Fourth Vector Ch. 28

Charles did not greet the servants nor did he give them any sympathetic looks. That wasn't the purpose of today. Instead, he was here to invoke an ancient Javan law, one that hadn't been used in centuries. It was a law that was designed to make the bodies of Java's imperial rulership sacrosanct. The chief provision was to set consequences on the servant class if any one of them raised their hand to the royal family. The law's penance was an eye for an eye—the transgression would be met with such firmness so as to prevent such an event from happening ever again.

Charles suspected that most of these servants had no idea what the law stated about the death of a crown prince. But since the chief suspect of all of this was one of George's servants, Charles decreed that they would all be punished.

And since George was dead, then they would all be put to death.

All eighty of them were ringed together by the members of the royal guard, all of whom had their ceremonial bayonets firmly fixed to their rifles. As the ring tightened, a few of the servants figured out what their fate was to be.

"Please, Your Majesty, have mercy!"

"I didn't kill the crown prince! I swear it!"

"Don't kill us. For the love of God, we have families!"

All of their protestations went on deaf ears. Charles gave the signal to his commander and the ring around the prisoners began to tighten.

When the first steel met flesh, the screaming began. It didn't end until eighty servants were dead on the palace lawns, all of them suffering from multiple laceration points.

Their screams reflected the pain that Charles felt inside.

The death of his heir would be avenged.

*****

Across the city, a very nervous fleet admiral sat in his office that overlooked the water. His chair was pressed against his desk as he looked out the window, watching as one of the workers unfolded a black banner to drape across the facade of the new Admiralty building.

A sad day for Java, thought Bancroft ironically as he watched the worker.

Sure, the city may have felt true sorrow at the loss of the crown prince, but Bancroft felt anything but. Quite the opposite, he thought that George's death was a godsend—a relief from the demented and corpulent little tyrant.

Bancroft only wished he was there to watch the life leave George's body.

Alas, he hadn't been there. And even though he guessed he was the number one suspect, Bancroft did not actually witness George's death nor did he do it by his own hand.

In fact, it had been a paid killer that had done the deed. A very well-paid killer, because after all, Bancroft couldn't let word of his deeds come spilling out the first time someone offered the man a drink. He needed total secrecy. He needed someone that could operate in the shadows. A wraith that would do the deed and disappear.

So far, that's what he'd received. Ever since the killer received payment from Bancroft several days ago (from a stash of coin that couldn't be traced back to Bancroft), he'd heard nothing more from the man.

But it was something sweet to be in the palace the day that George was discovered. Bancroft was able to watch the panic in the eyes of the servant class, not knowing that at this very moment, they were being put to death on the other side of the city.

Furthermore, he got to see a real sense of loss and anguish on Charles' part for losing his only son. That would have been touching if the two characters weren't so despicable.

Instead, Bancroft found it almost poetic. A sweet sense of justice.

But while Bancroft was doing his best to show his sympathy, Charles' gaze flickered over to him and stopped. And those eyes burned. They burned with suspicion over Bancroft and his role in George's death. The gaze didn't linger for very long, but it left Bancroft with a profound sense of worry. In that moment, he was glad he'd covered his tracks as much as he did.

Any spare crumb could lead the emperor directly to his door. And if that day came, all of Bancroft's plans would have been for naught.

There was a knock at the door and Clark entered without much of an acknowledgment. Bancroft's deputy didn't spare a single word for a greeting nor did he attempt small talk. Even Clark seemed to suspect Bancroft, and his mood had been more estranged than ever.

"This just arrived from army headquarters," said Clark, thrusting a dispatch into Bancroft's hand.

Bancroft scanned the note quickly before setting it down. "Well, that's welcome news. The army has scored a major victory against the Occitanians and are now moving against their city of Chambery. Casualties have been light and they expect to take the city within the week. That's great news, Clark."

Clark didn't acknowledge him. He carefully regarded him with measured amounts of disdain that was completely out of character for him.

"I suppose this news goes well with the dispatch I received earlier," said Bancroft as he reached across his desk to pick it up. "Admiral Reynolds scored an impressive victory yesterday. We've even managed to sink one of their battleships."

Clark crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm sure the emperor will be pleased. No doubt more so if not for recent events."

He said the words like he was leveling an accusation. Bancroft couldn't help but flinch.

"I'm sure the emperor needs good news in times like these," he said.

Clark nearly snorted. "I'm sure," he snapped.

Ordinarily, Bancroft would have unloaded on any man talking back to his superior officer in the manner that Clark just did, but the deputy always got a little extra leeway than anyone else. Bancroft needed a stable deputy in Clark, someone who could do what needed to be done and kept his nose clean. In that regard, Clark knew nothing about the operation to kill George. Bancroft wouldn't have risked his relationship with the man to cut him into it after the debacle that occurred with Henrik's death.

No, he needed Clark to stay in the dark. But he also needed Clark to believe he wasn't capable of committing such a heinous act.

"Clark, let's talk for a moment," said Bancroft as he leaned back in his chair. "Something is bothering you, and I think it's time we get it out in the open."

Clark gave him an incredulous look. "You're serious? You ask if something is bothering me while the whole capital mourns the passing of the crown prince. A crown prince, I might add, that you despised. Tell me you're not being ironic."

Bancroft blinked as he practiced his poker face. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

Clark took a deep breath. "I know what you're capable of, sir. Don't forget, I know all about Admiral Henrik and what happened with him."

"You're suggesting that I killed George, aren't you?" asked Bancroft. "You think I was the one behind it?"

"Were you not? You hated him the most. You've always told me the country would be better off without the royals. Did you not do the same thing to George as you did to Henrik?"

It was then that Bancroft put on the best act of his career. An act that would be hard to replicate.

"I had my disagreements with George, but wanting him dead is something else entirely," said Bancroft as he shook his head quickly. "My decision-making might be a little erratic at some times, Clark, but I wouldn't kill a Javan crown prince."

Clark's eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Bancroft got up from his desk and walked over to Clark. He stopped right in front of the man. "You're my most loyal deputy, Clark. You're my main confidante. You know all about the first invasion debacle when no one else would. Do you really think if I had anything to do with it, I would keep it from you?"

Clark regarded him with suspicion for several moments. It took him a while to respond.

"I must admit that when I heard about it, I'm surprised I didn't already know about it," said Clark. "I figured you would have said something to me."

"Not that I don't think the world is a better place with him gone, but it wasn't me," said Bancroft, lying between his teeth.

"Swear to me, Admiral," insisted Clark. "Swear to me that you weren't involved in George's death."

Bancroft raised his hand. "I swear to you on my own grave that I did not kill George."

Clark took a few seconds to digest this before he finally nodded his head. "Well, in that case, I owe you an apology. Forgive me, sir. When I heard the news, I thought the worst given your history with the man."

"A completely reasonable thought," said Bancroft as he maneuvered his way back to his desk. He sat down gingerly. "Although I'm sure you're not the only one to suspect me."

Clark sat down in front of Bancroft's desk. "Do you have any idea who did it? Any leads whatsoever?"

"The leading theory right now is a disgruntled servant did it," said Bancroft. "But you know how the law is. Any wrong-doing by the servant class is punished most severely. I rather imagine all of George's personal servants are already dead."

"Someone must have had a pretty big slight against him to actually risk killing him," said Clark.

"You know how the servant class is though," started Bancroft. "They're on the poorer side. They're conservative folk, and I'm sure that George's sexual appetites offended a few sensitivities here and there. He used to fuck every one of those servants. You can't tell me that someone didn't get fed up with being fucked one too many times."

"Still, a big risk," said Clark. "Paid for with their lives, I suppose."

"The real killer has probably already been punished," said Bancroft as he spun his chair around to face the window. "And yet half the city will believe that it was me."

"I'm sorry for that, sir," said Clark again. "Really, I didn't mean to offend."

"I'm not offended, Clark," said Bancroft.But I am pissed that you fell for my line of bullshit so easily.

Clark didn't find that easy to respond to so he changed the subject. "Do you have any idea about what the succession looks like from here? Who will take over when the emperor dies?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, Clark," answered Bancroft. "I know the emperor has some young cousin who is half-retarded. Or perhaps a nephew, I'm not sure of the link but the man is the next closest blood relation to the emperor. Perhaps he'll inherit."

"We live in interesting times," said Clark ominously, the first statement of his that Bancroft truly agreed with.

It's about to get a lot more interesting, thought Bancroft.

"Anyway, sir, I'm sorry again," said Clark as he backed away toward the door. "I'll come back when I get another dispatch."

"Not a problem, Clark," said Bancroft as his deputy slipped out the back.

Bancroft let out a low sigh at how easy it was to deceive Clark. A few well-placed words and a carefully-construed act was all that it took to get Clark off his trail. If only the emperor would be as easy, Bancroft could almost hope to completely get away with George's murder.

Despite his nerves, things were proceeding along just the way he needed them to. The recent victories against the Ruthenians and the Occitanians meant that the end of the war could possibly be in sight. Once Chambery fell, the army would move north toward Montauban. Once Montauban fell, the Occitanians would surrender. Ruthenia wouldn't stand a chance without the Occitanians in the game and they would soon follow suit.

All of the cards in the game were coming up just the way Bancroft needed them to. The only wildcard was Jack Easterbrook.

The man had shown that he had a spine, and he would act independently when it suited him. But in this regard, Bancroft couldn't tolerate any deviations to his plan. Easterbrook would either do as he needed him to do, or Bancroft would destroy him.

"Time is ticking, Jack," muttered Bancroft to himself. "What are you going to do?"

*****

"What are you doing, Jack?"

The King of the Nax was sitting against the edge of the cliffside prison, his legs dangling off the side. It was well into the night at this point, and most of the activity in the mine had long since stopped for the day.

Until a minute ago, Jack had been sitting next to him, listening to the old king share stories about Naxos and about his personal life. He told Jack about his family, all of them long since gone from this world. Gaius also talked for a long time about his life growing up in Naxos and what the country used to look like before the Swabian occupation.

During a lull in the conversation, Jack had pushed up from his spot and approached the iron bars that marked the entry into the prison. He grabbed them firmly and tried to slide them across but there was some kind of mechanism blocking their movement. Jack shuffled in his spot to find some kind of wedge that had engaged when the door was closed, blocking any application of force from opening it without being disengaged from the outside. Jack reached around to the mechanism to see if he could buckle the wedge. It clanked when he did, causing Gaius' question.

"Just trying to figure out this door," replied Jack. "I'm seeing if there's any way we can get out of here."

Gaius pushed up from the ledge and walked over. "Good luck with that. I must've tried it nearly thirty times myself. The wedge is impossible to move on any one man's strength alone. It's attached to a counterweight on the opposing side that is quite out of reach."

"There must be some way out of here," said Jack as he looked around.

Gaius chuckled. "I've spent a lot of time down here, Jack. I've looked over every nook and cranny. Sooner or later, you just accept your fate. It's not going to happen. We'll be in this cell until the Swabians decide otherwise. I've accepted my situation. It's about time that you do too."

Jack looked back at the king, but instead of seeing the monarch, he saw a slave. One that was now just as accustomed to his position as the men outside working the mines. His time in the prison had stripped the independence from his body. Any hope of fighting his fate was futile.

Jack shook his head. "I don't doubt you, Gaius, but I'm not ready to give up just yet."

Gaius walked over and patted Jack's shoulder. "I understand. I went through a similar phase too. It will pass with time. It always does."

Jack spent another half hour studying the mechanism before he was forced to conclude he couldn't move it even with their combined strength. If he had some kind of tool that he could use to apply proper force, he might be able to dislodge it but there was no likelihood of that happening down here. The only way he'd get a tool would be to disarm one of the Swabian guards, likely bringing the whole garrison down on his head.

Jack spent a largely sleepless night huddled against the corner of the prison. The air in Naxos was chilly during the overnight hours and he struggled for warmth. The tattered remains of his naval uniform provided little, and when combined with the dull throb of the pain on his back, sleep became hard to come by.

He was awakened by a clanking sound against the iron bars. Jack shifted in his spot and looked up, seeing a Swabian soldier looking back at him.

"You there. You'll be leaving in half an hour."

The Swabian didn't say anything further and promptly turned heel. Jack sat up from his spot and rubbed his neck, finding the crick in it exceptionally sore today. It almost hurt more than his back.

"I guess I'll have to eat my words," called out Gaius, once more sitting against the opposite corner. "Looks like miracles do happen."

"I'm supposed to go to Swabia," said Jack. "I'd rather stay in Naxos than be taken as a prisoner there."

Gaius gave him a somber look. He knew what happened to most prisoners who went directly to Swabia. "I can't say that I don't understand that. I just assumed my day would come long before yours came."

"Are you even certain it will come at this point?" asked Jack. "After all, you've been here for two years. Perhaps they've forgotten about you?"

Gaius shook his head gently. "I don't think so. I'm surprised that it's taken this long, but I don't think I'll escape the Swabians forever. Sooner or later, I'll get the call to be taken to Swabia too. And they will execute me for the crime of wanting to keep Naxos free and independent."

Gaius rested his head against one of the iron bars. It was hard not to sympathize with the man and his plight. Death would have been the more just act. It was nothing short of torture to have him rot away in this prison while watching his people become slaves for years.

It had robbed the king of his will to fight.

Jack could hardly leave the man like this. A busted shell of a king without hope.

Jack approached his side. "Swabia will not win this conflict, Gaius. And one day, Naxos will be free again."

Gaius gave him a sad smile. "I honestly wish I could believe that, Jack. I really do."

"Bigger things are afoot right now, Gaius. I'm more than just an admiral, but you're going to have to take me at my word about that. I'm not sure how I'm going to get out of this, but I am going to get away from the Swabians somehow. Their time of reckoning will come."

"In my wildest fantasies, I used to picture what it would look like to see the Swabians taken down," said Gaius fondly as he looked off to the side. "I'd see a renewal of the last alliance, that of Galicia, Apulia, Picardy, and Carinthia. I'd see a glimmering army arrive in Millpond and throw out the last Swabian soldier, restoring our freedom." Gaius looked back to Jack as the hope disappeared from his eyes. "I no longer have those dreams. As much as I'd like to believe, I won't give myself false hope."

"We are never so far gone that we can't hope for a better future," said Jack. "If this is the last time our paths cross, please remember that, Gaius. Sooner or later, the Swabians will get what's coming to them."

Gaius swallowed heavily. "For the sake of our friendship then, Jack, I will take you at your word, reservations aside. If you manage to escape, will you do all that you can to set Naxos free?"

Jack held out his hand, a gesture that Gaius recognized immediately. The King of the Nax reached out and clasped it firmly.

"Until my last breath," promised Jack.

Gaius managed a small smile. "You know, if Naxos had men with your quality, I think we would have thrown the Swabians back into the ocean."

"Someday, we might just see that happen," said Jack with a small chuckle.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of two more soldiers. One of them inserted a key into the locking mechanism which disengaged the counterweight. The iron bars were then pulled open.

"You there," said the soldier, pointing at Jack. "Time to go."

*****

Jack felt a small breeze of air as the iron bars behind him were shut firmly. He was being led again, this time by the Swabian guards with one man in front of him and the other behind. His hands were once again bound, as were his feet, meaning his walking only occurred in short strides to prevent escape. Jack looked back at the King of the Nax, watching his tired eyes before he could see them no more.

The best thing about getting out of the basement prison was emerging into the open air and losing the smell of death that permeated the lower part of the building. Even with the open wall in the prison to the outside, the scent never dissipated until Jack left the building entirely.

He was led around the side until he found the convoy that had brought them there. Jack was pushed into the back of it roughly. He noticed that he was still alone. There was no Adalbert in sight. Jack had to wonder if his voyage with the Swabian had come to an end. Perhaps Adalbert would stay in Naxos and Jack would continue on with someone else?

That hope was dashed when Adalbert appeared outside the front main door looking like someone who had a much different evening than the one Jack did. Adalbert was patting his stomach like he just had a feast for breakfast. There was even still a hint of crumbs around his pencil mustache, and he walked up to the convoy with a big smile on his face.