Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

Wilkans obliged, then turned to Marac. “I see you already have a sword. You can use your own or one of mine. I care not.”

“I’ll keep my own, thank you.”

“All right. Have you a route yet?” Wilkans asked.

“A route? No,” Laedron replied.

Wilkans led them down the hall to a room with a large table holding a map of the city. He rubbed his chin and studied the map. “This here would be a good one.” With his finger, he traced a series of narrow streets near the Ancient Quarter.

“Anything we should know about it?” Laedron asked.

Wilkans cleared his throat. “Some have gone missing along this route before.”

“Gone missing?” Laedron raised an eyebrow. “How many?”

“Three, and the answer to your next question is two months.”

“Without a trace?”

“Nothing that we could find. No bodies, no blood, no witnesses.” Wilkans handed Laedron a pair of whistles, each attached to its own chain. “If you get in trouble, signal for help. We run patrols tighter since those disappearances.”

Laedron gave a whistle to Marac, then put the other around his neck. “Very well, Sergeant.”

“Get to it. Report anything unseemly to me or Master Greathis. Get a bit of sleep before you go out; you’re on the night patrols, and you start at sunset and keep on ‘til sunrise. The militia quarters are on the second floor.”

* * *

“I’m bored already,” Marac said, kicking a stone down the avenue.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the lantern lighters were busy on their appointed rounds. They had done little more than eat a heavy meal at a nearby tavern and ensure that old women had no harassment or trouble when trying to cross the roads.

“You’re always bored.” Laedron swatted Marac on the arm.

Marac scoffed. “What are we doing? Walking along while waiting to be killed under mysterious circumstances?”

“Giving Jurgen peace of mind.”

“I’ve never seen a city so tight. What more could he need?”

Laedron grinned. “We got in, didn’t we?”

“Good point.”

“Loosen up, Marac,” Laedron said. “Creator! I never thought those words would cross my lips.”

“You’re telling me!” Marac rolled his shoulders. “Nothing a good night at a tavern wouldn’t cure.”

“Don’t even think about it. When we’re done with this, you can have as much ale as you can stand, but not before.”

“Yes, Da.”

“Oh, stop it. You know how important our task is. We have no time for loafing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

The night marched forward, and even Laedron felt ungratified and listless as the evening progressed. I pray we don’t have weeks of this ahead of us . They returned to the militia headquarters once Laedron caught sight of the first rays of the morning sun. Collapsing on his bed, he heard something crinkle against his hair. Reaching behind his head, he found a scroll held furled by a red ribbon and a bit of wax.

Brice sat quietly in his room, the lock Caleb had given him in hand. The decorations, the inlays, and the mechanism all captivated Brice unlike anything-or anyone, for that matter-he had ever encountered. Each time he slipped the probe into the keyhole, he closed his eyes and envisioned the little world within, the blocks, levers, and shafts. Opening the lock and claiming victory over its intricacies would be proof that he could open any door or chest which barred their progress.

He was beyond frustration, but he remembered the feeling well. In Reven’s Landing, Brice had had run-ins with many looms that had given him fits, and he had been tempered like steel to be patient and resolved when machinery malfunctioned. The lock he held, though, was not in need of repair. In fact, his goal was to make the lock work against its purpose and give up that which it protected.

“Still playing with that?” Caleb asked.

Brice blinked. With his attention fixed on the lock, he hadn’t noticed Caleb enter the room. “Trying to figure it out.”

“It’ll have to wait. It’s time for the meeting.”

“Already?” Brice turned to see only darkness through the window. “Sorry, I hadn’t noticed the time passing.”

“Quite all right. Made any progress?” Caleb opened the door and led the way into the street.

“A little. Halfway to getting it open, I should think.”

Caleb smiled. “Then you’re close to the surprise.”

“Surprise? What surprise?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” Caleb chuckled. “You’ll get there. For now, keep your mind on the task at hand.”

Brice nodded. “Where do you want me once we get there?”

“There’s a well in the courtyard. You shouldn’t have a problem hearing us from there.” He passed Brice a mug. “Lie behind it with this in hand and hide yourself from view of either of the walkways leading to the tower. If anyone happens upon you, act like a drunkard and make your escape.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” Caleb displayed a dagger at his hip.

“I hope you’re good with it.”

“I am.”

Brice likened the sight of the bell tower to the lighthouses of Sorbia and Cael’Bril. The stone structure seemed old compared to the rest of the city, but the well-kept lawn indicated that the building had not lost its utility over the years.

Caleb stopped at the intersection of two roads opposite the courtyard. “You go. We can’t be seen together.”

Brice nodded, then hoisted the mug in the air. Once he reached the iron gate of the courtyard, he swaggered across the lawn and belted out a tavern tune with a drunken slant. Having taken a winding, indirect path to the well, he collapsed next to it and closed his eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard footsteps on the cobbled path. Not long after that, he heard another set of steps.

“Who are you?”

Brice recognized Forane’s voice.

“Caleb. I’m all that’s left of us. Lester’s dead.”

“And who is that?” Forane asked. “Why do you speak in such a familiar way, young man? As if I should know this Lester of whom you speak?”

“Don’t toy with me, madam. You think Lester could’ve accomplished the task on his own?”

“Maybe, and maybe not.” She held a long pause. “If you were involved with Lester, how much did I pay him?”

“Pay him?” Caleb asked sharply. “You mean to tell me that bastard was paid? He told us it was for the good of the order!”

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve believed that one , Brice mused, trying to keep his mouth from bending into a smile.

“Keep your voice down, fool,” Forane whispered. “You would see us discovered?”

“I apologize, madam, but I hate being used. Good thing he’s dead, or I would’ve killed him myself.”

“How did he die, exactly?”

“He went alone-against my advice, I might add-to take care of… our friend. He crawled back to our spot with a slash in his belly. It would seem the vicar has better protection than we thought.”

Forane, seemingly without any regard for Lester’s death, continued, “Matters are further complicated. The man has returned to the consulship, and we are in peril of losing control.”

“Surely not, madam, for you are-”

“Don’t. I have no time for flattery or games, young man.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Nothing as of yet. I have something else in mind to take care of him. If we are unsuccessful, I will contact you again-here, two nights hence.”

“Might I ask what you intend to do?”