The Knight of Tanner's Square

9

The Dark Bargain

The horns had awakened him from a deep sleep, horns in the one ward he had never expected — Old Street. It remained safe from the turmoil of the Yellow Hand. The inner wards had been kept secure as the outer wards suffered.

Out he ran from the upstairs of the dwelling in the Old Guildhouse, with a stabbing sword underneath a wool cloak. When he peered around, the sound of horns echoed again and he ran toward its direction.

It had been a while since he had run; he had been head of the constables for six years. The promotion had made him soft, and he was panting in deep breaths as he noticed some of his fellow men ahead.

“You there, man!” he tried to scream, and coughed from his haste. A lad turned and ran to help him, grabbing his arm and leading him to the commotion. When he arrived, it was worse than he imagined. His eyes fixed on a man lying dead by a slash to his throat as the blood pooled along the cobbles.

The corpse was Erik, and his eyes were lifeless as his hand gripped a cudgel, and when he glanced up, he saw his killer. Harwin Parsons stood like a rabid animal with a dirk in his hand, and at his feet, another lay dead with a wound to his chest.

His men had their weapons drawn, surrounding the group. Arlo witnessed four others standing near Harwin; one was the cripple, Julius, but he did not recognize the others. He scanned the bloody scene and noticed men lying about, beaten, with some crawling slowly on their knees.

One was trying to stand as his men were unsure of what to do. Their eyes were fixed on Harwin, and many of his constables had a look of terror on their faces. The man was twice their size, and he looked to be in a fever of rage with blood streaming down one side of his face.

“What do we do, captain?” Arlo heard a man say, and he glanced back and discovered it was from Perry, the evening sergeant who he doubted had seen carnage like this before. He only recalled one in his life, during a riot when he patrolled the wards in his youth.

“Stand still, men,” Arlo yelled out. “Harwin, please put down your dirk, and let’s talk. It’s Arlo.”

“Not if you are one of them!” the tall brute replied. “What is the meaning of this, Arlo? Are you a traitor?” he cried out while glaring at the constables who had circled him.

It alarmed Arlo, what the man was implying. A traitor? The other men by his side had pulled their weapons, even Julius, as someone had struck him hard while blood streamed from his mouth.

“Stand down! Or we will rush you!” Perry yelled out. “Do you hear the horns? More of us are coming!”

“And more will die!” a half-breed beside Harwin yelled back with a cudgel in his hand.

Arlo was trying to find words. The last thing he needed was to explain the death of a noble to the Guild, and even worse, to the High Lord of Hayston. It wasn’t until a young constable alerted him to what had Harwin Parsons in such an anger that Arlo understood.

The dead men wore yellow linen, along with the others, as one stood, turning around to glare at them with a flattened nose and fewer teeth. A yellow sash was around his neck, torn from his face in the scuffle before he ate the wood of a cudgel. His face was stricken with fear, and it was a familiar face — another sergeant who went by Tate as he lowered his head in a look of shame.

“We will kill all you Yellow Handers!” Julius screamed aloud, gaining his wits. “How many of you tossers have sold your honour away?”

Arlo looked around at his men. If one made a move, it would cause the others to charge in and he couldn’t allow that. “Please, men, step back a few paces and let me talk to them,” he begged them. “Enough blood has been spilled tonight.”

“They may take you, sir,” Perry warned.

“Do as I say!” he ordered, and the captain faced Julius. Maybe he could talk to him. “Listen, Julius. I am as bewildered as you. Can we take a moment to discuss the oddity we have here?”

“What is there to discuss?” Harwin interrupted. “We had words with this scum at the fights. Afterward, I am ambushed in the darkness,” he remarked, wearing a grimace. “Look, someone has cut one of our men here, and he needs a healer.”

The angered man stood over another — a foreigner, it seemed — while another Nuhrish man as broad as Harwin, but shorter, helped him up.

“And he will have one. If you lads would step back from your attackers,” Arlo pleaded.

“So you can rescue them, add to your numbers, and come after us,” Julius remarked, annoyed. “I never cared for tossers, but I never would have believed you were vandals.”

“We are not with them,” Perry screamed over him.

“He is right, Harwin,” Arlo added. “Step back and we will arrest them.”

While they were in a standoff, the commoners had gathered behind them. Many had witnessed the fray from their dwelling and he heard their anger behind him.

“The bloody tossers are helping the Yellow Hand,” a voice beckoned from the crowd. Others joined them and in moments, the constables were between Harwin’s group and the ire of his citizens.

“Listen up, good people! We are here to take the traitors to the dungeons.”

They ignored his pleas as fear gripped his men. He was at a loss, then from behind him, Harwin spoke aloud sensing the anger in the growing crowd. “Let the captain do his job. We do not need others to get harmed.”

“Have you lost your wits?” Julius barked out.

“Please, good people of the ward. I beg you to let the captain take me in. He will let the others go as we discuss this treachery in a safe place of conduct.”

The Nuhrish brute had all eyes upon him while he picked up one of the beaten attackers near him and slung him toward Perry as the man tumbled nearby along the cobbles. “You can start by arresting that sack of rubbish!” Harwin mentioned in a growl as the commoners shouted threats.

“Death to all the Yellow Handers! Bloody tossers! Bless the Knight of Tanner’s Square, death to all the traitors!” The voices of the commoners beckoned.

Arlo had no other course; he had to play along as he ordered his men to arrest his fellow constables. His eyes fixed on their faces while they glared back amazed that they were being detained, one spit at him, and the action got him crowned by a cudgel while they were being led away.

The mob parted, allowing a path, and soon, Julius and his men followed. The citizens praised them, patting the back of the injured man hauled along in a stupor.

Arlo stared at the other Nuhrish man, whose expression was so empty he wondered if the man realized what was happening. Whoever these men were, they were a lot tougher than the traitors. His traitors. His face became flush from the embarrassment.

“Don’t forget the two dead ones,” Harwin mentioned, pointing out to the two corpses lying on the street. “I think it would be wise if you stayed close to me, captain.”

Arlo did that, escorting Harwin while noticing a slight trickle of blood from the side of his leather jerkin. The tall brute was unaware as they walked toward the square, and they were not alone. The commoners followed, grumbling as he thought the worst would happen if the crowd’s mood turned dark.

“Where are we going?” Harwin asked. His question snapped him out of his worries.

“It may be best if we conduct ourselves in the courthouse.”

“Very well, but when we arrive, what safety awaits me there?” Harwin asked.

“You have my word.” But he laughed at that. His word meant little to him, but for the safety of the innocents that had gathered, he complied. Harwin waited as he fumbled, opening the bailiff’s entrance.

The Nuhrish lad could have run, abandoning him to the wrath of the crowd, but the lad never stirred as he followed him. Arlo closed the door behind them, thanking him as they both stood by a barred window.

“My surrender has got us here, captain. Now, what are we to do?”

The lummox remarked, laughing as if he told a jape. The commoners were flocking around the courthouse and shouting, so he pleaded out a barred window for someone to alert the Chamberlain. Arlo gaped at the crowd of citizens, as they grew in numbers, he was thankful that no constables appeared to be near.

“I guess we can blame Edmund for this,” Harwin mentioned with a snicker. “He begged me to go with Julius, hence this plan you two had planned for me, bloody bollocks is all it amounted to.” The lad was angry and then noticed the blood from his leathers.

“This isn’t the time for pointing fingers,” Arlo replied.

“Maybe not, but a pair of fools thought it best to have me contained to train louts and toil in the courts to avoid embarrassing my uncle.”

“We were looking out for your best interest.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Harwin shrugged. “I hope you possess the smarts to resolve this. If the mob decides your men are a bunch of snakes, there will be blood on your hands.”

Arlo ignored the slight, but he was right. The outer wards were a mix. Many supported this band of brigands, but in the inner wards, they were villains. The folks here were a suspicious lot, and when word spread of what happened here, they would suspect every man wearing the twin falcon on his breast, and the Guild would want answers. Arlo knew his neck may be in a noose if Drew Vickards was of no help.

It was near dawn when the Chamberlain made his way; the mob surrounded them and provided a pathway as over a dozen goons with blades escorted the man to the bailiff’s entrance. Arlo quickly opened the door as Harwin found a stool to sit on while Drew took off his cloak and ordered his men to stand by the entrance.

“Is what the rabble says, true?” the Chamberlain asked. “We have constables, our men under the influence of these traitors?”

“It appears true,” Harwin mentioned, quick to reply before he could explain. The man had a yellow scarf in his grasp. He must have tucked it away to spring on them as Arlo gaped, unaware.

“I am ready to give my report,” the captain announced.

“We will speak later,” Drew Vickards replied, scolding him. “I want to listen to Harwin’s words,” the Chamberlain added while flicking him away, irritated.

The lad went into detail, his voice measured and direct as he explained the entire evening. He left out his usual sarcasm, detailing his skirmish with Sully, and described his shock when ambushed.

The anger he felt when he discovered the men he had cut down were constables. Harwin left behind the snarling beast he had witnessed from the alley of the brewery and transformed himself into a soldier once again as Drew Vickards seethed, pacing and cursing as his story unfolded.

“What do you know of these men?” the Chamberlain barked while scowling at him.

Arlo could only shrug. The men were Yellow Hand, the yellow scarves didn’t lie. Vickards reprimanded him, pointing his fingers in all directions at the city’s futility. Arlo despised the man and didn’t like the way he was being pointed at as Drew swore that men were going to swing on a noose.

The Chamberlain and their ward bosses were half of the problem there. The corruption ran deep in this city. Every good earmarked for the citizens were either sold to smugglers or used in barter for bribes from the merchants. Arlo could only sit in silence and take it as Drew Vickards apologized to Harwin, slighting his constables and taking none of the blame himself.

“Harwin, this misfortune has left me no choice. I must send a parchment to your uncle.”

“And what will you tell him?” Harwin asked, his face becoming worried.

“That is none of your concern. My role in this is to make sure you don’t turn up dead. If I ignore this it could mean my position and possibly my arrest.”

“Why doesn’t the Guild get involved?” the lad asked, frustrated.

His question made Vickards scoff in disgust. “Those wretches have ignored my requests since the likes of you showed up with those corpses.” The Chamberlain then glanced back out the window.

“This rebellion, or whatever someone calls it, is beyond the city’s control. I fear it’s a Guild game. Only someone with their wealth can create a disturbance like this.”

“You believe this is true?” Arlo asked.

“I do,” Vickards replied, irritated. “Having met Aristotle Breeston, he is a narrow-minded man. I believe another wants him replaced. If the goods can’t flow north, then his rule is proven to be weak, and the Minoans will turn on him.”

“And the city suffers from this arrogance?” Harwin barked back. “Because someone wants his seat!”

Arlo watched the brute’s face turn red as Vickards shook his head. He added more to the lad’s anger by admitting the poor citizens here were nothing more than work animals. “All this rancour began with the mines. The bloody fools have become too greedy.”

“What’s the point in you listening to my problems?” Chamberlain says in a bothered manner, then mentioned to him as if he was a lackey. “Arlo, how can we get this lad back to his brothers?”

“I need no one’s help,” Harwin protested while making his way to the bailiff’s entrance.

“Harwin, one more thing,” Drew Vickards mentioned to him. “I suggest you stay on Old Street during the daylight so we can avoid more of these skirmishes.”

The Nuhrish brute shrugged, tapping the handle of his dirk. “I’ll walk where I please,” he remarked while storming out the door.

Arlo glanced out the bars of the window and watched the fool lumber away as the commoners gawked at him. Some of them followed along like sentries under his orders as the skies were losing the colour of daybreak.

“Do you think releasing him was the best choice?” Arlo muttered full of despair. “We should send him home in fetters and be done with him.”

“We have his uncle coming here soon. I will ask him to send the thorn somewhere else. We have few options at present. That moron has a way of finding trouble,” Vickards replies. “I thought you had your men under control?”

“They think this yellow sash means they are in the right. I told you it was folly to involve men such as these. When is this farce going to play out?” Arlo responded in ire. “When will this end?”

He was welling in tears, wondering how he had let himself get involved in this. “I understand how you feel, Arlo,” the Chamberlain said to comfort him.

“You love this city, and I love it, too. It isn’t a secret that you despise me, but after this is over, we can build Breeston back into something noble again. Don’t waiver now when we are so close,” he added. “During the riots, the final solution will begin. The Yellow Hand will strike and the Guild will be no more.”

“I fear you are overconfident,” Arlo replied. “Your greed for power has made you blind to the risks. This is a brittle plan being conducted.”

“That’s because you lack the knowledge I have. We have allies in this rebellion,” Vickards mentioned while glancing out the window to Old Street. “What I told that lummox isn’t all a lie.”

“So it involves the Guild?” Arlo asked. His role in this tyranny had never divulged him with any information about this Yellow Hand. He only knew the constables who were dirty, himself included.

This devil he was in league with made promises to him. Arlo was sure that most of the Ward Bosses were in this, but who else played a role in this treachery, he wondered.

“Where are the ones you arrested?” Vickards asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“They are being detained in the holding area of the dungeons,” Arlo replied. “The lot looked terrified as they were being led away, and I doubt we will have any problems from them. I suggest we send them during the night to Venton.”

“We won’t. I will send men to take care of that,” Vickards remarked to him in a cold tone. “Send someone to collect Sully Nickles,” Vickards yelled out to one of his goons. “This farce could be of some use.”

Arlo looked over to Chamberlain as the man glared at the goons who came with him. “No need for you to worry about it, Withers. I’ll take care of this,” he mentioned with a faint laugh while turning back to him. “Do you still have enough to hold up your end of the bargain?”

Arlo nodded, knowing the fate of the arrested constables. Drew Vickards would use their corpses to gain favour from the suspicious citizens, and the message would send a bold reminder to others who have trouble listening. “This bloodshed will help,” the Chamberlain remarked.

Arlo felt as if he should hang alongside them.

The End