by Will Molinar
Samuel Becket noticed a lot more security men than normal. It was common practice on most days, even more now that theft was higher. Added protection was a good idea. After the break-in at his home, he had thought about adding some personal guards for himself. Muldor had them, and Muldor was always right….
Thieves were everywhere. In the corner by Miller’s apple cart, that darkened corner by Henri’s grain stockpile, cutthroats waited for their chance to grab and run. Or perhaps they would cause a disturbance with the old standard distract and hit. It almost always worked. Assassins did the same thing.
The thieves’ guild were lost souls. Most of the men and women were skilled and good at what they did and were not bad people. They were locked in to their way of life, a secure, familiar lifestyle that was all they knew. ‘Just like we all are,’ he thought. Becket had liked most of the thieves he met, and when he helped them free Muldor months ago, it had been an exciting time. Frightening, but exciting.
The armed guards were tense and ready. Most people at the market had taken to carrying their own weapons, Becket included. He made a mental note to keep a tight grip on his money bag. He carried it under his cloak, deep underneath, tight up against his waist, but even then he couldn’t help but reach to feel that reassuring hard poke of the coins that jingled.
He was wary of any unsavory looking people. The common street thieves all looked the same; the homeless, the despondent, the mad. They were living better than ever thanks to the amnesty. It had never been this way before during Becket’s time living in Sea Haven.
“Always be wary of innocent collisions,” people always said. It was a common set up. They worked in teams; he had seen it happen on a couple occasions. One would bump you in the back while the other stole your wallet. The best thieves did it on their own, but often times it was a two person team.
A pair of young boys ran through the crowd, always a bad sign because of what the orphanage often did. They sent many of their charges out to scrounge up money for them. The headmistress was known to be corrupt, but no one seemed to care or do anything about it. He zeroed in on their tiny forms, watching them move so fast very few people even seemed to notice.
The two street urchins came his way. He tried to step aside but collided with a cart of vegetables. The merchant yelled.
“Hey! What’s this, now? You watch where you’re going.”
Becket stood up straight and faced the man eyeing him. He straightened his robes, letting his gold plated Guild Seal, the highest ranking symbol possible in their organization; hang out into the open.
“Is there a problem?” Becket said while the man’s eyes went wider.
“Oh, no problem. Sorry, Master, uh….”
“Becket.”
“Of course. Master Becket. How fare you this morning?”
“I fare well. Thank you. How is business?”
“Can’t complain. Hell, who would listen, right? Ha, ha. Mmm, what brings you to the market today?”
“I’m looking for Carl Tomlinson. Have you seen him?”
The man scrunched and shook his head. “Can’t say as I have. Should be at his stall near the center grouping. That’s where—”
“Yes, I know where he should be, but he’s absent.”
“I see. Hey! You there! Stop!”
Becket turned his head and saw the two youths grabbing apples and running off with them. The merchant’s lone security was looking somewhere else at the moment.
“Johnson! Damn it, man! After them!”
The man dashed off after the boys, and Becket wished him luck. He turned back to the frustrated merchant, and the man shook his head.
“Pardon me, Master Becket, but this situation is intolerable. This is the second time today, and it gets worse all the time. Something must be done. The police are no good. I hear they may be striking soon.”
Becket raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yes?”
“There’s talk. I know they are nowhere to be found these last several days at market, that’s for certain.”
Becket filed away the information, along with a dozen other things that required his attention, to a far corner of his mind. He told the merchant he would see what could be done and left to continue his search for Tomlinson. He knew his words carried little weight to the frustrated man .
The Guild needed to do an audit on the market. It wasn’t something he looked forward to and not something they did often, but the responsibility had always been with the most senior Dock Master. It was not a joyful experience for either side, but according to his numbers, and the accounting from their new colleague Joseph Miller, things were array.
Miller was an odd man, very strange with people, but a wizard with numbers. He could add and subtract and work their books better than anyone Becket had seen. It was good to have someone like that in their ranks.
Tomlinson was on the opposite side of the market from where his stall was located. He spoke with a fur trader, one of the only independent merchants The Guild allowed to do business at the market. They paid a one-time fee that let them sell there for up to one year.
Many within the Guild wanted to do away with any open slots and make everyone apply for membership in order to sell anywhere in Sea Haven, but so far no action had been taken. Becket thought it fine to let them pay and sell for a year. Then they could have decided for themselves if they wanted to join. No need to force them into anything. He wondered what Muldor thought about it.
Tomlinson glanced his way but said nothing as Becket neared. His face remained impassive. He was a lot like Muldor, so still and dull. This city does that to a person. Still, Carl must have been a handsome man in his youth. He had a good build, but years of prosperity had turned his solidness to fat. And his beard was turning gray, with small tufts of the former black struggling to maintain a presence.
Becket smiled. “Master Tomlinson. Hello there. I expected to find you at your stall. You are such a permanent fixture in that part of the marketplace I thought the world was ending when I didn’t find you.”
Tomlinson grunted. “Something I can help you with, Master Becket?”
“Yes. We need to go over last week’s numbers. I have found some discrepancies.”
Tomlinson and the fur trader exchanged glances. Becket took a step back and looked around, so they could finish their conversation. He didn’t catch everything that was said in that short exchange. It was very noisy at the market, but he thought he heard something about them “meeting later.”
They walked together.
“I’d prefer to do this back at my office if you don’t mind,” Becket said. “I know you are a busy man, and this is a fine day.” He indicated the sunny sky and unseasonable warmth with an open hand. “Nice day for a walk I think.”
Tomlinson said nothing. They went back to Becket’s office and sat. Becket offered him some wine, but Tomlinson waved it off.
“I would like to get back to my business as soon as possible, Master Becket.”
Becket smiled and put the bottle to the side. “Of course.” He handed over a sheet of papers, the same ones he got from Tomlinson’s people the week before when every merchant was required to submit their sales for that time period. It was part of Becket’s job to make sure they matched with what came into the Western Docks from the sellers that offloaded their wares. Some goods were stored in the massive warehouses, but all that was kept accountable.
“I’ve thought of getting a team together to do a full audit,” Becket said. “I could request each individual merchant to give account for their tally and sales, each and every requisition, but I would prefer not to. Either way, these numbers don’t match.”
Tomlinson looked over the papers, his face expressionless. “This can be accounted for by the increased theft the last few weeks.” He handed it back.
“I’ve factored that in. That’s one thing the merchants are sure to report to me with unerring accuracy. Believe me. No, this is different. To me, it feels like underreporting of sale
s. I don’t want to launch a full investigation, but I would like to see a profit report from the last month. That should clear out some confusion.”
Now at last Tomlinson showed a hint of emotion, some annoyance. He crossed his arms and sat back. “Those have already been submitted to the appropriate dock masters. Last week in fact.”
“I know, but I want an updated list, so I can compare the two. From now on, they all come through me first. I can hand them over to each Dock Master. Is that understood?”
Tomlinson nodded his assent but kept his frown. “Fine. I’ll pass it along to the other merchants to send them again.”
“Thank you. Tell them I want it in two days. You will deliver them here to my office.”
Tomlinson did not argue, but considering the way he was acting, Becket knew his earlier suspicions were correct. Something was going on at the market without the Dock Master’s knowledge. He sent the market liaison on his way and met up with Lawson outside The Prancing Pony at dusk.
Becket had not been there in some time and needed to talk to someone he trusted, or at least halfway trusted.
“Hey Becket,” Lawson said. “Guess what? We sail in three days.”
Becket raised an eyebrow. “We?”
“Yeah, man. I’m to be the Guild representative on board Spirit Breaking when the flee sails. Muldor chose me.”
Becket stared. “Did he? And who will look after your piers when you’re gone?”
Lawson squirmed a little. “Don’t worry about it. I got it covered. Miller is doing great with his end, and I got Pier Supervisor Datson helping out. It’ll be fine.”
“Miller is good, but he’s Muldor’s man, isn’t he? I mean, he promoted him. And you’ll be gone for how long?”
Lawson looked nervous but shook his head. “Oh, c’mon, man. Don’t be so paranoid. I thought we decided Muldor was okay. He’s looking out for everyone’s best interest, right? Look what he’s done with the fleet. All for the Guild. And we’re gonna be a part of it.”
Becket regarded him and wondered how to approach this dawning mania in the young man. Better to be blunt. “Gunnar, how do you know this isn’t what Muldor planned all along?”
Lawson narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“It’s dangerous out there. All those pirates… not much different from a regular sailor in my experience. This is his crew that he put together. Maybe he is sending you to your death. It would be so easy to have someone on board put a knife in your belly or slit your throat when you’re sleeping.”
Lawson stood straight. “No way, man. That’s crazy! That’s not possible. It can’t be.”
Becket waved him off. “I’m not saying this is a fact. I want to believe he’s sincere in his intentions, but you know how he is. You know it’s possible. Muldor’s patient, exacting. Look what he did with the fleet. It would be simpler to let you go off and somehow you don’t come back because he wouldn’t have to explain it to anyone.”
Lawson started nodding. “Sure, sure. He has waited this long. It would be easy to make it look like an accident way out there. Then Miller takes over the Southern Docks right quick. To hell with this. I’m not going anywhere now.”
Becket touched his arm. “Hold on. I am not saying you shouldn’t go. I only want you to be aware of what could happen. Be ready. No, we need someone on board, and you are it. Bring some guards. At least two, three is better. Make sure they are well armed and armored. You too. Bring an extra dagger or a short sword and get some chainmail to wear underneath your robes.”
“Oh, great! I have to put my life on the line and blow coin on it in the process. Fantastic, Becket. What other good news do you have for me? You gonna tell me goblins are coming to get me?”
“Goblins don’t exist.”
“Says you! Ogres do.”
“Listen. There is something else. In fact, there are two things.” Becket closed his mouth and frowned. He wanted to talk to someone about what he had seen at Sea Haven Asylum, but now wasn’t the right time. “Okay, the most important thing first. The merchants at market are dealing under the table. I think I have proof but want confirmation.”
“What? Are you serious? I thought we handled that well enough last time?”
“I don’t blame them. They are losing money hand over foot, what with all the theft in town and the losses mounting up seaside. This is a real problem.”
He explained what he had found with the profit reports received by Tomlinson. The exported goods from the docks didn’t match the amount received and sold at the market.
“Yeah, it doesn’t fit right,” Lawson said. “Damn, I noticed something weird the other week, but I was so busy in the shipping yards getting to know the ship… man, I’m sorry. I shoulda said something earlier.”
“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter how, but we caught them. It happened a lot before but Castellan put a stop to it. It should be up to Muldor to deal with it, but he’s got other issues to deal with at the moment, and that’s part of the problem. All he cares about is keeping our precious Guild together, no matter who gets hurt.
“See, I think this may be part of his plan here. He lets the merchants get away with it, blames the old guard for all the problems he inherited and then starts again with his people. That way he controls everything.”
“’Old guard’? You mean us, right?”
“Yes. There is still some resentment about what Castellan did and how it brought us to the brink of disaster. We were part of that. It makes Muldor look bad to keep us on the job.”
“Sure,” Lawson said. “We talked about that before. The problem is what do we do about it? Damn it, man. I need a drink.”
Becket smirked and indicated the door to the tavern. “After you.”
They entered The Prancing Pony. The atmosphere had a way of calming Becket in times of stress, and the décor was marvelous. It was a nice maroon theme, with dark cherry wood finishes and steel fittings that reminded him of his bedroom. In fact, he had Jerome look into how they furnished the inn and use many of their techniques to spruce up his interior.
Images of the handsome young man and their latest tryst, interrupted as it was, came to him, and he and wondered what would happen if he invited them to the Pony. But he daren’t risk his secret to be out in the open for all to see. He would be ridiculed, derided, perhaps even hunted down and attacked. One man in Janisberg had been beaten to death by others who disapproved. Becket’s only safe haven was the privacy of his home.
There were a few in house security men speaking with Acting Lord Governor Cassius, who seemed very upset. Lawson and Becket glanced at each other as they made their way to the bar.
“What’s this all about?” Lawson said.
Becket shrugged. “I can’t fathom. But it’s none of our business.”
But even they could not help but stare as the tavern workers, including the owner, tried to placate the lord. They overheard the politician saying something about their abilities lacking, and that he was outraged and might rescind his patronage if this ever happened again. They assured him it never would, and “that man” would never be allowed in the building again. Becket wondered what had happened and to whom they were referring.
“Poncy little bitch,” Lawson said and snorted. He took a drink of his wine, chugging it, which made Becket wary. Lawson drunk was no fun. “Someone must have looked at him the wrong way, and he felt threatened. Politicians are such cowards.”
“I’m not so sure. They have courage in other areas. They make decisions that change lives, even cost men their lives. Could we do the same?”
Lawson waved him off. “Whatever.”
Such an intellectual was Becket’s closest confidant. He was in worse trouble than he realized.
They leaned back on the bar and enjoyed the dawning oblivion alcohol could give. Lawson drank more. And faster.
Becket enjoyed the music. He watched the pretty young singer and accompanying harpist and sitar player, enjoying how they h
armonized. They supported each other well, with her singing leading the way but not dominating the background music. They had played at The Prancing Pony before; they were regular performers for a reason.
Many more security personnel were present that night. They needed them. The thieves were coming into their space, attacking with knives, hammers, swords, and harsh intents. If things kept going the way they were, there wouldn’t be any homes left.
‘They will keep coming and coming and kill us all,’ he thought. ‘Then they’ll steal everything. It’s all over… even if Muldor doesn’t have us killed, these thieves will take over the wealthy quarter and we won’t have anywhere—’
“Hey, man, you okay?” Lawson stared at him, confusion and even the tiny spark of concern in his eyes.
Becket shook his head. “I’m fine. The two of us need to get some guardsmen. We’ll hire at least three. I know some people.”
“Yeah? Okay, I’m fine with that. But I’m not going on this damn sea voyage or whatever. It’s too damn dangerous. They’ll kill me and toss my body overboard.”
“No, not if you are well protected. You might be safer on the ship than here in the city. Look, they can try to get us anywhere, but we don’t know for sure if Muldor wants you dead or not. You should go. If you don’t, it might raise suspicion.
“You’ve been so excited the last few days; they will think something is going on if you all of a sudden change your mind about joining the fleet. You have to go. Only be prepared.”
Lawson didn’t belabor the point. “I guess you’re right. I know some former brute squad people. I can hire at least one to be the sergeant. He can get a couple more beefy fellows. I’ll go with three on board with me at all times.”
“Vet them well. Go on board and forget about Muldor. Keep the Guild’s interests protected and watch your back.”
The conversation turned to simpler things as the drink exerted its influence on their bodies and minds. Becket felt himself loosening up. Since the attack on his home, he hadn’t slept much. Every sound outside was a murderer coming to kill him and raid his house. Every bump in the night was a predator out for his blood.
