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  The Book

  A Blackwatch Chronicles Short Story

  H.M. Clarke

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Book (The Blackwatch Chronicles)

  Proven

  Something is rotten in the city of Brookhaven. And it is up to the Blackwatch to root it out.

  Also By H.M. Clarke

  About the Author

  Also by H.M. Clarke

  The Way to Freedom Series

  1: The Kalarthri

  1.1: The Cavern of Sethi

  2: The Dream Thief

  3. The Awakening

  4. The Enemy Within

  5. The Unknown Queen

  6. The Searchers

  7. The Whisperer

  8. The Deceiver

  9. The Great Game

  10. The Gathering

  11. The Mark of Fate

  12. The Mark of Service

  The Complete Season One–Books 1 5

  The Complete Season Two–Books 6-10

  Coming Soon

  13. The Mark of Freedom

  The Blackwatch Chronicles

  1: Proven

  2: Uprising

  The Book: A Blackwatch short story

  Coming Soon

  2: Sacrifice

  The Verge

  1: The Enclave

  Coming Soon

  2: Citizen Erased

  The Order

  1: Winter’s Magic

  Marion: An ‘Order’ Short Story

  John McCall Mysteries

  1: Howling Vengeance

  COPYRIGHT © H. M. CLARKE 2020

  All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  First published in The United States of America in 2020

  HMC Press, Dayton, Ohio.

  Cover design by Exciting Worlds Await

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  DEDICATION

  As always, this work is dedicated to my two beautiful children, Keith and Ariadne.

  The Book

  ‘If books could kill...’

  THE RED SILK COVER of the book shone in the moonlight and the gold and silver thread embroidered in the front cover glinted as Kurt bent further into the light to study it.

  The design was in the shape of some kind of bird, wings raised in flight to lift it out from the fire that raged at its feet. The gold and silver contained in that picture alone could let Kurt live like a prince for months. His dirt-encrusted hands lifted the cover and quickly flicked through the pages of the book. There were no pictures to speak of, only the jumble of ink marks that he recognized as writing.

  Kurt could not read but he could write his name, a fact that he was proud of. A priest had taken pity on Kurt and taught him to scribe his name when he was a boy and every chance he got Kurt would practice writing it. The priest had told him that there was a power in names and that one should learn to control their own. But Kurt did not need to read or write in his line of business and he had seen no mystic powers at work whenever he scratched his name on a bit of parchment. It was enough that he could read if his name appeared on the City’s wanted lists and to lie low until it came off again.

  Closing the book with a snap, he slipped it into his bag and bent again to look through the rich robes of the comatose man lying in the filth of the alley. Blood was caked in the man’s hair and his face was already puffed, bloodied and bruised from the beating he had received.

  Deft fingers picked out the three hidden pouches, the jewel-encrusted belt and the large gold brooch that was pinned at the base of the man’s throat. All the while Kurt hummed happily to himself, thinking that the Prince of Thieves had blessed him this night. He had only come into this alley to take a piss on his way back to the rat hole he called home and found this unconscious man in the far corner.

  Kurt had had a bad night all round and was beginning to think that he would not be able to pay his monthly dues to the Gyld on time. The Gyldmaster did not look favorably on those who could not cough up ‘the goods’ on their designated payment date. Kurt had seen many examples of the Gyldmaster’s displeasure floating in the river Flovious. He did not care why the man was left in this condition or why his valuables had not been touched. He only cared that now they were his.

  He shivered at the thought that it might have been him. But not now. Here in his hands Kurt held enough wealth to pay his dues for a year and still have enough left over to live comfortably on.

  Stuffing the rest of his newly found wealth into his bag, Kurt stopped to finger the rich material of the man’s cloak. It looked thick and warm and would service Kurt a lot better than this frayed and battered coat he currently owned. But he decided against it. A rich cloak like that worn by one such as himself would draw unwanted eyes. The last thing he needed was a curious City Watchman on his back.

  Dropping the fold of material, Kurt took one more look at the man’s face. He was still out cold but at least he was breathing. He certainly would not like to be him when he came to. He also would not like to be around when someone eventually came looking for him. “It’s been good doin’ business with ya,” Kurt said giving the unconscious man a jaunty salute of thanks.

  Rising quickly to his feet, Kurt turned and left the narrow alley and traveled the dark streets of the city towards the hovel he called home. It was late; probably an hour after midnight and the streets were virtually deserted except for the City Watchmen who walked their rounds, but Kurt knew how to avoid them. He also knew how to avoid the other undesirables that hunted the streets waiting for an unsuspecting victim to pounce on. Most of these undesirables knew him and would think nothing of thumping him for the bulging bag he now carried. There was no honor among thieves–except between fully paid Gyld Members.

  Kurt picked his way through the winding backstreets of the city, passing the sleeping houses and shut up shops. Everything was quiet and peaceful. It was also nice and clean in the Merchant’s Quarter of the city. As he slipped quietly across a wide stone-paved road, Kurt entered the common part of the city near the Wharf Quarter. This was not the poorest, however. The poorest part of the city was on the other side of the Wharf Quarter and that was where Kurt was heading. The Tanner’s Quarter.

  Kurt could feel the form of the book as the sack bumped against his side as he moved. He adjusted the mouth of the sack on his shoulder to try to shift the book off of his spine but it kept slipping back into a position to jab him in the small of his back. After a few moments of this, he gave up trying. He was nearly home, and he needed to keep his wits about him, he could suffer the jabbing of the book for a few blocks more.

  As he moved closer to home, the harsh smells of the nearby tanneries assailed his senses. He was used to the smell now but when he first moved into his current digs, the constant stench made his eyes water and caused him to throw up at the mere hint of food. Now the smell did not worry him but it is a deterrent to others who might want to do him over. No one who did not have to live or work here could endure the smell for long. Though he did have a problem with the smell clinging to his clothing and hair, but a good dusting of charcoal could get rid of that.

  Kurt crept slowly to the corner of his street block and peered carefully around the edge of the large warehouse that dominated the street he lived on. The run down boarding house that he called home was nestled in between this warehouse and what passed for the local Ale House.

  It was some of the heavies from the local Ale House that Kurt wanted to avoid.

  The Tallow is the only Ale House that catered for the Tanneries and their workers and because of this, it reeked. It also had a sizable custom which Kurt
often took advantage of when he was getting a little hard up for cash. The Tallow’s heavies know him and they know his reputation, one night he failed to hand over to them a cut of his takings and ever since they have always tried to reinforce the need to share by ‘roughing’ him up a little.

  But as he looked around the corner Kurt saw no sign of the Ale Houses’ heavies. The Inn was quiet so Briee, the owner of The Tallow, probably sent them home early. Kurt decided to make a quick dash to his front door; once he was inside the building, he would be safe. The Tallow’s heavies were as terrified of his landlady as most of her tenants were.

  Keeping to the dark shadows that were thrown by the warehouse, Kurt edged his way carefully along the walls, making his way slowly to the weather-beaten front door of the lodging house. It always pays to be careful even if you are sure that no one is around. Kurt’s caution paid off. As he made his way to the edge of the last shadow before jumping to the door, Kurt thought he heard movement behind the stack of cases and empty barrels that sat in the corner where the boarding house meets the sidewall of The Tallow.

  Kurt froze in mid-step, keeping within the shadow cast by the warehouse. It was dark enough here so that anyone casually looking would not notice him. Kurt’s sharp eyes scanned the wooden boxes for any sign of movement from a waiting thug but he could see nothing. And all the while he stood watching, the corner of the book dug into the small of his back as if trying to prod him forward to take a closer look.

  After a few more heartbeats of watching Kurt crept slowly forward, moving past the door to the boarding house towards the stack of wooden boxes. Curiosity had gotten the better of Kurt, a trait that he usually never gave into. He suddenly wanted to know what had made the noise.

  Adjusting the bag on his shoulder in an effort to move the book away from his back, Kurt carefully looked over the top of the boxes to the space behind them. He expected to see one of the thugs fast asleep but he breathed a sigh of relief at what he did see.

  Curled in the corner in a nest of fur and cloth was a large black cat. She was lying on her side while four small kittens suckled from her belly. She blinked golden eyes at him but otherwise did nothing else at his intrusion.

  Letting out a pent up sign, Kurt turned back to the door of the boarding house. Letting himself in, he quickly rushed up the stairs and up to the landing that lead to his room. Two other rooms shared this landing and Kurt knew where every creaking board and knothole was on this floor. He had walked this way many times without making a single sound that could alert the disreputable occupiers of the neighboring rooms.

  Kurt adjusted his sack across his shoulders and began to cross the landing with surprising agility. He could hear no sounds as he passed each closed door so either the occupants were asleep or not in (of course any respectable person should be tucked into their crib at this time of night).

  As Kurt reached his door, he drew his dagger from his belt and slipped it neatly between the door and the frame, lifting the blade quickly as it caught the latch. He opened the door and slipped quietly into his one room abode.

  Closing the door behind him, Kurt tossed the bag onto the wooden crate that he was using as a makeshift table.

  He leaned back against the door. He expelled a sigh of relief that he was safely back in his room and then his eyes fixed on the crate. The contents in that bag would enable him to move from this rat hole to a place far enough away from the tanneries where he couldn’t smell them. He closed his eyes in contentment, thinking that this will be the last night for a long while that he would have an empty belly.

  A soft knock at the door made his eyes flick open. He pushed away from the wood and slipped to the side, pulling his dagger as he did. At this time of night, that knock can only mean no good. Though his usual harassers would not have politely knocked. When the door was not immediately kicked open, Kurt bent his ear to listen but could hear nothing. He frowned and let curiosity get the better of him, Kurt put his hand on the handle and opened the door a crack.

  There was no one there. Opening the door a little more revealed that the rest of the hallway was just as empty as when he crept down it. But there was a knock...

  He closed the door, slipped the hook in the latch to lock it and turned back into the room.

  And jumped back in shock, nearly dropping the dagger he had out in his hand.

  In the moonlight streaming in from the window could be seen a tall, well-built man dressed entirely in black standing by the crate. The bag was open and in his hand was the glittering, jeweled brooch, the rest of the bag’s contents were spilled across the top of the crate. In the other hand was a black staff, its leather carry strap hanging loosely by his side.

  Kurt firmed his grip on the dagger, a spike of fear pushing slowly down his spine. How in Bellus’s name did he get in here?

  The man glanced up from the brooch, piercing him with bright, golden eyes that looked to glow with their own inner light. The man’s long fingers tightened around the bauble in his hand.

  Kurt stayed still, not wanting to provoke anything. Only one profession carried a staff and even a rat crawler like him knew not to make any sudden moves around a mage. Anyway, those eyes stirred a memory hidden in the recesses of Kurt’s mind.

  The man in black flicked the hand holding the brooch and Kurt felt his body sucked hard against the door. He tried to move his arms and legs but they were held fast by an invisible force. Something unseen jerked his head up and he found himself staring wildly into those fierce, golden eyes.

  “How did you get this?” The mage held the brooch before Kurt’s eyes. The man’s voice was soft, but Kurt did not miss the hard edge to it. That spike of fear had reached all the way to his groin, and he felt a wet warmth spread down the length of his trousers.

  “Found it,” he stammered.

  The man’s gaze hardened. “You found it?”

  Kurt tried to nod but found he could not move his head. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “In an alley, from a man laying there.”

  “What else did you see there?”

  “Nothing.... just the man and his riches...”

  “No staff?”

  Kurt shook his head.

  “Didn’t you think it odd that a man wearing so much wealth would be left ‘unfrocked’ in an alley?”

  Kurt didn’t answer him. The memory that had been teased awake at the sight of those golden eyes rose up and made itself known.

  “You’re Drake, Dagan Drake. The man that took down Don Aventa,” he whispered with awe and a little fear.

  “That’s Magister Drake to you,” was the reply. Drake took a step back and stared at him.

  Kurt tried not to gulp. The man was a magister now? “I don’t know who that bloke was in the alley. I found him and decided to take advantage. If he’s a friend of yours I’m sorry, I’ll give back all his stuff.”

  “You will very definitely give back all his stuff,” Drake stepped back to the crate and slipped the objects back into the bag.

  “You believe me then?” Kurt asked. “You believe that I wasn’t the one who hurt him?”

  “I believe you. No petty thief could have caught him by surprise. Not this night.”

  “Then, you’ll release me?” hope sprang up in Kurt. But it was short-lived.

  “No, you will need to go to the Tribunal for questioning.”

  Kurt gulped. “Star Chamber questioning?”

  Drake looked back at him as the tips of his fingers skimmed over the silk cover of the book. “Do you think yourself worthy of the attention of the Star Chamber?”

  Kurt tried to shake his head but found it still restrained. “No, I’m nothin’, a nobody.”

  Drake gave him a grunt in reply as his attention was drawn to the book which he had now pulled from the bag. “Where did you get this book?”

  Kurt’s eyes flicked to the red silk cover. “From your friend.” As he spoke, Kurt felt a pressure in his head and could have sworn he heard a woman
whisper in his ear.

  “Is that so? He must have picked it up during the night.” Drake opened the cover and started to flick through the pages.

  As the pages rustled, the whispering in Kurt’s ear grew louder. His eyes jerked wildly around the room, trying to find the source of the voice and finding only Drake, he began to thrash against the force holding him as fear overwhelmed him.

  “Stop that. You’ll hurt yourself.” Drake dropped the book back onto the crate and stepped toward him.

  Kurt did not care. The whispering was now loud enough for him to understand and what he heard scared him more than the notorious mage standing before him.

  “Tell it to shut up. Tell it to leave me alone!” Kurt screamed the words while trying to move his hands to tear at his ears.

  You belong to us, you will be part of us, we are coming for you.

  Those words kept repeating in his head, getting louder and louder until he felt deafened by them.

  “Can’t you hear them? Make them go away!” Kurt’s eyes again flicked over the room before finally resting on Drake. Drake was the only other person here. It was him! It had to be him. Kurt thrashed harder against the forcing holding him.

  Yes, we need him. You need to make him one of us.

  A small part of his mind knew that this was all insane, that something had control of him but that small part was locked down. The whisperers now controlled everything else. His body was not his own. As soon as he felt this, his body stopped thrashing and slumped against whatever was holding him. His eyes stayed focused on the mage. Just behind him on the crate, Kurt could see the book flip itself open and start flicking through its pages.

  You are part of us. We can give you the power to free yourself, but only if you help us capture him.

  In the trapped corner of his mind, Kurt watched the pages of the book settle as if awaiting the next entry, the right page blank, the left held a drawing of a staff with something scrawled alongside it. The rest of his mind and body paid it no heed as it relaxed against Drake’s invisible bonds.