Jarno left the Minister's office at speed, looking straight ahead.
"Watchman, I'm afraid I can't let you take—"
"No time!" he snapped waiving the writ Nieril's face, "orders of the Lady Governor!"
Long strides took him back to the lobby and far away from her. He pushed his way straight through a gathering crowd of functionaries and officials, waiting to travel with the Lady Governor to the Kingsmen's Tourney. No sign of Urin amongst them; good.
Once he got outside, he broke into a run. The box rattled as he jogged through the streets. Thankfully, as he got further away from the residence, the streets grew quieter. The Annual was a popular event, commemorating the end of the war. The duel between the Kingsmen's best always drew crowds. The majority of people would be making for the barracks and the stalls that always sprang up around its walls to take wagers. The wealthy would head inside and take seats to watch the final. Most years, he'd considered the event a nuisance; an ideal time for light fingers to prey upon the people in the streets. But today, it was an opportunity. The Magistry in the eastern quarter was well away from the barracks and the Governor's residence. That part of the city would be deserted.
Perfect!
He ran past the Bell and Horse, right by the alleyway where they'd found the broken body of Orri Garner and back onto the main street. The sandy cobbles nipped at his feet, no proper rain for weeks now, it'd better start soon.
The Magistry spire stared down at him as he neared the gates. Another corner and he caught sight of the Silver Bell in the distance, just across the street from the gatehouse.
A crowd stood on the corner outside, numbering around twenty. Some carried short sticks, others an assortment of farming implements. On any other day, Jarno would have blown a whistle, summoning other Watchmen and driven them off, but today, he was pleased to see them. Now we're in business, he thought.
Jarno had no idea what might be waiting inside the Magistry gates, but with a mob, he had more of a chance of finding what he wanted.
As he got closer, he recognised Evisan and Grett standing to one side next to a cart with four horses strapped to it. When they saw him Grett waved.
"Took your time."
"Had to be sure first," Jarno replied. "He tell you the plan?"
Grett's pudgy face creased. "That you want to march into the wizard's bedchamber? Yeah he told me. What's in it for us?"
"Lynchpin gets to be right," Jarno said, "and you might get rid of the Magister."
Grett didn't look convinced. "Most of the folk here don't care much about being right or wrong."
Jarno sighed. "Then why are you here? You wouldn't have come if you didn't see a margin. What is it you and your people want?"
"Free rein," Grett replied. "We get you in then get to take whatever we want."
Jarno shook his head. "I can't let you do that."
Grett spat. "We're not going to ruin the place, the Lynchpin knows better than to go poking around a wizard's rathole. I've a list of what he wants."
"What's on it?"
"Better you don't know, like I said, free rein."
Jarno sighed. "What choice do I have?"
"As I see it, none," Grett replied and favoured him with a gap toothed smile. "You won't get through those gates without us."
Jarno looked at the people Grett had brought; a real mix of sour and slovenly, most of them, unwashed and grimy. He judged they were dockworkers and had been pulled straight from the harbour-side. "All right," he said at last. "I'll turn a blind eye, but keep it to the list."
Grett gave him a gap-toothed smile. "Of course."
That settled, Jarno leapt up into the back of the cart, causing every eye to turn towards him. "Your attention please! I am Jarno Watchman of Wisimir and under the authority of the Governor, I hereby deputise you all to assist in the search for stolen monies owed to the city and to the crown!"
A cheer went up from eager faces all around him; unshaven men, some brandishing heavy clubs and coshes, others wearing little more than rags. The city's underworld deputised; how would he explain that?
Jarno jumped down. "What's the cart for?" he asked Grett.
"Not speeches," Grett replied, taking the reins of the lead horse and guiding it towards the gates. "You'll see soon enough."
They crossed the road towards the gates. Jarno moved to the front and saw the same hulking gateman standing behind the iron railings.
"Remember me?" he called out. "I remember you; open up in the name of the Governor!"
"Nu'nless th'Wizard says," the gateman said, just as he had before, if the crowd unnerved him, Jarno saw no sign of it.
Grett handed him a hook on a length of iron chain "Hold this," he instructed and led the horses around. The chain gradually unravelled from the back of the cart. Evisan took a second length and stepped up to the gate, clipping it on. Jarno did the same.
"Ready!" Evisan shouted.
Grett touched a whip to the lead horse's rear, it screamed and charged away, pulling the rest of the team along with it. The spool of chain ran out, then snapped taut, the hinges snapped, and the gate crashed to the ground, to be dragged away by the spooked animals and their cart. A pot bellied man stumbled after it shouting. A few others laughed and pointed. Jarno turned back to the gateman who stood open mouthed.
"Can't go in," he mumbled.
"You gonna stop us, big man?" someone shouted back. Six men, armed with sticks and clubs closed on him and he backed away into the little shed. Jarno hesitated, tempted to interfere, then remembered what Grett had said, free rein. There was nothing he could do. If he tried to call them off, they'd argue and slow him down. The gateman had sealed his own fate the minute he'd refused to open up.
The man's screams echoed across the street as Jarno walked away, quickly across the cobblestones, heading for the main building.
---
"You don't belong here."
Jack glanced up. It wasn't Malthus at the door.
It was Colonel Osler and he was drunk.
The Colonel lurched into the room. He leaned on the wall for support as he shuffled towards where Jack sat on the bed. Halfway he seemed to give up and slid down to sit on the floor.
"You're like me," he slurred. "I never belonged here."
Osler was red faced and breathing hard, his shirt and livery stained with wine, his eyes slits, under drooping lids. Even from the other side of the room Jack could smell the stink of booze. He shuffled back nervously.
"Sir?"
"Never wanted this," Osler mumbled. "Just did as I was told. Never fitted in, but difference is I hid it," he looked up at Jack and belched. "You haven't, means they'll turn on you."
"Who?"
"All of them, out there," Osler sighed. "They don't know who you are yet, but they will soon. I know who you are."
Jack stared but kept silent.
"Took me a while to recognise you," Osler went on. "Shaved head and no beard, but I don't forget these." He tapped a grubby finger over his eyes. "Three weeks ago at the Bell and Horse, you took six crowns off me at cards."
Jack went cold. "I think you're—"
"Mistaken?" Osler laughed. "I never forget who I lose to and you were so drunk you could hardly stand up after. You were in the Bell and Horse that night, and I'll bet you were there again a few days back when the city taxes were stolen."
Jack stared at him, silent. There was no point in denying it. "Where's the money?" Osler asked.
"In a box in the lockers," Jack said. "I put it there when I got here."
Osler expression grew stony, his gaze flicked to the sword. "My son looked like you," he said finally. "Perhaps that's why I gave you a chance, let you enter the Tourney, He was a career soldier," Osler's voice trembled as he spoke, "dedicated to following orders and doing things right. You might look like him, but you're nothing by comparison. Thing I can't figure is, why you haven't already run for it," he shrugged. "You must have a reason. After you get out of here, make sure you buy something worthwhile; a life worth living, where you're happy." He pulled himself up onto his feet and made a feeble effort to straighten his clothes.
"You're not going to tell?" Jack asked.
"No point," Osler replied. "Those tasked to find it will likely catch you without my help. Why should I get in the way?" He pulled himself slowly to his feet. "There's more going on here than you stealing the tax money, and it'd only line some nose bleeder's pockets instead," Osler lumbered back to the door. "Wissell'd hang you or worse, don't forget that and you still owe me six crowns."
Jack realised he'd stopped breathing and his mouth was dry. Helplessly he nodded in reply.
"Good," Osler said stepping outside. "Good luck in the Tourney."