CHAPTER XIII - Man on a Mission
My shifts passed quickly in succession, one after another, like night-time intervals between my evenings with Ivar and Ingrid. All I cared about was justice and my friends. In an attempt to better myself, I acted with respect towards Ivar and heeded his wishes. I had to stay away from Ingrid, though I still cared for her. I reasoned that I would have plenty of time for that when we’d be married, after Ivar had passed away, or mellowed enough to allow us our dream. Not that I wished him dead ― on the contrary, I wished him a long life. But I couldn’t forget and I couldn’t forgive the way he had cast me away. I realize it makes me seem ungrateful, but I was only a kid then, more concerned with what I did not get than with what I did.
As a soldier in Drentwych, my duty was to keep the peace and deal with anyone who posed a threat to the Prince and his Lords. I decided that bandits, since they rob people and thus prevent them from paying their taxes, are a threat to the Prince. I decided that rapists, since they disturb the peaceful lives of commoners, are also a threat and must be dealt with. Barny didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He was as fond of idleness as he was of violence. He was a true friend in that he always covered my back and let me do whatever I wanted to do without judgment or complaint. I was no fool, however. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Prince only cared about his taxes and Barny about his pleasures. But I decided that my duties extended beyond that, so I worked within the system which empowered me, that allowed me to carry a weapon and do what I thought was right. Perhaps I was just searching for an outlet to satisfy a dark need for violence. The ruling power did not condemn my prey, their deeds were tolerated, at least to some degree. To me, however, that power would not have shown such clemency.
The world, I discovered, does not revolve around me; earthly matters do not wait until I’m finished with my business. It must have been two fortnights along into my training with Ivar when my Commander summoned me to his office.
His office was a modest enough place; a small room in the upper floor of the barracks. A heavy oak table occupied most of the room, and on it were various scrolls laying about in no particular order. My Commander was an aging man, both a religious man and a soldier. He wore a brown wool shirt adorned with small spikes that acted as light armor, and thinner trousers of a softer fabric. Around his neck he wore a silver cross, large enough to be seen but not large enough to pose a hindrance. His face was hidden beneath a thick white mustache that partially concealed thin lips, and his dark graying hair was trimmed short. Overall, to me he resembled a raccoon, though I never mentioned this to anyone. When I crossed the threshold, I saw another man present whom I did not recognize.
The stranger appeared thinner than both the Commander and I; a head taller than the Commander but half a head shorter than me. He wore fancy brownish-red, clothes topped with a dapper green hat. His clothing and shaven face marked him clearly as nobility, probably of small stature, for he wore few jewels on his person. Buckled on his belt I saw a fancy-looking, short, thin sword, probably best used for stabbing. My own longer sword was strapped to my back.
“Come in, Raymond,” the Commander said, and I did.
“Lord Durrant, this is Footman Raymond, whom I told you about,” the Commander said, motioning to me. I immediately straitened my pose, swallowed and stood erect, increasingly nervous as the implications of the title ‘Lord’ ran through my mind.
I thought, ‘He works for the Prince and is licensed to kill.’
Lord Durrant studied me, while I remained motionless.
“Footman, Lord Durrant is on an official errand on behalf of His Majesty the Prince,” he said, addressing me. “It has come to the Prince’s attention that a fair number of commoners have vanished without a trace here in Drentwych,” Lord Durrant said, and I immediately disliked the annoying sound and arrogant tone of his voice. “The Prince wishes these commoners found and those responsible for their disappearance brought to justice,” he continued.
“Raymond, you are to accompany Lord Durrant and serve him in any capacity he sees fit, laying down your life if need be,” the Commander ordered.
“Yes, Commander,” I responded immediately, hoping the latter part of his command would not come to pass.
“The Prince thanks you, Commander Faolan,” Lord Durrant said, and then turned to me without waiting for a reply.
“Come, Footman,” he ordered me, and left, turning his back to Commander Faolan, whose name I had only just learned. Peculiar, isn’t it? I was so absorbed in everything that’s been going on in my life that I neglected to know my own commander by name. I who always fancied myself a man of astute perception failed to discover something as plain as my own commander’s name. I who remember the names of every single town-person and soldier and where they live … I’m losing it, I’m falling apart again, and I can’t afford it.
“Yes, my Lord,” I replied hastily and followed. I forced myself to focus on events at hand, and ignore these things that are beyond my power to change. Death is final. I cannot bring back the dead. I cannot take his place.
“I’m going to list the missing commoners and what we know of them. Stop me any time you know something that I haven’t mentioned,” he commanded as I followed him down the corridor. Soldiers made way for us as we walked; I rather liked others clearing the path before me.
“Richben Son of Egbert,” he stated. “A merchant of some reputation who traded in fine silver, gone missing about two months ago, last seen at The Black Sheep Tavern.”
“The Black Sheep Tavern is a dangerous place, usually the home of ruffians,” I commented.
“Are you implying that the respected Richben consorted with criminals?” He asked the question casually, but there was a sting in his voice.
“No, my Lord, I would never dream of it,” I said, trying to wiggle out of his trap. “I was suggesting that he could have walked in the vicinity of the Tavern, which after all is located at the rim of the merchant’s quarter, and been surprised by bandits who sought his purse.” Lord Durrant pursed his lips in a smile.
“Very well, let us continue,” he said.
“Yes, my Lord,” I replied.
“Thomas the Potter,” he said. “A local potter of no known reputation, last seen in his house.” I remained silent. I had known his son Charles Potter back when I was a child living with Ivar, and I felt pity for Charles, who must, like me, be an adolescent now.
“Anything you’d like to share, Footman?” Lord Durrant asked, seeing my change of expression.
“I am familiar with his son Charles; his father Thomas was an honest man to the best of my knowledge,” I said.
“Very well,” he replied.
“Owen. I don’t know his father’s name,” Lord Durrant said. “Young pickpocket, disappeared a month ago, last seen leaving jail after being released from incarceration,” he finished. The name meant nothing to me, not that I gave too much thought to thieves gone missing.
“Jaunee,” he said. “Street musician — a child. Reported missing two weeks ago,” he finished. I was unfamiliar with her. She must have come when I was in Over Hampton and vanished before I returned, or else she had been there the entire long and I just hadn’t noticed. I tried harder to recollect if I had known any children who worked as street-performers, for it saddened me greatly to think of a child gone missing. I tried to dispel thoughts of the unfortunate circumstances that turned a child into a street-performer.
“Adam, Son of Ivar the Smith,” he said, and I strained with all my might to keep a straight face and betray nothing. “Reported missing by his father almost a year ago,” he said. My heart was overjoyed at the implication of what he had said. Ivar named me his son, and had gone searching for me after he banished me. I was happy beyond words to know that I was loved after all. It was then that I forgave Ivar with all my heart and soul and felt deeply ashamed for mistreating him.
“What are you smiling about?” Lord Durrant asked, irritated.
“I find the name funny,” I quickly replied, using the first excuse that came to mind.
“Thomas and Archibald, Sons of Bowie the Butcher,” Lord Durrant said. “Failed to return home for supper, disappeared three weeks ago,” he finished. At first I hadn’t recognized the names, but the mention of the Butcher sparked my memory. Archie and Timmy, I had brawled with them when I was a child.
“I’ve heard of them. They’re no weaklings, and always go together everywhere,” I said.
“I see,” Lord Durrant responded. We were outside the barracks by the time he spoke; I only then noticed that we had walked that far.
“Have you ever conducted an investigation?” Lord Durrant asked, turning to me ― yet before I had a chance to reply, he answered himself.
“Of course not, silly me, why you’re nothing but a common footman,” he remarked. My face flushed red, though I said nothing. Lord Durrant disregarded my expression; obviously he didn’t care.
“Well, the first thing you do in an investigation is try to find a link between all the missing people. Since you’re better acquainted with the local populace, can you think of one?” He asked.
“Seem to be unrelated incidents,” I said.
“You soldiers are always trying to dismiss anything that causes you to work,” he said, irritated by my answer. “There’s always a link!” He continued. “You just have to find it.”
“My Lord, may I speak freely?” I asked. He took a few moments, and then finally, impatiently, he replied.
“Very well, but let’s restrict ourselves to the investigation at hand, shall we?” He said. “The sooner we finish, the sooner I leave this godforsaken town.”
“What I meant to say, my Lord, is that I don’t think this Richmond is related to any of the rest,” I ventured.
“Richben,” he corrected me.
“Richben, my Lord. He was a merchant, probably with some coin or other valuables on his person, and he vanished in a dangerous neighborhood,” I said.
“So?” He asked.
“So I don’t think the same person or persons who took Richben would also have taken a penniless child who’s a street performer, or a pair of brothers who knew how to defend themselves,” I said.
“Hmmm,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You have a talent for the fine art of investigation, it seems. Good. Yes, the offending party should have motive and we’ve failed to establish a motive so far,” he continued after a moment.
“So Richben was probably taken for his money,” I speculated.
“What about the potter?” He queried.
“Perhaps ransom … Perhaps some unsatisfied customer had it in for him,” I offered.
“And the child, Jaunee?” He asked. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why anybody would want to kidnap a child.
“Ransom again?” I offered.
“No. Ransom could be a motive for a merchant and maybe the potter, perhaps the smith’s son or even the butcher’s sons, but Jaunee was an orphan, and of no value to anyone,” he said.
“So who reported her missing?” I asked.
“Good question. I don’t know,” he said, and smiled, pleased with my contributions to the investigation.
“Alright, I have a task for you,” he said, apparently having arrived at a resolution. “I want you to go around the town, find a trustworthy criminal, and enlist him in our service,” he said.
‘Good thing he doesn’t ask me to summon the dead or turn night into day,’ I thought.
“A trustworthy criminal, my Lord?” I asked, putting on my most puzzled expression.
“Yes, dimwit. Find a criminal who knows things, arrest him, interrogate him, bribe him, I don’t care. Just get him to cooperate,” he said. “Oh and when you go about the investigation I want you to concentrate on finding Richben, if he’s still alive. The rest are unimportant to the crown.”
“Yes, my Lord,” I replied, and went off in all haste. The last thing I wanted was to stay around that pompous ass a moment longer. Though I must admit, I was more than curious about the investigation business. I can’t put to words what sparked this passion in me. Maybe it was the thrill of testing my mental abilities against those of a skilled adversary; maybe I was like a child being presented with an interesting puzzle; maybe I cared about the victims; and maybe some combination of these answers was correct. Whatever it was, it excited me. I went out to look for a ‘trustworthy criminal’, and not only in order to be rid of the Investigator’s presence.