“Oh.” Temar looked blank. Of course, the oath-bound traditions of service that I was committed to meant nothing to him. That had all grown up after the Chaos, the bloody anarchy that had brought the Old Empire low, when ties of loyalty had gone for nothing as the Princes of the great Houses turned on the feckless Emperor who’d brought ruin on them all. The ordered fealty of tenants to their Liege-Lords that Temar had known was as foreign to me as this new Bremilayne was to him.
“So what is this signal service to be?” Temar challenged.
I grinned. “Helping you set Kellarin fair for a glorious and profitable future, to the mutual benefit of the Houses of D’Olbriot and D’Alsennin?”
Temar grinned but with a humourless curl to his lip. “If those Elietimm scum permit it.”
“Messire has people searching for enchantments to be used against the Elietimm, in defence of Kellarin and Tormalin.”
Temar looked hopefully at me. “How so?”
“Livak’s travelling in the Sieur’s name, hunting aetheric knowledge among the ancient races of wood and mountain,” I explained. Casuel might have scorned Livak’s theory about her song book, but the Sieur had thought it worth wagering a little coin.
“Saedrin make it so,” murmured Temar, and I nodded fervent agreement. After the best part of a year without their black ships on the horizon, I was certain the summer would see renewed Elietimm attack. One small consolation for Livak’s absence was knowing she’d be as far from any fighting as possible. Her finding something powerful would also be a signal service to weigh in our favour when the time came to ask Messire for my freedom.
Urgent steps sounded on the gravel outside and rapid hammering at the door brought a hall lackey running up from the cellars.
Temar and I looked at each other startled and Glannar burst in, face like thunder. “The warehouse’s been robbed!”
“Sit down.” I urged him to a chair, not liking the florid colour beneath his beard.
“No,” Glannar waved me away breathlessly, “I need the Esquire D’Alsennin.” He looked uncertainly at Temar.
“At once.” Temar moved to the door.
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Glannar looked from Temar to me and back again.
“We will see for ourselves.” Temar was already out of the room and I hurried Glannar to the gate of the shrine.
“A little slower, I think,” I said quietly as we reached the road. “Or we’ll have every eye in town turned to our business.” Temar on my near side gave me a sharp look while Glannar on the off hand scowled ferociously, but they both slackened their pace a little.
The town was still quiet, some women scrubbing front steps with a few men about nameless tasks in the morning cool. Slate and cobbles shone blue and silver in the sun, mimicking the sparkling sea below. There was bustle on the quayside, all hands busy unloading the fisher fleet, scavenging birds raucous above the shouts of the labouring men and women.
We ignored everything apart from the warehouse, where two of Glannar’s sworn men stood guard, swords drawn and jaws clenched on humiliation. Inside the recognised lads were attempting to tidy the shambles made of the previous day’s neat stowage while the other two sworn propped a ladder beneath a gaping skylight letting cheerful sunlight into what should have been secure gloom. A rear door beyond had its locking bar tossed aside.
“No need to ask how the wharf rats got into your malt heap,” I commented to Glannar.
“Get moving before I take a horsewhip to you!” he snarled as three of the recognised stopped working to stare at us. One looked angry enough to give Glannar a back answer he’d regret, the second dropped his gaze, shamefaced, while the third and youngest was close to unmanly tears. He was right to fret; this night’s work had dropped his chances of an oath right down the privy.
Did we have honest watchdogs here, or had Glannar set a fox to watch the geese? It happens, let’s be honest, and even in the best-regulated barracks—someone bribed to look the other way and stay deaf as well as blind, tarnishing the honour of everyone sworn to the Name. “When did it happen?”
“Any time between midnight and sixth chime,” said Glannar tightly. “I know the recognised are green but I was sure the sworn were seasoned.” He was about to elaborate but I stopped him with a raised hand. “I’ll see what they’ve got to say for themselves.”
The newly recognised and would-be sworn were busy with scattered bales and broken chests. Pelts sewn tight into oilcloth and canvas to withstand the sea crossing spilled out across the floor, dust dulling the bright fur.
“So what happened?” I demanded of one lad half-heartedly picking up the skins.
“Our watch was for midnight onwards,” he began, eyes sliding away from me. “Damage was done when we arrived.”
“But we didn’t get here until nigh on the sixth chime.” The second had the wit to see only honesty would redeem their situation.
I kept my anger reined in for the moment. “Why?”
“It wasn’t our fault,” began the first, looking this way and that for some excuse.
“We went to find a quiet tavern,” said his pal glumly.
“We meant no harm,” protested a third, man enough to come and stand by his fellows.
“So what kept you from marking the chimes?” I asked harshly.
The youths exchanged sheepish glances. “We got into a game of Raven,” admitted the newcomer. “More than one.”
“Some stranger who lost invited you to make a small wager then suddenly showed some talent for the game?” I guessed. “You played on in hopes of winning your losses back?”
“No,” said the second with scornful anger. “It was Rasicot, sworn to Tor Bezaemar.” He looked to Glannar, who grunted grudging support.
“All the sworn and chosen mix freely hereabouts, Chosen Tathel. With none so many of us beholden to any one Name, we help each other out.”
I shook my head. “So you just lost track of the chimes?”
“We came straight here when we realised,” protested one forlornly. “Sent the early duty to their beds.”
“So where were they when you arrived?” I asked. “Asleep?”
“No,” said one, outraged. “We were guarding the front, just like we should.”
“While thieves got in round the back,” I pointed out. “How did you miss that?”
Guilty looks were traded between lowered eyes. “Well?” I demanded.
“Danel was round the back,” said the first one to own up to being on early duty. “He got a clout that knocked him clean into the Shades.”
“They dragged him inside and tied him up,” volunteered someone at the rear.
“Didn’t anyone go looking for him?” I demanded.
“We did,” objected another youth. “Only when we couldn’t find him we reckoned he’d gone off with Brel.”
“Who’s Brel?” I asked.
“Brel and Krim, senior sworn men, they both went off to find the second watch.” The lad nodded towards the two still struggling with the ladder.
“Let’s see what they have to say.” Leaving the lads with a look conveying the full depth of my contempt, I walked over to the skylight, Glannar with me muttering a blistering denunciation of the man Brel’s parentage and sexual tastes. The two sworn sighed as one man.
“What happened?” I demanded
“It was past midnight and the relief hadn’t shown,” one began, a thick-necked man with a crooked nose and a missing eyetooth. “We knew our lads were losing their edge.”
“So we went looking,” agreed his colleague, a wiry type with features somehow too small for his face, close set eyes either side of a questing nose.