Michael Sullivan: The Crown Tower

“You’re just up from Dagastan, right? Warm there, I imagine.”

Hadrian tightened his thawb. “Linen weather when I left.”

“I’m envious.” The man drew his robe tight. He glanced around the barge with a disappointed scowl, as if expecting some miraculous transformation to have occurred overnight. He shrugged and mimicked Hadrian by settling down out of the wind until they faced each other. “I’m Sebastian of Iber.” The man extended a hand.

“Hadrian,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “You’re with the other two?” Hadrian had seen them the night before, Sebastian and two companions, all dressed similarly in finely crafted robes. For all his rushing, the barge ended up being delayed as dockworkers strained to hoist numerous trunks on board. The three had shouted orders and reprimanded the workers for each bump or jostle.

The man nodded. “Samuel and Eugene. We’re in the same business.”

“Merchants?”

Sebastian smiled. “Something like that.” His sight drifted to the swords slung at Hadrian’s sides. “And you? Soldier?”

He grinned back. “Something like that.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Well said. But seriously, there’s no reason for arms. The rest of us don’t wear steel, so I don’t see why you’re bothering … Oh, right … I see!”

Hadrian studied the man. In his experience there were two types: the kind you could trust and the other kind . Over the past five years, Hadrian had come to rely on men who wore metal, had scars, and whistled through gaps of missing teeth. Sebastian wore thick robes-plush and pricey-and sported golden rings on each hand. Hadrian had seen his type as well. Whatever Sebastian had been about to say, he guessed he wouldn’t like it. “You see … what ?”

Sebastian lowered his voice. “You’ve heard about the murders. The town guards were everywhere and asking questions even as we set out.”

“You’re talking about the murders in Vernes?”

“Yes, exactly. Three over the same number of nights.”

“And you suspect me?” Hadrian asked.

Sebastian chuckled. “Absolutely not! You were one of those just off the Eastern Star out of Calis. Your clothes betray you. It would make more sense to suspect myself. At least I had the opportunity. You weren’t even in town.”

“So you’re saying I should suspect you?”

“Not at all. My associates can vouch for my whereabouts, and the steersman will tell you we had our passage booked weeks in advance. Besides, do I look like an assassin?”

Hadrian had never seen an assassin, but Sebastian didn’t seem a likely candidate. Round and soft with pudgy fingers and an infectious smile, he would be more the sort to order his killings by way of an unsigned letter.

“I’ll tell you who does, though.” Sebastian’s eyes strayed toward the front of the boat where a cloaked figure stood near the prow. He had his back to them, and rather than seek the warmth of sunlight, he stood in the shadow of the stacked crates. “ He looks like an assassin.”

“You suspect him because he wears a hood?”

“No, it’s his eyes. Have you seen them? Cold, I tell you. Dead eyes. The kind used to seeing and handing out death.”

Hadrian smirked. “You can tell that from a man’s eyes, can you?”

“Absolutely. A man accustomed to killing has the look of a wolf-empty of soul and hungry for blood.” Sebastian leaned forward but kept his sight on the man at the bow. “Just as learning certain truths robs us of innocence, taking lives robs a man of his soul. Each killing steals a bit of humanity until a murderer is nothing more than an animal. A hunger replaces the spirit. A want for what was lost, but as with innocence, the soul can never be replaced. Joy, love, and peace flee such a vessel and in their stead blooms a desire for blood and death.”

Sebastian spoke with a serious tone, as a man who knew such things. His self-confidence and easy manner exuded a worldliness that suggested wisdom born from experience. But if what Sebastian had said was true, Hadrian doubted the plump merchant from Vernes would choose to sit so close once he’d seen Hadrian’s eyes.

“I’ll tell you something else. He came aboard at the last minute without a single bag or trunk.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I was on the deck when he booked his passage. Why was he so late? Who jumps on a boat bound so far north on a whim? And why no baggage? People don’t just set off on long excursions like they do for an afternoon pleasure cruise, do they? Maybe he evaded the guards’ searches and saw the barge as a means of escape.”

“I arrived late as well.”

“But you carried a bag at least.”

“There you are, Sebastian!” His two associates stepped out of the cabin.

Samuel was the older one. Tall and thin, he appeared to have been stretched out like dough. His robe hung loose, the sleeves so long they completely covered his hands, revealing only the tips of his fingers. The other was Eugene. He was much younger, more Hadrian’s age, and his body hadn’t yet decided if it wanted to be more like Samuel’s or round and plump like Sebastian’s. He, too, wore a fine robe, a dark burgundy held at the shoulder by a handsome gold clasp.

Both wore a look of exhaustion, as if they had been at hard labor all night rather than just risen from bed. Samuel caught sight of the hooded traveler at the bow and nudged Eugene. “Doesn’t he sleep?”

“A tormented conscience will do that,” Eugene replied.

“A man like that has no conscience,” Sebastian declared, if a declaration could be made via a whisper.

Overhead, an unbalanced chevron of geese crossed the blue sky, honking. Everyone looked up to watch their passing, then adjusted cloaks and robes as if the geese had alerted them that winter was coming. Eugene and Samuel joined Sebastian, all three huddling for warmth.

Sebastian nodded his way. “This is Hadrian … er, Hadrian…” He snapped his fingers and looked for help.

“Blackwater.” He extended his hand and shook with each.

“And where do you hail from, Hadrian?” Eugene asked.

“Nowhere really.”

“A man with no home?” Samuel’s voice was nasal and a bit suspicious. Hadrian imagined him the type of man to count money handed him by a priest.

“What do you mean?” Eugene asked. “He came off the boat from Calis. We talked about it just last night.”

“Don’t be a fool, Eugene,” Sebastian said. “Do you think Calians have sandy hair and blue eyes? Calians are swarthy brutes and clever beyond measure. Never trust one, any of you.”

“What were you doing in Calis, then?” Eugene’s tone was inquisitorial and spiteful, as if Hadrian had been the one to declare him foolish.

“Working.”

“Making his fortune, I suspect,” Sebastian said, motioning toward Hadrian. “The man wears a heavy purse. You should be half as successful, Eugene.”

“All Calian copper dins, I’ll wager.” Eugene sustained his bitter tone. “If not, he’d have a fine wool robe like us.”

“He wears a fine steel sword, two of them in fact. So you might consider your words more carefully,” Sebastian said.

“Three,” Samuel added. “He keeps another in his cabin. A big one.”

“There you have it, Eugene. The man spends all his coin on steel, but by all means go right on insulting him. I’m certain Samuel and I can manage just fine without you.”

Eugene folded his arms across his chest and watched the passing hills.

“What is your trade?” Samuel asked, his eyes focusing on Hadrian’s purse.

“I used to be a soldier.”

“A soldier? I’ve never heard of a rich soldier. In whose army?”

All of them , Hadrian almost said but resisted the urge. While funny at first, the reality depressed him an instant later, and he had no desire to explain a past that he had crossed an ocean to leave behind. “I moved around a lot.” A simple sidestep, an effortless maneuver. In combat this tactic decided nothing, although if done enough, it could sometimes tire or frustrate an opponent into resignation. Samuel looked like the stubborn type, but at that moment the cabin door opened again. This time the woman emerged.