The Knight of Tanner's Square

6

Lessons of the Tosser

Harwin was looking at the building his brother intended to buy. “It is very large,” he muttered while staring at the stone tenement. “I never have walked this far on Old Street.”

“The lower docks are not as busy, but I have scouted the traffic,” Edmund rambled out. “Fishermen and smugglers, the furthest from the harbormasters and customs quarters.

“You scouted the traffic?” Harwin interrupted him, laughing aloud.

“Many pass this way, and hundreds of workers live on this side of the Horn,” Edmund explained to him, irritated. “The other inns will lack our comforts. The whole city lacks a decent tavern, which we will offer,” Edmund added.

“There are cheaper rooms on this side. Many lads with the coin in their pocket to spend,” Julius said. “You talked to the man you know at the bank, Edmund?”

“Yes, he says they are asking three hundred falcons,” Edmund remarked. “A bargain, he told me.”

“We don’t have it, so what’s the point?” Julius mentioned. He had complained about this over and over for a week now while his brother smiled and ignored his worrying. Sometimes they fought over this, Harwin had noticed, but it was clear who was in charge of this folly. His brother had made it known that he was settling for nothing else but this unusual dwelling.

“Why this, brother? It’s even bigger than Biddy Mulligans,” Harwin asked.

“I have asked the same thing, but he ignores me,” Julius added to reinforce the madness of it.

“We need the space. I have looked over the numbers, and if we convert the bottom floor into a tavern, then the next four floors should give us over fifty renting quarters, possibly more and the return will be huge.

This venture will retrieve our money back quicker than that three-story skinny you keep squabbling over. We’d be long dead before we ever made our money back with one of those,” Edmund kept rambling. “The top floor will be for us, and entertaining guests.”

“Your brother has this idea that we will entertain wealth or maybe your uncle will stay here,” Julius told him.

Harwin howled at the remark. “Argyle Parsons will stay in the Old Guildhouse as he always does. He wouldn’t empty his bowels this far from a heavily guarded area.”

“I have hopes that the city will improve,” Edmund said, wounded.

“I have worked in Tanner’s Square for two days now, and the city is beyond improvement,” Harwin said with sarcasm. His first days at his new job had been a bitter eye-opener.

“How was yesterday? You seemed depressed last night over horns,” Julius asked.

“The sergeant can’t stand me. Cussing me after every arrest, turning the lot loose after a fine. He says I am overdressed.”

“Well, you are wearing your armor. That long blade and bracers make you the rolling dandy,” Julius said. “Your new nickname is on every tongue of the wards.”

Harwin had heard it; he earned it his first day. The Knight of Tanner’s Square, and his new sergeant, Willie Walters, had called him that many times. The ward commoners whispered it out as he passed, and only Smithers Cook, the pathetic constable he met the first day he arrived in Breeston, had spared him.

They had stuck him with the man as a cruel jape, and the poor man lacked the coin for a decent tunic. He watched the others laugh at him as he lost his shoes yesterday and walked alongside him barefoot.

They appeared as the lord and the pauper and the entire ward laughed at them, so he took the poor man to a cobbler and bought him new ones. The man wept like a sobbing girl for the rest of their rounds, and he insisted on inviting Harwin home to meet his family.

He tried to stay pleasant as he huddled into Smither’s small daub and wattle home in the Bollox ward, as he showed his wife his new shoes. She gawked at them in amazement, and his two lads jumped in excitement looking at them.

He nodded his head to the compliments, then declined a dinner of frookuh eggs and stale bread to get away from them. He felt lousy about the whole day, sharing it with his brother and Julius that night.

A pitiful thing that never shut up, was what his brother remarked. Edmund described the poor man’s image to Julius, who commented that he knew the man.

Julius seemed to know everyone in every ward, and he was handy, telling Harwin where to eat or drink water, and who to trust, warning him about the Ward Boss Moose Myers, and not to speak to him.

“You even bought a fancy cudgel, and what’s up with those studded leather gloves? Are you going to punch somebody with them?” Julius asked to interrupt his pondering.

“I love them. Have you ever been hit on the hands?” Harwin complained. “You know what? Why am I even here?”

“I need you, brother. I know it’s your day off and you’d rather stay in your room, but I need you in your leathers for intimidation,” Edmund answered him. He had told him this already, but Harwin still felt it was unnecessary.

“I am unclear on your motives. Don’t expect me to beat these guys up when they turn their noses up at you. When was the last time anyone owned this thing? It looks to have been empty for two years.”

“Far longer than that, friend Harwin,” Julius informed him.

Thankfully, he was spared the long-winded history of this place as the banker had arrived. A lean man with dark brown skin and straight black hair, his eyes were black as onyx under a purple turban with a matching cloak.

Behind him followed another, short, squat, and dainty in a white turban with a purple band at its base, carrying parchments with a thick leather ledger under his arm. A scribe or valet, Harwin thought, as he walked following the man like he was beneath him.

“You must be the gentlemen that have requested an audience?” The banker looked annoyed to have walked so far from the bank. He was sure it was a tactic Edmund had planned to either fatigue the man into desperation or annoy him into being hasty.

“I have looked over your accounts at our establishment, and I am impressed by your choice. This is a fine building, and someone informed me you are serious about this matter. My agent has informed me you have made a deposit in hopes this tenement will be suitable to your liking.”

“I will say I am disappointed so far.” Edmund was looking the proper snob. “The door is of low quality, providing little security. You’re sure it’s empty?”

“I had men scour it recently, checking it over, and the walls we had plastered last year. The interior is bare, but my agent told you, I assume.”

“Your name, sir?” Harwin asked with a big scowl. He had given Edmund that scowl yesterday when he requested to do him this favor, and his brother complimented him on how ferocious it looked and begged him to wear it for this audience.

“My name is Verigen Piverly. I am the head officer of Raines Bank, and here is my scribe, Wiltford Crooms. You, I have heard of, the killer of the Yellow Hand along the roadways,” the lean man said. He was looking up at Harwin with a grin.

“My brother has come along in case we’re molested by vagrants,” Edmund quickly replied.

“Vagrants?” Verigen asked in a hurt way. “This end of the street is watched by the constables.”

“It is that brother,” Harwin said. “But the less experienced patrol here, it is far less important than half the Horn.

“I have heard this place is frequented by layabouts, who break into abandoned places to sleep off the ale.” Julius chirps in, feigning ignorance as if he had been born yesterday.

“Nonsense, I’m insulted,” Verigen answered, raising his voice.

“Julius is an experienced merchant,” Edmund remarked, making sure his guild pin was there to see. Harwin was doing his best not to chuckle since Julius had been a merchant for a week. “When I was a lad, I’d often indulge in such desperate behavior.” another lie as Harwin was struggling to remain stoic.

“I think we should open negotiations well below your asking price,” Edmund protested.

“We haven’t even entered the place,” Verigen answered, shocked. His chubby scribe had his head moving side to side, trying to catch everything they said.

“This is starting poorly,” Edmund added, shaking his head.

Harwin glared evilly at the banker, who was deep in concern as he put up his hands, showing frustration with Edmund’s needling.

“I will consent to open negotiations to two hundred and seventy-five falcons if this will suffice. I am sure this will not concern Satlor Raines.” Verigen made it a point to throw out the name of the high sultan of the port city to intimidate his brother, but Edmund just stopped complaining, crossing his arms and giving the man a concerned stare.

Julius mimicked the glare as he was coached to do by his brother.

“Can you unlock the door, Wiltford, so we can verify its security?” Verigen said in a huff.

The portly scribe handed his stuff to Harwin in haste as he produced a key, turning the lock and pushing his girth into the door as it opened.

When they entered, it reeked of urine and a group of six derelicts on the mist were inside, lying flat as hounds. They were still in slumber, and they must have been living in their long tunics for more than a fortnight.

The place was well lit he noticed, with many windows barred in iron that he had to peer over standing on his toes, and it made Harwin curious about how the vagrants found their way into the place.

He imagined he could guess the culprit; he was concealing a coy grin under a waxen mustache with a knot tied in his left sleeve beside him. Edmund wasn’t the only one scouting.

“I’m shocked,” Julius said, feigning disbelief as Harwin began picking up the dreadful men and leading them outside. The lot winced when the sunlight hit their faces, then one began vomiting along the door stoop as Verigen gasped aloud.

“The tales are true. The place is full of vagabonds. I must invest many falcons to buy a proper door,” Edmund complained, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

The banker was on his heels in dismay as Harwin finished his duty, watching as the lot just meandered, stumbling, then finding a spot along the walk to lie upon as Harwin grumbled at their lack of awareness.

“I’m devastated and embarrassed. I will consent to two hundred and fifty falcons to honor the bank’s good name,” Verigen said with a red face. “This lack of detail is unforgivable, Wiltford.”

The scribe took the berating in stride, knowing it wasn’t his responsibility, but Edmund didn’t let up on the nitpicking. He had seen a few frookuh flying around and noticed droppings on the shutters and complained of the smell of defecation.

“I think a man left a good pile over there,” Julius said while pointing toward a corner.

“Wiltford, what’s the meaning of this?” the banker screamed.

“Let’s finish the tour before I make an offer, and hope nothing else goes wrong,” Edmund added while walking the first floor. “This floor is large. I could divide it into a big dining hall for a tavern, the servant’s quarters, and our storage,” he remarked, to the banker’s delight.

The pillars were solid, stained ash, wide in girth on large stone pedestals that went up to the huge timbers underneath that supported the second floor. Harwin counted ten, fluted with beautiful, flowered trim around the neck that was hand-painted.

The walls were plastered, with a huge chimney that could feed a massive brazier if the dwelling had one. Harwin noticed the place needed many tables, tables that would have to be built, not to mention an entire kitchen that needed many iron ovens.

“What was this place, Julius?” Harwin asked before they climbed the open wooden stairway that split and followed in two directions to the second floor.

“The place has a sordid tale. It was a palace, but not to a rich man of the Guild. This was one of the greatest strumpethouses of its day,” Julius bragged. “My old man used to tell tales of this place that his father told him.”

“Your man at the bank never alerted me that this was once a house of ill reputation,” Edmund grumbled aloud.

“Let’s focus our negotiation on a price of two hundred and twenty-five falcons. This place is still a bargain, no matter its problems,” Verigen repeated his price, annoyed at Edmund’s bickering.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” his brother said under a raised nose, sneering at the banker and his scribe.

The stairs opened to two hallways that housed five quarters across from one another; the rooms were thrice the size of the Frookuh’s, with flumes for small braziers on the far wall from the doorway. Each room had two barred windows, except the corner rooms, which had three with the front one offering a view to the piers.

“Twenty rooms could be made available on this floor with the right renovations, and the third floor, too, if you desire it,” Verigen gloated with a merchant’s zeal.

“These rooms were where the ladies made their bones. The bars on the windows kept them from escaping and prevented men from climbing up for a cheap piece if someone occupied the madame who watched over them,” Julius said, pointing around to various places.

“Who is this annoying man that keeps running his mouth?” Verigen asked in anger.

“He’s my partner, who is your customer, and I asked him to gather the history of this place. I believe you should apologize to him, as he is looking out for our best interest.” his brother berated the man. “We’ve heard great things, that Raines Bank has an impeccable reputation. When were you going to disclose this information to us?”

“Apologies for my rudeness,” Verigen groveled in an annoyed tone as Julius played the wounded fawn. “Let’s get to business. Two hundred and ten falcons should suffice. I can have Wiltford draw up the papers and this tenement can be in your possession this afternoon.”

“I think you should see the rest of the place,” Harwin interrupted, catching the attention of Verigen, something else Edmund requested him to say during the inquiry.

The banker gave him a grimace. He was close to losing his cool, but refrained from words, composing himself into the calm seller once again.

“My brother has a point,” Edmund said while walking up to the next floor. “Anything to add about the quarters up here?”

Julius quickly blurted out his tale before Verigen could even begin. “It and the next floor above were for the high-paying customers. The finest women lived here, I heard, and they helped every son become a man while their fathers entertained their fancies. Many say it was the act of jealous wives that got the writ passed to end prostitution and shut this place for good.”

His story made Harwin laugh, it was preposterous and Edmund was acting like the offended snob as if he never heard such tales before. The bank officer wasn’t amused, his face a shade of red as he spoke.

“There are six rooms in each hall, with two braziers and two privies in each room. That is twelve quarters on each floor, which you could split and double the occupants. That’s a prosperous thought. Do you want to view the top floor as well?” Verigen asked, gritting his teeth.

“Indeed, let’s hope it doesn’t disappoint,” Edmund said callously as Verigen huffs a bit while staring at his scribe with a sour scowl.

They climbed up to the fourth story without an argument. Harwin observed the many large windows that lit it naturally. It wasn’t as spacious as the lower floors, but the doorways could be slid open leading outside onto a balcony that allowed you to observe over the ward and far toward the waters.

It was wonderful, Harwin thought but Edmund acted unimpressed. The banker looked stunned at the dour stare his brother gave him.

At this point, he didn’t see Edmund being happy with anything, and the banker wanted to get the tour over with, so he could begin the endless haggling. Edmund had worn him into a nub, much more than the man had prepared for from such a young lad.

The balcony had a slight odor that met them when the scribe opened the nearest doorway, then it became more rancid after it opened to two men lying prone on the floor. “I can’t believe these vagrants,” Verigen growled.

“Harwin, can you help?” Julius asked, smiling deviously at him.

Harwin shrugged and looked, stirring the vagrants, then shook his head in disbelief. “There is nothing I can do except call the constables.”

“And why is that? Why not throw them out?” Wiltford said, opening his mouth for the first time.

“I can’t, sir, they’re dead,” Harwin said in disgust.

“I can’t sell you this place,” Verigen bemoaned. “This is a bollock, a disaster.” Verigen then swore aloud. “Wiltford, let’s regroup back to the bank. Please, dine with us, Edmund, and you too, Julius, as a token for wasting your time.”

“He’s right, brother. The constables have to take the bodies to the morgue to be claimed and burned. They will investigate the place and close it off for a few days,” Harwin said, backing up the banker.

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Edmund interrupted. “Let’s get to the problem here, besides the dead vagrant. This place has a cursed history, and this man knows what I say is true. He was the one who hastily bought this place without looking into its history as I had Julius do.”

Verigen became nervous. “I will find you what you need, a more suitable property tomorrow for a discounted value. You’re a cherished client, and we can find a better place.”

“Send your scribe away and let’s talk business,” Edmund said in a sharp tone with his arms crossed, standing straight as he peered down at the banker.

Verigen nodded to the chubby man, excusing him as Julius followed him to the lower floors. Wiltford glanced back at them in a bewildered look, shaking his head while Julius stood behind him in a gesture to keep walking. Harwin wanted to join him, but his brother gave him a hand gesture to remain as Edmund continued his conversation.

“We spoke to the man who sold you this place for sixty falcons, another foreigner who wasted coin unaware of the past crimes here.” Edmund mockingly opens his negotiation.

“I’m offering you a way out, sir. I imagine you’re in this for a hundred falcons before this sordid history fell upon you. You’ve held this without an inquiry for three years. A man from your bank who can’t hold his ale told us of it.”

“You want it for a hundred falcons? That’s lunacy. I can let it go for one hundred and fifty, but that’s the best I can do,” Verigen said, finding his courage.

“I’ll give you seventy-five and not a copper more,” Edmund replied, deflating him. “Everyone knows of this place. This house had over a hundred women who opened their legs here. You know women, even prostitutes, have babies, and what do you think the man who ran this place did with them?”

“What?” Harwin asked in curiosity while Verigen’s shoulders slumped.

“They sold the babies to the Priests of Karn,” Edmund answered him. “The Guild found out and put the man to death, then exiled the eunuchs who had a small temple here.”

“Those barbaric freaks?” Harwin asked, appalled. He had heard stories about them from Bitters. Men who neutered small children as a sacrifice to the mother Lupretia.

“Why, yes, but no one knew they bought infants and smuggled them to their cults,” Edmund informs him, then turns toward the banker to press him further.

“The discovery created a riot, the thought of boys being bought and castrated and little girls abandoned down the puckerholes. We’re talking over fifty years ago, and prostitution has been confined to the outer wards ever since.”

“I can’t accept that,” Verigen muttered. “Seventy-five falcons could ruin me.”

“You need a way out, and I am giving you one. Take the gold and consider yourself fortunate. Lie to your coworkers if you must. Hide the ledgers if it helps.” Edmund remarks, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“That is why I asked to send your scribe away. You will never sell this place, and the cost to replace it or maintain it will bury your career. I have heard how hard it is to work for Satlor Raines; his shrewdness is legendary and his spite is worth avoiding,” Edmund remarked as the banker’s eyes grew sullen.

“Find me later when nobody is watching, and I’ll sign the papers in my quarters,” Edmund told him with a hard pat on the back to console the man.

The banker thought long and hard, but he consented in pained relief. “I will find you at midday tomorrow. The place is yours, but keep our bargain to yourself. Your partner need not know, and I hope you can keep this embarrassment from spreading out of your brother’s lips.”

“We are noble’s ward; we protect secrets,” Harwin replied.

The beaten man shook his brother’s hand and walked away sullen as Edmund visually measured the upper floor, his brother paying the man no mind as he casually talked to Harwin.

“I will divide the master’s quarters into two, and turn the large floor into visitors’ quarters. I find it hard to believe, Julius told me they had many Guildmembers entertained up here,” he mentioned to him as if nothing happened.

“You had the bodies brought up here?” Harwin asked his brother when they were alone.

“I thought it was over the top when Julius suggested it. The vagrants, I had no problem with, but he found the stiffs before dawn and had several lads bring them for coppers.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” Harwin barked out in shock. “That is beyond decency, robbing that poor man. Not to mention, you broke in as a trespasser and let in dregs to vandal about while looking this place over without their consent.”

“I had to find the perfect place, brother,” Edmund answered, looking at him without guilt.

“I admit I sped up the negotiations with this underhanded deed. That banker would have never consented to our price range with sordid history alone. We lacked the time to wear him down with several meetings, and I can’t spare it.”

“You have the money in the bank, brother, you could have bought it!”

“What challenge is that?” Edmund asked him with a queer look when Julius returned.

“He looked upset. Things did not go so well, did they?” Julius chuckled in laughter.

“They went fine, Julius. Edmund eviscerated the poor man,” Harwin said in anger. “Congratulation, the whorehouse is yours.”

“We did it!” his friend said, laughing and jumping around like a child.

“You had stiffs brought in. What is wrong with you?” Harwin snapped at him.

“Why yell at him? He was doing his best for me,” Edmund yelled back. “I’m rewarding you for your help; your sour face had him out of sorts from the start.”

“I couldn’t care less about your coin, keep it, you swindler,” Harwin replied, his face flush with rage.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have paid you. My terms were to give you free quarters and occasionally work to provide security,” Edmund said while turning to his partner. “Julius, we need a carpenter so desperate he will work for food and a dry roof.”

“I know several,” Julius said.

“I think we need a few brutes, more later when we hire girls to run the taverns,” Edmund then pondered aloud.

“Bugger off, the both of you!” Harwin interrupted, walking off in disgust. “You think you are doing me a favor? With a bed and asking me to be a goon!”

“What do you think is fair then?” his brother shouted from a distance as he walked away enraged. I should tell Withers and have him shut the place for a month to fix his deceit. Harwin said to himself as he stormed off.

“What is the point?” he yelled aloud as he stopped hard along the cobbles of Old Street. The lad was growing up, and Harwin had to admit, the skinny weasel worked that banker over. A year ago, he would have laughed, but he was trying to stop that behavior.

Harwin was sympathizing with the broken people here. He always knew he was fortunate, but Breeston was giving him a huge lesson in going without. Harwin tried to live on his wages but hadn’t gotten that proficient yet, thankful for the funds Bitters secured him.

I should make Edmund pay me from now on for these little arrangements, he thought, then got angry with himself for thinking in such a way.

He avoided Julius and his brother, staying that afternoon in the Frookuh and dining with Relling, stuck in a dismal conversation with a man who shook and rubbed his head while he ate.

The pitiful man complained about everything, rambling about how much he owed Raines Bank. He spent every spare moment he could find, pandering at the docks for patrons. If running an inn was this complicated, Harwin thought, then his brother had his hands full.

“My brother just bought some old whorehouse on Old Street.”

“The Old Velvet Doveling?” Relling asked, aghast.

“Is that the name of it?” Harwin laughed out, as he informed the innkeeper of his brother’s endeavor, and what he pulled on that banker, discovering to his surprise that the sum Edmund paid was less than what Rellings owed to the bank.

“I remember when the bank came in. They bought everything that was up for sale. They relieved the inn owners who owed money to the usurers. Many took the gold and ran. The man who owned this settled for little and left for Venton.” Rellings chuckled.

“They cornered it and offered loans with little interest, and the usurers were out of business in weeks. People like me got sucked in, took a loan for over a hundred falcons, and spent a third of it to fix up the place. I thought it’d be easy; it has been, some weeks.” The old man sighed, then downed a watered horn of ale.

“You’ll move to your brother’s, I assume?” Rellings asked, disappointed. “This trade is a trap, and he will regret getting involved with it.”

Harwin consoled the man with a pat on the shoulder, listening to more of the poor man’s ramblings before retiring to his room. After a short nap, he had horns with his brother and Julius that evening, still moody as Edmund was detailing his scheme of overhauling the whole building. Julius was pulling his point and listening like he knew what his brother was talking about.

He added little to the conversation while they were drunk on ambition, his thoughts lingering on getting along with his sergeant, which had been a disaster.

Harwin had hopes of making it to squad sergeant soon, possibly even a ward sergeant, who didn’t appear to do much. He had never spoken a word to him since he started.

After they dined, Julius had kind words for him as he entered his room. He had the small quarters to himself since they returned from Loreto.

For a short time, Darsow Perkins shared it with him, as Edmund had him wait until he got his pin before sending him back. The captain had his head swimming in greed of what he’d do with the money he was making off of his brother.

Harwin had told him he’d be better off pocketing silver on the small river route he ran, but the man was bitten with gold fever and had a foolish dream of building a manse of his own.

The man was middle-aged, never married, and living in a place that not a man in Breeston knew of. Harwin even thought of taking his gold and going back to that sleepy town. He still had enough gold to live on for years, but he’d just be a lost Panhead there as well.

Where was he from? Why did his real father come to Hayston with them? That always crossed his mind when he felt a melancholy creep upon him. Doing his best to sleep, he found little until the dawn crept into his open window. He grabbed a few boiled frookuh eggs and a small piece of back bacon.

The kitchens had improved on the barley bread, and he got a lad in the kitchens to sell him a second loaf for a copper as he headed out to begin his rounds.

The streets were quiet as the fog was lifting, while he walked on the southern inner road past the old wall. He held a brief conversation with the guards that stood the first archway into Bollox, and they had lousy news.

A man died in their ward from a stabbing, and the yellow handprints had the square covered. Harwin noticed many when he arrived at Smithers’ small home, knocking on his door as the man quickly answered.

“Try to whisper; the old lady is sleeping, and the kids were restless with the ruckus last night,” Smithers told him, rattled.

“I brought this loaf for you,” Harwin said as the man smiled looking upon it. He never combed his hair. It was a wadded knot of black strings that matted beyond a brush’s ability, and he looked to have worn what he had on yesterday.

“I thank ya, lad. We’re getting bored with just eggs and apples.” Smithers appeared to have lost a few teeth to apples in his youth.

He had told Harwin his age — the man was twenty-eight, but he looked older, surviving from hand to mouth and day to day, pushing a cart for two coppers on his day off for a merchant who picked up wares at the piers.

“You ready for another day?” he asked Harwin.

“I’ll try not to arrest so many,” Harwin said, trying to crack a jape.

“I know it’s tempting, you run after those lads like they were bantam chicks. You’ll get old trying to stop the pickpockets. The ward isn’t near as rotten as this one.”

“Why doesn’t the Ward Boss crack them good? Send a few to the mines?” Harwin suggested.

“Those kids will get themselves killed there. Do you know what happens to a youngster there? He’ll end up being buggered by the sadists.”

“A big lad like you they won’t bother, but a weak little thing like me — I’d be an easy mark.” Smithers went on while he nibbled on a heel of bread forgetting what they were talking about.

Harwin followed him and he counted over a hundred yellow palm prints on the wards, and the square had over twenty men sprawled out on the mist. The lot looked like corpses and most slept till the evening, waking up and seeking another to give them this concoction they were craving.

“I don’t get it. Two will die then four others take their place,” Harwin said.

“The poison is so cheap, I think every lad is selling it now,” Smithers said as they passed through and followed the dirt path to the archway that entered the southern harvest road and into Tanner’s Square. “The town’s flooded with it. It’s selling as fast as the apples. It must be cheap to make.”

“You think the ward bosses are in on it?” Harwin asked him to see if he had heard any rumors. “They sent this guy named Lucius who was supposed to have made it to the mines, but still it circulates.”

“The bosses definitely are, who knows how much he made before they caught him, and I fear my lad may get his hands on it.” Smithers bemoans while staring at the poor lot “The bosses will give it out to anyone for something they can sell, a good belt, or a candlestick, anything stolen. You are lucky to live in the Horn.”

Harwin followed him, feeling defeated before he started. “They should run in the ward bosses, shake their goons, and threaten the lads with the mines to get them to talk.”

“They don’t answer to us, even Arlo, they only answer to the Chamberlain,” Smithers remarked as they approached the fellow constables in their squad.

“Hi there,” he said to Burke, who gave him a nod. Burke had burned the top of his head somehow when he was a lad, and Harwin wondered if he burned his tongue, too. The man nodded again and Harwin could only take it as meaning, good morning.

Smithers took it differently and went into a barter in hopes of trading two frookuh eggs for any leavings to make a stew. Burke made out a sound, “hmm”, followed by a nod that sealed whatever deal the two men made between themselves.

“I see we’re here on time,” their sergeant said as he approached them. “And I see you insist on wearing your war armor. Maybe an audience with Tolbert today will help you see things my way,” Willie Walters remarked to him. The morning appeared to be off on the wrong foot already.

“Why should I meet him?” Harwin asked. “I’ve read no rules on armor, just the length of our steel.”

“Which you have at the longest length. Why do you need two feet of steel? Are you worried about these people?” Willie Walters said with a condescending smile. “A large lad like you already scares them. You’re rich, we know that,” the man mentioned in a taunt. “No need to look the dandy out here.”

“I wore these in Hayston, a sword as well, and it didn’t matter there.”

“We aren’t stomping horse dung in the fields or arresting a buggerer in a barn,” Clinton Meese added. He was Willie’s little helper, a scrawny man the size of Smithers whose bravery relied upon Willie’s rank. The two men laughed under flopping curls as they didn’t have the coin to buy wax.

“Any word from the boss?” Smithers asked to break the rank tone.

“Arlo?” Willie said. “The half-breed mentioned three deaths during muster, one in the Bollox ward, which you may know of, one in Jack Dobbins, and they found another in the puckerhole.”

Willie then looked over at him with a grin. “He also said we needed three arrests today from our ward. That should make you happy, Harwin. The mines are getting sparse, they say a fever is spreading there.”

“A fever! Oh, that is bad,” Smithers gasped. “They had a rough one when I was a lad in the tin mines, and they released the militia on the wards, causing a blooming riot afterward. I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Smithers said while Burke nodded.

“We all know the story, Smithers! Well, except Sir Panhead here. Look, we got to patrol the east side near the puckerhole,” Clinton complained. “I think it’s punishment. The Ward Boss has complained about our new friend here.”

“Why does it matter what he thinks?” Harwin asked uninterested in what Moose Myers thinks.

“He thinks we are only fit to tote off dead bodies and break up the fights,” Willie told Harwin with a sour face as he looked up at him. He scowled back, telling the toad to bugger off before he slaps him across the jaw.

The sergeant was quick to warn him with bars as Harwin glares back until the man relented, huffing then shouting out orders.

“You three get started, arrest no one till after midday. I want a full stomach before I start that agony,” Willie says pointing for them to begin.

“The other squads?” Smithers asked. “What of them?”

“Not my problem, stinky, they’re not doing nothing but fine a few for coppers. The rumor is it will rain today,” Willie said. “The last thing I need is to get wet and catch my death.”

The sergeant told them to bollocks off as they began the rounds around the rotten sewers. They hadn’t seen a person until well past dawn, and the first disturbance was a fight between two laggards suffering from the mist.

Harwin took the lead and put the man starting the ruckus in his place with a threat. Later, Burke blew his horn to get their attention as a lad climbed into a window and lifted two apples. Harwin had little luck in chasing any of the lads.

The little thieves left him reaching for air. He watched as the others scrambled after them, then he laughed at Smither’s terrible attempt that resulted in the man falling on his face.

“This is getting tiresome. I once saw a man throw a cudgel, and the lad tripped on it. You think I should try it?” Smithers asked while wiping the dirt from his mouth.

“You could lose your cudgel, even though it’s an ugly thing,” Harwin said with a laugh. “I wonder where the sergeant went? Why do they disappear so much?”

“They have a few girls they harass for a quick go,” Smithers told him. “I need to get my three coppers today, I can’t go back with two like yesterday,” he said to change the subject.

“They force themselves on women?” Harwin asked, disgusted with the thought.

“It’s hard being a woman alone in these wards, but what can you do? You could try to stab one, but they will toss you in the cage and bicker the ward sergeant into hauling you away.”

“It is pathetic. No wonder they hate us here.”

“That’s how it has always been,” Smithers said as Burke nodded behind him. “The best part of being a tosser is it keeps the tossers off your back. The lines are drawn here. You’re either a dog like us or a poor fellow like them. We represent the Guild, not them, so that makes us dogs.”

Harwin had heard the same bitterness from Julius and from poor Osmond during his first days here. His thoughts lingered back to his old friend which began to bother him, then were interrupted by another horn blowing.

He knew most shrills from a horn from his brethren meant a fight. Harwin ran back to the noise, and it was two men south of the square with crude dirks drawn.

The crowd was whooping in wild howls, trying to get them to engage with a foul-mouthed woman between them. Another constable squad made their way over but did more goading than stopping, so Harwin tried to step in between them.

“Get out of the way, Panhead,” one man said. “I caught him on my woman. I will cut him, no laws against that.”

“Let us handle that, no need for violence,” Harwin said, trying to calm the man’s temper.

“Stick him, you coward. You don’t have the guts to be a man anyway else,” the foul woman said.

“Shut up, wench!” The man appeared to have known her.

“Who are you, lady?” Harwin yelled at her.

“I’m his wife, you bloody tosser.”

“Who are you?” Harwin said to the other man.

“That’s the one that poked my wife.” As the mob laughed, Smithers yelled at him to not get involved. Willie was standing next to Clinton, and both were having a good laugh.

“You two can fight, but throw away your dirks. You fight like real men,” he challenged them.

The husband did just that as he threw his cheap dirk away and charged the other. The two men landed in the dirt, fists thrown wildly, hitting their backsides and limbs.

It was a sorry display of fighting if Harwin had ever seen one, and the mob was cheering as the man who violated the other’s wife was biting the free hand of the husband while he screamed like a lass.

The woman was laughing at her husband, but he soon broke free from the vicious bite when he threw dirt into the other man’s eyes.

He threw a decent punch that fattened his rival’s lip, but the two sprawled again and the husband found himself underneath the other, the man getting pounded upon the ears as Harwin had seen enough and threw the other off of him.

He tried to pick the beaten man up and got himself kicked by the poor man’s wife. A stiff one in the groin sent him to his knees as Smithers pulled her away while another brawl picked up.

It flustered Harwin, breaking up three fights amongst the mob, and he got slapped by another woman in the fray. He was spit on by many others, which made him lose his cool, and he slapped a man onto his backside with his new, studded gloves.

The cheating woman bloodied Smithers. She had planted a fist in his nose. The man who poked her nearly stabbed Burke after he picked up his dirk, chasing the mute man away, then the man found the cuckold and wanted another go.

They arrested the two men as Willie got his hair pulled out in a chunk while getting caught up in the mob. Clinton played the smart craven, helping Smithers with the woman as Harwin dragged the husband by the hair of his head.

“Where is the other man?” Harwin asked his sergeant, searching through the crowd after the melee.

“I fined him three coppers, and he had it,” Willie replied, chuckling, “so I released him.”

“He assaulted a constable!” Harwin protested.

“And he paid the fine. This is yours, Burke. You got your number for the day,” Willie congratulated him. “You have any coppers?” he asked the pitiful husband.

“I got two back at my home,” the husband said, frightened. “I stabbed no one.”

“That is my coin, and you can’t have it,” the wife screamed back.

“You come with me, lady!” Willie said, smiling. “Clinton, let’s see if she has this coin.”

Harwin could see his sergeant whispering in her ear. “And what of him?” Harwin asked aloud.

“Put him in the wagon. That one goes to the stockade,” Clinton said while following Willie back to the woman’s dwelling.

Harwin scoffed as he hauled the man away while he kicked and pleaded, then the man went limp as he and Smithers carried him by his limbs, blubbering as they put him in the cage cart.

“I’m sorry, man, the sergeant sealed your fate. Next time, whip her arse behind closed doors,” Smithers told him while he spat at them.

“Now what?” Harwin said with his temper riled, peering back at the unfortunate man while walking back to their assigned place near the puckerhole.

“Now we do our job again. You gotta let it go, Harwin, this is ward justice,” Smithers said with a grimace, as Burke confirmed with a sad nod.

“And she gets away with it?”

“Oh, no. I suppose she’s on her backside with Willie on top of her and Clinton waiting his turn. I have seen this play out too many times,” Smithers remarked.

“Doesn’t it bother you, man?” Harwin replied, realizing he was screaming at him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t yell at you.”

Smithers nodded to him, patting him on the back. “Why, yes, but what can you do? He is in charge and that’s that. If I protest, it could get me sacked with one ill word to Arlo. I need the silver more than my pride; I got kids to feed.”

Harwin fumed for an hour until another horn blew again, and they were chasing a pickpocket who took the purse off one of the tanners. He watched as the thief had two constables chasing him as they collided with a woman and fell into a heap on top of her.

Smithers had him cornered, but the lad went one way then the other as Smithers bent his ankles awkwardly, and his balance went awry until he was lying on his backside with a swarm of curses flying from his mouth.

Harwin and Burke chased him, and the lad darted left and up an empty, small alley. He got desperate as the thief ran faster than him, and Harwin threw his cudgel, not caring if it missed.

It flew straight, hitting the lad in the small of the back and he fell hard as Harwin grabbed him by the tunic and then the arm as Burke found his cudgel for him.

“The little bugger!” Smithers screamed, running to them, red in the face. He grabbed the lad, lifting his tunic, and spanked him with an open hand. The kid squalled as the other constables gathered and laughed.

“Smithers, you’re barely hurting him,” Harwin told him as he looked up from his folly.

“Give me your belt. I don’t own one, just a rope, and I can’t beat him with that,” Smithers said, deep in anger.

“Stop this madness, you two, search him,” Willie said as his hair was sticking up in many directions.

Clinton was running up as Burke took the stolen purse and another one he had stashed in his tunic. Smithers took the lad by the scruff of the neck, still heated when Willie told him to let him go.

“We got the money back, he can’t pay a fine, and he ain’t worth throwing to the mines,” Willie said, counting the coppers and then handing three coppers to Smithers and Harwin. Even Clinton got handed three as he tucked the remaining in his purse. “Now we’re good to go, and we can lounge about the rest of the day.”

“This is so ridiculous!” Harwin protested. “This is stolen money we are confiscating — it’s somebody else’s coin.”

“Then take your arse back to your lordly daddy and sulk. It’s the way here. You don’t care for it, then leave,” Willie said as Clinton laughed behind him.

“You ain’t no lord here,” Clinton added. His guffaw had got the other constables that lingered to join in as well.

“Do your best to stay out of trouble until midday, then we will muster at the square and eat,” Willie said while Harwin walked away, trying not to lose his wits in front of everyone.

He stood next to Smithers, fuming for an hour as he did his best to follow his orders until Burke spotted a man getting his jollies in a rear alley near the puckerhole. He blew on his horn as they detained the man and the prostitute until Willie and Clinton showed up.

“You know the way, you got copper, man?” Clinton asked, smiling.

“I aimed to give it to her before your man blew that horn into my ear,” the man said while handing it over to Clinton, dismissing him as the man walked off in haste.

“You have three coppers, miss?” Willie asked.

“How about I give you lads a tug?” the strumpet said.

The pair giggled as Willie grabbed her hand, pulling her down a back alley and receiving his payment first, then he watched from afar as they goaded Burke into complying. He shook his head in disgust while the mute fool got his jimmy pulled and then he heard the man finally speak.

“Bloody good!” The quiet man shouted aloud, then he shook his head as Clinton was next, as the woman worked him until he let out a girlish shriek with his arms stiffened out and trembling until he lost his seed. Willie nodded to Harwin to get in line.

“I decline,” he said in disdain.

“I’m sure you do, my lord,” Willie chuckled. “What about you, Smithers? Do you want a quick tug? I’ll never tell your wife,” he asked, cackling aloud as Smithers shook his head no. He then let the woman go, ordering them to follow him.

“I admire you for not doing what they do,” Harwin whispered to Smithers as he looked at the sergeant, wondering why Arlo would hire such a fiend.

“I’ll be hoping for a favor from the gods for that. My wife sure doesn’t get me to quiver as that gal just did to Clinton,” Smithers said back seriously. “I hope the rest of the day is quiet; my nerves are unraveling. Let’s keep to ourselves the rest of the day, friend Harwin.”

Harwin had grown to loathe the midday meal with them as Willie insisted they eat at one of the small kettle shops. It served a stew the commoners called a growler, a mix of three to four day’s leavings boiled to mush.

Harwin learned they never scraped the kettle, just adding more leavings, water, turnips, or whatever they could get for a good barter.

Willie never paid, either, and he made it a point to annoy and threaten the man or woman who was trying to make a living. The sergeant was in a mood and had his sights set on a tavern girl.

Other patrons finished when they arrived and left to avoid their company. The kettle’s stew was only a copper, and with a horn, it was two, and Harwin knew the ale was half water, but it stuck in his craw to take this for nothing.

The proprietor was in no position to fight, and the Ward Boss here wouldn’t fight for them because he had no coin to spare for a proper bribe.

“Look at the bum on that girl!” Willie snorted out while drinking a horn.

“I’m surprised you can get stiff again, considering the jollies you’ve had this morning,” Harwin said while looking across from the man.

“We have a noble with manners here, Clinton,” Willie laughed. “He thinks he is our better; he comes from a family that practices snobbery.”

“Then why is he here?” Clinton asked with a sneer. “Rumors say you escaped prison there. The high sergeants told us all about it before you got out of your recruitment lessons. What did you do, Lord Panhead?”

“Lay off of him,” Smithers said. “He is trying to learn. He isn’t used to the ward life.”

“I know that. You think I am stupid, you dirty piece of dung!” Willie yelled back at him.

“Shut your mouth. Now, Panhead, let me fill you in on how it works out here. We’re the law, we enforce it to what we see fit. We collect our coppers for the treasurer as he decrees we should.”

“If I want to trade coin for flesh, I can. I put extra coppers in my pocket, then it’s looked the other way as long as the city gets its three, and if I don’t want to pay for my food, then I don’t pay.” Willie says crossing his arms to confirm he was Harwin’s superior.

“If I want to push that girl over that table and give her the in and out, then you will just watch and hope I give you a turn. Got it, you big lummox!”

Harwin waited a moment as they finished laughing at him, then smiled at him. “I will pay for my stew and if you don’t care for it, then I’ll kick your flea-ridden carcass up and down this ward.”

“Oh, you will?” Willie said. “I’d like to see ya try.”

Harwin kicked the table up as it turned over into Willie’s lap. The back of his hand quickly struck Clinton as he flew from his chair to the floor, and went limp from the hard blow.

Willie tried to reach for his cudgel, but he had his wrist wrenched and twisted as the cudgel dropped near his boot. Harwin kicked the legs out from under him, snatching him fast as he buried his head into the overturned table.

“Excuse me, Willie,” Harwin snickered. “You have a little stew in your bowl.” He picked up the wooden bowl, turning the man over in a snatch, and shoved it over the sergeant’s face.

Willie’s voice was a muffling of curses and screams, but he was beyond listening or caring at that point. The sergeant tried to reach for his dirk.

“You aren’t trying to assault me, are you, Willie?” Harwin said while lifting him with two hands around his throat. His dirk never left his sheath as he tried to pull Harwin’s hands away.

His mouth gaped open as a fish out of the water, desperately trying to suck in air. Harwin had the man lifted above his head while Smithers was tugging on his arm.

“Harwin, please drop him, you may kill him!” Smithers pleaded up at him.

Burke was in shock and screamed out in fear as the shop owner ran out for help. The pretty tavern girl looked at them, standing frozen, but it was a look of fear and exhilaration watching Harwin throttle him. She seemed to like watching the man suffer.

Willie’s face was turning colors of red and purple. The man was trying to beat upon his hands as he held his grip tight, then he dropped Willie onto his backside as he cried out, gasping for air in huge drafts.

Harwin saw the sergeant’s arm trying to prop himself up, and in his rage, stomped upon it, the bone snapping as Willie shrieked.

His face was swollen in pain, squinting from tears as he reached for his broken arm. Clinton tried to gain his wits from the blow he suffered as Harwin turned on him with desire to inflict misery upon him.

Horns were blowing from the other squads that broke his mood of rage, and the kettle shop filled up with his fellow constables. They surrounded him with drawn dirks as another sergeant told him to stand down.

Harwin could only look at Smithers, who was shaking so violently that he lost his breath from fear and collapsed.

“I guess it’s over before it even began,” Harwin could only mutter while he was led away in disgrace.