Guild building, Captain,' he said. 'He has far too many...admirers wishing to pay him a compliment.'
Winterburne chuckled. 'I bet he does,' he said.
'If you would do him the courtesy, I am sure that he would be most grateful.'
'Very well,' Winterburne said, sighing as he made his way over to his desk. He unlocked the top drawer, taking out the bronze medallion and slipping it into his pocket. He closed the drawer and locked it again, removing the key. 'I assume you mean now?' he asked.
'Yes, Captain.'
oOo
The Arch Chancellor was seated behind his desk as the acolyte opened the door and showed Winterburne through into the office. As he made his way over to the desk Lytton stood.
'My apologies for the manner of the invite, Captain,' Lytton said, 'but given the circumstances I thought it best to act quickly.'
The acolyte closed the door behind him as he left the room, and they were alone.
'Which circumstances would that be, Arch Chancellor?'
Lytton lowered himself into his chair and motioned for Winterburne to sit in the chair placed next to the desk. 'Captain,' he said, 'I have to say that I have a confession to make to you.'
'Oh?' Winterburne raised an eyebrow.
Lytton smiled. 'I have to confess that I have not been entirely forthcoming with you.'
Winterburne leaned back in the chair. 'You're not saying that you lied to me, are you?' He ensured that his displeasure was obvious. 'Why am I not surprised? I don't enjoy being played as a fool.'
'I apologise,' Lytton said, clasping his hands together. After a moment of contemplation he reached down to his right and opened one of the drawers in his desk, removing a brown leather book. It measured about eighteen inches on its longest side and was around six inches thick. He placed it on the desk midway between the two men, and both looked at it.
'And this is?' Winterburne asked.
Lytton pushed the book across the desk. 'This,' he said, 'is the Register of Members.'
'Which doesn’t exist.'
'Yes, well,' the Arch Chancellor said, smiling. 'There are some things that we would not normally be able to admit quite so freely. But, given the nature of this morning’s events, I have taken the decision that it may be more prudent to share this with the authorities.'
Winterburne sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. His face had missed the pass of his razor again and the rub of his bristles sounded like glass-paper against his fingers.
'Arch Chancellor,' he said, 'I am less than enthusiastic that we even have a Guild for your members, let alone tolerate the presence of your so called profession in my city.' Winterburne could feel his annoyance rising. 'So why would I be prepared to humour you on any matter?'
'I am well aware of your views, Captain,' Lytton replied. 'You have done little to hide them. For now, can we not just deal with the matter before us as it stands. Surely, other, less important issues, can wait for another time.'
Winterburne stood and paced across to the window of the office and looked out over the street.
Lytton continued, 'As it stands, I am less than pleased than an authorised guild has had suspicion drawn to it by parties unknown. So, naturally, if I can help to discover the truth, and clear the good name of this establishment then...'
'I see,' Winterburne said. He turned to face Lytton. 'Arch Chancellor,' he said, 'you mention certain events of this morning. To what in particular would you be referring?'
'Let's not play games, Captain. The latest killing is already a matter of common knowledge.' Lytton paused. 'I take it that you brought the medallion from the girl's killing? May I borrow it for a moment?'
Winterburne returned to the table and withdrew the medallion from his pocket. He placed it on the table next to the book.
Lytton picked up the medallion and looked it over briefly before returning it to the table top. He opened the register and turned the leaves to a page about a quarter of the way through the book.
'Captain,' he said, 'may I reveal something to you? I believe you will find it of interest. It is one of our little guild secrets, though, so I trust you will be discreet, and keep it to yourself.'
Winterburne nodded.
Lytton picked up the medallion again and pointed to a mark on the engraving. 'This mark is unique.'
'Unique?' Winterburne took back the medallion and looked at the mark. It was not easy to see, but now that he knew where to look it was clear to him. 'But I just thought these were scratches caused by wear and tear.'
'Of course you did, Captain,' Lytton replied, 'you were supposed to. Our methods, signs and sigils are quite secretive. Each medallion has its own mark, and each mark indicates its owner.' Lytton ran his finger down the page of the register and stopped as he reached a point half way down the page. He turned the book, so that it was easier for Winterburne to see, and placed his finger near the writing. 'This is the name of the man to which this medallion belonged.'
Winterburne looked at the name but the script was unintelligible to him, written in some form of language that he had never seen. 'I cannot read this, Arch Chancellor.'
'No, Captain,' Lytton said. 'None can. None, that is, unless they can speak our language. We call it the Coda. It is a very old and secret language but the acolytes begin to learn it after they have passed their first set of trials.'
Realisation dawned on Winterburne. 'Then this book is useless to me without your help?'
'That is correct.' Lytton sat back in his chair as Winterburne continued to look at the page opened before him. 'Captain,' Lytton continued, ‘the name reads James Fenton, and you are already acquainted with him.'
Winterburne frowned and shook his head. 'You are mistaken. That name is not known to me and I don't believe I have ever met a man so called.'
'Oh, but you have, Captain,' Lytton said. 'You pulled his body out of the harbour this very morning.'
Winterburne raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'That's impressive.' he said, as he stared at the Arch Chancellor. 'Especially when we have not even sought anyone to identify the body at this point in time.'
'Eyes and ears on the ground, Captain. Eyes and ears.'
Winterburne chewed his lip, and sucked in a long breath. 'And I do not suppose that those eyes and ears know of a reason for this man’s death?'
'Regrettably, Captain, that is something that our eyes and ears on the ground have not been able to ascertain.'
'Then, for all I know this could be...what did you call it... an official statement?' Winterburne stood to his full height and waited the man's response with eager anticipation.
'Captain,' Lytton replied, 'I can assure you that the Guild has not made any official statements for quite some time.' He paused to close the Register. 'But should any statements need to be made then I promise you that they would be in a tone of voice which was much quieter than that with which these words were spoken.'
Winterburne smirked. 'So,' he said, 'assuming that I accept what you say is true, what can you tell me about this Fenton?'
'Alas, Captain, as much as I would like to help, it seems that he dropped off our watch-list about eighteen months ago. There are no records of any registered commissions for this man since then. There are no paid subscriptions from him, either. In truth, we thought that he had already met his end.'
Winterburne was curious. 'So what was he doing for all that time?'
'An interesting question, and one that seems to be a bit of a mystery, wouldn't you say? We may never know the answer, but my guess is that he took an exclusive commission, one which took him out of circulation.'
'Such as?'
'Who can say?' Lytton began to pull the Register back across the desk towards him. 'Private commissions are just that, Captain.'
Winterburne placed his hand on the book, preventing Lytton from moving it any farther. 'One moment, Arch Chancellor,' he said. 'I will, of course, need to take that book as evidence.'
Lytton laughed. 'Captain,' he said, 'I regret that I must po
litely decline your request. As you know full well, Imperial decree says that if I refuse then you cannot take this away without authority from the Emperor himself. And, unless I am very much mistaken, you still do not seem to have any such decree on your person.'
Winterburne released the book and Lytton continued to pull it towards him. He picked it up and placed it back in the top drawer of the desk. When the drawer had closed, Lytton locked it and slipped the key into his waistcoat pocket. He smiled across the desk.
'Then, Arch Chancellor, you can expect me to return as soon as I have obtained such an authority.'
'Oh,' Lytton said, 'I know I can.'
23
The Ninth Day of Midspring,
Imperial Year 2332
The squire stood on the balls of his feet, tall and still, his tabard hanging loosely around him, its black and white quarters, each bearing an eagle of the opposing colour, marking him out clearly as an Emperor's man. All around the arena the crowd watched him with their breaths held, their eyes wide with excitement. He raised his right arm in a slow deliberate movement, extending it above his head; the red satin scarf in his hand streaming away in the wind. He waited for as long as he dared, and when it seemed that the anticipation of the watchers could reach no more of a pitch, he opened his hand. The scarf flew free and the crowd erupted.
A rider, clothed in a white shirt with a black cross emblazoned across the front and back, kicked into his horse. His grey charger rose on its back legs, kicking several times with its front, and as its hooves hit the floor it thundered towards the tilt-rail, the man-horse creature hugging the bar as close as it dared. The man lowered his lance and aimed down the shaft of the weapon.
The knight drove the point of the lance through the first yellow ring, and a cheer rose from the crowd, but the rider was oblivious and pushed the beast on. The second and third ring were also direct hits, and again each raised a cheer, as did the fourth, but the man seemed to grow complacent and the point of the lance passed over the top of the fifth. A groan rose from the masses.
As the rider reached the end of his run, he pulled up the horse. With a drag of the reins the horse turned, and the rider held up his lance to show the four yellow trophies that he had captured. The crowd roared their approval.
Winterburne leaned over to the Sergeant. 'Who are they, today?'
'Leventhorpe's man for Almeria, Sir,' Moore said, 'against Talbot's man for Karelia.'
As they watched, two pageboys ran forward from the edge of the field and one took the bridle of the mount whilst the other removed the rings from the rider's lance. As soon as they were finished they jumped clear and the rider galloped the horse down to the far end to the acclaim of the crowd once more. After he had reached his destination, another rider walked his brown mount forward until he reached the starting line. This rider wore black, and his beast stomped impatiently at the powdered chalkline that had been drawn across the beginning of the run.
'Leventhorpe's rider has left it open, Sir.' Moore looked at the Captain and winked at him. 'Let's see what Talbot's man can do.'
The same squire stepped forward with a blue scarf and held it above his head for the man in black to see. Winterburne noticed that the crowd noise had quieted to a murmur and there seemed to be an air of expectation all around. The rider nodded his readiness to the squire and a moment later the scarf fell. The crowd erupted again and off he charged, the hooves of his mount thundering across the ground. One ring, two rings, three, four and this time the fifth was securely ripped from its fixing. The rider pulled up his horse at the end of the arena and saluted the crowd who were already cheering their acclaims to the winner. He handed off the lance to the pages and galloped his horse down to the far end, punching the air to a background of cheers. He rode across to the first rider and took his hand, shaking it. The men smiled and laughed