Fool’s Gold

"Spliff!" Darrick yells, the veins in his neck twisting and writhing as he struggles to free himself from the chains that bind him to the wall. "The girl, Spliff! The girl!"

"Me?" the girl in question asks, obviously flustered. She is pressed up against me in the doorway, her soft, sweaty palm squeezed tight with mine. She gives me a look of fear, having trouble dividing her attention between Darrick, who is at the moment a raving madman, and Darrow, who is creeping up on us inch-by-inch with a sword held in hand.

Foam flies from Darrick’s rabid mouth as he screams, "She’s the murderer, Spliff! She’s killed everyone! She’s going to kill you! KILL HER!!!"

"WHAT?!" the girl yelps, her voice strained with fright and confusion. She frantically decides to go for her boot, bumping her head against the door frame and knocking her glasses clean off her face in the process. She forgets my grip and drops to the floor, one hand groping for the frames, the other still tugging at her boot.

"SHE’S GOT A KNIFE!!!" Darrick screams in frustration. "FOR THE GODS’ SAKES, KILL HER WHILE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE!!!"

Darrow looks at me and hesitates, his sword wavering between myself at the girl.

"Spliff? Mmph! Don’t…listen…mmph…to him!" the girl pleads helplessly from below.

Darrow makes up his mind and targets the girl. He screams maniacally, charging her. She begins to scream too, caught up in the frenzy. Meanwhile, Darrick actually increases the volume of his screaming, and my ears feel as if they’re about to burst in the resulting cacophony.

"Sonuva…" I mumble, shaking my head to clear the chaos and remind myself what I’m doing here.

* * *

"Hey, Spliff. You look hungry. What do you say we go and get a bite to eat?" Darrick asked, his face full of humor and mischief. "I even know of a certain lord who would be quite willing to have us fill his table, and you know what that means."

Darrick was obviously trying to suggest that there would be food, drink, and courtesans a-plenty, and while I could see through his hollow attempt at manipulating me, I decided to go along with it. Darrick and I had been playing this little game for years, and even though he was now a member-in-good-standing of the Rogue Section of the militaristic clan, Valor, our relationship hadn’t changed a bit.

Hours later, my stomach grumbling and gnawing at itself, we were indeed in the hall of one Lord Blasius, Vavasor of a small port-town called Friarston. The term "Vavasor" was misleading; it implied that Blasius had vassals beneath him, and this was not the case as Darrick had informed me. The title was honorific, a hold-out from the days when Friarston (or "Friar’s Town" - the village having been named after a particularly devout friar whose name no one can remember) was an Arkanian settlement.

The city itself was quite small, but as usual, appearances can be deceiving. In fact, Friarston was the only other major competition to the grand ports of New Thalos, therefore making it a huge center of commerce. The city was located on the south-eastern side of Thalos, far enough away from the capital to mind its own business, yet close enough so that trade between the city and the capital was quick and efficient. Here was where the smart merchants unloaded their wares, for the import tariffs in Friarston were much lower than those found in New Thalos. Consequently, merchants could ship their goods from across the ocean at a far lesser cost to them, which was a situation that both the merchants and their buyers found satisfactory.

We had arrived on the outskirts of Friarston in the evening, greeted by a heavy rain which Darrick had shrugged off and I had found unbearable. The rain was warm enough, to be sure, but the added humidity… I could feel my leather boots rotting off my feet with each step. Perfect place to store cigars, I had thought. Luckily enough, the rains had lessened as we entered the city proper and had died out to a warm drizzle by the time we arrived at the Vavasor’s manor. Although the region was semi-tropical and thus beset by all manner of storms, the bay which the city had been built on somehow sheltered itself from nature’s wrath. The Bay of Fools, it was called, named after the hapless prospectors of times past who had thought they had struck it rich upon stumbling across the body of water which was, as it is to this day, gilded with the glittering yellow metal that is known by the dwarves as "fool’s gold," the dwarves obviously knowing better than the ignorant, human prospectors. Silhouettes of tall ships could be seen carelessly afloat on the calm bay while far off to sea, fierce lightning spat out of a cauldron of dark clouds to strike the indifferent depths.

It was to this scene that we were admitted into the Vavasor’s hall by a worldly-looking chap, name of Aramus. Darrick introduced himself as "an emissary of the Royal Court of Althania, here to observe the proceedings on behalf of His Royal Highness, King Havok Ironclad."

"A dinner party, eh Darrick?" I mumbled wryly out of the side of my mouth.

Darrick grinned. "Just watch," he whispered as Aramus, who had given himself the title of Steward of the Manor, guided us down the hall to the chambers of the Vavasor. My stomach sunk, then struck at me in resentment for being treated so poorly. Darrick noticed my pain and gave me a nudge which was supposed to buck me up. "We’ll get to the eating part in a bit. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. You may not want to drink so much tonight. You’ll need your wits about you. Ahhh… most exquisite!" he said in response to the Steward who had pointed out an unremarkable tapestry along the wall.

This evening was turning into a huge disappointment, and I kicked Darrick in the shins to show him how much of a disappointment it was. He frowned and clucked, absently brushing off his fine hose as he continued to feed the Steward’s ego.

"And here is the Vavasor’s study," said Aramus a whiny tone of voice which I found offensive. "He has been expecting you, Lord Darrick…"

I shot Darrick an accusing glance which he didn’t even notice.

"…as well as your young intern here. I expect the lad will find his place in the servants’ quarters…?"

I almost socked the pompous lout in the face. Even though he was around fifty in age, I myself was not so far behind. A pity my elvish blood did much to disguise that fact, but I had long since resigned myself to the fact that I would be sexually functional for the next two hundred years or so.

"Er…" Darrick rushed to the rescue. "The intern has much to learn, and I feel that it would be much more beneficial for him to remain with his elders. To observe."

"Hmm? As you wish," said the Steward, opening the door to the study. He peeked his head in for a moment, said something which was muffled by the door, nodded his head, and threw the door wide open. His voice loudened. "Lord Blasius, may I have the honor to present to you the Duke of Entwisle, Lord Darrick Solomon! …and his intern."

I hid my amusement at Darrick’s obviously fake title and name. Something wasn’t on the up and up, and I figured that Darrick would tell me eventually. Must be something to do with Althanian Intelligence - that bunch of spies and assassins that Darrick had been so tied up with until recently. Probably acting as a liaison between them and Valor’s Rogue Section. Whatever. I wanted to eat.

An elderly gentleman tried to rise from his desk to greet us at the door. I assumed he was the Vavasor, judging by the flamboyant robe which he wore. "Ah, greetings, my kind Duke," he said in an enfeebled voice, and I could see by now that the Vavasor would probably not outlive the month. His speech was garbled and his movements were faulty; his Steward rushed to his side to help him from his desk. Despite the Steward’s efforts, the old man could not rise and fell back into his plush chair, clutching his chest painfully as he did so. "I…" he wheezed, and then lapsed into a coughing fit.

The Steward turned his head to us. "The Vavasor would like to give you welcome into his most spacious home," he said smoothly, his hands ministering to Blasius’ ailments. "He would escort you personally to the drawing room, but as you can see, he first needs a little time to get his papers in order." He smiled without amusement. "Business, you understand. And tonight is very much indeed a night of business. Perhaps…" He paused for thought.

"PASSIUS!" the Steward hollered. "PASSIUS!"

A moment later, there were footsteps down the hall. Both myself and Darrick turned to the sound. Two men were walking toward us. One had a scowl twisted across his features, the other hid a sly, half-smile on his lips. The one with the scowl was clearly the son of the Vavasor; his and his father’s face were the same, though age had not yet stooped and bent his well-built frame. The other looked up no good. I immediately knew not to trust the fellow.

"Yes, Aramus," the Vavasor’s son sneered belligerently, bumping his way into the study past Darrick and I, his friend close at his heels.

"Passius," the Steward said, "I’d like you to meet Lord Darrick, the Duke of Entwisle. Lord Darrick, this young man is Passius, son of Lord Blasius. The fellow with him is a permanent guest of the household, the young Lord’s childhood friend, Factus."

Darrick beamed broadly as he bowed floridly to the unimpressed kid. "Charmed," Darrick said simply.

"You are to escort the Duke to the drawing room," the Steward said. "No excuses."

Passius glared at the older man, and then at his father. "I hope the old bastard survives the night," he voiced with a tone that said the exact opposite. "Very well, then. You will come with me, Lord Darrick and…"

"Spliff. I’m his intern," I said. "We getting something to eat now?"

Passius spat, whirled, and left down the hall. Factus gave me a condescending smile, and did the same.

"Till dinner, Lord Darrick," the Steward smiled weakly. "The Vavasor will see you then, as will I."

Darrick nodded, poked me in ribs, and we both went to follow Blasius’ ingrate son. "What have you noticed?" Darrick whispered to me as we walked far behind the pair in front of us.

"The Steward’s in charge. Old Lord Blasius probably wouldn’t even recognize his face in a mirror anymore. The son is a jerk, itching for his father to drop off, and so’s his little friend, though that one’s allegiance to Passius is suspect."

Darrick nodded. "Watch the Steward. I have a feeling that maybe he’s not so attentive to his Lord as he should be, or in quite the proper way."

"What the hell are you up to?"

"You’ll see…"

The drawing room was enormous. Expensive couches and divans filled the spaces between the horribly deep throw-rugs which sucked in our feet with soft, scented fibers. Everything was the most garish shade of purple imaginable; the Vavasor had wealth and liked to show it. And he evidently liked to show it to a lot of people - the room could probably hold around two hundred people, though at the moment there were only a few others occupying the velvet interior. They stopped their idle chatter and turned their attentions to us.

"Introductions, of course," said Passius indifferently. "This is Lord Darrick of Entwisle and with him is his palace intern. Lord Darrick, this is everyone else. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to." With that, he and his friend left the room in a rush.

Everyone stared.

This was an uncomfortable situation for me, but not for Darrick who immediately strode up to a gentleman in the corner, a smile beaming on his seemingly honest face. Sighing, I tagged along slowly, trying to shrug off the stares of the rest of the guests. I didn’t have to worry about their attentions for long; since I was obviously of no great importance to them, they turned back to each other and continued chatting amongst themselves.

I saw that the man whom Darrick was speaking to was an Althanian, and a member of the Royal Court at that. An actual representative of King Havok, then, and apparently an operative of the D.O.D.…

"Spliff," Darrick said to me as he noticed my presence. "This gentleman here is from the Althanian Bureau of Commerce, as you’ve probably already guessed from his tacky wardrobe."

The man smirked and extended his hand. "Friend of Darrick’s, eh? But, you’re no intern of the Court. I’d guess that you were a shiftless vagabond if I didn’t know better."

"Well…" I sputtered.

The man laughed. "Never mind me, my opinion doesn’t matter much. You can call me Kenneth, and this pretty little thing here is Samantha. And she’s a real intern," he said with humor in his eyes.

Pretty little thing…? Ah! I hadn’t noticed her off in the corner like that. She had been studying a painting on the wall, and had only just turned around at the mention of her name.

"Hmm?" she inquired quizzically, brushing her ill-combed hair back with an ink-stained hand, bumping her enormous glasses so that they rode crooked on her nose. She looked perpetually flustered, as if she were caught up in circumstances which she didn’t quite understand, but plugged on through nevertheless. Tousled, mousy-brown hair, a slightly pugnacious nose, green eyes which squinted above delightfully chubby, freckled cheeks, and the most attractive look of confusion on her innocent, little face that I’ve ever seen:

I liked her.

"This is Spliff, dear," Kenneth said encouragingly. "He’s a troublemaker. Avoid him like the plague."

"Oh," she said, her eyes growing even more perplexed. "I’m Sam." She attempted a curtsy but failed miserably, her feet getting all tied up with each other in the effort.

"Howdy, Sam," I chirped cheerfully. "With that name and with those clothes (I was referring to her choice of pants and a jacket instead of the standard issue ballroom gown worn by ladies of the court), I’d suggest keeping your distance from Kenneth here. Wouldn’t want anyone to think that old Ken swings the other way."

A witty introduction and a direct attack on Kenneth’s masculinity! I’m way ahead here.

"Huh?" she said.

"Er…" Kenneth swept me aside as Darrick descended upon Sam. I gave my old friend the dirtiest look I could muster, and he returned my gift with a sly wink. "Few things you should know about the lady," Kenneth said. I wasn’t really paying attention; I was getting irritated at having to peek beyond Ken’s shoulder to see what the hell Darrick was doing.

"Samantha’s a smart girl," he continued. "Possibly the most intelligent person in the Bureau. Unfortunately, she’s kind of… how should I say it… dense." He shrugged helplessly. "She just doesn’t understand the finer points of humor, which I have noticed you seem to enjoy. She doesn’t really need to, you understand. She’s a numbers person. She’s probably going over the figures for the Thalosian textile trade in her head right now."

I nodded.

"Two more things." And here his voice grew deeply serious. "She is under my supervision and I will not have an individual of dubious worth sneaking into her panties. If you do so, you will have offended the Royal Court of Althania, and I don’t think you want that. Oh, and just so you know, I do in fact ‘swing the other way,’ so I don’t need any more displays of your oh-so acerbic wit. Do you understand me?" His nostrils flared.

"Uh-huh," I said absently, still trying to peek around his head. Ha! Darrick looked disappointed, though he hid it well beneath that pleasant little smile of his. This girl may be too hard for him to crack, but a little bit of my magic might do the trick…

Turns out, I didn’t even have a chance to try until later that evening. Darrick grabbed my arm and hustled me across the room shortly after my "conversation" with Kenneth. He had to stop and speak to everyone in the room, because of course, he knew everyone in the room. A regular mover and a shaker.

He introduced me to a pair of Thalosian government-types, as if there were any other type of Thalosian. They bowed very imperiously, and then promptly ceased to pay any notice to me. The taller one went by the name of Obidjan. He was the "in-house" Thalosian accountant, responsible for working with the Vavasor in order to ensure that accurate tax records were kept. His countryman was an ugly little fellow by the name of Haroun, a diplomat from New Thalos here to negotiate some sort of agreement which no one would get around to explaining to me. I liked neither of them, and their country even less.

The last pair I met were an odd couple. Darrick dropped the formal pose he’d assumed with the desert twins and slipped into charming mode. This immediately tipped off my danger sense, because no man was more dangerous than Darrick when he decided to be charming.

"Spliff," said Darrick, "I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Edmund Darrow."

"Delighted," the man named Darrow said to me, reaching to shake my hand.

"Don’t," Darrick snapped. "Not here. Not now."

Darrow chuckled and lowered his hand to his side, his eyes unreadable. "Poor Darrick," he said ruefully, "never willing to trust a friend."

Darrick ignored the remark, turning his head to me and saying bluntly, "Never shake hands with this man. His rings tend to be poisoned."

I nodded sagely, wondering what the hell was going on, even as my eyes reflexively dropped down to study his hands. Fine rings, to be sure. Judging from the quality of the inset gems, this was a very rich man. Like Darrick, the man wore tactfully understated bands which could mean one of two things: A) Edmund Darrow was tastefully wealthy (which doesn’t apply to Darrick), or B) Edmund Darrow liked to show off his wealth while at the same time minimizing the weight and bulkiness of his rings, thus allowing him more dexterity and freedom of movement with which to knock off people around him (which does). I don’t think I need to tell you which alternative I opted with.

Darrow’s companion let loose a huge belly laugh, which was indeed quite huge due in no small measure to the enormous size of said belly. "And will I also have the pleasure of greeting your friend, Darrick? Or will you likewise deny my attempts at friendliness?"

"You," Darrick said smoothly, "may greet Spliff in any way that you choose, Peter LeFuour, though I will be watching you like a hawk to ensure that my young intern’s purse will not have been lifted in the process."

The fat man guffawed again, his badly stained and broken teeth showing through the tangle of his billowy red beard. "I do not stoop to such petty acts of thievery, friend Darrick," he chortled as he seized my hand with a vice grip. "I am an honest merchant!"

"…who therefore stoops to even more petty acts of thievery, I am certain," finished Darrick. "I know you, Peter LeFuour, or shall I call you ‘Kindly Pete’?"

"You may call me as you wish," Kindly Pete said generously, releasing my crushed hand to wave his in the air. "But tonight, I would prefer it if you were to call me Peter LeFuour, merchant of exotic spices, and ambassador to Friarston at the request of the Arkanian mercantile guild."

Darrick’s mouth crooked. "Ambassador, now? You wear many titles, LeFuour."

"As do you, ‘Duke of Entwisle,’" Darrow said dryly. "And I’m sure that your ‘intern’ also has secrets which he would prefer to keep hidden, though as to how he serves your purpose I am not entirely clear."

"You have seen through my ruse, Edmund!" Darrick exclaimed dramatically. "This man here is not an intern for the Royal Althanian Court! Care to confess your secrets and sins to Monsignor Darrow, Spliff?"

"Yeah, I’m his pal. I came here for the food," I said.

After that, things went relatively smoothly, though the three of them were still circling each other like sharks waiting for first blood. Thankfully enough, no one got pricked before one of the Vavasor’s servants beckoned us to dinner.

We were all seated in the gigantic dining hall. The twelve of us barely took up one fifth of the grand table, so it was hardly a cozy environment. I sat next to Darrick at the point furthest away from the Vavasor. Unfortunately, the intern girl, Sam, was far off to my left, sandwiched in between Kenneth and Obidjan. I tried to get her attention, but she was all wrapped up in trying to figure out the silverware.

"Before we begin," whined the Steward, Aramus, as he rose to his feet. "The Vavasor would like to welcome all of you into his home and would like all of you to feel at ease despite the present circumstances…"

"Necrucifer’s teeth!" snarled Passius, who had arrived at the table with his companion quite some time after the other guests had been seated. "I am sick of playing these little games! I do not wish to have my dinner spoiled by unsaid words!" Factus whispered into his ear. "I want you all to know," he spat, his face flushing red, "that as my father is otherwise indisposed…" He pointed at Blasius who had apparently nodded off to sleep. "…I am the Vavasor of this holding! And it is my intention to give the rights to the Port Authority to the merchants of Arkane and Peter LeFuour!"

"AND Peter LeFuour?" Darrick shot out.

"You are NOT the Vavasor yet, young Passius. As long as he lives, I am in control of this household, as I am the only one fit to run it!" the Steward challenged.

"Need I remind you, great sir," Obidjan said softly, "that the Most Exalted Sultan sees otherwise."

"Indubitably," said Haroun, the other Thalosian. "This land is still subject to the laws of Thalos, and owes its allegiance and existence to the Sultan, To Whom All Praises Be Given."

"Please, sirs," someone said smoothly. Everyone looked around for the source of that voice. It was Darrow. "Let us voice our concerns one at a time, lest this hall turns into a house of fishmongers." I wish I had a voice like that - one that grabs everyone’s attention.

Passius glared at the Steward and at the two Thalosians, but nodded curtly. Aramus took a seat. I kicked Darrick’s foot under the table and he responded with a blink. I sighed, thinking I’d never get to eat.

"Very well then," Passius began. "I will begin, as I am the Lord of the house." Aramus began to object, but a sharp look from Darrow silenced him. "As we know, this holding was founded by Arkanian sailors and merchants who sought to find an alternative to the costly ports of Thalos." Haroun coughed. "Although our fathers were primarily Arkanian in descent, they found that the Empire of Thalos was not willing to allow an Arkanian settlement in what they considered to be a part of their territory, therefore they moved their armies upon us with the intent of conquest.

"Happily enough, this region proved to be most inhospitable to the desert warriors of Thalos, and the Friarston militia was able to withstand the assault for well over a month before they were finally overrun. Our fathers swore vengeance against Thalos, pledging to return with more troops from Arkane and forcibly remove the Sultan’s soldiers from our home. Because of the losses that the Sultan incurred, he was reluctant to deal as harshly with the people of Friarston as he had done before. Thus, an agreement was reached. The Sultan would have his due in the form of taxes levied upon us. In return, a separate body was created which would have control over the Bay of Fools and all shipping conducted within it - the Port Authority.

"By treaty, the head of the Port Authority is the Vavasor, not the Sultan. And as the head of the Port Authority, I would turn control over to the merchants of Arkane who are our people, our brothers and sisters."

"Idiocy!" screeched the Steward. "Your father would never allow such an act. What profit do you stand to gain?"

Factus whispered in his friend’s ear. "Import taxes, of course, would be raised accordingly, and no small portion of their sum would be given over to the Vavasor’s household," said Passius, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"But we have the power over the Authority," Aramus almost shouted. "You would give up such power for a paltry tithe?"

"Um…" a voice said timidly. "Why would Arkanian merchants want to raise import tariffs anyway? It doesn’t make sense," Sam said, looking everywhere but at the men at the table. That’s a girl! I hate to see good minds go to waste.

The huge man Darrick called Kindly Pete cleared his throat. "You all know me, sirs. I represent the largest mercantile guild in Arkane. Of late, our members have become increasingly eager to gain control of the Authority. Although part of the proposed agreement calls for an increase in tariffs, we find that the relaxation of certain restrictions imposed by the Vavasor’s administration would more than make up for it."

"What kind of restrictions, Pete, and I will call you Pete, you bloody pirate," snapped Kenneth.

"Pirate?" I whispered to Darrick. He nodded. "So what’s with the ‘Kindly’ part of his name?"

"Typical pirate irony," Darrick whispered. "Now hush."

"Kenneth, Kenneth," Kindly Pete drawled. "As I understand it, you are here to observe the proceedings on behalf of old King Ironclad, not participate in them. Please mind your place if you would be so kind."

Haroun took the moment to interject. "Although it may not be his place to comment, I am nevertheless interested in what the good sir, Kenneth, is…how do you say… ‘getting at.’ What restrictions would you and those you represent care to avoid?"

"Certain restrictions, Thalosian," Kindly Pete said in a not-too-kindly tone of voice.

"What my associate is trying to say," said Darrow, a beatific smile on his lips, "is that the current system does not permit vessels of a certain size to enter the bay. It is our wish that these larger ships be granted permission to dock here so that those we represent may transport greater amounts of cargo to this continent. The increase in tariffs will more than be made up for by the sheer quantity of goods imported."

"Those we represent, Edmund?" Darrick inquired wryly. "How do you fit into this picture?"

"My pardon," Darrow said with a light chuckle. "I misspoke. I meant, of course, those whom Peter LeFuour represents. I am here as an associate to Mister LeFuour, nothing more, nothing less. Suffice it so say, his interests are my interests."

"I press you no further," Darrick said with a smirk. "As I am sure your answers would not be forthcoming…" he added under his breath.

"This is irrelevant," Haroun said with a flick of his wrist. "The Illustrious Sultan has sent me to inform you that if the Port Authority is given unto the Arkanian merchants, then the agreement made with the founders of Friarston is null and void. The Sultan, From Whom All Blessings Flow, will then move His vast armies into this region and crush the inhabitants beneath His Magnificent Thumb."

"He would have his thumb severed from his hand then," sneered Passius. "You know as well as I that your troops are not trained to operate in a climate such as this. We would pierce you from the trees and hang your entrails from the vines."

Haroun sniffed. "It is true in times past that your people may have deferred the Wrath of the All-Glorious Sultan until a later date, but now that date is upon us. Our warriors may find the air a little thick and odorous, but mere elements cannot hope to thwart the Will of the Sultan, A Thousand Praises Be Heaped Upon His Name."

"If Thalos even thinks about torching this town," barked Kindly Pete. "Then Arkane pledges its troops to its people of Friarston, may a thousand pounds of dung be heaped upon the Sultan."

"Mmm," Darrow said slyly, "Given its situation with the Kingdom of Verminasia, perhaps Thalos would not be willing to support a war on two fronts, eh Haroun?"

"Thalos does not war with the BoneSmasher yet," the Thalosian diplomat said silkily.

"Bah!" Passius roared in contempt. "The Port Authority is to be given to the Arkanian mercantile guild. If your Sultan has any issue with this, then he may come to take the Authority himself."

"The Port Authority will NOT be given to anyone under any condition!" the Steward rejoined. "The Vavasor will not be a party to such an action!"

"Are you a parrot now, Aramus?" Passius sneered. "For I have heard nothing but the same words from your beak for the last several years."

"Then well he should perch on Kindly Peter LeFuour’s shoulder," Kenneth muttered bitterly.

"I think that enough has been said," Darrow voiced calmly, a hand placed on Kindly Pete’s shoulder. "It seems that this conversation has dwindled to insult. I suggest that we enjoy our dinner and spend the night thinking upon these things. But in private, and without harsh words. Come the morn, we will meet once more and come to an agreement which all parties will hopefully find mutually beneficial."

"‘Hopefully’ is a word that rings false on your lips, Edmund," Darrick said. "I seem to remember you as one who deals in specifics, not generalities dependent on fickle fortune."

"And I must remind you, Lord Darrick, that you are not included in this discussion. The fact that Althanian Intelligence would be so bold as to send one of its members… forgive me, former members to spy on these proceedings chafes me. But enough of this. Shall we summon the servants to serve our dinner?"

The meal over, everyone except myself, Darrick, Kenneth, and the girl had left the dining hall to retire for the night. I slouched in my seat, absently picking at the remnants of my food.

"He will make his move, that blasted pirate," Kenneth murmured to Darrick.

"I think not. There are other players in this game too, and they are well acquainted with the rules."

"The Thalosians?" Kenneth said with scorn. "Obidjan is an accountant…no offense, dear… sent by the Sultan to this backwoods village as a punishment. He is a weak man. The other, Haroun, I know well. He is no threat."

Darrick’s smile hid something I couldn’t make out. "I am well aware of your acquaintance with Haroun, but do not forget he is a Thalosian diplomat, just as skilled as yourself in ‘political intrigue.’ He will carry out the Sultan’s will, or what he perceives to be the Sultan’s will, in any case."

Kenneth shifted uncomfortably, though I couldn’t see why.

"Um…" said the girl, tapping Kenneth on the shoulder. "Sir, what does he mean by political intrigue? I thought we were here to observe."

Darrick grinned broadly. "My dear, we are never present to solely observe. The Althanian Bureau of Commerce involves itself with more than just trade. To be sure, its function is to ensure the continued stability of our economy, but the means by which it does so may not always involve ledgers or ink."

"They’re a lot of spies and assassins," I chipped in. "But at least they’re a proficient lot. Better than the Thalosians, that’s for sure."

"Not just the Thalosians…" Darrick mused. "Spliff, what did you notice about Darrow’s rings?"

I shrugged. "Real nice. I figure he’s in the ‘trade’ too."

Darrick frowned. "That’s all you noticed? Perhaps it’s for the best at this time…"

"Who else then? The son? The Steward?" Kenneth butted in.

"All of them and more," Darrick replied mysteriously. "Still… one thing nags at me. What is Edmund’s purpose here?"

Kenneth shrugged. "I assume for the same purpose as LeFuour."

"That may or may not be true. But then, what is LeFuour’s purpose?"

"To grab ahold of the Port Authority, that much is obvious."

"Is it? Something was said earlier this evening that even now eludes me…" Darrick snapped to his feet. "I must be off. I have my suspicions that even now the wheels are turning, and I must not miss out on the events, else Kalgalath would have my head. Spliff, I trust you will find our accommodations. My lady, it has been a pleasure, and Kenneth… until we meet again."

Kenneth nodded as Darrick slipped out of the room, his feet barely touching the floor. The Althanian ambassador looked bitterly into his cup.

A moment later, a voice came from the door. "Lord Kenneth, if I could have a word with you." The man stepped into the light and I saw that it was Haroun.

Kenneth sighed, pushed his cup from him and rose. "Samantha, I need to speak with the ambassador. Alone. I will find you when I am finished." She nodded and then Kenneth turned to me. "And remember what I said to you earlier, vagabond. Friend or no friend of Darrick’s, you will not find it a pleasurable experience to cross me."

He waited for me to say something, so of course I didn’t. Muttering under his breath, he finally left the table to speak with the Thalosian, leaving me all alone in this big house with no one to play with except… heh.

"So," I said to the girl, taking another draught of wine. "What brings you here?"

"Um," she began, obviously very uncomfortable. She looked around the room.

"Yeah, we’re the only ones here. Servants probably all asleep by now. But don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless, of course, I get really drunk." I burped for effect.

She gave me a helpless look. Sighing, I knocked the cup aside, got up, and pulled her to her feet. "Go to bed," I said. "I’ll see you in the morning." I turned to leave the room.

"Um," she said. "That man, Darrow. His rings are from Verminasia."

"What?" I exclaimed, turning back.

"I dunno if that’s what your friend was talking about, but I do know that at least one of the rings is from Verminasia. There’s a fancy jewelry store there that sells rings like that. Least, I think there is."

"I thought he was working out of Arkane, like LeFuour," I said, scratching my head.

She shrugged, nearly knocking her plate off the table. "As of last count, there were eleven of those rings made. One was sold to the Viscount of Hampton, two were sold to barons of minor northern holdings, one was…"

"I get it," I said, interrupting her train of thought, and boy had that train left the station. "No chance of anyone picking up one of those rings without you knowing it, right? So what does this tell us?"

"I dunno. Lord Kenneth doesn’t tell me anything."

"Forget that schmuck," I said with a scowl. "Let’s see… LeFuour’s a pirate, and Darrow’s somehow connected with Verminasia. Unless, of course, he just picked up his ring on a weekend shopping binge."

This was getting me nowhere, so I dropped the subject and asked the girl if she’d like to check out more of those paintings she had been studying earlier. She said she’d like that; she was putting together an estimate of the estate’s total worth. Well, turns out we didn’t get much of a chance to see how badly the Vavasor had been ripping off his people due to the presence of a Steward-sized mess all over the drawing room floor.

Someone had slit the poor bastard’s throat, leaving a huge pool of blood to be soaked up by an imported yeti throw rug. Sam gagged and threw up in the corner, staining yet another priceless rug. These were not the last two rugs to be spoiled this night.

"Yeah, he’s dead all right," I said to the girl. "Guess he’s been killed."

"By… who?" she sputtered, wiping her mouth off with a badly stained sleeve.

"Beats the hell out of me. I’m just here for the food. But I guess the butler didn’t do it." I beamed, fishing for her smile. No bite.

"What… do we do?"

"Er… catch the killer?" I theorized. "And then kill him?" I shrugged. She puked.

"What’s going on here?" boomed Kenneth from the hallway. He charged into the room with a sword drawn. "What the hell are you… Austinian help us!" he said, noticing the body and setting his sword down. He knelt down by the body of Aramus and inspected it.

"Clean cut, this one," he murmured. "Professional." He dabbed his finger into the dead man’s throat and tasted the blood. "No hint of poison." He stood up and fixed me with his eyes. "Who did this?"

"I don’t know. We just found the body ourselves."

He glared at me darkly. "Samantha!" he called. The girl ran up to him and buried her face in his arms. "It’s okay, dear," he cooed to her, still impaling me with his eyes. "There’s another one in the sitting room. Obidjan."

"Dead?" I asked.

"What do you think?" he snapped. "Haroun and I stepped in there to talk, and there he was, lying on the floor with his neck broken cleanly in two. I’ve been searching for the murderer…"

"Assassin," I said absently.

"Assassin." He bit off the word. "Two less individuals for him to worry about now. Probably the only two who knew how this town’s finances are run."

"Passius?" I tossed out for the hell of it. "He’s dumb enough to do it."

"My gold is on LeFuour. With these two gone, the Port Authority is practically his already. Where’s Darrick?"

I shrugged. "You saw him when I did. Listen, if it is LeFuour, this is a pretty stupid move."

He scowled. "How so?"

"They’re dead. Good for him. But how does this help him any when he’s hanging from the gallows for a double murder?"

Kenneth snorted. "He’ll have some excuse, I can assure you of that."

"Personally, I think it’s the Vavasor himself. I don’t think he’s quite as weak as he plays himself off to be." I hid my smirk.

"Bah!" he said with derision. "You are truly an imbecile! What could his motive be?"

"Perhaps to put himself back in power. These two jokers have been usurping him for years now, you heard Passius."

"Passius is a loud-mouthed pup who needs to be put in his place." His eyes glittered menacingly.

"Careful, Kenneth," I warned. "And where is Haroun? Where is the other witness to Obidjan’s murder?"

"You suggest that I killed the Thalosian?!" He pushed the girl aside and retrieved his sword.

"Even if you did, you shouldn’t get all huffy about it," I said with a bored tone. "It is your job, right Lord Kenneth?"

He lowered his blade and muttered something nasty under his breath. "Stay here with the girl," he barked, "and don’t leave the room! I will rouse the other members of our party and alert them to the presence of the murderer."

"Assassin," I corrected as Kenneth sped out the door.

Twenty minutes passed before the others arrived, minus the Vavasor and Darrick. Sam spent the whole time recovering from shock, so no gains were made there.

"What is this?" howled Passius. "Two deaths in one night?!"

Apparently, they had all been to see the other body. I felt no need to check it out - I’d seen plenty of corpses in my time, some of them which were out to get me.

"Monstrous!" Kindly Pete bellowed. "My eyes are not accustomed to such bloodshed."

Each of them in turn voiced their displeasure at such actions, yet for some reason I didn’t believe a single one of them. Any of them would gladly rip out each other’s throats, this I could see. But would any of them be dumb enough to forget to cover his tracks? As if it mattered, since no one was ‘fessing up.

"Look," I said. "Obviously what’s going to happen is that every one of us except the assassin is going to die tonight." Sam scuffed her feet together nervously. "Whoever is left in the morning will have control of the estate, and that person also better have a damn good alibi."

"I say the intern is the killer," Passius snarled, advancing on me with a drawn rapier. "He’s the only suspicious one amongst us."

I nearly pooped my pants laughing. "Granted, I’m not an intern," I said, waving Passius off. "I lied to get the free food. Sue me."

"Then by the Pit, who are you?" Passius said, not deterred by my words.

"Spliff. From Althania. I tell stories for fun and profit."

He wasn’t convinced, but Sam chirped to my rescue, explaining haltingly how it was impossible that I killed both the Thalosian and the Steward since I was with her the entire time.

Haroun spoke up, "My countryman has been butchered, and the Steward of this household, the only one who had authority, has likewise had his life cut short." He didn’t get his own pun. "I swear to you by the gods who live, tomorrow shall find the town of Friarston in ruins!"

"Haroun, Haroun," said Kindly Pete, throwing an arm around the smaller man’s shoulder. "Let’s not be too hasty, shall we? This is none of our doing. Personally, I blame the deaths on that notorious assassin, Darrick."

"Assassin? That man is a murderer?!" Passius screamed. "I will not have such folk in my house!"

"Listen up, kid. Everyone in this room is an assassin. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t admit it," said Kenneth, leaning on his sword. "Even you’ve had training in the so-called art of surreptitious warfare, isn’t that right?"

"How did…" Passius sputtered for breath, and Factus leaned in on him and mumbled something into his ear.

"Althanian Intelligence knows many things." Kenneth twirled his blade around, cutting into the rug. "And it knows that you stand to benefit from the deaths of the Thalosian and your father’s steward. And get that lout out of your ear!" he snapped as Factus leaned in for another whisper.

Factus fixed Kenneth with a cold stare. "If I hear one more comment from your rude mouth, Althanian, I will slit your belly and bathe in your blood," he whispered icily.

The two looked as if they were about to make more floor decorations when Darrow intervened. "Gentlemen, please. I suggest that we sit in this room until the sun rises. If one of us is the killer, then he will not be able to strike with the rest of us watching. If the killer is not amongst us, then he will find that six men… and one lady, of course… are more than a match for a single individual."

Everyone seemed to agree on this and began to settle in for the night. I cleared my throat. "Um… everyone forgetting one detail?" I asked.

"What?!" they all snapped at me.

I beamed. "The Vavasor. He ain’t here."

Well, I thought that this was pretty obvious, but everyone else immediately began to curse bitterly.

"LeFuour!" Kenneth barked. "Come with me. Together we will fetch the Vavasor. And also find that rogue, Darrick, while we’re at it," he added as an afterthought. "If I do not return, then Kindly Pete is the assassin. Kill him on sight."

Pete chuckled, shrugged, and followed Kenneth out the door, both of them with swords in hand.

Ten minutes later, Kenneth and LeFuour returned emptyhanded, not surprisingly.

"He’s dead," Kindly Pete stated flatly.

"What?! How…?" Passius leapt from the couch he had been reclining on.

Kenneth sheathed his sword. "Natural causes maybe. Poison maybe. Who can say? He was so far gone to begin with that it’s hard to tell. No clear sign of foul play."

"Well now," Darrow chuckled. "That makes you the Vavasor, Passius. Convenient?"

"By Fatale’s breath, what do you mean, Darrow?!" A split-second later, his rapier was pointed at Darrow’s heart. "Do you mean to say that I would commit patricide? I have been in this stupid room the whole time!"

"Oh come on now, Passius," Kenneth said. "We all know that you’ve wanted your father out of the picture since you were stripped from your mother’s teat. And no one said that the late Lord Blasius was murdered in the past few minutes. You’ve had since dinnertime to do the deed, however you did it."

"What?!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he whirled to face Kenneth. "If anyone, it’s the bloody Thalosian!" His eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps it was you."

At this point, even the normally refined Haroun had a weapon drawn. I noticed that Factus had a particularly nasty looking blade, serrated on one side, razor sharp on the other. Nothing good could come from this. Sensing an opportunity to sneak away from the impending fracas, I slipped over to Sam and tugged at her sleeve.

"While they’re occupied with each other, let’s go," I whispered. She nodded and we slowly backed out of the room. Once we reached the hall, we made a break for it, dashing through the mansion and sneaking out the back door into the enormous garden. A light rain greeted us to the night. We paused to catch our breaths.

"What will we do?" Sam asked.

"I’m having a smoke, that’s for damn sure," I said, whipping out a cigarette and setting it in its place.

"Who are you?" she asked fearfully. Small raindrops were caught on the lenses of her glasses.

"Spliff. I said as much inside." I struck a match and lit up. Something clicked.

"Yeah, butImeanIknowwhatyournameisbutwhat…"

"Shh…" I said. "Listen."

A strong wind was whipping through the trees, flicking our hair about and bringing with it a peculiar odor, but that’s not what I was referring to.

"There," I said. "That sound."

She wrinkled her brow. "Sounds like thunder to me. It is a stormy night at sea."

"No, not thunder. Cannon fire." I looked out to the ocean, barely visible from where we were standing. "There be pirates. Far off though, so don’t worry yourself."

She collapsed to the wet grass in misery, burying her face in her hands. "We’re gonna die," she mumbled over and over again.

I dropped to my knees and patted her on the head. "Well, with that attitude, you probably will. A crying shame."

"Me?" she said, lifting her head, trying to control her voice. "What about you?"

"Although I’d gladly give my life protecting you from the bogeymen, I don’t really have the strength to drag you around all night. Since my survival is dependent on the quickness of my feet, I’d have to leave you behind."

There was a pause. "You…" she fumed, struggling to find the word. "…jerk!" A small fist shot out of nowhere and caught me in the nose.

"Ow!" I yelped, holding my nose with both hands and trying to blink the tears out of my eyes, my efforts causing me to lose my balance and tip over to the ground. To add insult to injury, she started kicking me while I was down. "Cut it out!"

"Lousy, lousy jerk!" Man, she was pissed. Guess that’s what happens when you have a lot of pent-up hostility.

This went on for a few more minutes, then she sat back down in a huff, her back turned to me. I relaxed and tried to get my bearings during this calm. Gingerly, I got to my hands and knees and crept up next to her. She turned her back to me again.

"Sam…" I said.

"Not listening," she said curtly.

I sighed and we sat there for a bit while the rain continued to enjoy falling on our heads. She sneezed noisily and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

"Girl, you need a handkerchief or something. Your sleeves are filthier than a minotaur’s tuckus."

"A what?" she asked irritably.

"Minotaur. Big, upright cows with pointy horns."

"I know that!" she snapped as I scooted around her back, holding my hands up to the sides of my head and wagging my fingers in her face as if they were horns. She raised her chin.

"Oh," I grinned.

"I meant the other wor….oh." Comprehension dawned. "You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?" she said accusingly, her lips pouting ever-so-adorably.

"I thought you’d never notice."

It was all downhill from there. We ended up killing the better part of an hour telling our life stories to each other. Apparently, she was the daughter of some minor lord or another, raised for the sole purpose of marrying some other lord who split on the day of the wedding, poor girl. On the bright side, he turned up bobbing in the levee a few days later, so no real loss. Left without anything to really do, Sam applied for a job at the Althanian registry service where she plowed through the paperwork so quickly that the Bureau of Commerce snagged her as fast as they could before another agency could pick her up. Since then, she’d been working nonstop on various trade agreements, trying to close loopholes here and open others there. It was only until very recently that she had been moved over to Kenneth’s department as an intern (which saved the government the trouble of paying her), and it was only at this moment that she discovered what Kenneth’s department was called by us street-types.

"The Department of WHAT?!" she exclaimed unbelievingly.

"Department of Death. Nice ring to it, eh? Actually, the full name is the Department of Death, Dismemberment, and Diplomacy, but hardly anyone calls it that anymore. Not the official name, of course, but it’s the one that fits, so there you have it."

"Oh, Taliena…" she blubbered. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"Hey, that’s my goddess too!" I winked. "But don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Kenneth’s been watching you like a hawk, and that’s saying a lot."

"You mean he’s…"

"A certified killer of the state. As was Darrick. I hope that guy is okay…"

I wasn’t to find out at the moment, as our conversation was rudely interrupted by the arrival of one Kenneth. And he was none too happy.

"Cute little picnic you got here," he snarled. "Been wondering where you two’ve been. Get your butts inside now! There’s been another death, and I don’t want the assassin picking off strays." The last word was coupled with a mean glare in my direction.

After me and Sam had left the drawing room, the six remaining men had apparently brawled it out as I’d guessed they would. No damage had been done save for a nasty little gash in Haroun’s thigh and the destruction of yet three more rugs. However, all had agreed in one way or another that staying in the same room with each other for even five more minutes would have left the assassin out of a job, unless he also happened to moonlight as a janitor.

Darrow and Kindly Pete were the first to leave, followed by the new Vavasor and his playmate. Kenneth had stayed to help Haroun tend to his leg.

"I am… fine, my friend…" he had apparently said. "Allow me to… rise… and I will be the better for it." He had taken two steps and keeled over, dead. At least, that’s how Kenneth told it.

"And it was due to Kindly Pete’s poisoned blade!" Kenneth raged. "When I find the pirate, I will make him feast upon it!"

Of course, the pirate was nowhere to be found. Kenneth was growing more irritable by the minute, and twice he almost lopped off my head while swinging his damned sword around dramatically as if to illustrate what he would do to LeFuour.

"Look, Kenneth. I hate to interrupt your thinking here," I said, ducking a swing which put a huge gash in the wall behind me. "But, what’s the deal between you and LeFuour?"

"The deal?" he asked, his voice a mixture of shock and fury. "The deal?!" With his free hand, he shoved me against a tapestry. His eyes were bulging now, and his breath stunk of old hate. "The deal, as you put it, is that two years ago, Kindly Peter LeFuour took the life of Sir Norris Cummins, my best friend and closest confidant, during an investigation of the pirate’s affairs. This is not all that he did. Care you to hear more?"

"Sure," I said agreeably.

"Kindly Peter LeFuour caught Sir Cummins in his study." Kenneth kept slamming me against the wall with every mention of the pirate’s name. "There must have been a leak somewhere, for LeFuour was supposed to be on a seafaring expedition. Regardless, the two men fought, and Sir Cummins was bested. Kindly Pete then severed Sir Cummins’ swordhand and proceeded to beat him about with the flat of his blade. Perhaps feeling that he was not being kindly enough, LeFuour reached for a fireplace poker and crippled Sir Cummins’ legs with repeated blows. Sir Cummins tried to crawl to safety using his good hand to drag himself across the floor, but LeFuour would have none of it. He used a paperweight to first crush Sir Cummins’ left hand, and then to bash in his skull, probably knocking him unconscious. The pain of having his eyes pierced with a sharpened quill might have roused Sir Cummins enough for him to realize that LeFuour was dousing him with lamp oil and preparing to light him ablaze. He might have pleaded for his life - this we will never know - but all that his words warranted him was a disembowelment courtesy of the now red-hot poker. The heat of the poker caused his body to light ablaze even as he writhed in agony, clutching his guts with the stub of his right hand and the pulp of the other.

"His charred and broken remains were found in the Arkanian sewers five days later. Our people verified the identity of the corpse and put together the details of his demise. Since then, I have sought out LeFuour for the chance to end his bloated life and forever rid Algoron of the stench of his existence!" The last was howled with the tint of madness, and he slammed me into the wall so hard that I would have broken through the other side if it weren’t for the cushioning of the tapestry behind me.

"But sir," Sam said meekly, flinching as Kenneth turned to her with fire in his eyes. "Why haven’t you killed him already? You even left with him to find the Vavasor."

"Because, you stupid girl!" he screamed. "This is all a game! This is a bloody, stinking game! I cannot simply run him through while the others watch! You… you…"

The girl trembled, anticipating a blow which Kenneth seemed all too ready to deliver. I couldn’t do anything to stop him; Kenneth had pretty much knocked the life out of me and I was still trying to recover. Just when it seemed that the Althanian ambassador would split from his skin - his muscles being tensed so tight I thought they would burst - the anger bled from him and he reached for something to support his suddenly shuddering frame.

"I… I am sorry…" he mumbled, covering his face with a hand. "There are… there are rules which we must follow. Of course, you wouldn’t know that. I am sorry. Sir Cummins was… close to me. I am sorry." He reached out to Sam, but she stepped back in fear, leaving him alone with his twisting emotions.

"YOU!!!"

A scream echoed through the hall, the voice of someone who has discovered something he would have rather not found out. It was the voice of Factus. Given his penchant for speaking softly or not at all, this was quite a shock.

Kenneth’s slack body snapped upright, his training not failing him. Quickly, his weapon was a part of him once more, and eyes narrowed, he rushed down the hall to the source of the outburst. Sam stepped over to me, reaching to help me get my bearings, but I waved her off.

"Just need…" I winced. "…a second or two to catch my breath. Our friendly psychopath there nearly broke all my ribs." A second or two rolled into minutes, but I was finally able to move without too much pain. "Let’s go," I muttered.

We followed Kenneth’s trail, not saying a word to each other. The hall eventually emptied out into a music room which was filled with harps, pianos, and two corpses. Passius and Factus both lay dead. Kenneth was nowhere in sight.

"Kenneth?" Sam asked softly.

"In pursuit of the assassin, I’d wager," I said, inspecting the bodies. I rolled Passius over to get a look at him. Piano wire encircled his neck, and his face and tongue were swelled blue. "Strangled," I said, moving to the body of Factus. I was half expecting to find a flute shoved down his throat, so I was relieved to see that his death was due to a good old knife wound - a dagger stuck through his forehead. "I’d say that Passius was killed first. Factus probably had left the room for a moment, and found his friend on the floor when he returned. I’m guessing that he saw the assassin and tried to slice him with this fancy butterknife here." I nudged Factus’ fallen blade with my boot. "Tough luck."

"What do we do?" Sam asked.

I looked at her. She was holding up rather well, actually. A little more dishevelled than she had been earlier, but she was really no worse for the wear. Psychological trauma would probably kick in a few months from now, but I wasn’t too worried about the distant future.

"Well," I said. "Since both Vavasors are dead, I suppose no one will mind if I have a smoke inside." I lit up. "And now we wait. We’re not going to have any luck finding the assassin, so he might as well come to us. I don’t think either of us stand much of a chance against him, so let’s hope we find him in a good mood."

It took half an hour before someone found us, and judging from the expression on his face, it wasn’t the assassin. That someone was Kenneth, and his expression was one of shock.

"Tre…treasury…" he gargled, blood flowing from his mouth. He collapsed to the floor face-first, not even bothering to break his fall. Sam let out a little scream and ran to him, trying to tend to his wounds. I walked over to him with interest.

Sam had rolled him over, and now I could see that he was badly injured and would not survive for much longer. It was amazing that he’d held out this long actually. Most normal men would’ve given up much earlier if they had been sliced up like a holiday turkey. I could even see Kenneth’s stuffing through his pierced flesh.

His left eye opened slightly and he saw Sam, who was helplessly dabbing at his face with her jacket which she had removed. "Samantha…" His voice was a whisper. "I am so sorry…" He coughed, and a fountain of blood erupted from his mouth. She began to cry. "Hidden treasury. Been looking for you."

"Hi, Kenneth," I said, moving into his limited field of vision. "How you been?"

His eye rolled about, finally resting its gaze on me. "Assassin… treasury… Darrick trapped…" Those were his last words. His body flexed, and then he was gone.

"Geeze, you’d think he could give us the name of the killer," I said as Sam wailed, throwing herself on top of his body. Why do chicks always do that? "Actually, it doesn’t really matter at this point. It’s pretty obvious that Kindly Pete and Darrow were in on it from the get-go." I was talking to myself; the girl was hopelessly out of reach.

So I waited.

Sam’s body finally stopped heaving and she weakly looked at me with red and bleary eyes. "We’re going to die," she sobbed. "I’m going to die."

"Like I said, lighten up," I reached down to help her off the floor and she took my hand limply. "Sorry about Kenneth here." I hoisted her to her feet. "But it comes with the job."

"He was good to me," she said, rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses. She moved to wipe her nose with her sleeve, then realized that her jacket lay pathetically on Kenneth’s corpse. She started to retrieve it.

"Leave it," I said gently. "It’s too damn bloody anyway."

"All my papers are in there," she said, but she didn’t try to pick it up.

"We’ll come back for it later," I said. "Right now, we have other things to worry about. Like Darrick."

"Darrick…?"

I nodded. "We’d best head to the treasury and see if we can save him before Darrow and LeFuour off him." I wondered why they’d kept him alive for so long. Another rule of the game?

It took us about half an hour to find the entrance to the treasury. The door was hidden behind an old bookcase, and I would’ve never found it if the body of Kindly Pete weren’t lying halfway out it.

"Well, this mucks up my theory about Darrow and LeFuour working together," I whispered as I tiptoed along the wall and over to the body. It was relatively untouched except for a deep wound in its back. I searched it for some sort of weapon, but just like Kenneth had been, Pete was unarmed.

"What the devil were you doing here?" someone shouted from the other room.

I peeked through the door and into the darkness. Torches cast a yellow flicker against the bare walls and upon the back of Edmund Darrow. He was enraged, gesticulating wildly with a rapier, pacing back and forth in front of what appeared to be Darrick, chained to the wall.

"Now that’s an odd thing to have in a treasury," I mused.

"What?" Sam whispered, creeping up to me and taking ahold of my hand.

"Stocks," I said, "Ssh!"

Darrick said something which I couldn’t quite hear, and Darrow grew even angrier.

"I thought we were done with such talk," he growled. He flicked his wrist and Darrick took a sharp breath as the rapier bit into him. "You’ve muddled up my plans for the last time, Darrick," he said evenly. "I had everything in control, but then you had to muck everything up with your foul presence. Tell me what you know!" He slashed at my friend again.

I peeked it for a closer look, and that was my undoing. Darrick saw me peeping through the doorway, and coughed. Then he smiled and winked at me. That bastard!

"Ahh…" said Darrow with dark humor, studying Darrick’s expression. "I see that Spliff and the girl have joined us. Fine. I’ll put an end to this now."

He turned around ever so slowly and pinned me with his laughing eyes. I had no choice but to step into the doorway.

"Get the hell out of here," I whispered out of the side of my mouth to Sam, who wouldn’t let go of my hand.

She took her place beside me, trying to avoid Darrow’s stare. "No," she whispered. "I’m as good as dead."

"Suit yourself," I said as Darrow methodically took a step forward.

"So the two ‘interns’ arrive," Darrow said, grinning. He bowed deeply, keeping his eyes on the two of us. "Welcome."

"Back off, Darrow," I said, force in my voice. "And I’ll let you live."

He smirked. "A pretty threat. Pity I can’t give you the same, for there is no chance that I will let you live." He held his sword out and continued his approach.

"Spliff!" Darrick suddenly screamed. "The girl, Spliff! The girl!"

* * *

"…b----," I finish.

His attention fixed on the girl, Darrow barely notices as I step aside and scramble to find a weapon. Everything is moving in slow motion, my adrenaline finally deciding to kick in. Darrow is racing in on Sam, who is still trying to withdraw something from her boot. I have about two seconds to do something before it’s lights out for the girl. What I end up doing is stepping on her glasses, crushing them to smithereens.

"Nuts!" I exclaim. One second left. Oh hell.

"Mmph!" Darrow grunts as I slam into his body, knocking the sword from his hand. My head is buried deep in his chest as I attempt to tackle him to the floor. Not good enough. I don’t weigh much more than a newborn calf, and I have no leverage.

He reverses the assault and throws me to the floor. The back of my head hits the hard wood with tremendous force and I almost black out. Good thing I don’t, because a split-second later, he’s on top of me with a wicked-looking dagger he apparently pulled out of thin air. I do the only thing I can think of doing, which is to knee him in the nuts.

He falls off of me but doesn’t let go of his weapon. I take the opportunity to stagger to my feet, but the sudden rush of blood into my pulsing and pounding temples causes me to reel back, and I almost eat it. I stumble backwards until I press up against something hard. The wall.

Darrick is still screaming himself hoarse, but no matter how hard I try, my eyes won’t focus properly. Through my tears, I see two Edmund Darrows approach me with determination.

"You bloody…" I find myself saying. Must stand! Must focus!

Darrow lunges at me.

But he falls short. He hits the ground. Hard. The dagger falls from his hand, inches away from my shaking boots. He’s out cold.

I sink to the floor.

"Well, that was close," someone says. I can’t tell who. My eyelids are pressed tightly together and my hands hold my throbbing head.

"Spliff, wake up," the voice says, and I feel a touch on my shoulder.

I look up. It’s Sam. She’s wearing a huge smile, and having no problems without her glasses, I might add.

"Now that’s a first…" I say weakly.

"What?" she asks curiously.

"Been trying to get you to smile all night."

Abruptly, Darrow’s fingers twitch. Sam frowns, looks over at him, and promptly thwacks him over the head with a blackjack.

"Aw nuts…" I mutter.

Darrick walks next to me, an arm thrown over my shoulder as we leave the estate.

"You sure you’re okay?" he asks with a note of concern.

"Yeah, I’m fine."

I am fine, in fact. It’s a gorgeous day. The sun’s shining brightly over the Bay of Fools, and the whole damn thing looks like liquid gold. Birds sing and dance above the three of us, and a warm western wind wraps us in its caress. Too bad the air isn’t so fresh.

"So, I’ll be seeing you two later," Sam says. "I have a ton of paperwork to file." She rolls her eyes with disgust. "This is a messy story."

"It’s all Darrow’s fault," Darrick quips. "Just write that down."

"I’ll have a lot more to do than that," she says, missing Darrick’s humor. Good to see that some things don’t change.

A horse-drawn carriage rolls up and Sam moves to speak with the driver.

"So, what you think?" Darrick asks me.

"About what?"

"The girl, idiot."

"Had me fooled."

Darrick grins. "Ha! You and everyone else. Trained her myself, I did."

"Needs a little work," I say, watching as the girl argues with the driver. "Shouldn’t have laced her boots so tight if she was packing heat."

Darrick nods. "She still has a few things to learn, but she’s pretty good as an ace in the sleeve."

We wait until Sam finally bullies the poor fellow with the carriage into giving her a lift, and then she gives us a clumsy farewell wave as the driver gets his horses into gear.

"So," I say, as the carriage speeds off down the hill. "Where were you all night?"

Darrick shrugs. "Killing people."

I nod. "Figured as much. And your purpose, of course…"

"Was to prevent Darrow from doing the same."

"There is a twisted sort of logic behind this, right?"

"Suppose you’re watching two people play a game of chess. You don’t want the black king to win. So what can you do as an observer?"

"Systematically remove his pieces while he isn’t watching."

He corrects me. "Not just his pieces, but all the pieces. Not only does he have less

to work with, but he’s left with no moves to make."

"So he gets frustrated."

"…and does stupid things. Besides, he was going to kill everyone anyway. I just sped up the process a bit. Made him antsy."

"Wait, he wouldn’t have snuffed Passius. I thought the two of them were in league with each other. And what about Kindly Pete?"

"Well," he sticks his hands in his pockets. "I took a few creative liberties, of course. The Steward and the accountant were the first to go as they were the two who had control of the town’s finances. The Vavasor had to follow. I didn’t want him lingering around, so I put a little scare in him, enough to give him one last heart attack for old time’s sake."

"I’ll take a wild guess here. With the Vavasor and his cronies out of the way, control of the town and the Port Authority reverts to whoever is next in line, which in this case would be whoever has the largest claim to the territory, the Sultan."

"Yep. Which is why Passius had to bite it. He would’ve given the Authority to LeFuour and Darrow, which wouldn’t have been good for the ports of Thalos, which means it wouldn’t have been good for us since our economy is so tied up with theirs."

"Too bad Pete got to Haroun then."

"Nah," he waves me off. "I was going to do him myself anyway. Notice how he and Kenneth shared a little ‘relationship’?"

I nod.

"Althanian Intelligence has been aware of this for a while. The two of them were dealing in illegal shipping practices, avoiding border regulations and the like. While this made them both very rich, it ultimately cut down on potential profits for both Thalos and Althania. This was unacceptable."

Something pops into my head. "Then you plugged Kenneth too?"

"That I did. One of the reasons I was sent here, actually. King Ironclad doesn’t take kindly to those who’d rip him off. Plus, there was always something fishy about that man. Knew too much about certain things he shouldn’t have been aware of."

"Like the death of one Sir Norris Cummins?"

"Exactly. The Bureau has had a dickens of a time trying to sort that fiasco out."

"Factus?"

"Unfortunately for him, he happened into the room while I was rubbing out his playmate. No matter. He probably had around ten minutes to live anyway. His eyes were too greedy for their own good, and you know how I feel about greedy people."

"Root of all evil," I agree. "And LeFuour?"

"Didn’t even have to touch him. Darrow did him in himself. They got into an argument and you know what happened next. Seems that the pirate blamed Darrow for screwing up the deal." He chuckles. "No one ever expects the good guys to be behind all the death and mayhem. Still, I wager that Darrow knew what was going down, though LeFuour was nowhere near bright enough to come to the same conclusion. He was wily, but not smart."

"Explain something to me if you will. How did the illustrious Lord Darrick get all tied up in the Vavasor’s ‘treasury’? "

Darrick grumbles. "I found the place quite on accident. If it weren’t for the smell of gold, I would’ve missed it all together. The torture equipment in there was a small shock, but everyone has his fetishes, right? Anyway, I lured Kenneth in there to do the job. All it took was an opened door. Unfortunately, Darrow had been tracking me. Just as I was about to drive the last nail into the late, lamented Lord Kenneth’s coffin, Darrow knocked me upside the head with a bludgeon. While he was busy with me, Kenneth got away and presumably told you of my whereabouts."

I scratch my privates absently. "Not like you to slip up like that. Hmm… guess Kenneth did tell us the name of his murderer after all," I mumble.

"Well, Darrow is good. Possibly better than me. Don’t underestimate the man. Why do you think I took such a roundabout way to counter him? No way I’d win in a fair fight."

"So then Darrow chains you up, LeFuour waltzes in the room, gets into a fight with Darrow, Darrow sticks him and leaves him in the doorway to attract the attention of myself and our lovely little Samantha, and the rest is history."

"You got it. Thanks for the assist, by the way. That’s why I brought you along. Figured you do some good eventually. Oh, I like how you handled Darrow," he says dryly. "Bet he never saw that one coming."

"Well, you only gave me a few seconds to do anything, screaming like that."

"You know just as well as I do that was the only way to keep Darrow from slicing you on the spot. He had no clue about the girl, so he perceived you as the immediate threat. If I didn’t make him think twice, you would’ve been done for. Sam might have knocked him around with that blackjack of hers after you were a spot on the floor, but I doubt it. Like I said, she still has a few things to learn."

We watch the ships scoot around the bay distractedly.

"The rings," I say finally. "Verminasian?"

"You bet. I’ve known for a while that he’s been working with that corrupt government. Even knew that he was behind the Arkanian merchants’ sudden interest in obtaining the Port Authority. He’s quite the orator, he is. All it took was a polite suggestion to certain key individuals, and then he probably said something like, ‘Hey, I know this guy named LeFuour. He’d be a good choice to represent you fellows.’"

"Wait a minute." I look Darrick in the eyes. "What was Darrow going to get out of this whole thing?"

Darrick gets this pained look on his face. "Beats me. You do know, of course, what LeFuour was after."

I look at the bay again and point. "That. The Bay of Fools. The source of that strange smell we’ve all been getting a whiff of. Finally figured it out while lighting up a smoke last night."

Darrick nods with a self-satisfied grin. "Fool’s gold. Worthless to everyone… except to those who know how to extract the sulfur from it. And as your match told you, sulfur goes ‘boom’ in certain circumstances…"

"…which pirates are all too familiar with. Cannon fire tipped me off. Still, having access to all that sulfur would suit LeFuour fine, but what about Darrow?"

"Well, let’s try to figure that one out. What would Verminasia stand to gain if the pirates suddenly had a huge supply of ‘magic dust’?"

I think for a moment. "The pirates would probably double their ransacking and pillaging efforts."

"Valor and our allied clans would have no choice but to stop them…"

"…and less attention could be paid to Verminasia. Gee, that was easy."

Darrick mutters. "Looks like BoneSmasher has something planned for the future. Something big. Something he doesn’t want the rest of us to see."

I clap Darrick on the back and smile broadly. "Well, that’s neither hither nor thither. The night is over, and many bodies have yet to be buried. Everything worked out a-okay, eh buddy?"

He grumbles for a moment, then gets this wicked light in his eyes. "You’re right," he says, slipping into charming mode. "Everything’s fine and dandy." He inclines his head and we begin to walk down the hill into town.

As we walk casually along the dirt path, I say, "You sure Darrow’ll be fine all chained up in the treasury? He is, after all, quite the manipulator."

"Sure, the Bureau’ll be by later to pick him up. No amount of explanation will get him out of this one. I effectively removed his alibi. Had he succeeded with his plot, he was going to blame all the deaths on Passius, you see. No, he has a rough time ahead of him."

"And of course, your alibi is that it was all Darrow."

"To wit. Who’s the Sultan going to believe? Me?" He gestures grandiosely at himself. "Or agent of the Verminasian empire, Edmund Darrow?"

"Remind me why we didn’t kill him while we had the chance."

Darrick laughs, tossing his head back into the rising sun. "There are rules, my friend. There are always rules." His grin grows devious. "You hungry? I know of a perfect place to grab some breakfast. And I promise I won’t kill anyone this time."

"How far?"

"How far is it to Verminasia?"

"Sure," I say.

We’ve been playing this game for years.