049 – Agent

***

Zambulon sulked with his arms across his chest and his cloak pulled tightly around him. Resentful of my company, he wanted to be around Yurk and Hwilla even less. The serving girls brought foreign wine and midland beer to our table. As magi, the alcohol affected us less than it did normal people, for body augmentation reduced the effects of toxins.

The other patrons enjoyed themselves. Groups of mint workers sat at tables throughout the hall, smoking pipes and laughing. The hostesses clung to the local knights, encouraging them to spend more money on booze and suggesting private services later on. Musicians played tongue drums and upright harps. During all this noisy activity, the multicolored house cats slinked under tables and walked along the wooden rafters above, coolly observing the humans in their native habitat.

The curtain went up and a young woman strutted on to stage. Vertical slits went up the sides of her impractical costume’s long, flowing skirts. She flashed brightly colored stockings as she took center stage.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“She’s a pole dancer,” Zambulon said impassively.

“So, she’s…? She’s going to twirl a pole around?”

“No. The pole is stationary while she twirls around it.”

“Hmm. Too bad. I thought I might pick up some useful staff moves…”

The dancer grabbed onto a tall brass pole and spun around like an acrobat, giving a glimpse of exposed leg at each gyration. The crowd hooted their approval. The sweating musicians accompanied the performance with a driving rhythm and crescendo. The spinning dance caused the girl’s headdress to fall off, followed by her neck scarf, and a shoe that flew into the audience—intentional acts made to appear accidental by her art.

“Hwilla, why don’t you check out our rooms,” Zambulon said. “Yurk, please watch over our junior so no stupid patrons harass her.”

The senior disciple spared Hwilla the discomfort of being one of the only female patrons present during a striptease. Zambulon always sent those two off alone, and each time he looked as if he was swallowing a handful of tacks. The other two departed, leaving just me and him. While he brooded, I intently watched the stage show, lost in thought.

“Strythe. You’re thinking something weird again, aren’t you?”

“Look at that brass pole,” I said. “Do you think it was made locally? Is it solid or hollow inside?”

“I knew it!”

“I could really use a set of uniform copper pipes back home. Maybe I’ll stock up while we’re visiting this metal-town.”

“You can’t just ogle a girl like a normal person.”

“Yes yes. The dancing’s fine. But we’re swordsmen, so swordcraft should always come first. Or wizard-craft in my case.”

“You aren’t a wizard. You’re a crazy fool.”

“The common wisdom in this place is that inhaling lead fumes is a good idea and that washing your hands before a meal is a type of witchcraft. So I don’t mind being labeled as mad. I plan to seek my own type of wisdom. And my own magic.”

The Proprietress drifted aimlessly through the brothel, much like one of her cats, observing the girls and greeting the patrons but never stopping long at one spot. She came our way and leaned over the table. She wanted to keep her patrons happy, but she also wanted to prevent any trouble, and so kept a sharp eye out for any rowdy drunks. My senior’s dour attitude and scornful looks gave the impression he wanted to start a fight—or would welcome one if offered.

“I hope you’re enjoying the show, master swordsmen. There’s more entertainment to come later in the evening. I see your two friends left. If you’d like, I could send some of the hostesses over to keep the two of you company.”

Zambulon didn’t answer. He stood up suddenly, pulled up the hood of his cloak, and marched out the front door in a huff.

“Oh! I hope I haven’t said something to offend your friend,” she said.

“Don’t worry about him. He just needs some fresh air to clear his head—or what passes for fresh air around here.”

Zambulon was too prideful to visit a brothel. Accepting the woman’s offer would be admitting that he couldn’t get a girl through honest means. But refusing made him look unmanly, like a weakling brokenhearted over a girl’s rejection. A double bind. My presence increased his irritation, for I was the last person he wanted observing and judging him at such a low moment.

“And what about you, brave knight…” The woman sat down in the chair next to me and slid nearer. “Would you like some company? I could call over a few girls for you.”

“No thank you. I’m on a diet,” I said. “However, there is someone I hoped to meet this evening. My companions and I came to this town to find a business associate, a friend of a friend. But I’ve never met him in person and wouldn’t recognize him by sight. Perhaps you know of him? A man named Knogule.”

“Knogule?” She winced at the name and drew back from me.

“Is there a problem?”

“Master Knogule has an outstanding tab here at the Treasury. And I believe he has similar debts at other places around in town. He owes many people a great deal of money, including the duke.”

“Unfortunate. I assume he’ll be hard to find then, since he’s avoiding his creditors?”

“No. He’s very easy to find, if you know where to look. The duke has jailed him the castle tower,” she said. “I would advise you find someone else to do business with. Knogule is a rather unreliable person. His associates end up with much lighter pockets than when they first met him.”

“Thank you for the tip. But no need to worry there, as we don’t have much money to lose at the moment.”

“Don’t doubt yourself. Swordsmen always have opportunities for gaining wealth. You could pledge your service to the duke in exchange for land, or marry into a ruling family. And of course, mercenaries may be in high demand shortly. A man like Knogule will take advantage of that if he can, so be warned. He’ll take out loans in your name and stick you with the bill.”

“Will the frontier really need further mercenaries? It seems militarized already.”

“Our region boasts strong knights and brave monster hunters, but its population is too small to muster large armies. The duke would inevitably use his silver to hire foreign companies of soldiers to reinforce his own troops. And hopefully those foreigners will spend some their pay here,” she said. “War is good for business, so long as it doesn’t get too close to the gates.”

The pole dancer hung upside down by just the strength of her legs and swayed her arms to the music. Her writhing caused her outer robe to fall open and drop to the floor. She then rushed from the stage with her clothes clutched to her chest, feigning embarrassment at an unforeseen wardrobe malfunction. The curtains closed behind her as the music stopped.

“Thank you for your hospitality and your generous offers.” I stood up and bowed to the proprietress of the brothel. “My trip here was quiet long, so I think I‘ll head to my room for the evening. In the future, when I’m wealthier, I promise to return with some of my hard won coins to spend in your establishment.”

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“That’s very nice of you to say…” The woman glanced over to the other swordsman in white. He stood at the edge of the stage speaking with the pole dancer who had just finished her act.

“And if my friend returns and annoys you with his moodiness, don’t hesitate to wake me. I’m a light sleeper and will respond quickly.”

I tried to set her mind at ease. Zambulon wouldn’t really do anything to endanger our mission, no matter what atmosphere he gave off. Its success was too important to him. But he had developed the same bad habit as Hwilla. Years of wearing a skull mask had made him forget to disguise his feelings. His emotions and attitudes played out plainly across his face.

Not wanting to draw attention to us, I also bit my tongue. I really wanted to speak to the brothel owner about germs and microorganisms and how she was likely murdering her clients and employees through sheer ignorance. Although if I told her that, she probably would have considered me a crazy person and called an exorcist or something.

I left for my room just as the curtain rose. A line of showgirls took the stage, kicking their legs in unison to the beat of the drums.

***

“I can’t believe you boys made me sleep in a brothel. How humiliating,” Hwilla said.

“Don’t worry. We won’t be staying there again,” Zambulon answered. “Even with a deep discount from the owner, we can’t afford it.”

I said, “Most customers rent those rooms by the hour. Staying overnight is not the norm.”

“We should have brought more funds with us. And it sounds as though our contact won’t give us any assistance in that department.”

As we walked past the polluted canal through the middle of Drainditch, I debriefed the others on what the proprietress of the brothel had told me about Knogule. We couldn’t contact the man in jail, and paying off his debts would be impossible for us.

“We have to find a way to get him out of there,” Zambulon said. “Both for our immediate purposes and to keep our allies out of trouble. There’s no telling what a person might admit to if threatened with torture or promised freedom.”

We walked toward the castle to get a look at the prison tower.

Realistically, the Void Phantoms couldn’t stay hidden forever. We were too big an operation with too many tentacles. Sooner or later, someone on the peninsula would capture one of our minions, uncover an agent, stumble on a secret missive, or recognize one of our officers for who they really were. It was a question of when, not if. But we did want to stay hidden for as long as possible. Should a knowledgeable agent like Knogule give up our secrets at this early stage, disastrous consequences would follow. The king might even launch a military attack against the settlement and citadel before we had a chance to build our defenses. And the worst possible result would be the Paladins finding out that Lord Hrolzek was still alive.

A castle occupied the spot between the town of Drainditch and the Duke’s Mint, and a huge gate there let workers pass from their job site to their homes. In the morning, all the workers lined up to get inside. Guards stationed at the gate knew them all by sight. Most of the migrants held the dangerous and low security jobs, fueling furnaces, breaking down ore, casting lead ingots. Only a select few worked at the actual mint with the valuable silver.

“We need to speak with a prisoner being held in the tower,” Zambulon said to one of the guards. “A man named Knogule.”

“Sorry, sir. No one is allowed to see the prisoners. That defies the whole point of putting them in a prison.”

“No. The point of a prison is to keep people inside. He would remain behind bars and in chains while we spoke to him.”

“The duke put Knogule in there until he paid off his debts,” the guard said. “The old man was in a furious state. I don’t dare to annoy him.”

“Then may we speak to the duke about this?”

“He’s off hunting in the mountains. Won’t be back for a few weeks. Maybe he’ll have cooled off some by the time he gets back.”

I cut into the exchange, “Excuse me. When the duke put Knogule in jail, it was with the caveat ‘until he paid off his debt.’ Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But how could he pay off his debt in a jail cell? He doesn’t have the money in there and he can’t conjure it out of thin air.”

“I don’t know.”

“The only way he could get the money is by arranging it with someone on the outside. And since the duke added that specific clause, it’s implicit in his orders that he wants Knogule to have access to visitors. Thus, keeping us out is actually defying your lord.”

“And are you people here to pay off his debt?”

“That’s the idea. But we have to discuss the specifics with him before we can do so.”

“All right. All right. You can see him for a few minutes,” the guard said. I wasn’t sure if my argument convinced him, or if he just wanted us to stop pestering him.

Inside the tower was shockingly clean. It had heavy doors reinforced with iron bars, but otherwise looked as nice as the rooms in the Queen’s Treasury. These cells were for holding political prisoners, misbehaving relatives, debtors, and other nobles. Common criminals were rarely imprisoned; they were pilloried, whipped, mutilated, forced to labor, or even killed for serious crimes. The rulers didn’t see common people as worth the cost for any attempts at rehabilitation. Knogule was spared a hanging only because dead men don’t pay back their debts.

Knogule was the picture of a devious schemer. He had a bald scalp, round head, and sunken eyes which practically made him look like a skull faced minion even without a mask. A sheen of nervous sweat covered his head, which he constantly wiped away with a kerchief. His eyes darted back and forth nervously. It was mad to make such an untrustworthy looking person into a covert agent.

“Who are you people?” he asked as the guard let us into the room.

“We’ve been sent from the capital to give you assistance,” Zambulon said. He glanced back as the guard shut the door behind us and locked us in. The guard waited outside and could potentially listen in on our conversation. Zambulon slipped his mask out of his cloak and briefly passed it in front of his face.

“Ah? So you brought the funds I requested?”

“No. We weren’t told anything about that. Just that you needed help.”

“Damn it. I wrote in a letter that I was low on capital.”

“How is it that you’re low on funds after borrowing from everyone in town?”

“Ah. You heard about that? Well, that’s because I didn’t have enough for my purposes, so I had to raise money locally. Mostly by gambling and running up some tabs. In the process, I managed to annoy the duke.”

“So do you have enough to pay him back?”

“Of course. And more besides. But paying back the duke would be an absolute waste. That capital needs to be invested for future growth. I’m going to buy a business and then pay back the debts a bit at a time. In the end, they’ll have their money back and I’ll have a business.”

“You overlook the fact that you’re in jail. That has to change your calculations.”

“Not at all. The duke locked me up because he was afraid I’d skip town without paying him back. Owning a business would tether me to the town better than any physical chain. He won’t have a reason to keep me in jail and would desire for me to go out and make my enterprise flourish.”

“But how can you start a business from in here?”

“You’ll have to do it for me. Everything has been arranged. All you have to do is transfer the last payment to the former owner.” Knogule sat down at his desk and began furiously scribbling on a piece of paper. “The deal would have been concluded already if that hotheaded duke hadn’t tossed me in this prison. Take these instructions. All you have to do is pay off the rest and claim the place on my behalf.”

Zambulon placed the paper into his jacket. The guard banged on the door and insisted that our time was up. It had been a few minutes, and he needed to return to his duties. He shooed us out of the building.

Simply freeing Knogule from prison would have been easy for us. The guards were all normal people. But a violent escape would have destroyed his attempts to go undercover in this town. We were supposed to keep a low profile. And while the normal guards could not stand up to a swordsman, they wore the duke’s livery. Any insult to them would be revenged by the local mage-knights.

We walked out of the castle, back to Drainditch. Zambulon took out the instructions. Gibberish covered the piece of paper with only one legible word phrase, ‘your senior.’ Knogule wrote it in a code so no one else could read it, and perhaps as a test to make certain we were who we said. Zambulon decoded the simple cipher with the name ‘Luniquial’ as the key.

“Let’s go to Knogule’s house. This letter describes where he’s hidden the silver.”

“This man seems incompetent to me,” Hwilla said. “He owes everyone money and he’s already wound up prison.”

“Yes, but think how quickly he’s entangled himself with the community. Everybody knows him. He even has a familiar relationship with the duke. And although he started with no funds a short while ago, he is now going to be the owner of a casino.”

“A casino?”

“Brothels and casinos are guaranteed to make money in a town like this. Knogule is the new proprietor of the Black Tarnish Casino,” Zambulon said. “And I suppose that makes us his first employees…”