by JM Guillen
Most of his stories were still carved in my memory. I could hear him, even today:
“Times have certainly changed since the days of rich and powerful citizens living in beautiful manses in this area.” Cantorè Bergin would always wave his hands while he lectured. “A clever observer can still see the history of the borough written all around, in the buildings and the people. No other part of Teredon has undergone as much change.”
Jerrum Hall had only held about twelve students at a time, which meant that Cantorè Bergin lectured four or five times a day. I had my round with Jaque, one of my best friends when I was young. We typically sat with Riley, a boy who lived in another hall.
Cantorè Bergin, of course, knew the difficulties of holding the attention of young boys. We always knew his eye was on us and stayed sharp while he lectured. Once, the cantorè had given Riley the side of his switch, and we hadn’t caper-fooled since.
“Now, the Warrens were once named Oldtown and were the pride of Teredon years ago. There had been legacy families here, with large, sprawling manses, especially out toward the dawnward side of things, near the Eastyrn Warrens and the Remnants.” The cantorè pointed at a map with his switch. “It was a beautiful area, with meandering gardens and public works of art.”
“Was this before the Shroud fell?” That was Amelia, a cute girl with dark hair.
“It was, yes.” The cantorè nodded. “Once the stars drifted and the world withered, everything changed. Gloaming storms raged across the sky, leaving only the dead and the mad in their wake. Entire nations fell as tides of depravity assaulted our lands, and darkened abominations awoke in the twilit shadows.” He tapped the maps again for emphasis. “After that, our world had come to an end.”
It was a horrifying story, and so it was one of my favorites as a boy. I devoured information about the drifting stars and the coming of the Shroud. It was the reason I could still remember the lecture so clearly today.
Cantorè Bergin cleared his throat. “Refugees had come into the city during that time, gathering in Oldtown, which held many of the city’s older, nobler buildings. At the time, it simply had the most space. So many cultures, so close together, and the area soon became a firepowder keg.”
“Why couldn’t they get along?” Amelia again. She hadn’t even raised a hand.
Cantorè Bergin gave her a sharp eye; he hated being interrupted. “Generations of fighting, Amelia. Even the Shroud wasn’t enough to quell some hatred, unfortunately. Once families were safe behind our bounds, old rivalries flared up.”
It was the story that shaped much of our lives today.
The people had eventually rioted, and blood had run in the streets. Of course, the Offices of the Just were quickly overwhelmed. There weren’t nearly enough judicars to deal with the problems, and the Teredi militia were vigilantly warding the bounds and holding back the darkness. The entire time, they kept the hungry darkness at bay, far beyond the city walls.
“It was a time of chaos, and the city almost fell—not to the darkened abominations, but to our own people. As Oldtown burned, the city officials scrambled to find a solution.”
I remembered being nailed to my seat, my eyes wide. Just the thought of my home burning, even as darkened horrors attempted to hungrily slither their way past the bounds, was riveting.
“Of course, salvation was found in the Writ of Guilds.” Cantorè Bergin walked to the center of the room. “Teredon’s Guild council was amended to allow private soldiers to act in the name of the city. Of course, they would never be accorded legal weight, but they could assist or be requisitioned for official use. Soon, contingents of judicars and guildmen took Oldtown back, but the borough was never the same.”
Jaque held up his hand. “Did any of the people stay?”
“Not many.” Bergin nodded at him. “The wealthy were terrified that they were no longer safe. The established Oldtown nobles left the borough, some for Uphill and some for South Teris. Soon, refugees with money were buying up buildings or rebuilding ruins. It was a chaotic time, and there was no planning nor planning councils established.”
The result was the Warrens. The borough was full of oddly bent alleyways, and buildings constructed that would never pass code elsewhere in the city. For generations, new construction had been happening in the borough, and the affluent that had once lived here were gone. Since the moneyed had left, more enterprising denizens took up residence. Money still coursed, but it ebbed a lot more than it flowed and often had hidden turns.
Mister Gould’s shop was just such a turn.
“Thom?” Scoundrel hopped closer, noticing that I was distracted in thought. My sweet bird didn’t like it when she wasn’t getting attention.
“Sorry, pretty girl.” I reached up and scratched her head. She cooed and nuzzled my hand.
“Good bird. Smart bird.” She leaned toward me, and I gave her my shoulder. Then, I stepped away from the building and the old memories.
I needed to sharp up. Dealing with Gould might be dangerous.
Word on the street was that the man had once worked with the Bureau of Debt Consolidation. It was a massive bureaucracy that tallied and tracked the flow of financial assets all through the city. The Bureau was also responsible for resolving issues of debt slavery and occasionally had to call upon judicar assistance in this regard. Often those who owed large debts did not feel it within their purview to have their services sold to those that needed them, whether or not contractuals had been signed.
Those who worked for the Bureau were known to be clever, calculating minds that could always find opportunities and ever played three moves ahead of everyone else.
That described Mister Gould quite well, I thought.
Moments later, the stony-faced man re-emerged. He didn’t say a word but gestured to me with one large hand, holding the door open. I nodded at him and stepped inside. Immediately, we were wreathed in shadows.
To all outward appearances and effects, what lay inside was a small pawnshop, smelling of lamp oil and old wood.
Pawnshops had recently become quite common in Teredon, since no guild body governed over them. In practice, however, pawnshops were often facades for other businesses, covering them over with a thin veneer of respectability. These fronts not only served as covers for illegal businesses, but they also redirected monies gained illegally through them. Sullied money gained from certain ‘occupations’: extortion, tax evasion, prostitution, drug trafficking, or illicit gambling needed to appear to have come from non-criminal activities so that other businesses would accept it without suspicion. In this way, a business that wanted to operate away from the eyes of a guild could do so, particularly if they kept quiet about things.
I cleared my throat. “We well enough?” There were three people in the small room besides myself. A thin man worked with some papers behind a counter to my right, and a young woman stood behind the doorguard.
“The lady has a busy day, Judicar.” The man glanced at her. “Make haste.”
The woman was a slender, little doll. She had long, dark hair, which hung over her spectacles in messy tangles. From behind the glasses, her bright blue eyes studied me curiously.
“Miss.” I took off my hat. “I had hoped for a moment.”
“How can I help you, Judicar?” Her voice was soft but quite serious.
“I’m here to speak about Killian Gould.”
“Do you have a writ, sir?”
“I’m not here to question or detain him, Miss.” I gave her my most charming smile. “I’m here for the man’s good. We are acquainted, he and I.”
My charm fell absolutely flat. “He isn’t here. I can speak with you on any business, Judicar.”
That all but confirmed things for me. Killian Gould was, in fact, missing.
I raised one eyebrow at her. “I’m interested in knowing how long the man has been away.”
“I’m not certain what you mean.” Her lips pursed.
“I think you are.” I gave her a ge
nuinely friendly smile. “Miss, I am on the business of Senír Il Ladren. I’m here to speak to you on his behalf.”
The young woman’s gaze flickered downward. It was the tiniest of motions, but it said much.
She thought little of the Red Marquis.
“Understood,” she said. “I’m Mister Gould’s daughter, Bryana. Won’t you please come inside?” She looked to the large man. “I’ll be fine, Cadai.”
“I can step with you.” Cadai gave me a looking over. “His bird could stay outside. We—”
“It will be fine.” She turned. “Please follow me, Judicar.”
“Yes, Miss Gould.” I nodded at Cadai, and he nodded back.
“Martin, I’m leaving the front to you.” Bryana spoke to the young, bookish man behind the counter. “I’ll only be a moment.”
The young man nodded, keeping his eyes pointedly averted.
Scoundrel peered at him with one beady eye, and then seemed to decide that he was not worthy of her attention. She shuffled on my shoulder and preened my hair.
“I need you to be my good girl.” I spoke to her quietly. “I’ll give you a treat in a moment.”
“Treat! Corn, corn cracker.” Scoundrel caroled, delighted.
The door behind the counter led to a short stairwell. The wooden steps creaked beneath our feet as we walked down.
“It’s narrow here.” Bryana looked back at me. “Watch your sides and your head.”
She was right. The air grew stale and cool as we wended our way down. The stairwell continued to snake around, twisting at odd angles until we were under the city street. At the bottom we came to a wooden door with an old, yellow gas light lantern hanging next to it.
Bryana fiddled with the door for a moment, opening it just wide enough to slip inside.
“Please, come in, Judicar.” She mumbled.
The office was small but meticulously attended. There was a small collection of books to one side, and a large painting that hung over the desk. It depicted a portion of the Warrens quite well but it must have been quite old, as I did not recognize most of the city streets.
Bryana walked around the desk, pivoted to face me, and raised her head. She stared at me, her blue eyes all but hidden behind the spectacles she wore. She grimaced and belatedly gestured to a wooden chair.
“Did you find…” she trailed off, swallowed, and asked in a rush, “Is he dead?”
I noticed that her hands trembled, just the smallest bit.
I pulled one of Scoundrel’s crackers from my belt and tossed it on the floor as I sat. Happily, my girl hopped after.
“No.” I tilted my head to one side. “I mean, not as far as I know. Is that what you thought? That I was here to tell you he was dead?”
She shrugged, not quite meeting my eyes. “I didn’t know what to think.” She reached under the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a decanter of amber liquid. Her hands still trembled. She eyed me questioningly, pulling out first one tumbler, then two.
I smiled. “I’d be happy to, Bryana. This isn’t anything official with the Offices. I’m doing Santiago a favor.”
Bryana poured us each one and immediately knocked back a couple fingers of amber liquid. She then refilled the glass and set it on the desk. “Careful with that. That’s what got my da done, I’m certain.”
“Your da did Santiago a favor?”
She pushed my drink across the desk and then set the bottle down. She chuckled dryly and lifted her tumbler in a mock toast.
“Of course he did. You can’t get by in the Warrens without doing favors for the Red Marquis.” She sipped at her drink.
I tossed Scoundrel a second cracker. “Not all favors get a man killed.” I reached for my tumbler. “Do you happen to know the kinds of favors we are talking about?”
She gave me a skeptical look. “I thought you said you were here doing Santiago a favor. How is it that you don’t know what my da was up to?”
I sipped and then shrugged. I was casual as a cat. “To be honest with you, I’m kind of worried we might be on the same errand. Your da didn’t happen to die while looking for a pretty young woman, did he?”
She scoffed. “I don’t know that he’s dead.” She set the drink down and fixed me with one eye. “I know that when Jakob came in, asking favors for the Senír, my da jumped like a puppet on a string. I know that a few days later my da, who steps in here nine days a week, left out in the middle of the day. Next day, he didn’t show up at all.” She picked her glass up and took another nip. “I haven’t seen him since.”
I let the silence hang in the air for a long moment. I took a sip of my own and then explained, “I’m looking for Santiago’s sister.” I leaned in, placed my drink on the desk, and folded my arms across its grainy surface. “I know that if I don’t find her, people are going to die.”
She shook her head ruefully. “I’m pretty sure people are already dying, Judicar. Why weren’t you looking in on this a week ago, afore Jakob came walking in here?”
It was a good question. It was the kind of question that we judicars often mused over in our spare time. After all, the serum gave us glimpses at what was to be. Why then did it seem so often like we were arriving just a touch too late?
“That is the second time you mentioned Jakob.” I placed my palms on the rough desktop and pushed back. “You mean Jakob the Fox, don’t you?”
He quickly lays down four others.
A Fox.
A Sword.
A Spider.
A Golden Coin.
“The Fox did a lot of business with my da.” She didn’t elaborate further, but only shrugged. “Saw the man in here two or three days a week.”
I took another sip of my drink. It was almost empty. “Jakob the Fox came to your da. He told him that Santiago’s sister was missing. Asked him to help.”
She topped her tumbler off. When she offered me more, I shook my head.
“Asked is a polite way to put it. The Red Marquis does not ask things of anyone. He surrounds himself with people who owe him favors. He did not ask my father for anything. Jakob came and told my father how it would be.”
I kicked back in my seat and folded my arms behind my head. “Why would Santiago believe that the owner of a pawnshop would be able to help him find his sister?” My voice lilted sweetly with just a little sarcasm, “What did your da have to offer?”
She gave me a canny, irritated look. “My father’s business is much like yours, Judicar. My father is a wonderful listener; he hears many things. Santiago assumed it was possible that my father knew secrets that he did not.”
“Is it your father’s practice to know secrets that will get him killed?”
“I cannot say I know my father’s business.”
I frowned but said nothing. I gave her a world-weary look.
She gestured at the room around us. “I scarcely have my hand in anything. The past several days without him have been a trial.”
I chuckled. “You know who I am, Bryana. I am not here on the behalf of the Bureau of Debt Consolidation. Everyone in the Warrens knows exactly what kind of business your father is in. There is a reason he is called Santiago’s Coin.”
Her eyes were flat, but she gave me a sideways glance. “I can’t say I know anything about that. I do, however, know the business of a judicar. I know that when people are missing, or dead, it is your task to make certain the hand of the law is felt. Is that what you are here to do?”
I set my tumbler down. “I am.”
She paused, considering. I could actually track the moment when she made her decision.
“Fine, then. Let me tell you everything I know.” She cleared her throat and began.
2
The bell tinkled, and Bryana looked up at the door from behind the desk, a crooked smile on her face.
“How can I he—oh, hullo, Jakob,” Bryana put a little more personality into her smile. “What can I do you for, Fox?” she quipped.
Jakob the Fox was young and lea
n, his trim body hidden underneath a large, shapeless coat. Under his broad hat, he was crowned with a mane of shocking-red hair. He swept the hat off his head and scowled in Bryana’s direction. He blinked reddened eyes in the dim light.
“Where’s your da?” he snarled.
“My da? What do you want him for? I’m sure I can help you,” Bryana grinned nervously as the Fox usually flirted more than a little.
“I ain’t here for no social call.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Where’s yer bloomin’ da?” Jakob all but roared.
“Oh, um, he’s in the back,” Bryana stuttered. “Do you need me to—”
“Well, go and fetch ‘im!” Jakob pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced as he stumbled over to the large display counter. He sprawled on it then glanced up at her, blinking watering eyes. “Wotcha waiting for? Bring the man out, woman!”
Bryana scooted out from behind the desk, tossed a small pocket handkerchief toward Jakob and slipped out of the room.
In the back, Killian Gould was sorting the new inventory for the front end of the pawn. He’d had a few specialty items brought in and wanted to separate them from the regular finds his men transported in. When she walked in, he was looking over an old brassbow and trying its pullgear.
“Da!”
“Bry!” Killian smiled at his daughter, but then his eyes fell. He placed his hand beneath her chin. “What is it, babby?”
“It may be nothing, Da,” Bryana gave a shaky smile. “Jakob is asking for you out front.”
“Well.” Killian clapped his hands together as if dusting them off and started for the doorway. He put one arm around Bryana’s shoulders. “Let’s go see what he wants, eh?”
They stepped into the larger room where Jakob continued to slump over the display counter. Killian looked to Bryana, who shrugged.
“I don’t think he’s well,” she whispered.
Jakob’s head came up. “I am perfectly well, thank you.” His nose was running, and his eyes were watery. He snagged the handkerchief still lying on the counter and swiped at his face. Then he reached behind him, under his coat, and pulled out an envelope.
