Chapter 67: Schemes and Gaps

The sky was gradually growing dark, and the number of pedestrians on Amber Street was dwindling. This area was too close to the slums, and venturing out after nightfall was never entirely safe; the town watch rarely patrolled this street at night.

Yet, the inns and taverns along the street glowed brightly, with bursts of male laughter and shrill cries of women occasionally spilling into the night. The Goat Inn too was ablaze with light, but its doors were tightly shut. Four hulking men, arms folded, stood guard outside, their sharp gazes enough to make any passerby cross to the far side of the street.

“Lord Barol has many places to stay in town; usually, he sleeps wherever he fancies. But recently, he took in a pair of sisters, so he’s been enjoying himself these past two nights at his private residence, number 14 on Walnut Street,” said a pale-faced young man, sketching on an oak table as he spoke. “He always keeps twenty-odd thugs around him, some of them real toughs, and there are two crossbows among them.”

“You’re one of Barol’s men—how do we know you’re not just lying to us?” an old mercenary growled. Mercenaries who lived through battles trusted only the shoulders and backs of their comrades; they always despised and hated traitors.

“No need to doubt him—Monkey doesn’t lie,” Nelson interjected.

Nelson was in a foul mood. After a long conversation with the sheriff of Blackfort, he had learned a great deal. Barol’s backer was a steward from the House of Villepan, and this trap at the Goat Inn was not due to any carelessness on Old John’s part; it had been orchestrated by Villepan’s steward himself. Even during the last recruitment of freemen, it was Villepan’s steward who spread the word that Lord Victor’s retinue had no knights and was not worth joining. If Victor hadn’t raised the banner of Sir Bruce, they would never have recruited enough settlers.

As for why Villepan’s steward did this, Nelson understood perfectly. Victor had once told Nelson that he had lost his family’s support by offending the Prince’s Faction, and Baron Villepan was one of their members. Unless they cut off Villepan’s claws in Blackfort, they could forget about selling their purple cane wine in peace. This time they framed them for murder; next time, someone would surely die of poisoning after drinking the wine.

Barol had to die.

“Monkey, are you sure we don’t need to wipe out all of Barol’s men?” Nelson asked the young man.

“Sir, in our line of work, whoever has the backing is the boss. Once Lord Barol is dead, his men will follow the new leader. We all need to make a living,” Monkey replied, a hint of excitement in his voice. He knew he’d soon take Barol’s place.

As expected, after a moment’s silence, Nelson asked, “If we help you rise to power, how will you prove your loyalty?”

“Sir, to be frank, we people have never known loyalty. We’re like rags—when one’s dirty, you just swap it for another. The lords never need our loyalty.”

Monkey’s confession left the mercenaries in silence.

“Sir, if you back me, I’ll obey you; if not, I’ll end up dead in some filthy ditch,” Monkey added nervously.

“How will you get Barol’s men to follow you?” Old John pressed.

“Sir, being the boss isn’t about having the hardest fists. It only takes a word from the sheriff. Whether the sheriff supports me depends on your influence,” Monkey said, bowing his head respectfully.

“Monkey, after you take charge, I need you to do three things,” Nelson said. “First, keep an eye on the purple cane wine business—don’t let anyone meddle. Second, watch for any rumors aimed at Victor’s domain and report them to the Goat Inn at once. Third, help us recruit women—at least forty in two months. Can you manage that?”

“Sir, the first two are no problem. But the third—may I ask, do you need serving girls?” Monkey asked cautiously.

“No. We have too many bachelors in the domain; the women are to become wives.”

Monkey’s eyes lit up at this. “Is it alright if they have children? And will they be granted settler status?”

“Yes, and yes.”

Seeing Monkey’s careful questions, Nelson’s expression softened with a touch of approval; it showed he wasn’t just giving lip service.

“That’s fine, then. But I can’t promise the numbers every time—just being honest,” Monkey said carefully.

“Do your best. I won’t make things hard for you. Is there anything else you need to say?”

“Just about the protection fee—the sheriff’s office takes half, and my brothers split the other half. The lords get nothing. And if you have any difficult tasks you need done, you’ll have to pay a bonus,” Monkey said through gritted teeth, heart pounding, but these were the rules and he had to be clear.

“What? You use our name to do business and still keep all the fees? And you dare ask for a bonus?” an old mercenary glared.

“Sir, we rely on the sheriff’s share to survive; we have no choice but to give him half. The rest barely feeds us, and we still have to deal with the Golden Fingers and fight other gangs. We risk our lives and never trouble the lords, and any task the lords assign is taken seriously. That’s just how it is,” Monkey hastily explained.

“Alright, I understand. That’s the deal. Each month, you can draw twenty silver sorls from here, and you’ll get ten more for each woman you recruit. Is that enough?” Nelson agreed.

Monkey had been introduced by the sheriff, and the sheriff had already explained the arrangement to Nelson. The sheriff supported Monkey’s rise for Nelson’s sake—Monkey would be the family’s agent in Blackfort, a contractor who supported himself. Of course he would need to be paid for services rendered—loyalty was not required.

“It’s enough, thank you, sir!” Monkey bowed and grinned, the deal sealed.

Nelson straightened, swept his gaze over his men, and said coldly, “Arm up. We’re going to kill Barol!”

The guards sprang into action, donning armor, taking up shields, checking their swords, slinging their crossbows—a murderous air filled the room.

“Sir, please, listen to me—according to the sheriff’s rules, gang feuds can’t use military equipment—sir!” Monkey cried out in a panic, seeing the burly men gearing up for war.

Nelson ignored him, his cold eyes tinged with fury. Sheriff Shacks had already taken half the purple cane wine’s profits as his price for letting the Yorks sell it peacefully in Blackfort. And tonight, no one from the sheriff’s office would interfere.

“We’ll roll right over them!”

———————

Number 14 Walnut Street, Barol’s private residence—a two-story wooden house with front and back yards, worth at least eighty gold sorls in Blackfort.

Located on the outer edge of the vassal district, it was where Barol entertained distinguished guests. Even late at night, tough-looking men prowled the grounds, their hands in their pockets, clutching daggers—Barol’s most trusted henchmen.

The sound of footsteps in the distance alerted them. They drew long and short swords from their hiding places and exchanged wary glances—some were clearly seasoned fighters.

One of them took a torch from the wall and waved it three times—their gang’s signal, meant to confirm whether the newcomers were friends.

Receiving no response from the approaching figures, the man shouted, “This is Lord Barol’s turf! Which gang are you from?”

Thwack! Thwack! Two crossbow bolts slammed through him, sending him twitching to the ground. That was their answer.

There were no cries for help, no panic, not even chaos; the rest of the toughs dropped their weapons and slipped away into the shadows.

These desperadoes were not lacking in courage—except when it came to facing an army.

What a joke—crossbows, round shields, mail, spears—these were military arms! No doubt, these were soldiers.

Barol was finished.

“These are the toughs Monkey spoke of?” an old mercenary watched as their foes scattered into the darkness like rats, dumbfounded.

“Hyenas, he called them,” Nelson said, stroking his chin. Their swift retreat wasn’t entirely without merit; after all, they’d never fought hyenas before. Mercenaries’ activities in town were always limited.

“Move! Don’t let Barol escape!”

The armed guards stormed the house.

Before long, a woman’s scream rang out from the second floor, but it quickly faded into silence.

Monkey and a dozen guards emerged from the house.

“No mistake—it was Barol!” Monkey said excitedly.

Nelson glanced at Old John.

“A boozy old man, snoring like a dead pig. It’s done. The two girls and three bodyguards all said it was Barol—no mistake,” Old John murmured.

Nelson stood in the courtyard, rubbing the back of his head. The operation had gone more smoothly than he’d expected—no resistance, no screams, as if it had happened countless times before.

Was this how hyenas survived?

——————————————

“It’s done?” Shacks leaned back in his chair, asking Monkey.

“Yes, sir, all done. The steward from Villepan’s house was killed by Victor’s guards. But those two women were taken as well—is that alright?” Monkey replied deferentially.

“No matter. Those women always believed they were serving Barol. That was his cleverness—he never touched the sisters and pretended to be one of Barol’s own men, warning them not to pry into the boss’s affairs,” Shacks sighed, then asked, “Do you know what became of Barol?”

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“He was clever. He secretly prepared another identity, slipped off to the freemen’s slum on the east side, planning to run away on his own—but he died. How do you think he died?”

“Sir, he was killed by his own cleverness!”

Monkey’s answer took Shacks by surprise. He laughed. “Seems you’re a clever one, too!”

“Sir, I’m not clever, but I know my place,” Monkey replied, head lowered, all obedience.

“Oh? And what do you know?”

“Life or death—it’s all up to you, sir!”

“Indeed, you are sensible. So, you’ll pay one-tenth less on your cut. If you run into trouble, I’ll send help. But remember—serve House Victor with all your heart. Understood?” Shacks gazed coldly at this ‘sensible’ man, his tone icy.

“Yes, sir, I will!” Monkey wiped the sweat from his brow and hurried to promise.

“By the way—should Barol’s bodyguards be silenced?”

“No need. I never intended to silence anyone this time. That’s why Barol was killed by his own cleverness,” Shacks replied coolly.

He wanted both families to know exactly what had happened. The Yorks and the Villepans were already at odds; even if Baron Villepan realized the Yorks were behind it, he could only vent his anger on Victor. As for Victor, what other path was left to him?

Watching Monkey back out of his office, Shacks smiled faintly.

Though only an apprentice knight, Shacks had full command over everything in Blackfort—such was the power of the great families’ middle ranks. But as for Victor’s side?