"...and on top of it, he attached the full value of escaped taxes, with annotation," the Halfling finished quietly, looking up as she shuffled through the pages in her arms. "The one for Illance is here, but... it's altered, because... you know."
Pohatkon, who had his back to the messenger that most in the fort-castle considered his personal paper carrier, scrubbed at the floor of the rat cage for a full two minutes in silence before saying anything. The silence that he left was strange- no flies buzzed, no small animals screeched for food or attention, and no prisoners groaned in agony. There was nothing but the hiss and scrape of hard bristles on the metal floor of the small cage, and the sound of the Halfling's blood in her own ears as she waited for a reply.
"Strange," the high captain finally mused in a distant tone. "Nothing wrong with that building before. Couple of clerics stopped by, I hear, and one bone rattler... sorry, what is the value of those taxes?"
"Fifteen thousand, seven hundred, fourty two fivestars," Gwen managed slowly. "Enough to buy and sell the whole of the dark quarter."
"Yet I have to ask permission to do anything about it," Pohatkon snorted, turning over his shoulder to look at the young female behind him. "Like I'm a hound he's training to heel."
The girl blinked- the response was completely opposite of what she'd expected. "Should I leave it, or..."
"Read it again?" Pohatkon sighed, tossing the brush into the filthy water bucket.
Gwen didn't pause, even though it was rare for her to have to read a document all the way through one time, let alone twice. " 'It is hereby resolved that the High Captain shall have to render report unto the Council before lodging charges or ordering arrests against the nobil-' "
"Bert's beard," the Human male interrupted suddenly, getting up and shaking the dirty water that was still on his hands into the bucket. He moved toward his desk so that he could lean on the front of it, looking at them. "Yes, leave it."
"I can take dictation," the Halfling offered in a very small voice.
"I know, Gwen," came the reply, as gentle as a good father's might be. "Leave it; I'll take care of it. Another?"
"Well, these are the arrest records for the Eastern Quarter Integration infractions," Gwen muttered, reading through the beginning of the text briefly. "Oh- Lady Mimsa's taken occasion with this one. She says-"
And at that moment, Gimago, who'd sustained three serious mage burns two weeks before, gingerly turned the corner into the room. His right eye was swollen, he sported a crutch under his left arm, and there was a lump just above his right hip where the wide swatch of bandaging cloth had to rest. Gwen, who spotted him first, made a face immediately. Pohatkon looked up from the patch of the floor upon which he had been resting his eyes to notice the wordless contention between the two.
"Why wait for me?" he joked bitterly. "Take him to task like an honest woman, hobbling around like that. Won't heal properly, you know, if he keeps moving."
The words that the Halfling refused to let tumble out of her mouth stung the tip of her tongue, and although they went unspoken, Gimago seemed to wince at them anyway. As he walked away from his desk, Pohatkon allowed himself to remember the first time his wife had to stare at him with such quiet frustration. Knowing that some business was at hand, however, he moved back past the nasty bucket to the central chair whose barbed straps stood empty. As blissfully unconcerned as if the thing had been a cushy throne, Pohatkon sat in it and leaned an elbow on one of the clean, but still bloodstained arm rests.
"Can't have come down here just to look sheepish in front of your dear heart," he urged.
Gimago blushed furiously, and stammered his message out. "There... um... Master Ranclyffe, she- said there was... tampering? That someone was... messing with the arsonist. From somewhere. Maybe mind control. A bit more time? Please?"
"Of course," Pohatkon replied, flapping the hand that had been under his chin at the young male Human. "Go on back up and tell her she's got twenty four hours."
Gimago nodded vigorously and limped his way back around the corner.
"Remind me to ask the Council for three more days on that prisoner," Pohatkon suggested quietly as he and Gwen listened to the tap of his crutch on the stone. "And he ought to have given you a peck before he was off, I think."
"We aren't... we... we wait 'til night," Gwen guiltily admitted. "Because of work- he doesn't want either of us put out; we haven't enough money saved. I... I wasn't 'sposed to tell."
"Well, you didn't. But you have my word, Gwenydd, I will not put you out until you want to go, and if he's worried about Mimsa, I'm certain Master Ranclyffe will stand in the way of her, solid as a stone wall," Pohatkon replied seriously, getting up from the chair to consider the chain just to the Halfling's right. "Four years as an wizard's apprentice, and all of a sudden he doesn't know what to do with simple mageflame? Crone didn't believe a word out of that prancing fool's mouth. And I certainly won't run to her to tell tales."
To enforce his point, Pohatkon put crossed finger over his lips and covered one eye with his other hand, the way his children would do for each other when promising that they wouldn't tell their tutor something. Gwen recognized the sign for what it was, and smiled gratefully, giving it back to him. Pohatkon nodded, and the Halfling female looked back down at her paper stack.
"Anyway, the request for arrest- Lady Mimsa says that her uncle has the right to refuse whatsoever apprentice he so desires, and that the boy in question-"
"Scrawl, right?" Pohatkon suddenly interjected.
"Yes," Gwen replied, slightly surprised. "He's nearly too old for apprenticing, so Fae tried to place him first. That's why she reported Lady Mimsa's uncle like she wasn't on the Council at all."
"Faera," the High Captain sighed. "Everybody's got to get used to calling her Lady Faera. People won't mean any malice, but they'll still think she's some kind of cast off. Just... leave that one on my desk as well; I'm going to have to talk to Master Ranclyffe about it."
"Looks like she thought you might say that," the Halfing noted, speedily reading through a bit of paper that had been attached to the original document by a wax seal. "She attached a note-"
"To save him the trip back," the high captain said, nearly to himself, as he pulled some stray brown hairs out of his face. "Go ahead."
"Um...'There is no precedent for the arrest, accusation, or prosecution of seated Merchant Council members; therefore I recommend the-'... oh. I... she said you're going to have to make something up," the slight girl said wonderingly as she read. "She put it differently, at first, but then she actually wrote, '...make something up,' right here. '...as per your right and duty as the first High Captain set in place by the will of the governed population.' "
Pohatkon chuckled bitterly. "By the will of a bunch of freshly attacked Eastern Quarter residents, she means- but I'll take great pleasure in 'making something up,' see how the stonemuncher takes to me actually acting in accordance with the power I'm supposed to have. Ask me, we ought to start with a no-confidence vote against the Mage Quarter seat. Guaranteed the Witchrunners want her out, always treating them the way she does."
"But then what?" Gwen countered immediately. "The only people more qualified than Lady Mimsa, Gimago says, are Master Ranclyffe, Master Semnemac, and Master Aric. Master Ranclyffe wants nothing to do with the throne because she's... he's not sure... getting old, or sick, or something. She doesn't say anything, but sometimes he says it seems as though she were getting two or three years older every day. Master Semnemac is... um... not quite sane. So it would have to be Master Aric-"
"But no one in the Elven or Temple Quarters will let it stand because he used to be a warlock- and he's right, too," the Human breathed shaking his head. "Nevermind that the old man's been docile for longer than either of you have been alive. It's ridiculous. For fear of a docile warlock, they let a petty, useless yew branch witch work on her sewing sampler at her throne- gods!" Pohatkon consciously uncurled his fists and shook his hands in front of him as though he were shooing away a stray animal. "Nevermind me. Another."
"What if- what if they let Brother Svaentok be in charge of the Mage's Quarter?" Gwen dared very quietly.
Pohatkon looked at the Halfling female with surprise first, then some strange sort of wistfulness. "Oh, little girl," he breathed after nearly a half minute of silence. "The fear and hate you'd see for that monk in one hour here would spin your head like a top."
"Oh," the Halfling said, biting her lips and wishing she hadn't said anything.
"Maybe one day," the High Captain ventured, trying to be encouraging, even though he shivered with revulsion at the thought. "Maybe your children, yours and Gimago's, they'll live long enough and peacefully enough to see fit to put one like him on that throne."
Gwen allowed a hopeful smirk to appear. "I want that," she confessed. "I want them to play with his grandkids, and your grandkids, and Master Ranclyffe's grandkids, and Dale and any of her children too, and I want them to be good, and happy, and not mean to each other, ever."
Pohatkon nodded slowly, thinking about how much easier the transition to the Dark Quarter had been for his children than for his wife, even though Luvec's wife, born and raised in that quarter of Urmlaspyr, was her good friend.
Yrel-Ades had no less Shadovar blood on his glaive than I had on my arrow heads when he burst into this place, yet still, I... well. I am no better. No better than any of these fools, at all. Gods forgive me, I could not see him here, for I myself still fear the Shade in him.
Gwen, a bit puzzled at his thoughtful silence, turned her eyes back down to his papers. "This is a letter from... um... 'the honor-knighted and thrice war-decorated Oversword Julian Garimond, of Suzail, in the name of King Foril the First, of Cormyr'."
"Laid it heavily," Pohatkon mused, his tone still weighted by his unspoken thoughts. "Give it to me word for word, Gwen."
" 'To the High Captain Pohatkon Sakoda, I, ever-servant of the Cormyrean crown, do render the respect of a comrade-at-arms. May the mighty hand of Pelor shield and guide you as you continue to press forward toward the Peace that was forged with your army, for your common people. I do bring you report concerning two of the four foreigners who were passed on to Cormyrean soil, and request your most speedy Judgement in the cases of the other two.
I am well-pleased to at last inform you that Bahlzair Xuntrin, who is in my custody here, is in fact your original, if not only, Rooftop Reaver. He had been so bold as to strike down a ranking Purple Dragon officer in full view of a reliable witness, putting himself into the path of Cormyrean judgement. He is something Proud, as may be expected from one of his Race, and seems Happy to be punished not only for Crimes that he did commit, but also for a few that he did not. As his sentence here would be Death by hanging, I had wanted to ask your Judgement of you, as he is also wanted by your people for similar actions. He eschewed your laws prior to his arrival here, and I would be remiss in processing the final resolution of his Existence without at least considering whether or not you would like to assess some sort of restitution for the multitude of widows, widowers, and orphans he has left you in his wake.
Ser Aleksei Voyonov has been tried again and again by the retired Battlemage Ranclyffe, who claims to have gotten little farther with the matter than your Master Ranclyffe. As last he told me, he apologizes to ask for a bit more time. His wife has sustained some sort of semi-permanent physical damage, and he is not only a teacher for the College of War Wizards here, but also the master for an apprentice, both responsibilities that make great demands of his time. I told him the charges against the creature were suspended at first, and now completely dropped by your orders, but being the methodical sort that he is, he has requested that your Will be put onto paper and sent him.
The gravest matter was not he, strangely, but the Tiefling who willingly came with him. This Mi'ishaen Lucien-Azaroth has been charged with the facilitation the Murder of the Roadcaptain Shesua as well as collusion with Thultanthar through Sembia, and will go to trial for those charges by the end of next week. There is evidence and testimony that indicates her Intention to sell both Ser Voyonov and Mistress Jyklihaimra Ceubel-pas-Naja to the aforementioned Powers. I am aware that she did come into your custody prior to my own, and so I felt I must ask you what charges she had there, and how they were dispelled, if it is indeed that they were. If they are serious, I shall delay our Judgement until such time as your own as been enacted upon her; she shall in no wise escape any form of punishment due her, as her Crimes are Grievous.
Mistress Ceubel-Naja has, for her gracious compliance under multiple forms of duress, been acquitted of any accidental or purposeful involvement with the schemes of the Tiefling, especially in light of the pending charges of Slavery that are still in process against the latter. She would not lodge them herself, claiming that Mistress Lucien-Azaroth has a great distaste for Slavery (a claim that Ser Voyonov upheld), but upon that woman's own testimony, I lodged the charges on behalf of the sovereign state of Cormyr. Any information that you might be able to render on this point would be much appreciated.
Now, the good Fortune of Tymora rest upon you, and the sharp Wisdom of Pelor guide you into all success. I envy you not the task set before you in the shape of the reformation and reintegration of the Eastern Quarter, which- as I have heard from the Roadcaptain MacSairlen in his reports- has been lined with pitfalls and setbacks. As I understand it, I may claim a few years on your experience, and many of my compatriots and I have had to deal with the reconstruction of Semmite-held lands; do not hesitate to call upon us for any assistance you may need. Much Blood has been shed to buy your freedom, and we would not have such Precious Tender made void. Were there nothing else to be done, I would ride out to you myself, with a clutch of trustworthy men, and make use of my own sword arm, that you and yours may remain at a long-awaited and much-needed restful Peace.
Your devoted compatriot, ever loyal to the Crown of Cormyr and the Right of Rule thereby bestowed upon your own Sovereign Merchant Council,
Oversword Julian Garamond.'
What does he mean, 'thereby bestowed,' like if the Council wouldn't be any good without his king's permission?"
"That's exactly what he means," the High Captain snorted, turning his head and resting his chin on his fist. "But don't take offence; he's not too far from right. It's the fear of Cormite armed might that keeps Semmites from outright trying to reclaim us- although it doesn't stop them from trying to hollow us out as though they were termites in a tree."
Gwen made a face, but remained carefully silent as Pohatkon thought. Slowly, the brown haired Human got up from the chair and strode over to his desk, where an ornate, tightly sealed reagent jar held two coppery eyes. He stood contemplating the eyes for a few moments before picking up the jar- delicately, as though it held some precious breakable thing, instead of two fleshy orbs out of someone's face.
"Esteem, and honor, and loyalty," the brown-haired Human began as he turned and held the jar up to the light of the extra torches that he'd brought into the chamber.
Without a word, Gwen scrambled to his desk, rustling through the drawers that were all just as familiar to her as though they had been her own.
"As though he could spare any of those lofty feelings and ideals for former Semmites. We're all filthy rats to them, and they think of those in Daerlun no more highly. Well, the honorable gent must have more time on his hands than I, since he's got time and opportunity to request additional confirmation for judgements I sent weeks ago. If Bahlzair's the Reaver, I want him back- with about twenty guards, seeing as transporting that completely docile Dragonborn caused the death of about half that many. And as for that raw handbag, as far as I am concerned, he's free. In fact, since Master Ranclyffe finally cleared those records that the ladies reclaimed from the Stingers of whatever pestilence she suspected, I'd be happy to have Voyonov back on duty. In the Eastern Quarter, where he was beloved and fit right in, illness and all. What he's got to say about Mi'ishaen and Silveredge is just about lunacy, as when they were here, I am told they were openly amorous- that was part of what Nithraz locked the poor witch up for in the first place. Between the public indecency of swimming naked with her obvious paramour, and repeatedly ignoring the strap law for that huge puppy of hers- clearly there's a casual disrespect for authority in both of them that Madam Horns only occasionally sharpens into an aggressive rebellion, and may Lord Wisdom pardon me, but I can hardly imagine her marshaling contacts and sales with Semmites or Shade people. She detests slavery, and lets anyone who asks her know it. If she's suddenly changing her tune, I wonder if she isn't just making idiots out of him and all his company, as she so loves to try to do with any-"
"Sakoda, did you get the- oh, Pelor grace you, Gwen," Luvec panted as he burst into the room. "Looks like you're just about done with- Sakoda. She said everything. What are- are those- ?"
"Yes," Pohatkon answered, still focused on the copper-colored eyes trapped in the jar. "I find them more enchanting outside her body, actually. I should ask Semnemac; they're probably good for a potion or something, but-"
"That is disgusting, Sakoda," Luvec sighed. "What about eyes torn out of a woman's face doesn't strike you as absolutely disgusting?"
The High Captain turned to face his second in command with a weak, tired smirk. "Oh, come now; Ntoru wasn't that wicked. Beauty is beauty, and here it is. Besides, Ranclyffe knows I'm only going to start again fresh, cultivate the same sort of atmosphere, once given a few weeks. I live down the street from a tavern in which I'm certain I could collect enough vomit right this mi- Gwen, have you been taking dictation?"
" 'Sir-
The grace of Pelor be with you,' " Gwen began immediately, not looking up from her work. " 'I pray you pardon my brevity; I wish only to give you all needful information in the most expedient amount of time, as your people, as do mine, must sorely cry for justice.
I do request that the Rooftop Reaver be returned to Urmlaspyr, and would have him accompanied by no fewer than twenty of your best appointed guards. Shed a bit of blood for the sake of your people, if you must, but it is here that he will die, and I will take any contrary decision from your hands as a declaration of hostility against the sovereign state of Urmlaspyr.
That self same state has formally dropped all charges of insubordination, dereliction of duty, abandonment of duty, assault, public indecency, intent to participate in prostitution, and murder held by her against Ser Stonecrusher Aleksei Petrovich Voyonov. It is my personal opinion and official statement that whatever illness has beset him should be properly ministered to, and that he should not be held for any other purpose but that. If at any time you should wish to be rid of him, you may safely point him in the direction of Urmlaspyr.
I cannot support the charges that you place to Mistress Lucien-Azaroth's account. She has at no time in this land ever been convicted for owning Mistress Ceubel-Naja as a slave, although she has on two occasions been questioned for it. At both times, she registered an absolute distaste for the practice; however, she is enamored of playing rather malicious pranks on any sort of authority that she may find. While the soul is rare that would try at such games when his or her life is at stake, any news that Mistress Azaroth would, when compared to her other actions here, be nothing short of credible fact. Be cautious, or you will play her game to the embarrassment of your judicial system. Make use of your divination wizards, if any can be spared for the purpose, for I guarantee you there is little more in her mind than the bitter jibes and jests for which she is now here known. Her paramour, Mistress Ceubel-Naja, is likewise resistant toward laws and authorities, although in a much calmer, more rational fashion. You will be hard pressed to find any way of cajoling from her any word or deed outside that which she had already intended to give you.
Again I crave Pelor's wisdom for you, and your patience for me.
I, High Captain Pohatkon Sakoda, write to you in the worthy names of the ruling Merchant Council members of the independent and sovereign state of Urmlaspyr, long may they live. Gods be with you, and your king.' How's that?"
"You say 'gods be with you and your king' as though there were something wrong with them," Luvec noted quizzically.
"She's not too far from right- in that or any part of the missive," Pohatkon replied with a less weary smile, putting the disembodied copper eyes down at last. "But your pen doesn't do me justice, Gwen; no one will believe I wrote that. Peel the gold leaf back off the words; give them to him as brutally as possible."
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