The Knight of Tanner's Square

5

Arland Breeston nearly sunk the Guild when he convinced them to invest in building the outer wall. The rest of the Guild families — Wintergarden, Winston, Tedford, Childers, Burwell, Copeland, Billingsly, Venton, and Faust — thought it was madness to build a wall around a town.

The project used every free hand; the population doubled as stray mouths flocked to Breeston as the wages it generated created an immense circulation of money. Arland had died a year before it finished, so the agony of it turned over to his only son, Broderick.

The Guildmembers pounced on him to come up with a solution to generate funds for this folly. In his frustration, he walked Old Street and into the Horn ward, noticing it appeared overloaded by street merchants with two-wheeled carts and everybody had free use of the river.

The lands surrounding Breeston were open to all, and many had circumvented the Guild’s yields by offering game and fish to the pot shops that fed the commoners.

Then the idea hit him to use this wall instead of mocking it, so he put forth a Writ and proposed the Guild pin. It was the Guild’s river, and the outside lands belonged to them.

Why should its bounty go without the Guild getting its cut? In weeks, the pot shops disappeared and the traffic of the carts had trickled. Every innkeeper, tailor, cobbler, fisherman, or hunter was under their yoke and paying for the privilege while they added coins to our coffers.

And as the wall was achieved, many became jobless, and the city rioted. The Guild faced the peril of being burned alive in their fine homes if it weren’t for the militia.

Their personal army killed over four hundred rioters and hanged seven hundred more until order was restored. The excess of starving bellies helped them drive down the wages, adding to their profits, but at the cost of their reputation.

The Blood Writ, the commoners named it, and the Guild never looked back. The rich members began eyeing the other side of the river to build their new manses. Broderick’s legacy will be divided. A hero to his noble kin, and a scourge to my people of the wards.

The Downfall of Breeston - Orwell Riggins, Chamberlain of Breeston yr. 2048

The Prickly Meetings

Harland Childers was the member who distributed the guild pins. He was the man Edmund and Julius had to meet before they could even get started. Edmund inquired for an audience, and his son Roger, a small pompous man in love with his power, agreed to meet with him.

A gatekeeper to see if they were serious or a waste of time. He recalled the face Roger Childers gave him, a lengthy look when he told him who he was.

“You request a pin?” he said. “I’m not sure you’re allowed. I can sell the crippled man one, but it creates a conflict for you, I think. I will have to alert my father and make you an appointment. Your uncle’s place with us will give you his undivided attention.”

The pair could only wait for word at that point, and it came two days later while they were huddled in the Frookuh. A courier arrived while he was keeping Harwin company, his brother bemoaning to him how abysmal his fellow constables in training were.

Their appointment was for midday tomorrow, and after a restless night, he was listening to Julius ramble. His partner worried and paced during the morning hours until he made him walk to Old Street with him to pass the time.

They arrived early at the old counting house, a massive building along the main square that sat across from Raines Bank. The building at one time served as the Guild’s vault, but it moved when the Guild moved, later being converted into the Guild audience hall.

The hall began as a monthly meeting place for the minor merchants and ward bosses, along with the captains of the militia and constables to hold complaints and suggestions with the Guild. That tradition lasted only a generation. Now only Childer’s met with potential customers, being ferried across the river from Meriweather, the Guild’s village.

Edmund had heard Meriweather had a militia, craftsmen, and merchants. A small force of constables as well, and many laborers manned the docks, keeping the street lamps lit and the cobbles clean. The Guild, over time, grew into large families, and only the oldest sons inherited the family’s holding, so those distant cousins filled these less desirable positions.

His uncle told him the manses of the Guild’s core bloodlines sat on the back of the town, separated by a wall from their commoner cousins, who dwelled alongside the river.

The guild members looked down on their cousins, and their cousins looked down on Old Street, who looked down on the Horn, who looked down on the outer wards. The outer wards looked down on Jack Dobbins, which was the vilest outer ward in Breeston. They could only look down on the pucker hole, but nobody dwelled down there to take offense.

Edmund once asked Julius who Jack Dobbins was, and he said he didn’t know, but he must have been the vilest human that ever lived. They were reaching for any conversation by that time as Childers had them waiting for over an hour in the hall’s parlor.

Both were wearing the fine wares they bought in Lonoke and peering at the old marble statues of Breeston’s high chamberlains that stood sentry along its entrance.

“They look so dashing,” Julius remarked, pulling on his point. He had learned to use his right hand instead of his left to keep his mind engaged when he was in deep thought.

“I’d say the sculptor flattered this lot, Arturo Breeston the most,” Edmund remarked, looking at the famed warrior.

He was the only one that wore armor, carrying a sword in one hand and a ledger in the other. His likeness was broad, much taller than the rest with a fearsome look. The other sculptures had high chins, handsome curls, and sharp facial features with honorable scowls of wisdom upon a frame dressed in fine wares.

“Lauklan Breeston. So this is where it began?” Julius asked while looking upward. The statues were thirty feet high, taking up the wall space in the huge foyer, and every step they made echoed off the walls. Edmund stood, looked at Lauklan, and laughed.

“They hadn’t possessed gold in his time; he’d have dressed like some poor lad in the Horn. He was a marvel, though, to plant the seeds of what this guild has become. It’s hard not to admire it,” Edmund remarked in a low voice.

“He is a greedy fiend, and this is a long line of them,” Julius said while pointing around him. “I count fifteen here — that is a lot of greedy fiends.” His voice bounced over the hall.

“Well, there are sixteen. Aristotle Breeston isn’t dead yet.” Edmund put a finger over his lips to quiet his friend. “They take offense bitterly here; pride and arrogance have no limits with these men.”

“Which one of these villains thought of this pin that we are being robbed to buy?” Julius asked in a calmer tone.

“This one here,” Edmund pointed. “Broderick the Bold, or the Bollocks, if you ask my uncle. He butchered many here. Have you ever heard of the tale of The Blood Writ?”

“I don’t think so, and to be honest, I don’t want to know,” Julius said. “Your history lesson may take me out of the good humor I am in.”

Edmund shrugged as Julius paced, uncomfortable as he watched his anxious friend, “Well, when we’re done here, then we have to see the ward boss,” Julius reminded him clutching a satchel the Loretons gave him as a gift to keep items in. It served as a good coinpurse Edmund thought as his friend would feel inside at the gold he was about to lose.

It was the ward boss that set you up with the proper merchants. It wasn’t a complicated matter, as Julius explained to him; he took what things you needed and had the merchants in his ward bid on it. A feigned try to serve you in getting a good price, and he took a bribe for his services, then a bribe from the merchant for the contract.

He kept records of what was traded and collected the tax or a bribe if you wanted to turn in a phony ledger to the exchequer. His job was maintaining the exchequer, keeping him off your back, or turning him loose upon you if you got out of line.

The position earned a criminal leniency from the Guild and it was impervious to any wrongdoing under the city laws. It was a rude awakening to Edmund when Julius described the crooked practice.

“We are ready to see you now,” Roger Childers’ voice came from an open door. The son led them through the doors of the foyer, and into the main hall. They followed him down a long aisle of limestone and marble so black they could see their reflection.

It was grand and regal, its effects had Julius swimming in awe as they passed several doors of beautiful walnut with brass handles until they had walked to its end.

Julius was still looking in every direction as Roger pointed to the double doors of walnut banded in brass, with the twin falcon of the Guild carved as a symbol of intimidation.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Roger said behind curls so thick they looked like a woman’s.

His face was powdered, with cheeks stained red with rouge, and his ears were full of gold rings —a style of dress that Edmund had never seen before but heard about from his uncle.

“The doors to the main hall?” Edmund asked.

“Yes. It once was the main vault of our Grand Guild. It was iron in the old days, removed and taken with us, the gold as well,” the young lordling said with a chuckle. “Let’s not keep him waiting; he is in a dour mood.”

Edmund declined to comment as Roger led them back, opening one of the lesser doors on their left to where Harland Childers waited on them. Julius was nervous as he entered first, glancing back at him with a pained look of concern.

Edmund was used to this stoic style of introduction, an intimidation framed within the cold elegance of the building made a rube feel vulnerable upon arrival, but Edmund was calm, and he had brought with him some items.

A small barrel of the Loreton ale, he was trying to pawn off as mead, and tobacco that Edmund had in a leather sack tucked inside his jerkin.

“Sit,” Roger insisted as a fat man behind an engraved cherry wood desk was peering at them. He was wearing a grimace, his shoulders wrapped in furs, over a fine cashmere doublet embroidered with white and blue circles.

His furs were fastened with a gold brooch of the twin falcon, Edmund noticed, and gems from Elbe and possibly Minoa of emeralds, black pearls, sapphires, and rubies set into the guild sigil.

Edmund had seen his uncle display wealth, but not in that way. It had Julius awestruck, as he sat in a chamber chair and never made a sound.

Harland had a pie-shaped face that sank into his fur, appearing as if he had a huge beard. He looked like a man of forty, eyes under thick brows over a sour set of thin lips buried in meaty jowls.

His hair was wet looking from a scented oil, which made the powder on his cheeks look out of place. He had a jeweled ring on every finger, two on his middle ones, and his ears held more rings in them than his son while his head sparkled as the flame of a nearby brazier caused them to flicker among the contrast of his cosmetics.

“My son informed me of your inquiry. Roger, why don’t you entertain the other man while I talk to young Edmund,” Harland said while pointing to Julius, who looked relieved to be leaving.

The two of them were alone when another knock on the door interrupted them, and an armed man entered and approached Harland, whispering in his ear.

“Thank you, Randolph. Step into the hallway as I finish here, please,” he said with a sweet smile.

“Let’s see, Edmund,” the man said, clearing his throat. “I know your uncle, a dear friend to the Guild, and I have heard him mention you when we have conversed.”

“Good things, I hope,” Edmund said while trying to lighten the mood, he doubted Childer’s claims as Argyle never was one to bring up family in business discussions.

“He mentioned you as Nuhrish, and that you liked to keep ledgers.”

“Yes, I worked in the counting houses.”

“My son informed me that you were seeking a position in the Old Street ward. A parchment was produced, and a job was waiting for you. Maybe you should take it and live out your sentence,” Harland said with a concerned look. “I’m aware of your current situation.”

“If I were a normal citizen, would it change matters?” Edmund inquired. He had figured the parchment sent with him was duplicated and sent to the Guild, a gesture and request in case our names came to their attention from appointed positions.

“Yes, but you are not. I am assuming that you are here until your uncle sends for you and your brother? We know of his exile, but surely a ward, adopted or not, will not be exiled for good.” He gave Edmund a slight smirk, mocking his youth.

“Why not work to aid your friend out there.” He says, pointing at the door. “He looks to be in over his head. It seems foolish why the two of you need a pin together,” Harland instructs him.

“For importing this mead, maybe other wares that are allowed under your rules,” Edmund replies, displaying the small barrel to get Harland’s attention.

“So, let me guess: You want to try and sell something different than ale? You do understand that if it resembles what Tedford brews, it will be dumped into the Nyber,” he said with a chuckle.

“If I approve it, the law allows up to one hundred barrels a year. Trying to smuggle in more is breaking guild laws, revoking your pin, and your friends as well, and punishable by being sent to the mines.” Harland remarks sternly, raising his chin high as Edmund could now see where the powder ended and his natural flesh began.

“I have all intentions of following the law,” Edmunds said, remaining calm.

Harland laughed as the jewels in his earrings bounced along to his amusement. “You must understand this also. If this mead is found amongst the other taverns, I will arrest you. I think you understand what concern that causes?”

Edmund nods, confirming the strict Guild rules as Harland asks for the barrel, turning it in his hands, and gazing at it in fascination.

“We will buy from the Guild, and I intend on following the same rules as the other merchants. We plan on talking to Thad Griffin later today on arrangements.”

Edmund was doing his best to appear rattled, watching the man as he pulled out a tiny dirk as long as his hand to pry the wooden stopper that sealed the brew inside.

“You want to set up shop in his ward? How do you expect to afford such an establishment? I believe places can cost up to three hundred falcons on Old Street, and a paltry place at that.” The man laughed himself into a cough, then composed himself.

“Do you possess such funds, or are you borrowing from Raines Bank? Or is it your uncle’s money? Let’s think again on what I proposed to you, lad,” Harland suggested while looking at Edmund as if he were an imbecile, snickering at him in amusement.

“A lad will need to borrow much for this pursuit. You’ll ruin that poor cripple out there, so let’s end this folly before it begins.”

“I appreciate your honesty and concern.” Edmund rose with pride. “But I believe it’s my folly to endure, and I request that you will let me pursue it.”

“You may be right, the goals are lofty, but a pin costs fifty falcons, which I have, and none of it is Argyle’s money. Imagine the word on the street if they hear the Guild turned away good gold,” he said while shrugging his shoulders.

Harland scrunched his face, then guffawed as his stomach sent a shiver underneath his furs. “You are a witty lad, and I will grant you a pin and be glad to take every falcon you have. Even sending a parchment to your uncle,” Harland replied as a veiled threat.

“He will know every word we said, and about the warning I gave you, but if you break a law, then know this: I will seize your holdings, and back to Hayston you go. That cripple, I will toss him on a wagon heading to the mines, so don’t think of anything devious.”

“If I find out that Argyle is funding this, then consider the venture snuffed. He knows our ways, but he can explain that to me in person when we hold the Guild meetings.” The man then threw up his chubby hands as a sign of consent. “Since this is such a special event, let me try this mead.”

Edmund watched him pour a draught in a pewter goblet he had sitting on a nearby table that held a serving set that Edmund doubted was ever used in these meetings since men like Harland would never drink with a man from the wards. The man quickly wretched, spitting the drink onto the marble floor.

“This is terrible!” he says laughing. “You will be lucky if you avoid being stabbed by a dirk for serving this swill.”

“Go see my son,” Harland sighed. “Good luck, lad, you picked a grave time to start a venture here with this Yellow Hand madness.”

Harland then escorted him out, his brute outside the door waiting on them as his master pointed to the quarters where Roger was entertaining his partner.

Julius had his pin upon his tunic when they entered, a small trinket with a gold falcon and a number stamped into it. “You like it, Edmund?” he asked, excited.

“It suits you,” Edmund replied, happy to see such a smile on his face.

“Give him one, too,” Harland said as Julius peered up at his goon. “This lad we will treat special. He owes us sixty gold falcons.” the man laughs, sending a giggle through his jerkin while pointing at Edmund.

“Sorry, lad. The times have made us nervous, especially when one of us comes here. You never know who may be in that dreaded group of brigands.” Harland adds, pointing to his goon who glares in disgust at the both of them.

“I have hopes that Captain Wintergarden will nip this in the bud soon, for his sake,” Harland pointed out.

“If he doesn’t, he will live amongst the other beggars,” Roger said with a chuckle.

“Let’s not bore these two aspiring lads. Randolph will walk you out,” Harland said while patting Edmund on the back. “I can’t wait to see Argyle. We’re encouraged by the yields. Nothing makes us happier than when barges are moving north.”

“I am sure he shares your same enthusiasm,” Edmund replied in agreement. “Oh, I forgot to ask,” Edmund says as the pair of Guild members look back at him.

“This tobacco I hope will be a good seller in Old Street.” He shows them the leather sack, as the interest compels the father to peer at the contents. Harland takes the small sack, smells it then smiles wide. “How much do you have?”

“Ten barrels, I had hoped to get approval for this as well.”

Harland reached for his pipe, it looked like pearl with a pewter tip for a mouthpiece. He had his son poke a tinder in a nearby brazier to light it, inhaling the smoke as the fragrance filled the air around them. “

I change my mind, make it fifty falcons for his pin.” the man remarks, smiling then chuckling as his son joins him like a lackey.

Their audience concluded when escorted out by his hired blade, a thick, Nuhrish man who gently nudged them out and shut the door of the old counting house behind them. They smiled at one another while walking back onto the main Breeston square as Edmund placed his pin onto his doublet.

“What a pair of vile crooks,” Julius lamented. “Fifty gold falcons from you and twenty from me, you think two pins are worth this?”

“It will take that to double our profits. It’s better now that he thinks of us as fools, rather than trying to barter for another pin when sales permit it. He made it a point to warn me if we try to smuggle these barrels to other taverns.” Edmund then laughed. “The man thinks I’m the biggest moron he has ever seen. I now need to send Darsow back to get the rest of what Etric owes us.”

“There is more?” Julius jokes.

“I have a hundred barrels of Loreton ale with ten small kegs of tobacco owed to us, and the tobacco will be laced with herbs, and he owes me other things,” Edmund said as they wandered past the stone monument dedicated to Arturo Breeston.

“This one looks a little different from the one inside, don’t you think, Edmund?” Julius said while looking up at his plumed helm, a perch for several pigeons who had covered the statue’s head with droppings.

“I like this one better,” Edmund replied.

“You sure you can pull this off, Edmund?” Julius said while pulling his point. “I am trying to stay strong, but watching twenty falcons leave my hands into scoundrels’ purses, I detest them.”

“It looks complicated, but after we discuss arrangements with this Thad Griffin, we have to find a place. Be strong for a few more days, friend Julius,” Edmund said, feeling confident. “It will come together soon, I promise.”

“That is another thing that confuses me,” Julius muttered as they passed the square, entering a small, three-level merchant shop converted into a small meeting house. The door opened into an empty foyer with no chairs or tables for its visitors.

Edmund looked upon two doors that flanked an open window, looking into a rear set of quarters that made up the back of the dwelling. The doors were manned by two brutes in studded jerkins, with cudgels and a bronze dirk on their sides.

Inside the open window, he noticed another pair of frowning goons and a meek, balding man between them, who was squinting as if he could barely see them.

“Approach and tell me your claims,” the squinting man said to them.

“We need to speak with Thad Griffin,” Julius replied. “We are opening an inn.”

“You speak, and I will tell him if it’s important. My name is Royce and I speak for Thad.” Royce peered at them as they approached, dressed in a blue tunic and looking over a ledger.

“We are staying at the Frookuh and looking to buy a property in his ward. We have items we need to discuss with your master,” Julius spoke out as the brutes looked up at Edmund in scorn.

“Most buy a place first, then speak to us last. I suggest you do like the rest and come back, then.”

“Is your master here?” Edmund interrupted him, which got a cold look from Royce. “It appears you are his lickspittle, a flea who takes coppers to run parchments, believing he is very important for having the privilege,” Edmund remarked to annoy the man. “I need to give him this; my requests are not simple things. I need to converse with him at once.”

Julius shot him a frown to tone down his arrogance, then spoke up in a boast. “You know this man, he is the one that slew the Yellow Handers outside the walls.” Julius smiled out to the thugs, who peered at one another and shrugged.

“The Pan Head Prince. What honor do I owe my liege?” Royce quipped to a chorus of laughs.

“He may be that,” Julius said, chuckling. “He also has plenty of falcons to pass along. Maybe we should seek a place in the Horn. I think we are looking beyond ourselves here; perhaps Dillard Reese will save us the misery of having to beg a man to take seven or eight falcons off our hands.”

“That is unnecessary. I will be back,” Royce groaned aloud, walking from the window as his goons continued to stare at them. The meek man came back wearing a weasel’s grin. “He is on his way to speak with you.”

The man then held out a hand as if waiting for a copper to find it. Julius stared at him, confused, and waited. Suddenly, a shorter man came out of the right door with a waxed set of beard whiskers, jutting straight out like a fin. He smiled, then put on a cloth pill hat over a balding head, with eyebrows waxed flat upon his forehead.

“Sorry lads, forgive Royce, we get many dolts who say they are important. We rarely have one that fits that description,” the man said with a smile. “You may call me Thad. I have laid eyes upon you from afar as you have perused my ward. Let me have Royce write the things you request.”

“I have it written already,” Edmund remarked, smiling back while handing him a rolled parchment.

“You don’t have a place yet?” Thad responded while glancing over it. “This is quite a haul. You need this much?” he asked, surprised.

“I am hoping someone will keep this in holding. I will gather what I need daily and compensate him along the way,” Edmund said.

“It may take a few merchants to fill this request. I don’t mean to be rude, but this is not normal.” Thad looked at him and laughed, the brutes compelled to join him as Julius looked at Edmund, not sure what to say.

“I’m hoping to move that in a month’s time. I will put half up front and then pay the other half when they have filled the order,” Edmund confidently said. He then gave Thad five silver oaks as the ward boss looked upon him, dumbfounded. “Can we begin negotiations now?” Edmund added.

Thad looked at Julius, who changed his stricken expression to one of rehearsed confidence. “The merchants on Old Street praised you when we looked for a ward to invest in. We will have coin flowing like no other,” Julius added to press Thad along.

“I know my merchants, lad, they have nothing kind to say of me,” Thad replied, pocketing the silver. “Edmund, there are only four places on this street I know that are unoccupied.”

“Two are the size of this and will never make do, and the other is larger, but the bank is asking for five hundred falcons. And that other place, it’s further that way,” Thad pointed out.

“I’m sure your friend here knows the last one I am speaking of, a dreaded place and not worth mentioning. I will take ten falcons now if you are serious, and then the rest when your request is completed, place or no place.”

“That is too much,” Julius protested.

“That is fine,” Edmund said while placing the gold in Thad’s hands, his hands quivering as greed was filling his head with wide thoughts.

The ward boss put it away and shook his hand.

They were showered with compliments, but when Edmund left with Julius in tow, they could hear laughs from inside as they walked away. Julius stared at him, bewildered.

“He’s right about the properties. I have looked ahead of you and we will never afford what is out there,” Julius said.

“That last place. You looked into it like I requested?” Edmund asked him as they walked back to the Horn.

“It’s not what we need, Edmund. It is massive. We can’t afford it and it’s cursed. I was joking when I brought it up; you have us tapped out. What’s left is Osmond’s funds,” Julius informed him.

“A massive place? Tell me all you know.”