|
|
Starting from the tower bell at the palace and imitated by lesser citadels around the city, the clang of the end-of-day gong rippled through Sillander. Bulgarth listened, and waited until the noise subsided. Then he climbed out his dark window and inched towards the maple tree outside the master bedroom. He crept through the backyard and climbed over his usual clandestine exit. On the other side of the wall, he stopped to listen. His boots treaded softly along the path before stopping behind the third house. A wooden ladder leaned against the side. When he reached the top of the wall, a voice called from the branch of an elm tree behind the wall. “Who goes?” “Talkent, Bryne and Allion.” No respond, Bulgarth took that to mean that he could pass so he climbed down the trunk and crept towards the townhouse. Mid-way through, the shallow breath of a hidden guard reached his ears. He pressed forward until he reached the gloom surrounding the building where he crouched low and considered his options. An owl hooted. The door opened and a bearded, fat man came out. He walked out a few steps into the backyard and stretched himself. The door was left ajar. Bulgarth hunkered low and slipped in. A servant nodded to him while kneading dough next to an open window. Then the man who had walked out came back in. He gave Bulgarth a quick nod, picked up one of the candles in the kitchen and walked into the main house. Bulgarth followed but kept out of the circle of candlelight. Even in the dark, Bulgarth could tell that the layout of the house was no different from Braduin’s place. Then the big man pointed to a study door before continuing down a corridor leading to the servants' quarters. Bulgarth cracked the door open and slipped in. The only light in the room was the warm glow coming from the fireplace. Before the hearth were the silhouette of two men sitting in heavy leather chairs. The king was instantly recognizable, but it took Bulgarth sometime to identify Casperlane because in place of a thick curled wig, his face was now framed in wisps of balding shoulder length hair. Neither man was wearing a jacket, for the heavy curtains covering the window and the crackling fire on a summer night had made the room stuffy and warm. A medium sized box lay on a small table between them. Casperlane claimed he was trying to give the impression that a reclusive old man live in the place. Posadom believed that giving the disguise a partiality for stuffy hot surrounding was carrying it a little too far. The security captain however was deliberately making the conditions intolerable to discourage his king from taking part in too much espionage. Casperlane called out, “Close the door Bulgarth. Although I handpicked all who worked here, we can never be too careful.” The king indicated to an empty chair, and on seeing Bulgarth's indecisiveness, he smiled then said, “Come sit down, and maybe tonight we will solve the puzzle that has been hidden for the pass five years.” Bulgarth studied the box as he took his seat. Yes, it was one of Dunwood’s chest. The man had found an interesting way to harden wood. He soaked the material in resin then dries it, after which the wood would become as hard as steel, impossible to burn or even scratch. The material was so hardy Dunwood had to build his chest first before soaking it. Bulgarth took off the pendant from his neck and tossed it into the fire. “What are you doing?” Casperlane raised his voice and half rose from his chair. “I have to melt the hard gel in the pendant. This will open it and allow me to form the key for this box.” A fascinated Posadom chuckled with delight as the box itself was already a thing of wonder to him, and now here was the key. “I must meet the man who made this. I hope he is still well.” “Yes he is your majesty. Some accounted him mad, but no one doubts his genius.” The pendant popped. Bulgarth used a thong next to the fireplace to take it out. He placed it on the floor until he felt that it was cool enough to handle. Then he opened the pieces all the way and used the ring attached to the end of one pin to fix them in place. The key fitted perfectly and the lock clicked when Bulgarth turned it. Inside were five roll of scrolls. The king reached for the topmost scroll, then Bulgarth picked one scroll and Casperlane another. They each read the parchments in their hands quietly. Bulgarth broke the silence, “I don’t understand, these are the list of titles of landowners and their land transfers. Some are as old as six...no, seven years.” The king’s face was hard. “Aye, and who do the new landowners serve?” Casperlane said, “These are all Palmeon’s supporters. Does he use this means to reward them for their loyalty?” “To what end?” The king asked. “How would your father have come by this?” Bulgarth answered, “He must have gone to the capital city’s House of Law and paid a fee to read them. But his action could have exposed him.” There were two other scrolls left in the box. The king put down the one he was holding and opened the next one. Another list of land titles. He put it down and opened the last one. Unlike the other scrolls, it was a collection of numerous pieces of paper rolled one on top of the other. Bulgarth watched the king’s face with mounting dread, for he could tell that some form of realization or other was growing in his majesty’s mind as the frown on his face turned to a deep scowl. After what seemed a lifetime, Posadom put down the papers. The king said, “The document show large transfer of funds. Obviously your father did not gain these by legal means. The papers show large payments that were being made to Formenscion, the armour maker by an un-named individual.” Casperlane jumped from his seat and in as loud a shout as he could manage in a whisper he said, “That is high treason. He is not allowed to build armours and weapons of war without leave from you. And as far as I can remember, no such permission was ever granted.” Posadom said, “We do not know yet that this is his task.” Casperlane stood up and impatiently paced the room. “What else can it be? Has he some other skill or craft that I, as your security captain, has no inkling of?” The king turned to face Bulgarth and inquired, “Has nothing untoward happened in Dew Valley this past few years?” Bulgarth ran through a list of incidents in his mind, “Well, able bodied children are disappearing even now and from my experience, I believe that they have been sent to the mines. One of my men had also detected a few false claim of slave ownership three years ago.” Casperlane added, “There is also a deluge in the accusation of rebellion against the king. Interesting coincidence that they should all be rich landowners. You must be the most unpopular king in history, Posadom.” The king chuckled then as he caught Bulgarth's eyes, his demeanour turned sad. He asked, “How old are you Bulgarth?” “Twenty-three, your majesty.” “You jest.” Casperlane stopped pacing the room to stare at him, for Bulgarth appeared like a man in his mid-thirties. Posadom dropped his face into his hands, as though to obliterate the memory of that face before him. Then he looked up. “Tell me, was Kwanbie with you the whole time?” “From the day I went into the mines, to the day he breathed his last.” “What did he say to you?” Bulgarth looked up to Casperlane and saw the warning in his face. “We did not speak, your majesty.” He did not elaborate. He sensed that he should make his exit before more questions were posed. “With your leave, your majesty, I wish to return. My sister and her friends are unguarded.” The king nodded, “I had hoped you could stay longer, there is still much I would like to ask you about Kwanbie. But you are right, your sister has immediate need of you. Give your friends my regards.” Casperlane remained standing in front of the fireplace as Bulgarth bowed and left their presence. The king looked up at his old friend. “I am not made of glass. Learning the truth will not break me.” Casperlane said, “Is it not enough to know that Bubba is no longer with us?” “No, it is not enough.” Casperlane knew how to guard the king in times of peace, but what of times of unrest. He knew his friend long enough to know that Posadom would insist on putting himself forward if ever trouble was to come. He prayed that the traitors would be found out and brought to justice. Then he wondered why nobody had noticed Formenscion’s activities. Casperlane said, “Your majesty, with your leave, I wish to study the land titles. Hopefully they will reveal the plans of our enemies.” Posadom nodded his assent then stood up and picked his jacket that had been thrown on a sofa in the room. “I will return to the palace now. The chest and everything in it, I leave in your safekeeping.” The security captain pulled a rope in a dark corner, which would alert the guards and have them ready a carriage outside. No gendarmes escorted the king on such rendezvous since he did not want to attract attention, so Casperlane had to use other forms of creative measures to protect his king. Guards dressed as vagabonds and drunkards kept watch and whenever the king was afoot in secret, the streets would suddenly see a surge of such people. Casperlane collected the scrolls in the study. He sealed them with ivory wax and press down with his thumb, leaving a mark there. Then he placed the chest on the study table, and put a journal and some parchments filled with cryptic fonts and codes. He closed the chest but did not lock it and went to the fireplace to put on his dark summer jacket. Two of his most trusted assistants waited for him outside the study. He passed each two scrolls, while he kept the document on the tranfer of funds on himself, tucked safely in his inside pockets. Casperlane put on a wide brimmed hat, walked out of the townhouse and mounted a tan horse. The ride back to his manor was leisurely and uneventful. He passed horse and reins to the stable master then crept into his own home from the servants’ entrance. He slipped into his room and was just about to give a sigh of relieve, when he heard a rustling of silk in the dark. “You promised me.” A frightened young voice called out, “You promised me, Papa, that you would never do this again.” The voice broke into sobs. The father moved forward and reached out to Graime but she recoiled from him. “Mama is gone because of you and your secrets. It was your fault she died,” she said and ran out of the room. Casperlane closed the door and sat down heavily on his bed, for Graime’s word had stung his heart. Caroline had gone sailing with the children in his place and sat on a deckchair meant for him. The railing behind this chair had been sawn through and as she leaned back the bars broke and she cracked her skull against the gunwale. He never found the perpetrator. The early morning service bell surprised the valet, for dawn had just broken over the horizon. He instructed one of the maids to brush down Lord Casperlane’s coat as he picked up a freshly pressed shirt. The sight of his employer sitting on the edge of the bed and fully dressed startled him. “My lord, is something amiss?” “Tell Norbul and Hart that I wish to see them in my study this morning. I will have my breakfast here, and make it quick.” After breakfast and a hot bath, Casperlane went directly down to his study. The room was plain and even the standard large study table and book shelves were not carved. There his two assistants stood waiting for him. They passed him back the scrolls with wax seal unbroken, which proved that the documents were not tampered with during the night. Casperlane studied their faces. Norbul, the older of the two, looked meticulous and fresh even at that early hour. The security captain had been trying for years to catch him off-guard but he had yet to see Norbul with a strand of hair out of place. The younger Hart on the other hand was still rubbing his eyes and trying to stifle a yawn. His face was damp and his collar wet. The security captain broke the seals and laid the opened scrolls on his desk. He sat down as the other two, leaned over him. Casperlane said, “I need you to obtain a map that shows the position of all these lands. From there we will see who is in which area.” Norbul said, “Some of these are along the borders of Netherweld. Most are quite wild and not easily accessible.” Casperlane said, “That is what I fear. It may take years for us to send people down to study them. We are pressed for time. I hope to be able to read what is going on by looking at the maps.” Hart who was now fully alert after reading the interesting looking list said, “Or to look at the trading contracts. I believe that ever since some of these places had new owners, trade had become quite aggressive.” Then he shrugged his shoulders, “Still that may all just be assumptions, since trade had almost totally stopped for this land here.” He pointed to Japema Estate. Norbul commented, “Well maybe the new owners are clumsy administrators. This place is very remote. And the only reason anybody built an estate there was for the metal ores.” Casperlane’s back stiffened. “Did you say metal ores?” “You heard right, my lord.” Hart answered for his colleague. “This land is rich for its ores, but only slaves work there because the tunnels are too dangerous. Poor wretches. Rumour says that not even the administrators would go into the mines. A tomb would be a more fitting name for it. My father lives in the town closest to the area and he complained to me that trade had slowed down much without good ores.” Casperlane asked, “Is there a way to find out just how much trade had lessened?” Hart answered, “I will go to the port’s warehouse merchant. In the past, there was so much ore that the seller had to rent two large storehouses from him.” Norbul added, “I will go to the map library. The mappers’ commentary may yet save us the trouble of sending people to spy the land.” Bulgarth’s uneasy mind drove him to write down the names of the places marked in the map he left behind in Monqui. He regretted not bringing it with him now, but he had no assurance before the journey that they would arrive in Sillander safely. The matter did not appear to have anything at all to do with slavery and his father must have stumbled on it while pursuing his quest. Bulgarth recalled the names Bordeen and Bordell. The lords of those two lands maintained the largest army garrison in Netherweld. Then there was Hoak, forty miles down, followed by Bledwud and Tune. All three estates ran along the main road leading to Sillander. The other two large military domains were Sorbiz, a wild land in the west and Hollow, which was thirty miles from Japema. Those garrisons boasted over one thousand soldiers each. Bordeen could easily muster three thousand if the need should arise. The women were impatient with curiosity so after a hasty breakfast they immediately went out for a stroll down the streets. Bulgarth described to them everything that had been discussed the night before. Merlana also recounted her meeting with Hymae, who had come to the townhouse a little after the end of day gong. After being shown into the study, Hymae had passed her a few parchments listing the most recent purchases of slaves that showed the names of their buyers as well as sellers. He had originally gone to the Central House of Law looking for records on Hallskein but the similarity of the other estates to the one he was studying perked his interest. And when he added the numbers, he was shocked by how large the demand for slaves were in the mining estates. As an afterthought, he checked the trading prices of iron ores and coals. The prices showed no major change and the metal traders had in fact recorded a decline in their supply. Some of the mining estates, such as Hallskein and Japema, had already reached the limit of their slave quota and the law of the land would not allow them to purchase new slaves for whatever reason. That might have forced them to find labour by other means. The other lands with large purchases of slaves were Bordell, Bordeen, Selva and the Wetlands. She pondered over the strange coincidence, for all of these estates were along the Muse River. Merlana said, "Do you remember, Bulgarth, the time when father had brought us down the whole length of the river within Netherweld for a trip?" "Yes, and I also recalled that you kept pestering him about letting you climb over the river ramparts." Bulgarth smiled, for he also recalled how she used to climb up to the Crow's Nest or swing from the ropes holding up the sails. Juna asked, "Why does Netherweld need to wall up the river?" Merlana explained, "Father said that some eighty years ago, pirate ships from Merlk would cross the river and plunder our towns and villages. A war broke out and it lasted for five years with terrible losses to both sides. Diplomats from Santurst intervened and a peace treaty was signed on the fifth year. Bulgarth continued the story. "However, the peace obtained did not bring joy for either country for the bitterness beneath the surface festered like an open wound. Then King Kurbadil, the grandfather of King Posadom, ordered for the ramparts to be built along the river, right in the middle. No ship was allowed to pass. In fact there is no opening wide enough even for a medium sized boat. Any citizen of Netherweld found to have crossed or trying to cross the border would be shot down on sight by the river guards." "Bordell, Bordeen, Selva and the Wetlands..." Merlana uttered. Bulgarth nodded, “Aye, those names also came out in the conversation last night. Then this confirms that the estates are up to some manner of mischief.” Juna asked with wide eyes, “But what kind of mischief Bulgarth?” Surely the mischief must be great if they were willing to kill to keep it secret. The stink from the river surrounded them, filling Bulgarth’s mind with dread. Bordeen and Bordell were important strategic military forts because that part of the river became shallow during the dry summer months, and there was always danger that an army from Merlk could march across it then travel for one hundred thirty miles into the heart of the country. If the other three major garrisons along the main road were also taken, by the time the enemy was detected, it would be too late. Bulgarth decided to send the women to Kalimy, to his Uncle Farling.
|