“Wait, before you do that, send me my chief scribe; tell him to bring two more scribes, wax, ribbons and the seal. I’ll be issuing some arrest warrants’ for immediate service, so have Baron Hahrvee Sheeld stand by, and alert Master Kahks, down belowstairs, that we’ll need a good dozen of his lowest, dankest, slimiest cells, plus that many sets of the heaviest fetters to be fitted and riveted.”
The chamberlain nodded, rapidly making notes as the orders were given. Then he looked up and asked, “Your grace, if you will be issuing warrants, perhaps Baron Lapkin might be of an assistance? He has just ridden up from Pahdookahport and now waits in the anteroom of your audience chamber.” At his words, the chamberlain was deeply shocked to hear a Snarled string of foul curses and epithets issue from the aged lips of Sir Peetuh Bohwlz, from whom he never could recall having heard a single harsh or off-color word. Softly, but firmly, Tchariz said, “Hold your place, and your temper, just a bit longer, Uncle Peetuh. You’ll have every last gram of your vengeance soon enough. But this is a duchy of law and things must be done legally. “Sir Rahdjuh, courteously request that the learned and most honorable Baron Lapkin join us… oh, and I’ll have six of my foot guards outside the door to this chamber, at once.”
Baron Sir Yzik Lapkin, ducal deputy for, and high judge of, the city and environs of Pahdookahport, strode solemnly into the small chamber. When he removed his flat cap of plum velvet and cloth-of-gold, his bald scalp reflected the light of the lamps as fully as did his exposed teeth and dark eyes. Bobbing the shortest bow permissible, he nodded, “Your grace.” Then his smile, which at no time went beyond his mouth, was turned toward the others. “Ah, young Sir Huhmfree and… why, my word, is it truly you then. Sir Peetuh? Why, I’ve not seen you in… How long is it? Years, anyway. We two old ones should get together more often, you know.
“Sir Benedikt Railz, what in the world brings you from your lovely hall? Oh, of course, the duke’s muster. And that would, of course, account for your presence, too, Sir Leeoh. But, Sir Clai, have you then recovered enough of that smashed kneecap to once more ride to war?”
Before any of them could even start to frame answers, the duke said, “Lapkin, we’re about to issue up some arrest warrants for certain malefactors. Sit you down there at the end of the table. I’d have you read a copy of the testimony before the scribes arrive, that all may be in proper order.” “Of course, your grace,” said the baron, adding, in a condescending tone addressed to the knights, “you see, wise as is our lord, he is ever ready to seek out expert and loyal counsel.”
But he had read no more than two pages when all of the blood drained from his face, the hands that began to rip and tear at the statement were seen to tremble and the voice that he finally found had developed a quaver. “Your… your grace must not, cannot believe a… a single word of… of this! The… the woman has obviously gone mad and… and besides, look at what she is. Harlots and madams, they… they’re all liars, everyone knows that! Does my dear lord suppose that I… that for one moment I… no, my lord, mayhap these others named are truly guilty of… but not me, my lord, not me!
“No, Lapkin,” said Tcharlz, a hint of sadness in his voice, “I am inclined to think you guilty of all those charges, of them, and probably of much, much more which the woman, Yohahna, was unaware of or did not mention.”
The baron slid out of his chair onto his knees and crawled abjectly to the duke’s side. Raising his tremulous hands beseechingly, he stuttered, “N… no, my l… lord, no!”
Tcharlz looked sternly down at the groveling man. “Yes, Lapkin, yes! It stand to reason, man. There is no way that bitch and her minions could have engaged in all but open smuggling, kidnapping and extortion and all the sorry rest without protection of them and their activities by a very powerful man. And who more powerful than a man who was, at once, my deputy and the high judge?” “My… my lord has already convicted me!” wailed the baron. “Perjured test… testimony… a trial… right to face my…” The duke’s voice was become warm honey flowing over steel. “Oh, yes, Lapkin, you’ll get a trial, an open trial, just as soon as I get back from Traderstownport. Meanwhile, because I suspect that you and your criminal cohorts just might take it upon yourselves to take a voyage for reasons of health, you will be availing yourself of the hospitality of Pirates’ Folly. My good Master Kahks is already preparing a private room for your occupancy—a cool, dark, quiet one, wherein you may have the peace to reflect upon your treachery to me and my folk.”
Tcharlz raised his voice a few notches. “Guard!”
15
“Wolf, you will be in overall command of the citadel,” Martuhn stated at a last conference in his towertop home on the eve of his departure for Traderstown. “I’m leaving you a score of pikemen along with Corporal Hailee, a couple of cooks, plus Quartermaster Sergeant Lestuh and his men. His mission is to ferry over supplies in the proper order, as we come in need of them, as well as to receive and stow and record any late-arriving consignments for the garrison of Traderstown.
“Neither he nor you will be troubled with remounts or supplies for the various contingents of horse. All those are to be handled by and through the big cavalry camp just north of the upper city; Chief Quartermaster Sergeant Renuhlz bean that onerous responsibility. I believe you two are acquainted, of old.” “Aye,” Wolf mindspoke to save rime, “it’s many a quart I’ve downed with him. He be a good man, for all he’s a damned lazy horse soldier.” Martuhn continued, ‘The citadel will also be host to a dozen ducal messengers and a selection of mounts for them, as well as hostlers to care for them and a farrier and his boy to keep them properly shod; principally because he can both read and write, and also because I trust him in all ways, Sir Djaimz will be in charge of the messenger service.”
The senior captain turned next to the hulking Zahrtohgahn. “Nahseer, your responsibility—and your only one until my return—will be the boys, Bahb and Djoh. For all that this Urbahnos has been declared ‘outlaw’ by his grace and is being hunted the length and breadth of the duchy, I still fear for their safety from him. Don’t ever stray far from them. And both you and Wolf be damned careful of who is let into the citadel and of how many they number.”
To Bahb and Djoh, he beamed, “Obey Nahseer and Wolf, lads, they’ll have your best interests in mind.”
Then, back to Nahseer, “I think it would be best if the three of you lodge up here in my chambers, for there are certain built-in safeguards, as well as a long climb, for any interlopers who might come seeking you. I’ll demonstrate them all to you before I’m done. There’re foods and various potables up here, and this chamber and Wolfs offer the only routes of access to the roof and its cistern.”
A week earlier, Baron Hahrvee Sheeld had ridden into Pahdookahport, his belt pouch bulging with ducal warrants, and ordered the commander of the city guard to bar all gates immediately, no man or woman to enter or exit until he gave leave that they do so. Next, he had visited the office of the harbormaster and served notice that until further orders were forthcoming, no ship, barge or boat of any size or description was to leave wharf or dock or mooring. All with whom he spoke knew his status, and none offered arguments. When his two troops of household guards were inside the city and the last of the lumbering, ox-drawn prison wagons had rumbled through the north gate, he set about his mission.
The tough, tactiurn horseguards went through Pahdookahport in a manner akin to the proverbial dose of salts. Most of those men arrested were long-resident aliens, but not all.
The high bishop of the Most Ancient and Most Holy Church of Remembered Glory (who was also the brother-in-law of Baron Lapkin) was dragged from his palatial residence screaming at the top of his lungs, “Never would I attend or frequent such a sinkhole of inequity, I assure you. The stock that I hold was simply a good investment for church monies!” His protestations gained him nothing, however; the guards tossed him most ungently into one of the wheeled cages… after an iron “scolds’ bridle” had been locked securely around his head and under his jaws to prevent him conversing with his fellow prisoners.