Fires That Forge, page 13
part #1 of Lords of Order and Chaos Series
“Dunewell, I love you,” Silas said as he stood and extended his hand.
Dunewell stood, pushed aside the hand, and hugged Silas, kissing him on the cheek.
“I love you as well.”
“I know you have your duties,” Silas said. “Know that I not only love you in spite of them, but rather because of them.”
They embraced for a long moment.
Silas had the manner of a man almost completely alone in a world where he was surrounded by people. It struck Dunewell’s heart with a deep anguish.
Part III – Thoughts from the Examination Stool
“Do hold still,” Silas said.
“But they’s bugs!” Yellok, a merchant sailor, said as he squirmed on the examination table.
“True enough,” Silas said as he used tweezers to apply the maggots to Yellok’s festering wound.
A rope had snapped while offloading cargo at the docks. Yellok had been standing close by and was struck by the whip-crack end of the rope. It left a significant abrasion along his left shoulder. That had been a week prior. Now, infection had set in.
“But they will eat away the dead flesh. You came to me for a reason. Now trust in my word.”
“It works you know,” Dunewell said from the doorway, surprising both Yellok and Silas. “I’ve seen it used in the field. They are very effective at removing the rotting flesh, if applied correctly.”
Everything Dunewell said seemed to ease Yellok, save that last bit. Those words, ‘if applied correctly,’ set him to squirming again.
“It’s a technique discovered in the Disputed Isles,” Silas said. “I’m surprised to hear it’s being employed in Tarborat.”
“We employed anything and everything that had a chance of working,” Dunewell said.
Dunewell looked around the room and found a crate, currently not in use, and took his ease upon it. Silas loosely dressed Yellok’s wound and helped him to sit up on the examination table.
“Give that two days and then remove it and wash it with spirits,” Silas said as he handed Yellok two vials containing some purplish fluid. “Drink one of these in the morning and the other the morning after that. If that doesn’t begin to heal by the following day, then come back to see me.”
Yellok eyed the vials suspiciously.
“Bugs and potions?”
“Have your doubts on day four, if it hasn’t begun to heal.”
“Spirits ‘ill burn like the UnMaker’s fire,” Yellok said.
“Yes, they will,” Silas said. “You could ignore my advice and seek help at one of the churches. Or you could let it fester and die. Up to you.”
“You know I can’t afford no miracles from no priests,” Yellok said as he took the vials. “Jelly Tom says your doctorin’s good, so, I guess we’ll see.”
Yellok gave a respectful nod to Dunewell, even without his official cloak, his size and bearing would have made any wise man pay him respect, and walked to the door. He paused there, fished in his pocket for a moment, and finally dropped two coins into a jar by the door with a grumble.
“I don’t suppose either of those coins was a silver one?” Dunewell asked when the door was closed.
“I’m sure they were both coppers,” Silas said with a bit of a laugh.
He hoped the laugh sounded genuine. This was the appointed day. The day they agreed to speak of the murders in great detail. Silas had prepared his mind. He hoped it would be enough.
“It matters little,” Silas said. “Father was the one who insisted on charging for the services. Even when he was alive I would, more often than not, distribute whatever the jar held at the end of the day to the children in hospital.”
Silas didn’t see his act as generous. He had never really wanted for anything other than knowledge. Here his case studies and experiments came to him; saving him a good deal of time and trouble.
“Tell me about the elven crafts he was moving,” Dunewell said.
“I don’t know much,” Silas said. “We have our own craftsmen who have been trained to attempt to duplicate the elven style. Father kept their workshops up at the mines. I suppose to avoid any other Houses from trying to hire them away. I know that he also imported some, jewelry, cups, and the like. Do you think that could have something to do with it?”
Dunewell raised an eyebrow and Silas smiled and held up his hands defensively. Silas tried desperately to conceal his hope that these elven crafts would serve as a line of inquiry.
“I know, we agreed that only one of us would ask the questions,” Silas said. “It’s just so much in my nature.”
“Tell me about his arrangements with Rugan and House Theald,” Dunewell said.
“Many and varied is about all I can offer there,” Silas said. “I sent letters to the Houses, and visited others, to assure them our Houses’ ventures would not be impeded by any act of sabotage on my part. House Morosse’s ledgermen would be the best source of information there. I’ve instructed all of them to accommodate you, and any other inquisitors of course, and any request you might have. That’s quite an attractive niece Rugan has, isn’t she?”
“Erin is wonderful,” Dunewell caught himself saying. “She’s… she’s not the matter we’re discussing today.”
“Sorry,” Silas said. “There was a meeting between father, Rugan, and Gyllorn, sorry, Lord High Inquisitor Gyllorn, about six weeks ago. I don’t know what they discussed though.”
“Where did they meet?”
“At our estate,” Silas said, secretly enjoying where the conversation was heading. He had no love for Gyllorn or Rugan. If both could be implicated in the murders, or convicted of them, that would please him immensely. “They met in the library, behind closed doors.”
“Closed even to Helena?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever confide in you any suspicions or concerns?”
“No,” Silas said. “I was never her favorite person. No, you don’t need to defend her. I understand it and accepted the fact years ago. I was not the son that would follow in her warrior’s footsteps. She never mistreated me. She just… well… you understand.”
Silas had planned this ploy and was glad it worked into conversation naturally. He knew how Dunewell felt about Helena and knew Dunewell regretted how things were between Silas and her. It was only a modicum of added sympathy, but Silas was glad to have it.
“Tell me about the Lord High Inquisitor’s relationship with Killian.”
“Father was usually quiet about business,” Silas said. “I would say that they met often enough to be considered friends, but father didn’t really have any friends. I hadn’t really thought about it before,” of course he had, “but after those meetings there was often an argument between them. Mother and father, I mean. I was never able to fully understand,” although he understood enough, “what those arguments were about. I assume something to do with Gyll… Lord High Inquisitor Gyllorn. But, as I’ve said, their business never interested me much.”
Of course, this one piece of business, if it could be called that, had interested him a great deal.
“If he were implicated, could you proceed?” Silas asked. “Would the investigation have to be undertaken by someone of… of higher rank?”
“When did Killian and the Lord High Inquisitor first begin to have these meetings?” Dunewell asked.
“I don’t really know,” Silas said, telling the absolute truth this time. “I remember him coming around when he was an Inquisitor, before there was any ‘Lord High’ added to it. I was maybe six or seven years old when he was promoted. So, at least twenty years or more.”
“Is there anything else that I need to know that I failed to ask you?”
“I’m quite sure there is,” Silas said. “However, I don’t know what it would be. There is something… something odd. I’ve never told you about it because I thought it would only serve to make you angry with no recourse. It… well, it was only an intuition, anyway.”
Dunewell sighed and Silas worried that he may have over played his hand with the last bit. However, he must introduce the thought and it must be now. Dunewell twirled his finger in a go on motion and Silas nodded.
“I always thought that Lady Evalynne had… that she had designs on father,” Silas said. “I’m not aware of any evidence indicating such a thing. But; I don’t know, I always thought she sort of flirted with him. It may have just been to make Helena angry. Those two never liked one another.”
Silas turned his gaze to the small window in the room. His eyes took in the ugly gray winter sky and the skeletal trees that stood on the ragged edge of Pauper’s Garden. His eyes also took in a slight reflection that allowed him to see Dunewell’s face without giving away that he was staring at him.
He could see that Dunewell appeared to be completely engaged in the present. However, he knew him well. Dunewell’s mind was busy, but busy at what?
“Did Lady Evalynne visit often?” Dunewell finally asked.
That question indicated that Dunewell may have indeed followed his breadcrumbs along that trail.
“No more often than she did the other Houses in Moras, I suppose,” Silas said. “Official events, galas intended to promote one business venture or another; that sort of thing.”
“One last question, did you murder them?”
Silas smiled at that. He couldn’t help it.
“Killian, many times in my heart,” Silas said, as he turned to face Dunewell. “Helena, for what reason? I was never the son she wanted but I accepted that many years ago.”
Dunewell stared evenly at Silas, giving nothing away in his eyes. He just sat there, waiting for a proper answer. It was the perfect facial expression of a professional interrogator.
“I did not end their lives by stabbing them, either of them, through the throat,” Silas said with no note of emotion. “I am not the one to hang for these murders.”
“I suppose, then, it is time for me to tell you what I can,” Dunewell said.
Silas felt the held breath that wanted to escape his lungs in one great sigh. He fought that compulsion and maintained his composure, however. He felt giddy and exhausted all at once, as if the alchemy of his body had gone mad.
“I discovered a shipment stolen from one of your warehouses,” Dunewell continued, seeming unaware of the variety of emotions Silas was battling. “I did not recover it, for to have done so would have given me away. The shipment was of elven crafted jewelry or other various pieces of fancy wares. It was taken, with the aid of some of your labormen, by Rugan. He had crates moved to two different warehouses of his, and some onto one of House Theald’s ships. Do you have anything to drink?”
Silas sat and stared at him for several long moments before the request registered in his mind.
“Of course,” Silas said. “Coffee?”
“That will do fine,” Dunewell said.
Silas stirred the coals in the small iron stove that sat squat in the corner of the room. He fed a few smaller pieces of wood into the fire within and placed a kettle atop the stove.
“I watched Rugan for some time hoping that he would be meeting with a confederate of some sort. Eventually a swordsman wearing the colors of House Despion arrived. They had a heated argument about something and Rugan backed the swordsman off the ship.”
“Rugan? I never took him as particularly physically imposing.”
“That was an interesting development,” Dunewell said. “I believe he had a rust wolf on a leash.”
“Rust wolf?”
“Yes,” Dunewell said. “An unusual animal from far south of here, near Split Town. By size and markings, they appeared to be as any other wolf, however, their breath can vaporize metal.”
“Astonishing!” Silas said, wondering what nature of conditions must have existed to cause such a mutation to develop. There were, of course, those who said the gods cursed this or the goddess cursed that, but to Silas’s way of thinking that was just lazy reasoning. There was always a cause and an effect.
The coffee, only needing to be warmed up a bit, was ready and Silas poured them both a cup.
“Interesting creatures, I suppose,” Dunewell said. “I talked to a man once that knew of them. He said they must be hunted with wooden or bone weapons. He said they could defeat any armor or blade of metal in seconds.”
Silas mentally collected and carefully filed every piece of information Dunewell had to offer. He was ever hungry to learn.
“Anyway,” Dunewell continued, “I had one of the shipments inspected for tax duties. All the markings were in order, however, the watchman, Keryk is his name, noticed that the markings indicated the crates came in by ship. He also noticed there was no evidence, physical marring or discoloration and the like, that those crates had ever been on a ship. Inside were the elven, or elven styled, crafts I mentioned earlier.”
“Watchman Keryk sounds like a sharp man,” Silas said with genuine appreciation.
“You don’t sound too upset or surprised about the theft of your goods,” Dunewell said. “Or about Rugan’s apparent betrayal of trust.”
“I have every confidence you’ll sort it out,” Silas said. “As for Rugan, well, all the people in Moras I trust are in this room. I dare say the behavior of the rest of them would little surprise me. This watchman, Keryk, will he be around to cover your flank, as you military men say?”
“I do well on my own, but; to answer your question, yes,” Dunewell said. “I’m speaking to his sergeant later today about reassigning him, for the time being.”
“Good,” Silas said, hoping that it was indeed good. “That is very good to hear. No news from any witnesses then?”
“Nothing substantial,” Dunewell said. “One fellow claimed to have seen black smoke coming from one of the chimneys at House Morosse. The poor fellow thought it a vampire.”
Silas laughed. He hoped it sounded genuine. He knew what had caused that black smoke and Dunewell was correct, it was no vampire. This fellow Dunewell spoke of must be the witness Whillyd had been referring to. That situation would have to be handled quickly. Furthermore, thinking of vampires, he still had a certain corpse that must be gotten rid of. He also needed to make some arrangement for the rust wolf. Whillyd would likely be responding soon. But how would he respond? Silas’s list of chores was stacking up. He had been considering an idea for a while and decided this was the time to try it.
“House Morosse is under my Stewardship now, and those quarters at Blackstone are quite drab. Would you consider moving to House Morosse? I assure you the company would be far superior to what you enjoy in your barracks.”
Dunewell smiled.
“Kind of you to offer,” Dunewell said. “I’ll consider it, after this business is resolved.”
“Of course,” Silas said, hoping to fully mask his disappointment. “Once it’s resolved.”
Part IV – An Examination of the Examination Room
“Do hold still,” Silas said.
“But they’s bugs!” came from some merchant sailor on the examination table.
“True enough,” Silas said.
Silas was using maggots to eliminate the dead and diseased skin and muscle around the man’s shoulder wound.
“But they will eat away the dead flesh. You came to me for a reason. Now trust in my word.”
“It works you know,” Dunewell said. “I’ve seen it used in the field. They are very effective at removing the rotting flesh, if applied correctly.”
“It’s a technique discovered in the Disputed Isles,” Silas said. “I’m surprised to hear it’s being employed in Tarborat.”
“We employed anything and everything that had a chance of working,” Dunewell said, thinking of the many cultures represented by the diversity of the soldiers stationed there and all the strange things he’d experienced.
Dunewell took a seat on an empty crate and waited for Silas to conclude his business.
“Give that two days and then remove it and wash it with spirits,” Silas said as he handed Yellok two vials containing some purplish fluid. “Drink one of these in the morning and the other the morning after that. If that doesn’t begin to heal by the following day, then come back to see me.”
Yellok gave the medicine a dirty look.
“Bugs and potions?”
“Have your doubts on day four, if it hasn’t begun to heal.”
“Spirits ‘ill burn like the UnMaker’s fire,” Yellok said.
“Yes, they will,” Silas said. “You could ignore my advice and seek help at one of the churches. Or you could let it fester and die. Up to you.”
“You know I can’t afford no miracles from no priests,” Yellok said as he took the vials. “Jelly Tom says your doctorin’s good, so, I guess we’ll see.”
Yellok nodded to Dunewell and walked to the door. He paused there, fished in his pocket for a moment, and dropped two coins into a jar by the door.
“I don’t suppose either of those coins was a silver one?” Dunewell asked when the door was closed, knowing full well the begrudged sailor dropped less than the price of an ale into the collection jar.
“I’m sure they were both coppers,” Silas said with a bit of a laugh.
“It matters little,” Silas said. “Father was the one who insisted on charging for the services. Even when he was alive I would, more often than not, distribute whatever the jar held at the end of the day to the children in hospital.”
Dunewell thought Silas generous, after a fashion. It was true enough that Silas cared little for coin or the trappings of wealth. He never had. However, Dunewell had known many who would pocket manure just to keep the next man from getting at it. Silas could have thrown the coins away at a gambler’s table, or any number of other things but instead chose to give them to the children of his Sanctum.
Dunewell ordered his thoughts and prepared his emotions for whatever answers might come. If Silas confessed to the murders, he would be prepared for it. If Silas confessed to eating only live snakes and then gobbled one up right in front of him, he would be prepared for that as well. In short, Dunewell opened his mind to all avenues.
