Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I

by Chris Turner

  Delaying no longer, Hysgode acquired the key from the butler and prompted Baus and Valere down the hallway. Mahogany doors lay shaded under a yellow glow of lamps. Lanterns seemed carved into the walls themselves. At the far end of the hall, another stair wound to a third storey, on which Baus speculated other guest chambers existed. A veritable palace! Silsoor was possibly even as capacious as Bisiguth. On the second floor they halted at a fourth doorway which bore a filigreed window graced with an opaque pane of glass. Baus paused to study Hysgode with care as he fussed about with key and lock. While engrossed, Baus took opportunity to brush the back of his neck with the ganglestick and the nobleman crouched frozen stiff. Now, stooped ingloriously, he became a susceptible target for Baus’s pranks, with Baus skipping about, miming various ludicrous acts.

  Valere jigged about in equal jocularity. The seaman was ready to kick Hysgode in the rump, when Velnar approached, carrying a silver tray laden with hot sweetcakes. The butler’s eyes bulged in horror. “I demand to know the meaning of this rude behaviour!”

  Baus and Valere halted their antics. They stood amiably in their tracks, framing low whistles and coos.

  The butler grumbled hideously and stuffed the platter into Valere’s hands as he leaned over to shake Hysgode out of his torpor. “Sir? Why do you stoop like a common hound? Are you ill?” Evincing no response, the butler tapped him on the back. Hysgode immediately jerked to life, snapping back his head. Life flushed back to the nobleman’s limbs and he peered at the intruders with more sinister suspicion. Their all-too-seraphic looks irked him. Velnar’s vacant gaze was no less idiotic.

  “Well, what are you looking at?” he shrilled. The butler shrank back. The nobleman thrust the guests’ door open and beckoned them inside. The door slammed shut and the nobleman departed with a tramp of angry footsteps.

  Baus loosed an easy breath. “Well, that’s that.” Regarding his new surroundings, Baus grinned a fish’s grin. The ceilings were high, the furnishings posh. Indeed the chambers were as lavish as any he had seen, particularly compared to Heagram prison and Bisiguth. He felt his mood improving by the second.

  Valere shook his head at the brazenness of Baus’s chicanery.

  Three sizeable double beds were strung out with fresh linen; woollen covers were folded along the far wall. The beds were well-cushioned, raised to a comfortable level above a polished hardwood floor. Baus found the adjustment a tasteful touch, no less the portraits that hung on the walls. To left and right the House of Vulde and related figures abounded; behind floated a large tapestry stitched in goat’s-wool embroidery; a green, winged serpent and a lone albatross took centre stage with abstract floral design.

  Stepping aside, Baus drew back the drapes to reveal two tall violet panes overlooking the court. Woybur’s obelisk dominated the scene below. Its silvery tip reared another storey above and Baus saw the Dakkaw secured in the plaza with arms and legs bound with stout cord, his torso manacled to the stone spire. Around Voydram’s fountain an indefinite number of sacks were spread—doubtless a second defence of onion and shallot should the ogre manage to miraculously break loose, though the prospect seemed remote.

  The court was bathed in a sullen grey moonlight. Lurid torchlight winked off the taverners’ weapons and metal pales were hoisted everywhere. Villagers had come to gawk and spit at the captive.

  The Dakkaw took the abuse with stoic poor grace. Even from this height, his emotion was seething latently and made him seem all the more forbidding. Baus shivered. He would not want to be in the grip of those vice-like hands. He saw the fleshy lips working with venomous energy, mirroring a mind full of retributive intents.

  He knew that these hale men tempted death.

  Quietly he closed the drapes. He turned his attention to the captain, who for all intents and purposes, was now dragging himself onto the bed and giving himself a last gust of thanks. “Shame that we lost the plunder, Baus. But if it’s any consolation, looks like we may have to settle for being mere heroes in the eyes of Lord Vulde.”

  Baus offered a bland assent. “Our ‘Vulde’ doesn’t trust us much, Valere—remember my confiscated sword?”

  Valere grinned. “Who would? A couple of dirty fops caught in his daughter’s bedroom in the wee hours of night? I’d say not. We’re doing quite well, Baus, considering the circumstance. You can relax—you’ve only lost a little bodkin in the bargain and we’re stuck in the Lord’s hoity-toity mansion. What of it? You may never see the blade again. We should be lucky to be alive, thanks to your fancy bit of mummery back there.”

  Baus’s lack of immediate response was a statement in itself. “Nothing that couldn’t have been done by any person given a healthy lust for life.”

  Valere gave a sardonic caw. “I hardly think so. Your prevaricating goes beyond any reason of expertise in the area. The last stunt with Hysgode was a little rich though.”

  Baus shrugged carelessly. “The clod had it coming—besides, what better way to practice my ganglestick craft than taking opportunities when they come?”

  “True.” Valere’s smile was watery. “You seem to have everything all sewn up, don’t you?” The big seaman’s face wrinkled; he heaved a gust of laughter. Feigning a yawn, he spread arms wide only to catch Baus in a great bear hug. Wrestling him to the ground, he razzed his hair.

  Baus was in no mood for roughhousing and he flashed the ganglestick up toward Valere’s neck. The seaman stiffened, lay still.

  Baus brushed himself off with dignity, smoothing his ruffled cloak. He plopped himself on his bed and contented himself to munch on Velnar’s sweetcakes, while Valere gaped hollowly up at him like a beached gobbler. Baus’s mind had a way of drifting pleasantly back to Delizra. He could not help but wonder what the beauty was doing now and how he could maximize his stay at Silsoor.

  II

  A tap-tapping on the door grew. Valere twisted under the covers, offering a creaking yawn. A moon-faced servant was wanting to take orders for the noonday repast. Through the small hatch in the window, she mouthed muted appeals.

  Baus winced. Lunch? The quiet morning seemed to have gone by all too quickly. Groggily, he began to don some clothes, at which point he remembered he owned fresh garments: lacy hose and trimmings and leather shoes. The former reminded him all too much of the effeminate garb worn by Hysgode, which he bypassed. He kept his own brown breeches and applied the mauve doublet.

  With an almost frugal ministration he donned a gold trimmed cravat, which he snugged loosely about his neck, and several complimentary ceremonial medallions which he pinned on his chest. Valere, who had drifted back into torpor, was jerked awake with Baus’s sharp rap on the brow. The seaman wiped at his cheeks and smoothed his fox-beard. In his experience the task seemed simple; why wear pompous finery when one could wear the same old dungarees?

  Baus deemed it prudent to set their stories straight prior to engaging in any discourse in the parlour. For brief moments the two arranged their stories, concurring that any mention of Heagram or a prison scandal would run invariably counterproductive to their common aims. They nodded in accord and allowed the chambermaid Seela to escort them to the common room where the hero Tulesio sat imperturbably on a comfortable couch next to Delizra by the fire.

  The maid curtsied, exited with polite efficiency.

  Intrigued by mystery of the strangers, Delizra asked of their travels. Valere and Baus brushed off the enquiries with easy urbanity. In daylight and with proper attire and coiffure, the damsel was even more of a beauty than Baus imagined. Her slender face was unassuming, slightly cherubic, yet her pale gold eyes were as sensuous as any. She wore a loose-fitting dress, a rebellious noblewoman’s sash, all pale orange with saucy sleeves and silken tassels that wrapped seductively around the midriff. Enjoying the moment of its impact, she blinked artlessly. The slit was open at the neck, poised to casually reveal a furrow of shapely cleavage, amidst youthful, pale ivory skin. Her wavy brown hair shone in the firelight; her glistening tongue darted in and out in sug
gestive starts as she conversed in tones pitched to evoke a subtlety of flirtatiousness, rather than formal colloquy. A pair of rangy legs reached up to support a trim, pleasing haunch.

  How long had Baus been ensconced in prison? Too long. Neither was Valere exempt from the maid’s allure, but he remained controlled, and to his credit, a source of Baus’s surprise.

  After warming themselves by the fire, Tulesio took them to the refectory. They dined on a light brunch of mealcakes and hot tea. Baus explained to the group that he and Valere were not the rakehellish swashbucklers they thought them to be—merely ordinary, honest wayfarers looking for simple postings on the docks, possibly even a small sea assignment. “Only recently did my colleague Valere and I even make each other’s acquaintance,” declared Baus.

  “A pity,” remarked Delizra.

  “’Tis. It amazes me the meaningful connections we make in everyday life.”

  “In Krintz,” Tulesio counselled, “‘dock-workers’ are known to be scarce, and I fear you must travel to Nosoheath or even Pirate’s Point to attract those types of contracts.”

  Baus shook his head with regret. “I suppose we must.” He put on a doleful face as if accustomed to dealing with vicissitudes on a daily basis. Delizra’s voice became impish. “You are all seemingly doughty men, but surely you are not put out with the lack of female company in such a life—” She paused and Baus detected a strain to her coquettishness. Loneliness?

  “At Krintz,” Tulesio continued stiffly, “doughty men as yourselves would be better off tanning hides or apprenticing to Jeoulf the Smith. A wealth of shoe-tapping and bellow-work exists this time of year.”

  Baus nodded happily. “These are worthy enterprises and we will look into them..”

  Delizra shot Baus a sharp glance. “You say you are seafarers from Heagram?”

  “Yes, I believe that was what I mentioned.”

  “So, why did you leave so abruptly? Neither of you barely seem to own the clothes on your back, not to mention luggage or any other possessions.”

  “True, but not everybody has the luxury of a wegmor and fine saddlebags,” Baus responded. “Both of us are due for larger fish to fry and hence must make ourselves available to more universal opportunities.”

  Delizra twirled her locks with sceptical inquiry. “That sounds serious. Hysgode is right—you two have about you vagabondish airs.” She shifted her eyes narrowly at the captain. “Are your goals as comparably ephemeral as Baus’s, Captain?”

  Valere combed at his beard with placid reflection. “My plans remain indefinite. Having for many years commanded my own vessel, I have a mind to return to seafaring—at least when I secure the funds to appropriate a suitable sailing vessel.”

  “Very ambitious!” cried Delizra, clapping her hands. “How large was your last vessel?”

  Valere’s eyes lifted up to the ceiling. “Oh—forty feet—even fifty. The Illimmer boasted a fifteen foot beam, a fat belly, a main sail like a gull’s breast. She was due for re-hauling in Brislin and taken off the water three winters ago. A shame. Sheer age had caught up to her, broadsided her from behind . . .” He trailed off with an actor’s attempt at glumness. The disclosure was not far from the truth and Valere allowed himself a sigh to make any stretches seem more plausible.

  “It appears,” continued Delizra, “that like Baus, you are destined for a life on the sea?”

  Baus nodded thoughtfully. “This is exactly Captain Valere’s plan. He has been meditating on it for years, haven’t you, Valere?”

  Valere wagged his head uncertainly.

  “Delizra, you are an astute person and I must commend you for your intuitive grasp! It is rare indeed the charming and perceptive aura I observe in the likes of you.”

  The comment was flattering but strangely the Vulde’s daughter seemed to slip into a mode of deeper brooding.

  The mystery was at last dispelled when Delizra herself revealed how insipid it was at Silsoor. “I hate this gloomy place. I shall miss you both when you take your leave! You saved me from a molester; furthermore, we don’t receive often visitors in Krintz. Surely you can stay a bit longer, before embarking on these frightful journeys?”

  Valere flushed. “I believe we could consider an extended visit, if you are included as part of it.”

  Baus shifted uncomfortably. “Though Valere is known for his eccentric whimsies.”

  The foursome sipped tea. Seela took further orders and removed the dishes.

  As breakfast drew to a close, Tulesio offered his guests fresh towels. Summoning the butler Velnar, he took it upon himself to collect a basin of hot water so that Baus and Valere could bathe and scrub themselves down in the sun room with white lye and cox-combed brush.

  Early in the afternoon the two dried themselves off, feeling much refreshed, then they returned to the parlour. Tulesio was instructed by the Vulde to be their escort—an excursion to the bazaar in order to seek out a respectable haberdasher.

  An appropriate establishment showed itself two doors down from the central square, where they spied many narrow side alleys, busy with folk and trades-people of all ages. In the yellowing light, people went about their business hawking wares and hauling goods. Baus and Valere squinted awkwardly into the bustling throng, finding it difficult to keep up with Tulesio’s strides. They disliked the irony of last night’s escapades, thinking to keep a low profile.

  A stir of commotion was forming around the obelisk where the Dakkaw was still heavily secured. ’Twas an area which Tulesio strictly avoided, for the villagers buzzing about were a crass bunch, carrying baskets of turnip peels and potatoes to pitch at the Dakkaw. Others commanded carts pitched full of geese, goats and meal sacks to take to market. The villagers stared at the newcomers. Seeing that they were accompanied by Tulesio of the Vulde’s House, they became somewhat assured, for they were under the Vulde’s care. Snatches of conversation came to Baus’s ears—that the two were indeed heroes who had helped capture the famous ‘Dakkaw’, the fabulous menace which had been harassing their village for years. Youngsters crowded close to ogle and bait the ogre who stood roped against Woybur’s obelisk snarling and spewing oaths. Instigators appeared in small knots, but the pack grew to more profound numbers, committing reckless acts upon the prisoner.

  Some few came to pat the visitors on the back and offer them congratulations—ruddy-faced men and plump women, and the commendations Baus and Valere received were not inconsiderable. The knowledge of the conflicting motives championing yester-eve’s foray was uncomfortable.

  Tulesio led them the long way around the plaza’s north-east corner. Baus watched as smokes of a smithy curled in seashell rings out of a low stone lean-to. The tin roof slanted high to a vaulting soot-blackened wall. Hammer rings signalled the shaping of wegmor shoes and whishing air from bellows and roaring flames from furnaces implied cooling of instruments and farmers’ tools. A tall peaked building crowded itself toward a stockyard, denoting what Baus guessed a hostelry. Adjacent the carpenters’ shops was a small schoolhouse with a belled roof. Across the plaza loomed evidences of a bakery, winery, butchery, a pawn shop, three pubs—namely, the Laughing Minstrel, Fanfare’s Bane and Haggleman’s Retreat. The plaza was fringed by a stone-towered, aging courthouse, after which stretched more modest residences up the hill and thin bungalows with oddly domed roofs.

  The tailor was able to see them immediately. He was a portly man with round face and paunch. He studied them for a while before reassuring them that he could fit their needs. He scratched his high domed forehead, measuring them with tape and motioned his assistant to fetch the best fabrics.

  Valere, outfitted in a costume of baggy-black pantaloons, was also supplied a neat white bow tie with snazzy, wine-coloured velour shirt and loose, flared sleeves. Baus was ordained a more ordinary green poncho decked with fine auburn woollen overcoat, grey-green breeches and brown designer boots. Tulesio endowed the tailor five silver pieces, a stipend no doubt compliments of the Lord Vulde. The chamberlain took th
eir old rags and wrapped them in an old sack to be fed to the fires.

  Pleased with their dashing new looks, Baus and Valere expressed regret at the loss of their old clothes but exhibited some interest in visiting one of the pubs before returning. Tulesio obliged. He took them to Haggleman’s, ironically, the same not far from the fountain they had passed the previous evening. The interior was pot-darkened. Quiet and panelled with red resin-ed larch, the pub showed seats set in a wide circle along a chest-high slab of aged beobar. Cressets lit the opposite wall. A warm fire on the central wall crackled above which and a pair of polished wegmor antlers hung high from the wall.

  Three tradesmen sipped dark-coloured ale. Carpenters or woodworkers likely for all the sawdust on their jerkins. On a signal from Tulesio, the bartender poured them all mugs of ale and shots of crimson liquor. He was a trim, bearded man with black oily eyes. Over a tittle of rank larch-whiskey, Baus complimented Tulesio on his choice of beverage and slipped in a compliment about Delizra and her impressive bearing.

  “Bearing is the least thing I would attribute to her,” Tulesio grunted wryly, almost upsetting his beer. He upended his in swift order and clapped the mug down with speed.

  “Perhaps, I was just testing the waters,” suggested Baus.

  “Relax, friend,” chuckled Tulesio. “I won’t tattle to our good lord Hysgode of your true feelings for our lovely ‘princess’. Yes, she is a dazzler, Delizra; I even think her name was a calculated slip on her parents’ part—Delizra for Desire. I confess that ever since I was a lad I have had a crush on her. Can you imagine? A noblewoman! And I, but a servant. The girl has every right to have the best. Yet she has suffered much in her days, not leastly, the scrutiny of every swain from all over the village, from lord to letch. Now she can barely venture out of her home without being ogled. For seventeen years I have served the Vulde, and truth be told, I fear for his House.”