Treason, p.36
Treason, page 36
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
Gad whistled to himself as he dressed. He had to avoid the Palace now, and the events at the Woolsack meant he couldn’t go there for a drink but an amble through Guildhall Plaza picking up the gossip couldn’t go amiss. He’d then meander towards the wharves. He always liked taking his watchers there. They were so obviously on edge. He’d pick up one of the ghost packages whilst he was there and deliver it… Where? Well, a mail lodge to some lord elsewhere in the empire would cost him, so that was out of the question. He could try Master Galdwin’s but that was a little too near Landis House and would tempt fate too much. He couldn’t risk leaving it for an official as that would rouse suspicions and stories about empty packages would reach Captain Wynfeld’s ears and then he’d know that he was being led a dance. He’d drop it at an inn to be called for in a couple of days. He’d then collect it and move it elsewhere when different men were watching him.
He made sure of the knife in his boot and his wrist knife before leaving the room and locking it. He was sure they hadn’t searched it yet. He idly wondered why he hadn’t been arrested. They knew who he was and where he was. He wasn’t complaining. He had plans still to make and the only reason he could think of was that they thought he was giving them important information. If only they knew.
He dropped a coin into the beggar’s bowl out of mischief and then sauntered to Alcium Plaza – the large City Alcium at its centre, smug and proud of itself set apart from the other buildings. He decided against entering it for the fun of losing his tail in the dim interior and instead eyed the people milling around. He spied a trader who appeared more than usually confused, slightly awed even, and deduced that he was a foreigner. His belt pouch was tantalisingly visible. Gad hummed to himself and started hurrying in his direction, feigning tripping as he bumped into the merchant, a swift cut with his wrist knife, a sincere apology, and he was off again. He was out of sight around the side of the Alcium by the time the trader knew what had happened. He concentrated for a moment and then smirked. They were still tailing him but hadn’t interfered. He didn’t fool himself that they hadn’t seen. He emptied the pouch into his own. Counting the contents could wait. He might pawn the ring or maybe drop it in at the Merchants’ Guild and claim a reward. It would give him a chance to explore. As he left the shelter of the wall, the trader was talking with the guards on the King’s Gate. Walking brazenly past them was pushing his luck a bit too far. He grinned and returned to the edge of the lordships, dodging through the streets and alleys of the Macarian Lordship, picking up a pie from a bake-square stall and a fresh loaf from another. There was nothing like fresh bread. The pie he ate in all of three bites, but the bread he lingered over. By the time he reached the Ratharia between the Macarian and Rathgar Lordships, he hoped he was making the people tailing him hungry. He crossed the busy street and darted through the Rathgar Lordship until he crossed the Dallin Road and entered the Ryson Lordship where he sauntered to the wharves. They were always bustling and thriving with barges bringing goods from the port. Leaning against a warehouse wall, enjoying the melee, he watched the stevedores offloading barrels of goods, foremen shouting where to put it, traders haggling before it reached the warehouse, carts laden making their way through the confused jumble of people and goods. He clipped a cutpurse around the head as he tried to remove his belt pouch and then, deciding he’d seen enough, wove his way to the Anchor’s Rest and got the landlord’s attention.
The landlord passed over an unremarkable package, wrapped in a dirty piece of sacking. Gad took it, winked and left again. He purloined a wineskin a dockhand had left unattended whilst answering a call of nature, grinned at a boy who’d also been eyeing it and tossed it to him before shouting ‘Oi, he’s nicked your drink,’ and watching the mayhem ensue, picking up a small barrel of whiskey whilst everyone was distracted. He hoped he was giving them a lot to report about. He would have hated wasting their efforts. By the time he was back on The Strait, the barrel and package were getting heavy so he called in at the Pass Inn – somebody’s idea of a joke, obviously – and sold the barrel on the understanding that he had nine more. Gad insisted on a deposit and the landlord – ever one for a bargain – agreed to pay for half the cost of one barrel as that deposit. Gad agreed, walked out with a nice profit and the false promise he’d bring the cart round with the others in six minutes.
He slipped into the alleys of the Teran Lordship and chuckled to himself. So far, it had been a good day for him. He dropped the package off at the Cup Bearer and whistling made his way home, where he counted and hid most of his ill-gotten gains in the chimney of his room on the salt shelf. He then pocketed enough for an evening of enjoyment and glanced through the shutter slats again. Another new face. The last must have got bored or tired. Well, this one could watch him visiting Madam Little’s and imagine what he was getting up to there. He was sure the man wouldn’t mind. He chuckled to himself again and went and ate a bowl of his landlady’s remarkably good soup before doing another round of the streets before ending up, almost accidentally at the Golden Hare, where Madam Little welcomed him as the good customer he was and passed on a message that the overseer wanted a chat about his plans. Gad went to the back room, which had the feel of a storeroom with odd sacks lying around, and hooks on the ceiling, presumably for hanging things out of the way of rats.
“Whiskey? Where are the proceeds?”
“Safe, sir,” muttered Gad, cursing. He’d thought it was only the idiots from the intelligence regiment on his tail.
“And the trader’s purse?”
“Also safe, sir,” grouched Gad. “I don’t see what harm it does. I didn’t kill him.”
“No, but I can’t let you run around with your own funds. You’re known to get a little too lax about ‘not killing’ when you see gold. Did you find out anything today?”
“No, but then neither did they.”
“True. Except that you’re an opportunist. That lad you threw the wineskin to will be up before the courts. What progress have you made?”
“Can’t get in,” muttered Gad.
“Can’t get in? Why not?” asked the overseer coolly. “I thought your skills were honed just for this.”
“They keep the doors closed at this time of year and you told me I’d been rumbled when I posed as Fullerton.”
“You were. It was a foolish mistake. You’re nothing like Fullerton. Foolish mistakes will get us all killed.”
“Not you. No-one knows your name.”
“I intend to keep it that way as well,” said the overseer mildly. “Do you even have a plan, Gaddy Gad Gad?”
“Yes,” said Gad mulishly. “Would have been easier with my cousin, but you got him killed.”
“His stupidity got him killed. I did tell you Landis was a good fighter. So, your plan, what is it?”
Gad explained and pretended not to notice the four men who had entered.
“That only works if everything falls into place, doesn’t it? If the Chief Merchant is retiring, if the King accepts the invitation, if introductions are made… There’s a lot of ifs in there, Gaddy Gad Gad.”
Gad swallowed. “But if I’m in the hall, I might have other opportunities, sir. I can’t go to Court now. They’ve changed everything. There’s nowhere for me to hide. It’s not my fault, sir. Lord Landis has been interfering since the attack failed.”
The overseer leered viciously. “It was the day after you attended that the changes started to happen. It is your fault. I don’t know how exactly but it is because you were there and that can only mean that they know you were there. Now, you need to learn to be more careful. Please strip.”
Gad glared. “No.”
“Oh dear. You came to a brothel. You wanted to be comfortable. I’ll not ask twice.”
Gad crossed his arms defiantly. A large sack was thrown over his head and tied off below his arms. Panicking, he struggled and fell against someone, who pushed him into another’s arms. The blow caught him low. As he doubled up, he was thrown sideways into the wall. They all had their fun before the overseer said,
“That money, I know how much there was. You will give it to Madam Little tomorrow or suffer much worse than this. You are drawing far too much attention to yourself for no benefit! How many lessons is it now?”
Gad felt four slashes with a sharp blade and knew he wouldn’t be sitting down for a while. The light tread of the overseer left the room and he lay still. He thought the others remained and he was right. One tied his feet together. The heftiest hoisted him aloft and hung him up by his ankles from a hook in the ceiling. He struggled to no avail. The men were talking options, turning him around, poking at him. He was their toy, but he now knew he was too valuable to the overseer for them to kill him; however, that didn’t end his torment. The overseer thought it kept him afraid and obedient, and he wasn’t wrong. It seemed an eternity before they left, but it was probably only a few minutes. It wasn’t many more before he heard another tread in the room and Madam Little’s laughter. Several of her girls were with her and they made comparisons about his manhood before letting him down. If torture and torment from men weren’t enough, prostitutes were tormenting him as well. However low he was, he was better than them. When he snarled that at them, they simply laughed, pointing out that they had freedoms and got to keep a good proportion of their earnings. Madam Little watched with a grin as her girls belittled him. The overseer paid her to gather information, and she was quite happy, therefore, to do what he bid.
Dawn was breaking as he limped home, exhausted. Stumbling into his room, he collapsed onto his bed wishing for the oblivion of sleep, for some way of revenge, for something, anything that wasn’t this life. He was half asleep when a hand slipped over his mouth and the ordeal continued. All he’d done was rob traders and he was being tortured for it. Another cut was made. When he jumped up to challenge the man, there was nothing to challenge but thin air. He shivered, terrified. Someone with far greater Ullian skill than his was watching him. He would never know if he was alone again.
Chapter 62
REPORTS
Alunadai, Week 35 – 15th Bayal, 8th Bayis 1210
Wynfeld’s Office
WYNFELD SCRUTINISED the scruffy individual. He even had a limp which stayed on the same side. “You’re not one of mine, are you?”
“Name’s Wharfsratter, sir.”
“Seriously?” asked Wynfeld. “You need a word with your ancestors. So, who sent you?”
“Lord Landis, sir. I’m a Meddling.”
Wynfeld nodded. It had seemed an appropriate name for those watching Gad, given the location of his lodgings.
“Go on then. What’s your report?”
“Not interesting, sir. I’ve been begging at the alley for a few days. Don’t think ‘e realises ‘cause he dropped a bit in me bowl t’other morning instead of slitting me throat. Yon corporal should be able to tell you where he’s been a going but from what I’ve seen, he ain’t acting oddly, well not for low life. No visitors, stays out late some nights; I had t’sleep on the step t’other evening. Seemed a bit beaten that night. Ah, here’s your men…”
Corporal Dunson and Soldier Lennox saluted smartly and waited.
“Dunson, Lennox, anything of interest?”
Dunson shrugged. “I don’t think he knows we’re following ‘im, sir. Over the last few days, he’s robbed several men, some very openly – sliced a merchant’s belt pouch off him in the middle of the Alcium Plaza. He’s been walking to the wharves a lot and watching the boats arriving. Not sure if he’s waiting for something. He did cause a distraction the other day by pinching a wineskin and then accusing a young boy of it. Lad’s name’s Bradach. Not sure if we can do anything for him in the circumstances. We didn’t interfere…”
As he carried on explaining, Wynfeld’s frustration rose. They should be discovering more than they were. It all amounted to Gad wandering around the city, exploiting opportunities without revealing motive. Muggings, strange parcels and distractions weren’t going to prove anything. They were making note of the places visited and Wynfeld was despatching men to them, but they weren’t hearing anything interesting afterwards.
They needed something definite. Something they could move on after they arrested Gad because once his employers realised that he’d been arrested tracks would be covered and evidence destroyed. Nothing seemed to be helping in the larger picture of proving Lord Scanlon guilty of treason.
Wharfsratter, Dunson and Lennox left, unaware of the extent of Wynfeld’s frustration. The only silver lining was they were proving that the army and civilians could work together.
He consulted Beaver, suggesting they searched Gad’s lodgings but, even as he said it, they both realised that one thing out of place would alert Gad to the fact he was being watched. He seemed to believe he wasn’t under observation. No-one who was would rob people. Then Wynfeld realised that they might if they wanted to see if they were being followed. Only sharp eyes would have spotted the muggings. If anyone raised the alarm then Gad swiftly disappeared and – hopefully unbeknownst to him – his follower followed.
A few days later, they thought they had a breakthrough. Gad visited the yeomen. Did that mean someone there was working for Lord Scanlon? Wynfeld reported it to Adeone who simply told him to do some digging, which turned up nothing of significance. Was Gad planning anything? All his actions seemed normal for a piece of the city’s lowlife. It was the fact he called once more on the yeomen that kept Wynfeld following him throughout the winter and early spring.
Chapter 63
A MAN OF LAW, A FRIEND
Tretaldai, Week 35 – 17th Bayal, 10th Bayis 1210
Inner Office
READING THE CONFIDENTIAL REPORT from Jones, Adeone tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his desk. The information left him in a dilemma; should he should talk with the Exarch about it or not? He was just concluding that he’d have to when Richardson entered.
“Judge Tancred has called by, Sire, and wondered if you have a moment.”
Adeone furled the report and crooked an eyebrow expressively.
“There’s nothing that can’t be rearranged, Sire,” replied his administrator.
“Then what are you doing blocking the doorway?”
A lean man in his sixties, whose eyes spoke of a kind nature and whose smile spoke of reassurance, entered. He bowed with an easy familiarity.
Once Richardson had left, Adeone pushed himself to his feet. “Brandy?”
“That would be very nice, Sire. Thank you. I hope I am not disturbing Your Majesty.”
“I very much doubt you know how to, James. Did you call by for any reason in particular?”
“To deliver a dinner invitation, only, sir. Bets is insisting on a meal to mark my birthday. I would very much be honoured if you could make it.”
“It is I who would be honoured. Do I have to be on my best behaviour?”
Glass in hand, Tancred chuckled, waiting for Adeone to sit before taking his place. “I am sure none of my guests would say anything if you were not, Sire. It will be a small gathering. My son, the Keeper and a couple of lawyers whom I think you might remember from Prince Lachlan’s office: Widders and Melling.”
Adeone sighed. “Sounds like just the dinner I need. Thank you.”
Tancred looked caringly at the King. “How are you, Sire?”
“Frustrated currently. It comes with the seal,” he added wryly.
“Is there anything I can help with, sir?”
“You already give me far too much help, James.”
“Then might I ask how my Princes are, sir?”
Adeone smiled. “Arkyn seems to be taking his new responsibilities well, as we all expected.”
“I am glad, sir. I know you were worried about him.”
“It’s a father’s duty, isn’t it? I have never been worried about the way he will face his duties but… Do you remember the first days we spent any real time together?”
“Of course, sir,” said Tancred, recalling the weeks after Queen Eliza’s death.
“I had a form of collapse. No, James, I did. We both know it. You listened when I was ready to talk and I have never forgotten and never will. You, the Comptroller and Chief, Susan, you all helped me through those weeks. When Ira died, Wynfeld listened to Arkyn and since then he’s been far easier in himself. I don’t know what Wynfeld and he talked about – Wynfeld won’t tell me and I haven’t asked Arkyn – but I no longer fear that he will suffer the depressions I did.”
“I am glad, sir. Apparently, Wynfeld is a most remarkable officer.”
Adeone crooked an eyebrow. “What have you heard?”
“That he shuns traditional methods for his own, that he acts to solve issues rather than adapting to them and that his dedication to his work is rare. When I met him, he seemed straightforward. Apparently, Your Majesty is also being very forbearing of his mistakes. I may now understand why.”
“Am I so easy to read?” asked the King sadly.
“No, sir, not at all. I have the honour of having known Your Majesty for many years and you have mentioned the captain prevented your son from having a breakdown. There is nothing wrong in recognising that debt.”
“As long as the debt doesn’t outweigh the service,” replied Adeone, as though reading a long-memorised text.
Tancred chuckled. “Aye, there is that. Your uncle had a lot to answer for.”
“And I still miss him for all of that. I’ve become very staid since he died. Far too enmeshed in what I should be. There are days when I want to escape.”
“Then do. Ceardlann is still close. Visit your sons and walk by the river. Let the Lord and Lady take your cares away,” said Tancred with a smile.
