A rapping at the door stirred Lucius from his slumber. He rolled over in bed, still wearing his Asylum uniform from the night before.
“Go away,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
There was a distinctive clicking noise, then the door eased open. A small head peered into the darkened room.
“You need some light in here.” The voice was youthful.
Lucius pushed himself to sitting in his bed and pointed at the shuttered window. “How did you get in?”
Wyck closed the door behind him and crossed the room to pull back the shutters. The light revealed a bulge in the front of the boy’s shirt and two tiny tools, metal rods with hooks on their ends, in one of his hands.
The lad ignored the question. “You should be ashamed. It’s already past the midday meal.”
Lucius squinted as the sun assaulted his eyes. “I had a late night,” he said, noticing the tools that had been used to open his door.
“As did we all. I heard this Darkbow character showed at Belgad’s.”
Lucius held up a hand to fend off the light, allowing his eyes time to adjust. “He was there, but no one was seriously hurt.”
“Except maybe Belgad’s reputation. There’s talk all over town. Maybe someone new is trying to take over business on the street.”
Lucius reached for a bowl of water on a table. “I think Belgad’s more powerful than you give him credit.”
Wyck nodded. “He runs a lot of rackets.”
Lucius wet the ends of his fingers and rubbed the water into his eyes. “I was going to seek you out today. I lost you last night and wanted to make sure no harm had come to you.”
“I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine.”
The man’s eyes finally felt able to take the light, and he opened them to see the boy standing at the foot of the bed. On the youth’s face was a huge smirk. In his hands a metallic goblet glinted from the sunlight.
Lucius squinted at the object. “What do you have?”
The boy tossed the goblet.
Lucius caught it and turned the silvered mug over in his hands. He stopped when the word “Belgad” appeared engraved on its curved side.
His head shot up to glare at the boy. “Wyck, you didn’t?”
The smile widened on the lad’s lips. “Yep, I did. I had to come out of there with some sort of profit.”
“How did you get it here without it being seen?”
Wyck tugged at the front of his shirt. “Just cradled it like a baby.”
Lucius set the tankard on the table next to his bed. “That mug could get you killed. You’re lucky you didn’t caught last night.”
“The guards were busy. But I’ve still got a big problem. I can’t sell that thing on the street.”
Now Lucius smirked. “I suppose as soon as someone saw Belgad’s name on the side of it, your goose would be cooked. So, why bring it to me?”
“I can’t take the thing to someone who could melt it down because they might take it from me because I’m just a kid, and I don’t know how to smelt it myself.”
“You want me to fence it for you.” Lucius was not asking a question.
The boy’s face brightened. “Or maybe buy it from me.”
“Why would I need a mug from Belgad?”
“You said you needed money,” Wyck said, pointing at the tankard. “I’d guess that thing’s worth at least a couple of gold.”
Lucius eyed the piece. It was a fine mug, silvered with elaborate lettering, but it was still a mug. Belgad’s name on its side might make it worth more to some collectors, but such a person would be difficult to discover. “One gold, maybe.”
“One gold, then.” Wyck’s smile faltered. “That would still put me up for a good while.”
“You want me to pay you one gold for a silver mug I will have as hard a time selling as you?”
“I thought you might know how to melt it down. Surely the silver alone is worth one gold.”
Lucius glanced at the mug again. It might be worth a gold coin, or it might not. The tankard might also provide some other way to make coin. Perhaps Belgad would want it back? Lucius doubted that. Belgad did not seem to be the sentimental sort.
Lucius waved a hand toward the room’s exit. “Get my belt from the back of the door.”
Wyck looked behind himself to find a hide belt hanging from a hook. He handed the belt to Lucius.
The man pulled back a small flap on the inside of the leather strap and took out a gold coin, holding it up for the boy to see. “One gold and no more.”
Wyck nodded agreement.
Lucius flipped him the coin. The boy caught it in the air.
“Hang this back up.” Lucius held out the belt.
Wyck took the strap and returned it to its hook. The gold coin he slipped inside his shirt.
“Don’t lose that,” Lucius said, meaning the coin, as he leaned back in his bed.
“Don’t you have work to do today?”
Lucius closed his eyes. “I had a day of leave approved when I took last night’s job.”
“I guess you’re going to sleep all day.”
Lucius opened one eye and stared at the boy. “Only if you’ll allow me to.”
Another knock came at the door.
“May I enter?” It was a man’s speaking.
“Sure,” Wyck said, turning to the entrance.
One of Lucius’s hands reached out and grabbed the silver tankard, stuffing it beneath the pillow upon which his head rested.
Wyck opened the door to find Sergeant Gris standing in the hall.
Gris glanced down at the boy, then inside the room to Lucius. “Is this a bad time?”
Lucius eyed the sergeant. “The boy was leaving. Weren’t you, Wyck?”
Wyck squeezed past the sergeant. “I know when I’m not wanted, but I’ll see you soon, Lucius.”
With that, the boy was gone down the hall.
“Interesting guest,” Gris said, closing the door behind him. He glanced around the room, spotted a chair, and pulled it nearer the bed. “Mind if I sit?”
Lucius motioned for the man to do as he pleased.
Gris sat. Lucius noticed the sergeant’s hand never strayed too far from the hilt of the sword sheathed on his hip. Lucius also noted the sergeant still had on the same uniform he had worn the night before.
“A late night?”
The sergeant appeared haggard with dark spots beneath his eyes. “I have not yet found my bed, but I see you have.”
Lucius sat up in his bed again. “We were not dismissed until nearly sunrise.”
Gris glanced around the room as if searching for something. “Been in bed since?”
Lucius’s eyes followed wherever Gris looked. “Except for breakfast, yes. The boy woke me only minutes before you arrived.”
Gris glanced back at the door as if he expected to see Wyck still standing there, then turned back to Lucius. “What was the boy doing here?”
“Is this an interrogation?”
The question was a simple one, but it seemed to chill the air in the room.
The sergeant was quiet for a moment, allowing a beat to pass as if he were unsure how to continue. Then, “I spoke with some of the other guards from last night. They told me you left your station for some little while. They said you were chasing a young boy into the mansion.”
“I told you as much last night, and they have no reason to lie.”
“Do you?”
Lucius did not answer. His face turned hard as stone.
“Lucius, we have been friends a long time,” Gris said, appearing genuinely concerned, “and I want you to know you are free to say anything to me. It is possible I will be able to help you.”
“I have nothing to tell you.”
“Darkbow.”
Lucius’s eyes flared. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“You said Darkbow.”
“That’s right. It’s a name you should recognize since it was yours in the Lands, and it belonged to your mother before she married your father.”
Wardens never used their real names in the Lands. It protected them and their families.
Lucius nodded to his friend. “And you were called Griffon.”
“That’s right, after that big bird I caught my first week on the job.”
Lucius suddenly appeared perturbed. “What does this have to do with your questioning me?”
“The man tormenting Lord Belgad is calling himself Kron Darkbow.”
“Coincidence.”
“Is it coincidence Darkbow first appeared in the city the same week as you?”
“Am I under arrest?” Lucius saw no reason not to be blunt.
Gris’s hand drew closer to his sword. “I have nothing to charge you with, and I do not have any plans of having you arrested. But I need to know the truth. It’s the only way I can protect you.”
“What makes you think I’m your man? It has to be more than just the name.”
Gris nodded. “You are right. I’ve heard what this man Darkbow is capable of. Only someone of your background could have his skill.”
“You mean a border warden?”
“No. A thousand wardens couldn’t do all of that, but you, you grew up in the Lands. You had teachers, men from all parts of the world and skilled in all manners of combat, to educate you. You’re unique. To my knowledge, no other man but you has been raised from youth to be a Prisonlands warden.”
Lucius had nothing to say to that. Gris was correct. Lucius had spent more than half his life within arrow shot of the Prisonlands. During those years, Lucius had learned sword fighting, climbing, stealth and anything anyone would teach him. His uncle Kuthius had been his first teacher, showing Lucius how to track man or animal, and how to ride a horse and use a bow. Many of the border wardens, and not too few of the exiles, were from far lands and had skills unknown to Ursians. Lucius’s schooling had come from all of these men. He had even studied alchemy and foreign styles of combat. He had learned numerous languages and studied books from the captain’s personal library.
“Lucius, if you are Darkbow, I only want to help,” Gris went on. “If Belgad gets to you first, he will make sure you are killed. I could at least help you flee the country.”
Lucius remained silent, as if weighing his options. Finally he spoke. “If I am your man, do you think I would let it drop after things have gone so far?”
Gris shook his head. “Probably not. I remember you could be stubborn, and impatient.”
“I most definitely can be.”
“Just like your uncle.”
Both men smiled.
Then Gris’s smiled died. “This is a serious matter, Lucius. Men have been killed. Because of the public nature of this situation, I am obligated to arrest this Darkbow if my men catch him. Before things get that far, are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me?”
“I have nothing to say on the matter.”
Gris stood, shaking his head from resignation. “I’m weary and need sleep. I apologize, old friend, if I have caused you stress.”
“Nothing with which I can not cope. I just hope you continue to trust me.”
Gris turned toward the exit. “I don’t know who to trust anymore. It was simpler in the Lands. At least there you knew who your opponents were.”
“I’m no opponent to you.”
Gris opened the door and turned to face Lucius again. “There’s one other thing. I noticed you have not been out of bed since I’ve been in your room. Why is that?”
Lucius’s face remained calm. “I told you I was awakened only moments before you arrived.”
“Very well, but I don’t suppose you’d mind standing for me?”
Lucius showed no signs of moving. “I’m going back to sleep, Gris, which is something you should consider.”
The sergeant did not move for a moment. He thought of pushing the point further, but then realized it did not make a difference. If Lucius were Kron Darkbow, then he was not going to admit it and nothing Gris could say or do was likely to change that fact.
“Take care of yourself, Darkbow,” Gris said, stepping out of the room.
“And you, Griffon.” Lucius watched the closing door.