colour drained from Leighton’s face. ‘What are you suggesting?’ he demanded, clearly shaken.
‘You need do nothing radical,’ del Garza said, suddenly all generosity. ‘Naturally you cannot keep your commission.’ He drew a document from a small pile and pushed it toward the captain along with a quill pen already resting in an ink stand. ‘Herein you resign your commission; just sign at the bottom of the page, and the next page as well and then we’ll send you home.’ He lifted the pen from the inkwell and proffered it to Leighton with a slight smile. ‘Your older brother wouldn’t be the first nobleman who had to find a second career for a younger brother; much less a problem than shaming the family name.’
‘That is all?’ the Captain asked, taking the pen hesitantly.
Del Garza nodded. ‘We will take care of everything else. All the arrangements,’ he clarified. He pointed to the bottom of the page. ‘If you would,’ he invited.
As one hypnotized, Leighton signed. Del Garza lifted the corner of the page to expose the one beneath.
‘Sign here as well, if you would be so kind.’
With a shaky hand the Captain signed the bottom page as well and the acting governor drew them back, sanded the signatures and shook them dry.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘But for one minor detail that concludes our business.’
Leighton mopped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘What is that?’ he asked.
At del Garza’s nod the three guards stepped forward; two caught hold of the captain’s arms while the third whipped a garrotte around his neck. The stool went over with a crash, and Leighton’s legs became caught up in it so that he couldn’t get his feet under him. Del Garza cocked his head, watching the consciousness of imminent death and agony flood into the man’s eyes. Soon his heels beat a brief tattoo on the floor and after a very few moments he was dead.
The Baron neatly folded and sealed the two sheets of paper. ‘Poor fellow,’ del Garza said to the guards. ‘Carry him to his quarters and arrange things there. Make sure the bracket he hangs himself from is stout; he was a fleshy sort.’ He handed the papers to the chief guard. ‘Don’t forget to leave his resignation and most important, his confession, where they’ll be easily found.’
The guard smiled as he took the papers. ‘That was neatly done, sir,’ he said. ‘Makes me feel like we’re getting a bit of our own back.’
Del Garza looked at him for long enough that the man knew the Baron wasn’t amenable to flattery, then dismissed him.
Alone, del Garza considered his choices. Leighton had to die; there was no other option. Had he remained alive, word of the Duke’s vulnerability would eventually spread. Loyalty to the Prince or avarice for Mockers’ gold, the reason for Leighton’s treason didn’t matter. What mattered was who would be looked at when Duke Guy returned from dealing with the Keshians in the Vale of Dreams.
Del Garza could put a fair amount of responsibility on Radburn’s shoulders, with justification. His iron grip on the city had bred discontent, and the way in which he ran roughshod over the Prince’s own guards and the city’s constables would be certain to drive some firmly into the Prince’s camp.
The handwriting was on the wall, as they say; Erland was dying, no matter what the healing priests and chirurgeons did to hold death at bay. With no son to inherit, Anita would be a prize for any ambitious man. And with the King having no heirs, her husband was but one step from the throne in Rillanon. So, Guy would marry Anita, and some day, sooner rather than later, del Garza judged, Guy du Bas-Tyra would become King Guy the First.
Del Garza tapped his chin with a forefinger as he wondered where he might come out in all this. He was not by nature an ambitious man, but circumstances seemed to dictate that his choice was to rise or fall; there was no standing still. Hence, he would choose to rise. Who knew? An earldom in the east, perhaps near Rodez?
But to rise, he had to avoid falling, and to do that, he had to survive Guy’s wrath when he returned and found the girl missing. He hoped Radburn would return soon with the girl in tow, or not return at all. If Jocko had the good grace to get himself killed in the attempt, everything would be his fault by the time del Garza got finished explaining things to the Duke. And that meant having lots of other guilty parties to parade before him.
‘Cray!’ he shouted, summoning the captain of the guard’s secretary. When the man appeared he said, ‘I want every commander of every unit involved with this morning’s mission, from the sergeants up, in this office in one hour.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cray said and sped off.
Del Garza sat back in the commander’s chair, enjoying the way Cray had leapt to obey, enjoying the privilege of taking over the commander’s office, enjoying the memory of the look on Leighton’s face when he had realized del Garza held the power in Krondor for the moment.
He turned his mind away from feeling any pleasure at the prospect of authority. How could he enjoy anything when his lord had been humiliated this morning? How could that wicked girl abandon her father so? And why? So that she would not have to partake of the honour of wedding the Duke du Bas-Tyra; one of the greatest, one of the noblest men in the Kingdom! How dare the little baggage treat his lord so?
Poor Prince Erland, to have such an uncaring child. Not that he was much better, for he, too, had defied his lord’s will. Well, he’d just have to suffer the fate to which his own daughter had condemned him. Del Garza considered: perhaps if the Prince was relocated to one of his draughtier dungeons, and word was leaked that he would remain there until his daughter returned …? He considered that a move to be made if Radburn didn’t return with the girl soon. If the girl had been coerced into leaving the city, it might convince her to return of her own volition, and if the Prince didn’t survive the ordeal, that was another problem that could be laid at Jocko’s feet when the Duke again graced the city.
Del Garza sighed. So much to be done, and he so much preferred routine to the unexpected. But, at least he knew the task at hand.
These … thieves, these nothings must be brought to heel, whipped into place like the dogs they were. That they should dare to steal Guy du Bas-Tyra’s rightful bride, interfering in matters they knew nothing about, and indeed should know nothing about …
With an effort del Garza calmed himself. He took deep breaths until his heart rate returned to normal. He shouldn’t waste this anger; he should harbour his fury until the men came, and then release it. Things were going to change around here; soon and forever. By the time Guy du Bas-Tyra returned from the south, Krondor would be a city in order and under firm control. Yes, he thought, in control.
He called for a parchment and pen and set his mind to the list of things that would have to be done, and first on that list was to round up as many of the Mockers as could be ferreted out of whatever dark warren hid them.
The crossroads was crowded.
Hotfingers Flora was chatting and laughing with her friends while tossing saucy, flirtatious glances at every passing male when the wagon pulled up beside them. At first she didn’t give it much of a glance; the streets were busy with men on foot, porters with heavy loads, handcarts
