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Lord Darkest had managed to set up a personal study in the short time since he’d moved into the worse for wear manor. White curtains had been put before the windows to hide the depressing and muddy town square from view. Autumn cold and a rotting smell was sifting through a crack in the wall somewhere. Dismas wondered if the lord would end up getting the sniffles — nobles weren’t the most hardened bunch — but apart from a hermeline coat draped over his shoulders, Darkest showed no sign of minding the unkind temperature.
Candles flickered on the table, placed beside the lord’s elbows in a perfectly symmetrical pattern, perfect to the point of being obnoxious. Did the man place himself like that on purpose? Was it a noble thing? The shy flames were a vain attempt to compensate for the bad excuse for daylight they had here in Hamlet, a vapid and grey gloom. Somehow the dusky lighting only made the lord’s frost eyes look more irradiate.
Paintings of landscapes dotted the wall, perhaps replacements for the lackluster view outside the building. One depicting a sailboat hung above the lord’s head. The rugged ship leaned against a strong breeze as it navigated a foaming and unrealistically blue ocean. He seemed to like ships, because the bookcase beside the desk held a bunch of miniatures in bottles. The case shouldn’t be called a book anything though, because it contained only glittering ornaments that had no use outside of looking nice: vases, golden emblems and statuettes of men in soldier’s uniforms. The statues almost outnumbered the boats, depicting every army since the Romans. All of them were pointing their spears or rifles toward the visitor, as if they wanted to tell him he didn’t belong here. Dismas couldn’t help but glance toward the mirror across the room. It cast back the reflection of a man in a ragged and ill fitting coat and boots that left muddy imprints on the red carpet. Like a wilted thistle in the middle of a fancy bouquet — but the lord had summoned him, so it wasn’t like he had no choice but to intrude.
- What did you wanna speak to me about, govenha? he said while still glancing away — Praised be the day he could meet the lord’s cold, cold gaze directly.
- Certain trinkets of mine have been disappearing during the last few days, the lord began.
Those words were enough to let the chill in the room creep within Disma's skin. This was a scene he could recite all the way to the curtain fall: The thief who turned over a new leaf has finally found an employer. Because this man is the only one to give the thief the benefit of a doubt, he puts life and soul on the line to serve him, perhaps even saving his master’s hide on some occasion, then something gets stolen. Once that happens it doesn’t matter how much he tries to claim innocence. He is nothing but a filthy thief again, pushed back onto the street to vallow around in the dirt.
- … Rings, sigils, coins and so on, Darkest continued, his unending stare steadily placed on the former robber.
- … Thefts so small that I felt unsure if they were real or imagined. I decided that I wouldn’t raise a fuss over it, but yesterday a necklace of precious stones disappeared, one which belonged to my late mother.
Dismas refused to be seen swallowing nervously. Immediately after he made that decision he felt the taste of the tobacco he’d chewed earlier tickle uncomfortably on his tongue. He’d been spitting it out before entering the house. He’d done it out of respect.
- You’re dead wrong if you are suspecting me, he grumbled, as if that would change Darkest’s mind.
The lord fell silent, studying Dismas as if looking into his very thoughts.
- Who said that I was suspecting you?
Those words were a bit too unlike what he’d expected to hear, Dismas was embarrassed to admit, causing him to blank, lean forward over the desk as if he hadn’t heard properly, and ask: “Why wouldn’t you?” out of all things.
- For one I don’t see what motive you would have to steal.
- I was a robber.
A sound of agreement came from the lord, as if that fact only proved his point. Dismas curled his hands on top of the desk and the piles of paper written upon, distinctly aware that he was leaving grimey marks on the glossy surfaces. His hands, used for one shitty activity after the other from the moment he was born, wore a filth ingrained in the flesh, always soothy and calloused.
Darkest sighed.
- You were a robber. We both know you wish to clean up your act. I already give you plenty of pay; for what reason would you risk spoiling this chance?
You would have to be either greedy to the point of self sabotage or addicted to the thrill of stealing.
- Who’s to say I’m not? Dismas said, inwardly gawking at his own tongue for clearly intending to sabotage him.
- I do.
- Ye think you know me like the back of yer hand, don’t ye?
- Around these parts I have known you the longest. There has been plenty of time to get acquainted with your body language. Your eyebrows, for instance, tell me whenever you feel wrongly accused.
Scowling, Dismas resisted the urge to pull his scarf higher up over his face.
– I think yer playing me.
– You have never been a particularly successful poker player, have you? Some people simply speak more through their faces than they could ever do through the tongue.
Darkest held up a hand, a clear sign that there would be no further digressing from the subject.
– I did not call you here due to distrust — quite the opposite … You don’t need to stare at me as if I belong in the asylum. Consider that you are hardly the most suspicious person I have conscripted. We have a cultist, a man who supposedly crafts masks out of the skulls of his victims, and recall that Mesnaq tried to win my favor with a sack of decapitated heads.
Thinking about it that way, Dismas could see why he would not be the lords primary suspect.
– Yesh, we got our fair share of freaks ‘ere, he agreed.
– Which makes the former criminal, who I have a give and take relationship with, my most dependable ally.
– Yer in such a lousy spot, govenah.
The lord hummed noncommittally.
– The reason I called you here is that I wish for you to act as my eyes and ears, and figure out who is stealing.
A different kind of job. It reminded Dismas of the time he got pickpocketed and spent his afternoon tracking down and cornering the thief. It had absolutely made his day despite the initial frustration. Outplaying an amateur; even hoping the thief would be armed so that he could show him how a true, hardboiled lawbreaker handled a shootout.
– I implore you to investigate each and every person with access to the treasury, the lord continued. The sheriff could be the culprit for all that I know.
– Saquarville?
Dismas surprised himself by chuckling. It came out shrilly, an aftermath of the tension leaving his body. Darkest trusted him, but was suspicious of the up tight and righteous beastmaster?
– You don’t think that’s likely? Darkest asked.
Dismas felt his smirk widen.
– If ye are good at readin faces, then I am a master of readin a person through his room. When we visited the sheriff, I took the opportunity to peek into Saquarville’s personal quarters a bit. Call it an occupational hazard, but I like to know things about the long arm of the law in any place I visit.
– What did you find?
– Nothing.
– Nothing?
– The man has a law enforcer’s salary, but the dog sleeps better than him. Owns a table … a spoon — doesn’t strike me as the materialistic type, is what I’m saying.
Darkest grunted in a satisfied manner.
– This will be an easy task for you. Since I judge this a question of “when” rather than “if”: when you discover who is stealing from us, tell only me. There will be no need for public ostracizing. I’d hate to have to let go of one of our hard earned recruits.
– What ...
Dismas blinked in confusion, then frowned.
– Putting faith in a thief ain’t smart, govenah.
– Weren’t you a thief?
– One of the few that wants to clean up his act. Not many of those ‘round.
– Perhaps unlike you, I’m a skilled gambler.
Dismas opened his mouth to protest, but a wave of the lord’s hand signalled that it was time for him to take his leave.
– I’ll be sure to give you fair compensation, he said. Only avoid getting drunk and spill everything to the town whores.
– What do ye take me for, govenah? Dismas grinned.
After closing the door to the study he practically sprinted out of the house, mind bussing with plans on how he would rat out the treasure thief.