The Captain awoke early the next morning before the sun was up. The first hints of light were beginning to illuminate the city. He donned his cape, shirt, boots, and placed his mask around his neck. Kosai’s sword was next to his own on his left hip. Strapped to his back was his shield, the leather straps crossing across his chest. Tied tightly to his belt on his right hip was the pouch of black sand. The syndicate ring was on his right index finger. At the stable, he gestured to the stable boy to bring his white horse.
“We’re going for a trip this morning, good friend,” he said as he rose onto the saddle. People scuttled in the streets, carrying their buckets to get their water before the hot sun impeded such strenuous work. As customary, the crowds parted to the sides as the Captain strode down the center of the street.
When he arrived at the city gates, a government caravan of four wagons was preparing to head out. The suon flicked their tongues. A few of the guards were suited and ready for the escort. When they saw the Captain, they snapped to attention.
“I will be traveling with you this morning. Let’s get this caravan going,” the Captain said. The heavy metal chains groaned and creaked as the doors were pulled open. The suon grunted and snorted as they slowly inched the heavy wagons forward. The Captain and the rest of the guard followed. The caravan traveled west for a mile with the wind at their backs before turning northward towards the city of Linnouse. The wind whipped around the caravan. The Captain grimaced as the sand bit at his eyes. He tucked his hood further over his face.
When noon came, the wind stopped blowing and the heat of the sun poured onto the desert. Salty sweat rolled off the Captain’s face and mixed with the sand in his eyes. He rubbed the moisture with his sleeve, but the hot cloth yielded no immediate relief. The white horse was covered in a mixture of stirred up sand and sweat. The lead caravan driver whistled and they stopped.
“Water,” the driver called out. The lead caravan driver jumped down from the wagon and opened a panel near the front of the wagon. In the opened area was a spout with a rusted metal lever with crust white deposits of minerals at the base of the handle. Next to the spout was a stack of oilskins. The guards and the drivers lined up along the wagon. The Captain purposely placed himself last in line. The caravan driver filled an oilskin and handed it to the first person in line. The group was silent as they drank their water. When the Captain approached, he was given an extra oilskin, leaving none for the driver. Both were filled, but he only drank a little.
“What about you?” the Captain asked.
“One is for you, and one is for your horse. We are grateful that the Capital is sending you with us. Drink often. This sun will kill you if you do not,” the caravan driver said. His face was covered with the dark grey mesh cloth and he wore dark goggles that hid his eyes. The Captain drained the water skin and the caravan driver filled it again.
“Is there a dish that would be more suitable for my horse?” the Captain asked. The driver climbed into the wagon, returned with a large pan, filled it with water and carefully handed it to the Captain.
“Thank you,” the Captain said. He returned to his horse, placed it in front of him and drained the extra oilskin into the pan. The Captain dipped his hand into the water and then rubbed his hand on the horse’s nose. The horse understood and began to drink. The horse drained the dish and nibbled the Captain’s arm. The Captain patted the horse and returned the dish. The caravan drivers were the last to drink and each drained their water skins and refilled them. Once everyone had a decent drink, the lead caravan driver whistled again and the wagons slowly pulled forward.
The Captain took the caravan driver’s advice and drank when he felt the need to. The sun seemed to travel slowly across the sky and the heat rose in intensity. Water breaks were taken more often, and the caravan driver seemed to know where the shaded areas of the trails were as he weaved between dunes and ridges. As they came out from the shadowed areas, one of the guards doubled over and heaved. A small amount of green viscous liquid came from his mouth. The Captain raced over to him. The caravan stopped and the lead driver jumped from his wagon and ran to the guard.
“This is why you need to drink often. Come, I will put you in the wagon,” the driver said.
“Does this happen often?” the Captain asked.
“Not too often. Sometimes the heat makes us forget to drink,” the driver said as he helped the guard up to the wagon.
The afternoon finally disappeared and the dark of night came quickly. The caravan stopped in between two ridges. The captain raced towards the front.
“Why are we stopping here? This is the perfect spot for an ambush.” The Captain circled his horse around, checking each dune around the caravan.
“We are not stopping; this is just the first checkpoint. We have goods that are to be delivered and payment that is to be received. Our contact will appear over that ridge. He will light a torch. I will then light a torch. He will put out his torch. I will put out mine, and then I will light mine again. He will see us and appear,” the driver said.
“I thought that this was a government transport. I was unaware of private business being conducted. Does your contact buy government goods?”
“No. We transport a few packages for him when we have a run out this way.”
“Do you know what’s in the packages?”
“No. The packages are set outside one of the syndicate member’s offices. One of our drivers picks them up, and we deliver them. We earn a little extra this way and we can feed our families a little better.”
“Our contact wouldn’t happen to be a member of the syndicate, would he?” the Captain asked.
“Yes, he is.”
“Why? The government caravans are a direct competition to their business.”
“Most times that is true. But the syndicate does not place much confidence in their caravans. Their drivers do not know the sands like we do and that leads to attacks by the nomadic tribes.”
“Recently, the tables seem to have turned,” the Captain said. “Government caravans are being attacked while the syndicate is going unharmed. Do you know why?” The caravan driver shook his head. The Captain dismounted from his horse and stood next to the wagon, looking up at the ridge. “You were once a nomad. How did you come to be employed by the city?”
“My people could survive for years in the desert,” said the driver. “There is food and water enough you just need to know where to look. When leaders become greedy, the people starve and resort to ambushes to provide. My family was starving and I knew that raiding government caravans would only postpone the inevitable. Each raid was met with death.
“The nomadic tribes know of the deal offered by Tessír. If a nomad comes to the gate, seeking protection, and signs an agreement of peace, they are hired on to drive the wagons and lead the caravans. I came to the city with my family and signed that agreement. My wife began a school here to teach those who wanted to be drivers and taught some of the nomadic skills we are taught as children. I am able to feed my family from the pay so there is little room for complaint.”
“Do you know of anyone who has ever gone back to the nomads?”
“It happens enough. When a family cannot find food, they go where the food is. I have seen drivers who have left attacked caravans that I have driven.”
“Do you think the syndicate would hire nomads?”
“I don’t see why not. And I am sure if they are not compensated, they would go back into the desert.”
A man appeared on the ridge holding a torch. The figure waved it above his head. The lead caravan driver and the figure exchanged the lighting of torches. The figure was quickly joined by five others and they cautiously slid down the ridge. The Captain turned the syndicate ring on his finger so that the signet was visible. A small wagon appeared in front of the caravan pulled by a young suon. As the figure reached the bottom of the ridge he lit another torch and held out a scroll.
He was a small, thin man with a tan face
. His long, scruffy blonde hair covered his forehead. The four figures that surrounded him were dressed in desert clothing. Their faces were hidden behind black cloth.
“Driver, here is the list of goods we have ordered. You and your crew may load them into the other wagon. Please be quick.” He then turned to the Captain.
“Captain! You chose to personally escort this caravan?” asked the man. The Captain nodded and held out his right hand to greet this individual, purposely showing the ring. The man received the offer and looked down at their hands as they shook. “I see now why you did.”
“Consider it a part time position,” said the Captain. “Are you in charge of the syndicate’s dealings in this area?”
“No, I only deal with purchases and acquisitions. Why do you ask?”
“If I am not mistaken, Aldair lives in Linnouse and he is one of the leaders of the Three Brothers. I need to ask him some questions.” The man chuckled.
“I will take you to him. My name is Soren by the way,” he said. The lead caravan driver whistled loudly and moved the caravan forward. The Captain turned to his guards as they passed by.
“Stay alert,” he said. He mounted his horse and followed Soren and his group to the smaller wagon.
They journeyed northward, following the government caravan, navigating through the large mounds of sand. After an hour, they came around a large dune and began descending a hill into a dry valley. Linnouse sparkled in the middle of the valley. It was one of the few gems of the desert. Its beauty and grandeur were outmatched only by the stars above them in the night. Few went hungry because there was plenty of work to do in the mines, and the pay was often a loaf of bread and a portion of minerals extracted that day by the laborer.
After they traveled down the hill, the caravan broke off and headed northwest while the Captain and Soren’s wagon headed to Linnouse. Within an hour, they were within earshot of the gate.
The outer wall of Linnouse was like the outer wall of Noiknaer. It encompassed the city and was made from dark red cement. A tower oversaw the city gate. A large torch hung outside the tower window and illuminated the entrance to the city. A man appeared and called down to them.
“What business do you have at this hour in Linnouse?” the guard called.
“It’s Soren with the Three Brothers. I have a late caravan that I need to deliver to Aldair. I also have the Captain of the Guard with me.” The figure disappeared into his tower and the gate rotated open. Soren whistled and the group moved inside the city wall.
There were a few citizens toting buckets of water in the streets. As the Captain caught their eye, they quickly stepped to the side of the road and waited for him to pass. Their clothing was ragged and torn, and they walked with hunched backs from years of working in the mines. The underground mines were a cold escape from the desert heat but the labor was hard and strenuous. There, workers chiseled out salts, ore, and precious metals, constantly breathing dust filled air and choking on stagnant air.
“You might be wondering how these people get bread every day,” Soren said as they walked through the city. “That, my friend is the beauty of our company. We have our own mines here in Linnouse and use the metals extracted to buy wheat that comes through Caite, into Port Rasmú, and occasionally from the Western Wiles on the other side of the Broken Blades. Traveling through the pass in the mountains is dangerous and we risk a large loss though it is quicker. We order the grain, they process it in the city, and we sell the flour to the city or citizens as well as using it for payment for our own laborers. It’s a very profitable system.”
They turned down another street and stopped next to a large building. There were three entrances wide enough for a caravan wagon to pull into. Inside the building, there was enough space for each wagon to turn around and exit the building. Five men, wearing only tattered pants, stood in the center of the building. Standing a little way off was a pale-faced, tall, thin man. He held a wooden tablet with a piece of paper nailed to it. A small vile of blank ink was on the tablet, and he held a feather quill in his other hand. He wore a grey robe and white shirt with a belt that had a golden oval buckle. The buckle was like the ring that the Captain wore. Next to him was another man, not as tall, but tan with short brown hair. He seemed well fed, but not portly. He walked with his hands behind his back and looked eagerly at the caravan.
“Soren, I am glad you have returned. Was there any trouble?” the tall man asked.
“Not at all and we even had the Captain escort us here from the checkpoint,” Soren said. The pale faced man turned and bowed slightly.
“Captain, we are indeed grateful for your services,” he said in slow, slithery tone. He turned back to Soren. “Your bill of lading lists certain amounts in bolts of cloth, liters of dies, and two bushels of wheat. Is that correct?” The pale face man handed Soren the quill and wooden tablet.
“It is. I will get a final count for you. Captain, this is Aldair, our Master of Inventory for the Three Brothers and Thuane is our Master of Finances.”
“Ah, good, I have some questions for Master Aldair and Thuane.”
“Then I will leave you to it.” Aldair waved at the group of men who followed Soren to the wagon. Inside the building, crates were stacked on top of crates, vases and barrels lined another wall. At the back of the building was another large door. Pairs of men, wearing dust-covered pants, shoes, and brown vests, walked towards crates, and carried them out the large door where they came.
“I was unaware you were a part of the Three Brothers, Captain,” Aldair started. “I doubt that bodes well with the council.”
“Consider it a part time position.”
“I also heard you seized some of Beoran’s documents and threatened to shut down business, in a legal fashion I might add, but didn’t. So, what questions do you have for me Captain? Or are you here simply to flaunt your authority?”
“I need to know if the syndicate has ever taken in a nomad for hire and if so, have any nomads left the syndicate and gone back to the desert.”
“This is about the attacks on the government caravans, isn’t it,” Thuane said hotly. Aldair put a hand out to calm his friend.
“Some of our drivers rejoice when we come across such a disaster, but Thuane and I, as well as other officials in the Three Brothers, are disheartened. The caravans provide for the people and I applaud the efforts. We have, in the past, taken nomads in and hired them as drivers but stopped that practice in recent months due to… repercussions.”
“Repercussions?”
“Our caravans saw significant losses due to abandonment,” Thuane said. “Our drivers would make agreements with the nomadic tribes for leadership positions in the tribe, securing water and food for their family in exchange for trade route information. We discovered it by keeping a close watch on our drivers. One of our own students was assigned to watch the drivers and see who leaked information and what was talked about. When we found out which drivers were betraying us we cut them off and changed our routes. Whether they went back into the desert or begged in the city I am not sure. That was the source of our problem, perhaps you should check there.”
“I’m curious Aldair,” the Captain said, “did any of the nomads tattoo themselves with the Three Brothers’ symbol?”
“Many did. Many members of our guild, nomadic or not, mark themselves on the shoulder, forearm or wear the mark of the guild.”
“What about the neck?”
“You must mean Iserum. He was one of our best drivers. Because of his talent, he was often given high profile assignments. It wasn’t uncommon for him to run personal caravans for higher officers within our guild. As far as I know, his last caravan was for Beoran and the caravan was ambushed. He and the other drivers joined with the nomads. When Beoran found out, he fired every nomad and hired out from one of the schools in Noiknaer.”
“Caravans are ambushed quite often. Why would he fire all of the nomads over one loss?” the Captain asked.
“You have two places where you can get that information, Iserum or Beoran,” Aldair said. “He never mentioned his reasons to us.”
“One other question before I go. The Three Brothers will sometimes hire out the government caravans to transport goods. I doubt you worry so much about grain, cloth and ink. What else was in that caravan? And did you pay anyone to make sure that it arrived safely?” Aldair wrung his hands together and watched as the bags of wheat were offloaded into totes. Thuane cleared his throat.
“Nothing more than personal items Captain,” Thuane said. “I personally paid for this shipment and it has nothing to do with any affairs of our guild.”
The Captain sighed as he watched the men finish offloading the wagon.
“Aldair, your sympathy for the failure of government caravans is much appreciated, but the Three Brothers benefits when the government fails, do they not?”
“When the government caravans are attacked and unsuccessful, demand for our goods goes up and we are able to charge a higher price. If anything, it is helping our margins.”
“Why wouldn’t the Three Brothers attempt to ambush government caravans more often?”
Aldair chuckled softly and shook his head.
“You are under the assumption that the Three Brothers is the reason your government caravans are not as successful as they once were,” said Aldair.
“We don’t ambush your caravans Captain,” Thuane said flatly. Aldair’s demeanor quickly changed and he gave Thuane an icy look.
“It is as I said before,” Aldair said, “most officials are disheartened by the attacks. The removal of the government caravans would be profitable for our business and it does present and strong motive for the acts that you are suggesting. What evidence do you have to support your claim?”
“You haven’t answered my question Aldair.”
Aldair snorted and lifted his head slightly.
“Honestly Captain, I am insulted that you would insinuate that the syndicate has had any involvement in the attack of the government caravans. They provide a valuable service to the people, people who we sell to. Without the support from Tessír, we would have no market base in the city and would be at a loss. Chances are the Three Brother’s wouldn’t exist.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.” The Captain folded his arms and stared straight at Aldair.
“We don’t ambush your caravans Captain,” Aldair said.
“Then how do you account for the syndicate’s dramatic success rate compared to government caravans?”
“Luck,” said Aldair slowly. “Thuane and I have a very busy night ahead of us with the recent shipments.” Aldair bowed as he spoke. There was a split second of silence. He rose back up to look at the Captain. Aldair’s expression was blank. There was no tinge of red in his face, no twitch of his eyes. There was no sign of emotion.
“You will notify my lieutenant posted here if you hear of anything related to our discussion tonight,” said the Captain.
“Yes Captain,” Aldair said, bowed a second time, and then walked over to the wagon and inspected the off-loaded inventory. The Captain mounted his horse and entered the street.
Linnouse was mapped much like the capital. The main government building was towards the center and the Barracks was located on the perimeter on the west side of the city. The sound of the horse’s steps penetrated the night as he walked closer to the Barracks. Two men stood with spears at the entrance. As the Captain passed by, the guards stood up straighter and held their spears more firmly.
“Captain,” they said in unison. The Linnouse Guard uniforms were like those in Noiknaer; the only difference was the helmet. Two ram horns curved from the back of the helmet, went down behind the ears, followed the jaw line and curved up just beneath the eyes. A pointed ridge started on the nose plate, traveled up between the eyes, over the top of the head and down the back of the helmet.
“Where is your lieutenant?” the Captain asked. The guard on the left stepped forward.
“He is in his office. Shall I wake him?”
“Yes, and you,” the Captain ordered, pointing to the other guard. “Find the stable boy and have him tend to my horse. I will be returning to him in the morning.” The Captain dismounted and followed one the guards to the lieutenant’s office.
The Barracks of Linnouse were like the Barracks in Noiknaer. Every turn and length of hall was too familiar. When they arrived at the lieutenant’s chamber, the guard knocked on the door. It too, was like the Captain’s. An impression in the shape of the lieutenant’s talisman was on the door.
“If I am to be bothered at this hour in the night, someone better be dead, dying or we better be under the attack.” There was some muffled bumping and hustling. “Because if there isn’t-”
The door opened. The lieutenant was a head and a half shorter than the captain and much skinnier. His head was shaven and he wore a white robe. He turned to the guard and then looked up at the Captain.
“Because if there isn’t what, Lieutenant Ryale?” the Captain asked, smiling.
“Captain, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Ryale responded as he saluted. The Captain returned the salute.
“It is unwise for a leader to make threats that he is not planning on carrying out,” the Captain said.
“That is why you are the Captain, and I am not.” Ryale looked at the guard. “You are dismissed,” he said. The guard bowed and left. “Please come in. Tell me, what news do you bring?” The lieutenant closed the door. A lamp was already lit. “I heard about Kosai. This wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would it?”
“It has everything to do with it. I think that the syndicate is paying off nomadic tribes to attack government caravans.”
“But the syndicate has also suffered losses at the hands of nomadic attacks, recently too. There was an attack last week on a syndicate caravan making its way here. If your suspicions are correct, then the syndicate must be paying off only a few tribes.”
“And that is what bothers me,” the Captain said, “I need proof of it and I don’t have it. Today I went and questioned Aldair and by luck, Thuane was there too. He hired a government caravan to deliver what he called ‘personal goods’ that had nothing to do with syndicate business. He ordered dyes, cloth, and wheat. I recently visited Beoran in Noiknaer. He was adamant about holding onto a letter or piece of parchment he had folded up in his pocket. The warrant I have is for ledgers, assets, documentation, anything that the syndicate as a business has done and will do. Beoran was upset that I would be able to take all his documentation, as was Aldair, which makes me think that the syndicate is bribing or hiring nomads to hinder government caravans. The only solid way to know is to witness them in the act of hiring the nomads. I am ordering you to keep a firm watch out on them. Interrogate those who do attack the caravans if you can and obtain any information and then report back to me.”
“Captain, I will keep my eyes and ears open. I will order the Guard here to double their vigilance. What has the capital said regarding this matter?”
“Some were quite pleased to issue the warrant, Steran being one of them. Surprisingly, Rodrick didn’t seem too happy about it. But it doesn’t matter, they are all self-centered and deceptive as always. Trying to perceive their motives past their own greed is futile. The point is to save lives. When the government caravans come, people can eat and live for another day. If the syndicate is hindering that process, they could just as well be held for murder. I need solid evidence.”
“I am sure you will find it,” Ryale said. He rubbed his hands to his eyes, stretched, and then let out a long, growling yawn. “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”
“I was planning on finding room at an inn,” the Captain paused, and leaned closer. “I need to look into something first.”
“You have that look Captain. What’s on your mind?”
“Ryale, rouse one of your guards up and send them out. I want a set of eyes on Aldair this evening
.”
“Yes sir, and I have just the man for you,” Ryale said with a smile. “Would you like to give the order personally Captain?”
“No. That won’t be necessary. I need to get some rest. I will see you early in the morning before the next caravan heads out.”
“Yes Captain.” Ryale saluted and the Captain returned the salute. “Oh, and Captain, I would recommend Desert’s Moon Inn for a decent night’s rest. It is a newer inn and one of the finest in Linnouse. It is five blocks north of the fountain. If that one doesn’t suit you, there are others close to it that might.”
“Thank you Ryale.”
The Captain gave a penny to the stable boy to keep his horse there for the night and walked towards the fountain in the center of the city. There were homeless people tucked and snoring against the walls of buildings, but not nearly as many as the Captain was used to seeing in Noiknaer. There were a few transients scouring the streets for a dropped coin. They looked different than the homeless in Noiknaer too. They seemed stronger and healthier. Not one was dressed in tied rags, but instead wore threadbare, worn out clothing.
Different colored lanterns were hung outside the houses and shops, giving the city the gemmed glow it was so famous for. Some homes were made from tan cement and others from wood. Houses and shops were painted red, green, orange, or other bright colors. There were a few homes that remained unpainted, the brown cement a drab contrast to the colors around them. Some homes were one story, while others were three. Some were small and square, while others were rectangular with many additions.
The pavilion was like a museum. Figurine statues were evenly spaced around the perimeter. A lush flower garden surrounded each statue and filled the air with sweet nectar smells. The pavilion was paved with square gray stones in a circular pattern around the fountain. The fountain itself was another sculpture that seemed to put the others surrounding it to shame. It was a woman, standing atop a pedestal. A robe covered one shoulder and draped down to her feet. In one hand, she held a cluster of grapes, and her other arm was arched above her head, as if she were dancing. Her hair was tied up in a bun with some of her bangs twirling down by her cheeks. Water bubbled up from under her feet and poured into the pool which she stood in.
The Captain stopped, dipped his hand into the pool, and took a drink. The water was cold and sweet. There were three shops in the pavilion. To the north, there was a clothing shop. A yellow robe with red trim was on display in one of the windows. To the east was a rug and tapestry store called The Yarn. The sign was written in curved letters and the tail of the Y led to a ball of blue yarn. Hung up in the window was a tapestry that had sharp, black curves that led to knife like points on a brilliant red and orange background, giving the impression that one was watching a fire. Next to the tapestry was a sign.
“Help wanted,” it said. “Skills in weaving and dyeing required. Inquire within” was written in italicized subtext beneath it.
“I haven’t seen one of those in years,” the Captain said before taking another drink.
To the south was a metal smith called Hammer and Craft. On the sign were pictures of horse shoes, with gold rings hung on the ends. The smith was one of the graduates of the Forge and was exceptionally talented with custom metal work. The success of Hammer and Craft was a testament to his ability. Under the tutelage of Ellene, he became one of the best smiths she ever had. Ellene had bragged to the Captain about the former student, and planned on sending others to work for him once they graduated.
Refreshed from his drink, the Captain walked north, counting the blocks and looking for the Desert’s Moon, which wasn’t hard to find. The outside was white brick, with two spires at the front corners that looked like narrow pyramids. The building was five floors high. The entrance was a wooden double door with vertical brass bars for handles. The Captain stopped as he reached for the handle. Painted across the door was the name, Desert’s Moon, in light blue, but traveling up each handle was a brass snake. At the top of the handle, the snakes were facing each other, fangs bared. The Captain smiled and entered.
“Welcome, welcome,” the inn keeper called. He stood behind a polished oak desk that was common in most inns. The desk was decorated with vases that were white with blue and filled with gold-painted flowers. The innkeeper wore a gold-colored shirt with light blue cuffs. On his left hand, he wore a ring that was just like the one the Captain was wearing.
“I hear this is the one of the best inns in Linnouse,” the Captain said.
“Ah yes, yes, the best, simply the best, and I have just the room for you. Tell me, what are you looking for? You are the Captain of the guard are you not? I heard from some tenants that you were in town. We have rooms for luxurious pampering, a romantic evening, or some solid rest and relaxation.”
“Just a simple room will be fine.”
“Let me see what we have available,” he said as he pulled out a ledger from a drawer in the desk.
The Captain looked around the lobby. There were paintings of desert nightscapes hung on every wall. In front of the paintings were leather sofas and chairs with decorative pillows. The floor was made with white tile. Between the sofas and chairs were vibrant colored shag rugs. Bright red, oranges, greens, and blue squares were woven into a black fabric.
“I have just the room for you,” the innkeeper said. He opened a drawer underneath a desk and took out a key. “Follow me.”
The Captain followed the innkeeper up three flights of stairs and down a hallway. Halfway down the hallway, the innkeeper put the key in the door and showed the Captain to his room.
“This is one of our… simpler rooms. There is a private bath, I will be sure to have some hot water brought up to you, with scented oils and candles to calm tense muscles and ease the mind into a relaxed state. The bed sheets are made of satin and there is a feather comforter. If you need more blankets, they can be found in the top shelf in the closet. There is bell pull next to your bed if you need anything. Do you have any questions?”
“Is this hotel is owned by the Three Brothers?”
“Yes. They started the plans for building, provided the funding, and then hired staff and management.”
“And how much do you earn?”
“We have free room, plus ten pieces per day, just enough to feed the family and pay for their education.”
“How much for this room?”
“Fifty and five for the night,” the innkeeper said. The Captain was silent and looked around the room. “I know it is more expensive than others, but surely you deserve to indulge in comfort this evening.”
“Do you know where I receive my pay?” the Captain asked.
“From the Capital I would measure.”
“And where do they receive their money?”
“Taxes.”
“Yes, taxes. There are people in Noiknaer that are starving this evening because they don’t have money enough to buy bread. There are others who had to choose between paying taxes, and buying food. And there are others, who hope that these taxes are not used in vain. I cannot in good conscience spend their money on something this lavish.” The Captain began walking to the door when the innkeeper stepped in front of him.
“But isn’t your salary, something that you sacrifice over, rightfully yours? Who says that you can’t pamper yourself? It’s because of your hard work that the people who are taxed have a safe place to sleep. It is because of your training, and diligence that those who cannot do for themselves, are provided by the government caravans. Captain, you are being too hard on yourself. It’s your money, do with it what you will. You earned it.”
“You are right,” the Captain said, pointing a finger at the innkeeper. “I have earned my wages. I have fought, bled, and sweat over them. When people see the Council, who sit in lofty chairs, drink fine wines and eat well every night, they grow to anger and struggle to make ends meet. They do not trust the Council because of their behavior, and I will not betray their trust by supporting lavish liv
ing off their backs.”
“Do not tell me Captain that you have eaten only bread and drank only water all these years. Would not a simple glass of wine, or anything beyond that be considered a betrayal of that trust? If you want their trust, sleep in the streets, and beg for your food. Give your salary back to the people and buy their bread.”
“I should have your tongue cut for that remark. You speak outside your bounds. Good evening.” The Captain brushed by the innkeeper, walked down the stairs and into the street. A vagrant walked up to him in dusty, tattered clothes with hands outstretched.
“Please spare a coin?”
“How about a trade instead? Where is next closest inn where I can find a stiff bed for a cheap price?”
“Two blocks to the east is The Dune. Cheapest bed in town,” the beggar said. The Captain nodded and flipped him a piece.
“One other question,” the Captain called out as the beggar walked away. “Do you have work?”
“Oh yes. I work in the mines each day for a loaf of bread. Not the fluffy stuff, mind you, but the hard squares. Need about a bucket of water to wash it down if you know what I mean.” The Captain nodded with a smile and watched the beggar walk off with his head down, searching for an extra coin.
The Captain came to The Dune and bought a room for ten and three pieces. The mattress had strands of straw sticking out all over, making it look like a pincushion. Ropes were tied to each end of the bed frame, supporting the mattress. The blankets were made from wool and the feathers from the pillow poked at the Captain’s cheek, but he fell asleep quickly and slept soundly.
CHAPTER 10