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Eliana and Martyn spot something untoward on the dark streets of Attadret!
—
It would be a quiet night. The sudden, heavy, late afternoon rains had sent marketers scurrying home early while its persistence kept those indoors who otherwise had business to attend to. Despite the city’s robust storm sewers and the diligence of her ragmen, the cobbles of the main roads were drowned in sheeting streams while twisted alleys and side courses ran with rivers ankle deep. Evening descended with the rains giving little sign of relenting. The few shops that remained open in the hopes of hardy or desperate customers shuttered.
Neither of them were looking forward to that night’s shift. There would be no reprieve from the wet. Whether they slunk around under eaves or dashed between the shelter of causeways it would be the same as if they stood in the open, arms wide and faces upturned. Yet even as the two broke fast and stared out of the barrack’s glazing, co-miserating in silence, the rains began to abate. It had stopped in full as they dressed and armed and when they stepped outside the stones had drained though the gutters still raged.
Full-dark lay upon the city. The good folk were at their relaxations with little thought given to heading out of doors. High above the clouds raced by, tattering under unseen winds and revealing the bright pinpricks of stars.
It would be a quiet night indeed - and so be in need of heightened vigilance. Empty streets and a new moon were ripe for the intrigues of unsavory characters. It was only by the diligence of her nightly watch that Attadret, center of trade in the east and seat of the crown, was kept free of the pestilence and louse that her great wealth attracted. Only by their keen eyes could the traces of corruption be detected in the gloom. Only by their might of arms could the rot be exorcized. Only by their unwavering will and unbound sagacity could the innocent be kept free of the twisted machinations of those who would bring ruin upon them…
—
“It’s terribly muggy and my arm is tired. Let’s stop by the Hairy Hog and harass Samson awake for a pint.”
The tower bell had not yet struck their first hour and Martyn was all ready to call it a night.
“You only just had your pay uncut and you want to temp it again?”
“It wasn’t a terrible deprivation.”
”You still owe me a silver, four copper, and three bits.”
“I’ve always repaid you my debts. My arm really is quite sore...”
“Your arm is sore because you can’t be trusted with a lantern crook.”
“Oh bosh! You know very well that the season was a dry one and that the awning fabric was torn and hanging loose. We both know Marriam was told to fix it or be fined.”
“It was quite the blaze.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“You nearly burned her shop down.”
“And I helped the water-men put it out.”
“She still won’t sell me any hats.”
“Small loss, I should think. She’s not a very good milliner. You said so yourself.”
“She’s my cousin.”
“Everyone has cousins who don’t like them. I have at least three.”
“Mother still needles me about it when I visit.”
“What mothers don’t needle their children? We’re regular pincushions to them.”
“Father wonders why I still bother with such an unrepentant scallion as you.”
“I’m not unrepentant. I never denied my fault - I only contest the severity of it.”
“She almost lost the insurance. They argued deliberate arson and fraud as I’m a relation.”
“Yet the case cleared and Marriam was paid for damages plus a tidy extra for stress the suit caused her.”
“She only won because the captain attested to my character and your idiocy.”
“Oh bosh!”
“You very nearly burned down a building, destroyed a widow’s livelihood, blackened my family’s name, and made a fool of the captain. That’s why your arm is sore.”
“Bosh…”
“Still,” Eliana said after reflecting on the matter. ”The new awning is a marked improvement over the old one…”
They were standing before the very shop front. The facade, blackened by flame, was meticulously cleaned and reworked to a state far above its neighbours. The heat had been intense enough to soften the old lead muntins that held the diamond glass panes in place, causing the windows to sag and bow. With the extra funds she received, cousin Marriam had them replaced with full-length, third-width sheets. Mediocre though her work admittedly was, the beautiful frontage had drawn a constant stream of new traffic. The quarter was not known for its affluence and few shopkeeps could afford the luxury of unobstructed displays. At her last visit Mother had announced cousin Marriam had a pair of potential suitors lingering about, drawn no doubt to the perception of future wealth. Despite the strains and anxieties the incident caused, it had, strangely, worked out the better for her cousin.
"We could hang it from your bill-hook..." With the butt of her polearm resting on the cobbles, Eliana tapped the awning with the business end, the dull clanging emphasising the danger. “It did just rain…”
“Your fault, your penance.”
“Bosh…”
The two stood before the frontage in silence awhile yet, less to view the displays than from the momentum of indolence. It took the tolling of the tower bell to awaken them to the necessities of work.
“Let’s move,” Eliana said, turning away. “The captain will be displeased if we’re late to check in with nothing to show.” Martyn huffed again and hastened beside her. They did not get very far, however, when Eliana called a halt.
“Look there!” she said in a fierce whisper. Martyn followed her outstretched hand up and ahead of them. Some fifty or so paces before them the street ended in a line of low buildings, the street branching at right angles. Backing the buildings was a span of wall separating the district from its neighbour. Store fronts and upper floors were dark and shuttered, the lamp lights at the two street corners bathing them in a soft glow. Above them, perhaps a dozen feet past their rooftops and a substantial distance from the fenced courtyards and ways between them, could be spied a figure, hugging the walls. “Thief!” she whispered again.”It’ll be an interesting night yet! Let’s go!” She started to move but Martyn reached out for her arm, holding her back with a light touch. He squinted up at the figure.
“Look at his feet,” he said. “If I’m the idiot you and the captain claim me to be, then it must be of the cultivated variety because those, my dear, are not the footwear of a thief. At least, not the type that concerns us.”
Though the lamp light shone upon the figure only dimly, the lower extremities were illuminated enough for her to see that Martyn was correct. Scaling stone walls was a challenging feat of acrobatics. Those who attempted it did so barefoot or with thin leathern stockings to improve grip, or while wearing wood duckbills where the rigid soles provided a kind of wedge and platform. Incidentally, duckbills themselves had undergone a revival amongst the well-to-do in recent years, where their association with danger and intrigue marked them as a ‘scandalous’ article of clothing. This person wore neither duckbills nor socks but instead a pair of long-toed goosenecks, common amongst the young men of the merchant class. Perhaps the least practical form of footwear for climbing a wall under ideal conditions, let alone one slick with rain.
“Ill-shod as he is, he’s still a thief or burglar - or worse,” she said.
“Our charge is the protection of property and the prevention of personal harm. I agree the boy may be a scoundrel and that he is certainly a thief, but his object does not fall under our purview.” He drew Eliana’s attention to the window of a third story at the far end of the wall. Where all other casements were shuttered against the recent rains, this one was a jar. The window was draped but the glow of a single sheltered candle on the stool beckoned out into the night.
“So he’s a fool,” Eliana said with a snort.
“He’s a lover,” Martyn corrected.
“You once said all lovers were fools.”
“Ah,” he said with a smile, “so you do pay attention to my drivel.” Eliana grunted. “Isn’t it romantic?” he said wistfully, leaning a little against her.
“Off.”
“...No fun,” he pouted, pulling back.
They continued to watch the youth edge carefully across the stonework, speculating as to the route he took to get there. Poorly accoutered as he was, the young man was nevertheless nimble, emboldened, no doubt, by his prospective prize.
“And yet,” Eliana said while they stood not far from her cousin the milliner’s shop, “we should probably do something about this. I doubt her parents approved of the match, given the risks he’s taking.”
“That’s a civil issue, not a criminal one. And then only if her parents make a formal declaration.”
“The girl may be in danger.”
“The open window and candle suggests that if she is, it's a welcome one.”
“Scaling the castle walls is a criminal offence.”
“It is. But that’s not a castle wall.”
“Oh? It isn’t?” Eliana remarked with feigned curiosity. “Then what is that massive, slab-like, stone structure?”
“That, my dear, is a district curtain wall.” His companion went silent. “A ‘castle’,” Martyn continued, “is by definition a noble’s fortified manor. I can attest with certainty that that particular section of wall which our paramour is crawling across does not form part of a noble household.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the homes and businesses below him are all known to me. And while there is an extensive, beautiful abode on the other side of the curtain, I can assure you that the woman who resides there is not a lady…” Eliana looked at him sidewise. Martyn gave her a wink.
She considered the remark, though. “But the wall is fortified…” she said slowly, noting the crenelations and shadowy parapet beyond.
“It is.”
“And the girl in that room may very well be of noble blood.”
“That’s conceivable.”
“So the section of wall around that particular window may very well be classifiable as a ‘castle wall’. Technically speaking.”
“Technically speaking.”
“So…?”
“...So?”
“That man may be about to commit a crime.”
“He may very well be, but potential criminality is not actual criminality, nor is it even suspected criminality because there is no suspicion of nobility. Given the quarter and district that residence is a part of, reasonable suspicion would be to the contrary.”
“The residence could be nobly owned and only tenanted out. Still, that would be - “
”- the potential for a crime.”
“Hold a moment. That can’t be right.”
“I’m fairly sure it is. The logic applies just the same as - “
“No, no. Your rubbish about castle walls. Not just this past month Tolo quarried a man clamouring up just such a wall as this and had him charged.”
Martyn nodded. “I’m aware. However, Bartolo is as poor a scholar as he strikes gallant a figure. A fact that our dear captain is well aware of. The man he apprehended, a Mr. Brookers, if I’m not mistaken, was fined only for mischief.”
“Mischief? Tolo said he saw the man scaling the wall with ‘a blade in his teeth and murder in his eyes’.”
“Aye. In his written report he charged Mr. Brookers with scaling a castle wall with ill-intent - a capital offence. Through the captain’s interrogations, however, it was discovered by the man's brother that his kin was simply intending a bit of foolishness upon him while he slept. As it was the brother that was at target and who, presumably, knew the situation as it stood best, the captain reduced the charges."
"...It wasn't a castle wall…"
"Correct."
"The captain persuaded the brother to make light of whatever disagreement the two had to save the man's life."
"And potentially the livelihood of our doughty ‘Tolo’, as well as his own captaincy. If the Brookers family contested the charges and an erudite eye reviewed the report, they may very well have noted the error. You can imagine the resulting troubles. Particularly if the man had already been executed. The Queen does like to deal with crown offences swiftly, publicly, and with an abundance of mess."
"So. That isn't a castle wall, then."
"No. Well. Technically, most of it isn't but that part could be. Possibly."
"Cultivated idiocy, eh?" Eliana remarked.
"There's little charm to the true idiot," Martyn said with a quiet smile.
They watched the man in silence. He had made it half-way.
“Surely there must be some sort of law against climbing walls that aren’t explicitly those of castles. An old ordinance or prohibition, maybe.”
“Maybe. In a dusty tome lying forgotten in a magistrate’s library, perhaps. There’s none to be found on the barrack’s review shelves, however. Most people assume that there is one, which, when combined with the difficulty of the thing itself, would seem enough to keep good folk firmly planted. It is suspicious behaviour, however, and one which certainly calls for investigation.”
Eliana turned quickly to Martyn with excitement. “Ah! So we should call him down!”
“By all means,” Martyn offered. “But if you catch his attention and he falls to his death… Well…” he shrugged. “Your fault, your penance.”
They continued their observations.
“I wager he doesn’t make it,” she said.
“You’ll have to be more specific. Across the wall, to the window, to her bed…” He lulled his head and looked at his patrol mate. Another grunt, though not unamused.
“I wager he doesn’t make it to the window. Eyes forward.” Martyn made a show of dragging his gaze away.
“Wager accepted.”
The amorous young man didn’t keep their bet in balance very long. Still some ways from the window he misplaced his footing and, with a brief, low cry, fell out of view. There came the sharp cracks and crumpling of wood boards.
“That’s two silver, four copper, and three bits, now.”
“Yes, yes,” he said with a sighful, dismissive wave. “We should see if the boy is okay.”
“And assess the damages,” she said with a grin, keeping stride. “Destruction of property - “
“- is a criminal offence. I know.”
Fortunately, the man had fallen in the ways, avoiding the courtyard walls with their iron palisades and landing on a small rubbish shed. Martyn adjusted and lifted the lantern, shining a wide swath of light down the ways.
“I wager a broken limb and more than a little pride,” he said.
“I wager he’s dead.”
“You’re not much of a romantic, are you? Wager accepted.”
“And you’re too much of one. I accept as well.”
While there was little risk of danger, Martyn drew his sword and the two cautiously approached the pile of shattered wood, Eliana leading with her halberd. Silence from the heap.
Eliana jabbed at it with the butt of her polearm, eliciting from it a low moan.
“One silver, four copper, and three bits.”
The two carefully pulled away the shingles and boards, briefly checked over the primly dressed fellow with his lovely, long-toed shoes, and took each of them an arm over their shoulder.
“You live to love again, young man!” remarked Martyn in a chipper voice to the semiconscious youth. Then, to his partner, “Let’s see what the captain has to say about this before we file our report, eh?” Eliana laughed as they half-dragged, half-walked the man down the street and back towards the barracks.