The Miscreant (5 page)

A valet held the elegant coach door open for the king to enter. Remiel sat across from Agent Ward, his chief of security, who was awaiting his arrival.

“I thought you equated yourself well, Highness,” Gregor said as the king sat down.

“It was a bloody farce designed to make me look like a fool. Are we still no closer to proving The Guild is behind the attacks?”

“No, Highness, I am afraid not. We are trying to trace the money back to them, but all the mercenary contracts we know of have been paid through intermediaries and dead drops. Those handling the money have no knowledge as to the identity of the people who hired them to make the payment and secure the contract. It is the same for the few mercenaries we have captured. We can occasionally trace the contract back to the intermediary but not beyond that.”

“They mean to bankrupt and humiliate me. I might be king, but I am one man where they are a small nation unto themselves.”

“Forgive me for even suggesting this, but is it really worth all this to destroy them? Most of the kingdom has done well enough with the status quo. This covert war between the throne and The Guild will surely ripple out to the people no matter how hard you try to shoulder the burden.”

“Gregor, we are a free nation, but at present, it is The Guild which is steering its course and not the people. Most of the underclass could rise to the middle and higher were it not for the weight of The Guild’s boot upon their necks. This cannot continue. I will not allow it.”

“I hope you understand the risk you are taking. The Guild has so far been content to be an expensive nuisance. There may come a time when they become much more dangerous, and the closer you come to completing the road, the closer that time draws near.”

Remiel’s face grew long, and he stared out of the coach’s curtained window. “It is time to send Adam away.”

“It has been confirmed then?”

Remiel nodded. “The abbey will take care of him and teach him what he needs to know. I hope it is enough to keep him safe in the years to come.”

“Thankfully, we have Marcus to continue your family’s reign.”

“He’s so young. It is difficult for me to imagine him succeeding me.”

“I’m sure he will be of age long before it becomes necessary.”

Remiel snorted. “You are more of an optimist than I am. I just need to live a few more years, and my road will be finished. Damodara can sit as regent until Marcus comes of age. There is also Evelyn. She’ll be a woman before I know it.”

“Girls always seem to grow up too fast in a father’s eyes,” Gregor said.

“What would a lifelong bachelor know about that?”

“Just because I never married doesn’t mean I don’t have children.”

“Do you have children?”

Gregor shrugged and smiled. “I visited a lot of ports in my tenure as a diplomat. Who knows what I left behind?”

Remiel and Gregor shared a laugh and made the rest of the trip in silence.

***

There was no fanfare or needless displays of obeisance as the king strode the halls of the palace in search of his wife Damodara. He found her in the parlor where she was enjoying the afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“How did the assembly go with parliament?” she asked.

Damodara was a woman of regal beauty. She stood tall, proud, and always composed. A silk net adorned with glittering gems cradled her flowing, golden hair between her shoulder blades.

Remiel wrapped his arms around her from behind, not the least bit put off that she stood a good three inches taller than he did. “Dreadfully of course. They feign ignorance and deny the reality that The Guild is responsible for the attacks.”

“Of course they do. That is what The Guild pays them to do.”

“Gregor fears for our safety if I do not abandon my cause.”

“Yet another reason why you must not. When a king lives in fear of subjects who rule through the power of the purse, then he is no longer king, and the kingdom is nothing but a state of tyranny.”

“You know I do not fear for myself but for you and our children.”

“I spoke to Father Abram today. He told me they confirmed Adam’s…condition.”

Remiel nodded. “Yes. Gregor is arranging transport to the abbey. He should be safe there, no matter the political outcome. He can no longer be king, so The Guild has no reason to harm him.”

“When have they ever needed a reason? If they do not have one, they will simply invent one.”

“There is little else I can do for him now. Should Gregor feel the threat to us is imminent, I have put together a plan to secrete you and the children away in safety.”

“Is there any place in this world they cannot reach? Their fingers are long and in the pockets of almost everyone of significance.”

“Not everyone. Some of those who proclaim to support them condemn them behind closed doors. I found a few who would ally with us.”

“These are your other investors aside from the Free Traders. Who are they?”

“I cannot say. Their anonymity is of the utmost importance.”

“You do not trust your own wife?”

“Implicitly, my love, but I do not trust these walls. The Guild has spies everywhere. I dare not so much as hum a tune on the privy lest they discover my favorite song.”

“Should the time come, I will stay here with you.”

“Absolutely not. You will go with the children and keep them safe. You are the strongest, smartest woman I know, and they will need you.”

“You want me to leave you here to die.”

“I want you to leave so that what I have done can live.”

CHAPTER 4

“Psst, Garran,” Matt whispered through the three-inch horizontal space serving as a window to Garran’s jail cell.

Garran pressed his face against the opening. “It’s about time you showed up.”

“Sorry, I had to wait until everyone got bored standing around. People are pretty excited. This is the biggest thing to happen in this town for some time.”

“That’s because these people are all whores, and whores like nothing better than a good screw.”

“Speaking of which, yours must have been pretty terrible to upset Claire so much.”

“That bitch. You know she’s lying, don’t you?”

“Of course. You’re a lot of things, mostly crappy things, but you’re not that.”

One corner of Garran’s mouth crooked up. “Thanks for your undying loyalty and support. You’ll make as good a character witness as you do a milk bucket.”

“Don’t blame me for your awful character.”

“Do you really thing I have an awful character?”

“I think you
are
an awful character, but you’re my friend, so I try to see beyond it.”

“I’m glad you are up to the challenge of being my friend.”

“And I appreciate that you recognize what an effort it is.” Matt looked around before leaning closer to the opening. “Is there anything I can do out here to help?”

“Yes. First, I need you to get me a drink. This place is boring beyond belief.”

“Garran, I say this as your friend. I think you might have a drinking problem.”

“Possibly, but I think the matter requires more study to establish a definitive conclusion.”

“I only understood about one in three of those words, but I’ll interpret it as denial.”

“Sorry, I forget I’m like one of the five people who can read in this backwoods, armpit of a town. In my room is a letter Claire gave me last week. That alone should prove I’m innocent and that she’s a lying little slut.”

“Okay,” Matt agreed, “what else?”

“Let’s just say Claire’s nether region wasn’t an unexplored land. Ask around town and find out who all blazed a trail before me.”

“Okay, I’ll get right on it. I don’t think they are going to wait very long to bring you before the town assembly.”

“All the more reason to prioritize. Drink, letter, brush cutters.”

Matt shook his head. “I really think you have a drinking problem.”

“Yes, but only as long as you stand around doing nothing. Hop to, man!”

***

Matt walked briskly down the worn dirt paths winding through town. It was early morning, and people were just finishing breakfast and going to work. Garran’s house was one of the larger homes in town; built by his father during a more profitable venture not long before he disappeared.

Nina answered Matt’s knock with a disapproving scowl. “Oh, it’s you. In case you haven’t heard, Garran’s locked up.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know. That’s why I’m here. Garran needs me get something for him that will prove his innocence.”

Nina scowled even deeper. “He ain’t innocent of nothing. I told him he was gonna get himself in real trouble if he didn’t change his ways, and now he has. He’s just like his father.”

“But if I can help prove he didn’t do it…”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. It don’t matter either way. He needs something to set him straight, and maybe this is it.”

“Whatever he has done, being sent to prison as a rapist is not the answer. How can you do that to him? You’re his mother!”

Dwight appeared in the doorway, looming over Nina’s head, and glared at Matt. “It don’t matter, boy. It’s already done, and there ain’t nothing gonna change what’s going to happen no matter if he’s guilty or innocent. Now get your skinny carcass off my porch and don’t come back here again.”

Nina backed out of the entryway and slammed the door in his face. Matt walked away and looked around for an answer to his dilemma. He was not the imaginative sort Garran was, which was probably why he rarely found trouble unless he was with him.

“What would Garran do?” Matt asked himself.

His eyes darted to the chicken coop behind the house. He glanced around once more before racing behind the small animal pen. Matt captured the morning sunlight with a palm-sized magnifying lens and lit a slow match. He held the smoldering twist over the straw carpeting the coop and wondered if Garran was a good enough friend to become a criminal for in order to help him. He was not certain, but he knew that he was such a friend and dropped the slow match onto the thatch.

Matt ran from the henhouse while the straw began to burn. He hid behind the woodpile stacked next to a nearby home and waited. Chickens began squawking and ran into the small pen as smoke billowed from the coop. Flames began licking out of the doorway and windows, and Matt wondered if anyone was going to notice before the entire thing burned down.

Mirabelle, the woman whose home he was hiding behind, raced to Garran’s house and pounded on the door. “Fire, your coop’s on fire!”

Dwight ripped the door open and looked as if he was going to strike the woman for disturbing his morning nap. His ireful eyes went wide when he spotted the flames.

“Nina, grab buckets and pots!”

Garran’s mother ran from the house close behind Dwight gripping two buckets and a stew pot. Dwight took the pot, furiously worked the handle of the nearby pump, and filled it with water. Nina took over the pump while Dwight ran the short distance to the coop and flung the pot of water onto the inferno. Chickens fled through the now open pen and sought safety from the conflagration as fast as their legs and useless wings would carry them.

Matt sprinted from his hiding place, ducked into Garran’s house, and ran upstairs. Garran’s room was in a slovenly state of disrepair. He tossed discarded articles of clothing toward one corner of the room in search of the letter. More than one rat squeaked its displeasure and scampered from the room as he dug through the mess.

He looked out of the window, saw there was little of the chicken coop left to fuel the remaining fire, and was about to give up his search when one of Garran’s tobacco twists caught his eye. Matt unrolled the paper wrapped around the dried tobacco, rapture root, and likely one or more other euphoric compounds, and found the remains of the letter written by Claire. The note had lost some content, but there was plenty left to support Garran’s claim.

Matt ran down the stairs, his feet beating a rapid staccato upon the steps. He was about to make for the door but remembered Garran’s demand for something to drink. Most people would be happy just to have evidence that might keep them out of jail, but Garran was not most people, and Matt did not want to hear his complaints for a partially successful mission.

He cast his eyes around the room but failed to spot a bottle. Hurrying into the kitchen, Matt searched the cupboards and discovered a small flask hidden behind a sack of flour. Snatching the flask from its hiding place, he opened the door leading outside from the kitchen and peered out. The fire was extinguished, and the henhouse lay in a smoldering ruin. Unlikely to escape that way without being spotted, Matt crossed through the living room and exited the front door.

“Mathew Bodine, what are you up to?”

Matt nearly dropped the flask when he shoved it into a pocket. “Miss Mirabelle! Uh, I saw smoke and came to see if something was wrong.”

“You’re as dim as you are late. If there’s smoke, there’s a fire, and if something’s on fire, there’s something wrong!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The fire already did its damage, so you’re more useless than usual.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

The old woman squinted at the bulge in his pocket. “What’s in your pocket?”

“Um, nothing, ma’am.”

“Don’t give me nothing. I know a flask when I see one. Go on, hand it over.”

Mirabelle held out a bony, shriveled hand and crooked her fingers commandingly. Matt sighed, fished the flask from his pocket, and handed it over. The old woman cast a glance back toward the smoldering wreckage blocked from view by the house, uncorked the flask, and took a long draw. She gasped, shuddered, and resealed the cork.

“That’ll get these old bones warmed up and moving on a cold morning. Might be you’re not so useless after all.” She caught Matt smiling at her as she handed back the bottle. “Wipe that grin off your face! At my age and with my arthritis, it’s medicinal. You ought to be ashamed drinking this early in the morning at your age. Go on now, go be ashamed somewhere else.”

Matt smiled wider and ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Matt ran the length of town, a not-so-strenuous feat when the entire population is less than three hundred people. A man was sitting in a chair placed near the “jail” door. He saw Matt running to the side of the building but did not bother to stop him.

“Garran,” Matt called through the window slit.

Garran snorted awake, rolled to his feet, and stuck his face in the opening. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah. You didn’t tell me you almost smoked it.”

“Huh?”

“The letter that’s supposed to keep you from going to prison or getting your neck stretched out, you idiot.”

“Oh, that. What about the booze?”

Matt sighed and his shoulders slumped at his friend’s singular focus. “Yeah, here.”

Garran snatched the flask from Matt’s hand, pulled out the cork, but hesitated and looked at it with narrowed eyes. “Did you get this from my parents’ room?”

“No, in the kitchen behind the flour. Why?”

“It’s probably twenty percent piss is all. Oh well.”

Matt made a choking sound when Garran put the bottle to his lips and took a long pull. “You’re drinking that? You are so disgusting.”

Garran wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Why? I said it’s
only
twenty percent. Besides, it’s my piss. I’m just returning it to the cycle.”

“Would it have mattered?”

“Probably not.”

“Garran, your mom wouldn’t let me in the house even when I told her it could prove you didn’t assault Claire. Then Dwight came and said it wouldn’t matter anyway, that nothing was going to change what was going to happen.”

“Huh, they said something similarly ominous earlier.”

“What do they mean?”

“I don’t know. No sense in dwelling on it. So how’d you get past them?”

Matt shuffled uncomfortably. “I set your chicken coop on fire.”

Garran laughed uproariously. “Nicely done! I’m finally rubbing off on you.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

“That’s a great thing!”

“Says the guy locked up for rape.”

“Fine, there are some holes in my argument, Claire’s being one of them, but still, you need to loosen up. You are way too uptight.”

“I care what people think about me.”

“Why? People are all crap—Dwight, Claire, my mother, that trigger-happy Finney, bossy work foremen who don’t appreciate the work we do—all crap.”

“What about me?”

“You are the rare, beautiful mushroom that grows from the crap.”

“Gee, Garran, no one ever called me a mushroom before. I never knew you cared so much. I think I’m going to cry,” Matt said with a mock sob.

“You wonder why I’m so shitty all the time. I try to say something nice and—”

“And cock it all up.”

“I understand. You’re not used to seeing this sensitive side of me, and it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Everything about you makes me uncomfortable.”

“That is a very hurtful thing to say. You have injured me, sir, and I feel the only way to mitigate the damage is to get drunk and abuse myself, so…”

“I’ll leave you to your wickedness.”

“That was not what I was going to say at all, but I understand you have important things to attend to. Go find my character witnesses so I can expose Claire as the whore she is.”

“I will, but next time could you wait until I look away before you expose yourself?”

“An erection waits for no man…or woman…or in truly desperate times, overly-trusting and slow-moving farm animals.”

“You are a deeply disturbed person.”

“I am a product of my environment and upbringing and take no responsibility for my wicked ways.”

“Of course not.”

Matt went in search of the other young men with whom Claire may have had dalliances. Most worked on the logging crews like he and Garran did, but a few, like the butcher’s and blacksmith’s sons, apprenticed with their fathers in town. He would begin his investigations there before expanding outward. He found he rather enjoyed this kind of work and wondered if he might be able to make it a full-time job. Matt knew he did not have the education, intelligence, and connections to become a king’s agent, but perhaps he could become a constable. It would mean moving from Wooder’s Bend, but that just made the prospect more attractive.

***

A sharp kick to his backside rudely startled Garran awake. “Wake up, you little prick.”