A Fool of Sorts Page 17

  “Pardon, My Lady.”

  “Well,” said Lilliana. “Explain yourself, how is it you are here?”

  Sal smiled. “I kept faith.”

  Damor Nev laughed, but Lilliana’s look sharpened to a glare.

  “I’m somewhat familiar with the abbot of Knöldrus,” Sal said. “After the—the incident, I went to the abbot and told him everything. I left nothing out, holding to the faith that he would do what was right.”

  Sal laughed, and the other two shared a look.

  “Pardon,” Sal said. “It’s only, he didn’t speak after I’d told him the tale. He looked me square in the eyes for a moment, then told me he needed to pray, and then he left. I just sat around, not really sure what I was supposed to do. I thought about getting out of town, but the abbot eventually returned, told me he would speak to the Enlightened Council and that everything would be all right. Sure enough, my name was cleared by morning. It seems the abbot discovered a certain poison among Philip’s possessions that was used to murder the previous abbot, along with a bracelet that had apparently belonged to the monk Dennis, who had also appeared on the manifest.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” Lilliana said, smiling. “Uh, terrible, but wonderful. And what of this other monk that was on the manifest, this Dennis, could he be questioned?”

  “Brother Dennis is dead, he was found strangled on the abbey grounds a month past. Philip, it seems, was responsible for that as well.”

  “Dead,” said Lilliana, “but then, how will we ever know who was bringing in the drugs?”

  “I’m sorry, but I thought that was clear. Dennis secured the shipments. Philip, it seems, was the middle man, the coordinator between the street dealers and the shipment. Lord Garred, it seems, was the vessel proprietor.”

  Lilliana blinked owlishly, and slowly, her eyebrows began to rise.

  “What?” Sal said.

  “And who was coordinating it all? Who is orchestrating the endeavor? Who is profiting from all of this, and who is killing everyone else involved?”

  Sal thought he knew the answer, in fact, he’d accused the man before. Yet, Tanao had not thought it very likely and had declined to investigate any further. “His name is Leobald, the prior of Knöldrus Abbey,” Sal said. “If anyone is in charge, it’s Leobald.”

  “Leobald? You have not mentioned that name before,” said Lilliana.

  It was true, and it was an oversight Sal now regretted. He should have been looking into Leobald from the very beginning. “I’d not thought the name worth mentioning, until now. Yet, now I think on it, he has to be our man. He certainly wouldn’t have balked at the murder of Lord Garred.”

  “What’s this now?” said Damor Nev.

  Sal went still.

  “It’s all right, Damor is helping,” Lilliana said. “After the incident at the Peaks residence, I thought it prudent to bring in more help.”

  “And your father?”

  “So long as My Lady remains out of danger, I see no reason to inform his lordship. And while I am around, My Lady shall never find herself in danger.”

  “I see. So, what do you think, Damor Nev?”

  “I think we ought to look in on this quartermaster as well as the prior. If you overheard that another shipment was arriving tonight, then clearly, they have not stopped operations. We could be dealing with something systemic, something far larger than we’d anticipated.”

  “I want to join you when you go to this shipment,” Lilliana said.

  “No,” said Sal and Damor in unison.

  “It is not for the likes of you to command me.”

  “It is for the likes of me to keep you safe, My Lady.”

  “I agree with the brute, you shouldn’t go. I’ll go alone. I have experience with this sort of thing.”

  “I want Damor to go with you, at the least,” said Lilliana.

  “Really, that wouldn’t be necessary,” Sal protested.

  “I would like to join you,” said Damor. “We can meet outside South Market, a turn before evenfall. Ought to give us time to reach Eighth Harbor and get settled.”

  Sal nodded, as though he had any say in the issue.

  “Fine then, it’s settled,” said Lilliana. “But you will report to me when it is finished. I will not be kept in the dark about this.”

  Sal’s breath misted in the light of the burning street lamps. The Keepers of the Flame were out in pairs, dressed in their black cloaks and wielding their long pole-candles, which they used to light the street lamps.

  The cap in Sal’s pocket almost seemed to scream out to him, but he’d left his flint and wicking behind. He needed his faculties at full capacity, and smoking the skeev would have only inhibited him. Besides, he needed the cap for other reasons.

  He touched the cold metal of the amulet, and a shiver ran down his spine. Sal pulled up the hood of his cloak, ducked his head, and weaved through the crowd as he moved south. He saw Damor Nev standing near the swaying sign of the boar. The bodyguard wore all black, as did Sal, only slung about Damor’s back was his hulking hand-and-a-half sword.

  “Shall we?” the Bauden asked as Sal approached.

  Sal nodded, and they made for Eighth Harbor.

  Tucked comfortably against the parapet of the high wall overlooking the harbor, Sal almost felt bad for the crew of porters forced to work through the cold night.

  Down below, a crew of stalky porters unloaded crate after crate off the ship. Three separate wagons were being loaded as the men worked. There was another group of men, dock thugs, about half as many as there were porters. They stood around the worksite, laughing and carrying on while the porters unloaded crate after crate.

  “That one there,” said Sal, pointing, “goes by the name Ticker. I think he’s a connected guy, but he’s no made man, just a pusher as far as I know.”

  “Looks to be the one in charge,” said Damor. “Most of them dock thugs are Rooks, if I’m making out those tattoos correctly, see a couple White Eyes as well. Doesn’t mean this has nothing to do with the Commission. They don’t operate like one might expect. Everyone thinks the Five Families are right in the thick of crime in the city, but they tend to sit back and pull the strings. Let them connected guys do the hiring out, that way it’s not the made man getting his hands dirty.”

  Sal knew well the way the Commission operated, but he had seen little of their presence in connection with the shipments. His uncle might know something, but Sal would needs ask him later, as he was rather occupied at the moment.

  “That fop with the green hat,” Sal said. “Do you recognize him by chance?”

  “Some lord’s get, I imagine,” said Damor.

  Sal frowned. A lordling overseeing the unloading. Might be Lord Garred was not the only noble involved with the drug importation business.

  “Well, I’ll be—Dominik D’Angelo,” said Damor Nev. “But that can’t be. The man was bounty hunting the last I knew.”

  “Who’s he?” Sal asked.

  Damor gave an irritated snort. “What in the Mother’s name would he be doing in a place like this?”

  “Looks to be working,” Sal said with a smirk.

  “You have a loose tongue,” Damor said. “See I’m not forced to rein it in for you.”

  Sal leered at the bodyguard. He’d been hit by Damor before, and while it wasn’t a feeling he ever wanted to taste again, it wouldn’t do to show fear with Damor Nev.

  Once the crew of porters had nearly unloaded all of the crates onto the wagons, they began to gather about the loading ramp.

  Ticker whistled and made a motion with his hand, whirling it in a circular motion above his head.

  Things seemed to slow down. The group of street thugs that stood around the perimeter of the worksite withdrew crossbows, swords, and daggers and turned upon the porters who’d unloaded the ship.

  “No!” cried Damor, just before the thugs opened fire upon the porters.

  Sal felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. The few
dockworkers who didn’t fall to the quarrels tried to run but were cut down mercilessly and without exception.

  The bodies were dragged off the docks and dumped unceremoniously into the bay.

  There was some sort of commotion down on the docks near one of the moored cogs. Men began to shout, while others boarded the wagons and drove off.

  “With me,” said Damor, his voice like chipped ice.

  Sal followed in a daze.

  They skidded down the steep embankment, running when they hit the cobblestone street. The horse-drawn wagon plodded on just ahead. Two men sat the driver’s bench, facing away from Sal and Damor. The wagon bed was covered with a curtain, but Sal had seen something like three to four men climb into the back of each wagon.

  It only occurred to him precisely what Damor intended to do when the big man was an arms breadth from the wagon.

  Damor Nev unsheathed his bastard sword and leaped upon the wagon bed, blindly swinging his sword through the canvas curtain.

  A man screamed.

  The men upon the driver’s bench turned.

  Sal threw his pigsticker, but the blade was meant for stabbing, not throwing. The balance was all wrong, and rather than strike one of the men upon the driver’s bench, the pigsticker ricocheted harmlessly off the side of the wagon.

  The driver shouted and pulled back hard on the reins, while the man beside him leveled a crossbow at Sal.

  Sal cursed, dove, and rolled as the quarrel shattered upon the cobblestones.

  Another blood-curdling scream sounded, and a man stumbled out the back of the wagon, clutching at his blood-soaked belly.

  The crossbowman was cranking hard, attempting to load another missile, while the driver scrambled from his seat and charged at Sal, a short, curved sword in hand.

  Sal reached into his pocket and crushed the cap of skeev in his palm, then grabbed hold of the locket. It was warm to the touch. He was flooded by a surge of energy. Willing all the focus he could muster upon the man, Sal thrust out an open palm and felt the bolt of lightning surge forth.

  With an explosion like blast powder, the lightning bolt struck the man square in the chest, propelling him backward.

  Sal dropped to his knees as the magic seemed to sap him of his energy.

  The man with the crossbow had nearly reloaded his weapon when Sal heard two consecutive screams and saw Damor step from the back of the wagon.

  The crossbowman took aim at Sal once more.

  Sal dove to his belly and rolled, but just before the crossbowman pulled the trigger, the gleaming blade of Damor arced through the air and struck deep into the man’s neck with a wet thwack. The crossbowman threw his weapon as his arms spasmed, and his body crumpled to the cobbles. The crossbow clattered to the street and fired of its own accord, quarrel launching with a twang before it ricocheted off a wall.

  Sal rolled onto his back, breathing hard.

  He could hear Damor Nev approaching, but he had no desire to speak to the man. The fool had nearly gotten them killed with his Sacrull damned heroics.

  Damor stood over Sal, hand reaching down to help him to his feet.

  “I don’t think I can stand,” Sal said, not bothering to hide the shame in his tone.

  Damor nodded and pulled Sal to his feet, as though he weighed no more than a child, and helped him to lean against the wagon. Damor pulled back the canvas curtain to reveal the blood-soaked corpses of three men, hacked to a bloody mess, their bodies contorted over an assortment of stacked crates.

  Damor climbed up into the wagon bed and pried the lid off one of the crates with his sword.

  The look on his face told Sal he did not find what he was looking for.

  “Look, Nev, whatever it is you’re after, let’s get it and get the hell out of here before the steel caps come calling.”

  Damor pried the lid from a second crate and a third but seemed to remain disappointed. Sal tried to peek into the crates but could not see from his low viewpoint. Damor pried the lid from a fourth, cursed, and sheathed his sword.

  “Let’s be off,” said Damor Nev.

  “Hold on,” said Sal. “What was in the crates? What did you see?”

  “Indigo,” answered Damor. “Not, but God’s damned indigo.”

  19

  Scarvini Palace

  “The Enlightened Council has put the issue to an official vote,” said Jacques. “After the recent discovery of the items previously within possession of the late Brother Philip, Salvatori Lorenzo, your name has been cleared of all charges.”

  Sal felt a wave of elation sweep over him. He’d known this moment was coming, but something had niggled at him. A worry that it was all too good to be true.

  “While you are free to go, know that you are welcome to stay. The guesthouse is not required at this time, and you may continue to keep your residence there, as an honored guest, with the freedom to come and go as it please you.”

  “Your offer is a generous one, and I must thank you for all that you have done for me,” Sal said, “but I can’t say I feel worthy of such generosity.” Sal took a bite of the bacon and washed it down with mulled wine. As usual, no expense had been spared at the abbot’s table. A full spread of dried fruits, cured meats, and aged cheeses was laid out before them.

  “I did no more than what God would have expected of me,” said the abbot. “You were an innocent man, accused of falsehoods, and you deserved nothing less than a hand in revealing the truth to those who are blind to such sentiments.”

  “Still, I owe you a debt, no doubt.”

  Jacques smiled. “You may seek absolution with the Lord that is Light. For my part, I was only doing my duty.”

  Sal sighed and took another bite of the bacon. “You monks are all the same,” he said through a mouthful, “pious deference and self-abasement on the exterior, but I wonder what you’re really thinking.”

  “Take it from one who has lived among men of the cloth. Many of us possess little more than self-adulation and pious indifference within our shrunken heads. And yet, from time to time, some of us seem to find a shred of dignity within. There are times we find ourselves doing what is right rather than what is in our immediate interest. Philip was a friend of mine. His death angered me as much as it saddened me, though, not so much as the news of his betrayal. Still, I am obligated to do what is right, as much as it pains me to realize just how close at hand the traitor was.”

  “And yet, I wonder if Philip was working alone,” Sal said.

  “Are you suggesting there are others within the walls of my abbey that have betrayed us?”

  “To me, it would only seem plausible. Clearly, Dennis was responsible for acquiring the free-trader contracts for which the drugs were imported, and yet, there was a shipment received just last evening.”

  “A shipment?” said the abbot in surprise. “A shipment of what?”

  “Indigo, so far as we could tell, but I’ve a suspicion there was more, much more.”

  “You’re suggesting it hasn’t stopped?” the abbot asked.

  “I can’t be sure. Still, I think you would do best to keep your eyes peeled. I’ve suspicions about a man, but I’m certain of little and less where he is concerned.”

  “Pray, do tell,” said Jacques, reaching for his cup of wine. “Might be I can provide some form of clarity on the subject.”

  “Leobald,” Sal said.

  It was a moment before Jacques spoke. He set down his cup and wiped at his mouth with a sleeve. “I will not be the first to slander a brother of my own order, but Leobald is a man with high ambitions and low scruples. A dangerous combination at any rate. I will keep an eye out for any suspicious activity on the prior’s part, but for my own, I do not think him capable of such a thing.”

  “Beg pardon, but did you think Philip capable? Yet you found poison among his possessions.”

  Jacques’s features hardened.

  “I’m, sorry,” Sal said quickly. “I didn’t mean—I only—a person’s intentions are not alwa
ys clear.”

  Jacques reached for a wedge of cheese, and only when he began to chew, did his look soften. “Tell me, Salvatori, how fares that locket of yours? You’ve not lost it, I trust?”

  “No,” Sal said, slightly jarred by the change in subject. He resisted reaching for his collar where the locket hung tucked beneath his shirt.

  “I only ask as I came across that passage we spoke of when I was at my morning reading. The mark of three, mark of beasts, the mark of Sacrull. Many interpretations as to the meaning and origin of that symbol. Some would say it is evil, others hold that to be mere superstition.”

  “And what say you?” Sal asked, leaning his elbows on the table.

  “Ah, but I am no historian. I am a simple servant of the one true God. It would take mere days for me to divulge all that I know of the holy book. Though, if you must know my thoughts on the subject, I would say the mark is certainly very old. Older even than the holy book. In such a vast span of time, there is truly no telling how much of the truth has been lost or changed.”

  “And what does your book say of the mark?”

  “My book? My son, the holy book is for all the children of the Lord that is Light.”

  “Even those who hold to other gods?”

  “False gods, for there was nothing before the Light.”

  “Nothing but darkness,” said Sal, smirking.

  “Oh, dear boy. Tell me you do not hold to the darkness, surely you are not a worshiper of Sacrull?”

  Sal shook his head. “I’m not so masochistic as that.”

  “But then, you must hold to the old dark, to the Nameless, those who dwelt before the light, they who birthed the pantheon? I would not have taken you for a man who held to blood sacrifice.”

  Sal could not help but laugh. The wine had made him giddy. “I hold to no darkness, but to she who keeps the way in the night. I follow the Lady White.”

  “Ah, but I see,” said Abbot Jacques with a grin. “You hold not only to a false God but a God of false light.”