The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the stonewalls of the underground chamber. Crates and barrels were stacked haphazardly throughout the space as a group of commoners, young and old, worked to organise the supplies. The scrape of wood against stone and murmured conversations echoed off the walls, punctuated by the occasional giggle or shout from the children who darted between the adults, more interested in their games than the work at hand.
Sexton “Quack” Cryer stood hunched over a sturdy wooden crate, his brow furrowed in concentration as he examined its contents, comparing them to the list he held. He scratched his quill against parchment as he tallied each item.
Suddenly, a commotion near the entrance disrupted the steady rhythm of work. Excited voices steadily grew to a crescendo and the children abandoned their mischief and scampered towards the newcomer. The young women beside Quack began to titter and grin, smoothing their hair and adjusting their skirts as they shot coy glances towards the approaching figure.
But Quack ignored it all. Even when Cynwaer’s rich voice called out a greeting, he continued inventory-taking.
Quack hadn’t been an easy man to find. He never was, which – all things considered – Cynwaer took to be a good thing. It was hardly appropriate for a man of Quack’s line of work to be easily found. But then again, Cynwaer hadn’t tried particularly hard to find the man. It had just slipped his mind, that’s all. Getting reacquainted with a city as sprawling as Sorian took time for anyone, what more for Cynwaer, who hadn’t stepped onto its streets in ages?
Surely, it had nothing to do with Cynwaer dragging his feet. Or with him having a few drinks with that foreign captain the previous night.
He shrugged to no one in particular as he walked between stacks of crates and barrels. It didn’t matter, he supposed. If Quack was as good as he was supposed to be at what he did, he would already know that Cynwaer was in the city as soon as Remembrance slipped into harbour. And if Quack had really wanted to see him, then surely he would have sent for him.
With smiles and waves, Cynwaer greeted the children that ran up to him before advising them to return to their work, lest they draw the ire of their crotchety overseer. Similarly, he flashed winks and grins to the ladies who looked his way.
“Mornin’ lassies,” he said politely with nods to each of them before pointing to whatever it was that required their attention.
“Best youse get back tae yet work, aye. Would’nae wan’tae make yer boss lose ‘is ‘ead, would we nae?” The ladies giggled and nodded in response.
That Quack didn’t even acknowledge his presence bothered Cynwaer little. He had expected as much from the man. Instead, the Remembrance’s Captain merely sidled up to the man, taking his time to lean against a stack of crates before pulling out a sack of coins and jiggling in front of Quack’s face, almost teasingly.
“Regards frae Renny, Songbird, and mesel’,” he said and placed the sack on top of whatever it was Quack had been examining.
“Cheers fae sendin’ us ta’ word. ‘At’s one less taxman and a dozen or sae less o’ the king’s lads.”One... two... three beats of silence passed, broken only by the rhythmic
scritch-scratch of Quack’s quill. The ladies fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot and casting uneasy glances between Cynwaer and Quack. Cynwaer cast reassuring glances at them over his shoulder. This was just part of their banter; there was nothing to be worried about.
Finally, a petite blonde cleared her throat. “Erm... Sexton?”
Quack’s head jerked up, his eyes widening as they landed on the sack of coins. “Cor love a duck! Where in the bleedin’ ’ells did this come from?” The man’s brogue thickened noticeably, as it always did when he was irritated.
He thumbed through his papers, “Ain’t no mention of this ’ere.” Scooping up the bag, he tossed it at a buxom brunette. “Oi, Moll! Take this to Bess, will ya? ’Ave ’er count the brass.”
“Right away,” Moll replied, hesitating. She glanced at her friend, then at Cynwaer, clearly at a loss.
The blonde stepped in. “Sexton, love, it’s Cynwaer. He’s here.”
Quack spun around, his face a mask of exaggerated shock. “Wot? Cynwaer, ye say? The same galoot wot couldn’t be arsed to send word ’e’d be two days late? Left us wonderin’ if ’e’d gone and got ’imself scragged? The same cheeky bugger wot thinks a man’s time ain’t worth a fleck of dust and can just waddle in whenever ’e bloody well pleases? And don’t even ’ave the decency to beg pardon?
That Cynwaer?” He made a show of scanning the room, gaze sliding right past Cynwaer. “I don’t see ’ide nor ’air of ’im.”
Cynwaer rolled his eyes, but allowed Quack to carry on.
“Nah,” Quack added, returning to work, “our Cyn might be a rude git, but ’e ain’t soft in the ’ead. ’E wouldn’t dare show ’is fizog ’round ’ere without a peace offerin’ fer ’is tardiness. Like a few bottles of the good stuff ’e’s plundered, maybe.”
“Sorry pal, but if I ‘ad any o’ the good shite, I’d ‘ave drunk it aw’ mesel’,” Cynwaer said, shaking his head and chuckling. He hovered around Quack like a fly buzzing around honey.
“Come now, there’s nae need tae be sae upset, aye? I ‘ad me reasons tae be late this time.” The lilting tone in his words and lightness of his voice betrayed his amusement with the whole situation.
“An’ it’s aw’ good ones tae, aye.”When that still failed to get Quack to respond, he sighed.
“The last ship I ‘eld up ‘ad nothin’ but a few tuns o’ blastin’ powder, nothin’ yer cannae get on yer ane wi’ less trouble, I reckon. Besides, I used most o’ it tae turn our taxman an’ some o’ ta’ king’s lads intae butcher’s work.”He looked over his shoulder at the blonde, giving her a smile, a nod, and a small gesture for her to leave them for now.
“Cheers, lass,” he mouthed to her before returning his attention to Quack, a serious expression hardening his features.
“I’m nae here fae a social visit, pal. I’m just ‘ere tae dae a favour fae Renny an’ Songbird. Ta’ twa o’ ‘em tell me that folks ‘ave been gae’n missin’, an’ obviously in enough numbers tae make ‘em worried, aye. Yer probably ta’ best man tae ask fae somethin’ like this, but yer know ‘ow it’s like. ‘Tis always best tae get yersel’ stuck in before dae’n anythin’ else. So now I’m ‘ere, aw’ stuck in an’ lost, an’ offerin’ yer a trade. If yer’ve any bit o’ information on these missin’ folk, I’ll take ‘em in exchange fae a favour done yer way.”This was a risky play, Cynwaer knew. For all he knew, Quack’s price could prove to be far more trouble than it was worth, or Quack might not even have what he wanted in the first place. But it was a risk Cynwaer considered worth taking. Investigative work had never been his strength, or even something he liked; he simply hadn’t the patience or aptitude for it.
Quack let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head. “’Pon me life, Cyn, yer tighter than a duck’s arse in water. Can’t even shell oot fer a wee dram, can ye? Bloody cheapskate, ye are.”
With a sharp whistle, Quack summoned a lanky young lad who rushed over to his side. After removing a sheet of paper, he handed the rest to the lad along with the quill. “Finish this ’ere fer me, will ye? There’s a good lad.”
Turning to Cynwaer, Quack jerked his head towards the entrance. “Right then, ye great lummox. Let’s ’ave us a proper chin-wag. Come on, shift yer arse.”
As he led Cynwaer through the twisting passages, dodging barrels and crates, he continued, “Now then, gie us the particulars, Cyn. Ye might nae believe it, but there’s mair folk gone missin’ than ye might reckon. Only reason it ain’t common knowledge is ’cos it’s rarely the toffs what vanish, ye ken?”
Cynwaer grimaced. He understood perfectly. A noble goes missing, and the entire city would be up in arms. Perhaps even the entire kingdom. But a commoner? Whole streets of them could up and disappear, and few would care. Fewer still would even notice.
They stopped in a quiet alcove where the torchlight barely reached. Quack fixed Cynwaer with a shrewd look. “So, oot wi’ it. Who exactly are ye lookin’ fer?”
“Nae’dy in particular,” Cynwaer replied. Neither Songbird nor Renegade had told him anything in that regard, and Cynwaer hadn’t expected them to. People were going missing, and that was all the pair – and Cynwaer himself – needed to know. And besides, if someone they knew had truly gone missing, Renegade and Songbird wouldn’t have bothered with sending Cynwaer ahead to investigate. The two of them would have likely torn Sorian apart brick-by-brick themselves.
Cynwaer scratched the back of his head.
“Knowin’ Renegade and Songbird, they’re nae after just rescuin’ one or twa. They’re gae’n tae wan’ tae take the ‘ole damn operation down an’ tear it up by ta’ roots, an’ to tell yer ta’ trut’, that’s what I’m thinkin’ o’ dae’n mesel’.” He paused, hoping that the weight of what he was saying was sinking in. He didn’t know about Quack, but he had no illusions that this would lead to anything other than major – and very violent – actions.
“Sae if there’s anythin’ yer know about what’s gae’n on, it’d be real ‘elpful if yer could dae us a favour an’ share,” Cynwaer continued.
“Especially if yer ‘ave any idea who’s behind it. I dae’n wan’ tae walk intae a fight when I dae’n e’en know who ta’ feck I’m fightin’, yer ken?”Quack kneaded his forehead, exhaling forcefully through his nostrils. “Blimey, that’s about as useful as a lead balloon, innit? Ye can pass that on to yer Renegade an’ Songbird mates too. Might as well be tryin’ to nail jelly to the wall.” He fell silent for a moment, his eyes taking on a distant look as he seemed to rummage through the cluttered attic of his mind. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, a glimmer of recollection sparking to life.
Cynwaer chuckled. Quack wasn’t wrong; Renegade and Songbird had pretty much tasked him with seeking for a needle in a haystack. Only in this case, he wasn’t even sure if it was a needle which he sought, or even if he should be looking in haystacks.
“Well, yer can tell ‘em yersel’ in a week or twa when they get ‘ere.”“There’s been mutterin’s makin’ ’round in the rookeries ’bout some crew wha’s been climbin’ the greasy pole right quick in Caesonia. Bunch of wrong ’uns, they are.” He leaned against the stone wall. “Word is, they’ve got their fingers in more pies than a baker’s dozen. Every dodgy deal,
like human traffickin’,” Quack emphasized, “and honest trade from ’ere to the bleedin’ horizon, they’re in on it. Buildin’ a right proper empire, they are, right under our very noses. But ’ere’s the rub…” The man hunched forward, “They got the backin’ of toffs.” Slowly, he lifted his finger to point upward, “Maybe even the Crown.”
That was close to what Cynwaer had guessed. He hadn’t believed for a moment that something as brazen as the abduction of dozens – even if they were of commoners – could go unnoticed in Sorian without the involvement of influential, powerful, and rich people.
“Well, aw’ empires ‘ave a lifespan,” he said with a grin that wasn’t as cocksure as he had hoped it would be. And could anyone blame him? To call the task ahead daunting would be an understatement. Especially if Quack was right, and the Crown was indeed involved.
Cynwaer shook his head slightly. There was no point in fretting over that now. He had to focus on what he could do, and worry about the rest later. Otherwise, the anxiety would surely render him paralysed.
“I reckon they’d ‘ave tae smuggle folk by ship an’ nae sae much by land. It’d be a lit’le hard tae drag sae many unwillin’ folk out ta’ gates, aye?” He mused aloud. It was a gamble, and one that seemed more and more like a longshot the more he thought about it. But it was at least something with which he could work.
“I’ll take ol’ Remembrance out tae sea taenight an’ see if I can catch ‘nybody tryin’ tae slip awa’ frae Sorian ‘arbour. Reckon they’d try tae use cover o’ dark.” He looked at Quack.
“Might ‘ave ta’ trouble yer, pal, tae ‘elp disappear ‘nyone I might end up rescuin’. Think it’s bet’er if they leave Sorian entirely, or go tae ground, aye?”“Aye, ye can count on us, Cyn,” Quack replied without hesitation as he clapped a hand on Cynwaer’s shoulder, a resolute fire burning brightly behind his eyes. “Wot’s a bunch o’ rabble-rousers like us good fer if not fer the common folk, eh?”
“As fer wot to do wiv ’em after... well, that’s a pickle, ain’t it? Reckon we’ll ’ave to suss it out as we go along. Some might need to scarper right quick, others might do better layin’ low ’ere fer a spell.” His expression grew grave, his brow furrowing. “Thin’ is, mate, there’s summat else ye ought to know. When I said this lot is involved in every dodgy deal, I weren’t just flappin’ me gums. I mean every bleedin’ deal, includin’ magic.”
“If these bastards are nabbin’ folk left, right, and centre. who’s to say they ain’t usin’ some hocus-pocus ta make it easier? Could be turnin’ their victims into mindless puppets, or wipin’ the guard’s memories clean as a whistle. What if we do take ’em in and the bastards ’ave got ’em under a hex and sniff out our hideaways? Or worse yet, the poor sods just go off like a powder keg, blowin’ us all to smithereens?”
Cynwaer grimaced. That was something he hadn’t considered.
“Ah feck, ‘tis times like these I’d rather ‘ave Songbird around. They’ve a good nose fae aw’ this magic shite. But I s’pose I’ll ‘ave tae think o’ somethin’ when it comes tae it. Fae aw’ I know, I might end ta’ night with not’in’ tae show fae it.”He planted both his hands on Cynwaer’s shoulders, his tone deadly serious. “Ye best be ready fer anythin’, Cyn.”
“Aye, dae’n worry yer head about me,” Cynwaer replied and pulled away from Quack.
“Yer might ‘ave tae worry mer about ta’ taxman we blew up, though,” he said as he made to go back the way he had come.
“Reckon ta’ king’s gae’n not’ice saen that ‘e’s nae get’in’ aw’ ‘is coin, an’ e’s gae’n start lookin’ fae answers.”Quack shrugged, “Aye, an’ we know nowt ’bout it, do we? Nothin’ but reg’lar folk doin’ reg’lar commoner stuff.”
He ambled after the other man and jabbed a finger accusingly at Cynwaer’s face. “Wot you need ta worry ’bout is ’ow ta make up fer bein’ a tardy stingy bastard.” When they reached a junction, Quack made to turn off, waving. “It better be good too, ya ‘ear? Summat I can share wi’ the uvvers.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Quack as he disappeared around the corner, wondering how long it would take the poor sod to discover the crudely scrawled note he’d left stuck to his back.
princess
Tpartywithzombi
Lemons
mickilennial
vietmyke
Pen Name
Kaithe Dame
High Moon
Snowdrops
Charley
