Chapter 11: Watchman |
Every town has guards, wearing shining armor and wielding their clubs and daggers. Some are owned by the merchants, others by the nobles, and some by the gangs. The only thing all guards have in common is that someone owns them. That’s why guilds like mine exist, to serve the people… for a fee of course.
Emeril Farlow, an unsponsored writer, in his book ‘The Endless Gutter’
Solomon watched the road as the carriage approached Moonfallow, his fingers dancing across the handle of his walking stick. He didn’t seem able to fully pull his focus away from the god chained beneath his manor, the mana that he could make flow through his veins. It was understandable, of course, but he couldn’t let any of his other plans and duties fall by the wayside. Not only would it be suspicious, but it was also his responsibility to ensure the safety of his people. With Moonfallow now under his ownership that meant he’d need to meet with the guard. Not only did he need to know more about the missing girls, he also needed to gauge their loyalties.
Melissa sat across from him. She’d taken to wearing a man’s suit rather than the dresses the female staff was assigned and her hair was tied back neatly. She’d been slowly taking on all of the responsibilities of a valet, and was even dressing the part. He wondered if she thought he hadn’t noticed? Truthfully, he was impressed. She’d already made herself valuable to him, become his main communicator to the staff, and let him focus on his other projects and responsibilities. He appreciated her ambition, and intended to formalize her role when he had the time to figure out her additional pay and write a simple contract that detailed her official duties.
They reached Moonfallow itself and Solomon noted that he could barely feel the difference between the failing road to his manor and the road within the town itself. The weather was better that day than it had been, so he was actually able to see a number of people out and about on business. Most were dressed shabbily and looking down as they walked. Along with the people who seemed to be out and about on business he also saw a number of men begging on the street and others openly drunk outside of a rundown tavern. It made sense. The town had been struggling since the closing of the mine and the cessation of the lumber business. If his plans worked, he might be able to turn things around.
He gripped the handle of his walking stick. That was something he could think through to focus himself. It had been his obsession since his father had taken ill and he’d altered his will. Moonfallow had potential. Its mine had run dry before new explosive mining techniques had been developed and the lumber of the black woods would grow more and more valuable as the last of the living forests were cleared to continue building the Empire’s navy. The manarite would be particularly valuable as the Union continued its new rail project. The rails themselves were made of a manarite alloy in order to better conduct the magical energies needed to move the enchanted wagons forward. Not to mention its use in warfare. The rails could be doubly beneficial to Moonfallow if he could ensure tracks passed near the town itself. That would require coordination with the Union, a prospect which became more dangerous with every discovery within his manor, but the potential value was too high to ignore.
The carriage rolled to a stop. They were in front of the guard station. Unlike the surrounding buildings made of dark bricks with roofs of green shingles, the guard station was painted light grey, and on either side of the entrance were the symbols of Drakthiss and Moonfallow. A green dragon coiled around a black sword with thirteen swords pointing outward from it, and a bright blue crescent moon and star respectively.
Melissa exited the carriage first, and held the door for Solomon who turned to Duncan as he exited.
“We may be an hour, possibly more.”
Solomon and Melissa made their way up to the guard station and she pushed the door open for him. Inside was a large open room with a number of small desks and several large holding cells in the very back. It was mostly empty, which made sense given it was the middle of the day, but there was a group of grey uniformed men sitting around one desk playing cards, two others working at their desks, and one at the desk closest to the entrance who looked at Solomon as he entered.
The man stood, removed his high hat, and bowed. He was older than the other guards, nearing his mid-thirties or perhaps early forties, and had dark gray hair neatly swept back as well as an immaculate mustache.
“Lord Solomon Morrow, welcome.”
“Thank you Guardsman…?”
“Vantus, sir. Third Watchman. The first watchman is in his office awaiting your arrival.”
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“Good. Lead the way, Vantus.”
The man bowed again and began walking. The other men didn’t even look up from their card game, one was too excited with a Bleeding Emperor hand consisting of all swords and the Emperor card itself. Unlike the Third Watchman, they were unkempt and slovenly. Not what he wanted to see in a town where people were going missing. If they were lax with themselves, they were lax with their responsibilities.
In the corner was a sealed office, and Vantus knocked on the door thrice before opening it.
“Lord Morrow is here, sir.”
“Thanks Vanny,” said the voice from inside. It had a vaguely familiar quality to it.
Vantus held the door for them, and Solomon walked inside with Melissa close behind. The man behind the desk had dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders, and a square face. The resemblance to the Mayor was uncanny. Brothers, guessed Solomon, almost twins. His hopes that he would be able to get a good amount of useful information from the man plummeted. His face showed no concern though, as the Captain stood from behind his desk and held out a hand.
“Marcus,” he said.
Solomon offered his own hand, and the Captain pulled him toward him in the same obvious gesture of intimidation his brother had.
“A pleasure,” lied Solomon. This was one of the consequences of moving into a manor that no longer had servants. He wasn’t able to get a good lay of the land. Instead he had to be unpleasantly surprised with every interaction. He sat across from the First Watchman, Melissa standing in the corner of the room with her hands folded behind her back.
“Your message said you had some questions for me? I’m happy to answer what I can, but I’m not sure I’ll have any more information than my brother did.”
“That would be fine. I want to meet the people that keep Moonfallow running more than I want questions answered. If you have nothing new for me, then at least I will have met the town’s foremost Watchman.”
Marcus nodded, a wormy smile on his face. “Go ahead then. Maybe we’ll get lucky and I’ll tell you something my brother didn’t.”
“First, how many watchmen do you currently have?”
“Twenty-four. Full allotment is forty, but most young men would rather try their luck in the army or with the explorer’s guild these days.”
Solomon had often heard it commented that the guard was where those too weak and cowardly to fight the empire’s wars went to feel strong. He kept that to himself.
“Being that short of your allotment must make it hard to manage things.”
“We’re lucky. We mostly just have to bring in drunks, beat a few homeless off the streets, and occasionally settle a fight. We have some days when that fills the cells, but for the most part we do okay.”
“I had heard stories of young women going missing.”
The Captain chuckled. “Just girls that want to go find a rich husband in the city before their looks fade. I put a few more men out on the streets at night to reassure the common folk, but I assure you, they’re fine.”
The same line as his brother.
“That’s good to hear,” replied Solomon smoothly. “Could you provide me with their names and a list of relatives? I have some connections in Etling that could see if the local guard can keep an eye out. Just to make sure that they’re alright.”
He shook his head. “Those city guards will just ask you for a handful of gold and not spend a moment looking for them. Not that I can blame them, in a city like Etling finding a young woman that doesn’t want to be found is near impossible.”
“Ah,” responded Solomon.
“Anything else?” asked Marcus.
“Yes. I was wondering if you knew anything about my great Uncle’s passing?”
“I believe his heart gave out. A few of his servants delivered his body and said that he’d died at his desk earlier that day.”
“Do you recall the servants' names? Or if any of them found new work in Moonfallow?”
“No. They all kept to themselves over at the manor. They would come into town sometimes to buy supplies, but I don’t think I ever heard any of them even speak.” He scratched a bit of stubble on his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “I think one of them may have found employment with Dame Pryor. I believe he escorts her to church once a week.”
A Dame, so minor nobility. Solomon would have to introduce himself, and maybe see if there were any other minor noble families around. He should’ve done more research on the local politics and less on new mining techniques. Though in his defense there was far more to read on the latter than the former.
Solomon asked a few more general questions about the status of the guard and received a book of their recorded arrests over the last year as well as their funding allocations and list of guards. When he was done they shared one more handshake and Solomon left the office and headed for the door with Melissa following closely behind. He hadn’t gotten all that he wanted, and now that he knew that the Mayor and Captain were brothers he knew he’d need to find outside means to have them removed, but it hadn’t been entirely fruitless.
As he walked out of the building, Third Watchman Vantus turned to him, a tobacco pipe in one hand, and his other clenched tightly. He bowed then held out the clenched hand.
“It was good to meet you, Lord,” he said.
Solomon hesitated for a moment, then shook the man’s hand, feeling a piece of paper make its way to his palm.
“You have a good day, Watchman.”
The man nodded, a hardness in his eyes.
Solomon walked to the carriage, letting Melissa open his door before he stepped into it. He settled in and wrapped a knuckle on the window at the front of it twice to let Duncan know to get going, then he unraveled the note that was in his hand.
They are lying to you. Meet me at Sebastian’s Rare Volumes tomorrow morning.
“What is it, lord?” asked Melissa.
“Confirmation of something I’d already suspected,” he folded the note and tucked it into his jacket. “I think we should start restocking the library tomorrow. We’ll make a trip to the bookstore in the morning.”
