by Will Molinar
The robes were even torn in places, and instead of having them replaced, Muldor had them sewn back together. How droll. How common of him. His workman-like way of conducting business was worthy of respect, but he was too uncouth to be a noble or high standing member of this city’s power structure. He was too much like the scrubs that lived near the Southern Docks.
Muldor stared at Cassius with that dull, dead fish stare he had so perfected, an emotionless, somewhat creepy gaze. His hair was very similar to Damour’s mop, hanging on his head like a dead cat. Cassius knew some people that found the Guild Master’s mannerisms, or lack thereof, unnerving, but the Lord Governor found the behavior ridiculous.
Bemused, he raised his hands. “So, how may I assist you today, Guild Master? Or shall we sit and stare at each other all day?”
The taller dock master, to his credit, managed a slight smile and looked up at Cassius amused. Good on him for having a sense of humor, unlike his stolid boss who would sooner light his foot on fire than smile. The other fellow, Dawson, looked at Cassius with a scowl.
Muldor regarded him with that stony gaze. “I believe you know why we have come this day, Lord Governor. I would appreciate some reciprocity from you, so that we may resolve this current matter.”
Cassius sat back. “Oh really? Please enlighten me, Master Muldor, for I would so like to hear why you’ve come.”
“Hey, stop that,” Dawson said and charged up to the edge of the desk. “You know damn well why we’re here. Real neat trick you pulled there at the shipping yards, sending Dillon and the cops over to arrest the captains, so we couldn’t sail. It won’t stop us.”
Cassius did his best to look confused but was afraid his emotions might give him away. Dillon was an incompetent fool. It was obvious the man had deflected to him when faced with Muldor’s wrath.
Cassius raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon? What is the problem?”
“Come off it! Don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about.”
Cassius put his right hand on his chin and stroked it. He fell into his act like putting on a silk glove. “I’m afraid I’m at a loss. Is the Guild having some sort of problem with the police? I know Lieutenant Dillon is not as capable as the esteemed Captain Cubbins. I hope he returns from his sabbatical soon. But why come to me with your problems?”
They fidgeted, all save Muldor of course, whose gaze deepened into darkness.
“Are you being honest?” the taller one said. “You really don’t know several of our captains were placed under arrest?”
“What were the charges?”
“Dillon wouldn’t tell us. He said if we took issue with it, we should come to you.”
Cassius laughed. “Did he now? Well, that’s nice. I can assure you, gentlemen, what you and your captains do is your business. This office has no say in police matters. Nor would I take the time needed to get involved.”
Both Dawson and the other one frowned and looked to Muldor, who sat there like a frog on a log, his eyes narrowing. “I think perhaps our dear Lieutenant Dillon has taken it upon himself to treat both this office and The Guild as enemies. There were certain promises made to the police about their new facility, and although I believed the compromise to be sufficient, it is apparent they were not. Don’t you agree, Lord Cassius?”
Cassius had to smile, while his mind swirled at the idea he might’ve fooled Muldor this easy. Deflect to Dillon, as the man had done to Cassius.
“Indeed he has been quite incensed about the new jail, manic at times. That is all they talk about. The new jail is their salvation. I thought your idea to use the thieves as slave labor was brilliant, by the by. Too bad that didn’t work out in the end.”
“Yes, too bad for all of us. But I will say no more of Dillon’s actions.”
Cassius sat back. There was an underlying threat there in Muldor’s last statement but he wasn’t certain what it was. The Guild could do nothing to him. They were lucky to even be on the council, even though they had a permanent seat thanks to Castellan’s influence, ill-advised as it was, they had only one vote. Cassius controlled almost everything else.
The Guild Master stared again and folded his arms. “There’s also the issue with the Eastern Road. Its construction is vital to the future of The Merchants Guild.”
And there it was. Cassius made an effort to look thoughtful and introspective, nodding. “Hmmm, yes, I understand. We have spoken before on that.”
“I’ve spoken with the supervisor foreman, Fallows, about the cessation of construction. He tells me they have not received payment from this office in some time. That causes me some consternation, to say the least. It behooves us all to finish the road; for our mutual benefit. It will provide a financial boon due to the increase in trade.”
Oh, what a shrewd one he was! Willing to compromise on one issue, Dillon’s arrest of his captains, yet here he was asking for Cassius to extend an olive branch in regards to the Eastern Road.
Well done. “What’s this?” Cassius said. “They haven’t received… oh my. There must be some mistake. Payment was sent! At least, to my knowledge it has been. There have been some issues with this new treasury department. I will make certain this matter is resolved as soon as it can. You have my word.”
Dawson scoffed and stepped forward. He was about to open his foolish mouth when Muldor raised a hand to silence him.
“Enough. We shall take Lord Governor Cassius at his word and deal with the police matter on our own. My lord, I take it we have your permission to do what is necessary to sail?”
Cassius had to smile. The man had guile! More than most of the city’s power structure would have given credit for. He was honest as well, and that was his weakness.
“Yes, indeed, Guild Master. Please contact my office if there are any further problems. I’m afraid I am very busy with the impending budget meeting, and by the by, I hope you will be sending a member of your staff as this meeting is important to the city entire.”
The taller one nodded. “I believe it’s my turn on the rotation. I’ll be there.”
“Splendid!”
Muldor stood, nodded to the others, and they followed him to the door. At the door, he stopped and turned to Cassius.
“This matter with the police will not be limited to this discussion,” he said. “I believe a city wide strike may be eminent.”
Cassius did not care.
* * * * *
“So now what?” Lawson said as they hit the street. The sun was shining. The wind was harsh.
“I’d say it was rather simple,” Becket said and hugged himself; he felt exhausted. “We go to Dillon and call him out on his bullshit. Assuming Lord Cassius is telling the truth. I suppose it doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t. He said he wouldn’t stop us.” He glanced at Muldor, who looked lost in thought. “You ready to go?”
Muldor heaved a sigh that had been building since they left the office. “To the jail? No, the fleet is ready to sail as is. Please, my Dock Masters, we go back to the shipping yards.”
“Damn right,” Lawson said, and he quickened his pace to match Muldor’s. The two of them began breaking away from Becket as he slowed.
“Muldor. You told Dillon, you promised that him.”
“I promised I would speak with Lord Cassius first,” Muldor said over his shoulder. “We did so. As far as I am concerned, our obligation to Lieutenant Dillon has been completed.”
Becket started an argument in his head but realized two things at once: first, Muldor was set on his course, and no matter how hard he argued, it was impossible to persuade the man to alter his mind. Second, the man had a point. Their obligations were completed.
But he caught up with them anyway. A bad feeling dropped in his stomach.
“Muldor, he won’t like this. What if the police do go on strike? What happens then?”
Lawson scoffed, and Becket fought the urge to tell him to shut his mouth. “Would it be any different than it is now? Look around! Thi
eves are robbing people all over. This city is dangerous, always has been, always will be. You gotta be ready for anything.”
For emphasis, the young blowhard opened his cloak and flashed a couple of daggers hanging there. Becket had one as well, almost everyone in the town was armed, and those that could afford walked with armed guards. Muldor’s own guards followed them close behind. But Becket had never intended to pull his dagger on anyone. The idea of plunging the cold metal into another human being made him sick.
“We will deal with that situation if and when it occurs,” Muldor said to Becket. It was so much easier to ignore Lawson altogether. “For now, the police are not our concern. Sailing to meet Lurenz is our priority. Or have you both forgotten the attacks on our merchant’s vessels?”
Becket had forgotten. There was so much to worry about landside.
They kept walking. Becket had no choice but to follow along with them. He was part of the Guild, and Muldor was in charge.
The mood at the shipping yards was subdued, with a brimming anxiety underneath the surface. Sailors and hangers-on milled about and chatted. The day was turning to dusk. The bright sun glimmered over the shoulders of the three Guild men as they traveled deeper into the camp.
Muldor stopped and climbed up on a large crate, whistling for everyone attention. They gathered around and stared.
“My people,” he said. “My hard working soldiers, I thank you all for coming, for sacrificing so much to be here, to help us of The Guild right these various wrongs perpetrated by men who wish us harm. It gladdens my heart to see you so industrious. Good news! The captains are free, and we sail as soon as we are ready!”
An enthusiastic cheer went up, and Becket was surprised by how good Muldor’s voice sounded. He had a presence and personality when he chose to use them. Muldor stepped off the box and started shaking the hands of all those that came up to him which was the majority of the crowd. They all thanked him for making this enterprise happen.
Becket felt a little taken aback by it all. He had never seen Muldor act this way. Every dock worker adored him. They possessed an almost feverish devotion, a sort of loyalty relegated to royalty. His aides like the young man Styles, who came up to him and slapped him on the back, would walk though fire for him.
Becket stole a look at Lawson and saw adoration in his eyes as they followed Muldor through the crowd. He was losing his ally.
The Guild Master already had an army. King of the Gutter Trash. Becket knew for a fact people called Muldor that behind his back. Or King of the Rats. A lot of the wealthy had a great deal of disdain for the Guild Master, and those that lived in Becket’s neighborhood shook their head at the company he kept.
But then there were people that feared him. And watching the man mix in with the crowd of dirty sailors and grubby dock workers, Becket was beginning to understand why. Muldor had real power, and woe to any that might have chosen to stand against him.
“Are you keeping yourselves busy?” Muldor said to a few sailors standing by a cook fire. They were snuffing out the fire and folding some tents. They were dirty fellows with blackened nails and shaved heads. They wore loose fitting shirts, open in the front, which showed their sweaty, tanned torsos.
They smiled at Muldor and worked faster as he passed by. “Got all the work we can handle and more, my lord!”
“Thanks to you we do. Yes sir!”
Muldor smiled at them and went on. Becket wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of an alleyway with any of the men arrayed to sail. He didn’t envy Lawson for going on board for so long; six weeks was the minimum voyage contract! But Muldor mixed in with them all as if they were old friends.
It seemed impossible to hire and meet so many people so fast. True, there were always unemployed sailors or dock workers around that needed work but Muldor never left his office.
‘Why don’t I have more people?’ Becket thought. That’s Muldor’s thing. People did his bidding. Muldor was a golem, and golems only worked. They cranked out whatever task was set before them by their wizened masters, like a clock, all grinding gears.
Muldor’s master was his own sense of responsibility to his people. Or perhaps it was his pride. Becket was not sure.
After a few minutes, they had quite a large crowd gathered around them; sailors, suppliers, guards, boatswains, deck swappers, cooks, all manner of different kinds of common folk, and Muldor stopped to speak with them all. Lawson and Becket were pushed to the side like lepers.
Lawson fidgeted with something under his cloak, perhaps his dagger, perhaps thinking about the coming voyage. It was a mistake. The image of the young man drifting in the water, face down and dead, flashed in Becket’s mind. That would have been too bad. He had a certain energy that was infectious. And that energy, his life, would have been snuffed out in a watery grave.
Muldor raised another cheer from the men when he announced they were sailing on the morrow for the glory of the Guild.
“And tonight,” Muldor said, “a little celebration, so your sleep is more restive.”
The last bit drew some genuine laughs from the crowd and a gaping Becket. Muldor didn’t have a sense of humor. Golems didn’t laugh or make jokes. Muldor proceeded to order some of the suppliers to break out whiskey to be doled out to each man, one shot apiece.
Even Lawson smiled. “I could use a drop or two myself. How ‘bout it, Becket? Feeling up to it?”
“Sure. I can’t imagine not drinking right now.”
Lawson chuckled, and his earlier nervousness disappeared, to be replaced by his natural charisma. He nodded to some of the men, and they smiled and drank. Soon the one shot apiece became many more.
Becket held his in a cold, dull hand, not drinking. Maybe it was because, as his mother would say, he was more sensitive than other men, but he felt an anxious. Worrisome apprehension crept into his mind as merriment broke out all around him. This was a huge mistake. All of it was wrong.
Lawson got drunk like everyone else, and soon they brought out casks of ale, and the sailors and workers gave toast after toast to Muldor. They even sang songs to him at one point, old bawdy tales of conquest and pillaging, maybe similar to what the pirates might have sang.
The younger Dock Master joined them, hanging out with a group of dirty sailors, laughing and drinking. They put their arms on their shoulders like old friends and kicked their legs and stumbled about the camp. Somehow, a group of whores showed up, and the men partook of their company, including Lawson.
‘Enjoy it while you can,’ Becket thought. ‘You’ll be dead in a month or sooner.’ The thought didn’t make him as sad as it should. He only felt numb.
-END
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Other Books by Will Molinar
* * * MURDER HAVEN SERIES* * *
Den of Thieves
Gallows Pole
Death’s Reckoning
Rogues Gallery
Lair of Killers
About The Author
Will Molinar was born in Indiana. After graduating from Indiana University in 1999 with a B.A. in English, Will moved to Los Angeles to write screenplays. During this time, he wrote and published seven Gothic Fantasy novels. He also met his wife and after they married, moved to New York City to pursue other goals, including recording a voice over demo and having their first child. The Murder Haven serie
s combines his love for both the macabre and criminal genres.
Will served in the United States Army Reserve as a combat engineer and medic. He has also competed in natural bodybuilding contests and has worked as a personal trainer since 2003.
