“That is none of your concern.”
“Indeed it is my concern, sergeant, for not only am I the accuser in this case, but I also believe that these selfsame slavers held a friend of mine in their thrall until he was murdered.”
“The questioning will be private,” said the sergeant.
“But you told me that we could attend. We have questions we’d like to have answered, and our unique perspective, having been on the vessel in question, would pro-”
The sergeant stopped in his tracks and turned to face Cimozjen. “I’d rather not arrest the day’s hero for hindering a Sentinel Marshal pursuing his duties,” he said, “but you’re testing my patience. Now leave!”
“Arrest me? But I’ve done nothing wrong! By the Code of Galifar-”
The sergeant abruptly stepped back, a broad smile beaming from his face. “Isn’t this a true hero?” he shouted, sweeping one arm out to engage the crowd. “Not only does he risk his life to uncover the blaggards who were violating countless articles of the Code of Galifar, but he declines any personal reward for his daring deeds! Let’s hear a cheer for him! Khooooot!”
The crowd of onlookers cheered.
The sergeant motioned the crowd to silence again. “Sad to say, my troop and I have much to do yet this day, and will be busy interrogating these prisoners until well after sundown. However, I see that the Crown and King is opening their doors early this day, and while this fine man refuses any personal payment for his deeds, I am certain that he’d be happy to spend the reward money buying drinks for the good people of Throneport!” With that, he drew a small leather coin pouch from his belt and slung it to Cimozjen, arcing it high so that everyone within the area would mark its flight.
Cimozjen caught the bag easily, giving the sergeant a look mixed of grudging respect for his cleverness and bitter disappointment at his evasion.
The sergeant whipped one hand into the air. “He’s dying to tell the tale of his escapades, folks. You need only beg him to do it! If this is how he starts his morning, think of the wild and glorious tales he has to share!”
The crowd cheered again, and rather more loudly this time. Following the grand gesture of the sergeant, they crowded around Cimozjen, gently badgering him and his companions toward the Crown and King.
Behind the waving hands of the excited peasantry, Cimozjen saw the Sentinel Marshals brutally urging their charges onward.
The tavern had the musky and pervasive odor of spilled beer gone rancid and tobacco smoked days or even months prior, and was thus much akin to most taverns spread across the Five Nations. The sergeant’s coin purse had been long depleted, and the drinks it had purchased already forgotten. While Cimozjen’s early tales had held the crowd in thrall, those he’d told more recently had been carefully chosen for minimal effect and told with deliberate ponderousness. Thus he had driven the locals to their own tables and tales told with rather more excitement and considerably less honesty, leaving him and his companions alone. Cimozjen and Minrah sat. Fighter stood in the corner, his battle-axe at the ready.
Minrah sighed in disgust, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “I can’t believe you let him get away with that.”
Cimozjen stretched, gave Fighter a reassuring pat on the arm, and slouched down in his chair. “With what?” he asked.
“With manipulating you into coming in here and wasting your time buying drinks for ingrates.”
“I did no such thing,” said Cimozjen.
“Did you come in here? Yes. Did you buy drinks? Yes. Did you waste a lot of time? Yes. Aside from that, you did yourself proud, Cimmo.”
“I did not allow him to manipulate me,” he said. “I chose to do as I was bidden.”
“What? You chose to-gah! That was just-that was not smart. Not smart at all.”
“Perhaps. But it was kind.”
“Kind? Kind to whom?”
“All of the people in this tavern.”
Minrah sat back and folded her arms across her breast. “I’d rather be smart than kind.”
Fighter stirred. “I concur. When they opened my home, there was always someone who intended to attack me. I needed to use my intellect to figure out which it was. Kindness would not have availed me any. Therefore Minrah’s preference is the correct one.”
“There is much you have to learn about the world, Fighter. Did you not think about things while you were in the-uh, your home?”
“No. I waited. Sometimes I waited for long periods of time, but during those times I had no need to think, for I was not being attacked. Sometimes there were noises outside my home, but as I could not reach those noises, nor could they reach me, I ignored them. I find it considerably more taxing being without my home, for I must always be alert for whoever will next attack me.”
“Alas, your education is sorely lacking, good warforged. To begin with, intelligence is a trait, while kindness is a virtue.”
“Sure, and I’d rather be lucky enough to be smart,” said Minrah.
“Intellect is a gift the Sovereigns give you,” said Cimozjen, ignoring her outburst, “while kindness is a gift you give others. The world would be a far better place if people thought more of others than of themselves.”
“Like that’s ever going to come to pass,” muttered Minrah.
“Someone’s coming,” said Fighter. “He’s armed.”
Cimozjen looked up and saw a guard approaching, marking his paces by using a spear as a walking stick. The guard was silhouetted against the windows, and Cimozjen couldn’t make out the face. “Is the sergeant checking up on us?” he asked quietly.
“It’s Theyedir,” said Minrah. “The old soldier from the lower bailey.”
Theyedir approached their table. Cimozjen stood, his hand straying to the sword at his side. Seeing this, Minrah stood and moved quickly to the far side of Fighter. Fighter edged along the wall to cover Cimozjen’s flank.
“Have you come to question us, now?” asked Cimozjen.
Theyedir slowed his pace, a look of timid concern on his face. He leaned his spear against the wall and held up his hands peacefully. “I am sorry if I have disconcerted you. It was not my intent.”
“Then what is your intent?” asked Cimozjen.
“I have heard some disturbing rumors about my beloved Marshals,” he said. An apologetic smile reorganized the wrinkles on his face into a more pleasant arrangement. “May I sit, please? I would hear what you have to say about the matter, in hopes that you might shed some light.”
Cimozjen nodded. Theyedir sat. Cimozjen and Minrah followed his lead, and Fighter moved back into the corner, keeping a wary eye on the old half-elf.
Theyedir laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “I have loyally served the Sentinel Marshals all of my years,” he said. “As a boy, in the early stages of the Last War, I cleaned their offices and ran errands. I became a guard as soon as they let me hold a weapon. I even got myself adopted into their house when I came of age. All this I did because I believed in their ideals, trusted that they would uphold the Code of Galifar and strive to preserve the Kingdom of Galifar even as the fighting over the succession became more intense. I find it gravely unsettling, given such an incident as this, that the Marshals seem intent on sidestepping justice.” He paused then leaned his head into one hand, his thumb at his chin and two fingers extended to his temple. “Please, tell me everything.”
“How do we know you’re not just trying to spy on us, pry out our knowledge to carry back to your superiors back at the castle?” asked Minrah.
“You are bitter and suspicious, young woman, for those you entrusted with justice have, from what I have heard, betrayed their duty,” said Theyedir. “I cannot offer you any proof beyond my own word and honor that I am being forthright with you, and the actions of those I serve have baffled me as much as you.”