The Queen's assassin

Chapter Fourteen

“Assemble the men, Sergeant,” said Sardec. “It seems we have work to do.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Hef. If he had any curiosity about the reasons for his commander’s urgency he kept them off his face. He had already seen the messenger arrive and had perhaps even talked to him. Hef strode out of the room, shouting orders to Corporal Toby and the men. Sardec could hear the clatter of boots on stairs and the sounds of weapons being taken from racks. Within five minutes the company was assembled in the courtyard. Sardec stood in front of them.

“A mob is gathering in Old King’s Square. They are protesting about the price of bread. At least they were. Agitators have been speaking to them. Word on the street has it that some patriots killed Lord Elakar last night.”

A murmur went through the ranks. Sardec thought he might as well share the knowledge that had been the talk of the officer’s mess this morning. “It is true. Lord Elakar was killed. The Lady Asea herself is investigating the matter. I have no doubt she will get to the bottom of it.”

That quietened them. Asea had been with the company when the descended into the Elder World hell beneath Deep Achenar. The soldiers of the company had a lot of respect for her. They were frightened of her too although they would never admit it.

“That’s neither here nor there at the moment,” said Sardec. “We have to see that the mob does not get out of hand. There will be no looting. There will be no disturbance of the peace. And there will be absolutely no shooting of civilians, unless I give the order. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers chorused.

“Then let’s move out.”

From up ahead Sardec could hear the mutter of the crowd. It was a soft sound in its way, almost like that of the sea. It rose and fell in answer to something. As the troops marched into the square, Sardec saw what it was.

A man clung to the side of a statue of Old King Orodruine. He held onto the king’s arm with one hand while his feet rested on the king’s knee. At this distance, all that Sardec could make out was that he was a man, garbed in the clothes of some street hawker. As the Foragers entered the square and fanned out into a single line, muskets at the ready, the man pointed at them and shouted; “There they are. There are the killers. There are the ones keeping bread from your children’s mouth. There are the ones whose presence defiles the sacred streets of Halim.”

All eyes in the crowd whipped around to look at them. Sardec felt like he was facing some sullen many-headed beast. The same suppressed fury was visible in the eyes of every man, woman and child. He took a deep breath. The crowd outnumbered his company by at least ten to one. Already one or two of them were stooping to pick up cobblestones. He turned to Sergeant Hef. “Form the men up in two ranks. Tell them to be prepared to fire.”

He turned to the crowd and raised his hook. That got their attention. “That will be enough,” he said. “You will disperse and return to your homes. This is an unlawful assembly.”

The crowd simply looked at him, measuring its will against his own. He forced himself to smile coldly and raked his gaze across the front ranks. Not one of them would meet his eyes. He let his glance linger on a few faces, giving the owner’s time to realise that he would remember them. Several of them turned away and began to slouch off.

“You have families. You have businesses. You have children,” Sardec said. “Why risk them?” That message too seemed to get through. He felt as if something had gone out of the many-headed beast, as if it was starting to get its fury under control. He told himself not to get too confident. He had not tamed it yet.

“Why risk it indeed?” sneered the agitator. “Where is the honour of Kharadrea? Where is your courage? Why behave like men when you can behave like whipped dogs and slink away with your tails between your legs.”

The crowd began to mutter among themselves. Some of them were angered by the agitator’s words but whether at him or at the Foragers Sardec could not tell.

“That will be enough, sir,” said Sardec. His parade ground voice carried over the crowd. The situation here was on a bayonet’s edge. He did not want anything to provoke the crowd and the slightest thing might set it off. On the other hand, he could not afford to let the man stir the crowd up.

“What are you going to do about it, Hookhand? Challenge me to a duel?”

Sardec felt his face flush. So even the people here knew about that? The lower orders were discussing his business. He schooled his features into a mask. He was not going to let himself be provoked. Some of those present laughed but oddly enough more of those present seemed to take Sardec’s part. They shook their heads. Women began to pull their children into doorways. Men began to walk away. Sardec wished that he knew what was going on but he had no idea.

After a few minutes only a few die-hard troublemakers and the agitator himself were left in the square. Still Sardec sensed countless eyes watching him from windows and balconies overlooking it. Sardec continued to stare at those who opposed his will. He gave them one last chance.

“You will disperse and go to your homes,” he said. “Or you will be arrested. This is an unlawful assembly.”

Once again, none of them could meet his gaze. The men, hard-looking unshaven types, street bullies and stevedores no doubt, slunk away, leaving only the agitator, still hanging from the statue. “Corporal Toby, arrest that man,” Sardec said.

“With pleasure, sir.”

Sardec turned to Sergeant Hef. “That went better than I expected,” he said. “Although I have no idea why.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the monkey-faced little man, “but it was the duel. Most of the folk around here, and particularly the women, know you fought a Terrarch over a human woman. The crowd was humans, sir. The speaking fellow made a mistake reminding them of what you had done. Begging your pardon, they have more time for you than most Terrarchs, sir.”

Sardec did not know what to say, whether to feel proud or embarrassed. It seemed that he was something of a celebrity here. He told himself that the approval of the crowd should not matter to him, but he found that it did.

“Let’s get that buffoon into irons and the lads back to barracks,” he said

“What’s your name,” Sardec asked the agitator.

“What does it matter, Hookhand?” Sardec has to admit the man was brave. Either that or he was mad. Even in the improvised cell in the billet, he showed no fear and no sign of regret.

“It will be on your gravestone.”

“Then put down a Kharadrean patriot.”

“A Kharadrean idiot, more like,” said Weasel. He and the Barbarian had been assigned to watch the man until the magistrate got there. The Barbarian laughed.

“Laugh all you like, moron,” said the patriot. “Your time is coming.”

With terrifying swiftness and deceptive casualness, the big man batted him right across the room. Sardec glanced at him. “That will be quite enough, soldier,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” He looked at the patriot and smiled broadly. There was no malice there, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “I may not be the brightest of men, but at least I have more sense than to tell the men who captured me that they are idiots.”

“I called you a moron, moron,” said the patriot from his place on the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth. A tooth had come loose and he spat it on the floor.

The Barbarian strolled across, picked him up one-handed, and dusted off the dirt from the man’s shirtfront. Innocent as the gesture was, it conveyed a world of menace. The patriot flinched. The Barbarian set the prisoner back on his seat, wiped his hands and grinned down at him. His gentleness had frightened the prisoner in a way that his brutality had not. His mouth was shut. At least for a moment.

“You are all going to die,” he said. “It does not matter what you do to me.”

“Every man dies,” said Weasel. “It happens to some of us sooner than others.”

“The Brotherhood will make your death painful,” said the man. Sardec began to understand him: the gaunt face, the unblinking stare, the utter certainty. The man was a fanatic of some sort.

“You know about the Brotherhood, do you?” he said softly.

“I know it’s going to kill you all, starting with your leaders, and not excepting the lowliest private soldier.”

The man was dressed like a member of the lower mercantile classes but he did not speak like one, more like a priest.

“Why do they want to kill us?” Sardec asked. “We are here to help your Queen.”

“Help? You are vultures hoping to gorge on the corpse of Kharadrea. You will find that this time you choke.”

Sardec remembered the Prophet Zarahel. He had belonged to a Brotherhood. And the Lady Asea suspected that behind that Brotherhood was the long arm of Sardea. The Dark Empire had been known to support the secret organisations with gold and weapons and sorcery. He wondered if this man was just another deluded pawn of Sardea’s foreign policy. In any case, a swift trial and hanging now seemed ruled out. Perhaps this man knew something about the Brotherhood of Patriots. Given their apparent involvement in Lord Elakar’s assassination, it seemed only right to report the matter to his superiors. He would need to make things clear when the magistrates got here. In the meantime, he might as well ask a few questions himself.

“Regardless of what you think,” Sardec said, his voice gently mocking, “we are here to help Kathea, and we are here to protect your people and country from the Dark Empire.”

The patriot laughed out loud. There was a horrible strained quality to it, and a complete lack of mirth. He was forcing himself to it. “Keep your lies for the fools who believe them. We know your sort. It’s land you want, Kharadrean land.”

“The Dark Empire will make all you humans slaves. Queen Arielle stands for human freedom.”

“Freedom to starve and labour for a pittance.” There was far too much truth in that for Sardec to disagree. He knew that in Talorea things were bad for humans.

“Freedom to own property. To vote in elections. To not be slaves.”

“To be lapdogs of the Terrarch assembly. If you own property. If you are a common man, it’s as bad as ever.”

“Humans in Talorea are better off than ever they were in Kharadrea. And a thousand times better off than they are in Sardea.” Sardec was surprised to find himself on the defensive here. It was not that he disbelieved what he was saying. He just realised that if he were a human it would have sounded inadequate.

“Things will be better here. We will have equality with Terrarchs. We will have a truly democratic government and laws in front of which everyone is equal.”

Both Weasel and the Barbarian sniggered. That seemed to disturb the patriot more than the earlier violence. “Laugh, lapdogs. Laugh while you can. A new age is coming and you will all be swept away.”

Sardec looked at the man, impressed by his seriousness. There was something more here than simple patriotism, a powerful ideal, strong enough to give this man courage in the face of death and torture. If the Sardeans were funding a movement like this, perhaps they had made a huge miscalculation. They were lighting a bonfire that might prove difficult to put out, and one perhaps to set the whole world alight.

Another more frightening thought occurred to him. Perhaps this had nothing to do with the Sardeans. Perhaps it was simply a mark of a new age, a sign of the times. If so his people were in for a rough time.

The door opened. Captain Quinal entered. With him was a Terrarch in the black uniform and silver mask of a military Magister.

“I understand this man is a member of the Brotherhood,” said Quinal. “I have a few questions to ask him. You and your men may go, Lieutenant.”

Sardec gestured for Weasel and the Barbarian to depart as Quinal and his people came into the room. Almost as soon as he left, screams started.

When Quinal was emerged from the room, he did not look pleased. Sardec raised an eyebrow.

“He died without telling us anything.”

“He had some sort of counter-spell?”

Quinal shook his head. “Some training in resisting magic perhaps, and a very strong will. His heart broke before he could tell us anything.”

“We’d better hope not all of his compatriots are made of the same stuff. Or we will have a lot of trouble.”

“Lieutenant, I think we are already in a lot of trouble.”

Sardec did not disagree.