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470. Confessions of a Nocturnal Knife
🕑 Added 2023-11-02 08:00:02 +0000 UTCMartel spent both the remaining evening and the next morning going over the attack at the market. This had been the first time he had left the Lyceum in a fiveday or longer. They had been watching the school, striking at the first chance they got, regardless of how opportune the moment. This strengthened his impression that the attack had been not just poorly executed, but also poorly planned.
It did not change the fact that a response was required, but he needed information. The location of the Night Knives, their current affiliations, and confirmation that they had carried out the attack. Although he had promised to stay away from The Golden Goose, Martel could not readily think of others besides Regnar that he trusted to investigate this. But first, as foolish as it made him feel, Martel had to attend his lessons and pretend nothing was amiss.
***
In between combat classes, where Martel's bandaged arm drew some attention and gentle mockery, a message arrived to disturb all his musings.
Martel,
Meet me outside your
school when you can.
I'm alone.
Marcus
If a trap, it was so obvious, Martel had to admire the audacity. It could be a naked attempt at luring Martel outside the protective walls of the castle, but attacking a student of the Lyceum right outside the building seemed a tad too optimistic, even for the fools that had jumped him yesterday. While naturally Martel would have to keep his guard up, he might learn something of use from the meeting, regardless of Marcus' intentions. Burning the note between his fingers, Martel went to eat his dinner.
***
Once his hunger was satisfied, Martel decided to go outside – after he had returned to his room and donned his leather armour underneath his robe. Even if he could not imagine anyone attacking him right at the gate of the Lyceum, it still felt a little eerie to step across the threshold.
The square outside had the usual trickle of people, crossing it from one direction or the other. Martel glanced at the surrounding buildings, none of them particularly tall. Not much of a chance for any archer to have a good line of sight.
The middle of the square had a small pedestal with a sculpture of some wizard – Martel had never bothered to read the inscription. A circle of stone surrounding it served as rough seating, where Martel noticed a fellow passing the time. He had the worn clothes of a workman, and the young wizard almost laughed at seeing the stout Marcus dressed like an ordinary labourer.
"Nice clothes."
"It didn't seem clever to walk around in the uniform."
Martel used his magic and found that Marcus was indeed unarmed, at least in terms of golden weapons. And his presence seemed to confirm that the Night Knives were involved in the attack yesterday, or else knew who had perpetrated it; knowledge of the incident could hardly have spread far and wide in Morcaster already. "What do you want?"
"To talk. Explain. Hope you'll be lenient."
"Does that mean you admit your fellow soldiers tried to kill me?" Martel stared at him with a harsh look.
"Yes. I won't bother lying. I told them to leave you alone, but they went behind my back. Just like I told Flora that switching sides wouldn't end well," Marcus claimed.
"If only everybody listened to you."
"People think mercenaries got no honour because we fight for gold. But that's a far cry from turning traitor." The big warrior crossed his arms. "As for going after you, Flora and the others died in a fight they started. We had no cause for seeking revenge."
"Agreed. Yet here we are."
Marcus sighed. "Look, I know you can tell your school what happened, and we'll all be dead by morning. Maybe you already have. But if not, I'm here to ask you for mercy. The lads are nursing their burn injuries – they've learned their lesson. I've found us all passage on the next ship to Aquila. You'll never see us again, and our prayers will mention your kindness."
Now it was Martel's turn to cross his arms, considering this plea. But first, he needed to know everything. "How did you know it was me who killed your compatriots?"
"One of the lads, the one on guard, recognised you when you went down the hatch. Neighbours saw you come back up. Wasn't hard to guess what had happened."
"Whose idea was it to attack Lady Pearl?"
"Vitus, the new master of the harbour. Things had been going poorly for the lady, and Flora began to doubt we'd get paid much longer. So she struck a deal. Vitus already controls the docks here in Morcaster, and he's been making inroads at Smallport to control all traffic on water. But he needed the bridge gate to really make Smallport worth it for him," Marcus explained.
A couple of acolytes came out of the gate, giving odd stares at Martel having a discussion with a day-labourer. Taking a few steps away, Martel lowered his voice as he spoke again. "So you were meant to work for Vitus now?"
Marcus nodded. "Aye, but with our mage dead, he lost interest. Told us we couldn't stay in the harbour. Hence the next ship to Aquila."
"What about the attack yesterday? He didn't order it?"
"No." A brief pause. "It was the bleeding idiots' own idea."
Martel had suspected the mercenaries acted on their own accord, given the poor attempt. Yet Marcus' pause made him frown. "You don't sound convincing."
"Look, this part is speculation. But I'm not sure they'd have gone after you without some assurance from Vitus that he'd protect them afterwards until we could sail away. We all know what your school did to those islanders," Marcus said. "Who knows? Maybe Vitus even promised them a bit of coin to take back home for their trouble."
It was a compelling argument, especially since Vitus might have figured out what had happened to his tavern. If it worked, he got rid of a troublesome mage; if not, he lost nobody of consequence. Should the Lyceum be involved, the trail would lead to the Night Knives, not him.
And even if Vitus had not encouraged the attack, he had done nothing to hinder it either, even as the mercenaries stayed in his district. More importantly, he had been told Martel's name and knew the young battlemage was his enemy.
There was no way around it. Vitus had to be destroyed.
"So?" Marcus' voice broke through Martel's thoughts. "Will you let us go?"
The young wizard regarded the warrior. They had not been friends, but they had fought side by side more than once. Even if his brethren deserved to die, it was not clear to Martel whether Marcus did. And he had bigger crabs to boil – let them return to Aquila in disgrace, with burn marks on their skin as a reminder of their mistake. "Fine. But if I see you or your comrades in Morcaster again, don't expect mercy a second time."
"I wouldn't." Marcus inclined his head and stalked away. Martel watched him for a moment before he turned to enter the castle.
***
Martel waited until dark before he left the Lyceum again, this time through the infirmary gate. He avoided main streets and stuck to their smaller counterparts, even if it doubled his travel time.
He needed information, which he was ill-equipped to gather himself. It was not fair to drag Regnar into this, making him a target; besides, he doubted that the hedge mage could be of sufficient help. Martel sought the kind of knowledge that usually required plenty of coin to buy, along with an intricate understanding of the criminal networks of Morcaster.
Walking south-east, Martel hoped to find that in the Khivan district. He remembered the location of the Fire Eater's home; making his way there, he noticed all the stares he attracted. An Asterian, a wizard no less, walking these streets after dark. But none accosted him, either due to the goodwill he had earned, or because they did not dare to interfere with a mage.
Someone only spoke to him once he reached his destination. A guard outside the Fire Eater's home. "You're at the wrong place, friend."
"I'm not. Tell Navid that Martel wants to see him. Now."
The Khivan looked hesitant, but he finally opened the door ajar. Keeping one eye on Martel, he mumbled words to someone inside. As the reply came, he allowed the door to open further. "Your weapon."
"You really think if I want to kill someone, I need my dagger for it?"
"Let him inside," came the command from within the house. The guard stood aside with a disgruntled expression as Martel pushed past him to enter. A handful of people met him inside; he recognised the woman he had seen on his last visit, along with Navid. "Master Martel. Unexpected to see you."
"I must speak with you privately."
"Follow me." Navid turned and left the room to go up a flight of stairs. Once Martel had joined him in another chamber, presumably the study in the house, Navid closed the door. "What is it?"
"Have you heard what happened yesterday? To me."
"Word has not reached us, no."
"Some men tried to kill me. Vitus was involved. Though I can't blame him, since I burned down his tavern."
Navid gazed at Martel, looking almost impressed. "That was you? Why this feud?"
"That doesn't matter. But since he intervened when we tried to undermine the construction work on the insula here in your district – I assume you know this?"
"I eventually figured out as much, yes. In fact, I believe he is the Ninth Lord supporting Duke Cheval with his building projects. Bringing in the needed stone through the harbour, among other collaborations."
"So we have a common enemy. I propose we work together to ensure his downfall," Martel suggested.
Navid carefully ran his fingers around the edge of his oiled beard. "Open war is not good for business."
"You don't have to play coy. I figure you're in the weaker position, since you can't even stop the insula being built in your own district. But you won't have to risk anything. Just gather information for me, and I'll act on it."
"Even that carries risk. I must send my people to the harbour to gather this intelligence – if their purpose is discovered, I have no means to see them freed."
"But if it works, your rival is ruined. He runs both the harbour in Morcaster and Smallport. With the bridge gate under his thumb, his territory strangles yours. And his ally brings in Asterians to take up residence in your district, pushing your people out," Martel argued. "A few years from now, you'll have nothing."
Navid slowly exhaled. "I suppose we better lay our plans carefully."
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