Rogues Gallery (4 page)

“Yes I do.”

They started moving when the toughs stopped and huddled up to one another. A second later, they tossed a flaming bag. He guessed it was shit or something else disgusting and flammable, and the toughs ran off.

Zandor scoffed. Predictable jackasses. Donny and the others rushed forward as spectators grumbled and stepped back from the burning bag. It wasn’t big but placed in the right location, it might do some damage. Donny and two others stomped it out but not without getting messy.

Zandor shook his head. It was juvenile and pathetic of Jerrod, but it could’ve proved troublesome if left unchecked. If they wanted to play that way and get serious about things, Zandor would oblige them.

Chapter Two

“I think that edifice will do well,” Becket said and turned the page. “I like the colors.” He stood in his foyer with a few workers, going over several potential designs for the backdrop on his foyer’s walls. He was looking for something artistic but simple enough to go with his bucolic theme.

“Yes. I want that background here below the right side staircase. Can you recreate it well enough?”

The artist opened his arms. “Of course, Master Becket! We do splendid job, sir. Very splendid.” He was short and thin, with wisp thin hair that belied his vigorous body language. His name was Monthua and came recommended by some of Becket’s friends. The man was older, perhaps sixty, but didn’t act that way.

Monthua clapped his hands, and his assistants snatched up the large codex of pictures and scurried away.

“Will have done for you very soon! Ah-ha!”

Becket smiled and waved. “Much appreciated. Let’s start this week, shall we? Perhaps tomorrow, I’m a bit busy now.”

“Yes, yes! Very good, sir.” Monthua nodded and left.

It was early morning, and with all the excitement of his redecoration, Becket was needed at the Western Docks, as always. There were so many things with The Guild that required his attention. It was intimidating.

Outside, he breathed in a deep breath of the cooler, more autumnal air that was breaking in as the seasons turned. He felt invigorated. His neighborhood was part of the wealthy quarter where the city’s upper echelon lived, merchants and politicians alike. His abode was not in the most elaborate section of the gated community, but he still enjoyed a somewhat premier status.

It was important to keep up appearances as they said. The fountain that adorned the cobblestoned walkway leading to his marbled steps needed a fresh coat of paint. The white was cracked in places.

Walking through the gate and nodding to the security guards there garnered little attention. The men dressed a lot like the dock security with dark leather breeches and loose fitting shirts with simple short swords and gauntlets and skin guards for armor.

“Mornin’ Master Becket,” one of them said, sounding bored. “There’s a missive for you.”

“Oh?” Becket stopped by the little guard shack and took a rolled parchment. It was from Warden Harris, pleading for him to come to the asylum at once. Becket raised an eyebrow.

“My thanks,” he said and kept walking. His path took him past Tranquility’s Palace, the city’s cathedral, and the Dock Master was always glad of it. It was a beautiful building, with tall spires, four cornered peaks, and stained glass windows that went higher than most structures in Sea Haven. He had been inside once or twice, but the sermons were not for him.

He turned left towards the waterfront where his Western Dock offices were located, but something in the note from the warden made him slow. Something glimmered in the back of his mind, a warning that the message mattered.

Or perhaps he didn’t feel like dealing with the workload that faced him at the docks. Whatever the reason, Becket turned the opposite direction and headed to where Sea Haven housed their insane. It was a non-descript building, almost like one of the warehouses on dockside, with simple gray siding and extra thick boards nailed over the windows, with only the barest crack available to look in or out.

The front door was a thick, cast iron affair with bolted reinforcement that could keep out a battering ram. Or was it meant to keep people in? Becket was certain it was the latter. Standing in front of the door, the urge to leave struck hard, but curiosity got the better of him, and after several knocks and shouts, they let him in.

As the white shirted attendant escorted him down a darkened corridor to Warden Harris’ office, Becket remembered his last visit. Years ago, he’d been a material witness to a crime and had been called in to identify a criminal. His testimony was sufficient to convict the man, as it always was in their city, and the man had been condemned to a life of cruelty.

At least Becket figured that’s what happened. Spending less than ten minutes inside the asylum had been plenty. Now that he was back inside, it was like he’d never left.

He was forced to hold his breath as he walked by the iron bonded doors. The smell was tremendous. He began to question his decision to come here. There had not been a magistrate in Sea Haven for decades. If you were accused of a crime, there wasn’t much to do about it. People paid off the person accusing them, or murdered them. But it didn’t take much evidence to put an individual into the asylum or string them up at the gallows.

It might’ve seemed strange to an outsider for a city to run without an official judiciary system in place, but few who lived there thought much of it unless they were in Becket’s current situation. Most of the time he believed it kept people in line and since he had money it worked. ‘Well, I’m fine being paranoid,’ he thought. Better that than in jail or dead.

The attendant brought him to Warden Harris’ small, cramped office, little more than a closet with a desk. It smelled too. He covered his nose and did his best to smile when Harris saw him enter. The warden got up quick and rushed over to shake his hand.

“I’m very glad you came, Master Becket. We have a problem here. I don’t, uh, know quite what to make of it. It’s very strange.”

“Yes, I’m certain of that. Listen, I’m very busy, and I don’t mean to be rude, but why am I here?”

Harris nodded as if he expected that exact question. “Yes, of course. Why you are here. It’s better if I show you. This way.”

The red headed man passed Becket, and soon they were in dark and dingy hallway with rusty walls. Becket heaved a mental sigh and kept his arms close to his side, lest his robes touch them. At last they reached the far end where a gigantic attendant stood watch over an iron barred door.

The man was the largest human being Becket had ever seen. From far away he hadn’t noticed just how huge the man was, but once they neared, it was obvious this was a freak of nature. Seven feet tall if an inch, and wide enough to make standing there uncomfortable. The giant stood straighter with Warden Harris there, and his head almost touched the ceiling.

“Rocko, open the door please,” Harris said, sounding agitated and nervous. They started walking in when Harris stopped and turned back. Becket tensed, waiting for a trap to be sprung.

“Rocko, come with us.”

Becket almost caved to the pressure in his screaming mind to run away, but Rocko’s bulk already blocked the doorway. There was nothing for it. He was trapped inside a metal room with a giant and a man who worked with the insane.

‘What a life I’ve built for myself,’ he thought. ‘My father would never approve. Good thing he’s dead.’

A ragged, filthy creature slumped against the far wall. It wore the same scrubby rags every other inmate did, faded, threadbare gray with no shoes and a simple rope as a belt. Becket studied the still form for a moment and then shook his head. He stared at Warden Harris and couldn’t help the annoyance from showing in his voice.

“Warden Harris. I trust you’ll get to the point of this visit. What does this person have to do with me?”

Harris looked back and forth between Becket and the miserable retch chained to the wall with both leg and arm shackled. They were thick enough to hold a bull. There was no way to tell if it was male or female, but he suspected the former. It hung its head and sat against the back wall like an abandoned marionette doll.

“This person came to us under mysterious circumstances,” Warden Harris said, and his voice sounded sad. “I don’t even know who brought him in. He was just here one day, swinging in a cage.”

Becket eyed the warden. “Come again? You don’t know how he came to be here, that’s what you are trying to tell me? I find that hard to believe.”

“Nevertheless, Master Becket, it is true. If I had some kind of official record, it would behoove me to keep track of it. As you well know, our budget is allocated based on the number of inmates, but without a transcript I cannot count this inmate as one of ours. He began as an accounting error and has since become a violent among violents.”

The creature shifted and groaned. Becket felt nervous. The inmate sounded like a wounded animal, but there was the glimmer of recognition in the noise as well. He stepped forward, but Harris put his arm out to stop him.

“Wait. This man has killed three of my workers. He’s prone to violent outbursts, so I don’t recommend getting any closer.”

Becket shook his head. “Fine. But who is he and what does it have to do with me?”

Warden Harris motioned Rocko forward. The huge man grabbed the inmate by the chin, under the back of his arm, and stood him up. The madman groaned again and slumped forward, but Rocko was too strong. He pushed his face towards Becket, and the Dock Master saw something impossible to understand.

“More to do with the Guild,” Harris said. “As you can see I hope.”

Becket couldn’t speak. Despite the bruises, multiple lumps, and cuts marring the prisoner’s features, he was still handsome as the devil. This was a man who never had problems getting attention from the ladies. Those eyes, always so intense and piercing, were now dull and lifeless. Yet still they retained a spark of madness and a sense of power.

“How-how is this possible? How did he get here?”

Harris shuffled his feet. “As I said, I don’t know. I apologize, Master Becket. It’s possible to look into it if you want and track down some more information, but I thought someone from your organization should know about this.”

“Indeed. No, you did fine. I’ll, uh, I’ll think about what to do. But try to find out how this happened, if you can.”

“I will, sir.”

Becket left and went to his office. By the time he got there, he had forgotten about the visit and thought nothing more of it for days.

* * * * *

Lord Benedict Cassius always found the Eastern Road relaxing yet frustrating. On one hand, the landscape was suitable to his bucolic upbringing. He’d been raised on a farm near the capital, and the luscious forest that met Sea Haven’s eastern edge fit in well with his sensibilities towards peace of mind.

On the other hand, the road represented the lost potential for the city to grow and prosper. Only Muldor and his foolish Guild pressured ambition to push the boundaries of their business. The city couldn’t afford any more expansion. They couldn’t afford a cobblestoned road that stretched to the capitol, nor a new jail, nor a new navy… what was Muldor thinking? They were still paying for the renovated City Hall and surrounding building after the shellacking given by Janisberg’s attacking force months ago.

But it was pretty in this part of town. Lord Damour, cousin to the king and his regent in Sea Haven, rode with him. He looked bored and foppish. His straight cropped black hair looked as if someone had placed a bowl on his head and chopped away. It looked ridiculous.

His bodyguards followed, a force of men increased in number since Jerrod’s sudden appearance and Cassius’ capture. The Lord Governor shivered when he thought about how easy it had been for the brutal man to catch them in that dark alley. It was too easy, too quick. Shocking, really.

Still, the man had potential. Cassius had put the ruminations in the back of his mind since the night of the incident to further examine in the future when needed.

“It’s rather warm, isn’t it?” Damour said and wiped his face with a silk handkerchief.

Cassius glanced over. “A price to pay for our vocation I’m afraid. If you wish to be a part of the city’s governing body, you must sacrifice.”

Damour looked unconvinced.

A group of workers sat around a grip of building materials, scratching themselves and talking. Cassius pushed his horse in that direction but held back a little to allow his guardsmen to catch up. One never knew when or if one of the scags would lash out. All of these men carried knives or had violent tempers. It was common knowledge.

“Gentlemen,” Cassius said to them, eyeing each one in turn, “if you’d be so kind as to explain why you’re sitting here instead of working, you would do me a kindness. You are not being paid to loaf.”

One of them glanced up at him and then at his cadre of guards.

“Sorry sir but—”

“I am not a sir but a
lord
, and you will address me as such.”

“Well, my lord, we ain’t been paid yet if you wanna know the truth. There was some payment, but the foreman refuses to let us keep goin’ less we get full money.”

Cassius had suspected as much and kept his smile to himself. “I see. And who is the foreman?”

The man pointed to a larger group of workers standing around a huge stack of bricks and mortar. “Right there, my lord. Name of Fallows.”

Cassius went to him. “Mr. Fallows, I understand you have not received full payment for the work on this road.”

Fallows was a smallish man of middle years, with a balding head and rolled up sleeves. He squinted up at Cassius and nodded. “Right you are, Lord Governor. We got some gold from The Merchants Guild, but the city hasn’t put up their share yet. S’pose to be a joint affair, unless I’m mistaken.”

“I believe you are. The Guild is responsible for this project. I suggest you take the work on consignment and continue the work. Bill them later. You can add on a percentage of interest for every day they are past due on the balance.”