Closed Ranks

We entered Stooke’s workplace through a smaller side entrance, followed down a hallway and entered the last door on the right.

Four men were standing around a table at the center, another six and two women scattered across the room, the whole dozen eyeing me from head to toe. I got the bad feeling I wasn’t welcome here.

“That’s the newcomer from the continent, Carver?” asked one of the men in the background.

“Looks like you've found a playmate your age. Am I right, boys?” added another one of them in a provocative tone.

“And he's supposed to have taken out two of the Goldens and two of the Underhanded?” whispered a third man to the one who had spoken first.

One of the men at the table slammed his fist down on the table, and everyone except him and an unassuming older guy flinched.

“Not another word! Greetings, outlander, and please excuse my suspicious comrades. I'm Hern, and that chubby geezer over there is Stooke. You'll get to know the others soon enough. But for now… All of you, leave us alone!”

So that was their leader. He was of medium height and otherwise seemed rather ordinary too; the only distinctive feature was a well-groomed and very full beard, as reddish-brown as his short hair.

All of the men except for the people whose names I now knew left the room. But the gray-haired workshop owner looked over at Carver with a stern expression. He, too, seemed rather unremarkable on the whole, except for his piercing, bright steel-blue eyes.

“Even me? But…” the boy asked in surprise.

“Carver.” Hern said in an insistent tone.

The young rune-maker hung his head and followed the others out the door.

“Igeoth, huh? That house doesn’t hail from the Isles, does it?” spoke Stooke, just as the three of us were left alone.

Hern walked over to the other side of me. So there I stood between the two of them, and given how close they were, it would have been impossible for me to defend myself against both of them.

“That's right.”

“Only your mother's side hails from the Isles?”

“No.”

“A clever one, huh? So far, you've just been using her lineage as an excuse?”

“I did.”

“And I guess you're not going to share your father’s house with us.”

“No. At least not yet.”

Stooke chuckled a little, and Hern ran his hand through his beard.

“Will you show us your steel?” Spoke the leader of the band.

I did as I was told, drew my sword from its sheath, and held it out toward both men. They examined it closely and nodded in satisfaction.

Stooke walked over to the door and clapped his hands. I sheathed my blade again.

“Vedel, Gerner, Carver!”

The boy and two of the men from earlier came back in. One of them was the fellow who had joked about my age; the other had remained silent so far.

The latter was a giant with cropped hair and a large scar that ran horizontally across his entire forehead. The cocky man was on the shorter side, but very stocky, and had long hair combed back.

They were all armed with double-edged blades, so—to live up to their group's name, at the very least—they must have been churls or thanes. Although their simple cloths made the latter seem less likely.

“We won't accept you into our ranks. But we could still use someone like you. Are you willing to lend your sword to our cause for a while?” Hern asked once everyone had gathered around the table.

“Well, if you provide me with sparkling coin and some information I seek.”

“Sure, but only after the day's work is done.”

The Humble Churls' headman held out his hand to me, and I shook it.

“Well then, let's start. Stooke?”

“Aye! The tall fellow over there is Vedel and that prick who tried to provoke you earlier is Gerner. The four of you are going on a short boat ride. Gerner is in charge and will explain everything to you along the way. The runes on your sword look a little worn; have Carver touch them up during the crossing.”

“So where are we headed?”

“There is a larger island that is also ruled as a ward of Strandburgh.”

“Crunley?”

“Ha, no, no, not that big! Crunley is part of the Shire of Strandings. The island and ward are called Whitalay. And now get moving. As I said, Gerner will explain everything on your way.”

We took a carriage to the harbor—but to a different part of it than the one I already knew, one that was smaller and full of fishing boats.

During the ride, Gerner explained to me in a cheerful tone that the Golden Dozen was a group founded only a few years ago that had only in recent months taken control of prostitution and the trade in blue salt in several wards.

He couldn't really explain to me what this blue salt was—the one Linzi had already mentioned—except that it was highly addictive.

Finally, we boarded a coble, greeted the elderly owner and set sail. Carver took my sword and began fiddling with the runes on the crossguard.

“So what exactly is the plan?” I asked.

“Oh, you just have to wave that sword of yours around and look dangerous along Vedel. We're going to check out the inventory at a Black Hansa warehouse, and Carver is keeping watch,” Gerner replied.

“Black Hansa?”

“Smugglers and pirates financed by the Seates to undermine the influence of local traders.”

“Huh, the Seates again. They seem to have a hand in everything.”

“It is in their best interest that none of the marches or earldoms becomes too powerful.”

“And what do we hope to find in their warehouse?”

“Steel. Someone is smuggling huge quantities of blades into the city, and they end up in the hands of the Goldens and other groups that are causing mayhem.”

“Is that all?”

“Everything you need to know.”

“And for that, you need a swordsman like me?”

“Maybe. The Blacks have deep pockets and, as a result, skilled fighters in their ranks. And I'm sure you can think of another reason.”

Of course I could. This was a test of my skills and trustworthiness.

By then, Carver had finished working on my sword and handed it back to me. Even after that, the boy remained surprisingly quiet and seemed restless.

“Does the Tall Guy ever actually say anything?”

“Only when there's something to say,” replied Gerner on his behalf. 

Vedel gave me a wry smile.

A short time later, we docked at a small pier next to two dilapidated shacks. We went ashore, and the skipper nodded to us in farewell.

“The warehouse is northwest of here. The two of us will go in through the main entrance; Carver will wait there and warn us if reinforcements arrive for the warehouse guards. Vedel will come in through the back door.” Gerner explained, his cocky demeanor gone.

"Understood?"

"Understood."

We reached our destination quickly and crept around the back of the warehouse. Vedel stayed behind at a door, and the rest of us took up positions at the main entrance.

I felt a little bit of unease about there not being any guards positioned outside the building. Did the Black Hansa already know about our raid? Had the warehouse perhaps already been abandoned?

Whatever the case may have been, that anticipation of raw violence was back, just like the day before at the Cray market. Cold, bare steel, cutting, and stabbing. I was ready.