The Mysterious Coin Page 4

  “If you know what I am, then you know what I’m capable of. That’s good,” Moz said. “Let’s start with your name.”

  “Robess, Corporal, third scout division.”

  Moz whistled. “Third scouts. You boys had it almost as bad as we did. Glad you made it through.”

  Robess snorted. “That makes one of us. I would’ve been better off dead in the field.”

  “I doubt your brother agrees,” Moz said. “Tell me about Crow.”

  “Not much to tell. I was the first person he signed up to serve as muscle in the bar. Seemed like a simple enough job, and it was until you showed up. All I had to do was sit here and look intimidating. Eventually he had me bring in more men.”

  “If no one ever bothered him, why the big crew?”

  “Can’t say. Crow’s never been what you’d call stable, but about a month ago he got worse, really paranoid. Constantly looking over his shoulder whenever he came or went. It got so bad he even took me along on a few of his outings.”

  “Oh?” Moz raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t get too excited. I just escorted him through the streets to some private homes. He went in alone and I never heard a peep from inside. He’d stay sometimes for ten minutes and other times two hours. When we got back, he’d slip me a few scales extra. No one ever made a move on him, so I figured he was just jumping at shadows.”

  “Can you show me these houses you went to?” Moz asked.

  “I can try. I wasn’t entirely sober and he led the way.”

  “Good enough. If I leave you untied, do you give me your word as a soldier not to run?”

  “My word as a soldier hasn’t been worth shit in a long time.”

  “It’s good with me,” Moz said.

  Robess sat up a little straighter. “Then you have it.”

  Moz nodded and took his half-empty bottle of rum back to the bar. Priscilla trotted along beside him. She’d been so quiet he’d forgotten about her for a moment.

  “Was that what you call torture?” she asked. “You didn’t even break a finger.”

  “Didn’t need to. Sometimes a soldier can talk to another soldier when he can’t talk to anyone else. Robess needed to talk and he needed to be shown a little respect.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “Says the woman following me around hoping to see torture.” Moz poured the rest of his rum on the unconscious bartender.

  The woman opened her eyes, groaned, and licked her lips. “Gods’ blood! If you were going to wake me, couldn’t you have at least used the good stuff? This cheap garbage is more useful as paint thinner.”

  “Considering you tried to bash my head in, you should be grateful I was this gentle. Now you’re going to tell me about Crow and your boss.”

  “I’m dead if I tell you,” she said.

  Moz whipped out one of his throwing knives and hurled it so the blade ended up quivering in the floor an inch from her left ear. “Worry about me, not them.”

  “I see your point. Unfortunately, I don’t know that much. My boss, his name’s Carter, whether that’s his given or family name I have no clue, is scared to death of Crow. Whatever the man in black wants, he gets, no questions asked. Crow’s been here longer than me, so I don’t know how they came to this arrangement, but when I took the job, the situation was made clear. Do as you’re told, keep your mouth shut, anyone looks like trouble for Crow, bash ’em.”

  Moz glanced over his shoulder. Robess made it sound like Crow had only been here for a couple months. Interesting. Was Crow so paranoid he brought in new muscle on a regular basis to avoid anyone getting too much information about him? Moz didn’t know, but his interest in a long conversation with Crow rose a notch.

  “Where can I find Carter?” he asked.

  She shrugged, quite a feat lying on her back. “Beats me. He comes in a couple times a week to collect whatever money we made, check the liquor levels, and talk to Crow. Never the same day or time. He won’t be in now anyway. Someone will have warned him about you by now.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Like a ball. Short, round, bald. The only remarkable thing about him is a gold tooth in the upper left part of his mouth, in the front not the back. He’s so proud of that tooth it’s pathetic.”

  When he’d heard enough, Moz bent to collect his knife. His lips were only inches from her ear and he whispered, “Get out of the city. If you take another swing at me, I’ll kill you.”

  He straightened and put his knife back in its hidden sheath. The brothers were right where he left them. Robess still had sufficient honor to keep his word. Maybe there was still hope for the young scout.

  “Okay, boys. Let’s go for a walk.”

  Chapter 6

  The first houses Robess led Moz to were in a modest part of the city, a little fancier than the working-class areas, but not the fine mansions of the nobles and rich merchants. The siding was freshly painted white, the windows held reasonably clear glass, and the door knockers were bronze and polished. The streets were quiet and clean without a piece of litter to be seen.

  “It’s one of these two.” Robess pointed at the two nearly touching row houses across from them. “I can’t remember which one. Crow brought me here three days ago.”

  Moz studied the buildings. They were pretty much identical except for the names written on plaques above the doors, Sullens on the left and Corvines on the right. Moz grinned. It was just a little too clever. Would Crow actually be arrogant enough to name a safe house Corvines? The word basically meant having to do with crows. It seemed too arrogant given the man’s excessive paranoia. Moz made a mental note to check out both names at the government building.

  “Where next?”

  “You’re not even going to knock?” Priscilla asked.

  “And put them on guard? No, not yet. First rule of hunting; don’t move until you’re ready to make the kill. Robess?”

  The former scout led them out of the middle-class area and into the high-end wealthy district. If the streets were clean before, here they were polished. It looked like someone had sorted the stones and only used white ones to cobble the streets. There must have been servants that cleaned them every day as there wasn’t even a pile of manure to be seen.

  They’d barely entered the neighborhood when a pair of armed men in crisp, pressed uniforms spotted them and marched their way, hands on the hilts of their swords.

  This was grief Moz didn’t need.

  “The guards seemed to know Crow,” Robess said. “They never bothered us.”

  Moz stopped and let the guards approach. As they got closer, he studied the insignia on their chests. It was a scale balanced by gold coins. That wasn’t the city guards’ livery. These two must provide security for this neighborhood. That meant they didn’t have any actual authority. That was convenient. Moz could ignore them without worrying about the actual guards getting angry.

  The pair were a fairly typical duo, an older man with gray in his well-trimmed beard and a younger man who deferred to him. The younger one was probably new and just getting some experience. He was about to get some real experience today.

  “What’s your business here?” the older guard asked.

  “I’m looking for a man that calls himself Crow.” Moz described him and immediately the younger guard darted a glance at his superior. They knew him for sure. “Has he been by lately?”

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” the older guard said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave this neighborhood. The residents don’t like people sneaking around.”

  Moz rested his hands on the hilts of his swords. “I’m going to have to refuse. And I’ll warn you that if either of you pull your swords, it will be the worst mistake of your lives.”

  “Listen here, mister,” the older guard stammered. “Are you looking to get yourself in real trouble? Ignoring a guard’s orders is a serious crime.”

  Moz looked left and right. “Good thing there aren’t any
guards, just two fools in pretty uniforms with an inflated sense of their own importance. Now, this can end three ways. One, we can stand here insulting each other.”

  The younger guard tensed and pulled enough of his sword to bare an inch of bright steel.

  Moz shot him a hard look. “Two, you can finish drawing that sword and I kill you both and leave you as bleeding corpses in the street. Three, we go our separate ways and pretend we never saw each other.”

  “Come on, Roy,” the younger man said. “We can take a broken-down old man.”

  Roy stared at the hilts of Moz’s swords and trembled. “Put that sword away, idiot. You’re looking at an Alteran Ranger.”

  “A what?”

  Roy shook his head. “Beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t recognize the armor and swords immediately. Please accept my apologies for delaying you. Have a good afternoon.”

  “What are you doing?” the young guard asked in a hushed voice. “You know what we’re supposed to do if anyone comes around asking about him. You’ll lose your job at best.”

  Roy pulled his tabard off and tossed it on the ground. “I quit. Do what you want, but I’m leaving.”

  Moz watched the exchange with a hint of amusement. It never ceased to amaze him what the ranger uniform did to people. It would have been less intimidating to wear a black cloak and carry a scythe.

  The younger guard turned back, sighed, and said just like it was up to him, “Fine, you can go.”

  “No,” Moz said.

  “What?”

  “I’ve decided option three is no longer on the table. Your new options are to tell me everything you know about Crow or…” Moz drew a sword and slashed, cutting the bottom half of the guard’s tabard off, and sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. As the severed piece of cloth fluttered to the ground he added, “Do I need to elaborate?”

  “No, no you don’t. Truth is I don’t know all that much. When I took the job with the local guard Crow was one of the people who talked to me. I shouldn’t say that, he listened while the commander and his second interviewed me. When it was over, they both looked to Crow, who nodded and just like that I had a job. My first day the captain said we were to keep bums out of the neighborhood and if anyone mentioned Crow we were to bring them in to the guard station for questioning.”

  Moz brightened. “Well, we don’t want you getting in to trouble. Best bring me in for questioning. Robess, you and your brother wait for me at my inn, The Hammer’s Fall. I’ll be along later tonight. Priscilla, you’d best get on home. Thanks for all your help.”

  “I can’t just leave until you’ve settled things. I have to know what happens.”

  “I’ll write you a letter. Get out of here, you three. Guard…What is your name anyway?”

  “Tal, sir.”

  “Guard Tal. Lead on.”

  Sweat soaked the back of Tal’s uniform as he led Moz up to the guard station. Assuming you wanted to call a private security force guards. It was a small stone fortress neatly situated in the center of the neighborhood. The main keep was a single story and a four-story tower built into the northeast corner overlooked the entire area. It was a strong position, one Moz would have had trouble storming on his own. Lucky he had someone to walk him through the front door.

  “Calm down,” Moz said as they approached the door.

  “Easy for you to say,” Tal said. “You’re not the one betraying your fellow guards.”

  “You’re not guards,” Moz growled. “You’re thugs in uniforms. Now get me to your superior quietly, or you die first.”

  “I thought you wanted me to calm down.”

  They stopped in front of the heavy oak door and Tal swallowed audibly. A narrow slot opened in the door and a pair of beady eyes stared out. “Name?”

  “Guard Tal reporting in.”

  “You’re not due to return from patrol for five hours. What happened to your uniform and where’s your partner? Who’s this bloke with you?” The doorman’s voice rose with each question.

  If Tal didn’t talk fast, they might have a problem. Or Moz would anyway.

  “There was trouble, sir,” Tal said. “Roy chased after the suspects and sent me to get help. We would have been in a tight spot if not for this ranger’s assistance. I thought Captain Pierremont would want to talk to him.”

  “Where was this trouble?” the doorman asked.

  Tal rattled off an address that meant nothing to Moz. “We thought it might be the thieves we’ve been worried about. Pretty bold, attempting to break in in broad daylight.”

  The beady eyes shifted to Moz. “That right, ranger?”

  Moz nodded. “Your guards were very brave, but two against six were poor odds. I thought it my duty as a representative of the king to lend a hand.”

  That drew a grunt. Never hurt to remind people that the rangers were the king’s favored troops. It didn’t always help, but it seldom hurt.

  A bolt clunked and the door swung open. The owner of the beady eyes matched them perfectly. Short, barrel-chested, with a jagged scar on his right cheek, the door guard would have looked right at home as a bouncer in the Gator Alley tavern. He wore the same tabard as Tal, only his was filthy and stained with at least three days’ lunches. A simple wooden stool was the only piece of furniture in the ten-by-ten anteroom.

  “I’ll send out a squad to lend a hand and let the captain know you’re here.” The guard lumbered off through a second door that led deeper into the building, leaving Tal and Moz to their own devices.

  “He’s friendly,” Moz said.

  “Sergeant Gort has been with the guards as long as the captain. They’re the sole survivors of the original company. Or so they say at least.”

  Moz was getting a feel for the sort of people he was dealing with. Ex-mercenaries who decided to settle down and sell their swords to some rich merchants. They probably explained how useful they could be keeping the neighborhood safe, especially from ex-mercenaries.

  The inner door squealed open and Gort waved them on. Moz marched over and when Tal made a move to join him the sergeant said, “Not you, kid. Captain wants to talk with the ranger one on one. You can lead the reinforcements back to where you spotted those thieves.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tal said.

  The door slammed behind him and Moz found himself in a large open room with naked stone floors. More doors exited to the left and right. Gort led him to the right-hand door and knocked once before opening it.

  Inside was a simple but well-appointed office. Behind a cherrywood desk sat a man in his late fifties dressed in a fine dark-green tunic. He looked up from whatever he was writing and squinted at Moz. “Come in, come in. Thank you, Sergeant, that will be all.”

  “Sir.” Gort closed the door behind Moz.

  “Take a seat, Ranger…”

  “Moz. Thank you, sir.” Moz settled into the solitary guest chair, a surprisingly comfortable leather and wood affair.

  “I understand you lent some of my men a hand. Thank you for that. So, what brings a member of the legendary Alteran Rangers to Blinder?”

  “A murderer by the name of Rondo Tegan. I have it on good authority that he was seen in the city recently. I’m currently seeking to speak with a confederate of his that goes by the name Crow, an alias obviously.”

  “And that brought you to my district?” Captain Pierremont had a better poker face than Tal.

  “It did. Crow has dealings with someone in this area. I hope to find them and get a line on him. When I encountered your men, it derailed my search. Young Tal was kind enough to offer to bring me here in the hope that you could point me in the right direction.”

  “That’s my men for you, always eager to lend a hand. Unfortunately, Tal was mistaken. The name Crow is a new one to me.”

  “That’s disappointing.” Moz offered a good-natured smile. “I’ll just have to resume my search where I left off. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “Not at all. If you’ll wait a moment, I can write you a note
so my men won’t mistake you for an intruder. That will make your search a good deal easier.”

  “I’ll take you up on that, thank you.”

  Pierremont opened his front desk drawer and reached inside.

  A crossbow twanged and Moz grunted when a six-inch quarrel bounced off his dragonscale armor.

  The captain stared for half a second in disbelief which was more than enough time for Moz to leap across the table and press his sword to the would-be murderer’s neck.

  “Yell and you’re dead. Lie to me again and you’re dead. Do anything to annoy me and you’re dead. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Pierremont squeaked.

  “Good. Now tell me about Crow.”

  “Crow’s Blinder’s overseer. All those in the employ of the Dark Sages in the city answer to him.”

  “Dark Sages, who are they?”

  Pierremont risked getting his throat cut to look at Moz. “Are you joking?”

  “Do I give that impression?” Moz pushed a little harder to emphasize his point.

  “No, sorry. I don’t know much about them myself. They’re a loose organization of scholars with cells in every city in the kingdom. Each cell answers to an overseer. My company has been working for the sages in one capacity or another for the past twenty years. I haven’t a clue why they’re so interested in Blinder. All I know is they pay well and ask little beyond loyalty. Oh, we’ve cracked a few heads here and there, but nothing major. This is the sweetest job we’ve ever had. Or it was until you showed up.”

  “What do the actual guards think of you and your company?”

  “They’re shorthanded trying to control the slums and working-class areas. We keep things quiet up here and they’re happy to let us.”

  “Does the name Rondo Tegan mean anything to you?”

  “No, should it?”

  Moz ignored the question. “Where can I find Crow?”

  “No idea.”

  Moz pressed the sword harder into Pierremont’s throat. “Try again.”

  A heavy fist knocked on the door. “Everything okay, Captain?” Gort asked.