Secrets of the Elders (Chronicles of Acadia: Book I)

CHAPTER 13

  After the concussive blast knocked everyone to the ground, Logan wasted no time making his way toward the exit. He was already clear across the ballroom before Fafnir and his men even began to stir again. Looking over his shoulder at the chaos left behind, he missed the poor waitress in his path, whom he practically flipped over. He stumbled to help her back up in his panic.

  A soldier saw him running toward the front doors and moved to block his path. Without giving it a second thought, Logan barreled headfirst into the man’s stomach, tackling him roughly to the ground and giving him two sharp raps across the face. Women were screaming all around, hurrying to get out of the way of the lunatic barging through the party.

  As he approached the outside entrance, he spotted two palace guards blocking the door. They looked anxiously past him at the crowd of panicked people.

  “The palace is being attacked!” Logan shouted, pointing over his shoulder. “The Magistrate’s been injured, you have to help him!”

  From the guards’ perspective, they saw a scared man being followed by a rove of scared aristocrats, all charging out of the building. Instead of moving to detain him, they ran inside to help their leader.

  Even a good four blocks away, Logan could still hear the commotion he had left behind as the gala’s noblemen and women were filling the city street and fleeing in their carriages.

  These people are crazy! What in the Hel was I ever thinking wanting to come here? he wondered, stopping to catch his breath between two buildings. He leaned heavily against the side of a building, his blood pumping hard in his ears.

  He wildly tried to understand what had just happened, replaying the chaotic scene in his head. He could not understand why someone would want to kill the gnome. Maybe it was related to his black market dealings? He shook his head. Judging by the look Fafnir wore when he was cornered, he had a hunch the weasel was behind it.

  A sign across the road caught his eye. Park Avenue…I’m close to the marketplace! he thought excitedly, remembering how quick it had been for them to get to the palace from Corbin’s temporary housing at the wood mill.

  Logan moved quickly through the night streets, ducking behind trash bins or into alleyways whenever a carriage approached. He had a good lead on Fafnir and his men, thanks to one of Mr. Beauford’s ingenious upgrades to his hand. The wood mill stood quietly across the street from the alleyway he hid in, everyone home for the night after a long workday.

  Looking up and down the street, he could see no sign of the city watch, so he sprinted across the street and up the outside stairwell to the apartments. He practically ran through the shabby apartment door in his frantic flight, only dimly remembering to lock it behind him. Once inside, he spied his backpack, thanking his fortune. Before heading out to the gala, he and Corbin had been sure to pack all their supplies for their trip back to Riverbell in the morning.

  Grabbing the pack, he rummaged through the contents for a change of clothing, slipping out of the blood-stained garments he wore. He was just tightening his belt when the hurried sounds of boots came from the stairwell.

  Bastards already found me! he thought, snapping his head around the room, looking for an escape route. He was cornered. The only way out was a window, and they were on the second floor. He could hear the soldiers grunting in the hallway now. The window would have to do.

  He sprang over to it and tugged at the pane, and someone began banging on the door, demanding he come out peacefully. The damn thing did not want to move! Logan cursed himself realizing the catch was still in place. He could hear the men in the hallway planning to ram the door down just as he slid the frame up, slipping out like a fox, to hang from the windowsill. When the door burst open, he let go, landing on the awning below and sliding to the ground. He hit the ground running, leaving the angry guards behind to toss his room, thinking he was hiding somewhere inside.

  Logan was another six blocks away, running for his life toward the city gates, when his conscience began nagging in the back of his head. All he wanted was to get out of the city and get back home to Riverbell, wishing he had never set eyes on this infernal place. However, Beauford’s last words would not cease repeating in his head, haunting him with their plea.

  Logan growled to himself, turning from the southern road and heading back west toward the Grey Crow. He had to fulfill the gnome’s dying wish and retrieve his damnable pendant. Logan did not know why he should care one way or the other, but something deep in his core insisted it must done.

  It’ll just be a quick detour before I get out of this place, he told himself. Logan had to keep reminding himself of that thought, as he made his way through the city. His relief was palpable when he finally caught a glimpse of the Grey Crow up ahead, sitting just as empty as the wood mill had been.

  And why shouldn’t it be? he thought, wondering who he expected to be working there with the sole proprietor dead. Even the brothel next door stood quiet. He could hear the women inside talking and laughing over clinking plates, but none were on the balcony or out in front of the building where they could see his approach.

  Logan ducked into the alleyway between the two structures, moving as far toward the rear of the building as he could. He tested the windows, careful to make no noise. Unfortunately, the only one left unlocked was all the way back up by the street, in plain view if any of the women should happen to look outside. Knowing he had no other choice, Logan lightly pushed upward, sliding the rickety pane along the rotting frame. Though it was old and weathered, he managed to get the window up high enough to slip inside.

  Hmmm, and Elder Morgana always said I should do something more useful than sneaking around to steal pies, he thought, using those practiced skills now to break into the building.

  Even with all of the lights blown out, he could see the place had recently been ransacked. Tables were flipped over, jars smashed to pieces on the floor, some of the lanterns overhead were lying on their sides, and the shelves had been fiercely searched, leaving all manner of wares and books scattered across the floor.

  Logan’s blood froze when someone coughed in the backroom, where a dim light glowed. Working on pure instinct, he slid into a shadowy corner of the storefront, crouching behind one of the shelves and peering between the stacks to try to get a glimpse of his fellow intruders.

  “What’s that?” a man asked, with the voice of a high-pitched rat. “Did ye find anything?”

  “Nah, the kitchen’s empty too…blasted gnome. Where in the devil do you s’pose he stashed it?” his companion replied in a deeper voice.

  Logan backed up even farther into the shadows. His gut told him these men were city watchmen, and they were already here searching for Beauford’s pendant!

  “The Magistrate ain’t gonna like this none,” rat voice said, confirming Logan’s suspicion. He grunted and something heavy hit the floor.

  “Yer right about that. Let’s have Joel tell him,” the deep voice offered.

  “Hehe, pickin’ on the new guy, huh? Yeah, let’s do that. It’ll be a good initiation for ‘im.”

  “Sure, if the Magistrate doesn’t have him strung up for deliverin’ the bad news, you mean?” The deep voice laughed.

  The pair were still laughing over their new comrade’s upcoming punishment when they emerged from the backroom. One of the men was wiry with a long crooked nose and wore a bowl haircut, while the other was broad-shouldered with large muscular arms despite his oversized belly. They both wore city watch uniforms, and the heavier man carried a small lantern.

  The skinny rat-looking one nudged his companion, picking something up off the floor. “The missus is going to like this, pally.”

  Strangely, the guard who looked like a rat spoke in the deeper voice and the heavy man replied in the squeaky, high-pitched voice.

  “Nothing better than a sip of rum to get ‘em in the mood, eh?”

  They laughed again, pilfering a couple more bottles before heading out of the building, leaving the door to
bounce on its hinges a couple times before it settled down and the overhead bell stopped clanking.

  Logan could make them out through the sooty windows. Once they were safely out of sight, he let out a long, drawn-out breath of air.

  Without time to waste, he scrambled into the backroom, crouching past the outside windows to avoid being spotted. Clambering around in the dark, he rummaged through the rows of shelving, searching for some clue to the gnome’s cryptic hiding place. All he saw were more bottles of the liquor that had been served back at the gala and the same bizarre artifacts he had grilled Beauford about only a short day ago. All the tables in the backroom were, for the most part, cleared off onto the floor, and the small kitchen area was littered with broken plates and discarded flatware.

  Heading back into the storage area, he set down his pack to find a flint and lit one of the candle stubs lying on the floor. With the waxy nub in hand, he could see better and ran back over the contents of the room, hoping he had missed some essential clue.

  “Damn it, Beauford…where the Hel did you stash this thing?” he grumbled aloud to a nearby painting of the gnome. Beauford’s eyes seemed to be following him around the room, a trick of the light and expertise of the artist.

  “Hmmm.” Logan moved in closer. The painting was hanging crooked, so he assumed the city watch had already searched the wall behind it. However, it was not what was behind the painting that caught his attention as much as what was in it. Beauford sat in a red leather armchair, smoking a pipe, in some sort of library.

  Slowly moving the candlelight across the picture, Logan searched it until his hand stopped, the light flickering over an object that must have been what triggered his subconscious curiosity. Beside the chair was a small table with a tea set atop it, the very same tea set Beauford had used the day before!

  Logan darted for the tight kitchen area, his heel sliding across the floor on a piece of broken ceramic. He thudded into one of the counters, but it did not slow his search. He worked excitedly to flip open the small cupboards one by one until he found the teapot.

  Setting it on the countertop, he removed the lid, revealing…nothing. Logan’s brows furrowed. How could the pendant not be inside? Then again, why had he thought it was inside the pot anyhow?

  He was about to head back into the backroom, having disproved his theory, when another thought occurred to him. Lifting the teapot in front of his face, Logan noticed how the base of it was taller than your average kitchen urn.

  It’s not inside it… it’s part of it!

  He dropped the teapot to the floor and watched it smash to pieces. Lowering his candle, he noticed a glint in the dark, revealing a small piece of jewelry inside the base of the teapot. Triumphantly, he snatched the little teardrop-shaped pendant on its white silver chain and moved back into the other room.

  The storefront entrance dinged as the little bell above rattled. Logan’s heart skipped a beat and he blew out the candle, tossing it away from him as if it were a poisonous snake.

  “Not like we didn’t just scour the damned place top to bottom!” the rat yelled outside. Someone outside the front of the store yelled back at him, and the door clattered against the frame.

  “No use getting riled up, Ralph. Let’s just get it done,” the deeper-voiced man said, sounding tired and defeated.

  “It’s not our fault they let that Walker kid escape,” Ralph, the broad-shouldered man, replied. Logan ducked behind the nearest bookshelf, stunned to hear his name uttered by the man. “Besides, what makes them think the kid could have already made it this far into the city?”

  His companion just grunted, moving past his hiding spot to light up the tiny kitchen. “Well, he ain’t in the pantry.” The wiry guard announced.

  Logan tensed up. Were these men going to scour the store looking for him?

  The large man absently kicked a statuette across the floor, giving the area a cursory glance and grunting. “Check that side of the room,” he squeaked while opening a window to look out into the alleyway.

  Logan’s heart was beating so hard he worried they would hear it. He worked to steady his nerves as the skinny watchman moved toward the shelving, slowly scanning the area with his lantern.

  “What a joke. First he’s got us searchin’ for a journal that doesn’t exist, next it’s some country wahoo,” the oversized man complained, beckoning his partner to follow toward the storefront.

  As the guard moved away from where Logan was crouched low to the ground, he loosened his fists, realizing he was so tense that he had been digging the nails of his right hand into his palm.

  “Wait,” the deep voiced guard said, turning his lantern toward the middle of the room.

  “Oh, what now?” Ralph whined. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  Logan could barely make out what they were doing from behind the stacks of antiques. He had to crane his neck to see what the smaller man was pointing at in the middle of the room. When he saw his backpack, Logan’s heart stood still and goose bumps crawled across his skin. He silently cursed his stupidity for leaving the thing lying out in the open.

  Scanning the area, he saw that the men were no longer by the doorway, each taking a different side of the room with their weapons drawn. He knew this time he would not be so lucky to escape unnoticed. The lantern was moving on the opposite end of the room where a stack of crates rested, while the heavier man worked his way straight toward the shelving Logan was hiding behind.

  Logan snatched a small brass statuette of a snail and flicked it sideways out the open window, where it rattled across the ground out in the alleyway.

  The heavier watchman stopped short just in front of the shelving, motioning for his partner to check out the noise. As the lantern moved toward the window, the heavy guard turned to face Logan’s hiding spot once more.

  Logan roared, shoving his shoulder hard against the tall bookcase, which toppled right over on top of the guard, burying him underneath an avalanche of dusty tomes and trinkets, followed by the shelf itself. No sooner did the bookcase hit the floor, than Logan was bolting for the exit, leaving his pack behind. The skinny guard dropped his lantern to the floor running to help lift the heavy shelving off his companion.

  As Logan was about to pass through the doorway, a heavy fist caught him hard in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. He barely ducked out of the path of another roundhouse, this one coming with a five-inch barbed steel blade.

  He had not even heard the other watchman searching the storefront. But if he wanted to survive he had to adapt quickly. As the fierce, black-bearded man stalked in, grinning, at him, Logan held up his hands in surrender, backing up toward the middle of the room.

  “Okay, you got me. I’ll come along willingly,” he said.

  The watchman scoffed at him, wagging his pointer finger above the hilt of the dagger. “Tut tut…too late for that, briar lapin. Boss wants you dead.”

  The man’s mocking smirk turned serious and he lunged forward, swinging the knife. Logan stepped back, kicking a smaller crate straight up into the air, right into the path of his attacker’s blade, which smashed through the wood like it was paper. Blinded by the maneuver, the guard never even had time to block as Logan broke his jaw with a staggering punch to the face, the momentum throwing him into a nearby pile of books.

  Massive arms wrapped around Logan from behind, lifting him off his feet and squeezing the air out of his lungs. The large, squeaky-voiced man had already made it out of the rubble, wearing a slash across his forehead that seemed to have turned him into a berserker.

  “Thought ye could get away from us, did ye?” he screamed in his high pitch, while his wiry little friend stalked in with a sword.

  “Hold ‘im still, Ralph, I want to get this over with nice and neat.” The little rat pulled his arm back to run their captive through.

  As the man thrust the blade, Logan twisted hard toward the sky, raising his legs above his body to keep away from the sharp edge. Ralph
howled as the sword ran clean through his midsection, sticking out through the back of his ribs. He released Logan and gripped his belly.

  Logan tumbled across the floor, knocking over the man’s stunned partner, who was still holding the hilt of his sword. Logan kicked the man hard twice in the head, knocking him unconscious, before the heavyset guard caught him in the ear with a deafening blow. Logan reeled from the pain as the crazed bastard threw a volley of fists into his gut. He thought the man must have demon blood to even be moving after being run through with a sword, which was still stuck in him like a pincushion.

  Logan managed to duck to the side, dodging one of the man’s heavy blows, which cracked into the wall instead. He howled in pain over his broken knuckles, giving Logan just enough time to land a sure-aimed fist straight into the brute’s nose, breaking it under the weight of his metallic hand, and follow it with a heavy roundhouse kick to the side of the head, throwing the berserker into a pile of stacked crates in the corner.

  The room roared with the ear-ringing blast of a pistol as a bullet whizzed past Logan’s head. He jumped into a blind tucking roll across the room, the smell of gun powder stinging his nose. The third watchman looked angry indeed to have missed his target, especially after said quarry had broken his jaw. Rather than retreat into the kitchen or wait while the man reloaded his single shot pistol, Logan made a mad dash forward, kicking the weapon out of his hand and battered the soldier with repeated blows until he was unconscious.

  Scanning the room to be sure none of the men were stirring, Logan retrieved his pack, flipping it over his shoulders and clipping the harness in place around his chest. While he was retrieving his laser rifle from the holster on his back, he heard a commotion of soldiers running toward the front of the building. There would be no exiting that way for him.

  Hopping out the back alley window, he turned to slide it shut just as he heard the store entrance burst open as a group of watchmen stormed the place. He pressed up against the wall of the building, keeping in the shadows as he headed toward the street. Peeking around the corner, he caught a glimpse of a soldier who had been told to wait out front and keep watch. Inside the store, the men were destroying the place, tearing it apart to find him, while another came rushing out, asking if the guard left on watch had seen anyone run by.

  Logan was stuck. There was no way he could make it out of this alleyway undetected, and there were too many guards to fight alone. He eyed the laser rifle warily. He did not want to kill anyone and doubted he could stomach such a thing.

  “Psst.”

  He turned around to find one of the working women from the brothel beckoning him from a nearby window while her friend ducked to get a good look at him. Logan pointed at himself and shrugged.

  The woman nodded, urgently waving for him to get inside. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he hopped right through just in time to avoid one of the watchmen as he rounded the corner. Logan silently thanked the women. One of them held a finger to her lips, pulling him toward the back of the apartments, past dozens of half-naked women, to where their Madame was waiting beside an armoire.

  “C’mon now, boy, out through here you go,” she urged, swinging the armoire doors wide to reveal a hidden stairwell that led almost straight upward.

  “In the nine heavens, I don’t know how I could ever repay you, lady!” Logan cheered at the sight of the escape route.

  “Any friend o’ my little Beauford is a friend o’ mine, laddie. Now add some pepper to it and get going.” Her voice fell to a whisper, shoving him into the portal and slamming it closed behind him.

  As he climbed the steep stairs, he could hear soldiers already storming her place, demanding to know if he was inside. Logan had no doubt the woman could handle the angry guards with her charms and that she was already giving them a tongue lashing.

  At the top of the steep passageway, he came to a porthole that opened out to an alleyway beside a great stone mansion.

  For Pete’s sake, I’m all the way up by the bloody Arch Councilor’s palace! he thought, looking down the hill toward the lower levels.

  Logan had an epiphany then, one that shook the very fiber of his being. He could see how foolish his actions had been earlier that evening, thinking he would somehow be able to return to Riverbell and escape from the weight of his accused crime. Fafnir wanted him dead, though he was not entirely certain why, and between him and home was more than half a city filled with watchmen looking for the murderer.

  No. Logan could never go home again. There was only one road left for him now. He would have to head north for a one-way ticket over the wall and into the wildlands. Given the alternative between that and death, he was not left with much of a choice.

  Far down in the city below he could hear the commotion of guards searching for him. Logan turned north, accepting his fate with grave determination, and put the world he had known to his back.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

  Sounds of shouting across the ballroom caught the attention of Arch Councilor Zacharia’s group. “I say, what do you think all that commotion could be, Your Holiness?” a thin, beady-eyed aristocrat asked, adjusting his spectacles to look over at the west wing.

  Elise leaned into her fiancé. She was not accustomed to wearing dresses like this one with its tight corset and heavy petticoat and felt off balance, and she needed support as she craned her neck to see what the man was referring to. The Arch Councilor had been giving them a treatise on trade law in answer to one of the merchant’s questions when they were interrupted.

  “Hmmm,” Zacharia muttered, fingering his curled moustache.

  Corbin could see the pointed tips of tridents bobbing quickly through the crowd, heading toward the commotion, and an uneasy feeling settled over him. He grabbed Elise by the arm and pulled her behind him to see what could be happening.

  Just then, a blinding light flashed across the crowd, lighting up the entire west side of the ballroom, followed by a loud boom as the floor quaked beneath the aftershock of the blast. All around them, men and women were screaming, shoving past one another for the exit.

  “Lady Penelope,” Zacharia said, “get Madame Elise and yourself out of the palace immediately!” Not waiting for a response, he plucked Elise from Corbin’s arms and handed her off to the Lady as if she were precious cargo. “Corbin, you stick with us. Don’t worry, your fiancée will be safe with Lady Penelope.”

  Corbin looked warily after Elise as she disappeared into the chaos with Lady Penelope and her flanking guards. She shouted for him from somewhere among the jumble of people, but he did not dare disobey the Arch Councilor and quickly moved to follow him.

  Making their way through the throng of people was not too difficult. Anyone who saw Arch Councilor Zacharia quickly scrambled to get out of his path. Corbin stopped twice to help people to their feet, worried that they might be trampled by the near hysterical swell of aristocrats practically fighting to get out of the palace.

  “Magistrate Fafnir, what is the meaning of all this?” Zacharia demanded as the old lawman was being helped to his feet by some of his men.

  “Milord,” Fafnir said, clearly disoriented. “There has been an assassination tonight.”

  The magistrate pointed down the side hallway to the limp body of a gnome surrounded by a pool of blood. All around the corpse, palace guards were examining the scene under orders of their nearby commander.

  “Who would have the audacity to do such a thing?” Arch Councilor Zacharia asked.

  “I am the unfortunate bearer of disturbing news, milord, but it was none other than Logan Walker himself who committed the foul deed,” Fafnir said, informing the arch councilor of eyewitnesses who saw Logan stab Mr. Beauford to death.

  “This is preposterous!” Corbin said. “My brother may be a lot of things, but a murderer is certainly not one of them!”

  “Similar words you spoke yesterday, if I recall, Corbin,” Fafnir coolly replied. “It would seem
there is much about your brother you do not know. My liege,” he continued, directing his attention back to Zacharia, “I take full responsibility for these events. Just yesterday the boy had a violent outburst not too far from the goodly gnome Beauford’s shop. I should have known…should have realized more was at play. I regret to say I released him from section six, unable to believe a hero could be involved with such goings on. Now I see my folly,” the magistrate admitted, bowing his head in shame.

  Corbin stood at a loss for words, his jaw hanging slack.

  “It is true, Arch Councilor, Dame Uriel saw that fiend Walker stabbing Mr. Beauford with her own eyes,” the commander added, stepping into the discussion, while his men were moving the dead gnome out of the hallway. “My men and I came upon the murderer, dagger in hand, covered with the goodly gnome’s blood, Your Holiness.”

  That shut up any counterargument Corbin could think to muster. He stammered, wide-eyed, not knowing what to make of these claims.

  “Master Beauford? But why would a hero of New Fal want to murder the goodly gnome?” Elder Agustus said, overhearing the proclamation as he walked into the fray. The room was much sparser now, most of the partygoers having evacuated the palace, leaving only council members and palace guards.

  “Black market dealings, no doubt,” one of the other elders commented.

  “Oh, hush now,” a grey-haired woman said. “It’ll not do to speak ill of the dead.”

  “What? We all know it’s the truth,” the man said unabashed.

  Lady Cassandra had arrived as well, furrowing her brow at the commander’s claim. “I was just talking with both men only a short while ago, and they certainly did not seem to be holding any ill will toward each other.”

  “You see, there you have it,” Fafnir said, “another eye witness account that they were together. Have no fear, Arch Councilor, I have dispatched my men with orders to kill the murderer on sight.”

  “That is preposterous!” Lady Cassandra bristled. “The boy must be brought in alive. How else can we be sure he had a hand in Beauford’s murder, unless he stands trial before the Council?”

  “Lady Cassandra is on the right side of it, Fafnir,” Zacharia said. “We have not taken complete leave of Falian law.”

  Just then, a soldier rushed up to whisper in the magistrate’s ear. Fafnir widened his eyes at the news.

  “Further proof of his guilt!” he announced, tapping his cane on the floor with excitement. “There has been a break in at the Grey Crow. My men found Logan Walker there and tried to detain him, but alas he has escaped.”

  “Are you listening to this rubbish?” Cassandra asked the arch councilor, pointing at Fafnir. “Do tell us, Magistrate, how was it that your men were able to get to the gnome’s storefront so quickly?”

  “Milady, Falian watchmen receive the finest training, honing their skills for years, and preparing for any situation. That they already arrived is only proof of their prowess and a testament to the glory of Fal,” Fafnir slyly countered.

  “Yet they were ousted by a young farmer?” she mocked.

  “Oh, enough of this,” Zacharia said. “We have serious matters to attend to at the moment; the two of you are not on the pulpit swaying votes. Corbin, is what the magistrate said true? Was your brother arrested yesterday?”

  “To my people’s great shame, he was, milord,” Corbin said, unable to meet the great man’s gaze.

  Zacharia pursed his lips and nodded. “Magistrate, your men are to capture Logan Walker alive. I will have him brought to me personally for questioning. The council will see the truth. However, if he resists arrest or puts any other innocents in harm’s way, he is to be put down.”

  “Your word is law, Your Holiness,” Fafnir said with an overly dramatic bow. He turned to give his men the new orders as the arch councilor led the group to the back of the palace.

  “Sir?” the soldier who had delivered the news of the break-in asked.

  “Finish the job at the Grey Crow. Make sure there is no proof in the building before you burn it to the ground,” Fafnir said, careful to keep his voice down.

  “And the boy?”

  “Make sure Logan Walker does not make it out of the capitol alive.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~