The Tijervyn Chronicles
Chapter Eighteen

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Chapter Eighteen: “The Basement”

The gaslight flickered, and Rojer glanced over and shook his head in irritation. If only he had an office on the outside of the building, he would have a window thrown open and plenty of the mid-morning light to write by. But no, protocol from the war insisted that higher ranking officers had to be as deep inside their buildings as possible, for security. Not that Rojer was particularly highly ranked, only a captain, but the senior officer in the administration building was only a major, which placed Rojer a step below the top, and high enough.

He would have to try and convince the major to install Tesma’s lights in the building. They still flickered, if only slightly, but they were still a thousand-fold better than gaslight. Or he could just wait until he made major himself and do it then. If he could capture the revenant and get it to Sunset House, he could most likely ensure a promotion out of it.

Alas, he had squandered his chance at the revenant, but the boy-lord had thrown a rather ridiculous amount of money at Rojer to do it. In one night, Rojer had made more than he would have as a major in three years. He would catch a lead on the revenant again; he doubted it had died in the fire. All he had to do was wait.

He finished reviewing the report in front of him and closed the folio. It was a boring accounting of what was left of the military still on the border to Adervyn, with lists of provisioning requests. Important, surely, but hardly of interest. The war was over and the buyers for that kind of information had dried up. He picked the folio up and poked his head out of his office.

“Shane,” he said. “Where are you? Sergeant Fresen?”

Silence answered him, and he scowled and walked down to the shared office the middle enlisted used. There, the desks were empty, and Rojer looked around in confusion. Usually at least one or two men were in the room, and where was Fresen? The man was supposed to be on aid detail, or was he?

Rojer walked over to today’s duty book. Sure enough, Fresen’s name was inked into the morning block for today, so where was the man? It was unlike him to not be about his duty, even if it was scut work. He walked back to his office, and on the way spotted Fresen, although the man was out of uniform.

“What is this about?” Rojer said. “You are on duty, Sergeant.”

“Was,” Fresen said. “But my shift just ended. Not my fault the detailing officer didn’t pay attention to when the shifts ended.”

“The detailing . . . Megyn.” Rojer frowned. She was usually as meticulous as Fresen, if for different reasons. “Where is she?”

“Praedin take me if I know,” Fresen said. “I think she just went out on one of her breaks.”

“Blast,” Rojer said. “Here, take this down to the archives before you head out.”

Fresen looked at the folio and made no move to take it. “I think I do enough off-duty work for you as it is, sir. Leave it on my desk and I’ll take it this evening when I’m back on.” He then walked past Rojer without another word.

Rojer sneered but let the man leave. Fresen must think he had some sort of leverage with having been part of the Logain Street incident. He would be disabused of the idea soon enough, but for now, Rojer just wanted to get this file off his hands and back to his office for a drink.

With Megyn out and no one working as an aid, he was forced to go down to archives himself. It would be more accurate to call them a tomb, with as dark and dry as they were. A major back during the war had insisted on saving gas and not lighting spaces that were not commonly used, and somehow, the archives fell into that category, despite being the heart of building’s operation. The man went on to make colonel, but was killed somewhere on the front lines. Served him right, as Rojer saw it. With the speed policy changed, Rojer would be retired before they were allowed to fully light the archives again.

He grabbed one of the small kerosene lamps that were in a closet near the archives and lit it before going through the door and down the stairwell that led into the belly of the administration building. The light pushed back the darkness, but he still could barely see any ceiling, and the narrow corridors formed by the rows and rows of cabinets and shelves made the pool of light seem even smaller. Perhaps he should have just put the file on Fresen’s desk, or Megyn’s for that matter, but then if it went missing, he would be to blame. Besides, if he could not make any profit off the information he did not want anyone else to be able to either.

A sound much like leather being scuffed against stone came from somewhere behind him, and he spun about, looking for the source. A line of shelves with identical ledgers lined either side of the walkway, but there was nothing else. He turned back around and reached for his gun as he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. It was not until his hand was at his hip that he remembered he had left his pistol in his desk. This might be bad.

But, nothing was there. He looked down the passage before him, and then looked back the way he had come again. There was simply nothing. Perhaps he had just seen his own shadow playing oddly from the lamp. But what had he heard?

He thought about turning back, but no, that would be foolish. A grown man and officer driven from the archives just because a rat had scurried by and made a noise? Even if he did not care that much about the folio, he did care about his reputation.

He quickly went down several passages and around several turns without a moment’s hesitation until he found the cabinet the report belonged in. Now, he could return to his office and enjoy a drink. He turned from the cabinet and again reached for the gun that was not there.

A man stood at the edge of the light. His long, dark coat seemed to push back the light of the lamp, and a strange mask hid his face. A shockrod was at his side, and a belt was worn loosely around his hips, bearing several small cylinders and a strange device with a knob. A meister’s bracer with no insignia was on his left arm.

Rojer took a step back and tried to take stock of his situation. “Who are you?”

The man shook his head and tossed a folded piece of paper on the ground at Rojer’s feet. Rojer stooped to pick it up, careful to never take his eyes off the strange man. When he was standing again, he unfolded the paper and glanced down and read what it said.

“Where is Kira Jons?” He looked at the man and sighed. “You know you aren’t the first person to come asking after her today. I am afraid I must tell you what I told them: I don’t know what you are talking about, although I find it odd that someone is spreading rumors that I’d know.”

The man drew the shockrod with one hand and held the other up so that he could raise one finger, as though counting.

“Threatening me won’t do you any good,” Rojer said. “I have genuinely not the first idea of where this girl might be.”

The man took a step forward and flipped a switch on the handle of the shockrod. The air seemed to tingle, and Rojer took a step back. The man raised a second finger.

“Now, let’s not be hasty,” Rojer said. “But please, appreciate my position. I cannot take sides, nor can I betray a client’s trust. On top of that, I don’t know what he did with her.”

The man raised a third finger and brought the shockrod up, as thought to strike.

“Wait!” Rojer flinched and lifted his hands in front him even though he knew that would do no good against Tesma’s strange weapon. When the blow did not come, he cracked an eye and saw the man with the shockrod still drawn back, but not moving.

“I might have an idea,” he said. “I don’t know why everyone cares about this girl so much, but I can at least tell you who took her. Will you leave me be if I do that?”

The man stood motionless for a moment, but finally nodded.

“Tidor. It was Douglis Tidor,” Rojer said. “I don’t think Lord Tidor has any clue, as Douglis was rather adamant that I not tell him. Please, that’s all I know.”

The man stood for a moment, then struck as fast as a viper. Rojer flinched and closed his eyes, but again, the blow never landed. When he opened his eyes, the rod was perhaps an inch from his face. The man put a finger up to where his lips would be under the mask, and Rojer nodded. Tell nobody. That would not be hard, at least unless another freak with a shockrod cornered him without his gun.

The man took a step back and sheathed the shockrod, and in the next moment, he was gone, around a corner and past the lamp’s feeble light. Rojer fell to the floor and took a deep breath. There was a reason he did not deal with anything more than simple information, and this here was it. No amount of money was worth this stress. Next time, it did not matter if the man tried to give him enough money to buy a lordship, he would not take such a job again.

It was nearly a half hour before he felt calm enough to walk out of the archives, and then he went straight to his office, locked the door, and nursed an entire decanter of whiskey.

* * *

Bryon held on tight to the branch of the tree Vlad had told him to climb and looked out over Tidor manor and the surrounding grounds. He was starting to have serious doubts about Vlad’s plan, even though it had sounded good back at the Aviary. Alas, it was too late now, and all he could do was hope.

A carriage pulled up to the manor, and Bryon checked his pocket watch to make sure it was just before midday. He then looked back and saw that, without a doubt, the driver was Gust, although he now wore the livery of Castle Sentat.

He looked down to where Vlad was lounging against the tree and eating a peach. “Gust just pulled up.”

Vlad nodded, and Bryon looked back to the manor. How had he let himself be talked into look-out duty? It had been years since he had run a job at all, but Vlad’s plan needed every body they could grab, and Nikki had resolutely denied them access to any of her gang, not that he could blame her. This was Hole business.

Minutes passed, and Bryon started to worry. There was so much in this plan that called for luck, especially in the timing of it. If they were a hair fast or slow with anything, or had not anticipated something inside, it could go south fast.

Finally, two men walked out of the manor. One was young in the latest fashion, while the other was in a far more conservative coat and hat. Lord Robbert Tidor and his son Douglis. Were they really falling for it?

“The Tidors are getting into the carriage,” Bryon said. “How did you manage that?”

“I forged a letter from the Prince,” Vlad said. “Let me know when one of them is in the carriage.”

Bryon watched for a moment. “Now.”

Vlad reached over and pulled on something in a nearby bush, and a moment later something small went flying over the fence and landed halfway to the manor in a fountain. Soon as it hit the water, an explosion sent a shower in all directions. Not even a breath after that, another small object landed in the other fountain closer to west wing of the manor and exploded.

Horses whinnied in fright, and the Tidors hesitated at the carriage. Douglis looked around, confused, but Bryon could not see Robbert, who was already in the carriage. Douglis turned to go back to the house just as an older man in a bowler came running down the stairs with another young man in livery. They all shouted at each other for a moment as another wave of explosions, these in flower beds, sent dirt flying every which way.

The men stopped their bickering for a moment and looked towards the carriage, then Douglis let the old man push him in while the younger man climbed up next to Gust and took the reigns from him. Soon as the carriage door was closed, the young man snapped the reigns, and the horses were off at a gallop.

Bryon called down what was happening to Vlad, but his eyes stayed on the spot where the carriage had stopped. There, plain as day to him, was an odd lump in the cobblestones. The pattern was good, almost down to matching the drive exactly, but there was no doubt that something was not right there. All the old man in the bowler had to do was look at it and he would know.

But instead he only looked after the carriage then flinched before ducking back into the manor under a hail of more explosions, these ones starting small fires on the grounds.

“He went inside,” Bryon said. “The front door is closed.”

Vlad reached into another bush and pulled the lead to another of the small catapults he had hidden around the manor. Another explosive was sent flying, but this one exploded in the air with a loud whistle. Only then did two men slide out from under the lump and run along the side of the entryway of the house.

“Troena’s Grace,” Bryon prayed. “You’ll need it.”

“Right now, we need you to get out of that tree,” Vlad said. “Constables will be here before too long, and we need to make them think they’ve chased us off. That, of course, means they need to chase us, not catch us, eh?”

Bryon nodded and scampered down from the tree. When he was at the bottom, he had to pause to catch his breath. “Hold on. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“No time.” Vlad pointed to where several brown-coated constables were running up the boulevard. “Now, it is time to see how old you want to grow to be. Run!”

Bryon sucked in one last breath and followed Vlad into an alley. If he survived this, he would need to do something about getting more regular exercise. It was not good for a thief, even one who was just the brains of his operation, to be winded from simply climbing a tree. Of course, all of that was for later. For now, he ran.

* * *

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Markus looked over at Gavrial from where they both hung under it. Gavrial nodded, and they loosened their straps and lowered themselves onto the cobblestone drive in front of the manor. Then, as quietly as they could, they lowered and spread out the cobblestone patterned tarp Vlad had found for them. Where the man had found it, he would not say, but surely there was no way he had simply already had it, let alone made it. Who ever would have thought to need something like it?

The question seemed to answer itself. Vlad, of course. In whatever strange ways that man’s mind worked, Markus hoped it was for the best now. No matter how skilled the pattern was, all it would take was one glance to tell that two men were hiding under a span of cloth if someone looked directly at it.

Minutes passed, and finally footsteps came down from the entryway and towards the carriage. Two men, if Markus had his guess, and they were talking to each other, although in voices too soft for him to make out. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what it would have been like to have taken Quintin up on the offer to augment his ears, even though they had not been hurt. But that was water under the bridge. That, and in the end, he liked not having to figure out some way to hide brass ears as well.

Soon as one of the men was in the carriage, the first explosion came, followed quickly by another. The carriage shifted above them, and a younger voice spoke loud enough to be heard over the ruckus.

“Father, quickly! We need to get back in the house!”

Markus swore under his breath. The Tidors were supposed to take the carriage and flee, not return to a house under obvious attack. He lifted the tarp edge slightly and looked out to see the young Tidor’s boots near the carriage, and two more sets of feet running up.

“Masters,” an older voice said. “Quick, take the carriage to safety. We’ll hold them off until the constables arrive.”

Reports of gunfire started to come from somewhere above and behind the older man, and the young Tidor took a step back towards the house. “Are you mad, Walden? We’ll be safer inside.”

“Get in the carriage, Douglis.” The voice came from directly above, and had the nonchalant tone one might have in talking about the weather. “Walden knows what he is about. The prince is waiting.”

“Our home is under attack, father,” Douglis said.

“A fact the prince might forgive, but I won’t,” Robbert said. “Get in the carriage. Walden, I trust you have brought us a reliable driver?”

“Of course, Lord Tidor,” Walden said. “Thom, up with you now. Take good care of our lords.”

Douglis hesitated a moment before climbing into the carriage, although he seemed to be mumbling under his breath, and the boots that undoubtedly belonged to Thom climbed up the front of the carriage. Markus dropped the tarp just as the reigns snapped and the carriage was off.

He felt suddenly and amazingly exposed. He could see Walden now, the older man with the bowler hat, looking down at the tarp with a queer expression before drawing a pistol to shoot it, just to be safe. Any moment now, a bullet would find his flesh—no luck of Walden hitting anywhere that was brass, surely—and it would be over. Instead, a moment passed with more explosions in the yard, and then he heard the high pitched whistle that was his signal to move.

He rolled out from under the tarp and did not even bother to look behind him for Gavrial before he bolted to the right of the entryway. There, a secluded corner where the one-story hallway that connected the entryway tower to the manor proper would likely hide them from any eyes on the roofs.

He skirted behind bushes to the corner, and only then looked back. Gavrial was close on his heels, a large revolver drawn in his hand and trained up towards the roof, just in case.

“Hurry it up,” Gavrial said. “Who knows how long they’ll be distracted with Vlad’s bombs.”

Markus unbuttoned a panel in the side of his pants that he had sewn there and pulled the grappling hook out of its compartment. “Remind me to ask Vlad how he got this whole idea from seeing a squirrel in the bushes.”

“Praedin take where the idea came from,” Gavrial said. “So long as it works. You ready yet?”

Markus finished fastening the hook to his arm. “Yes, hold on tight.”

Gavrial put a foot onto of Markus’s and an arm around his shoulder, and Markus pointed the grappling hook to the top of the turret that rose above where the two wings of the mansion met. When it caught, he tested it once then activated the wench with as much strength as he could.

They flew up to the roof, and Gavrial’s grip was almost tight enough to hurt. When they reached the top, he scampered over the cornice, and a man screamed as a gunshot rang out, adding to the din of the surrounding firefight.

Markus pulled himself over the cornice to see Gavrial discarding a used shell and reloading his revolver. Just beyond him, a man in a suit lay in a slowly expanding pool of blood with a rifle still clutched in his hand.

“Damn fool was facing the other way the entire time,” Gavrial said. “We were lucky on that one.”

Markus nodded and opened the door down into the manor. “Come on, it sounds like the others are already fleeing. At least, I haven’t heard a new explosion recently.”

Gavrial grunted and followed. “Why’d we come up so fast. It was quite a bit slower last time you did that.”

“I also barely had hot enough steam to do it,” Markus said. “I have the boiler the meisters gave me now, and I didn’t have hotter steam even in the war.”

“You could have warned me,” Gavrial said.

Markus looked back at him and smiled. “Where’s the fun in that? Anyway, I had no clue it would be quite that fast. I never had to wench myself up at full speed before.”

They came to the second floor landing, and Markus reached for the doorknob before Gavrial grabbed his hand and looked at him. “Just what do you think you are doing, soldier boy?”

“Looking for Kira,” he said.

“On the floor with all their bedrooms?” Gavrial laughed. “Do you think they’re keeping her a prisoner with silks and velvets? She won’t be up here.”

Markus felt his face heat. “You never know. It won’t take but a moment to check, none of the family is here.”

Gavrial shook his head. “Wasting our time.”

“So are you,” Markus said. “Let’s just check, to be sure.”

Gavrial let go of Markus’s hand and shrugged, and Markus opened the door to a familiar hallway. It had not been that long since Kira, Gavrial, and Markus had fought their way through constables in this very hall, but had he not known, he would have never been able to tell. Ripped wallpaper had been replaced, as had the broken window. Fortunately, the constables had not.

They walked down the empty hallway quickly, and Markus signaled for Gavrial to check the first room while he went to the third. He felt a lump in his throat as he opened the door to what had to have been Kira’s room when she had lived here, and it disappeared when all he found was an empty room. Not just an empty room, the same room. Nothing had changed, so much as he remembered, not even the arrangement of boxes on the vanity or the tilt of the mirror.

He had no expectations when he checked the room where they had found Douglis, so he was not disappointed to not find her in there. Gavrial had checked the only door on the other side of the hall as well, but pulled his head out quickly.

“Told you,” he said. “She isn’t up here.”

“Then where would you suggest we look?” Markus said. “The larder?”

“The basement,” Gavrial said. “If there is a house in Tijervyn without a basement, my grandmother is a ferret. Where better to hide a thief you have taken upon yourself to arrest and punish?”

The way Gavrial said ‘punish’ put the hair up on Markus’s neck, and he wondered exactly how Kira might have been treated in her old home. Surely not too poorly. She was their blood, after all. Then again, he remembered how Kira had sounded in describing her father and brother. He swallowed down a new lump in his throat and hurried to follow Gavrial.

* * *

The stairwell stopped on the first floor, and Gavrial growled as he pressed his ear to the door that led out into the hallway. When he did not hear anything, he cracked the door open and lead with his revolver. The hall was empty, but who knew for how long. He waved for Markus to follow him and eased into the corridor.

Markus drew up close. “And where, exactly, is the entrance to this basement?”

Gavrial rubbed his chin and looked around. “We’ve been in the kitchen, and I don’t remember seeing anything in there. My next guess would be in the servants’ quarters.”

“Under the library, then,” Markus said.

“Right.”

They walked down a hallway that opened to storage closets and offices, and soon were in the western-most part of the house. Above them, the library sprawled about in a fancy display of books and oddities and other useless things. But down on the first floor, small cubbies lead into the servants quarters, all of which were blissfully empty.

“Where is everyone?” Markus said.

“Hiding,” Gavrial said. “We put on quite a show, and the war wasn’t that long ago. They probably fled for shelter underground.”

They did not have to search long before they found a door that opened to a stairwell down. It was a narrow thing, and dark despite the single, steady light that was fixed in the ceiling halfway down.

They descended, and at the foot of the stairs, Gavrial finally heard voices.

“Make sure everyone is accounted for.” It was the man from outside that had sent the Tidors on their way. “And keep your heads down until I send the all clear.”

“Yes, Mr. Walden,” a woman’s voice said. “Are the masters safe?”

“Safe enough,” Walden said. “Now just do as you are told, Jenn.”

“Yes, sir.”

He was giving them orders to stay low, which probably meant it was just servants here, no guards. Walden would be the most dangerous of them, and one old man against a large man and a monster would hardly be any fight at all. Gavrial gestured for Markus to wait. Best to surprise him up close. Gavrial would take every advantage he could get.

He did not have to wait long before footsteps came towards him, and the moment Walden turned the corner, Gavrial punched him in the face. He felt the man’s nose break under his fist, and Markus swore under his breath.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Do you think he deserves less?” Gavrial moved quickly to pull Walden up by the arm and jabbed his revolver against the man’s cheek. “Now, tell us before I decide I should blow your head off instead of just bloody it a little. Where is Kira?”

The man sputtered, and worried voices came from around the bend.

“Is she here?” Gavrial said. “You have three seconds.”

The man pulled his free hand away from his nose and looked at Gavrial with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

“Someone who is a second from being the last person you ever see,” Gavrial said. “One last time. Where is Kira?”

The man’s eyes darted to Markus and back to Gavrial. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Gavrial cuffed the man upside the head with his gun. “Lie again, and I’ll blow your foot off.”

He pushed Walden around the corner and into a long corridor. Several women and older men were crowded into the hallway, and a few iron doors lined either side of passage.

“Is there a girl being kept here?” Gavrial said. “This tall, with blond hair. About as old as that one.” He pointed to a serving girl, and only after she screamed did he realize he had pointed with his gun. He put the barrel firmly back up against Walden’s cheek. “Answer me, or I’ll blow his head off and put one of you in his place.”

“Is that really necessary?” Markus said.

“Quiet,” Gavrial said. “You don’t have the stomach for what needs done.”

Markus only glowered, and Gavrial turned his eyes back to the crowd. An old man cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Begging your pardon, your lordship, but Lord Tidor hasn’t had a guest here for nearly a month.”

“And how would you know?” Gavrial said.

“I’m the one who feeds them when he does.”

Gavrial narrowed his eyes, and the man sunk back into the crowd.

“He’s telling the truth,” Walden said. “She isn’t here.”

“Oh,” Markus said. “So you know who we are talking about then?”

“Yes, please,” Walden said. “Don’t hurt them, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Gavrial looked at Walden and then followed his gaze to the girl who had screamed. “Tell me what I want to know, and we’ll see. Don’t think I’m not above killing that little girl over there if I don’t believe you, either.”

The girl squeaked, and one of the women pulled her deeper into the small crowd. Walden flinched at the threat and seemed to wilt in Gavrial’s grasp. “Not here. Take me upstairs, and I’ll tell you. I swear it.”

“Markus, stay here with them. If you hear trouble, start killing them.”

Markus narrowed his eyes and said nothing, and while Gavrial doubted he would actually carry through, Walden and the serving staff had no clue of that. He dragged the old man up the stairs and into the servants’ quarters. There, he reached into Walden’s coat and found the gun he had expected to be there, and after he tossed it to the far side of the hall, he pushed Walden hard against a wall.

“Now, where is she?”

“Master Douglis has hidden her in Docktown,” Walden said. “Lord Tidor can’t know he has her.”

Gavrial thought for a moment then twisted Walden’s arm in his grip. “For some reason, I don’t believe you. You do know I’m going to take that girl with us. If Kira isn’t where you are saying she is, I’m going to have to throw her to the dockworkers. I’m sure they’ll enjoy her for a long time.” Gavrial felt disgusted with himself for saying as much, but again, Walden did not need to know that.

The blood rushed from Walden’s face and he licked his lips. “Wait, please. The Warrens. She’s in the Warrens.”

“That’s like saying a fish is in the bay,” Gavrial said. “Where in the Warrens?”

“Under Julard’s Butcher Shop. It is in the southeast corner, one of the permanent buildings.”

“You know that girl still comes with us,” Gavrial said. “Kira isn’t there, the girl gets to be entertainment on a boat.”

“I’m not lying!”

“We’ll see.”

“He isn’t lying, Gavrial.”

Gavrial glanced back to see Markus standing at the top of the stairs. “How would you know?”

“You learn to tell these things in the war,” Markus said. “You’ve scared him into pissing himself. I doubt he’d lie after that.”

Gavrial pushed Walden away and saw the sodden front of his pants. “Look at that, old man couldn’t hold it in.”

“Let’s go,” Markus said. “We have what we came for.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Gavrial raised his gun and pulled the trigger. Walden’s head whipped back, and a red haze painted the wall behind him with the gore.

“Why did you do that?” Markus half ran over to the still falling body, but stopped himself.

“I’m a thief and a murderer.” Gavrial looked down at his gun. “There was nothing here I wanted to steal, but there sure as hell was someone here I wanted to kill. He had a hand in this. He got what he deserved. Although, I think I might need a smaller gun. That was a little much, perhaps.”

“You just killed in cold blood,” Markus said. “And all you can worry about is the mess you made?”

“My blood is plenty hot,” Gavrial said. “Let me assure you that. Now come on. Unless you have forgotten, we have a friend who needs rescued, and that gunshot is probably going to attract some attention besides.”

Markus clinched his fists, but he fell in behind Gavrial. Not as though there was anything else they could do. Hell, the boy should be glad Gavrial did not insist on going down to kill all the servants so the Tidors would not know they were on their way to look for Kira.

But that was probably excessive. By the time the men returned and asked the servants what happened, they would have Kira safely away. That, or they would die trying. One way or the other, this was ending tonight.