Passing the spiked barricades into the Wardship, we came into the squat, wide, tapestry decorated foyer with the old jungle-folk woman behind the desk. She leapt to her feet as we entered and called “Captain Paresh!”
It took a minute, but eventually the lush green fur of the (relatively) tall Wardship Captain moved through the door into the room. Instantly upon seeing us he clapped his leathery hands together and jumped to meet us.
Inspecting the desert-folk over my shoulder, he clapped his hands again.
“Incredible work! And captured without bloodshed, it looks like!”
Lenya and I exchanged a glance.
“We explained to the wardens in the Craftship, but just quickly, he had roped a few citizens of the Dwellship into his scheme,” I explained. Paresh’s face dropped and he started stammering, so I continued, “Aside from a few welts and roughing up, no harm was done to them — they were . . . pacified and they all escaped. Gobble— Go’leb, he’s a fighter in the Horizon Arena but clearly well involved, fought to the last, however. There’s a bit of a scene there.”
Paresh nodded.
“We can’t currently go into the Dwellship, but we’ll handle that as soon as we can. All’s well that ends well, and it seems you two have done brilliantly. Teera, the bounty was set at sixty.”
Teera, the old book keeper behind the desk, peered over beneath her heavy grey eyebrows and counted out the copper, and handed it over. Lenya took the stacks of small coins and dropped them into my pouch at my side, which was getting pretty heavy, bandoleer strap digging into my right shoulder.
“Carry him in here, if you would,” Paresh said, and opened the door to the side of the room. Through it was another wide open space with two dozen desks, reminiscent of every cop show I’d ever seen. There were two other jungle-folk wardens in the room, busy at work, one wore a bloodied sling and winced with each movement, the other was buried under stacks of parchment, writing feverishly. Both looked up and grinned as we entered, and came over.
“Look at that!”
“Bloody got him!”
“Nothing these niraki can’t handle, I’d say!” Paresh said, clapping again and laughing. Then his face turned sour and he set a heavy chair against the wall, bronze bars set into the normal dark wood. He indicated it and I walked over and pushed Yariq down onto it. Paresh instantly wrapped a thin bronze chain around the ropes that held him and the bars of the chair back.
“You’ve done another great service, Mista Talbot of the Flying Spear, Missus Lenya of the Hoary Gold.”
Impressed he remembered the names and even Lenya’s epithet, all I said was, “Thanks.”
Lenya was more proper:
“It was our pleasure. With the harrowing ordeal that your city has undergone, we are very happy to help how we can. After being welcomed so graciously here, and provided all kinds of opportunities and open trade, we were eager to give something back.”
For the right price, came a thought, somewhat subconsciously. I didn’t even have any place to spend the money I had, but old RPG habits die hard.
“Yes,” Paresh’s round black eyes grew serious, and he turned to the others. “Process him, keep him tied, keep him bound. Gag him if you have to. I’ll have to spare a messenger to send word to Uruk, Harleq and Nekesh — to let them know who it was who caught him — under employ by the Ith-Korr Wardship, of course — and start the discussion over this scum’s fate.”
“I’d assumed he’d be put to death for his crimes,” I said.
“You’d be right, but the manner varies — the marsh-folk of Harleq, for example, prefer to tie him to great weights on to one of their reed half-boats and send him out over the lake, feast for the man-eating fungi.”
Horrid image. I turned to leave, but stopped on my heels, and held up a hand, feeling a lot like Columbo, but probably looking more like a child in school.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Wardship Captain, what do you know of the Crimson Crown?”
Paresh thought for a moment, then raised his shoulders.
“Something Yariq said to you?” he asked.
“Yes. Seems there’s a mysterious group that knew the Scouring would take place, some days before.”
Paresh’s face blanked for a moment, then the faint amber in his eyes flashed and his green fur bristled. He stamped over to where Yariq was sat and grabbed the scruff of his wrappings, using his considerable Strength to pull the much taller man from the seat of the chair. Pushing his scarred face right into Yariq’s space, he launched into a full chimpanzee pant-hoot, with a quick build up and a few high-pitched shrieking screams an inch away from Yariq’s nose. It would have been hysterical if it wasn’t so frightening.
“You knew! A hundred dead! My brothers and sisters of the Wardship! And you knew!” For all Yariq’s swagger, he shrunk away under the jungle-folk Captain’s rage. “You’ll hang for this — Harleq and Nekesh be damned. You won’t see the end of the week.”
He threw him back down on the chair, bashing Yariq’s head against the wooden wall. Paresh’s whole body was tense and vibrated energy. There was a flash of fear of himself in him, like that moment of wild fury was an old acquaintance that he’d tried to shed. Then he blew out his lungs and brought himself back down to Earth (Barbican), straightened the grey-green Wardship medal on the breast of his tabard, and returned more to the humanoid jungle-folk that I knew.
“Tiki-rah,” came a small voice from across the room. One of the wardens, the one at the desk, had her hand up. She was a small jungle-folk woman with golden fur, a shaggy head of 80s perm hair, and a long, grey-white face. A pair of long fangs protruded from her mouth which gave her a bit of a lisp. “Captain, I’ve heard of de Crimson Crown.”
“Come over here, Warden Drya,” she hastily stacked some of the parchments together into a neat pile and hurried over, touching hands with Paresh as greeting. “What have you heard?”
“Was from de Shadow Prowlers a few months ago. One of deir blabbermouths living large at the mibege joint up da rise, craven man named Tilke. Didn’t say much useful, but was bragging up a storm — didn’t care he had wardens sitting at de next table; so confident, he was.”
Paresh’s fur furrowed over his eyes. He said, “Oh, yes, I remember your report. Thank you, Warden Drya,” and she returned to her desk. Then he turned to us both and bowed.
“I cannot ask your kindness to bear another burden on our account,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “We need to act against the Shadow Prowlers. They still have four of our wardens captive. I am enraged and exhausted, not thinking clearly.”
He added the last sentence as if to reassure himself.
I looked to Lenya. There was strain in her eyes, and a quiver to her lower lip, but she clenched her jaws and inclined her head to me.
It was then that I realised that understanding was coming more easily, thoughts were more ordered in my mind. It felt like 11am after my second cup of instant coffee: a rush of mental acuity, as if all the colours in the room were more vibrant.
This is the Mind increase.
What I did not expect was the impact on social cues; everyone’s actions had more impact — even a subtle movement betrayed some desire or other. I knew what Captain Paresh wished to ask of us, but also knew he wouldn’t ever have said it.
This is our first proper lead! If I am to live up to that ambitious potential SYS keeps talking about, at some point I have to start making decisions myself — pushing myself into situations — forcing myself into ACTION.
“We will face the Shadow Prowlers,” I stated to Paresh, my fist clenched around the thick haft of the Bronze Spear of Blinding.
He blinked at me, the furrow and darkness lifting for a moment. I stood defiant and sure-eyed, almost smiling. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest.
“You . . . It would put you in immense danger, Mista Talbot,” Paresh said flatly.
I chuckled.
When am I ever not?
Paresh leapt to his feet and started gesticulating wildly.
“You know of the Shadow Prowlers — they’re the bandit gang you encountered on the road. General Skelth leads them, a shrewd fighter, veteran of the Shadowed War, from which he kept the title. A few weeks ago, one of our patrols were attacked on the Trade Road to Uruk. We found their broken weapons and evidence of a bad fight — no bodies, and not enough blood to tell us they were killed. They are likely still hostages with the Shadow Prowlers, but we have received no demands from Skelth.
“We know the touch of their network is in the intercity black market, and that their headquarters is a hidden enclave outside the walls — members are led by the skulls of beasts like breadcrumbs to it, but we have not the manpower to launch a full incursion.” He breathed out heavily, bringing him back down to Earth Barbican. “With what you know of the Dwellship, you can see why many youngsters see it as their only recourse.”
Gangs follow the same motivations on Barbican as on Earth, I thought.
The Wardship captain continued:
“Their numbers are too great for you to run in spear glinting, and we do not wish further bloodshed of our own kind. But I know General Skelth to be a man of peculiar honour. If Drya’s man Tilka is to be believed, they have dealings with the Crimson Crown.”
There was a light clearing of the throat from behind us, and we turned to see Teera, the old bookkeeper, was still behind us in the room.
“Should you explain the Secret?” she whispered, then put her hand to her mouth as if she’d said something awful.
Paresh ran his fingers through the fur atop his head, then drew his palm down his face, wiping imagined sweat and grime off.
“Yes, I should,” he said, and took a quick look around. “Let’s move to my office, please, Mista Talbot, Missus Lenya.”