The Tome of Law Collection

Prologue-2

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Old man Wise shuffled across the floor of the office. Worn by life and long past his prime he had nevertheless done well for himself. He felt secure in his enterprise as one of the town"s foremost moneylenders. Half the town was in debt to him. Not the untidy, bailiff-bullying fiscal debt that most would assume, but a debt of gratitude. His various enterprises had kept many a family from living in the gutter. His generosity was unequalled. He was not one of those to be suckered into a dishonest deal; most people who came to him with money problems knew that they would stand a chance only if they were genuine. He had the uncanny ability to see beyond any mistruth he happened upon. More fortunate for his generous nature was the fact that most who owed him money found ways to pay him back. He had one rule for them. Any money must be earned through fair means, not foul. A good day"s work was not beyond anyone, and he led by example. At a time in his life where his contemporaries had long retired to their country mansions, enjoying the fruits of their labour, he soldiered on with a dogged tenacity.

The last of today"s clients had left the offices several hours back during the deep twilight. Now, the only light in the offices was that of the splendid full moon.

It passed through the translucent windows to cause a milky white glow on the floor. The polished oak panels were illuminated, and the reflection caused the whole room to light up and no-one would have been able to tell where the source was. He enjoyed this time of night. The rooms were warm, protected from any outside breezes by a legacy of excellent masonry and tight-fitting windows. He had had a special blend of pitch imported that secured the edges of the windows to the walls, preventing any airflow. Such a room, though snug in the winter, would be stifling in the warmer seasons. So he had opening windows installed, a rarity in most parts of the city. The doors were firmly bolted, his clerks having returned to the various amusements their young families provided. He knew he worked them hard, but in return they were amongst the highest-paid clerks in town. Out of respect they were all willing to put maximum effort into their work. During his life he had experienced many years with an empty pocket and nothing more than his wits to use to his advantage. He had found it difficult to get by, and was determined now to see that it didn"t happen to anyone in his employ. It was his privilege to give back whenever he could.

He stopped in front of the huge oak door that marked the entrance to the lending house. From here, his shadow didn"t affect the pristine phosphorescence of the moon. The heavy door, reinforced with steel and several bolts, had no windows; the glow emanated from the windows on either side. But he remained a shadow; the only shadow in a room bathed white in the perfection of a full moon. He resumed the slow, measured walk of his daily routine. After dark when all the clerks had gone, he would wander the lower office, checking locks to be certain that everything was secure. He had stated for a long time now that he would not have got through life without a certain amount of close inspection. People in his position were often preyed upon by the less scrupled in this world. Many less honest than him had succumbed to the occasional stray dagger, or poison slipped into a fine glass of liquor. A more subtle approach such as a minor clause in a contract had often leached the money away from rivals of his. He had never used such an approach, and encouraged others to follow his example. He refused to give in to such approaches, determined with such force that his life"s earnings would not be wasted so easily. He inspected the main door once more. Satisfied that his offices were secured, he relished the thought of relaxing with a glass of his rare Kimarullian brandy.

He climbed the stairs to his private offices with measured effort, for though he was still very active for his age, the years had not been good to him. Rather, food and fine wine had been no good to him; too big a temptation in these more recent years. The private offices on the first floor were much more opulent. Whereas the clerks" offices were functional - plenty of desks for ledgers and bookshelves for records - the private offices were for show, to entertain the influential. It was here the rare brandies were kept, though another part of the show, they were situated for convenience halfway on his journey upstairs and he felt better braced with a shot for his continuing journey. He poured himself a significant measure as he was in a very good mood this evening, and the dreamlike scene he had just witnessed was something to be celebrated. He clasped the cut crystal between thumb and middle finger almost nonchalantly as he prepared to climb the further flights to his living quarters. He paused at the level of the kitchens. Truly the bane of his current existence, he was compelled to stop and help himself to whatever tidbits the cook had prepared for the next day. One of his few indulgences, he reasoned that since he paid for all of this, it was okay to help take what he wanted. This had begun long ago, and the cooks had learnt to prepare extra or leave some of the day"s wares behind in case the master came. The lingering scents of the day"s meals were usually too tantalizing for him to pass by. The fact that the pantry was situated so near the door, with priceless treasures contained therein, was a major contributor to his portliness.

Many had suggested that he should have someone else on the premises at his age, but he refused all offers of help. He had always needed time to himself, to be able to do what he wanted in his home with nobody to gainsay him. Even the most public of figures had a private side, and he was no different. He had always been self-sufficient and he was too set in his ways to reform now. He maintained he had the willpower to do so, and would not admit to himself that help would be useful, even if he needed it. His reasoning stemmed from the fact that the large amounts of money he dealt with were never kept on the premises. He had it stored in safe houses to be called upon when needed, and only a couple of the senior clerks knew the locations. If someone were to break into his home, they would find more than enough of value in the private office, but these material possessions were worth next to nothing to him. If he died, he had people who would disperse the money according to his will. People would find debts paid off, and several friends would find their pockets greatly enhanced, but no one would be looting his house.

He went out onto the balcony overlooking his plentiful gardens. The night air was warm and humid, bringing the promise of thunder. He could almost smell the lightning in the air, but the storm would not come for a while. For now, he could see the full extent of the full moon"s spectral glow. It was truly a night for wonders. The summer night produced a gentle breeze across the rooftops, almost unnoticeable. Although the breeze was mildly refreshing, it left him with a vague sense of unease, as if he were not alone on the balcony. Feeling this, he closed the doors behind him, securing them. Doing so lessened the growing sense of alarm that had developed in his chest. The scene outside was obscured by the moonlight now reflecting off of the windows in the balcony doors. He could not fathom why he had felt so uneasy. The brandy in the crystal goblet on the side table drew him, and he settled down in his favorite lounging chair to enjoy what was left of a most unusual evening. The chair was close to the hearth so in winter it was warm and cosy. The tattered old leatherback needed replacing, but he assured himself it was only just broken in. Like a pair of old shoes, it was comfy and fitted him well.

Drowsy as he was due to the lateness of the hour, and the effects of a large shot of brandy, Wise gazed around. Someone had moved a very large flagstone onto the hearth. It measured the sum total of the stones already there, and would have gone unnoticed, except there was a large circle cut out of its centre. It measured perhaps a hand-span across, and had strange sigils drawn around its circumference. The colour was the same as the hearth. He judged that it weighed enough for several men to struggle while carrying it. Intrigued, he wondered how and why anyone would have moved it there for him. It was certainly an interesting piece, especially with those etchings, but why bring it all the way up here? He assumed that it had been moved here while he was out of the office on business in the morning. Slightly unnerved by the strange events occurring, he glanced around the room. It was then he noticed that all the shadows of the room were not as they should be. Though deeply folded, the curtains to either side still betrayed the statue presence of three figures. As his stomach dropped and his heart spasmed, the three figures moved away from the walls with a wraith-like glide. One was carrying a spear with what seemed to be some sort of crosspiece halfway down it. It looked designed for some sinister purpose, as if it had been formed in the bowels of something evil. They were silent. This was what really scared him. How was he supposed to get rid of them if they made not a sound? These were unlike any thieves he had encountered before, and he did not know how to cope.

Blind panic caused a rush of adrenaline in his old body, and he bolted for the door with great speed for one so long decrepit. It did not last long. Unused to such rapid movement, his body laboured to keep up with his intentions. For a man of his size, he did move rapidly, but as fast as he moved, one of the shadow men reached the doorway ahead of him. The man who appeared in front of him held the spear at waist height across the opening to the door. Before he realised what was happening, the crosspiece of the spear"s shaft had jammed into his belly, winding him completely. He groaned and folded as he fell to the floor, gasping for whatever air his body would allow his lungs to take in. As he led there with tears streaming down his red face, blood spread around his midriff. The warm feeling through the pain indicated that the crosspiece had not just winded him. He managed to open his eyes, and was confronted by the neat octagonal pattern arranged on the fringe of the carpet - he had been so close to escaping. That was the limit of his vision, he could not move so much as a finger lest the agony increase. He had no idea where the men were. While the old man was rolling in agony, the two other silent shapes materialised into men, who seemed more used to the trials of life. Their lean bodies and sure stance betrayed a competent fitness. The unemotional faces were a contrast - nothing was betrayed there. They dragged the banker from the doorway to the fireplace and lifted him as a father would lift a newborn child. Even though he was stunned and therefore unable to move, his dead weight was still no burden to the silent ones. He managed to open his eyes, the agony spreading up to his chest. He found himself standing, propped up by a solid grip on either side. Even had he been at the peak of fitness, he would not have been able to move from where he stood now. His head hung as he gasped for air, strands of a once fine head of hair hanging loose from the sides of his head. He found it so very hard to breathe. The agony was subsiding, but one of his arms had started to tingle. Though he was upright, he felt as if there was a great weight upon his chest. He knew he was sweating, as the salt stung his eyes, but he felt so cold, so very cold.