The Mysterious Coin Page 3

  “You two go ahead,” Silas said. “I’m going back to the inn for a lunch and a nap. The ride to Fort Kane is a good five hundred miles. I intend to be well rested.”

  “We won’t be too long,” Yaz said. “Was there anything in particular you want to see?”

  “I thought we could just walk.” Brigid grabbed his arm and they set out toward the city center. There were so many people in the city she felt safe. No one knew who they were and no one cared. It was freeing and she didn’t want it to end.

  Chapter 4

  As a ranger, Moz’s duties seldom brought him to cities. Usually he was riding around in the middle of nowhere hunting down bandits or marauders from Carttoom. He actually preferred it that way. Cities made him nervous. He didn’t know how to read the signs as well as he did in the wild.

  Blinder, he assumed, was a typical example. Far too many people crowded in too small a space. The noise, the stink, all of it tried to overwhelm Moz’s senses. He had to limit himself to focusing only on a few things.

  At the moment he was studying the flow of people around him. It was the middle of the afternoon, the hottest part of the day, yet people still crowded the streets, hurrying here and there. Women carried kids in one arm and groceries in the other. Young men sprinted past, scrolls clutched in their hands while older men in iron collars lugged heavy loads. Rend didn’t allow slavery, but criminals often worked off their debt to society with forced labor. It was a fine line, but one the king considered important.

  Moz grimaced. King Rend. Callie would keep her word not to tell him about Ariel, at least for a while, but sooner or later he’d find out about her ability to control dragons. When that day came would Rend do the right thing or would he try and use her for his own purposes?

  Moz wished he had more confidence in the answer, but King Rend had a taste for power, the same as every ruler. The oath Moz took years ago said he had to serve the crown and he would, unless Rend made a move against Ariel. If that happened, Moz would stand with the girl. She was innocent and didn’t deserve to be used by anyone.

  The street ended in front of a tall gray cathedral built in the imperial style. The Grand Library resembled a cross between a holy temple and a castle. A dragon statue guarded the steps leading up to three sets of doors. Men and women in scholars’ robes came and went in a steady stream, but no books left the building.

  Moz shook his head and started up the steps. He could read of course, all the rangers learned how, but he’d never had much use for book learning. Most of it turned out to be worthless in the real world, at least in his experience.

  At the central doors Moz caught the door after a slim, blond woman exited seeming totally unaware of his presence. Her whole focus was on the scroll in her hands. He watched her leave just to be sure she didn’t trip going down the steps. When she reached the street safely, he ducked inside.

  The interior of the library had several levels spread out over one massive open space. It felt more like a cavern than a building. Assuming a cavern had hundreds of bookcases holding thousands of books. Moz had little interest in browsing so he made his way to a large round desk behind which sat four women and two men dressed all in gray.

  A woman in her early twenties took in his armor and weapons before offering a nervous smile. They probably didn’t get many rangers popping in for a visit. The reaction was common and no longer bothered him.

  “Can I help you, sir?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “I’m tracking a murderer,” Moz answered, making sure to keep his voice down. “A reliable source says he visited this library some time ago, maybe a couple years. I was hoping someone might remember him. His name is Rondo Tegan.”

  “That was before my time, sir. Our chief archivist might remember. He has a gift for recalling faces. Whom shall I say is asking?”

  “Moz, of the Alteran Ranger Corps.”

  Her eyes widened. Clearly the rangers’ reputation preceded him even here. “I’ll fetch him right away, sir. Please wait a moment.”

  She left the desk and rushed toward the rear of the library. Moz crossed his arms and studied the room. It was hard to say exactly how many people were present since the bookcases created a maze where people seemed to appear and disappear at random. It would be a hell of a place to fight a battle. You’d have to watch every corner. He shuddered at the thought.

  After five minutes of contemplating the stacks of books, the young woman returned with a pale, bald man about Moz’s age also dressed in a gray robe. He held out a hand and Moz gave the frail appendage a gentle shake.

  “A pleasure to meet an Alteran Ranger. My name is Harold and I’m the chief archivist of this library. How can I be of assistance?”

  Moz couldn’t remember the last time someone was glad to see a ranger, at least outside of those that served with him. “I’m looking for Rondo Tegan. I have information that he was intending to visit you.”

  Harold’s face twisted in distaste. “I’ll not forget that one any time soon. What a pest. Constantly wanting to borrow a book despite repeatedly being told we don’t lend books. Not to mention always wanting one of the staff to tend his every whim. Gods’ blood, was I relieved to see him leave. Why are you interested in him?”

  “He’s responsible for the murder of at least two people and the attempted kidnapping of a little girl.”

  Harold stared for a moment. “And here I am complaining that he was a nuisance. It seems I should just be relieved he didn’t kill me.”

  “Rondo lacks the guts to kill anyone himself, but he’s not afraid to give the order to his paid thugs. What can you tell me about his time here?”

  “Not a great deal, I’m afraid. He read obsessively about ruins and those who explored them. He seemed to harbor some delusion about becoming an explorer himself and discovering some forgotten bit of lore. That last is pure speculation on my part. Beyond his reading habits I can’t tell you much, I’m sorry.”

  Moz waved a hand. “It’s fine. I didn’t have my hopes too high.”

  “Um…” One of the other women at the table, a mousy little thing a bit older than the one that had fetched the archivist raised a tentative hand. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I spoke to Rondo a few times. He gave me the shivers, offered to buy me a drink at his inn. He stayed at The Bright Moon if that helps. It’s a hangout for shady characters and poor scholars.”

  Finally, a bit of good luck. “That’s a great help, thank you. Where is this inn?”

  She frowned and wrinkled her brow. “It’s kind of complicated. If you want, I can show you when I finish work.”

  “You may go now,” Harold said. “We can get by short staffed for a few hours.”

  “Yes, sir.” She pulled off her robe revealing a tan tunic and skirt that stopped just above her knee. She folded the robe and set it on her chair. “Shall we?”

  “After you.” Moz felt like he was finally making a little progress. It was probably as illusory as his earlier efforts, but time would tell.

  “I’m Priscilla by the way,” the girl from the library said as she led Moz through the twisted passages formed by a chaotic sprawl of merchant stalls. They were a riot of colors, smells, and shouts all battling to capture your attention. Moz sneezed when they passed a stall festooned with peppers.

  It was the first thing she’d said since leaving the library. Moz wasn’t much for conversation so that suited him fine. Hopefully she wasn’t about to become chatty now that she was away from her boss. He had enough things to worry about without having to hold up his end of a conversation.

  “Moz.” A flicker of movement to his left had him reaching for his sword. He relaxed a fraction when he realized it was just one of those messengers that seemed to be everywhere in this bloody city.

  “I know,” she said. “I read of the rangers, but never imagined I’d have a chance to meet one. Did you fight in the Carttoom campaign?”

  He grimaced at the back of her head. “Unfortunately. It’s not something I like
to talk about.”

  “So the mission was as bad as the histories say?”

  “Probably worse. I haven’t read the histories and no one bothered to ask me what actually happened. Just as well since I would have told them I don’t like talking about it too.”

  “Sorry.” She looked back over her shoulder. Either she was very young or he was very old. “History is a passion of mine, it’s why I work at the library. During my time off I can read any books I want. But meeting an actual ranger is like having a book come to life in front of you.”

  He grunted. “Word of advice. Reading about history is a lot more enjoyable than living it. If anything happens to you interesting enough that people want to write about it, you can be certain it’s horrible. The more horrible, the more they’re interested.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it that way, though when you say it out loud it sounds obvious.” They left the chaos of the merchant district behind and emerged in a square plaza. She pointed to the building directly across the street. “That’s it.”

  The Bright Moon Inn was two stories tall, a little run down, but not as bad as many places Moz had visited. The siding needed a fresh coat of paint and the windows a good washing, but other than that it looked pretty solid.

  “Thanks for showing me the way.”

  “My pleasure.” She hesitated then asked, “Can I come with you? I’d like to see a ranger work.”

  “You already saw me working at the library.”

  “All you did was ask questions,” she said.

  “Yes, and with any luck that’s all I’ll do here.”

  She smiled, revealing a slight gap in her front teeth. “I wouldn’t count on it. The sort of people that hang out here don’t like questions.”

  “All the more reason for you to keep your distance. There’s no guarantee I can protect you in a fight.” He also didn’t want her getting in his way. “I can find my own way back out of here.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Moz ignored her obvious disappointment, crossed the plaza, and entered the inn. The common room was dim and a few groups gathered in the corners to hold hushed conversations, conversations that ended when Moz walked through the door. He ignored the narrow-eyed gazes that followed him as he walked to the bar and put a foot on the rail. The bartender had her back to him as she adjusted the bottles filling a rack that ran the length of the rear counter.

  He tapped his finger on the wood and she turned. The bartender had seen better days. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks hollow. A fat cigar was clamped between yellow teeth and she chewed it hard as she looked Moz over.

  “What?”

  “Been working here long?” he asked.

  “Half my wasted life. What’s it to you?”

  Moz slapped a silver scale on the bar. “I’m looking for information about a guest that stayed with you a while back. Weaselly little bastard, slicked-back hair, name of Rondo Tegan. He’s wanted for murder.”

  She shrugged. “We get so many in and out of here I can’t keep track of everyone.”

  “No register?”

  She barked a laugh that set her to coughing. “Are you kidding? Even if we did, no one would give their real name. That’s not the sort of guest we specialize in, know what I mean?”

  He did know what she meant. Before he could ask another question the sound of footsteps clunking down the stairs drew his attention. Moz turned in time to see a figure dressed in black robes making his way downstairs. The man’s – he was pretty sure it was a man anyway – robe could have been a twin to what Rondo wore the last time Moz saw him. Somehow, he doubted it was a coincidence.

  He looked away so as not to scare the man and asked, “Who’s that?”

  “Calls himself Crow. The owner lets him stay here no charge. He comes and goes, but always returns. Can’t tell you much more than that.”

  “Thanks.” Moz pushed the coin over to her.

  He spun and put his back to the bar.

  The only warning he got was the clink of bottles.

  He twisted just in time to avoid getting a heavy jug of whisky over the head. Instead it glanced off his shoulder and shattered on the bar.

  Moz grabbed her wrist with his left hand and pulled, swinging with his right. His fist caught her square on the chin and she collapsed in a heap behind the bar.

  What the hell was that about?

  Every eye in the place was on him now, including Crow’s. The man in black locked gazes with Moz for an instant before sprinting toward the door.

  Moz took off after him in a blink.

  The patrons scrambled up from their seats and made a barricade between him and the door. A pair had knives, but the rest were unarmed.

  He didn’t have time for this.

  “Out of the way!” he shouted.

  No dice.

  He drew his matched blades. A bloodbath would serve no one, but time was short. A few of the unarmed men gave his swords a long look before easing aside. The two with knives advanced, one left and the other right, trying to surround him.

  Moz couldn’t allow that.

  He feinted left, spun and slashed right, catching the man’s arm just above the wrist and sending his knife clattering to the ground.

  A twist to the left brought him nearly nose to nose with the second guy.

  The knife darted in.

  Moz parried with his left sword and countered with his right, carving a deep gash across his opponent’s forehead.

  The wound bled freely, blinding him.

  When the man instinctively raised his hand to the wound, Moz closed and brought the hilt of his left sword around into his opponent’s temple, dropping him cold.

  A clear path to the door opened and he shot through it. In the plaza outside there was no sign of Crow. Cursing the gods, Moz flicked the blood off his swords and sheathed them.

  Priscilla came running up from across the street. “Did you have a fight? How did it go?”

  “Forget that. Did you see a man in black come running out?”

  “Yeah.” She pointed toward the maze of merchant stalls they’d navigated earlier. “He went that way.”

  Moz grimaced. No way was he going to track anyone through that chaos.

  He turned back to the inn. Maybe he could beat some information out of the knife wielders. Those two didn’t risk their lives for nothing. If they knew anything about Crow, they’d tell Moz. One way or another.

  Chapter 5

  The thug he’d cut earlier stared hard at Moz who had the tip of his sword resting lightly against the tender skin of the unlucky man’s throat. His partner was still lying on the floor, out cold, while the rest of the cowards had fled the inn completely. Given Moz’s mood, he wasn’t at all fussy about who he questioned. This son of a bitch just drew the short straw.

  Priscilla stood a few feet away watching with a rapt expression. He tried to discourage her from coming in, but his suggestion fell on deaf ears. She was determined to tag along and short of violence he saw no way to dissuade her. So here she was sitting in on his interrogation.

  “I’ll ask you once more, who is Crow and where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know his real name,” the thug said. “No one does. He runs errands now and then, I don’t know for who, but he always comes back here at the end of the day. He pays our tab in exchange for chasing off anyone that comes around asking about him.”

  “Do many people come around asking about him?” Moz asked.

  “You’re the first and I’ve been drinking here for six weeks. Look, man, I don’t know his business and I don’t want to know. All I wanted was to get drunk on someone else’s scale. After all this time, I never figured I’d have to earn it.”

  Moz shifted his gaze to the unconscious man. “What about him?”

  “My brother. He told me about this setup.”

  “He’s been working here longer?”

  “Only a few weeks.” The young man’s pimply face turned pleading. “Could you give
him a break? He was sixteen when he went to fight in the war against Carttoom. He ain’t been right in the head since. I hear him talking in his sleep sometimes. Some of the moans he lets rip will chill your soul. Can’t imagine the things he saw.”

  “I can,” Moz said. “It’s no excuse for letting evil take over your heart. Still, I’ll go easy on a fellow soldier if he tells me what I want to know.”

  “Thanks, man,” the young thug said.

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Moz hooked a chair with his foot and swung it over. “Sit and don’t move.”

  Moz crossed to the bar, reached over, and grabbed a bottle of cheap rum. Not his first choice for waking a man, but it should do.

  “I thought you were going to torture him,” Priscilla said.

  “Why? He obviously knows nothing of value. Are you interested in that sort of thing?”

  “Me? No. Gods no. It’s just I’ve never seen anyone tortured and I guess I was morbidly curious to see what it involved.”

  “Pain is involved.” Moz pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and spat it across the room. “So much pain you’ll say anything just to make it stop. Sometimes you get something useful, usually you don’t. The best way to use it is to first ask questions you already know the answers to and see if they lie. If you get the truth more often than not you can use it. Having multiple people to question is useful as well. If they don’t give the same answer you know at least one of them is lying.”

  Moz poured the rum on the unconscious brother’s face. He sat up sputtering and looking around with red-rimmed eyes. “Abe?”

  “I’m here, brother,” the younger thug said.

  “Don’t look at him.” Moz stepped into his line of sight. “Look at me. You hold your brother’s fate in your hands. Tell me everything you know about Crow and you both live through this. Lie or hold back and Abe dies first. Do we understand each other?”

  The elder brother groaned and wiped the rum off his face. “I should have known better than to pull on an Alteran Ranger. It was mostly reflex. I’m not eager to die for the black-robed bastard.”