The Warrior's Bond toe-4 Page 6

  We ignored everything apart from the warehouse, where two of Glannar’s sworn men stood guard, swords drawn and jaws clenched on humiliation. Inside the recognised lads were attempting to tidy the shambles made of the previous day’s neat stowage while the other two sworn propped a ladder beneath a gaping skylight letting cheerful sunlight into what should have been secure gloom. A rear door beyond had its locking bar tossed aside.

  “No need to ask how the wharf rats got into your malt heap,” I commented to Glannar.

  “Get moving before I take a horsewhip to you!” he snarled as three of the recognised stopped working to stare at us. One looked angry enough to give Glannar a back answer he’d regret, the second dropped his gaze, shamefaced, while the third and youngest was close to unmanly tears. He was right to fret; this night’s work had dropped his chances of an oath right down the privy.

  Did we have honest watchdogs here, or had Glannar set a fox to watch the geese? It happens, let’s be honest, and even in the best-regulated barracks—someone bribed to look the other way and stay deaf as well as blind, tarnishing the honour of everyone sworn to the Name. “When did it happen?”

  “Any time between midnight and sixth chime,” said Glannar tightly. “I know the recognised are green but I was sure the sworn were seasoned.” He was about to elaborate but I stopped him with a raised hand. “I’ll see what they’ve got to say for themselves.”

  The newly recognised and would-be sworn were busy with scattered bales and broken chests. Pelts sewn tight into oilcloth and canvas to withstand the sea crossing spilled out across the floor, dust dulling the bright fur.

  “So what happened?” I demanded of one lad half-heartedly picking up the skins.

  “Our watch was for midnight onwards,” he began, eyes sliding away from me. “Damage was done when we arrived.”

  “But we didn’t get here until nigh on the sixth chime.” The second had the wit to see only honesty would redeem their situation.

  I kept my anger reined in for the moment. “Why?”

  “It wasn’t our fault,” began the first, looking this way and that for some excuse.

  “We went to find a quiet tavern,” said his pal glumly.

  “We meant no harm,” protested a third, man enough to come and stand by his fellows.

  “So what kept you from marking the chimes?” I asked harshly.

  The youths exchanged sheepish glances. “We got into a game of Raven,” admitted the newcomer. “More than one.”

  “Some stranger who lost invited you to make a small wager then suddenly showed some talent for the game?” I guessed. “You played on in hopes of winning your losses back?”

  “No,” said the second with scornful anger. “It was Rasicot, sworn to Tor Bezaemar.” He looked to Glannar, who grunted grudging support.

  “All the sworn and chosen mix freely hereabouts, Chosen Tathel. With none so many of us beholden to any one Name, we help each other out.”

  I shook my head. “So you just lost track of the chimes?”

  “We came straight here when we realised,” protested one forlornly. “Sent the early duty to their beds.”

  “So where were they when you arrived?” I asked. “Asleep?”

  “No,” said one, outraged. “We were guarding the front, just like we should.”

  “While thieves got in round the back,” I pointed out. “How did you miss that?”

  Guilty looks were traded between lowered eyes. “Well?” I demanded.

  “Danel was round the back,” said the first one to own up to being on early duty. “He got a clout that knocked him clean into the Shades.”

  “They dragged him inside and tied him up,” volunteered someone at the rear.

  “Didn’t anyone go looking for him?” I demanded.

  “We did,” objected another youth. “Only when we couldn’t find him we reckoned he’d gone off with Brel.”

  “Who’s Brel?” I asked.

  “Brel and Krim, senior sworn men, they both went off to find the second watch.” The lad nodded towards the two still struggling with the ladder.

  “Let’s see what they have to say.” Leaving the lads with a look conveying the full depth of my contempt, I walked over to the skylight, Glannar with me muttering a blistering denunciation of the man Brel’s parentage and sexual tastes. The two sworn sighed as one man.

  “What happened?” I demanded

  “It was past midnight and the relief hadn’t shown,” one began, a thick-necked man with a crooked nose and a missing eyetooth. “We knew our lads were losing their edge.”

  “So we went looking,” agreed his colleague, a wiry type with features somehow too small for his face, close set eyes either side of a questing nose.

  “Both of you?”

  “There’s been trouble before now, between our men and the dockers,” said the senior belligerently. “I wanted someone to watch my back.”

  “You’re too cursed fond of a fight, Krim,” spat Glannar.

  “Which is why I wasn’t about to let him go off on his own!” The thin man’s protest rang with complacent truth.

  I raised a hand to silence Krim’s indignation. “So where were the relief? The sworn that is; I know where the lads were.”

  “Torren says they’d agreed to meet at the end of the rope walk, Ardig says it was outside the chandlery,” spat Glannar. “They were both late and each thought the other must have rounded up the lads and gone on. Seems neither was in any hurry on their own account.”

  “Did you find either of them?” I demanded of the two sworn men before me.

  “Only Ardig,” muttered Krim. “By then midnight had come and gone.”

  “Torren sniffs round a pretty little slattern up in Rack Row any time he’s in town,” said the rat-faced one. “Seems he’d headed there to poke up her hearth on a cold night.”

  “So what did you find when you got back here?” I snapped.

  Krim sneered. “Torren’s lads sitting out front, no more use than tits on a boar, the back open wider than a whore’s legs.”

  “None of yours had the wit to worry where the lad watching the back had got to,” I reminded him. “Torren can answer for the shit on his shoes and you can answer for yours. Tidy this mess up and see if you can find any scent. Glannar, let’s get some fresh air.” I wanted to escape the musty atmosphere thick with recrimination and justification.

  Glannar walked with me to the door, red-faced embarrassment struggling with fury at his men. “All right, you don’t have to tell me. All four wheels came off this cart, good and proper. I’ll kick their arses from now until Solstice for not sending me word when the relief didn’t show. But in all justice, Raeponin be my witness, I never thought there’d be theft, not with a decent watch set for all to see. Bremilayne can be rough, I’ll grant you, but it’s a small place for all that. There are too many trading interests here for wholesale thieving to go unchecked! One warehouse gets robbed, every sworn and chosen turns the town upside down. We catch the bastards and they get a flogging to warn off any others thinking of trying their luck. That’s as long as we get the goods back, mind. If they’ve nothing to trade for their lives, it’s the gibbet on the end of the seawall.” He fell silent, out of words as well as breath.

  “Start turning over rocks and see what crawls out,” I told him tersely. But I was as cross with myself as I was with Glannar. I should have realised a tarnished arm ring was a bad sign; you have to keep the talents that warrant it polished up along with the copper.

  “Ryshad!” I turned to see Temar wave a parchment at me.

  I left Glannar without a word. “What’s all this?” I shifted a splintered scrap of deal with one boot.

  “We brought mostly woods unique to Kel Ar’Ayen,” explained Temar. We both looked at the cords of logs untouched in their ropes. “But our joiners made prentice pieces, to show how it can be worked.” He passed me a tiny drawer scarcely the length of my hand, one jagged scratch marring the smoothly waxed front. “Thos
e pieces were all boxed together. My guess is they broke open the case thinking it was something valuable.”

  I looked inside the shattered top of the rough wooden box to see miniature copies of fixtures and furniture like the ones Messire’s craftsmen make for the Sieur’s approval when some residence or other is being refurbished. “Have any been taken?”

  Temar shrugged. “I think not. Some of the furs are gone though, the small pelts, the finest ones.”

  I bent to retrieve a torn sheet of parchment. “What’s this?”

  “Notes from our artisans.” Temar frowned. “Nothing important, but everything is unsealed.”

  “Thieves looking for information more than valuables?” I mused.

  “Anything valuable has gone,” scowled Temar. “There was some copper, but it is nowhere to be found.”

  “We all grew up with tales of the riches of Nemith the Last’s lost colony.” I looked at him. “Gold and gems. Were there any?”

  Temar smiled grimly. “All still safe in my personal baggage back at the shrine.”

  “Along with any maps or charts that might give away Kellarin’s secrets?” I hazarded, relieved to see him nod. “But whoever broke in here wasn’t to know that.”

  “So was this just sneak thieves taking advantage?” Temar wondered aloud.

  I sighed and nodded towards the door. “I don’t suppose the inns down here serve tisanes, but I’ll buy you ale if you want it this early.”

  Temar shook his head as we walked out into the sunshine and both drew thankful breaths of clean, fresh air, crossing the dock to sit on a baulk of timber.

  “Glannar’s men have got a sorry tale of thoughtlessness adding to mishap piling on stupidity.” I scrubbed an irritated hand through my hair. “It could just be some bright-eyed lads taking the chance they saw offered, certainly. A ship from unknown lands, all but dragged off the rocks by wizardry, the whole town would have heard the tale before their dinner yesterday, and a fair few would have been curious to know just what you’d unloaded.”

  “Curious enough to search through every scrap of parchment?” Temar was as keen as me to find an innocent explanation but equally alert to more sinister implications.

  “There are plenty of sailors keen to know the currents and winds between here and Kellarin,” I mused. “Some might be foolhardy enough to risk the crossing without magic if there’s enough profit to be had.”

  An unwelcome voice hailed us in a strangled shout.

  “What has been going on?” puffed Casuel as he reached us, hair unbrushed and mismatched buckles on his shoes.

  “Some of the Kellarin cargo has been stolen,” I said flatly, hoping his precipitate arrival might go unnoticed.

  “By whom?” he demanded, outraged.

  “As yet, we don’t know,” I replied calmly.

  “Why aren’t you out looking for them!” Casuel looked around the harbour, presumably for some slow-footed miscreant draped in stolen pelts.

  I turned my attention back to Temar. “It could have been pirates. They’ll be interested in knowing what comes from Kellarin and how it might compare to the Inglis trade.”

  “And they would certainly be interested in looking for charts,” agreed Temar.

  “Thieves or pirates, what’s the difference?” Casuel folded his arms abruptly, scowling.

  “Otrick was keeping Velindre informed, hadn’t he?” I took a step closer to Casuel, using my greater height to force him back a pace. “Otrick was well liked by pirates all along the coast, wasn’t he? If Velindre has similar friends, perhaps she let something slip?”

  “Impossible,” snapped Casuel, affronted.

  “From her manner last night, I hardly think the lady would be so careless,” Temar said cautiously.

  “Unlikely,” I agreed. But not impossible, and anyway the notion had Casuel too distracted to interrupt again.

  “But what if it’s neither?” I said to Temar.

  “Elietimm?” He nodded, expression dour. “People forgetting what was agreed, forgetting to mark the time, that could be Artifice at work”

  “What?” Casuel looked from Temar to me and back again, eyes horrified. “There’s nothing to suggest Elietimm, is there?”

  “No, but nothing to suggest it wasn’t, as yet.” I heaved an irritated sigh. “But how by all that’s holy can we tell? Could Demoiselle Tor Arrial tell if these men had been enchanted?”

  “I am afraid not.” Temar looked thoughtful. “But she can look for anyone working Artifice hereabouts.”

  I stared at the warehouse. “Copper is copper, and melted down it could have come from anywhere, so I don’t think we’ll see that again. But furs are too easily identifiable to risk selling them here, if our thieves have any wits.”

  “So they ship them out with goods honestly bought and paid for?” Temar guessed.

  “Organise a search!” cried Casuel. “There’s only one road out of here, so anything going overland can be stopped. Isn’t there some chain to close the harbour to pirates? Get that in place and turn every ship inside out!”

  “On whose say-so?” I enquired mildly. “Planir’s? Archmage he may be, he has no authority here, not over Tormalin citizens when nothing’s been proved against them.”

  “Is Messire D’Olbriot’s word not good enough, even by proxy?” Temar asked hesitantly.

  “No, not for a general search.” I tried to recall the little I knew of Old Empire law. “A Prince’s power is still absolute over his own tenants and property, but that’s as far as it goes. Houses on good terms with D’Olbriot would cooperate, but those that aren’t would refuse, whether or not they had anything to hide. Self-governing traders and artisans will hardly compromise their independence by yielding to D’Olbriot influence like that. Forcing the issue will set them appealing in every court up to the Emperor himself.”

  Temar was looking puzzled. “Are many people living outside the security of tenantry?”

  “A great deal changed as a result of the Chaos,” said Casuel officiously. “The autonomy of sufficient men of business is an important check on the influence of Princes.”

  “Casuel’s father is a pepper merchant,” I explained. “Anyway, even where someone’s officially beholden to a Name, the ties may be no stronger than ribbon sealed on a parchment.”

  “But who safeguards their interests?” Temar looked genuinely concerned.

  “The Emperor and the justiciary, naturally.”

  I interrupted as Casuel drew breath to explain twenty generations of precedent and custom. “The best way to be sure we’ve no Elietimm creeping in the shadows is to find those stolen goods. I’ll call in the few markers I have hereabouts and see if the strength of the D’Olbriot name can get the most likely places searched at least. Temar, go back and have your breakfast, then see if Avila can find any sniff of aetheric magic. Casuel.” I gave him a warm smile. “Go and ask Velindre if she has any contacts among the free-traders.” I raised my voice over his incensed protests. “I don’t suppose she was involved in anything, but free-traders are most likely to be offered unusual goods at half their market value. We might get a scent that way. If she refuses to help, that might be worth telling Planir.”

  Casuel’s indignation subsided as Temar managed to control a smile I could see tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “Feathers!” the mage said suddenly.

  “Of course!” I snapped my fingers. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “I don’t suppose your lady has much time for the heights of fashion,” Casuel smirked.

  I let the jibe go as I saw Temar looking at me and the mage as if we’d both taken leave of our senses.

  “Feathers, bright ones in bold colours are worth, oh, I don’t know how many times their weight in gold,” I explained.

  “No lady would dream of going out without a fan of plumes carefully chosen to match her dress or in the colours of her House,” Casuel broke in. “And then there are the combinations that signify—”

&
nbsp; “If someone thought you’d brought back exotic feathers unique to Kellarin, that would definitely be worth a break-in.” Much as I hated to give Casuel any credit, his suggestion made simple theft a far more likely explanation.

  “I must tell Guinalle to send hunters out with some nets,” said Temar with well-bred amusement. “Strange that none of the mercenaries or mages mentioned this.”

  “Well, mercenaries just sweat and I don’t suppose wizards have much time for the heights of fashion either.” I nodded with mock politeness to Casuel, but baiting the mage wasn’t going to get us anywhere. “I’ll see you back at the shrine at noon and we’ll share anything we’ve found out. If there’s any hint it’s something more sinister than thievery, then we get on the road to Toremal where we’ve got the Name and the men to back us.”

  “But what if we’re attacked on the road?” Casuel bleated.

  “Then you show us some magic, Master Wizard,” smiled Temar.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Appendix to the D’Olbriot Chronicle,

  Winter Solstice Concluding the First Year of

  Tadriol the Thrifty, As Written by Esquire Fidaer,

  Castellan of the Tailebret Estates

  Solstice celebrations have seen some relaxation of the austerity enjoined on us in the immediate aftermath of the new Emperor’s election, much to the relief of tradespeople the length and breadth of Toremal. But all the gowns and furbelows adorning our ladies must be paid for with solid coin this year, now merchants have Imperial sanction to refuse open-ended credit to even the noblest of Houses. Well, Tadriol’s strictures may be unpopular with giddy girls obsessed with fashionable competition and Esquires keen to cut an elegant figure, but I write this after submitting my annual accounts to the Sieur of my Name with the best set of balances for some years. With Messire’s approval, I plan to use these funds firstly to support the tenantry who suffered in the recent floods around Nymet, and thereafter to expand whichever of our enterprises will benefit from sustained investment.