Bounder Ch. 04

The furthest corner table in the back corner was available and everyone else left me the hell alone, but they did give me the cat-like odd piercing look of semi-deliberate focus but yet feigned ignorance. I was neither friend nor foe, fish or fowl. Welcomed much like an unloved in-law that no one quite had the stomach to tell to go piss off and ruin someone else's life, or at least not interrupt their private drinking. No one had anything to say to me, but they kept an unusually wary eye upon the front door and their sword hands never seemed to wander too far away from their sword hilts. They didn't seem to be expecting trouble, but they were ready for it all the same.

Mumford and his nephew arrived first, right after the gate horns blew at dusk and the patrons continued their show of insincere disinterest in our affairs. Koch arrived nearly an hour later, but stated that he thought he had been followed earlier and so he had taken extra precautions. No one should have been aware of our professional association together, unless some else within the thieves' guild had also been blabbing, but paranoia can be healthy in reasonable amounts. They probably had blabbed. Everyone else had!

He'd decided to play it safe and had taken an extra tour around the city before he'd felt completely confident that he'd arrived here entirely alone. I gave the tapster a measured quizzical look of appraisal and he gave me a nonchalant nod of the head while pretending to wipe down the far end of the bar. Short of a signed decree from the Assembly of Archbishops at the cathedral of Mirabelle, I assumed that meant that things were as safe and secure as they were likely to get.

To reinforce this impression, the tapster brought us over a freshly tapped pitcher of some rather good homebrewed dark ale and a fresh set of worn but clean leather blackjacks and then without further concern for our welfare, he then firmly next planted himself at the furthest end of the bar away from us and began showing unusual concern over the cleanliness of his barware. Now with low measured voices, I was reasonably sure that our discussion could not be overhead.

Several dozen off-duty guardsmen arrived in the next half hour or so, but their fellows ensured that none of them encroached too closely upon our private discussions in the rear. Each of these newer arrivals was armed, and they kept their weapons close at hand, which was slightly surprising as by regulation, if not custom, vigiles were not permitted to bear arms when off duty. Obviously no one cared much about that tonight. I guess everyone was getting a bit nervous about the Blackguards being on the warpath.

While waiting for my men at my back corner table, I had cleaned my pistols twice and then carefully reloaded them. I wasn't taking any chances either.

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"My friends, I have you in something of a slight pickle." I stated as sort of a preamble once Koch had arrived to join us and we sat enjoying our ale. I then gave a mostly true but vastly abbreviated version of recent events, but stated falsely that I had accepted Danelle as a client. Well, I had... after she was dead. This helped to keep my story simple and avoid any uncomfortable questions about my true motives for wanting to avenge her. I didn't have many instructions for my gang, but they were of some importance and I impressed upon them the need for tact and caution.

"Mumford, I want you and Maitlan to get into costume and take a short little out of town road trip to gather some vital information for me. I'd suggest the roles of a father and son pair of itinerant ostlers looking to buy horses, but I trust your judgment if you can think of something better. You'll need a reason to stay over for a night at the Ormsford Bridge Inn owned by the Weir family, sometimes called the Weirhold, but give them no possible excuse for them to rob you or encourage them to decide that you'd be great fun to dunk into the river on general principle. Do you have enough pocket cash on hand for expenses for a few days?"

He did. My purse was still rather fat, but I'd paid quite a few bribes this afternoon to professional beggars and street urchins to either forget that they'd seen me, or else remember my passage heading towards an entirely different destination. I hadn't kept much in my purse yesterday while at my chambers and I had been caught more than a little unprepared by this rather sudden adventure until I made the desperate visit to my chambers earlier today. It certainly wasn't safe to visit either my home, a bank or one of my safe house stashes to collect any additional pocket money. Perhaps I should have taken a share of the assassin's purse when I'd had the chance, instead of overly rewarding that young guardswoman. That's what I get for being sentimental and not thinking properly ahead!

"I want to know everything there is to be learned about the three brothers and their habits," I demanded, "especially concerning the two eldest, Edwin and Edward, but their father is of some interest to me too. I especially want know if they have a stable, what kinds of horses they have, partially their coloration, and if they have any hacks, such as a small black painted two-seat carriage with matching brass side lanterns. If so, which brother, or indeed perhaps their father, is its primary driver? If possible, hire a skiff to take you across the river immediately so that you can spend both tonight and then tomorrow night observing the inn and if possible, also a nearby copse of trees on a small hill in sight of the inn near the river road. It might be a local trysting place or instead the place the brothers enjoy their rougher sorts of sport. Keep an eye on it, but don't be seen or get caught there! Meet us then at Lowry Stables, just outside the east gate the morning after next. Can you do this?"

Mumford assured me that he could. A born confidence man, he loves cloak and dagger stuff and skullduggery! For several years in Mirabelle, he was a master of putting on disguises and then doing 'suspicious things' on my behalf, leaving trails of false evidence to be found after some of our more elaborate robberies. Then, hired as a consultant by the victims we had just robbed, I would in a masterful way demonstrate exactly how the crime could have been committed, how the robbery had been most likely set up, accomplished and how the miscreant had escaped! All complete nonsense usually, but with lots of planted false evidence to confuse the real facts, no one ever went looking for a top notch semi-retired burglar, his young nephew in training and the mastermind who could mind control the servants, guards or even the property owners to bring the loot right into our very hands, and then promptly 'forget' that we were ever there!

Hiring a small boatman to take passengers across the Orm River to and from the city after dark was technically illegal, but routinely commonplace. Several wealthy merchants and noblemen kept estates on the northern, wilder side of the river, and cross-river skiffs and wherries could easily be hired usually at any hour of the day or night, and for a modest fee. This was also the best and most private means of bringing illegal (untaxed) cargo in and out of the city... undoubtedly the boatmen's primary source of income.

As for Koch, with Blackguards and hired mercenary armsmen and assassins looking to kill me, he was more valuable by my side. I would have liked to have had him available to question some of the young ladies of consorting age at the small town of Ormsbridge about any uncouth behavior by the Weir brothers, but this was perhaps not a critical line of inquiry. Instead, a personal visit by the two of us to speak with watchman Auguste might be a bit more beneficial, and that was our plan for tomorrow.

A few moments after Mumford and Maitlan had left towards the docks, a messenger arrived in a clean a pressed vigiles uniform. Without preamble he saluted me and then presented a sealed note, and clicked his heels together and stood at attention. The sharpness of his general appearance and the seriousness of his presentation before me was more than enough to suggest that he'd come straight from their headquarters, and probably with a note fresh from Sir Adrian's hand. I accepted the wax sealed document and read it through quickly. There was no signature, not even a stylized 'A', but the writer and the intent of the note were both clear enough.

"As per our recent discussion, building an insurmountable defense in Tarocchet can sometimes be disadvantageous when a quick strike by a few of the weakest sword cards can instead create a desirable outcome by unexpected surprise in an unexpected place. Uncertainty is what your enemy most fears and it is sometimes likely that an otherwise implacable opponent might accept a draw settlement instead, if the game pieces he is trying so hard to protect become taken via an unexpected flanking action from an unexpected direction. Your tactical card play is improving, and I particular commend your recent skilled use of the weak Fire I card... defeating one of the greater Major trumps in a most unexpected and improbable manner! Expect this lowly card to be countered by the next of that series, but I suspect that you in turn possess its next superior of that suit as well. You need no reminding that some of the slightly greater Fire cards can be less than reliable in defense! Played properly, your path of action into the center of the game board should become clear, even against superior numbers. Should the dice roll favorably, both cards should remain at your disposal for further use. Thrust suddenly and hard then retreat to your Keep even faster, confound your enemy and revel in his fear and uncertainty. Repeat if necessary!"

Oblique, and cryptic... but sound advice, and not just for playing the card game. I had to think for a minute before the subtleties became entirely clear to me, but once understood I had to laugh at his cleverness. The code wasn't particularly secure, but it was enough to prevent a casual reader from immediately understanding the details, assuming his messenger had been waylaid. The Fire I card was of course 'The Patroller', the weakest military card unit in the game, but it did have it uses... and was of course immanently expendable! With Flerrie's aid, I'd taken down an apparently rather infamous and notoriously dangerous assassin, also one of the very nastiest Major trump cards in the game. His warning about 'slightly greater Fire cards' undoubtedly referred to my mishap last night with the 'Sergeant-at-Arms' card. A clear message that Flerrie's sergeant was not to be trusted or relied upon. I wondered if the young guardswoman was now aware of this?

As for the attempt to trump my assistant, my so-called Fire I 'Patroller' card, the obvious counter for my foe would be to play Fire II 'The Mercenary Band'... and with amusement I noted that I already had ready at hand its counter, Fire III 'Guardsmen'. I certainly had at my disposal here in this ale house a full two dozen of them!

This suggested that a more direct sort of attack on me was still possible. The rather smaller raid at the whore house suggested a lack of proper prior planning and preparation, that the sudden information concerning my whereabouts had left little time to gather a truly appropriate response. If, assuming that Flerrie's direct boss, Sergeant Hobart was bent and possibly taking bribes from the Blackguards, he could have easily learned of this meeting location tonight and could have reported the details in time for a significant strike force to be assembled.

On the bright side, there was a reason why mercenary soldiers are held in little regard, and not just in Tarocchos combat either. They're in the business only for the money and tend to have poor morale and skedaddle the moment the combat odds against them start to look a little dicey. You can pay them, but you can't really make them fight to the last gasp. I had an old mercenary friend back in Mirabelle who was the veteran of more disasters than you could count... but always made sure that he'd collected his pay in full before the time came to steal a horse and escape safely with his neck still attached to take payment once more upon another day. His motto was, 'Dishonor before slight discomfort'. That creed wouldn't be at all unfamiliar to most of the so-called hardboys and sell-swords that I'd seen around the city lately, readily available for hire on a short notice!

The Marches were dangerously nasty places, either back home down south or up here in the northwest armpit of the empire. Anyone either dependable, skilled in the use of arms or possessing much in the way of personal honor had the opportunity for more lucrative permanent employment with at least a half dozen other potential employers. The scrapings left over might have one of those three characteristics, but certainly not all three. Sir Adrian had culled and molded his force of vigiles well over the three years that he had commanded them and most of the men (and women) I saw here tonight in the Red Standard appeared to have something of each of these qualities and would more than account for themselves in any fight, even against superior odds.

"Sir d'Bounderby," the messenger nervously interrupted my musings with some slight sense of urgency, "I've got another report for you of my own, and not from Sir Adrian. He knows that you're borrowing patroller la'Clerkes, and with Captain Collier's approval. She's young but fierce as a swamp rat if she's cornered in a tight spot and she has everyone's trust. You can rely upon her Sir, but when I arrived I saw her outside across the street speaking with her sergeant, a stout man by the name of Hobart. Now the Commander, his guard captain, and most of the folks of the Riverside station house think rather less of him! On just my own word Sir, I'd not be one to trust him much with either my life or my coin purse, if you catch my drift. Just a word of caution in your ear, if you've the mind to hear it. Word on the street also is that the Blackguards have a raging hard-on for you with a reward of one hundred gold royals for your head, but you probably already knew this. Now Sir, I must report back at once. I think it might be opportune for a few more on-duty officers to take an early dinner break and stop by, just in case we have some unfriendly visitors tonight."

The messenger didn't linger for a written reply and he scampered off out of the ale house fast enough that he left a visible rise of dust from the floor. Another bad sign. By Fulmera's tits this had been a dreadful day!

"There may be trouble outside." I warned Koch, but in a quite loud enough stage whisper that everyone in the bar could hear. "I'm going out the back door and try circling around to the front to take a look at thing. If I'm not back in a flash, expect major trouble!"

The off duty vigiles guardsmen and women didn't need any other warning to start gathering up their assorted tools of the trade and prepare themselves to lay down some righteous hurt upon anyone who even thought about barging in looking for a fight. The old retired sergeant started pulling out quite an arsenal from underneath the bar, including some battered guns and a couple of other more antique missile weapons that I was pretty sure were still outlawed by imperial code and further proscribed by the Assembly of Archbishops. Those sorts of laws tended to be firmly enforced by the Scarlet Guard, usually by death, if found upon a malefactor. I supposed the vigiles had obtained them from other miscreants in a similar sort of manner.

When it came down to fighting a street war, the vigiles didn't clown around. They kicked as much ass as they needed to and wrote whatever reports they needed to afterwards to cover their asses, after the blood had dried. As found in history books, the victor gets to be the one to tell their story, whether it's really the truth or not.

I sent Koch outside with me, and had him guard the back door while I covered the right hand side of the tavern. I circled out a full block and already didn't like what I was seeing. Large groups of armed men could be seen gathering in obvious bunches right in the middle of the street a few blocks further away on both streets, surrounding the ale house. I found even more of them out covering the front of the Red Standard, but from a discrete distance still. Obviously the order to attack hadn't been given yet or else they were waiting for yet more reinforcements or their senior commanding officers. By my hasty count they already had plenty, outnumbering the off-duty vigiles guards inside the tavern by at least three to one. Still, the Blackguards would want a sure kill.

Also nearly certain to be the first one killed, was my young watchlady, Flerrie. The crooked sergeant was clearly on the wrong team this evening and with his back to me I was going to mark that ledger account closed, permanently. The only thing stopping me from charging and just running the fat bastard through with my poisoned sword was the minor problem that he was holding his own sword right up against her naked throat! He didn't look or sound happy. Apparently he was attempting one final time (and with considerable visible frustration) to get the lass to either get the hell out of his way or to change her coat too. To her considerable honor, she refused him again and spat right into his eye.

I was going to do her the courtesy and repay her assistance to me earlier today by charging up now and skewering the dumb swine, but she didn't need my help anymore now. Distracted by the spittle in his eye, the wicked sergeant flinched his sword enough out of the way to give the quick young patroller time to draw out a wicked looking dagger hidden from behind her back, and she then drove it without hesitation or remorse into the fat bastard, perfectly slid right up to the very hilt between his ribs to thrust directly into the villains heart. Very nicely done!

He crumpled into a heap and died with hardly a gurgle of surprise or protest and Flerrie gave his corpulent corpse a vicious kick, and then smoothly bent over to take her former sergeant's purse. It's just what I would have done in the exact same situation too!

"Fucking bastard!" She exclaimed to me, as we coolly walked backwards toward the inn, side by side, as we noticed that we'd now drawn the main assault party of Blackguards complete attention. "The bastard took thirty of the gold royals you'd granted me earlier today, claiming the lion's share as he was my sergeant. Now, look here! There's at least another additional twenty gold more to be found here, mostly new solidas too! A rich price for betrayal! He'd just now told me, and with pride, that he'd led the assassin right to us earlier and that if he'd had a gun, he would have shot you himself from the rooftop, and then dealt with me later! You were worth a hundred royals to him, dead, he told me, and he offered me a share!"

"And I'm grateful for your refusal, and your rather immediate response. That was nicely done, as well. You have practiced that move!"

"Many, many hours. Street thugs always think a woman, especially a girl will be easy prey and that with just the sight of a bare blade that my bowels would turn to water, but they then discover that this is quite a mistake."

"An understandable one, especially if your quickness to the thrust can remain a secret and is not common knowledge amongst your fellows."

"It's secret enough. Hobart didn't know that I'd taken the assassin's rather nice dagger and its sheath from his body earlier today and had tucked it into the back of my kirtle under my jacket. He'd thought he'd disarmed me, taking my usual blade from my side and the pistol, but he'll never make that error again. I now only share awareness of this particular little trick with you, and if necessary I can handle that concern privately later. Assuming Sir Adrian has no further need or your services. He has made it quite clear that you are presently of considerable interest to him. Are you about to join us as a guard captain? We could do worse than have you commanding one of our watch stations."