by JM Guillen
“Morning, Thom.” A young man tipped his hat and smiled as he walked past, and I did the same. I did not live in the same borough I patrolled—but these people knew me all the same. My smile grew as I rounded Kyllen’s Bend, and my favorite view of the city blossomed before my eyes.
On a bright, clear day, before the mist rolled off the ocean, I could stand on this spot and see eight other boroughs, the gardens at Teris Hill, even three of the bounds that warded the winterward side of the city. Soon autumn color would begin to steal through the trees. Within a month the Reaping lights would shine across the city, and everything would glow with spectral light as the mist poured in off the bay.
I loved living in this neighborhood.
We Teredi were a lucky people. Yes, we had survived the falling of the Shroud that had devoured our world, but we had done so in the absolute gem of the civilized lands. The last remnants of humanity had managed well for several hundred years, and it didn’t seem as if that would change anytime soon. Even with the run down and ruined areas, overall, we were doing quite nicely in the last home of man.
“Morning, Harys.” I nodded at a young man setting up his tack-cart. He was a good enough fellow who wandered the street doing small repairs and running errands for coin. He always had a smile for me.
“Mornin, Thom!” His grin grew wider when he saw my good girl. “I wondered if I’d be seeing you. I have a lil’ something here.”
“Really.” I raised one eyebrow. “Official business?”
He shook his head while looking through his satchel. “Nothing like that, just found—” He smiled. “There.” He held the item up.
“A baby rattle?” That’s exactly what it looked like, a small tin rattle with some shiny bits attached to the side.
Harys chuckled. “Exactly.” He held it in front of Scoundrel and shook it. Her face reflected in its side.
“Thom!” Her voice was almost awed. “Good, good bird.”
I shook my head ruefully. “I bet this isn’t going to get annoying. Go on, pretty girl.”
“Good Thom!” She hopped forward and took the rattle from Harys’ hand. Merrily, she shook it back and forth, her eyes gleaming. It sounded like tiny beads inside a tin drum.
“Elsador’s song, Harys. You know I’ll never get a moment’s peace again.”
He was still grinning at Scoundrel. “I know you spoil that bird like a favored daughter. It will make her happy, and you like that.”
I hated that he was right. I reached into a pouch and found a few copper pence. Of course, Harys tried to deny me, but I was insistent. Every chance I got, I was free with my coin.
After denying me more than once, he took his payment and was on his way.
I wasn’t giving with my money because I was wealthy, of course, not by any means. But Teredon took excellent care of judicars for our entire careers. My flat was paid for, as were many of the staples and sundries that a man needed to survive. My domestic was provided as well. Alia owed a debt to the city, and she tallied herself even by doing small tasks for me and two of the Legates. I almost didn’t want to see her pay herself clear; the woman was an absolute marvel.
So yes, while I didn’t have wealth, I absolutely had security. Of course, the appearance of means was one reason why so many attractive young does like Sefra came about.
Not that this mattered in the end. A judicar could never marry; we were oathed to the city. Still, I never seemed to lack for company.
This fact made my friend and fellow judicar Wil absolutely livid. We often argued this point while we played draughts. The last time had only been two days ago.
“Doesn’t account for it.” Wil was touchy on the subject. “I’m a judicar too. But I’m lucky to meet a woman. You step out to some lowlife revel in a seedy pub, and you’re taking home another one.”
“Have you considered being handsome?”
“I’ve considered getting a new friend.” He took a move on the game board between us. “It’s just hard to find someone I can trounce like a child every time we play draughts.” He grinned at me. “Tally.”
“You prissy little bint.” I looked at the board. There was no winning. He had me again. Then, I grinned at him. “I hope your victory keeps you warm tonight. The lost gods know that something needs to.”
I honestly had thought he might throttle me.
After speaking with Harys, I walked down my street, smiled at the boys whitewashing the side of Hillock House, and then bought myself a small fruit pasty. Moments later, after my breakfast had been begged from me by the rudest bird I knew, I bought a second.
I knew I wouldn’t get a chance to sit and eat.
“Thom?” Some bird, which will not be named, had devoured her pasty, and now was looking at mine.
“Absolutely not.” I swallowed it quickly, almost burning my mouth in the process.
“Thom.” Now she sounded hurt.
“It’s going to be a rough day, little one. I need my strength. I don’t expect this morning to go well.” For my own amusement, I flashed her quick mimic sign with my hand.
“Bad?” She was confused at the mimic, but I kept on talking. A boy playing at throw stones gaped at our banter.
“Right you are. Our guest from last night will be truculent but probably not ready to speak with us.” I wiped the crumbs from the pasty off my jacket. “No, he will be wet and angry. He won’t be hungry enough for his tongue to get loose. He will talk eventually but probably not today.” I eyed her. “That means that we won’t get much from him, and there will only be one person who can figure this all out. Do you know who that is?” I gave her another mimic sign. The boy watched, his game forgotten.
“Thom?” She flapped up to my shoulder. “Thom!”
“That’s right, sweet bird. It’s always up to me.” I winked at the boy as we walked past. He was grinning, ear to ear. Of course, other folk were watching and half listening, but it was the children I always enjoyed entertaining. Truth was, this was a ploy taught to me by the man who ‘prenticed me into the judicars. The idea was to let the citizens see your bird as something besides a fearful weapon.
“So here’s how we want this to go, smart girl: we’ll go speak with our friend, and he’ll actually tell us everything we want. Do you know who he will tell us to find?” My fingers danced at my side.
“Bad. Bad man.”
“Right. We’ll find out which bad man sent our guest last night. Then, our guest will be repentant and ask our forgiveness.” People around us were grinning, but I pretended not to notice. “Do you know what else we will find?”
“Pretty girl.” Scoundrel was flawless in reading her mimics. “Pretty, pretty girl.”
I passed the corner at Aryn Road. “That’s right. We have a pretty girl to find. And who will all her sweet thanks be for?”
“Thom. Thom. Judicar.”
“Yes.” I waggled my eyebrows at Scoundrel. “She’ll be happy to see a judicar, I wager.”
If only it would be that simple.
The judicar in question had no solid plans on what was actually next. No matter what Scoundrel and I played at, my “guest” was likely a dead end. The serum hadn’t lent near the hand that it typically did, and that worried me. The visions were often more frequent the closer we were to our quarry, as the alchemical concoction tended to nudge us along.
I had one idea, only one. It was a long, possibly ridiculous toss that involved a man named Killian Gould.
Of the few people that Santiago had sent after his sister, he was the one that I thought might actually have been outright named in my visions. If that was the case, then I could start tracking him, and that was something solid.
Killian was a debt merchant, a notorious one. His street name interested me the most.
He was known as “Santiago’s Coin.”
He quickly lays down four others. A Fox. A Sword. A Spider. A Golden Coin.
It was an extremely long shot, I thought. The serum was rarely so direct. At this p
oint, however, I was lost in the dark. I didn’t really have another option.
No, better would be if my guest could lend me a hand. Perhaps I would be lucky, and he would be ready to talk.
A man could always hope.
4
Those hopes were crushed before they even had the chance to bloom.
“No.” My voice was incredulous. “No, no, no.”
“Thom?” Scoundrel hopped next to me, quizzically attempting to determine what troubled me.
I ignored her. “Fecking damn.” I threw my hat on the ground.
The block was empty.
I stood, looking at it, uncomprehending. The bar was shut, and the locks secured. Everything looked exactly as it should have. Except—
My guest was gone.
“Thom. Thom, Thom.” Scoundrel was hopping around me, shaking that damnable rattle in her beak. I knew she was just in a hurry to be out and about. She was often eager in the mornings, but today I had no patience.
This was impossible.
I tried to lift the stock arm and failed. The hinge was secure; the locks set. Was it possible I hadn’t locked it? I had been pretty drunk. Maybe it had been unlocked, and he had slipped out. Then, he could have locked…
No.
“Good morning.” I leaned closer to the stocks, peering intently at the wood. “What’s this, then?”
There were black marks inside one of the holds for a man’s hand. Were those burn marks on the wood? They were black, and my finger came away covered in soot.
“Passing strange.” I sniffed at my hand. They were definitely scorch marks. But what did that mean?
I glanced into the other hold and found the same marks. It wasn’t, however, as if the wood had been burned significantly, only charred. The holes weren’t really any larger. I tried to push my own hand through the locked hole but could not.
“Well, no one was burning you free.” I ran my fingers through my hair, crouching next to the stocks.
“Thom?” My girl cocked her head, casually toying with her rattle with one foot.
“I know you weren’t here, pretty girl, but I was certain this man wasn’t on fire when I left him.” I glanced down at her, my brow furrowed. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”
As was typical, my selfish partner kept her own council.
The stocks had definitely been locked. I distinctly remembered the key. I remembered the feel of it turning its tumbler. It had been locked.
What then?
I examined the locks. They were iron and brass, specially made for the Offices of the Just. They were supposed to be nigh-impossible to trick open. I didn’t know how much of that to believe, of course, but the locks were impressive.
That wasn’t the oddest bit, however.
The stocks were a primary means of detainment for judicars in Teredon. Typically, we used them when an undesirable might have information for us or when they awaited transport for trial by legate. The citizens were used to seeing the occasional ruffian in the stocks. It was part of the punishment actually. Most citizens had an unmistakable malicious streak toward those held. Given an undesirable to take their frustrations out on, it wasn’t unheard of for a man to spend a full day covered in rotting fruit, offal, or other waste.
It was almost impossible for me to grasp that someone had let my prisoner free from his bonds. But what else could have happened?
“Detainment of law.” I muttered under my breath, musing to myself. “At a minimum. Tampering with the locks could be seen as contempt of judicar will…” I let my voice trail away.
“Thom?”
I distractedly signaled for my good girl to be quiet.
“Someone let you go.” I murmured under my breath, looking over the locks again. “That took some stones.”
Someone had let the man free on a busy city street, less than a block from my home. Was it possible no one had seen? The street was largely empty when I had been out last night; the storm had seen to that. I marveled at the sheer gall of someone making certain my large friend was free and unable to be questioned.
I had never heard of anything remotely like this.
“Yer messing with things outside yer ken, cully.” I could still hear the man’s whining voice. What did they know about my business?
I sighed. There were no answers here. No sooner did I have the thought than my head swam from the serum.
The king doesn’t notice that the man took the card. His eyes are on me. Then he glances down.
“Where did she go?” His voice is a rising panic.
I had made no progress at all. I didn’t know any more than I had known when I left the Scarlet Cellar! Only now I had a large bruise on my shoulder, and my stomach had taken about three punches too many. Technically, it was still only the morning of the first day, but while I felt like I could trust Santiago on his word, I had no way of knowing how long the serum would actually last in my blood.
I needed to sharp up and get moving. The problem was that I didn’t know exactly which direction to step. I had my single hunch, but it was distant. Still, at this point a distant hope was better than no hope at all.
It seemed that I needed to speak with Killian Gould.
“Sharp up, sweetling. We have to get on.”
Scoundrel knew my moods and my tone. She dropped the rattle at my feet, peering up at me with a cocked head. When I gestured to her, she took to the air. Immediately, she began the lazy, swooping circles that indicated a judicar on patrol. Any who saw would know that I was here on the city’s business.
Even if that business was still nothing but mysteries.
The Golden Coin
Striving, Fourth Bell, Morningtide
For once, I was able to make my way through the city without the trouble of duty. It seemed like a quiet morning, which always made my life simpler. Usually, a judicar couldn’t travel more than a few blocks without being stopped by citizenry, but today it seemed that Elsador’s grace was on my side.
Half a bell later I stood in front of Gould’s small, unassuming shop.
Gould did business in the far duskward side of the Warrens, near prosperous Dockside. Even though the man’s storefront was small, there were a couple things that set it apart from the buildings along the street. For one thing, I had never seen anyone enter or exit the shop the entire time I’d patrolled the Warrens. For another, there was a large-muscled rock of a man standing next to the door. He looked like a man who not only could deal in pain but could take it and smile back.
The man gave me a slow nod as I approached. He was bald with a sharp little Riogiin beard and mustache. He looked menacing, as much in his muscle as the confidence in his eyes.
“Judicar.”
I nodded but paid him little mind. The most important bit wasn’t the shop or the man who watched the door. The thing that mattered just now was a small etching in one of the windows, down in the corner next to the door. It appeared to be a tiny palm. Someone had dabbled it with just a touch of crimson paint.
The mark of the Red Hand.
I smiled at the man. “Mornin’.”
“State your business, Judicar.” His voice rumbled in his chest, like grinding stones. “I’m not to let anyone inside without knowing their business.” His steely eyes flicked to my belt. “Or with any weaponry.”
I sighed. “Well, I do in fact need inside on city business.”
“Does your business imply the need of your weapon?”
Apparently, kindness wasn’t going to be an asset here. “Are you suggesting that I go and get a writ, sir? I’ll have you know that Mr. Gould knows me, knows me quite well.”
The man held up two massive hands. “Not my say, Judicar. Not my shop, not my word.”
“How about you step inside and find someone whose word it is?” I gave the man a sideward glance. “I can give you my guarantus that someone in the shop wants to talk to me. If I’m wrong, then I’ll be on my merry.”
Of course, in fact I had no conce
ption that this was the case.
The massive guard gave me a long, shrewd look. He slowly nodded. “Sense enough. I’ll do that, right soon. Not on my hands either way.”
“Good man.” I gave him another nod. “I’ll wait right here.” I glanced up at Scoundrel and signaled my good girl: Wait.
She looked from me to the man and then back again. “Wait. Wait,” she croaked.
The man stared at my girl for a long time and then stepped inside without another word.
“Good girl.” She hopped close to me, more asking for affirmation than stating her general quality.
“Yes, you are.” I gestured, and she flapped up to rest on one of the shop’s wooden beams. As I looked at the timber, I realized I didn’t know what wood it was constructed from.
That spoke to how old Mister Gould’s shop was.
In fact, most of the buildings on this street were quite aged. They were the solid, thick stone that had been quarried and brought long ago, long before the area was named “The Warrens.” They were made from old wood, families of trees that might not even exist anymore in our blighted land.
The man poked his head back out the door. “She’s coming, Judicar. Just a nonce.”
I nodded. “My thanks.” I didn’t really mind. I stepped closer to the shop and scratched at the wooden beam before sniffing at my fingers. It smelled like spice and rich earth. It was like nothing I had ever smelled. A grin crept across my face.
I was right. Whatever this wood was, it was old. Mister Gould’s shop was a relic of a bygone age.
I loved finding small bits of history like this. It always reminded me of being a boy at the Havens. The cantorès had educated us well, but I always had a soft spot for Cantorè Bergin, one of the Masters in my ‘tiquities year.
I couldn’t help but grin, as my mind drifted to thoughts of the man.
He had taken his time with the Warrens history, since that was where we all lived. Bergin had been like an old piece of weathered wood, with a voice like sweet rum. He would stride back and forth in Jerrum Hall, pointing at maps with a long switch while he spoke. He lectured like a thunderstorm, and it was sometimes exhausting just to watch him.
