The Bastard, page 17
He took Rolf’s advice, turning and leaving the inn without another word, and the general conversation returned to its previous level.
Rolf smacked his lips and placed the man’s flagon back on the bar. Then, with no subtlety at all, he turned toward me.
“So,” he began. “You work for the merchant who is bringing in the cocoa,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
It was all I could do to stare blankly at him, trying not to give the whole game away. But inside, I was roiling with anger.
Sir George was under no such constraints. Maybe he’d caught my mood. Either way, he shifted his weight on my shoulder and hissed menacingly at Rolf.
Rolf glared at Sir George like an alpha predator looking at an annoying insect. Then he dismissed my faithful pet and turned his attention to me.
“You’re going to tell me his habits,” he said. “Most specifically, the route he plans to take to bring his goods into the city.”
I sneered at him. “Blackcoat,” I said, putting as much contempt into the word as I could. It was easy. The contempt I held for Rolf was immeasurable. “Why should I tell you a damn thing?”
It was a risky thing to say. There was a good chance Rolf would simply threaten to cut off my balls if I didn’t. But I had always been good at saying and doing just the right thing to get me what I wanted, and I put just enough of a genuine question in my tone that suggested I was in fact interested in telling him anything he wanted to know.
Rolf sized me up, assessing me. To him, I was a drunken malcontent who had been fired from his job, probably for good reason. Someone with an axe to grind, a grudge against the very merchant who could enrich Rolf’s coffers.
“You don’t like your employer much, do you?” Rolf began, attempting to get me on his side.
I sniffed and looked away. “That ain’t a crime,” I said. “You gonna arrest me for that?”
“I’m not going to arrest you for anything,” Rolf said. “Well, maybe if you don’t answer my questions.”
I grunted. “Course I don’t like the bastard. Let me go just before the most lucrative run of the season. Me and the others–we were in line for a bonus. And now I get nothing!”
I said it with all the bitterness I held deep in my soul, all the bitterness that had gathered there since Rolf had betrayed me. But he didn’t know its true source, obviously.
He nodded sagely. “That’s a bit of bad luck, true enough,” he said. “And I imagine it doesn’t sit well with a hard-working man like yourself, does it?”
“Damn right it doesn’t!” I said, maintaining my sneer. To my secret delight, Sir George unfurled his wings and hissed again, a threat in every movement.
“You would be put out,” Rolf replied, continuing to ignore my pet. “And right enough to. I mean, I wouldn’t like it. None of us would. In fact, you might say, if it were me, I might even want to get back at the merchant.”
I snorted in agreement and took another swig of my ale before smashing the nearly empty flagon down onto the bar. The movement nearly unseated Sir George. “Damn right,” I said again.
It was the admission Rolf had been waiting for. He gave me a wolfish grin, as if he thought he had me right where he wanted. “And that’s why you should tell me what I want to know.”
I did my level best to stare at him blearily. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“When you look at me, what do you see?”
“Humph. Cock-sucking Blackcoat,” I said.
The wolfish grin on Rolf’s face became a bit strained. But full credit to him, he kept it in place. “Sure. I’m a Blackcoat. But that just means I have a bit more freedom to do what needs to be done than you.”
I was doing my best to appear only vaguely coherent. As if I might fall off my seat at any moment and start snoring in a drunken stupor. It was my best chance to get through this part of my plan without Rolf simply deciding to haul me away and torture me to get what he needed. I had to walk a fine line between giving him what he wanted and it seeming too easy.
“What do you mean?” I asked. Perhaps it was the tone of my voice, but Sir George took it as a cue. He folded his wings and settled down just a little.
Rolf favored my little friend with a look of distaste. “I can hurt him for you,” he said. “The merchant. All I need to know is his route into town, and when he will be here.”
Rolf hadn’t really answered my question. There were still a few dots that he hadn’t connected. But the drunken malcontent I was playing couldn’t be expected to follow that clearly.
I nodded as if everything Rolf said had made perfect sense. But there was one more thing I needed to know. One more piece of the puzzle that I had to make sure was in place.
I snorted in his general direction. “Cock-sucking Blackcoat,” I said again, relishing the way it made Rolf’s expression freeze in place. “What do you care about guys like me? You work for the King. You ain’t gonna do nothing but what he tells you to do.”
This was it, I thought as I watched Rolf closely while pretending to be almost cross-eyed with drink. If I had been completely sober, my statement might have seemed out of place. But as it was, Rolf had no reason to doubt its authenticity.
His expression barely changed, and if Rolf had been a complete stranger, I might have missed it. But I knew Rolf. I’d watched him dice with other Blackcoats and random strangers. Watched him gamble and bet. When he knew he was onto a winner, there was a gleam in his eye that he couldn’t suppress.
That gleam was on full display.
“Who said the King had anything to do with this at all?” he asked, and because of that gleam in his eye, I was totally certain that he meant what he said.
“Tell me what I want to know,” he continued. “What route will the merchant take? What time does he intend to arrive?”
Rolf had taken the bait. Not just a nibble, but he’d swallowed it down whole and was dancing on the hook, begging to be reeled in.
In his mind, this was a pot of gold sitting there for the taking.
I’d done my job well. With so many people aware of the opportunity, the King would never know it was Rolf behind any attempt to steal the cocoa shipment. So there was no reason for the Blackcoat to tell the King what he was planning.
But it was the King’s own shipment that I had information on.
Rolf was going to do the job I had set up for him. And he was going to do it for his own benefit. And that was exactly according to plan.
So I told him, in glorious, slurred detail, everything he needed to know.
40
There was another risk with meeting Rolf like this. The man had the morals of a sewer, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to manage his risk by taking a drunken stranger out to a back alley and slipping a quiet knife between his ribs, after he’d got what he wanted.
My ribs. I countered this by finishing my drink, slurring something incoherent, resting my head on the bar, and feigning dropping off into a drunken stupor, complete with loud snoring.
At the same time, I kept my ears and eyes open, and waited.
For a moment, Rolf hovered next to me, and I stiffened. I could almost feel the tip of his blade sinking into my side, and knew he was considering doing just that.
But not even he was brazen enough to murder a stranger in his favorite watering hole. Eventually, he chose to head back to his Blackcoat companions, and leave me in peace.
Then I picked my moment, sneaking out of the inn without anyone paying attention.
There was just one more piece of the puzzle to go, and a single day to complete it.
The entire plan hinged upon me getting a meeting with Lancelot, captain of the Blackcoats and the King’s most loyal supporter.
My network had suggested that Lancelot was a fading force. He viewed Rolf as a threat to his own personal power, and was the one Blackcoat who would be most likely to do what I needed the Blackcoats to do.
I didn’t have to see him directly. Instead, I hired one of the city messenger boys, broke out my quill and parchment, and wrote him a letter detailing what was about to happen. And with that, I was done.
All the pieces were in place. All that remained now was to wait and rub the amulet Meghan had given me for luck.
Perhaps it would have been wiser to stay away entirely and let the cards fall where they may. But I wanted to see how it played out. Needed to see it. I had to see if my plans would work as I hoped, or if it would all be for naught.
So I made my way to the outer edges of the town and into the beginnings of the hills beyond, to the farthest spot where Rolf could set up his ambush. Beyond this crossroads, the Blackcoat would have to send men in multiple directions to be sure of his target. I knew there was a chance he would do exactly that, just to be sure he would be the first to greet the caravan. But I deemed it unlikely.
Perhaps, if he was working for the King, he would have the manpower to spare. But this was going to be a job for himself. And Rolf wouldn’t want to share the spoils any more than he absolutely had to. So he would bring a handful of men, just enough to get the job done and no more.
Which meant he would set his trap on the road he knew the caravan would take.
The road I had named during my drunken conversation.
I hid in the trees that lined the side of the road and took another sip of Meghan’s potion, just in case.
Then I waited for the merchant’s caravan to appear, with Sir George nestled comfortably on my shoulder. All my planning, all my talking, and all my manipulating had come to this. I could barely contain my excitement, but because too many things could still yet go wrong, I reined in my emotions and made sure no one else could see me.
The caravan was right on time. Just a handful of wagons, each pulled by a team of two sturdy horses with a fully-enclosed carriage at the back. Each wagon was stacked high and covered with heavy canvas to protect the goods beneath from the incessant rain.
“This must be them,” I said to Sir George, and while my pet rat dragon said nothing, I figured he must have agreed.
A caravan this size would typically be accompanied by only a token guard, a handful of men in gray coats and chainmail beneath, bristling with enough weapons to discourage the casual thief.
But this one had three times that number. It was almost as if the merchant wanted to advertise that his wares were more valuable than most. And, as Sir George and I watched from above, I could clearly see that they took their job seriously. Not one of them sat idly, inattentive on their mounts. Instead, each looked around with alert eyes, crossbows drawn and ready, and carrying long spears that would certainly discourage most bandits.
I waited until the caravan passed me completely before dropping lightly to the ground. From there, I followed along at a distance, keeping to the trees to avoid being seen, my senses alert for any hint of Rolf and his men.
Near dark, with the drizzle starting to settle in for the evening, we reached the edge of the city.
And that’s where Rolf finally made his move, standing in the middle of the road. The caravan came to a halt before him.
“Welcome to Camelot,” Rolf said, his shit-eating grin on full display.
From where I hid in the bushes, I could see the uncertainty on the faces of the caravan guards. That uncertainty translated to incomplete control of their horses, and the mounts of the two front guards danced back and forth in an equine dance of confusion.
If Rolf hadn’t been dressed in a black coat, likely the caravan wouldn’t have even stopped. Likely, they would have kept going, either shouldering the man aside or trampling him under foot. But Rolf did wear a black coat. And he knew full well the power it held.
He stood completely at ease, weapons not even drawn.
“What is your purpose?” one of the guards spat, his anxiety clear. “We have done nothing wrong. Why do you stand in our way?”
“I’m are here under the King’s orders,” Rolf lied. “Haven’t you heard? The King has enacted a new tax upon all goods as they enter the city. As luck would have it, you are the first to be required to pay. But the news isn’t all bad. You get a choice. Either hand over a third of your goods, or twenty gold coin. And then you can be on your way.”
The two front guards tried to bring their horses under control. They glanced at each other briefly, but apparently had no need to discuss the situation. The guard who had spoken before glared at Rolf.
“You’re not the King’s man,” he said. “You are a bandit! Next time, perhaps you should bring along more men. Clear the road, or we will run you down!”
Rolf didn’t so much as bat an eye.
My heart was pounding so loud I was surprised Rolf and the others couldn’t hear it. But Rolf had ice in his veins and didn’t move so much as a hair.
From somewhere in the buildings behind him, perhaps from a rooftop, came the sound of a crossbow firing. An instant later, the other front guard, the one who’d remained silent, grunted as the bolt caught him high in the shoulder.
The first guard swore, and I could see he was weighing the odds, only half a moment from charging Rolf and trusting to luck to keep him alive.
Rolf’s voice cut through the air like a whip.
“Don’t try it!” he snapped. “You said I should have brought more men. Well, here’s news for you. I did. As of right now, there are more than a dozen crossbows aimed toward you and yours. Now, stop wasting my time. Talk to your master and make your choice. And if I have to loose another bolt to persuade you, the price of your passage will double. Have I made myself clear?”
The man who’d been shot was beyond listening to Rolf’s threats and demands. He was cursing under his breath while he tried to control his horse, which had become spooked. The guard who had done all the speaking glared at Rolf for a moment, then looked around as if seeking Blackcoats with crossbows.
“I think you are lying,” he snarled. “I think you have one man hidden somewhere, and he is your only backup.”
It was a risky thing to say.
Rolf stared the man down, his grin never leaving his face.
“One way to find out,” he said without ever breaking eye contact from the lead guard.
In the end, with a curse, the guard wheeled his mount and headed to the back of the caravan, to what must have been the merchant’s private carriage.
I wasn’t close enough to hear what the guard said as he spoke through the window of the carriage, but I caught a stream high-pitched curses from the man within.
I could barely contain myself. Where were the other Blackcoats? Where were Sir Lancelot’s men?
Had I read the situation incorrectly? Was Lancelot part of the game, too? Were he and the allies involved in the thieving?
Had I simply gifted Rolf with a hefty payday?
Or had something gone wrong, and the message I sent never found its way to Sir Lancelot?
I began cursing my own naïveté. I should have delivered my message in person.
The guard finished his discussion with the merchant and wheeled back toward the front of the caravan. But he didn’t go alone. Instead, he signaled the other guards on that side to come with him, and in moments Rolf found himself face to face with half a dozen Graycoats with their weapons at the ready.
Still, Rolf didn’t flinch. He stood as unmoving as a boulder, his physical presence alone enough to overwhelm lesser men. But perhaps he had underestimated the resolve of the merchant’s guards.
Perhaps I wasn’t going to get my revenge after all.
Because it was starting to look as if Rolf had met his match.
I wondered if I should somehow prevent the confrontation that seemed to be brewing, to save Rolf’s miserable neck so I might still get my revenge some day in the future. I looked left and right, hoping to see Lancelot’s men, but the streets seemed quiet apart from the caravan and Rolf.
“You’ve made your choice?” Rolf said. “And before you give your answer, be aware that the wrong one will cost you your life. If you and your men choose to attack, know that you are attacking the King’s men, and even if you should run me down, you will not make it five paces before sprouting feathers.”
But the guard had the advantage of height and numbers on his side, and he knew it. “I said before. You are a bandit. Not the King’s man. And you are bluffing. You have one man hidden on a rooftop. No more than that. And I have a dozen, many with crossbows. Now stand aside.”
Despite the guard’s words, I could sense his uncertainty, and I figured Rolf could as well. Despite the assertion that Rolf was no more than a bandit, he still wore his black coat. And that alone was enough to stay the guard’s hand.
Rolf continued to grin. “Nathan! Julius! Paul! Reveal yourselves! The rest of you, hold your places!”
At Rolf’s word, three men did as he said, two appearing on rooftops, the third from behind the nearest building. All three carried crossbows, and all three of those bows were aimed at the guards.
It was a stand-off. Neither side was willing to back down, and yet so far only one man had been injured. I found myself starting to fidget enough that Sir George shifted his weight and chirped in my ear.
And where was Sir Lancelot?
If he didn’t turn up soon, all that would be left of this mess would be corpses. Graycoats, Blackcoats, probably both, and all of them would be on my head.
At the same time, I was surprised by how many men Rolf had brought. Did he really have more?
If the merchant agreed to the twenty gold coins, then that would mean five apiece. More than enough to justify the risk, but that presumed an even split.
More than likely, the men would be lucky to see one gold piece each, and Rolf would keep the rest for himself. Which meant that he could have brought ten men, an even dozen or more, and it would still be worthwhile.
As that thought passed through my mind, I sensed movement from down the back of the caravan. I turned my attention that way, and suddenly, I heard a high-pitched yet masculine squeal of terror.
As if that was a signal, Rolf’s shit-eating grin grew even broader. “I suggest you go back and talk to your master again,” he drawled. “I expect that he might have new orders for you.”
