The Hekamon Read online

  "Mr. Croneygee, if I understand you right, I've kept you from an important meeting with Captain Tregarron." Tansley phrased his suggestion as politely, and precisely, as possible, which in Galvyn's experience, meant he was up to something. "If so, may I suggests we go to the fort via the mine and the Old Moat Road. It's quicker that way and you'll make up for lost time."

  "You're right, it would be quicker that way," Croneygee said, "and these do need to be taken down the deepest levels of the fort," he continued, weighing up the idea.

  This matter-of-fact description of where the bag of tools were heading, and their intended purpose, caused Galvyn to shift uncomfortably in his seat. They were destined for the Demedelei Fort dungeons, where the saws, hammers and tongs were put to alternate uses.

  "It's not a bad idea," Croneygee said, his mind seemingly made up, "but getting this heavy bag into and through the mine would be too much hassle. I'll go the road way."

  His boss started towards the door but Tansley stepped in front of him to stop him, "As a goodwill gesture, and by way of an apology for delaying you, I'll carry your bag for you." Tansley said, more charming than normal, and at the same time gave Galvyn a pleading, sideways glance.

  Galvyn got up from his seat, walked over and opened the coal bunker door, "I could lower it down on the pulley," he suggested.

  "Good idea, Galvyn," Tansley said enthusiastically, holding out an hand and offering to take the bag, "let's do that."

  The old man considered the idea, and after a moments hesitation, he acquiesced, and Galvyn could understand why. The mine was, in practice, no dirtier than the streets around the workshops. What with the dust, the smoke and the sparks flying all around. The inactive coal mine might, if anything, be cleaner.

  Galvyn went into the coal bunker, unhooked the chain from the tub and brushed off some residual coal dust. Tansley handed him the hessian bag and he placed it on the hook. While Croneygee opened the trapdoor and lead Tansley into the mine below.

  The two men descended, firstly the ladder and then the stairs, before making it down to the bottom of the shaft. With Galvyn unspooling the chain and lowering the bag down as they went.

  Looking down into the gloom below, he saw Tansley unhook the bag and throw it over one shoulder, before the pair walked out of view.

  Galvyn wound the chain up, then closed the door in the coal bunker floor and returned to his workbench. He did so quickly, there were things that needed mending.

  31

  Decarius began moving along the rear of the armory until he reached the corner of the building. As he peered around, he could see the risk of being seen would increase dramatically if he continued. Not only would he be in plain view to anyone on the street but the proprietor and customers of the neighboring workshop, too. To say nothing of the occupants of the armory should he start looking through the window. He moved back again with the intention of checking out out the other side of the building.

  No sooner had he started back that way, than there came the sound of a door opening, followed by a voice which he could now hear much more clearly.

  "I could lower it down on the pulley," It was the youthful, higher pitched voice of a younger man, and not only that, it sounded close, maybe just the other side of the dusty window.

  "Good idea, Galvyn, let's do that."

  The muffled reply came from further inside the building and must have belonged to either Tansley or the older man he'd seen.

  There followed the sound of moving chains, another door creaked and then the rattle of a pulley, along with a winch, or some device of that nature. What was happening? Then the sound of movement, creaking wood and then footsteps on stairs or a ladder. Descending or ascending?

  "I shouldn't be more than an hour, have one of the bracers finished by the time I get back." This time the rasping voice of an older man.

  That was the armorer, he was sure of it, and it sounded like he was leaving. But was Tansley going with him? Decarius was less certain of this, but from what he could hear, it seemed likely he was, since there were more than one pair of boots on the stairs.

  If they were leaving then they must be descending, but to where? There could only be one place.

  Decarius knew that the whole area was covered with coal mines. The Serfacre workshops had sprung up here precisely because of the thick coal seam beneath. And from what he could make out, Tansley and the armorer where heading into the mines by way of an exit. Was that normal? Or could Tansley be aware he had been followed. Was he making an escape similar to the one he'd made from his trading post?

  If the men were leaving by that route, where could they be going? Decarius had no knowledge of the underground mine workings, other than being aware of their existence. He would need to try and figure it out, and quickly. Feeling exposed in his current position, he moved away from the armory, back across the small yard and into the rough ground beyond.

  Decarius's mind raced with a mental map of his surroundings. If the men re-emerged in a another building, then he would need to get back among the workshops, but which one? There must about forty of them, there was no way that he could go around Serfacre checking on every building. He would have to find another way and realized that if he was going to have any chance of finding them, he would need to get into the mine, too.

  Then a thought occurred to him.

  When Lord Jephson had ordered the moat drained, he'd made the fact known to Coralai, declaring it to be an act of goodwill. One that cemented the peace treaty. It was a reduction of their defensive posture, or so the man had said.

  The Coralainians had later found out, that with the moat empty of water, the mining of iron, limestone and coal had become easier. With weapon making a prime use for those materials. Not such an act of goodwill after all.

  Still, if the mines could be reached from the Old Moat Road, then the opposite would also be true. It seemed like a good place to start and he moved that way. As he thought about it more, he realized something else. If the men were heading that way, then it would make for a useful short cut, especially if they were going—

  He looked across the dried out moat at the fort.

  Moving to the edge of the rough ground, Decarius reached the top of the bank and looked into the deep, wide gully below. It was very wide, two hundred yards, easily.

  Trees and bushes grew all along the length and up the embankments either side. Long grass, beginning to die back now the season had turned, covered the whole area. There were narrow paths, crisscrossing from one side of the road to the other, and a stream, which emerged from a limestone cavern to the south and ran down the middle. He could see the paths themselves were formed by nothing more than the movement of people, trampling down and wearing out the grass to reveal the compacted earth beneath.

  Decarius moved further down the bank and looked along it, certain that there must be an entrance of some kind. Then he saw something, thirty yards away to his right, a wooden structure built into the bank. Might that be it? Was that the adit, the entrance to the mine?

  If it was, then it wasn't the only one. There was at least one more adit, and it was right below where he was standing. Decarius knew this because at that very moment, two figures suddenly stepped out from the bankside and into the daylight. Seeing them emerge, Decarius quickly knelt down into the long grass before remained perfectly still. He then watched as the merchant and the old man, moved onto the path, thirty feet below him.

  "So are you carrying that all the way to the fort?" He heard the old man say.

  At this moment, Decarius had to lay flat to conceal himself completely. Tansley's eyes were sweeping the bankside. The effect was to muffle some of the conversation but he'd heard enough already. Raising himself up once more, Decarius saw Tansley hand the bag to his companion, who thanked for carrying it that far.

  "Take care Mr. Croneygee." The merchant said, his voice barely audible, as it was carried away by the breeze, before walking away, along the bank and in the direction of the
Demedelei Road.

  Decarius watched him go, until the merchant was lost among the trees and bushes that lined the bank. With Tansley out of sight, Decarius turned his attention to the old man.

  32

  Leaving the cold, damp and darkness of the mine, Enyon Croneygee stepped into the bright sunshine. The armorer hadn't ventured down the mine since he'd taken Galvyn on as his apprentice a few months earlier. Not that he minded coming this route, not for the brief walk to the Old Moat Road, anyway. The actual mining of coal? Thankfully, those days were behind him.

  As he emerged from the mine, he turned to Tansley.

  "So are you carrying that all the way to the fort?"

  "Would this be far enough?" Tansley asked, looking around.

  "I thought as much," Croneygee laughed.

  The merchant tried to avoid the fort's authorities whenever possible, and walking up to the east gate was the last thing he'd want to do. He might be asked in, he might asked a lot of things. Things he wouldn't have an answer for, or at least, none that would get him out again quickly. "Well, thank you for carrying it this far. I'll send Galvyn up later in the week."

  "Take care, Mr. Croneygee." Tansley replied, starting along the bank and giving a wave.

  Croneygee watched him go, before turning his attention to the open expanse of what was left of the old moat in front of him. He'd taken up Tansley's suggestion at making use of this short cut, not only because it was quicker, but because he had been instrumental in its existence, and was actually quite proud of it. As Lord Jephson's quartermaster, he'd talked his lordship into draining the moat to improve the access to the mines that ran under the hills here.

  Jephson had found the logic of his argument persuasive. A better supply of coal, iron and limestone meant more steel, and of higher quality, too. This in turn ensured better equipped guards. Guards who would provide a superior defense than a passive barrier. The moat was just a tame obstruction. One that only provided protection to the east flank anyway.

  The fort had been built in a location so as to make use of the landscape. Nature had been a kind but imperfect architect for the military purposes they'd had in mind. It was more of a lake than moat.

  Standing on the bank overlooking now dry lake bed, Croneygee watched as Tansley walked away, smiling to himself at his companion's furtive and agitated demeanor. The sight of the fort had that effect on some people. Its looming presence, the huge gray expanse of stone sitting atop a sharp, jagged, rocky outcrop. Some people thought it stood menacingly over the town of Demedelei. He on the other hand, found it reassuring.

  Putting his bag over one shoulder, he made his way down the bank, following a well worn path. One made by boys carrying the burdensome sacks of coal from the mines to the hearths and kitchens of the fort. Their morning routines etched into earth, much like an animal trail, weaving through the long yellowing grass.

  The grass of the Old Moat Road grew strongly here, so did the trees and bushes that had sprouted up in the rich soil of the drained lake bed. Once it had dried out, the plants and trees wasted no time in taking root. Croneygee found it an idyllic area to stroll through. There were birds here, flowers too, and the stream that had once fed the moat now gently irrigated the oasis. The melodic sounds of the stream and birdsong was a welcome relief from the discordant screeching and hammering of the workshops.

  As much has he prided himself in the intricacies of his wares, and the skillfully made products of his fellow craftsmen, the process of making them could be destructive. He found this fact especially apparent when he was surrounded by the greenery and colorful flowers that abounded here throughout the year. From the poppies and daffodils in spring, to the purple heather still providing color in autumn. The contrast to Serfacre, with its perpetual coating of black coal dust, from which no surface was spared, was striking.

  At the point the stream ran deep and narrow, a makeshift wooden walkway had been constructed. Just a few planks of wood nailed together and laid across so as to make for an easier passage.

  Here the paths converged, and beyond the stream, they split once more. The right fork lead to the east gate of the fort, the left toward the stone-arched bridge, over which ran the Demedelei Road. Enyon took the well worn path, the one that was put to far greater use, and took the right path.

  It wasn't just nature that had adapted to the draining of the moat. No sooner had it stopped being used as a part of the fort's defenses than it had been re-purposed for resupplying the fort. The keep, and the range of outbuildings, demanded a constant and seemingly insatiable supply of coal during the winter months. The paths that crossed the dried out moat helped make for faster and more convenient deliveries.

  Croneygee's own delivery would enter the fort by the same route but it would not be taken to the higher levels. It would not be used for the purpose of providing comfort and sustenance to the people who lived there. Instead, it would remain in the deeper, colder rooms of the prison. His sharp and finely crafted implements would help defend Demedelei in much the same way as the moat had once done. As a deterrence against seditious plotters and defense careless invaders.

  Reaching the other side, Croneygee left the wide, flat gully and began to climb the other bank. Here, on the southeast facing slope, the trees and bushes grew densely, and the steepening path weaved among them.

  Ahead of him was the rock motte on which the fort was constructed. The motte was not as solid as it appeared, filled as it was, with tunnels and caverns, a few of which reached to the rock-face. The largest of them used to be flooded along with the moat.

  With one barrier gone it needed to be replaced with another, and a large wooden doorway had been inserted, that doorway had become the east gate.

  The important but potentially vulnerable entrance was kept locked and bolted. Except when being used for taking deliveries of coal and other supplies. Croneygee could see it was shut now, since he was just a few yards down the path from it, but a few bangs on the door would soon bring the guards on duty there.

  The last few yards of his journey took him into the shadow of the east tower. And as he entered the shadow, the armorer felt a chill. Stepping into the shade could have explained it, but some instinctive urge told him to look back anyway. It was enough. Enough to parry the first blow, but not the second.

  He'd been hit.

  Dropping his bag, Croneygee tried to parry again, but the man lunged at him and knocked him back. A thought overwhelmed him. He was being attacked.

  "GUA…." was has much as he could get out, before a hand was clamped on his mouth. He tried to push away but almost immediately he was on the ground. Then the full weight of the man was on him. One hand across his mouth, a knee pinning an arm to the ground, the other on his chest, making breathing almost impossible. His one potentially free arm was held firmly at the wrist.

  As he struggled he kicked out at thin air, trying a dislodge the attacker but the man was strong and heavy. He felt his own strength diminish by the second, unable to muster any leverage. The man's face was close to his, but only his eyes were visible above a blood red mask. Croneygee looked into the deep soulless eyes, they stared back, but betrayed no emotion. Was the man trying to kill him?

  Suddenly, he heard a man shout, loudly and distinctly.

  "Who's there?" The voice came form above and Croneygee knew who it belonged to. It was the voice of guard named Groucutt.

  At the sound, the masked man's grip on him tightened, but his grip on himself seemed to weaken. A flicker of fear crossed his face, his eyes darting upwards and a sharp intake of breath. Tense and distracted the man's focus shifted.

  Unable to breathe, and knowing help was nearby, Croneygee realized this might be his only chance. Whoever was attacking him was strong. Did the man know he was suffocating him? Was murder the intention? He had just second before he passed out. His lungs were burning and his heartbeat erratic. He had to get that guards attention.

  His right hand closed around a rock lying on the grou
nd next to him but that arm was pinned by his assailants left knee. He tried a feint, throwing his left arm out and forcing the man to shift his weight and as he did, he rolled to his left. The hand holding the rock became free, and in an instant, he brought it up and struck the masked man across the side of the head.

  His prone position meant he wasn't able to generate much force, nor was he able to hold onto the rock, which fell from his grasp an onto his chest. Searching for it again with his right hand, his left hand suddenly became free. He threw a left punch but it was weak, a right hook landed but not much better, he was nearly unconscious.

  If only he could prise the mans hand from his mouth, one shout for help would do it. He was in the shadow of the fort, with one guard alerted, three or four more could be here in seconds. He gripped the man's suffocating hand. It needed just and inch of movement, that would be enough. It was then Croneygee saw why his left hand had become free.

  The man on top of him had seen the rock fall and had reached for it himself. He'd accepted the inevitable hit he would receive, knowing that he could follow it up with one much more decisive. Raising the rock high like a hammer, the masked man brought it crashing down, through his attempted to shield himself, and onto his head.

  33

  Galvyn had cleared the workbench and was busy unpicking the worn thread of the wrist guards. He didn't normally have any trouble focusing on the job in front of him, but this time he found the silver necklace that Tansley had given him to be something of a distraction. Placing the leather bracers to one side, he took the necklace out of his pocket and started studying it in more detail.

  The chain was comprised of small, tear-drop shaped links. While the pendant was slender, oval shape, a little under two inches in length and an inch or so wide. Galvyn's experience of working with metal was mostly limited to iron and bronze rather than silver, even so, he thought it to be no ordinary silver.