Empire of Avarice (29 page)

“I’ve seen how you treat people; striking them is your
way of making them do your bidding. If you’re so inclined, then I doubt you are
the right man to care for a sick woman!”

“Who else here is capable? I know this illness; I’ve
tended people before and know what it takes to get them cured.”

Theros sneered. “So you say. I don’t believe you.”

“You’ve no choice. You know you and your two pups are
quite useless at survival. You need me more than I need you. You know also I’m
the only one here who can save her, so stop acting like a fool and do your
bit.”

The two clerks had appeared by now and had caught the
end of the argument. They looked at Lalaas without warmth. Lalaas looked at
them. “Well?”

“The equines are tethered,” the thinner one said. “What
do we do now?”

“Arrange the hay into beds for you. I’ll go fetch what
we need for our stay here. It’s going to be some time. Find a pail or bucket;
there’s got to be one here somewhere. And you,” he pointed at Theros, “get off
your behind and help.”

Theros gasped in outrage. “I’ll do what I decide is
necessary! These two are perfectly capable of doing what you’ve just requested.
I’m going to keep an eye on the princess!”

Lalaas paused, then set off for the top of the ladder. “You
do that.”

He returned a few moments later with clothing and a
couple of sacks. He threw them down at Theros’s feet. “So, now I’m back you can
go help your clerks.”

“I will not,” Theros retorted.

The next moment Lalaas had him by the throat and was
dragging him across the loft to the large square opening the ladder stood in. At
the bottom, perhaps the height of three men below, was the ground, covered in
hay. Without a pause Lalaas threw Theros over the edge and the politician
shrieked in terror and plunged to the ground. He hit the hay and his fall was
cushioned so that he was only winded. The two clerks came running in alarm and
helped the shaken Theros to his feet. They all looked up at Lalaas.

“As I said earlier,” Lalaas told them, “you are not
vital to this journey, but the princess and I are. If you prove to be useless,
then I shall have no hesitation in leaving you behind.” He vanished, leaving
the three men standing there, each with their own thoughts.

As for the hunter, he was angry with himself. He usually
avoided such demonstrations of temper but Theros was becoming a liability
rather than a help. His antagonism towards Lalaas was endangering all of them
and it had been necessary to show him how helpless he really was. If there
hadn’t been hay below the drop Lalaas didn’t know what he would have done to
the infuriating man. He knelt by the side of Amne again and checked her. She
was uncomfortable in her sleep; she was beginning to thrash about, shaking her
head slowly from side to side. Sweat was running off her and she would have to
be cooled down pretty soon or she’d get too hot and probably die. Lalaas
recalled the treatment he’d been shown by the elderly people of a Kastanian
village a few years back. There was nothing else to it but to copy what they’d
done to successfully save the life of a young boy.

Amne may be a princess but the illness didn’t take into
account age, gender or social position. Taking a deep breath, he unbuttoned the
rest of her jacket and flipped the sides away from her body, then was
confronted by a white wormspun undergarment. Lifting her gently, he managed to
slip it over her head and threw it aside. Now she had only her modesty top to
remove. Lalaas paused. Her skin was glistening all over with the sweat she was
producing. She had to be cooled urgently. Muttering a prayer to the gods for
forgiveness, he lifted her up at the waist and leaned her limp form against his
shoulder while his hands sought out and found the clips on the back. He undid
them and allowed her to sink back into the hay, pulling the top off. She was
now fully exposed to him and he briefly gazed at her, then shook his head and
unfastened her boots, pulled them off, then slid her leggings off. Her
undergarment he kept on. There were limits. He was too engrossed in what he was
doing to see the pair of hostile and incredulous eyes watching him for a
moment, then the watcher descended the ladder.

The interior of the barn was cool but not freezing. The
hay insulated the walls and the snow the roof, and the roof was a typical long
low construction common in these parts, designed to reduce the wall area and
thus retain as much heat inside the barn during the snowy season. He still had
need to keep his jacket and robe on, but the princess had to cool down. He
rummaged around the pack he’d brought up and pulled out the princess’s blanket.
This would protect her modesty.

He laid it across her and felt her forehead. Still hot. He
cursed the others. “Where’s the water?” he shouted out.

There was no reply. Angrily he went to the top of the
ladder and looked down. There was nobody in sight. Muttering he descended and
looked around. An upended pail lay by one of the huge support beams and he picked
it up, looking into all the dark corners. Then he noticed only four equines
were tethered at the rear. The others were gone. Cursing quietly he went to the
doors which were shut, but signs were that they had been opened a few moments
before. Peering out of one he noticed fresh tracks leading away and turning off
to the south.

Theros and the two others had gone.

Demtro Kalfas looked around and nodded to himself in
satisfaction. The building he was in, out in the suburbs of Niake, would suit
his purposes nicely. There was space for the equipment he needed and it was
close enough to houses to easily employ the twenty or so he needed to get his
business off the ground. “Yes, this will be fine,” he said to the other man
with him.

“Excellent,” the other clapped his hands together and
rubbed them. His iron-grey hair and moustache contrasted with his dark brown
eyes and he had bright white teeth that Demtro hated on sight, mostly because
his weren’t so pristine. “Excellent,” he repeated again, and Demtro had come to
realise that this was a word this man, an official in the governor’s office by
the name of Wulfas Kleso, used more than frequently.

“I trust the governor has the equipment I need to hire
to get this textile manufacturing business up on its feet?”

“Oh yes, at an excellent rate. Excellent indeed,” Wulfas
rubbed his hands again, his teeth showing in delight.

“Please arrange for the equipment to be delivered here
this sevenday,” the merchant said, “I’m keen to get going as soon as possible.”

“Do you have the funds?” Wulfas asked.

Demtro pulled out a bag of coins and passed them to the
official. “I think this will cover all the expenses you can think of that will
arise,” he said dryly.

Wulfas shook the bag and looked surprised. “More than
enough,” he said. “Too much, in fact.”

Demtro smiled. “Then use the balance as a – deposit –
for possible future transactions.”

“Ah, yes. Excellent. Excellent.” Wulfas hung the bag
from his money belt. He wore a one-piece coat that was gathered in at the waist
where the belt held it against his stomach and waist, then flowed out to ankle length
with the split down the front, crossed over and the edge tucked in the belt. All
one had to do to undo it was to unfasten the belt and it sprang open. Quite
ingenious and all the rage in Niake. Demtro considered getting one himself. They
seemed to be made of felt and wool.

“I shall hire a workforce from the locality. Tell me,
what was this place before?”

Wulfas looked around. “A textile factory, such as you’re
proposing to start. Failed like many businesses due to a lack of demand and
high costs.”

“The rents were too high?”

“Oh no,” Wulfas quickly jumped to the defence of the
landlord, the governor. “Material was too difficult to get due to import duties
levied by the palace in Kastan, and the price was too high for all but the very
rich, and they were too busy with other activities to worry about buying wormspun
or other rich materials. Now the palace has reduced the duty the costs have
come down. But will you get people buying your products? The governor thinks
you’ll find it very hard.”

Demtro shrugged. “Someone’s got to make them and sell
them. All it needs is for stability and people’s confidence will return. If the
emperor stops this silly nonsense about rebellion in its tracks, and the
governor here stops the unrest, then people will feel better about parting with
their money. We need peace, Wulfas, not strife.”

“I agree, quite agree, yes, yes,” Wulfas nodded vehemently.
“Well, excellent. Now, where will you sell your products? You’ll need a licence
of course.”

“Naturally,” Demtro said wryly. “Take the cost out of
the money there. I intend selling in the town square as well as here.”

“I’ll reserve a pitch for you in that case. Which
location?”

“What’s the most expensive?”

“The governor’s building side, of course.”

Demtro smiled thinly. “Then that is where I’ll want my
pitch.”

Wulfas rubbed his hands some more, then after a bit of
desultory talking, decided he must get back to his offices and process Demtro’s
application and send the equipment to the warehouse. Demtro was left looking
around the cavernous building, then he looked to his left where a pile of
discarded furniture stood, left by the previous occupants and shoved into the
corner out of the way. “Well?” he asked, “does this suit you?”

A figure emerged, a shadowy, slight of built man,
dressed in dark clothing and possessing a nondescript face. “Yes,” he replied,
his voice deep and gravelly. “Just what I need.”

“Good. Just make sure nobody sees you coming and going
from this place.”

“What do you take me for?” the dark man asked. “Credit
me with knowing my profession.”

“Knowing it and doing it are entirely different
matters,” Demtro said, “but I’ll put my faith in you. I’m paying you good
money, remember.”

The figure smiled evilly. “And I know what you want me
to do. Trust me, you’ve hired the best in Niake.”

“I hope so indeed. I shall call you Renet, if you don’t
mind. I care not for whatever your real name is.”

The man shrugged. “Renet is fine by me. I shan’t sleep
here since most of my work is at night, and the day shall be too noisy for
sleep.”

“Do you have alternative accommodation?”

“Yes. But of my presence here; what will you tell your
staff?”

“You’re my import agent from – ah – Zipria. Nobody knows
where Zipria is, let alone visited the place. For all they know people there
all look like you.”

“Or talk like me. Very well. I shall start my work.”

“Just remember, Renet, any newsworthy item you’re to
inform me at once.”

Renet nodded, then slipped out of the building. Demtro
remained alone for a few moments, then he too left, bound for his quarters in
the merchant district, and a rendezvous with a particularly delightful dancer
he’d met the night before. The empress was paying him handsomely, and why
shouldn’t he divert some of those funds to his own relaxation?

Argan had to be helped to drink, he was shaking that
much. The empress fussed around him like a mother fowl while the others talked
in low voices about the near fatal encounter the young prince had received. The
coiled venomous kivok reptile that had been placed in the child’s box had been
destroyed by Vosgaris, and they were all thinking how lucky it had been that
Argan hadn’t been bitten. If he had, then he would be dead by now.

The missing guard hadn’t been found and Vosgaris had
begun a search for him. What was known about the man was that he’d been a guard
for a number of years and had served faithfully throughout all the regimes that
had been in place during that time. It could be he had been bribed to do the
deed, or that he was a member of a rival faction, or in fact he’d been removed
out of the way so that an agent could access the room and place the kivok there
to strike.

Either way, another attempt on the life of a Koros had
been made. Isbel was frantic and the guard had been doubled. Vosgaris had
apologised but had been cut off abruptly by the empress. She wanted him to find
the person responsible. The Captain of the Palace Guard was walking on
eggshells around the empress, fearful that her wrath may be directed against
him, given that one of his men was top of the list of suspects. In fact, the
missing man was the only possible culprit.

The other consideration, so Mr Sen had said, was that
the kivok wasn’t native to Frasia. It was found in the west, close to Kaprenia
region in western Bathenia and Lodria. So whoever had put the creature there
had to have brought it from a long way off, or it had been in someone’s private
collection. Either way it spoke of money.

Pepil was silent, standing close to the empress. He was
next in line for interrogation from the empress. How was it that a creature
like that could have been smuggled into the palace? The major domo would take
some of the blame for that. Pepil glared once every so often across at Vosgaris
who was oblivious to him. He was too busy watching the empress. The priest,
Waylar, had immediately gone into a religious trance and was praying to Viak to
show him who had been responsible for the terrible deed.

Frendicus had retreated from the room; this was nothing
to do with him and he wanted to be as far away as possible from the enraged
empress. He had duties to perform, so he used them as an excuse to flee to his
offices. Rousa had taken Istan to the nursery, under a double guard, and the
little boy was happy enough playing with papyrus and ink, getting incredibly
messy.

Argan had cried once the shock had worn off, but now he
was calm enough. His heart was still beating and he relived the moment when the
creature had hissed at him and had even gone to strike, but the scream had
intimidated it, as well as Argan falling backwards in shock. It had tried to
slither up out of the box but the arrival of the adults had ended its life in
no time. Vosgaris had sliced its head off.

The drink was cool and refreshing, and he liked that his
mother and the others were close to him. The monster had scared him a lot and
he didn’t like the way its mouth had opened so wide, nor the noise it had made.
It had shown two big teeth and he’d tried to get away but he’d fallen over and
his screams had brought the adults running into his room. He’d not seen what
had happened but Fos, that nice soldier, had said he’d killed the monster. Argan
hadn’t believed him until he’d shown him the lifeless body of the red and black
reptile, as long as a man was tall.

After he’d calmed down there seemed to be an argument
between the adults. He wasn’t sure why his mother was so cross at a couple of
them but it must have something to do with the monster being in his room. It
hadn’t been there in the morning when Mr Sen had given him the present. Now he
wasn’t sure that he wanted to play with it in case there were more monsters. In
fact, he was scared to go back to his room alone.

In the end Vosgaris volunteered to show Argan that the
room was safe. After all, he’d killed the monster. Argan agreed, but he held
his mother’s hand all the same and waited until Vosgaris had gone in first. Then
Argan walked in, holding his mother’s hand tightly, his free hand to his mouth.
He looked around very carefully. Nothing moved. Vosgaris checked under the bed
and in the cupboards. “Nothing to scare you, young prince,” he said calmly. “These
monsters only live far away.”

“So why was that one here, Fos?”

“Ah, it was naughty,” Vosgaris explained, quickly
catching Isbel’s eye for approval. She curtly nodded once. “It had run away
from home.”

“It hadn’t got any legs!” Argan objected, “so it
couldn’t run!”

“Well, it slithered, then,” Vosgaris said lamely. “But
it wasn’t allowed to come to Kastan, although it did. There are no others
because they’re scared someone will chop off their heads like I did to that
one.”

Argan looked at Vosgaris with his eyes wide. “Would you
chop off another’s head if it came in here?”

“Of course, young prince,” Vosgaris puffed out his
chest. “I’m the Captain of the Guard; it’s my job.”

“I want to play with my castle but I don’t know if there
are any more in the box.”

“Let’s see, shall we? I don’t think there are any more
in all of Kastan.” Vosgaris took the castle out of the box and placed it on the
floor. He picked the box up and shook the contents out. Soldiers bounced all
over the rug. “No, nothing nasty here.”

Argan sat down next to the castle and picked up a
soldier with a sword. “I’ll call this one Fos. He’ll be the castle’s Captain!”

Vosgaris grinned. “Good choice, young prince. Make sure
I have a warm, comfortable room.”

Argan began walking the figure through the gatehouse,
and Isbel motioned Vosgaris to leave. The captain bowed and backed out. Isbel
stayed for a few moments more, then satisfied her son was happily playing with
his figures, left as well. She found Vosgaris questioning the guards by the
entrance lobby. She motioned for him to follow her to the day room.

Pepil was there and Isbel motioned to him to record what
was to be said. The major domo grabbed a wax slate and stylus – these were
still being used for taking quick notes – and stood expectantly. Vosgaris
waited apprehensively. His position was still not that secure and although he’d
worked hard at making the palace guard more trustworthy and efficient, this
latest episode had done him quite a bit of damage. Pepil hoped that Vosgaris
would take most of the blame, and maybe a little word here and there in the
empress’s ear might not be a bad thing?

“Vosgaris.” Isbel paused, thinking hard at what to say. “Your
efforts these past few sevendays have been appreciated. But we now face the
most serious challenge to ourselves. It is imperative that you find this man of
yours and discover – by any means – how this incident came to pass. Leave
nothing unopened in your efforts. I will not countenance failure, do you
understand me, Vosgaris?”

“Perfectly, ma’am,” the captain bowed.

“I don’t like making threats, but in this case I’m
afraid I will have to. If you fail then I shall have to replace you as captain
with someone who can prevent such incidents from happening again.”

“I understand, ma’am.” Vosgaris glanced at Pepil who was
smiling as he wrote. “And if the trail leads to highly placed persons?”

“Stop at no-one; you have my full authority, Vosgaris.”

Vosgaris nodded. He knew his career was on the line. He
would follow the one line of enquiry he had picked up a few moments ago at
once. He also knew he couldn’t trust any of his men, so it would have to be by
himself.

Isbel dismissed him and the captain bowed and backed out
of the room. Pepil stopped scribing. “How trustworthy are the Taboz family,
your majesty?” he asked softly. “Would they benefit from the fall of the
Koros?”

“Concentrate on your job, Pepil,” Isbel snapped, “rather
than trying to undermine another person in my employment.”

Pepil coloured and bowed, chastised.

“Both you and Vosgaris are hard-working and valued
people, but if either of you prove unable to do the jobs you’re supposed to do,
I would have little option but to have either of you replaced. You should
concentrate on doing your job to the best of your ability, rather than waste
time in intriguing against others. Now copy my commands down on paper and have
them sent to the records office.”

“Ma’am,” Pepil bowed again.

Vosgaris spoke briefly to his subordinate, a sergeant by
the name of Zenin, informing him that he would be absent for a short while and
to keep the guard doubled and watchful. Donning his ‘working’ armour of studded
leather and dispensing with his helmet and gauntlets, he left the palace by the
rear gates, armed with his sword and dagger. Now he looked like any sword-arm
for hire, of which there were plenty. To be truthful, the empire was suffering
with a surplus of out of work sword-arms. With the shrinking of the army, there
were many who had been made to leave and some knew no other life than by the
sword, and then there were those who had flocked to the various rival armies in
the recent civil wars. Now they had, by and large, finished, more men had found
themselves without employment.

They offered their services to anyone with money to pay
for protection, and some had even resorted to banditry. The worry to the palace
was that at any time someone with enough money and a grudge against the Koros
may hire enough to successfully challenge for power. This was one of the many
things Vosgaris was keeping an ear out for.

But on this occasion he was single-minded; the tavern by
the north gate, the Lone Archer, had been the haunt of the missing guard. His
colleagues had told Vosgaris of this that morning. The guard, Harran, often
drank at this tavern and was acquainted with a fair number of shady characters.
The tavern was a ramshackle wooden construction of stout beams and white
painted wattle and daub plasterwork, a standard method of building in Kastania.
The better quality buildings had stonework.

Dodging the animal dung and icy ruts in the road, he
reached the door and pushed in, his eyes finding it difficult to see at first in
the gloom. Poor quality light was provided by candles in glass bowls hanging
from ceiling hooks or beams, and there was an odd assortment of clientele to be
seen. The innkeeper was standing behind the bar, polishing a mug, and he eyed
the new arrival cautiously. Men with weapons often caused trouble, and none
were really welcome.

“What can I get you, sir?” the innkeeper asked.

“Information, that’s what,” Vosgaris replied, stepping
up to the bar. He glanced round and saw a fair few men turn their heads in his
direction. “A man by the name of Harran; known to drink here.”

“What of him?”

“You seen him lately?”

“Can’t say I have,” the innkeeper said, a little too
quickly for Vosgaris’ liking.

“When did you last see him?”

“Well, my memory is having a little, ah, trouble,” the
innkeeper grinned, a hand falling as if my accident onto the bar top, palm
upwards.

Vosgaris looked at it, snorted, then fished in his pouch
and dropped a coin into it. The innkeeper said nothing but continued staring at
Vosgaris. A second coin landed there, then a third. The hand closed and the
coins vanished into the innkeeper’s apron. “Last sevenday, sitting over there
in the corner with a man I’ve not seen before. Harran took some sort of bag from
the man. What was inside I don’t know but they treated it really carefully,
like.”

Vosgaris nodded. At least he knew now that it definitely
was Harran behind the attempt on Argan’s life, and when the reptile had been
handed over. “Anyone else friendly with Harran here?”

One of the seated people stood up and slammed a dagger
into the already badly scarred and worn table top. “You ask too many questions,
friend,” he rumbled, blocking the light from the filthy window behind him. “Folks
here don’t take kindly to nosey types like you.”

“That’s too bad,” Vosgaris replied. “You a friend of
Harran, then.” It wasn’t a question.

The man bunched his fists. “Who wants to know?” He
stepped forward, tugging the knife out of the table and coming closer to
Vosgaris. Behind him two more stood up and reached for similarly hidden
weapons.

“I do,” Vosgaris smiled. “It shouldn’t hurt to tell me,
would it?”

“Me, I like my privacy and you should mind your own
business. Now are you going to leave?”

“You own this establishment?” Vosgaris leaned
nonchalantly on the bar. “You don’t look as if you can afford the clothing you
have on.”

The man’s face turned down and became really ugly – not
that it hadn’t been ugly before, Vosgaris thought to himself. The man came at
the captain and swung with the knife. Vosgaris jumped backwards, avoiding the
blow and whipped out his sword just as his two colleagues sprang forward. One
fell onto the blade and the young palace guard officer planted both feet wide
and stood side-on to the attackers, pulling free his now bloodied blade. The
unfortunate man fell to the floor soundlessly, clutching his guts, his hands
already stained red.

“Kill him!” the first man snarled and came at him again,
swinging high. His remaining pal came for Vosgaris at waist height, his blade
slicing in a wide arc. Neither man was skilled and both were more used to
brawls whereas Vosgaris had received a number of years training in
swordsmanship. He knew if he allowed them to get in close then he was most
probably dead, but he kept the two at a distance and picked his moment to
strike. One riposte had the second thug turning slowly in agony, his hands
clamped to his side, as he forgot all about the fight.