Exploitable Weaknesses by Brian Keller (red queen free ebook txt) 📗

to encompass the entirety of their surroundings, then returned his attention to the smaller man, “Taxes on what?” The tax collector had clearly lost his patience, “I should have you arrested for obstructing me!” Mister Ysel replied calmly, “Obstructing you? We’re still trying to determine why you’re here at all. If you can’t identify what your here to collect taxes on, then it’s equally valid that I could have you arrested for trespassing.” The city official’s stuffy veneer had dropped away completely as he shouted, “Should I suppose the construction crews are working for free?!” Mister Ysel palmed an already prepared pouch with a few coins in it and presented it to the tax collector, “There now. Was that so difficult? Same time next month?” The open-mouthed tax collector accepted the pouch and Mister Ysel turned and walked away, his step so light he was almost skipping. Rukle chose this moment to pass near Cooper, close enough to mutter, “Now wouldn’t it have been simpler to just kill him?”

Cooper watched the small, enraged, and now undoubtedly vindictive man count out the small stack of coins then dump them back into the pouch and yank the drawstrings closed. He glared at Mister Ysel’s back for a second or two before he issued commands to his guards and then turned to leave the Ruins. Cooper had to admit, Rukle could be right. He wondered what next month’s tax collection might look like. He assumed Mister Ysel had a plan, or at least, he hoped he did.

He’d decided to remain in the Ruins for most of the day. “Where better to ‘lie low’?” he thought. He waved to several of his colleagues and gathered those in sight to inform them, “In case the news hasn’t reached any of you-” Rukle spoke, “The Spymaster’s dead. We heard.” Cooper nodded, not even irritated at being interrupted. In fact, Rukle appeared to be the one who was upset, “You don’t suppose you could’ve brought a few of us along for that? Had to do it all by yourself, did you?” Cooper’s answer was for the benefit of all, “He was a contract.” Birt shook his head, “Nothing about that says you couldn’t take some of us with you. Master Loril wouldn’t have expected you to take on a high profile person like that without help.” Cooper shrugged, “Well, it’s done, and I dropped off the message. Now we just need to see if the Prince agrees to our terms. If anyone hears about or sees the flagship sail out, please find me and let me know. If that ship makes a short turn out into the bay, with flags lowered, then we’re committed to act even if the Journeymen haven’t returned; even if they haven’t made their delivery.” Everyone was silent. They all knew what that meant.

He worked with the crews until the sun was just a little above a few of the remaining second story walls to the west, then have gave himself an extra coating of dust and walked to the Waterfront. He noted that none of the recently-created guard vantage points were occupied, nor were any of the extra patrols evident. It was as if the death of the Spymaster returned Waterfront life to normal, except for the fact that Apex merchants were taking full advantage of the reprieve. It almost looked like they were attempting to make up for lost sales. During the last week, one team would make a few furtive sales every hour, now there were two teams blatantly and aggressively selling, only to disband for a few minutes if a periodic guard patrol came into sight. In all honesty, it didn’t appear that the men of the Watch were even interested. It appeared the only thing they were interested in was to finish their shift and have a drink or three.

It didn’t look like the flagship had moved. He stopped in one of the boardwalk taverns. If the flagship had left the docks, only to turn around and re-moor, that was sure to be a topic of conjecture and gossip. He could expect to hear several theories, “Why the quick turn? Was the ship taking on water?” and “They brought the flags down and raised ‘em again. Was it to show respect for that dead Spymaster?” But there was no such chatter. It was just the usual ‘tavern banter’. One patron cryptically explaining his next money-making endeavor and someone else trying to be clever as they asked whether the Tavern owner’s daughter was ‘of age’ yet, accompanied by rough laughter from all that heard and the owner’s red-faced reply that he ‘had no daughter, and certainly none for the likes of them’. Cooper decided he could ask innocently enough, and when a barmaid came to his table to take his order he pointed towards the warships, “I know those ships go out a’times ta patrol the waters, but when wuz the las’ time that ship went out?” He pointed at the flagship. The barmaid swept his coin off the table and set down one of the dozen frothy mugs she was carrying on a platter, “It’s been weeks. Mebbe two, mebbe three. Ya ask me, it’s ‘bout time fer ‘em ta take ‘er out agin. Give her sailor’s sumpin’ ta do ‘sides reachin’ fer me rump.” She made a ‘hmpf’ sound through her nose as she picked up her tray and turned away. From the exchange, Cooper learned two things, the flagship hadn’t yet left the dock, and from the way the barmaid paused after she turned, she didn’t much mind having patrons reach for her rump, despite her earlier complaint. He took a few swallows of the stale beer, enough to wash down some of the dust from the work he’d done today. He might have finished it if it was good beer, or at least cold; but as it was neither, the mug was still half full when he left the bar.