The Crown Tower

CHAPTER 7

Alight rain began to fall by the time Hadrian reached the city. From the dock where the towpath ended, a wider and much steeper road climbed the canyon wall. Hadrian dismounted before the climb. The poor animal had hauled a barge all day and didn’t need his extra burden. By the time they reached the top, both were puffing. Their breath formed clouds more from the wet than the temperature, which didn’t seem so cold given the exertion of the climb.

At the top, the streets turned to cobblestone that was tricky to walk on. Still, it was better than the dirt, which the rain would have turned into a muddy mess. Hadrian figured it must be close to dawn. The city had pole lamps, but none were lit. Few people were on the streets, and those who were moved slow, yawning and sneering at the sky. Colnora fit its reputation for size with a maze of streets and hundreds of buildings comprised of homes and shops of every sort imaginable. One store just sold ladies’ hats. How a place could survive selling just hats baffled him, much less one catering only to ladies. Another sold slippers for men-not boots, not shoes, just slippers. Hadrian had never worn slippers in his life. The sign above the big window instructed LEAVE THE MUD ON THE STREET! Hadrian wondered if the store owner had ever seen the street, as the one in front of his shop lacked even a hint of dirt. He felt like a ghost in a graveyard or a thief in a mansion-all the buildings and thoroughfares dark and silent except for the patter and ping of the morning rain.

Hadrian was exhausted. Any reserves he once had were stolen by the climb. He considered looking for an inn or even a dry porch. Anyplace he could get out of the wet and close his eyes for a few hours. Only he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Vivian haunted him. So did the others, but he kept seeing her lying in that cabin, facedown in that dark pool. Her hand bent, her head turned away-that at least was a mercy.

He wandered up the street with his giant horse clopping beside him. Everything since the river had been uphill, as if they had built the city on a mountaintop. The higher he went the nicer the buildings became, and he remembered Pickles’s comment: Everything else runs downhill, but gold flows up. Homes here were made from crafted stone, three and four stories tall with numerous glass windows, gates of bronze-paneled reliefs, and even little towers as if every house was a tiny castle. He wasn’t sure what neighborhood he was in, but he didn’t feel comfortable. Hadrian had never seen such luxury. There were sidewalks and gutters with storm drains that kept the street clear. Street. Hadrian chuckled. Street was too small a word for the thoroughfares near the top. These were boulevards made of luxurious brick and three times the width of any normal avenue with rows of trees, gardens, and fountains lining islands in the center. Most surprising of all was the total lack of horse manure, and Hadrian wondered if they polished the bricks at night.

He wandered, making turns at random, looking to the signboards for clues. He reached a short wall and, peering over, realized how far he’d come. Far below was the river, a small line at the base of a canyon, and what looked like the roof of a boathouse appearing the size of a copper din held at arm’s length.

Certain he’d find nothing at the top, Hadrian descended by a different route. At last he spotted a signboard with a crown and sword. The building it was attached to looked like an errant castle turret made from large blocks of stone complete with a crenellated parapet two stories up. Hadrian tied his horse to the post and climbed up the porch steps. He beat on the door at its base. After the fourth clubbing, he debated drawing his big sword-the butt of it made a decent sledge-but the door opened. Behind it stood a beefy man with a day-old beard and an unfriendly look on a freshly bruised face. “What?”

“You the city watch?” Hadrian asked.

“Sheriff Malet,” he croaked, his eyes only half open.

“There’s been a murder-several in fact-down on the river.”

Malet looked up at the weather with a sneer. “Bugger me.”

He waved Hadrian into a small room with a stove, table, rumpled bed, and enough swords, shields, and other tools of war to outfit a small army.

“Mind your feet and keep your puddle at the door.” Malet was alone and holding a candle that illuminated his face from below, casting shadows that along with his puffed and bloodied face made him look as grotesque as a stone gargoyle. He set the candle on the table and stared at Hadrian.

“What’s your name?”

“Hadrian Blackwater.”

“Where’s Blackwater?”

“It’s not a place.”

Malet, who was wearing only a nightshirt, grabbed a pair of trousers off the floor. Sitting on the corner of a dark wood desk, he stuffed his legs in. “What kind of profession is it, then?”

“It’s just a surname. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Malet glared at him with weary eyes. “What good is it if it don’t tell me something about you?”

“Why don’t you just call me Hadrian.”

“I’ll do that.” He stood up and buckled his trousers. “Where are you from, Hadrian?”

“Hintindar originally-a little village south of here in Rhenydd.”

“Originally? What’s that supposed to mean? You got yourself born someplace else recently?”

“I just meant I haven’t been there in many years.”

“Many years? You don’t look old enough to have lived many years.” His eyes shifted to his swords. “That’s a lot of hardware you’re carrying, Hadrian. You a weaponsmith maybe?”

“Father was a blacksmith.”

“But you’re not?”

“Listen, I just came here to report the killings-you want to hear about those?”

Malet sucked on his teeth. “You know where the killer is right now?”

“No.”

“Bodies likely to get up and walk away soon?”

“No.”

“Then what’s your rush?”

“I’m a bit tired.”

Malet’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Really? I’m so sorry for you. Turns out I’m a little worn out myself. I spent all day stopping a bloody riot from breaking out over on the west side because some dumb bastard spit the wrong way. Two of my men are laid up with knife wounds as parting gifts. And just a few hours ago I got my nose mashed dragging two drunks out of The Gray Mouse Tavern who were busting up the place because they thought it would be funny. I only just collapsed into bed when some other bastard couldn’t wait until morning before hammering on my door. I know I wasn’t asleep long because I still have the same damn headache I went to bed with. Now, I didn’t bang on your door, did I, Hadrian? So don’t complain to me about being tired.” He turned to a small stove. “Care for coffee?”

“Don’t you want to go see the bodies?”

Malet sighed and raised a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Are they in the street outside?”

“No, down on the river, about three miles I guess.”

“Then no, I don’t want to go see the bodies.”

“Why not?”

The sheriff glanced over his shoulder with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “It’s dark and it’s raining, and I’m not trekking down that ruddy mud slide until the sun comes up. In my experience the dead are a very patient lot. I don’t think they’ll mind waiting a few hours, do you? Now, you want coffee or not?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He began stuffing the stove with split wood stacked beside it. “Go ahead and tell me your story.”

Hadrian took a seat at the little table and explained the events of the last several days while Sheriff Malet made his coffee and continued to dress. By the time he was done with both, the previously black window revealed the soaked street in a growing hazy light.

“And this barge is about three miles down the river along the towpath?” the sheriff asked, sitting opposite him at the little table by the window, his hands hugging the metal cup under his nose.

“Yeah, I secured it well enough before coming here.” The coffee was bitter and far weaker than Hadrian was used to. In Calis, coffee was common in every house, but it was a rare, and he imagined expensive, luxury in Avryn.

“And you never met any of these people before?”

“No, sir.”

“You’ve never been to Colnora before now?”

“No, sir.”

“And you insist that a guy in a dark cloak with a hood killed everyone on the boat as well as three others in Vernes, then just vanished.”

“Yes.”

“So tell me, Hadrian. How did you survive?”

“I suppose because I was the only one who was armed. I also didn’t sleep, which is why I’d like to get this taken care of sooner rather than later.”

“Uh-huh. And how did this fella manage to murder everyone on a tiny barge without you ever seeing him kill anyone? You didn’t, right? He butchered all those people, including the woman you were with-this Vivian-and then got away, and you never even saw him swim to shore?”

“I don’t know how he did it.”

“Uh-huh.” He took a loud sip from his cup. “So you’re not a blacksmith … What are you, Hadrian?”

“Nothing at the moment.”

“Looking for work, then?”

“I will be. Right now I’m on my way to Sheridan.”

“The university? Why?”

“A friend of the family sent me word that my father had passed and asked me to visit.”

“Thought you were from Hintindar.”

“I am.”

“But your father died in Sheridan?”

“No, he died in Hintindar-I’m guessing. But the friend lives in Sheridan. He has some things to give me.”

“And the swords?”

“I was a soldier.”

“Deserter?”

“Why are you interrogating me?”

“Because you come here with a story of being the only survivor of a slaughter, and that makes you the obvious suspect.”

“If I had killed them, why would I come to you? Why wouldn’t I just disappear?”

“Maybe that’s just the point. Maybe you think by pinning these deaths on Duster I’d never suspect you.”

“Who’s Duster?”

The sheriff smirked and took another sip.

“Am I supposed to know? Because I don’t.”

Malet stared at him a moment with a puzzled look. Then with a rise of his brows, he set his coffee back down, making a little clink. “A year ago last summer, this town was terrorized by a series of exceptionally gruesome murders perpetrated by someone called Duster, or the Duster. The magistrate, lawyers, merchants, some of my men, and a number of disreputable malcontents were butchered and hung up like decorations. Every morning there were new ornaments, gruesome bits of artwork. No one was safe. Even members of the Black Diamond were butchered. The killing spree went on all summer. The streets went empty, ’cause folks were too scared to go out. Commerce was crippled, and I had every bloody merchant calling me every name you can imagine.”

“And this was all because of one guy?”

“That’s the rumor.”

“You never caught him?”

“Nope. The killings just stopped one day. And every day since then the people of this city have given thanks to Novron and Maribor. So you can see why I’m not too pleased to hear your story.”

“What makes you think it’s the same guy?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Few people ever saw the killer, but the ones who did reported he wore a black cloak with a hood.”

Malet glanced out the window, drained his cup, and fetched his coat off a wall peg. “Let’s go see what you left on the river.”

Rain poured as they rode the slick towpath where rivulets etched the mud. Hadrian now understood Malet’s concern about hazarding the trip in the dark. The canyon gave birth to dozens of various-sized waterfalls that saturated the trail. Most of the bigger ones they managed to walk around; some even had wooden awnings built for the purpose that he hadn’t noticed on the way up in the dark. Others they carefully trudged through, and on one occasion they dismounted and led their horses across on foot. Hadrian couldn’t get any wetter, but soaked as he was and still dressed in his useless linen, the gusts that blew through the ravine drove him to shiver.

Hadrian led the way on the single-lane towpath and slowly came to a stop.

“Something wrong?” the sheriff asked.

“Yeah, this is the place. It was right here.”

“The boat?”

“Yes.”

Malet circled his horse, a tired spotted bay with a ratty black mane. “I thought you tied it.”

“I did. Right here.” Hadrian slid to the ground, his feet slapping the muck.

Peering downriver, he found no sign of the barge.

“Well … I guess the rising current might have loosened the rope.” He found the tree he had tied the barge to and saw a slight mark, yet nothing so certain as a rope burn.

Malet pursed his lips and nodded. “I suppose that’s possible.”

Hadrian searched the path for the wedged tow bar, but it, too, was gone. More disturbing was the lack of discarded tack, the horse collars, and the other half of the team. Nothing remained. He trotted farther down the path until he reached a slight bend that gave him a clear view of the open river-still no barge.

“Why don’t we head back up and talk to Bennett at the shipping dock,” Malet said as Hadrian returned. “I’d like to hear what he makes of his missing boat.”

Hadrian nodded.

Nestled in the crux of the canyon walls, just past the river dock, stood a wooden building. It possessed all the charm of a mining shack but sported the elongated frame of a boathouse. A sign mounted on the roof read COLNORA-VERNES SHIPPING amp; BARGE SERVICE.

“Closed! Go way!” they heard when Malet banged on the door.

“Open up, Billy,” Malet said. “Need to talk to you about your boat that was due in today.”

The door drew back a crack and a small bald man peered out. “Whose-whatsa?”

“The barge you’re expecting this morning, it’s not coming. According to this fella, everyone’s been murdered.”

The old man squinted at him. “What are you talking about? What barge?”

“What do you mean, what barge?”

“Ain’t no barge expected in today. Next barge is in three days.”

“That so?” Malet asked.

“Honest,” Bennett replied, rubbing his sleeves.

“You got a barge pilot named Farlan working for you?” the sheriff asked. “He a steersman a yours?”

Bennett shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

“Heard of him working for anyone, maybe even a free-boater?”

Again Bennett shook his head.

“How about your postilion? You have one named Andrew?”

“Never heard of him neither.”

Malet turned back to Hadrian. The sheriff didn’t look pleased.

“What about this horse?” Hadrian asked, slapping what he had concluded must have been Gertrude.

“What about it?”

“This horse was one of the pair used to drag the barge.”

“This your horse?” the sheriff asked Bennett.

The bald man stuck his head out the door, caught some runoff from the roof, then pulled it back in. He wiped off the rain with his sleeve, then said with a grimace, “Never saw that horse before in my life.”

“Well, what about the jewelers?” Hadrian turned to Malet with a bit more emotion than he had planned. This whole affair was making him out to look crazy. What was worse, he was starting to question his own sanity. “Have you heard of any new shops that are opening soon?”

Malet peered at him, rain running off his nose. “No, I haven’t. What about you, Bennett?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“All right, Billy, sorry to get you up. You can go back to bed.”

Without even a parting word, the door closed.

The sheriff’s look turned harsher. “You said you were heading to Sheridan, right?”

Hadrian nodded.

“Maybe you should get going before I start reflecting on how you woke me up before dawn and dragged me out into this piss. If I wasn’t so tired, and you didn’t look as miserable as I feel, I’d lock you up for being a nuisance.”

Hadrian watched the sheriff ride back up the hill, grumbling as he went. He tried making sense of it all, but there was none to be found.