You can read all installments published so far on this page.
Chapter 50: Lockton is locked up
“Feel like breaking out your torture hooks?” Matilda asked.
Trask shook his head. “They’re collectors’ items,” he said. “Not for use.”
Matilda had probably saved Lockton’s life the day before, but the man probably wished that she’d let the crowd kill him. Whatever was in store for him for probably a lot worse.
Just not today.
Matilda shrugged and turned away. “Call me if you need his eyeballs removed,” she called back as she headed for the stairs.
That left Trask and Osgar alone in the basement, looking at their prisoner.
Lockton cowered in the corner of the cell. He’d screamed for help all night and finally his voice had given out, just in time for the chamber to open for business in the morning. “Everything hurts so much,” he whispered.
Trask stepped up to the bars of the cell and peered in. “Why didn’t you just go for the gate?” he asked Lockton. “It was right there in front of you when you left City Hall.”
Lockton moaned but didn’t say anything.
“Was it the gambling?” Trask asked. “Did you want to make one last bet at the racetrack with your inside info before you left?” Trask turned towards Osgar. “I think I’m right. I deduced he was a gambler when I remembered seeing him in his assassin avatar at the poker table in the Barley Mow Monday night.”
Osgar didn’t look impressed.
“And when he had a list of horses,” Trask continued. “Horses acquired through perfectly legitimate channels…”
“Speaking of gambling,” Osgar cut him off. “Several of his creditors came to see me this morning. He owes money both on and off Krim.”
Lockton drew his legs up onto the cot and rolled over, facing the wall.
“They’re willing to make a very sizable donation to the chamber if we turn him over to them,” Osgar said. “The Baron also wants to take him off our hands.”
“I thought the Baron went off to war.”
“He did, he sent a flunky. Which reminds me. There’s a check for you for two thousand gold on my desk.” He raised an eyebrow.
“I helped the Baron find something,” Trask said. “By accident, really. Completely unrelated to anything having to do with my job.” Trask patted the empty spot on his chest under his badge, where his pomander used to be. He should get a new one, he thought.
They went upstairs and sent Joe down to guard the prisoner. He’d be less likely to engage in some recreational torturing.
Then Doctor Paul Buryngton showed up, from the Chubb-Baggins Leper Sanatorium and Heritage Medicine Hospital.
“The assassins’ guild sent me,” he said. “The Paladins of Death want to make sure Lockton stays alive long enough for them to get their hands on him.” He patted a case he was carrying. “I brought my leeches.”
“Why do they want Lockton?” Trask asked.
“I don’t know,” Buryngton said. “Trademark infringement?” He headed for the stairs without waiting for permission but neither Osgar nor Trask felt the need to object.
“Just don’t drill any holes in his skull,” Trask called out after the doctor. “Or drain all his blood.”
Did the doctor hear him? Trask decided to follow him down and tell Joe to keep an eye out for any life-threatening procedures.
He didn’t stay down there long. Something about the leeches made him lose his appetite and he didn’t like it when that happened.
He was back in his office, deciding between whether to go down to the bank and deposit his check, or start on clearing away his murder board, when Osgar popped in.
“I’ve had a brilliant idea,” he said. “We’ll have an auction.”
“Like a fundraiser?” Trask asked. His eyes went to the sword on his wall. What else did the Chamber have to auction off? Maybe the wanted posters of Willie Lockton? “It would be nice to be able to hire more guards. Maybe reduce some of the crime against tourists. That would be good for business.”
“Or we could get central heating and a landscaping services for our shrubbery,” said Osgar. “No, no. It would be for the Scriptorium. Did you hear their insurance company refused to pay up? The owner just cashed out and left the grid. And Thomasin could use some help getting her studio fixed up again.”
“And the newspaper building,” Trask added. “But all of that would be a lot of money. What we would auction off?”
“That’s the brilliant idea,” said Osgar. “Lockton!”
“What about him?”
“The Baron wants him. Both of the big assassins’ guilds want him. And guess who’s in my office now with a very generous offer?”
“A bookie he owes money to?”
“Even better. Gracious Capital, that Vlad guy.”
“The vampire?”
“He says he’s not,” Osgar said. “But anyway, he’s not admitting to any connection to the Humanists, but says that there are certain groups that invested a lot of money in Lockton, and want to make him into an object lesson because they have a reputation to maintain.”
“They’re blood-thirsty terrorists,” said Trask.
“Yes, that’s the reputation.” Osgar’s face lit up. “We can get the Justicer and Arbiter Guild to oversee the process and an auctioneer to handle the auction. And the Kafay Cafe can do the catering.”
“We’ll need additional security then.”
“Ask Matilda to round up some of her friends,” Osgar said. “Whoever is still in town and not off fighting. Am I missing anything else?”
Trask shook his head and Osgar smiled broadly. “It’s settled then! I’ll go tell Vlad the good news!” He turned to leave then paused and looked back at Trask. “I also promised Sidney an exclusive for the newspaper.”
“When is she coming?” That would be a good time to go to the bank, Trask thought. And then it would almost be time for lunch.
“Any minute now,” Osgar said. “I’m delegating it to you.”
Chapter 51: The final wrap-up
Trask approached the Barley Mow Inn still reeling from the emotional roller-coaster of being eviscerated by Sidney, then seeing his bank balance go up by two thousand golds — or about two hundred thousand arbitrary banking units. That was enough money to live comfortably on Krim for two or three years. Or to put a down payment on a nice condo, maybe something in the art district, where all the good restaurants were.
Across the street at Tottie’s Threads, Emma swept the sidewalk in front of the shop. He waved to her and she waved back. He was glad to see that she was back again and not permanently scarred by her ordeal in the newspaper’s basement.
Outside the inn’s entrance, a signboard was propped up next to the front door and skirrets were back on the menu. Skirrets deep fried in lard. Mashed skirrets with lard gravy. Skirret pancakes with extra lard.
Inside, the dice players were already at their table, drinking ale. When they saw him come in, they furtively hid pieces of paper, then spontaneously burst into a verse of “Jolly Good Fellow.”
He appreciated the gesture, but the song was anachronistic and he was about to say something when he noticed that they weren’t singing “for he’s a jolly good fellow’ but “for she’s a jolly good fellow” and looked behind him.
Matilda pumped her fists over her head like a professional fighter after a successful bout then blew kisses at everyone, bowed, and headed for the bar.
“So then I said to myself, I risk my life every single day when I’m on Krim,” Trask told the dice players after he’d put in his order. “Lockton had already tried to assassinate me several times, and failed over and over again. But I had to do something to get him off the streets. So I deduced…”
“If not for you, he’d still be taking potshots at tourists and other innocents,” Taenaran said. “I can see the narrative potential there…”
“Nah, he would have been halfway to Garthram by now,” said Frieda Lane. “Why would he stick around? He knows the whole city is out to get him. Just think of all the people whose heads were chopped off.”
Lady Izmena shivered. “I can’t believe he decided to stay on Krim.”
“There were creditors waiting for him off-world,” said Trask. “And I think Gully Labs planned to sue him, as well. Hiding out on Krim must have seemed a better option. And if Lockton escapes… well, I’ve fought him and won. I’ll win again. Did I tell you how I punched him out?” He held up his fists in a boxing position. Maybe he should have kept the injury to his hand, he thought, as a badge of honor. But it had hurt, and he didn’t like that.
Izzy shook her head. “You went up against a mass-murderer all by yourself. He could have killed you.”
“No, it was worse than that,” Trask said. “He was going to permaban me.”
Izzy gasped and sank back in her seat. “No! What would you have done?”
“I really don’t know,” Trask said. He didn’t like to think about it. That morning, he’d woken up from a nightmare in which Avexa kept warning him about his overflowing inbox. It had taken several cups of strong herbal tea and a butter biscuit to get that voice out of his head.
Izzy tut-tutted in sympathy. Even Frieda stood up and gave him a hug.
These were his people, Trask thought, walking back to his table. When the kitchen door swung open briefly, he could hear the sizzle of frying food and the smell of salted lard and carbohydrates called to him. This was his home.
Tomorrow, he’d testify against Lockton at the Justicer and Arbiter Guild Hall and watch him get auctioned off. He liked that.
He looked around, steeled himself, and pulled out his hooks and thread. There was time to get a couple of rows in before the food arrived. He started crocheting and nobody noticed or said anything.
At the bar, Matilda was being showered with praise and getting free drinks, then Joe walked in and everyone cheered for him, too. And Trask was happy about that. Matilda caught him watching and winked at him. All was good with the world.
He pretended that he didn’t see the dice players pull their papers back out.
The dice rolled.
“Yahtzee!”
—The end.—