

  The prince also has spent a sleepless night. Unfortunately, it is far more obvious with him than it had been for the Guard captain. His face looks like a two-minute egg. He has not bothered to dress but wears only a richly embroidered robe. Nothing seems to be abl
e to divert his mind from the tragedy he found impending; even his prize collection of wax fruit has for the first time failed to offer him solace. When Praxx enters Ferenc’s presence, the prince points an accusing finger at him. It shakes with anger, exhaustion and unbridled pique.

  “Well, where is she?” he demands. He picks a wax tangerine from a silver and glass bowl and begins fondling it nervously.

  “I expect to learn that momentarily.”

  “Momentarily! Momentarily! You sound like a policeman. She’s here in the palace; why can’t you find her?”

  “There have been unforeseen circumstances, your Highness.”

  “Unforeseen, duckshit! I know exactly what happened! D’you think I’m an idiot?”

  “Not at all, your Highness,” Praxx lied.

  “Well then, how d’you explain her escape? I never heard of anything so fouled up as that vaudeville act your presumably elite corps entertained us with yesterday.”

  “The men responsible are being punished, your Highness.”

  “The man responsible is standing here in front of me! I want Bronwyn stopped! I don’t care what you have to do to accomplish that, do you understand?”

  “Is the prince sanctioning the use of force?”

  “I didn’t say that! No! Just do whatever you have to; I want to know nothing about it. Nothing. Just bring me that package, with or without my sister. I’m not the least bit interested in what happens to her.”

  “I’ll give the orders, your Highness. Has there been news from Lord Roelt?” Praxx added insouciantly.

  “News? What sort of news?”

  The prince gave such a violent start at the mention of his chamberlain’s name that he involuntarily crushed the tangerine.

  “Now look what you’ve made me do! Damn.”

  “Does the prince know when Lord Roelt might happen to be returning?”

  “Why? What possible difference can that make? What does Lord Roelt have to do with this?”

  “Nothing, your Highness. I was only asking.”

  Praxx had in fact received a communication that very morning from Lord Roelt, warning of his impending arrival within thirty-six hours. Contrary to what Princess Bronwyn believed, and to what she had told Thud, Lord Roelt in fact knew nothing of her theft. So far only the prince, who thinks he is the sole possessor of the knowledge, and General Praxx knows. It’s going to be extremely interesting, Praxx thinks, to observe Lord Roelt’s reaction to the news, particularly if I’m the one to hand over the documents, after they’ve been carefully copied, of course, rather than the prince. Ferenc would simply pretend they’d never been missing in the first place. Instead, this will be an excellent chance to place a heavy obligation upon Lord Roelt while simultaneously discrediting the prince.

  He almost smiled in anticipation. For a man whose sole enjoyment was the manipulation of human beings, this felt like the opening move in a grand championship chess match.

  There is a discreet rapping at the door. The prince admits the petitioner, who is a messenger asking for the general. He passes a folds slip of paper to his superior, salutes and disappears.

  “Will the prince pardon me for a moment?” the general asks, receiving a peremptory nod by way of answer. He unfolds the note and reads its brief message.

  “Your Highness,” he says, refolding the paper and inserting it into an inner pocket of his tunic, “I’ve just received important news regarding your Highness’ missing, ah, goods. If the prince will please excuse me, I’ll immediately attend to the matter?”

  “Bronwyn’s been found? She has the...uh...things?”

  “That’s just what I shall endeavor to discover, your Highness.”

  “All right then, endeavor away. I’ll want a report immediately!”

  “At your command, my Prince,” replies Praxx, backing through the door.

  “And Praxx...”

  “Yes, my Prince?”

  “I won’t forget this!” the Prince says sternly, holding out his hand with the sad bits of broken orange wax.

  Back in his own chambers, Praxx finds one of the captain’s lieutenants waiting.

  “Report,” the general orders.

  “There’s a man missing from the staff of Groontocker and Peen. He’s never until this day, in twenty years of service, failed to appear at his job.”

  “What is he?”

  “A common stonecutter, Sir.”

  “An artisan?” Praxx asks in some surprise.

  “No, Sir, only an unskilled laborer. He hollows out the stone blocks use for, ah, I don’t know what they’re called.”

  “Sarcophagi, plural for sarcophagus. Go on.”

  “Yes, Sir. The man apparently left the building not long after our last search. Then he failed to come to work today. We obtained his address from his employer; it isn’t far from the factory. A single room partitioned off an attic in a tenement residence. There was little to search: the room is virtually bare. If he had any belongings, they’d been removed. We did find this, however.”

  The lieutenant reaches into a bag and pulls forth a sodden lump of cloth. The general takes it and carefully unfolds it. It is the remnants of a frock and he recognizes it as one of the princess’.

  “Where is this tenement, exactly?”

  “It’s on Nixnixx Road, number fifteen-oh-six.”

  The general pulls the large-scale map of the city down from its rollers. He checks the index on its margin and with the point of a finger traces the reference lines to where they cross.

  “Ha!” he says. “And where would fifteen-oh-six be?”

  “Between Deedle and Onteveronte.”

  “Hmm. Yes. I think so. Well. The drainage stream in which the Guard was found dead runs directly behind fifteen-oh-six. Was he found upstream or down from this location?”

  “May I see the map, please? This is the block of fifteen-oh-six? Then the Guard was found murders here, Sir, downstream.”

  “Describe this man for me, the one who works at the stonecutters. What’s his name?”

  “Mollockle, Sir, Thud Mollockle. By all accounts he’s a remarkable-looking person. He’s apparently some seven feet tall. Even allowing for exaggeration, he’s certainly much larger than average. His strength is prodigious, I understand. I was told he’s able to handle stone blocks as large as he is. I’ve seen these and they must weigh a quarter of a ton. The company’s providing us with a photograph of Mollockle from their files, but he shouldn’t be hard to identify...”

  “I can see that.”

  “Not only by way of his abnormal size and strength, but he’s extraordinarily ugly, freakishly so, I am told.”

  “Any trouble with him before?”

  “None whatsoever, Sir, at least as far as the local police are aware.”

  “And they’re notoriously tolerant. Any reason he would suddenly give aid to a fugitive girl? Would he have any reason to help the princess?”

  “By all accounts, no, Sir. He’s not considered to be especially intelligent.”

  “I see. Well, he’s nevertheless done so; I think we can take that as given. I see that the stream leads to the harbor. That’s clearly where they are headed.”

  Praxx strokes his burnished cheeks with a caliper-like hand.

  “If they’ve found refuge on an outbound ship,” he says, “all may be lost. A dozen ships must’ve left the harbor since last night. They can’t have been on any one of them. Damn it. Well, we’ll see what we can do. Will you please give your captain my compliments and ask him to come to here as soon as possible?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Twenty minutes later, the Guard captain is once again in Praxx’s presence.

  “Captain, I’ve every reason to believe that the princess and at least one male accomplice may be attempting to escape the city by boat...”

  “Pardon me, Sir, for interrupting,” says the lieutenant, “but this male accomplice...a large man, almost a giant, with an unnaturally small head, possibly deformed features?”
>
  “Yes! How do you know this?”

  “There is an incident in the City very early this morning, a few hours after midnight. A squad of Guards is in pursuit of a pair of suspicious persons they’d found loitering in the shop district. The men described them as a tall young boy and an extremely large man. One of the Guards, however, who was assaulted and injured by the pair, swears that the boy is in fact a girl in disguise.”

  “Did he recognize her?”

  “I don’t believe so. Sir, I think it’s entirely possible...”

  “So do I. Where was this confrontation?”

  The captain points to a spot on the wall map, about a third of the way into the island from the Slideen. Then he moves his finger a little further north.

  “They were pursued some distance,” he explains, “and were eventually lost somewhere near here. There was a fire, apparently deliberately set by the fugitives.”

  “Who would’ve thought our princess such a little vandal?” says Praxx. “Well, I wonder now. Is that the direction they’d intended to go? Or are they simply running blind? If the princess was alone, I’d assume she was lost, but this man Mollockle may know the City. If that’s so, where can they’ve been going? For that matter, I wonder how they are able to cross the river? It seems clear they does, in any case. And with some destination in mind, surely. The Pordka Bridge? She must’ve known that would be heavily patrolled. She can’t possibly have been after the Catstongue Bridge; otherwise why is she west of the middle of the City? Is she looking for a place to hide? I must find out if she has any acquaintances or friends living outside the palace.”

  “Pardon me, Sir, but the general is overlooking the aqueduct.”

  “The what? Oh. I see! You’re quite right, Captain, I believe.”

  “Orders were given yesterday to post Guards at the reservoir, to search outgoing barges, but it was only considered a routine precaution.”

  “Double the men. I want a crack squad there immediately. Search every cubic inch of every item going onto every barge; I want every person positively identified before they can leave the City. I want a copy of the cargo manifests and passenger lists of every barge that’s left the city since midnight. Understood?”