The Age of Heroes Page 8

  “A thousand for the troll?”

  “Large, sentient creature fighting with a weapon. One thousand ithel. Or are you saying it wasn’t large?”

  Weaver’s lip twitched. “As you said, those contracts were from ten years ago. I think I could find several lawyers who will argue that they are invalid.”

  Rawk shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll just find out who makes this newspaper thing and I’ll let them know what you said.”

  Weaver held up a hand. “All right. Give me a couple of days. Don’t annoy me in the meantime.” And he left before Rawk could get in the final word. At least, he left before Rawk could get in more words so Weaver would have to think of some new final words.

  Rawk trudged back upstairs to his room, bare feet cold on the worn stones, and sat down on the bed. He closed his eyes and put his head back, wondering if he could go back in time a few days and hide somewhere before Waydin came to tell him about the wolden wolf. He could just forget the last few days and go back to complaining how there was nothing for a Hero to do.

  Eventually, he sat up and looked around for his lost boot. He saw a leather toe sticking out from under the bed and stretched out to drag it into the open with his foot. But he had to get up any way, so he could go and get some clean, wool stockings from the drawer. As long as Travis had gotten them washed and put them away.

  Rawk grunted. “Of course he has.” He didn’t know what Travis was being paid, but it probably wasn’t enough.

  Rawk started pulling the stockings on, but he paused when he noticed how dirty his feet were. And they stank. That happened when you kept them shoved in boots all day long, he supposed. But what was the use of spending money on clean clothes if they were dirty before he finished putting them on? He checked his arm. It was dirty too. And his armpit smelled as bad as his feet.

  He was about to send for some water, but Travis wasn’t working, so someone else would have to do it and Rawk didn’t want to deal with someone else. And there was the room next door. With the shower. Bloody dwarves. Again.

  Rawk left his stockings where they were and slipped behind the tapestry. He paused outside the door to the shower room again. He would much rather go through the next door. It had only been a couple of days since he’d exercised but he missed it already. Nothing strenuous for a week. Bloody elves. When had he started listening to elves? He ran his hand over his scalp and went into the shower room.

  He stared at the shower. It didn’t attack him. It didn’t do anything sinister at all. Just some pipes and taps. And dwarves had built it. He tried to think if any dwarves had ever lied to him. He tried to think of one instance where they had done a poor job of whatever it was they were doing. He tried to think of one complaint about dwarves that related to their work and not their smell or the endless talking and singing or even to their very existence.

  With a grunt, Rawk started stripping off his clothes.

  There was a clean towel hanging on a hook and some soap on a plate on the floor.

  He stepped under the water. It was cool, but he could feel the dust and grime washing away. The warm water was even more amazing than the cold water. He didn’t know how it worked, but was glad that it did.

  -O-

  Scrubbed clean, Rawk got a fresh set of clothes and sat on the bed. He picked up the newspaper and read the story about the troll again. Then he had a look at some of the other stories. A dead man washed up near the docks. A wagon broke an axle halfway across a bridge upsetting traffic in the morning rush. An unknown dwarf was going around trying to sell faulty tools. And Adalee Dan Beketh had been seen coming down from the private rooms of the Hero’s Rest.

  Rawk swore. He reread the short, one paragraph story. He swore again. Melia had never been prone to exaggeration, as far as he knew, so if Edwin happened to have one of the newspapers... What was he supposed to do about that? He could possibly fight off Edwin and a couple of thugs, but he really didn’t want to.

  A few minutes later, still trying to come up with a solution, Rawk went down stairs with Kult at his hip. He paused in the doorway to the common room and looked around. There was no trouble, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t turn up at any second. Instead of going to his usual seat, he slipped through the noise, waving and smiling when required, and headed out to the kitchen.

  The breakfast crowd was in, so there were two cooks and three helpers filling the warm, smoke filled space. Kalesie worked at the main bench, slicing beef with a knife that was large enough to fight off grimkins.

  Rawk snagged a helper, a boy barely into his teens who had once lived on a makeshift platform in the roof of the stables. Maybe he still lived there. “I want a plate of beef with potatoes and gravy please, Valen. I’ll be over there.”

  “Yes, Rawk.”

  Rawk took a seat in a quiet corner and took out his knife and fork. Breakfast arrived a few minutes later and he ate silently, wondering what to do next. He flexed his arm, though he knew how it was going to feel. He didn’t want to go out into the forest looking for another troll, not today, but opportunities for Heroic deeds were few and far between and without Heroic deeds he was no different to any of the veterans who sat around telling stories about the good old days.

  Weaver wasn’t going to tell him what was going on, but somebody else might...

  When he finished eating he cleaned his knife and fork, slipped them into the belt pouch and made his way out the back door. He paid off two urchins at the gate and started down the hill. The barracks were about half a mile away. It was one of the few stone buildings in the city and one of the least impressive, despite its size. It was low and wide, but the stone was dirty and unfinished, as if it had come straight from the quarry. Rawk couldn’t remember how long the building had been there, but he doubted Weaver would have agreed to such an ugly place being built in his city. And, seeing it was so poorly constructed—there were gaps between stones that he could poke an entire finger into—it probably hadn’t been done by dwarves.

  There was a guard tower over the door with a man at the top. “Ho, Rawk. Have you come to join the Guard?”

  Rawk shaded his eyes and looked up. “Not unless the pay has increased, Kenyon. And not as long as you’re still here.”

  “Are we supposed to get paid?”

  “So I hear. Is Waydin home?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Someone poked their head out of the level below. “He’s on Dung Patrol today.”

  “Dung Patrol?”

  “He’s cleaning the stables.”

  “And there’s another reason to not join the Guard.”

  Kenyon signaled to someone else and a small door set into the larger, iron-banded main door opened. Rawk stepped through and headed for the stables.

  He found Waydin and five other men right where they were supposed to be, in the stables with shovels, barrows and rakes. But none of the tools were being used and the men were lazing around on the admittedly-clean, floor. They all jumped to their feet when he entered, before realizing who it was and sinking back down again.

  “This sounded like a terrible duty,” Rawk said. “Apparently I was wrong.”

  Waydin shrugged. “You can take all day to do it, or you can get it done quickly and take some time to relax. I’ve always been a fan of the latter.”

  “What happens if you get caught sitting around?”

  Waydin snapped a salute from the ground. “We just this moment finished, sir, and were just taking a minute to rest before we went to see what else we can do.”

  Rawk raised an eyebrow. Waydin shrugged again.

  “It’s not often officers come in here. They send someone along to get their horse and meet them at the gate.”

  “It smells too much in here,” one of the others offered.

  “And it does,” Rawk agreed. “So can we step outside for a minute, Waydin?”

  Outside Waydin offered Rawk his flask of water. “What can I do for you?”

  “I think Weaver is going to send someone
into the forest to see if there are any more troll things.”

  “He’d have to, really.”

  “Right. But I want to get the trolls. It may be years before another chance like this comes along.”

  “So? Go and get them then.”

  Rawk held up his injured arm. “This really needs time to heal. Janas said—”

  “I thought she died.”

  “Yes, look. I need to rest it as much as possible.”

  “So... You want me to dress up as you and go find the trolls?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Rawk sighed. “I need you to tell me what he decides to do. And more importantly, when he decides to do it.”

  “You want me to spy on Prince Weaver for you?”

  “No, I want you to spy on the Guards so you can tell me what’s being organized.”

  “Right. That’s completely different, I suppose.” He gave a nod. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Waydin. I’ll expect to hear from you in the next couple of days then.”

  “I expect so. Now let me get back to work.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties.” Rawk slapped him on the back and headed the other way. Next, he needed to work out what he was going to do about Edwin Dan Beketh.

  -O-

  When he heard footsteps on the landing outside, Rawk looked up from the book. He’d been sitting there for the last half an hour, trying to twist out more information while the afternoon shadows gathered in the corners. He’d read the passage a dozen times, and it still didn’t tell him much at all. He couldn’t imagine getting one of the creatures to drink alcohol. Did he offer it a tankard? Or perhaps he could just roll an entire keg towards it and hope it would know how it worked.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in, Travis.” Rawk rubbed at his aching eyes.

  Travis opened the door and stood in the doorway. “That’s a book.”

  Rawk looked down at the Compendium of Myth and Legend. “A book?” he said, sounding shocked and throwing it on the bed as if it was a hot coal. “Really? The merchant told me it was called a nariv.”

  Travis shook his head. “Nariv is fermi for book.”

  “I know it is, Travis.”

  “Right. Sorry. Anyway, I brought some hot water.”

  “Thank you.”

  They went through the routine, Travis working in silence. When the poultice was on his arm, Rawk place the towel over his head and breathed the fumes. He didn’t mention the troll. The story would be all around the city by now so if Travis wanted to know, he could ask.

  Travis cleared his throat. “I thought you might like to come to the Veterans’ Club.”

  “I’m not a veteran.” He knew he wasn’t going to get out of it that easily.

  “But you’ll be my guest.”

  Rawk pushed away the towel and sat up. “And why would I want to go, exactly, when I can sit in the tap room here for much less effort? I have my new book to read.”

  Travis smiled and shrugged. “There’s a play on. A tragedy. I thought you might like to see it.”

  “A play?” Rawk raised an eyebrow. “You want me to see a play?” He’d never seen a play in his life, apart from the type in the market place that he walked past without noticing.

  “Why not, Rawk? Lots of people do it. It’s at the Veterans’ Club, so obviously lots of veterans do. It’s not just for old ladies.”

  “A tragedy, you say?”

  “Yes. There will be fighting and death and doom and all that kind of thing, I imagine.”

  “Are you supposed to be working tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To ask if you want to go to the Veterans Club.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Rawk looked at the book and that decided it. “Oh, all right.” He held out his arm to be bandaged.

  Five minutes later they were walking down the long spine of the hill towards the river. The wind came from the east, bringing the usual smells of the sea and the wharves, like salty, week-old stew.

  “So, Weaver hasn’t come asking about the troll?” Travis asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come to watch.”

  “Most of the common room was watching for a while. Natan can probably give you the details.”

  “And I’m sure his version of events would be much more exciting than yours.”

  “Probably.”

  “It’s a shame, really.”

  Rawk was a bit confused. “A shame that Natan doesn’t let the facts spoil a good story?”

  “No, that.” Travis had stopped to look at the decaying facade of the Tapalar mansion.

  Rawk looked too. “I suppose.”

  The small garden separating it from the road had once been full of topiaries and flowers and pristine lawn. Now it wasn’t much more than a wild jungle. The front door was protected by a portico but still looked ready to fall apart. The bench to the left already had and several windows were letting the weather in through broken panes. The rail had come away from a small balcony up above and at least one grotesque had committed suicide by leaping down from the roof.

  “It’s been neglected ever since Lady Tapalar died,” Travis said.

  “It was never that nice inside.”

  “It’s got great views, I hear. You can see the river and the bay from the back porch. Wait, how do you know what it looked like inside?”

  “After her husband died, Lady Tapalar liked to invite all her friends around and have me tell them tales of daring and...” He waved his hand, “You know, stuff.”

  “Bravery? Heroism? Bullshit?”

  Rawk gave a little smile as he continued to look at the house. “Pretty much.”

  “I heard she was a bit strange.”

  “Strange? I suppose. She would’ve been out there killing monsters herself if noble widows were allowed to do that kind of thing.” Rawk gave a grunt of laughter. “I would’ve almost felt sorry for the monsters.”

  “I thought she was an old lady.”

  “Path, no. She was only a couple of years older than me.”

  Travis continued to examine the house. “It’s got to be worth a fortune. And it’s been sitting empty for ten years.”

  “Eighteen. She died eighteen years ago. Come on, let’s go see some tragedy.”

  “Some other tragedy.” Travis had one last look at the house before continuing on.

  There was a group of men coming up the hill. Rawk examined each of the men in turn. None of them was Edwin Dan Beketh, but maybe he wasn’t the type to come along to witness the dirty work, no matter what Melia thought. Rawk flexed his shoulder. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword but the men passed by without incident. He released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  -O-

  The Veterans’ Club sat on a side street further down the the hill. It was an impressive full-timber building with a tower over the door and the ghosts of heraldry barely visible on the first story. Rawk paused outside the large, iron bound door.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. We’re allowed to have guests.”

  “I’m not worried.” Rawk followed Travis into a small foyer with a couple of open doorways in the back corners and another large door leading out the rear wall. A tall, muscular man stood in the middle of the room. Somehow he managed to look good in his embroidered finery. It was green and gold and red and could easily have looked ridiculous on another person.

  “Hello, Barin,” Travis said, smiling. “This is—”

  “I know who it is, Travis,” Barin said with a grunt. His voice was surprisingly soft. “Pleasure to have you with us tonight, Rawk.”

  “Nice to be here, I guess. Just coming to see the play, apparently.”

  “Play? We—”

  “I think we’re already a bit late, Barin,�
�� Travis said, slapping the other man on the back. “Probably shouldn’t stand around chatting.”

  Barin paused for a moment, looking uncertain, then nodded and went to open the big doors behind him.

  In the next room, Rawk stopped. It had once been an open courtyard, surrounded by two story buildings on all sides, but at some point a vaulted ceiling had been added to make a huge theatre. There were a couple of hundred chairs facing a large stage, plus more on balconies around the side.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Travis said.

  Rawk nodded.

  About forty people were watching as three men, dressed as women, screeched and threatened each other with pots and pans.

  “So that’s the tragedy is it? Not quite what I expected.”

  The crowd laughed as one of the ‘women’ fell off the stage.

  Rawk grunted. “Well, I suppose they are fighting.” But, really not what he expected.

  Travis shook his head, confused. “That isn’t a tragedy. I’m not sure what’s going on. Faramon said—”

  “Faramon? And you believed him?”

  “All right, maybe he isn’t the most reliable source of information but...”

  The players on the stage were still screeching.

  “I refuse to watch... that.”

  “And I wouldn’t expect you to. So, lets go see what’s on in the Armory instead.”

  “The Armory?”

  “Yes.” Travis started to lead the way, around the outside of the chairs towards a door on the far side. “This place used to be the barracks, back when Katamood was barely a city and didn’t need much protecting. Now, there’s a taproom in the main bunk room, an eatery in the old mess hall, and a smoking room in the officer’s board room.”

  “A smoking room?”

  “Well, you don’t have to smoke in there, obviously. It’s just a quite place to sit, if you want. There’s also some gambling rooms and a doctor and a banker and lots of things like that to support the veterans.”

  “Sounds like something Weaver would come up with.”

  “Well, he didn’t. Something similar has been in Katamood since before any of us were born. It’s just that it’s grown a lot since Weaver came and turned Katamood into a place that normal people actually like.”