‘I was merely following the dictates of my calling. It would not have been just.’
The smile was swallowed by a sour glower. ‘Just,’ he grunted. ‘You are a man of principle and no hypocrite, and you have my respect… but it seems to me that your notion, and practice, of justice has been rather narrow and blinkered.’
Bakune had no idea what the man meant. His brows crimped and he was silent for some time. Narrow? Had he not known — and enforced — the laws of the land all his life?
‘Manask and I can arrange to have you on a boat tonight.’
Silent, Bakune shook his head in a negative.
‘No? You won’t go?’
‘I cannot leave.’
‘Why not?’
Bakune smiled. ‘For reasons I’d rather not discuss.’
The priest cocked a brow. ‘I see. So you will remain.’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well. Suit yourself. Who am I to tell you what to do?’
Bakune eyed the man, uncertain. ‘So… I may stay?’
‘Yes. Certainly. You should be safe here.’
‘Well… my thanks.’
Now, Bakune turned the shot glass in his hand and thought again about his reason for remaining. That he was free now to act as never before. More free even than when he was the city magistrate, its Assessor. Then, he’d been constrained on all sides. Now, yes, he was a fugitive, hunted, but he could do as he wished. He could pursue lines of inquiry and take actions he’d only dreamed of months ago. What consequences could he possibly be threatened with now? The Abbot and his Guardians through their actions had only escalated matters. As, of course, all confrontation does.
From beneath his unwashed hair he watched the crowded room. Yes, he was safe here. The tavern catered to sailors and petty merchants — all now stranded and waiting for the Guardians to relax the curfew and the injunctions against movement.
Men and women from all nations of the subcontinent mingled here; even some who might be hiding origins from beyond the Ocean of Storms. Surely, then, such a concentration of foreigners deserved the close scrutiny of the Guardians. Yet he saw no signs of their surveillance. Unless, of course, they were somehow even more subtle and discreet in their methods than Karien’el.
Which, from what he’d seen so far, he very much doubted.
He sipped the fiery near-pure alcohol and winced. Lady be damned! Why were there no laws against serving such poison? He was about to rise when two men thumped down at his tiny round table. At first he flinched, thinking: Invoke the Riders and they appear. Then he recognized the two slouched, stoop-shouldered, lazy-eyed men as the guards Karien’el had tapped to shadow him. His composure regained, he regarded them narrowly. ‘Yes?’
The one with the darkest brows and a fat moustache pointed to his glass. ‘You gonna drink that?’
‘What do you two want?’
‘I want one of those,’ said the other.
‘Well you can’t have it ’cause it’s mine,’ said the first.
‘Neither of you-’
‘Just ’cause you asked first,’ the second pouted.
‘That’s right. I showed ’nitiative. That’s why I’m the captain.’
‘What do you two think…’ Bakune tailed off as the first guard took the shot glass between his thumb and forefinger and downed the entire drink. Then he carefully brushed back his ridiculous moustache to the right and left using the back of his hand, and sighed.
Like a cat. And so, to Bakune’s mind, the man became Cat.
The other, who was regarding his companion with a kind of sour resentment, Bakune couldn’t tag with a name. The fellow was pulling at his thick lower lip, his eyes on the now empty glass, and at last he offered, ‘You ain’t the captain of me.’
‘I’ll just be going then,’ Bakune said, half rising.
‘Don’tcha have orders?’ Cat said. Then, to his partner, he added, ‘Course I’m captain. Chain of command! Chaos otherwise.’
‘Orders?’ Bakune asked. Then he remembered: Karien had placed these two under his command. Lady, no! He was the commander of these cretins! He sat back down.
Cat shrugged. ‘Just thought maybe you might on account of all the bodies.’
‘Bodies?’
Stroking his moustache, Cat directed Bakune’s gaze to the empty glass. Giving a sigh of defeat, Bakune raised a hand to the tavern-keeper. The other fellow’s hand shot up as well. Bakune signed for two. He sat with arms crossed until the shot glasses arrived. The two raised the glasses. ‘Your health, ah, sir,’ said Cat.
Bakune leaned forward. ‘Listen… what are your names anyway?’
‘Puller,’ said the junior partner, wiping his wet lips.
‘Captain Hyuke at your service, sir,’ said Cat, his voice suddenly low and conspiratorial.
‘You’re no captain,’ Puller complained.
Bakune used his thumb and forefinger to massage his brow. Blessed Lady! Puller and Hyuke? He preferred Cat and, what, Mole? ‘Listen… you two. No one’s captain until Karien gets back.’ The two exchanged knowing, sceptical looks. ‘So, how about sergeant, Hyuke… if you must?’
Hyuke sat back grinning while he brushed his moustache. Then he cuffed his partner. ‘Hear that, Pull? I just made sergeant.’
Bakune felt his shoulders sag.
‘’Nitiative,’ Hyuke added, nodding profoundly.
Puller pouted into his glass.
‘So what was that about bodies then, Sergeant?’
‘Ah!’ Hyuke touched a finger to the side of his bulbous nose. ‘Been turning up at an awful rate. Used to be no more than one every few months, hey? Now it’s two a week.’
Bakune felt himself clenching tight. A hot sourness bubbled up in his stomach. ‘Where?’ he said, his voice faint.
‘All over. Both male and female. All young, though.’
Damn this monster, whoever he was! Taking advantage of the upheaval. ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ He swallowed to wet his throat. Something took a bite out of his stomach.
Hyuke was frowning at him. ‘You okay, Ass- ah, sir?’
He waved a hand. ‘Yes. Now, are we safe here? Can we use this place?’
Both nodded. ‘Oh, yes,’ Hyuke said. ‘Safe as the baker’s wife in the morning.’
Bakune felt his suspicions stirring once more. ‘Why?’ he asked slowly.
The partners exchanged uncertain looks. Hyuke opened his hands. ‘Because he’s busy baking…’
Bakune just glared. Hyuke’s thick brows rose. ‘Ah! I see. On account this is Boneyman’s place.’
‘Boneyman…?’
The two watchmen shared another glance; it seemed they could communicate solely by looks alone. Hyuke shook his head. ‘Really, sir. You bein’ the Ass- ah… I’m surprised.’
Bakune struggled to keep his face flat. ‘Please inform me. If you would be so kind.’
‘Boneyman runs the smuggling and the night market here in town, now that-’ Puller loudly cleared his throat, glaring, and Hyuke frowned, confused. Puller tilted his head to glance significantly to Bakune. Hyuke’s brows rose even higher. ‘Ah! Well… now that things have… changed…’ he finished, flustered.
Bakune felt his gaze narrowing. Things have changed now, have they? Now that Karien’el has been marched off to war. So that was why so very few black-market cases ever came to me. So be it. All that is the past. The question is what to do now.
‘Things’ll be really bad next week,’ Puller complained.
‘How so?’ Bakune asked.
The big stoop-shouldered fellow blushed, looking to his partner for help. Hyuke cleared his throat. ‘On account of the Festival of Renewal.’
Of course! He’d lost all track of the time. The winter festival celebrating the Lady’s arising and our deliverance from the Stormriders! Banith will be crushed beneath pilgrims as usual — surely the Guardians will allow the shiploads of worshippers to dock! And the Cloister will be open to all devout as well. This monster will think he has a free hand that night. That’s when we will act! He nodded to his two men. ‘We’ll lie low until then.’
Hyuke touched his finger to his nose. ‘Wise as a mouse in a kennel, sir.’
Puller was frowning. ‘A kennel?’