Forged in Fire

Chapter 3-1

Tennea and Sergeant Workman followed the mayor’s butler through the mayor’s front hall and out into the garden atrium. The mayor sat in a wicker chair in the shade of a palm tree, a glass of beer in his right hand and a compress held to his cheek with his left. He was a big man, probably powerful once but now fleshy. The fleshiness probably sprang from habits like drinking beer in the morning, Tennea noticed with disapproval. The man’s hair was flaxen streaked with blue, and his brow was furrowed with pain and distaste.

“Ednis, mayor of Dangritown,” the butler announced. “May I announce…these people.”

“They didn’t tell you their names?” the mayor snapped at the butler. He pulled the compress away from his cheek to talk, and Tennea saw a deep red mark on his cheek. He eyed Tennea up and down, wrinkled his nose, then glared at Workman and barked, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

“Sergeant Workman, Sixth Royal Cavalry. Seconded to the provost marshal’s company, under command of Chief Inspector Tennea of Grenvell.” Workman gave a slight bow towards Tennea, and she caught a naughty little twinkle in his eye. Workman was as loyal and tough as soldiers came, but he thought a woman inspector was a good joke and his tough expression sometimes cracked in glee at other men’s confusion.

“Hell,” the mayor drawled at Tennea. “They’re not kidding about the manpower shortage. Well, what do you want?”

“First of all,” Tennea said quietly, “I’m curious about the welt on your cheek. It looks quite painful.”

The mayor took a slug of beer and sneered.

“It hurts like hell. I got slapped by an ungrateful bitch.”

“That’s odd. Just a few minutes ago I met a war widow in the town square. A very well-mannered gentlewoman. She told me she came to you seeking protection, but you took the opportunity to make unwelcome advances upon her.”

The mayor glared at Tennea for a long moment, then shifted in his chair and leaned forward, pointing an accusing finger.

“Listen, Inspector, you want to hunt deserters, you be my guest. The jungles are full of them. It’s like a hornet’s nest out there. But this is my town, so you can keep your nose out of it.”

Tennea took a breath and remained cool. She reached inside her jacket, withdrew a slim oilskin envelope, and handed it to the mayor.

“Mayor Ednis,” she said as politely as he could, “please read my credentials.”

The mayor snatched the oilskin, unfolded it, and examined the slip of parchment inside. His lips moved as he read the words Tennea knew by heart.

Tennea of Grenvell acts on my authority. I command that all men obey her word, and that her wishes in all things should be considered my own. By my own hand, Willard the Third, by the grace of Quam, High King of Kistrill and Emperor of the Forty Crowns

Tennea of Grenvell acts on my authority. I command that all men obey her word, and that her wishes in all things should be considered my own. By my own hand, Willard the Third, by the grace of Quam, High King of Kistrill and Emperor of the Forty CrownsThe mayor looked from the letter to Tennea, eyes wide and jaw slack.

“By Quam’s long shanks…” he muttered.

“I will thank you not to blaspheme,” Tennea said.

“Umm, my apologies…uh, Ma’am.”

“Ask me again what I want,” Tennea said quietly.

“Ma’am, uh, how may I serve the Crowns?”

“First of all,” Tennea rested her hand lightly on the hilt of her sword for emphasis, “if I hear another word about you bothering Dahlia Rancher, I’ll haul you off to Nezpot and try you for r**e. I’ll have you stripped of title and property. And I’ll have you conscripted into the Imperial army and have you fighting the Orgooth in a fortnight. Do you understand?”

The mayor’s face went pale.

“Yes. Yes Ma’am,” he squeaked.

“Excellent. Next, I require your assistance, and your police force, in finding a pair of dangerous murderers.”

“Murderers? I thought the provost company rounded up deserters.”

“This is a pair of deserters who have committed murder. Many murders. Including murders of royal officials,” Tennea said with a pointed nod toward Ednis.

“Oh. That’s terrible. But I’m sorry to say, my police force is sadly run down. Everyone tries his best, but conscription has stripped the province bare of able-bodied men. Especially those with any skill at arms. It’s the war, you know…”

“Mayor, we all know that the war has been long and hard. But it is almost over. And when it is over, the emperor will reward those who have been faithful to the end…but those who have been slack in their duties will also be found out, and they will also receive what they deserve. Quam is just, and his servant the emperor must be just as well. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course,” the mayor gulped. “I have been faithful! I have kept up my quota of recruits, and taxes too. It is hard though. There’s hardly a man left in the province who isn’t old or crippled. And the boys, they don’t want to serve. There’s hardly any loyalty to the Crowns anymore, you see. The mothers discourage them. Hide them away. They go and clear little farms further and further out into the jungles. That upsets the goblins, who respond with raids. That’s the thing with that Rancher woman, Sir. She doesn’t want her son to join the emperor’s army, but she wants to expand her ranch – which her crackpot husband built well beyond the frontier – even further into goblin territory. Then she can’t understand why they raid her, and she expects me to protect her? And then she slaps me for trying to offer her a compliment! It’d be enough to make Quam himself…”

me“Enough,” Tennea snapped. “I am not looking for excuses for sloth or lechery, and I’m certainly not interested in your blasphemies. I’m looking for energetic cooperation. No, I expect it. Now, tell me where I might find a couple of murdering deserters.”

“I already told you, the jungles are full of deserters.”

“And what have you done to apprehend them?”

“Apprehend them? Quam’s…I mean, how? With what troops? Inspector, even the governor doesn’t have troops to hunt down deserters.”

“I have spoken to Governor Aerlyle about the deficiencies in the province’s administration. He saw my point of view and is already implementing changes.”

The mayor worked his mouth for a moment before words came out.

“Well, I don’t have enough men to hunt down deserters, but my police chief keeps them out of town for the most part. We patrol the taverns to keep order, at least. The pensioners brawl sometimes when they get into their cups. I suppose if you wanted to track down deserters, it’s the pensioners that might know something.”

“Then where can I find such a tavern?”

“Probably the seaside tavern. Not much of a place, but the old soldiers like to gamble and get drunk there. That’s where I’d start.”

“Very well,” Tennea said curtly. “We will begin there. And in the meantime, Mayor, it is approaching midday. I suggest that your offices would be better served if you were downtown, in the city hall, doing the emperor’s work. I expect you to be there within the hour, consulting with your chief of police. Your first order of business might be to prepare a jail for a large number of prisoners. If the jungle is as full of deserters as you say, I expect to be capturing and re-conscripting quite a few men in the coming days. How many prisoners can you handle at a time?

“Six? Maybe eight? It’s a quiet town, Ma’am.”

“Fine. As soon as you have eight deserters, forward them to Governor Aerlyle. I spoke with him yesterday. He is preparing the old barracks to hold them. He knows that I intend to make a thorough sweep of the province. In fact, Mayor, just yesterday I arrested thirty deserters in Nezpot alone. A good day’s work, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes Ma’am. An excellent day’s work.”

“I’m glad you agree. And I hope you will emulate my alacrity, Mayor. The war has been hard, it is true, but good folk will still save the empire. Now, good day to you.”

Tennea stomped out through the mayor’s hall, pausing to spit on the floor before she pushed open the front door. She heard the butler behind him grumbling about cleaning up more spittle, but Tennea ignored the man and stalked out into the fierce sunlight.

“We ought to hang that fool,” Workman growled.

“He is stupid, corrupt, lecherous, blasphemous, and disgusting,” Tennea agreed. “But we’ve got bigger chickens to pluck. Let’s get to this seaside tavern.”

The tavern was just as Dahlia had left it, except the men were all a little more drunk. The stones and twigs game came to a sudden stop and the gamblers went silent and stared, eyes fixed on the gold braid on Tennea’s jacket. The bartending crone gave them an evil eye and made some sort of warding sign with her fingers.

“A round on me,” Tennea said, dropping a pair of silver pennies on the makeshift bar. The crone gave a sudden toothless grin, but the pensioners still glared.

“Lads, I know everyone hates the provost company,” Tennea said. “No one here is in any trouble, I assure you, but the emperor needs your aid.” Silence. “And the emperor is willing to pay.” She dropped another two coins on the bar. Still, silence.

“We ought to hang them all,” Workman growled, and the glares suddenly shifted to him.

“Be still, Sergeant. There’s no hanging to do. Yet.” She looked around at the pensioners’ faces, then went on. “I’m looking for two deserters. None of you men are deserters. You’re all honest pensioners. I honor you for that…”

“Six-pence a month don’t pay for my foot,” came a drunken call. Tennea looked and saw a man sitting alone on the grass at the edge of the bar’s pavilion.

“Sergeant, bring that man a full mug of the establishment’s finest,” she ordered, then walked over and sat down next to the man. The fellow was as tattered as the other pensioners but had a peg in place of his left foot.

“I regret the loss of your foot,” Tennea began.

“Not as much as I do,” the man slurred.

“I’m Tennea of Grenvell,” Tennea said, holding out a hand to shake. “Inspector, provost marshal.”

“Spearman Ector, sixth company of the 36th Foot. Formerly. Now just Ector Cobbler.”

“The 36th was up north. Way up north.”

“It was.”

“How long did you wear the blue?”

“I don’t know, maybe four months.”

“How’d you lose the foot? Ax? Hammer?”

“Frostbite.”

“Frostbite?”

“Ten weeks training, then straight to the front. They put my squad out on observation duty. First night out it snowed. Knee deep. I pulled last watch. Stood out there in the cold, freezing my feet off.”

Workman appeared with a brimming mug of rum.