The Miscreant (33 page)

***

Aniston’s eyes continually darted toward Garran as they left the print shop. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” Garran asked.

“We’re just going to leave and that’s that?”

“Yeah, it’s all taken care of. The print master will stamp the correction on the invitations, and the courier will deliver them tomorrow. I told you it would be easy.”

“We just…that was a major counterfeiting operation!”

Garran rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that major.”

“You continually tell me that you are going to be the best agent in the kingdom—”

“World.”

“—in the world, but when you come across one of the biggest things an agent is supposed to prevent and destroy, you act like it isn’t your problem!”

“It’s not my problem. It’s the king’s problem. My problem is passing the final so I can
become
the best agent in the world. Right now, I’m just the best agent student in the world. Student agent…agent student? Whatever, I’m not an agent yet. Besides, there was a conflict of interests.”

Aniston threw his arms over his head. “What conflict?”

“The person running the counterfeiting operation is also my opium supplier.”

“Something else an agent is duty-bound to oppose!”

“A wise man chooses his battles.”

“You did not choose out of wisdom! You chose out of selfishness and probably just plain laziness.”

“I think you are just a little extra cranky. How’s your mainmast, still catching the wind?”

“Yes, and it’s starting to hurt. How long is this going to last?”

“You might be experiencing a complication. Follow me.”

Aniston looked down then at Garran with a sense of rising panic. “Complication? What kind of complication? Where are we going?”

“A place called Lu’s.”

“Is Lou a physic?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

Garran led Aniston down the streets, each block getting darker and more dangerous the farther they got from the print shop. He turned left down an alley where a brightly lit parlor stood at the end.

“Is this a brothel?” Aniston asked.

“It’s what the physic ordered. These ladies will take care of the situation you have going on down there.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Trust me; this is a far better option than ignoring it. That thing is going to become very painful unless you do something to relieve the pressure.”

“Trust you?” Aniston exclaimed. “I only have this problem because I listened to you!”

“You should know by now never to listen to me. Now, shut up and do what I say.”

Aniston clamped his hand over his forehead and groaned. “My brain is not working well enough to form an intelligent argument.”

“That’s the lack of blood flow. Come on.”

Garran dragged Aniston into the parlor by his arm. Inside, a dozen women and several customers stood around or sat on sofas drinking, smoking, and chatting.

A woman well past her prime accosted Garran the moment he entered. “Cyril Godfrey, several of my girls have asked me to toss you out the next time you showed up.”

“It’s all right, Lulu, I’m here for my friend. He got a double dose of powdered rapture root and needs some special attention.”

“Does he have money? Your credit ran out a long time ago.”

Garran grabbed the purse hanging from Aniston’s belt and tossed it to the madam. She hefted the pouch in her hand and smiled.

“You go on and take your pick, sweetie. We’ll get you unstraightened.”

Garran turned to Aniston with a smile. “Find one you like?”

Aniston surveyed the room. “The redhead looks good.”

“Oh yeah, she’s a wild one.”

Aniston started to walk over but stopped mid-step. “She isn’t diseased is she?”

“Well…maybe you should take the brunet over there instead.”

“Gotcha.”

Garran waved to Aniston as the woman led him upstairs. “See you back at the dormitory!”

CHAPTER 12

Dean Kelsey gave the students a detailed breakdown of their final exam two days before committing to whatever course of action they contrived. The instructions consisted of enough information to simulate at least a month of observation and making connections. The agent-in-training could question and try to coerce information from a list of people on their exam who was allowed to do anything within the bounds of their “script.”

Garran’s script had no connections and few details just as Aniston’s notes described. There were fourteen students still in contention for field agent, and only half would likely pass the final. Dean Kelsey was doing his best to ensure that Garran was not one of them. When Garran had questioned the dean regarding the obvious lack of information on his exam, Dean Kelsey had told him that he was allowed to file any protest he saw fit.

It did not matter. Garran had spent the last week preparing the battlefield. It was Dean Kelsey who was going to be in for a surprise tonight.

“Toby told me that he got my distraction in place should I need it,” Garran said.

“What kind of distraction?” Aniston asked.

“It’s best if you don’t know. All you have to do is pull the cord running down the east wall near the floor to ceiling drapes.”

“This distraction isn’t going to make me a murderer is it?”

Garran paused before answering. “Probably not.”

“I am uncomfortable with probably not becoming a murderer.”

“Not nearly as uncomfortable as getting sent to prison, so you better not get caught no matter what happens. That’s why I am leaving you ignorant so that even if something bad occurs, no matter how unlikely, you have plausible deniability.”

“Gee, you’re always thinking of me. You’re such a pal.”

Garran slapped him on the shoulder. “Yep, you’re up there with opium, booze, and broads. I’ll see you tonight.”

“High praise indeed. Where are you going?”

“I need to prepare my costume and catch some bees.”

“Bees?” Aniston asked as Garran departed.

***

Dean Kelsey’s eyes glared across the ballroom rapidly filling with people bedecked in garish costumes. The costumes varied but were mostly flamboyant gowns, robes, caped suits, and ridiculous hats. No matter what attire one sported, all wore a mask held in place by a stick or tied with cord.

“What in the blazes is going on?” Dean Kelsey seethed.

“They are all in costume, sir,” Martin replied.

“I can see that! The question is why?”

A woman wearing a billowing blue and green gown and a hat that looked like a peacock roosting on her head strolled up. “Philip darling, what a wonderful idea to make it a masquerade ball.”

“I thought it would make for a nice change of pace.” He leaned in just a bit and tried to peer past the mask she held before her face. “Madam Hillary, is that you?”

“I cannot tell you that until after the ball.” The woman backed away and waded into the crowd.

“Philip, why aren’t you in costume?”

Dean Kelsey turned toward the voice. Despite Chancellor Marlowe’s pristine white suit, cape, top hat, and mask, it was easy to discern his identity. Not only did his voice sound like he was constantly in need of clearing his throat, the man weighed nearly four hundred pounds.

He ducked down a bit and lowered his mask. “It’s me James.”

“Ah, I thought it was you, Chancellor. As you know, I am on duty tonight proctoring tonight’s final exam.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Who is the lucky student tonight?”

The dean scowled. “Garran Holt.”

The chancellor’s face lost its previous jovialness. “Ah, that one. Isn’t making this a masquerade giving that vile boy a bit of an advantage?”

“A bit, but I have made the other obstacles sufficiently challenging that he will need all the help he can get. I do not want to appear unfair or that I purposely designed the test for him to fail.”

“I thought that was what we wanted?”

Dean Kelsey stared and simply blinked.

“Oh, right!” Chancellor Marlowe tilted his head and whispered, “We have to make it look legitimate.” 

“Indeed. Can I see your invitation?”

“Why, did you mean not to invite me?” the chancellor asked with a loud guffaw.

“I want to ensure that the printer did a quality job.”

The chancellor reached into his inside coat pocket and handed over his invitation. Dean Kelsey made a quick examination and handed it back.

“The printing press is a marvelous machine, but I think I will stick to making the invitations by hand in the future.”

“Always the class act, Philip. I suppose I best go and mingle. Good luck with your hunt.”

Dean Kelsey turned to Martin and fumed. “Just as I suspected, he got to the printer and changed the invitations.” He scanned the crowd and muttered, “Very clever, Mr. Holt, but it will do you no good. Martin, disperse our agents throughout the crowd. He must be one of these bedecked fools.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

Chancellor Marlowe waddled through the crowd making small talk and telling bad jokes. He spotted a comely young lass hiding behind a butterfly mask. The crowd parted like the sea against a ship’s prow as he pushed his great bulk through it.

“Hello there, my dear. Are you enjoying the event?” he asked.

Gertrude curtsied. “Good evening, Chancellor. I am having a delightful time.”

“Chancellor? My dear, this is a costume ball. I could be anyone.”

“My apologies if I have spoiled the fantasy. It is just so hard for a person like you to hide such…masculinity.”

The chancellor gave Gertrude a lascivious grin and extended his arm. “Perhaps we can go find ourselves a quiet place and destroy a few more fantasies?”

“Chancellor Marlowe, I am shocked!”

“Are you?”

Gertrude laid a hand on his arm. “Delightedly so.”

Gertrude and the chancellor crossed the room and stopped before one of the doors leading to another room guarded by two campus constables. Constables guarded every door, hallway, and balcony as was established by the guidelines set forth in Garran’s final exam. Every other student faced perhaps a third this number, but Dean Kelsey felt the need to increase the challenge. Garran’s only saving grace was that there were no guards posted inside any of the rooms, including the one that contained the documents he was required to procure. Not even Dean Kelsey could justify such an obviously prejudicial action.

Chancellor Marlowe addressed one of the men guarding the door. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I do not want to be disturbed for any reason. Do you understand me?”

The man stood straighter and locked his chin. “Yes, sir!”

He led Gertrude into the room and bolted the door behind him. “Time for us to get down to business.” The chancellor began tugging at his coat buttons.

Gertrude pulled her billowing ball gown up by the handfuls but stopped. “Garran, that is you, isn’t it?”

Garran held the end of a massive length of rope coiled around his body. “Of course it is.”

“You look so much like Chancellor Marlowe. It’s just plain creepy.”

“Tell me about it. The bad part is that I didn’t have to use very much in the way of facial reformation. I tell you, it’s a powerful incentive for me to never get fat.”

Gertrude pulled a saw and a brace with an auger out from beneath her gown. “You know, we don’t need to rush this. It’s a shame to waste this nice room.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t find my own bits in this suit, and it takes too damn long to take off and put back on.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Indeed it is, but I’ll make it up to you later if I don’t get put in jail.”

Garran took a seat and wiped the sweat pouring from his face and brow. It was a good thing Chancellor Marlowe was known for his excessive sweating. Carrying nearly a hundred pounds of rope around one’s body created a considerable strain. Garran paced off the room and stood directly beneath the safe located in the room above—or at least where it was supposed to be. He used the auger bit and brace to bore a hole through the floor hopefully center of, and to each side of, the iron box.

Once through the floor, he used a small mirror and lamp to check his work. Deeming the hole’s placement suitable, he used a thin, bendable rod to guide a length of cord up through the hole and over the top of the safe. Gertrude used another wire with a hook on the end to grab the cord and pull it back through the hole on the opposite side.

On the other side of the door, Constable Smyth pressed an ear against the portal.

“You have to help me guide it into the hole,” he heard the chancellor say.

“I’m trying, but you don’t give me much to grab onto,” the girl complained.

The constable tilted his head toward his partner, held his finger and thumb about two inches apart, and mimed a laugh.

“There, I got it!” Gertrude exclaimed.

Garran pressed a finger to his lips and glared. He tied one end of the cord to the rope and pulled it up through the floor, over the top of the safe, and down through the other side. He repeated the process until the rope secured the strongbox on all four sides.

The orchestra began playing, masking the sound as Garran used the saw to weaken the ceiling supports beneath the heavy box. He had just made his final cut when he heard the orchestra falter and a commotion erupted in the ballroom. Garran unlocked the door and poked his head out to see what was going on.

Chancellor Marlowe, the real one, barreled through the crowd and nearly knocked the refreshments table over in his haste to get a drink from the punch bowl. “That fool driver of mine stopped to piss halfway here and never returned!” the chancellor shouted at Dean Kelsey who stood at his side. “He sabotaged my carriage, and I had to walk at least a mile!”

Constable Smyth looked from one Chancellor Marlowe to the other several times.

Garran met Aniston’s questioning eyes and yelled, “Do it!”

Aniston pulled the rope he had been standing next to, and confetti rained down onto the ballroom along with a dozen flash globes. The glass orbs shattered when they struck the floor and emitted small explosions and clouds of smoke. Garran had heard that The Guild alchemists were trying to purify the concoction used in the flash globes to make a powerful weapon, but the proper mix of ingredients still eluded them.

The small distraction did manage to create a surprising amount of mayhem. Garran had wanted a distraction, but what he got was chaos. The flashes ignited the wispy paper streamers fluttering down from the ceiling, creating tiny airborne fireballs. People panicked and someone opened a door to the outside. Air rushed into the room, blew the flaming bits of paper into the draperies, and created an instant conflagration.

“Oh shit!” Garran exclaimed, then slammed and relocked the door.

The two constables outside began pounding on the door, but they quickly realized that there were far greater concerns. Garran grabbed Gertrude with one hand and the end of his rope with the other.

“You need to get clear and go join the crowd outside.”

“Let me go with you!”

“No, I could get into some trouble this time, and I don’t want you anywhere near me if I do.”

She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed Garran passionately. “Be careful.”

Garran smiled back at her. “Honey, we’re way past careful.”

He opened the double doors leading outside. Two men guarding the door jumped back and made to draw their cudgels.

“There’s a fire! Go get buckets, you fools!” Garran shouted.

The two door guards and those patrolling the grounds near where the coaches were parked raced around the manor in search of buckets and a well. Garran motioned for Gertrude to run while he tied the rope around the axle of a carriage harnessed to a team of four horses.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing under there?”

Garran scooted out from beneath the coach and looked up to see the driver glaring down at him with a buggy whip gripped in his hand. He clambered to his feet, dusted off his trousers, and smiled at the irate driver.

“I’m glad to see you.” Garran extended his left hand. “Do you know what this is?”

The man craned his neck forward a bit and squinted at the pebble Garran held out in his cupped hand. “What is it?”

“A distraction.”

Garran’s right fist lashed out and caught the driver behind his left ear. The man’s legs crumpled and he struck the cobblestones with a dull thud. He rolled the unconscious driver out of the way, shaking his head at the man’s gullibility. Garran climbed into the carriage’s driver’s bench and looked over his shoulder. Already, he could see the orange glow emanating from the other side of the manor where the fire had spread and was likely beyond control. His brain registered the briefest of concern for the partygoers before he flicked the reins and yelled, “Hyah!”

The horses bolted and the coach lurched forward. Several yards of slack line played out unimpeded until it reached its full length. The coach bucked and a horrendous crash sounded from behind him. Garran looked back, saw the safe crash through the glass doors, bounce, and skitter over the cobblestones. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that it was the floor and doors that gave way and not the coach’s axle.