The Artifacts Of Elios (Book 1) (11 page)

They were quite
intoxicated by the time that they decided that some female company was in order and at the suggestion of one of the strangers in the group they soon exited the tavern in pursuit of the fairer gender.  As Alto and Hugo staggered down the street they found themselves in front of a barber shop that was open late.  In their inebriated state they readily heeded the advice of the barber who had been sweeping the front walkway that a shave and a haircut would improve their chances of a more successful dalliance with the ladies.  It wasn’t long before Hugo found himself seated in the barber’s chair not caring whether he needed a haircut or not but enjoying the warm towel on his face.  Alto had passed out in a waiting chair snoring with a pleasant smile.  About the time the barber finished stropping the razor Hugo passed out as well never noticing as the barber placed restraint bands on His wrists and ankles.   The last thing that entered Hugo’s mind before he surrendered to unconsciousness was how much the barber looked like the wealthy man he had robbed. 

The
next day the newspaper told of an unexplained fire in an abandoned building and an unidentified body that was burned beyond recognition – the cause had been attributed to a homeless man starting a fire in an abandoned building.

Shew kissed
His wife goodbye as she boarded the coach that would take her to her sister’s house in the country.  After it had driven away he strolled towards the taxi pick up area and hailed a cab and began the final phase of Staffords plan.

As the cab pulled away from the curb Shew thought about Stafford.  How much did he trust the man?  He had followed his plan to the letter but as he neared the final stage his years of training and paranoia began to creep forth.  With a sudden change of mind Shew told the cabby to change direction and head to the Palace.

Wendell Sapp was a spy; not a very good one to those that were, but in his own mind he was the best.  If he had any idea on how much he was mocked by the other intelligence officers of the crown he would never have believed it.  He would have thought it as good natured teasing; it was inconceivable to his mind that anyone could perceive him as anything but the best.  He had become one of Allion’s internal intelligence officers by design; Staffords design. He was what Stafford referred to as a tattletale and a climber he was almost as politically driven as the king and was not a very original thinker.  Stafford had stumbled onto Wendell and realized long ago that he would be perfect for the king’s internal intelligence.  Especially if he needed to have information reach the king ears as if from a trusted source.  Through a series of apparent random events orchestrated by Stafford, Allion the Third found and handpicked Wendell as his personal intelligence liaison.  It was no accident that the king had been informed of Shew being tipped off regarding his order of assassination.

Stafford sat at a table across
from the king.  Wendell stood arrogantly to the kings left.

“Is this report correct
, Mr. Sapp,” asked the king as he closed a folder which Wendell had given him earlier and placed it calmly on the table.

“Yes your majesty,” Gloated the spy with a condescending glance toward Stafford.

“Stafford,” the king questioned the assassin.

Stafford picked up the report and read through it.  “Yes your majesty, it is.”  H
e placed the folder back onto the table top.

“Have you completed your assignment in removing the threat to the crown of former agent Shew?” queried the king. 

“Not yet your majesty, I expect to complete the assignment shortly,” Stafford answered.

“This is preposterous,” exclaimed Wendell
.  “My agents witnessed Mr. Stafford and Mr. Shew chatting like old friends.  It is clear that Mr. Stafford was warning Shew.”

The king held up his hand cutting the intelligence office
r off from further outbursts.  “Please explain Stafford.”

“
As stated in the report in front of you your majesty, I did indeed meet with Shew and he did indeed surmise that I had been ordered to make his retirement extremely permanent.  I did this by design due to the extremely dangerous nature of the target.  If I were to have attempted to take him at his residence it would have required me to spend considerable time reconnoitering his defenses and even then there was a risk of my own safety.  Shew was my mentor and I have learned that he is entirely unpredictable and extremely dangerous even at his advanced age.  It is abundantly apparent that even if I could have dispatched the target, either at the tavern or at his residence, you would undoubtedly require proof so I presented him with a plan, under the guise of friendship and a loyalty to him, as a ruse, to lure him to the palace, where you and your agents could witness his removal; he should be here momentarily,” concluded Stafford.

 
“Here in the palace?  “The King stood, a fleeting look of panic momentarily expressed on his face.

“You are quite safe your majesty.  I know the room that Shew will be in when he seeks to enter the palace undetected.  Stafford stood and turned toward the door, “If you will follow me please.”

The king stood and followed Stafford out of the private office followed closely behind by Wendell.  They didn’t have to go far. As they neared the throne room Stafford turned towards the Royal Clerks office.  Just outside the doors were the Royal Clerk and his three assistants hollering loudly to a pair of palace guards outside the door.  They stopped speaking has they saw the king’s approach.

“Stand aside,” commanded Stafford
.

Knowing that Stafford
was a personal member of the king’s private staff and having heard many a deadly rumor pertaining to what exactly he did for the king and that he answered only to the king the clerks and guards quickly moved aside.  The king and Wendell followed Stafford into the office.

The first thing they noticed was a gray haired
head poking out of an air vent on the far side of the room.  Emitting from a thin mouth with evenly white teeth sandwiched between a thin mustache and a pointy beard poured a blue streak of profanity that could have melted ice; the body attached to the head appeared to be stuck within the depths of the vent.

“You set me up you treacherous
motherless son of a mongrel.  You’d sell out your own mother if you knew who she was.  You may think I’m caught but I never found a trap I couldn’t spring and if you think for a second that you can hold me you are dumber than that idiot king you work for.  Or are you forgetting that I taught you everything you know, sonny,” spat the old face glaring at Stafford.  “And you, you spineless prick,” the old head turned towards the king.  “You wouldn’t make a pimple on your old man’s arse.  Is this how you pay your staff for forty years of loyal service?  Watch your back, Stafford, if for some reason I don’t get you for this betrayal, that little bastard you call king is more than likely going to do it for me.”

Almost as if on cue Wendell proclaimed, “Mr. Shew, as a member of the CSS I place you under arrest for trespassing
, treason, and attempt to harm the Royal Person of the King.”

“Who the enfer are you, you sniveling twit.  Take your speech and stick it up
your…”

“Mr. Shew,” Interrupted Wendell, “I happen to be the King’s head of internal intelligence and as such I suggest you cease your insults to his majesty.  You are caught accept it.” 

“You haven’t caught me yet, “the old man grunted as he started twisting on to his back.

“Get him down, cut out his tongue and then have him beheaded,” commanded the king.

Stafford stepped forward and the old man suddenly seemed to break free from whatever was holding him.  “I wouldn’t try backing up,” Stafford said dryly.  “I have a guillotine set up to cut you in half.”

“You wish you do,” Shew said as he disappeared back into the vent
.  I taught you that trick.  It was the first thing I disarmed,” echoed a buoyant voice from the depths of the vent.

“Stop him, “yelled the King and Wendell at the same time.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Stafford said with simple assuredness.

A cranky voice echoed from
deeper within the deep air duct, “you best be looking over your shoulder, the both of you.  I’ll be coming for you – forty years of service and this is how…”

The voice was suddenly
silent.  An ominous huff of air weakly echoed from the depths of the vent.  A moment passed, the king looked at Stafford questioningly.  Slowly a trickle then a stream of bright red blood began to flow from the vent.

“I guess he missed the second guillotine,” commented Stafford to no one in particular.

“Disgusting,” grimaced Wendell.

“I guess that’s that,” said the king as if let down that he couldn’t see the actual beheading of the former agent.

“Guards,” hollered Stafford, “get me a large piece of canvas and an eight foot wooden staff with a hook on the end.  Bring five or six soldiers back with you to clean this up,” he added pointing to the wall and floor dripping with blood.

“I’ll have the head and body out of there in
a moment, your majesty,” said Stafford as he waited for the cleaning detail to join them in the Clerk’s office.  “What do you want done with it?”

“Have it fed to a farmers hogs and make sure I get some bacon or a roast off of the animal that it is fed to,” the kings said his eyes seeming to gleam in a weird demented fashion.  The king started to turn to leave but then stopped.  “I think I’ll stay; make sure the old bastard is dead,” the king said as if speaking to himself.  “I recall too many of my father’s stories of that man’s ability to survive.”

Soon a half a dozen guards poured into the room and laid out the canvas on the floor.  Stafford took the wooden staff that didn’t happen to have a hook like he’d asked for and took out his knife and notched a small pointed hook into one end, not unlike a giant crochet hook.  Snagging a nearby chair he set it below and to the side of the vent opening.  He carefully stood on the chair and pulled out a mirror and placed it barely in front of the opening so that he could peer into the opening without subjecting himself to an attack if the old man was simply playing opossum.

“Not afraid of a little old man are you
,” Wendell taunted as he observed Stafford’s cautionary maneuvering.

“You can bet your arse I am,” Stafford responded.  That was one tough old man in there and I don’t plan on giving him a chance to take me out on the off chance he is still alive.

Finally after moving the mirror around and at several angles, Stafford fed the long staff, point first, into the vent.  After probing a round for a few moments he gave a slight jerk and the slowly withdrew the pole.  As the final few inches of the stick emerged it was follow by a bloody head - neatly cut at the base of the neck.  Suddenly the head rolled out of the opening, detached from the hook, and fell to the floor.

Everyone but Stafford jumped as it hit the floor.  The head looked pale and small.  The white beard and mustache now soaked in blood.  “I give you Mr. Shew,” Stafford pointed at the floor with his pole.”

The king undaunted by the gore stepped forward and folded the right ear forward exposing the CSS tattoo. Satisfied that the former agent was dead, the king turned and left the room calling out over his shoulder as he left, “Stafford, come and see me after this is cleaned up.”