Wartorn: Resurrection (25 page)

THE GARRISON WANTED blood.

Aquint knew that Colonel Jesile was basically a reasonable man, a fair governor of Callah. But one of his own men had been murdered, clubbed brutally to death, apparently by one of the very people that Aquint had been sent here to investigate.

There
was
unrest in Callah, and that murder indicated that there were rebels.

Like it or not, Aquint had to act like an Internal Security Corps agent. But since that job wasn't too well defined he'd been relying on his instincts, his baser ones. In Sook, he had solved the mystery of the disappearing goods from the quartermaster warehouse simply by seeing the operation from the eyes of the pilferers.

It was something else to try to think like a rebel. But again he'd had some success.

Colonel Jesile had put him on to finding whoever was responsible for the counterfeiting scheme that had been uncovered. Aquint had personally made a few inquiries among old acquaintances and vendors in the marketplaces, people who would never have talked to anybody but a fellow Callahan, though it took some persuading to convince a few that he
was
still a Callahan, despite his front of being a wounded soldier on leave. Just about everyone who had a reason to know considered Slydis the best copyist in the city.

Aquint paid the dwarf scribe a visit, finding on the premises of his workshop the ingenious stamps he'd made for duplicating the Felk scrip. Simple, right?

Not quite. Slydis, under questioning, confessed readily to an accomplice. Aquint had his doubts. One way to take heat off yourself was to direct it toward somebody else, even if that somebody didn't actually exist. Slydis, however, provided a good physical description of the man, and even the location of his lodgings. It seemed the dwarf copyist had had the man followed home after one of his visits to the workshop. Probably he'd done so to ensure that if he was ever caught, he would not be solely blamed for the counterfeiting operation.

Slydis had confessed to printing unbelievable amounts of fake money. Gods knew how much he and the other man he'd implicated had put into circulation. That money made all the scrip in Callah essentially worthless. Issuing it in the first place had been a dubious experiment, Aquint thought. Then again, it wasn't his problem, it was Jesile's.

Slydis had admitted to no other criminal activities, with one exception. He had also manufactured a civilian travel pass for his partner.

The Felk governor was understandably furious. He sent soldiers to arrest this other man, but he had fled the scene, eluding capture and murdering a soldier in the process. Now he was at large somewhere in Callah. They had no name for this man, only Slydis's description. In his room they had found only one unusual possession, a musical instrument, a vox-mellifluous.

Another matter had arisen during all this turmoil.

Somebody in the Governor's Office had finally noticed the pattern of vandalism in the reports that Aquint had first requested upon arrival in the city.

They were the brands on the walls and doors that Cat had seen. A circle with a slash through it. Jesile called Aquint in to ask him if it meant anything to Internal Security.

Aquint had wanted to save this ploy until later, when he might find a way to profit from it. But this, at least, would firm up his authority here. Jesile was deferring to him by calling him in on this matter. It was time to capitalize.

"Governor," Aquint had said, solemnly, "that is the mark of the rebel underground that I am investigating."

The Felk governor's hard face was etched with lines of anger. "And why did you keep this fact to yourself?" he spat.

Aquint met the man head-on, not flinching. "Because I do not answer to this office, Governor. Your domain is Callah. My jurisdiction extends throughout the empire, and my immediate superior is none other than Lord Abraxis himself!"

He was proud of the display, prouder still that it seemed to work. Jesile backed off.

The very next watch, however, the governor had ordered a city wide removal of all those brands that had mysteriously appeared during Lacfoddalmendowl. It was no doubt an indicator of frustration on the governor's part more than anything. The garrison soldiers had removed doors and chopped down wood posts where necessary to carry out the Governor's orders. Also, Jesile had ordered stricter enforcement of the occupation laws, including public floggings for offenders.

Then the murder had happened, and everything went crazy.

The garrison hit the streets in force, when the word had spread. The soldiers entered homes, seized people. There wasn't much rhyme or reason to it. They were searching for the killer of one of their own, and they weren't gentle or methodical about it. Jesile eventually reined the patrols in, but not until after a number of serious injuries had been inflicted on hapless citizens.

Since that episode, a few days ago now, the Felk had instead conducted systematic searches, without undue brutality. Callah's perimeter security was tighter than ever. No fugitive was going to get out of town unless he got himself transported by a Far Movement wizard, and that wasn't likely. All civilian travel passes had been declared worthless. Slydis had no doubt manufactured a very convincing one for his accomplice.

"Are you sorry now?" Cat asked one day, apropos of nothing.

"About what?" Aquint wasn't particularly in the mood for the boy's habitual criticisms.

"About wishing for this."

"I never wished—" Aquint started, then caught himself.

Of course Cat was right. He
had
wanted something like this. He had even thanked the gods for sending a trouble-maker to Callah, so that Aquint's job as an Internal Security agent would stay secure.

"Shut up, boy," he grumbled.

The problem was, this might be too difficult of a problem to handle, despite the fact that Aquint didn't really know for sure if there were rebels here. According to the evidence, they only knew that the copyist had gotten the idea and the funding for a counterfeiting operation from a second, unnamed individual. That second man had murdered a Felk soldier during his attempted arrest.

But that killing might have just happened in the heat of the moment. Maybe the man was so desperate to avoid capture that he had been driven to commit the murder.

So, all they had for sure was a counterfeiting setup, with two operators. That didn't necessarily entail an uprising against the Felk. That meant two greedy, inventive men had dummied up batches of fake money. Frankly, Aquint admired the scheme.

As for those slashed circles, they could be anything. Maybe it
was
simple vandalism and nothing more.

Aquint and Cat returned to their rooms. It had been a long day of fruitless investigations. Aquint was too tired to even enjoy the luxuries of this apartment.

"Tell me, Cat," he said, putting his feet up, "if our mystery man has a forged civilian travel pass, does that mean he's originally from Callah, and meant to escape the city if things got too hot... or he came here, after the occupation by the Felk?"

"Why would he do that?" Cat asked from the soft chair where he had curled up.

"Well, we came back to Callah."

"Right. But we're loyal, upstanding members of the Felk Empire," the boy said archly. "I don't know who this fellow is, but he's not Felk."

Aquint nodded tiredly. This was too much like hard work.

Then a thought occurred to him. "Who, exactly, would have a civilian travel pass? I mean legitimately."

Cat was frowning. "That's a good question. I guess people from the conquered city-states who are collaborating with the Felk. Maybe former government officials who now want to lend their expertise to the new regime. Maybe experts on farming or other civic industries. They might be allowed to travel relatively freely in Felk-occupied territory."

Aquint turned to regard his young friend. "You talk smart when you want to."

"And only when I want."

Aquint considered. "No. I can't see this man being some consultant or..."

"What?" asked Cat, when Aquint trailed off.

Aquint slapped his hands together. "That stringbox!"

"How's that?"

"They found it in his room. A stringbox. By the madness of the gods, how did we miss it?" Aquint grinned. "He's a troubadour!"

"You're that sure?" Cat said.

"It fits. Name me any other category of person who has traditionally had such freedom of movement, even
during wartime,
as a wandering minstrel. Around these parts it's considered bad luck to turn one away. You'll get warts if you do." Aquint laughed.

"Do you really think the Felk would honor that tradition?" Cat asked.

"Why not? We've been around enough of them. They're not all monsters. This man and his 'box probably passed right through a city border checkpoint."

Cat frowned again. "Meaning he already had a travel pass, right?"

"Right. But they confiscate those at the Registry whenever somebody arrives with one," Aquint said. "Then they issue a temporary resident permit."

"How do you know that?"

Taking a haughty tone, Aquint said, "Because, my j youthful associate, I've read up on the procedures."

Cat gave him a grudging grin. "Good for you."

Aquint got to his feet, his fatigue forgotten. "So, it's a j minstrel we're looking for."

Cat stood as well. "Do we tell the governor?"

"What's Jesile done for us lately? When I make my next report to Abraxis, I'd like to be able to say that we trapped this prey all by ourselves, beating the entire garrison of Callah to him. Maybe Abraxis might put me up for a promotion. Or, better yet, an increase in pay."

AQUINT HAD MADE a couple reports already to Lord Abraxis since arriving in Callah. He spoke through a Far Speak mage attached to the garrison, updating the chief of Internal Security about events in the city.

Abraxis reasserted his claim that all he wanted were results. Aquint could have all the leeway he wanted as far as methods of operation were concerned.

"It's time to contact Tyber," Aquint pronounced.

Cat nodded, and the two of them split up to locate Aquint's former illegitimate business partner. Aquint still hadn't visited his old warehouse, leery of the sorry sight of the place boarded up and defunct.

Vahnka, Tyber's Sook merchant cousin, had been another dependable partner in crime during Aquint's short stay there. Tyber himself had been a valuable asset in unloading smuggled black market items. Aquint had simply never understood why he should hand over good money for licenses and tariffs just because he wanted to move some merchandise.

In the streets of Callah, the Felk were still conducting their searches. Jesile appeared to have called in

more troops. One could taste the fear of the people on the cooling air. But Aquint, as he made his way unmolested, sensed something more.

Discontent. Resentment. Anger. These conquered people of Callah had, for the most part, submitted peacefully to this occupation. Now, because of one act of violent rebellion, the Felk were coming down on their heads, in a way that they hadn't since the city's conquest.

It was ironic that Jesile's effort to find one supposed rebel was probably fostering rebellious attitudes in hundreds if not thousands more of Callah's citizens.

Aquint doubted if this would end well.

Shortly before curfew, he heard someone softly whistling for his attention from an alleyway. Aquint had been making inquiries at a slew of taverns, looking for anybody who'd seen a minstrel. No one had.

He squinted at the alley in the gathering twilight. It was possible he'd had one too many drinks while trying to blend in with the patrons.

Cat let himself be seen at the mouth of the alley. "Found him," the boy said.

"Tyber?"

"Who else?" Cat sniffed the air, as if smelling the alcohol on Aquint's breath. As usual, the boy grimaced his disapproval. "You up to paying him a visit?"

Aquint drew himself up with great dignity. "When I can't do this job, I'll let you know."

Off they went. Aquint was still wearing the sling on his left arm. It was annoying him now. On impulse, he tore it off.

"What about your disguise?" Cat asked as they moved through the backstreets.

"I won't need one with Tyber," he said.

"Why not, because he'll still be loyal to you from the old days?" Cat sounded skeptical.

Aquint shook his head. "Because that disguise wouldn't fool that ugly bleeder for a moment."

They came around a corner. Aquint halted sharply. "We're not going
there!"
he said, aghast.

Cat shrugged. "That's where I've heard Tyber is holed up these days."

Aquint had been avoiding it, and now here it was. His old warehouse. It was indeed sorry-looking. The place was nailed up like a poor man's coffin, with loose, careless boards.

"We can get in through the dock," Cat pointed.

But Aquint didn't move. "Why is Tyber here?"

"I heard he tried to bribe one of the garrison officers into letting him set up a contraband operation."

Aquint blinked. "I never read that in any of the Felk incident reports."

"Jesile probably didn't want it in the record. From what I heard, the officer was going to go along with it, for a cut, of course. Then
he
got caught and tried to turn in Tyber. Since then, Tyber's gone to ground."

Aquint nodded. Tyber, like himself, just wasn't cut out

for a legitimate business life. Felk or no Felk, men like Tyber and him had to pursue their own destinies, had to find an angle to work, had to cheat the system. They
had
to.

"Let's go," Aquint said, and he and Cat crept toward the warehouse.

They were nearly at the cargo dock, when Cat's fingers suddenly seized Aquint's shoulder.

"Wait," the boy whispered urgently, a dire look on his young face. He bounded onto a barrel and vaulted toward a window sill far overhead, catching it and pulling himself up and into the shadows.

Aquint faded back to the far side of the street. Peering intently at the loose boards over the dock, he saw now, in the gathering dark, the flicker of candlelight within the warehouse. Something else must have tipped off the boy to some potential danger, though.