The Last Stop

THE

LAST STOP

JEREMIAH

DONALDSON

The Last Stop

Copyright 2012

by Jeremiah Donaldson

www.ephiroll.com

'Ship' cover 2019 contains

Creative Commons art by Pixxl Teufel at Pixabay.com

Smashwords edition copyright 2018

ISBN: 9780463945483

All right reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is a figment of your imagination caused by over population of the planet.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 1

Drim stomped snow from his boots as he stepped into the smoky tavern called The Crow’s Roost. The night had chilled him through his heavy wool clothing and the warmth made his fingers burn when he removed his gloves. One last empty table sat close to the roaring fire.

A foot appeared in his path, almost tripping him. He grabbed the dagger hilt underneath his cloak and followed the leg up to its owner, a shyster named Wilco Lancaster or ‘The Hand' to those aware of his reputation for lifting treasures off the most perceptive individuals. He’d gone out of his way whenever possible to give Drim some sort of grief since being embarrassed at a game of cards some months before, but stopped short of causing trouble with the law. Drim could send him back to The Rocks with the right words to certain people should he want to.

The Hand turned to a young man at his table. See that? Wanting to stick us for a simple mistake. Told you to watch out for him.

The other person Drim didn't recognize had recently reached manhood and wouldn't enjoy adulthood if he spent too much time around The Hand. Along with his reputation as a pickpocket, The Hand had a gift for letting the fool riding with him go down in his place.

What a jumpy squirt. The younger man put a dagger on the table. I have one too.

Drim relaxed despite the steel being drawn. They knew better than to break the peace that Hans, the owner and barkeep, maintained. Hans required fights to be taken outside and backed his argument with a wrought-iron, spiked club behind the bar. Only one man had ever challenged the custom. In addition to loosing his privilege to enter The Crow's Roost, the cocky ex-soldier's right arm had been so badly mangled that amputation turned out to be the only option. No one dared to suggest fighting inside.

Jumpy, no, I just know that when a dirty, craven dog is about, Drim nodded toward The Hand, that trouble could be afoot. He winked at the young man. Better watch your back or you could find yourself swinging a pick.

The Hand laughed. Why would you spread such rumors?

Drim kicked the foot in his path. My stomach is out of patience.

The Hand pulled his leg back.

Once at the table, Drim realized why no one sat there already. The fire burned too hot so close. Heat radiated from the stone fireplace. He hung his wet cloak on the back of the chair and waited for the barmaid. The left side of his body roosted. Sweat drenched that part of his body. His hair felt as though it would burst into flames.

Marcia arrived. She wore a smile that went nicely with the low cut top she wore. What can I get you today?

The special of the day and beer. Sweat dripped from his nose. And maybe something more satisfying for later.

Not tonight. Hans has extra chores for the bargirls tonight.

I'll wait around.

Marcia frowned. Maybe when you get a real house rather than that hole in the ground.

I can make Regis give us some privacy.

That beer, piss water, right?

Yeah, the weak stuff.

She rolled her eyes and walked away.

He tried to turn so that the flames didn’t blister his left arm and his feet could dry but failed.

Finally, Marcia reappeared with a large wooden platter and a clay flagon. The steaming fowl had just been pulled from the spit. A chunk of bread sat alongside. His stomach growled. For the last several weeks he'd eaten once a day to conserve his meager savings.

Hey! A man several tables over waved to Marcia.

She hurried off.

Drim washed the meal down with bad beer and cleaned the grease off his fingers with the bread that had been fresh sometime around lunch. He checked out the other patrons through the smoky room while finishing his, now warm, beer. Light from the fire and lamps created spots of deep shadow. The sound of rolling dice came from a far corner where men stood around a table. A card game took place next to them. Too bad he didn't have enough to gamble. Sweat ran down into his eyes, stinging enough to make him wince. About time to get moving.

He’d stood just as the door swung open into the wall. The freezing draft raced into the building, touching everyone before the bundled figure pushed the door shut. Stray snowflakes swirled in the warm air just long enough to be seen before melting away.

A vaguely familiar guardsman brushed his hood and hair back into place. This man, he held up a sheet of parchment with a drawing, is wanted for crimes against the king.

Did anyone catch his father’s murderer? Someone yelled from a dark corner, drawing laughter.

Drim suppressed a grin. King Jarkonatak resided in Hectron, a few days inland to the west of Centros, whose father's murder at the beginning of winter had triggered a cleansing that went far beyond looking for conspirators. This was the second time the chase had led to Centros.

The guardsman continued after the laughter stopped. He’s preferred alive for questioning, but his body will be enough to claim the reward of 500 silver discs from the Magistrate or Captain of the Guard. He hung the parchment on the wall alongside similar, yet less rewarding, announcements for people whose trail had long gone cold. Another blast of freezing air whirled through the room as the guard made his way back outside.

Drim watched The Hand and his apprentice stand up to leave. They dallied for a moment to look at the poster before making their way out the door. He felt his chance at the payday slipping away. Soon, others would follow.

He dug through his nearly empty money purse until he found enough sliver to pay for his meal, trying to ignore the damp spots on his cloak that’d freeze once back outside. He hurried to the announcement board. The charcoal drawing depicted a man with a thin face, short hair, and a large nose that appeared to be many times broken. A name had been scrawled underneath: Mako.

Time to find help. Regis wouldn’t venture far from a warm fire, ale, and shelter on a night like this. That meant he could be found at The Red Wing Inn two streets over.

Drim eased the door open, fighting against the howling wind that tore his hood back before he could react to the gusts. Snow and ice peppered his face despite his efforts to pull the hood back up. The two street walk along the street lights to the imposing facade of the inn took many times longer than it should have. Four oil lamps marked the front door and steps. A globe of glass protected each flame from the elements. Shutters covered the ground floor windows for the night and only the door beckoned anyone foolish enough to be on the streets.

A blast of dizzying heat took his breath when he stepped through the door, reminding him of the dump he called home. He could never hang onto enough money to pay for such an expensive room. For some reason it slipped through his fingers. Rich food and drink. Bribes. Lost bets. There was never enough discs for everything.

Along the back wall of the bar area were meeting rooms that could be rented to make a special impression on a visiting dignitary. The kitchen, bar, and the small office where the owner, Fron Heckler, conducted the everyday business of running the inn were arranged around the remaining three walls. A staircase provided access to everything above while another led to the basement. In the center of the room, surrounded by twenty feet of table littered floor space in all directions, rose a massive fireplace. The ten foot square of stone continued up through all three stories. Four openings faced each direction here at the base where they fed the immense fire that burned during every winter night. The masonry released heat all along its length to kept the rented rooms above warm no matter how appalling the weather outside.

Regis sat at a small round table halfway between the fireplace and the bar. The only other person in sight happened to be Fron’s pimple faced, dimwitted son, who maintained the fire and freed Fron and his wife for everything that required thought.

A silver disc flashed in the firelight as it spun over the worn, scarred surface of the table, stumbling over some of the deeper marks until reaching one that knocked it over. Regis chuckled as Drim approached and shifted his considerable bulk in the chair. Menacing creaks foretold of a wrecked piece of furniture. Trust for a saphead like you to roam about on a night like this.

Drim pulled a chair up opposite of him. Say what you want, but you‘ll like it.

Regis sighed and smirked.

There’s a man in the city wanted by the king. One of those spies, or agents, whatever you want to call them. Drim leaned close to Regis, looking over each shoulder before continuing. Point is, he’s easy prey long as we can find him. The Hand is even searching.

Regis snorted. The Hand is a amateur, how he avoided having his neck stretched is beyond me. He held up the coin for Drim to see. I won ten of these from a drunken messenger that got snowed in for a few days. I already had more then enough to live until spring. There’s no way I’m looking for someone in weather like this. For all you know, and I suspect, the guy’s innocent. Sanity isn’t the new King’s strong point.

This is good.

How much?

Five hundred discs.

Regis licked his lips. What’s the name?

Mako.

***

This isn’t one of your best ideas! Drim’s voice fought through the wind.

Protest all you want, Regis said. You normally do anyway. Lorendo is our best chance tonight.

We’ll have to walk all the way back across the district if he doesn’t know anything. A slight decrease in the wind made the words come out loud.

Regis looked side to side for anyone who may have overheard. Only silent buildings--locked up tight--greeted stood behind the street lamps on either side of the street. What if everything else turned up dry holes? We’d go see Lorendo. There wouldn't be a reward if Mako hung around in the open.

But Lorendo has never turned anyone over, Drim said. What makes your favor worth it?

Regis stopped and looked at him. "I saved his life. Most people consider that of some value."

Drim pulled his cloak tighter. When have I ever said I didn’t value your help?

When have you ever said you did?

They didn't speak again on the way to Lorendo's house. Shutters on the single story building had been drawn and inside flaps pulled tight so that not a single dot of light showed. A deep ridge of snow had built up under the edges of the roof where it’d slid off when heavy enough.

Regis rapped on the sturdy wooden door just within reach of the nearest lamp.

A gruff voice called out from inside. Who‘s there?

It’s Regis!

Lorendo cracked the door so that his blue eye could peer out--the other was brown--then motioned for them to hurry inside as the wind blew sparks from the fireplace all over.

The main room of the house served as everything but bedroom, reached through an empty doorway to the left. Another led to the chamber pot room which held shelves full of supplies; Regis also knew a tiny space had been dug out underneath the chamber pot room to hide Lorendo’s customers. Sweet tobacco smoke from a pipe on the table made the air hazy. An iron pot hung over the fire with beans cooking within. They claimed two of the four chairs.

Lorendo latched the door. I suspect this isn‘t a causal visit.

Regis shrugged. You remember that favor?

Lorendo’s sat and picked up the pipe that he lit with a burning stick from the fire. I knew it’d be something to do with that incident when I heard the knock. He exhaled a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. And you want to know about Mako, right?

Yeah. Regis hesitated, giving Lorendo time to take another puff from the pipe. How did you know?

Lorendo leaned back in the chair, taking another long draw from the pipe. The Hand stopped in here claiming I had a duty to reveal a threat to our king. Scumbag should of known not to bother me. He leaned over and tapped ashes into the fire.

Regis glanced at Drim and back at Lorendo. I take it you know Mako.

Why the sudden interest?

The king put a price on his head.

Lorendo nodded. No wonder he's eager to leave.

Regis raised an eyebrow. You’ll help us?

It’s bad business, but I owe you. Do you know where the storage warehouses are down at the harbor?

I've unloaded more than one cargo ship.

You may be too late. Mako paid good money for a boat to take him into Pahron. The storm has kept them in dock, but he’s getting desperate. He wants the captain to leave tonight. You can find him in the fourth warehouse from the end of the dock.

Regis shook Lorendo’s hand. Thanks. I consider us even no matter if he's there or not.

Just don’t mention this to anyone. It'd hurt my trade for word to get around that I’m turning clients over. Lorendo grinned. And I’d hate to sell friends into slavery. Especially since Drim wouldn’t last a fortnight and cause more bad business.

Regis laughed. Don’t worry. No one knows anything.

Lorendo filled the pipe with fresh tobacco. Do you know what he’s wanted for?

Regis shook his head. Could be anything.

Lorendo took a puff, holding it for a few seconds before releasing. I rarely discuss such things with my clientele. Good hunting, let me know how it ends.

***

Regis cursed another wrong turn and retraced their steps two streets back. The storm grew stronger. Snowfall reached whiteout conditions when they were but halfway to the harbor. Any captain willing to push off must be mad, or well paid, as if there existed a difference. He couldn't even see the buildings around them. The dirt lane shortcut didn’t have the luxury of street lamps to get them through the darkness.

They stopped in an alley between the first two warehouses and prepared for what lay came next. Their only weapons were his size and Drim's hidden dagger. Visible weapons at night would buy them an escorted walk home.

The wind pounded Regis when he stepped out of the alley, almost blowing him off his feet. Doing so could be grave. Snow and ice covered the walkway. Any mishap risked sending them into freezing water that'd suck life within the space of a few heartbeats.

A door slammed shut ahead of them. Darkness and snow concealed the source of the sound. Fearing that the ship was about to disembark, Regis ignored common sense and rushed into the gloom. Light from the last lamp lit the end of the dock, illuminating the thick rope he almost barreled into with heaving water beyond. No one. Regis turned to locate the warehouse they'd been told about.

Footsteps he ran past were just filling in snow and stopped at a warehouse door with a crescent of snow swept to one side. This warehouse measured about ten paces wide and thirty deep with a roof as high as three tall men. He’d helped fill it many times. Regis placed one ear against the cold wood and backed off after a few seconds of hearing nothing.

He’s quiet or there’s too much noise to hear.

Drim's dagger blade scraped on the leather sheath. Let's go.

Use it this time. I’m tired of doing all the dirty work. Regis turned his attention to opening the door.

It refused to open, even when he eased his weight back to pull it open, dreading the squeal that would alert anyone inside. Several gentle tugs failed to budge the door so he yanked on the handle with everything he had. Ice shattered when the door flew open and he landed on his back in the snow. Darkness greeted him from inside the building. He stepped through the doorway. The air was warmer than it should have been, as if heated, and melted the fresh snow around the door frame so that it could refreeze shut.

Regis dropped to one knee and pulled forth a foul smelling candle, flint and steel, and a tinder box from a pouch on his belt.

Drim’s hand grabbed his shoulder. Look.

Regis squinted. A feeble glow came from behind a pile of abandoned crates in the back of the building. He returned the stuff to the pouch and stood. Nothing moved. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Not a single floor board cried out when he tiptoed across the floor and jumped around the pile of crates into the circle of light. He almost tripped over a man on the floor with his head turned backwards.

Drim followed close. I told him running with The Hand would shorten his life.

What‘d I say about being useful? Regis pointed to a body at the opposite edge of the light.

Blood spread from The Hand’s head, but he breathed, making him luckier than the other guy. Regis bent to search him just as something swished through where his head had been half a second before. He rolled to the left and came up facing his attacker who’s powerful kick spilled him from his perch in the rafters. Dust rose from the floorboards when the man hit the ground on his back.

Drim pinned the stranger to the ground. It’s him, I got— A boot toe caught Drim in the back of the head, sending his face into a wood crate.

Mako jumped to his feet and pulled a throwing axe from beneath his cloak. Amateurs! Die like the others.

Regis flung himself sideways to avoid the weapon whirling at his chest. He grabbed a support timber and used the momentum to whip himself around, driving his shoulder into the much smaller man’s chest. They careened into the crates and sent them across the floor. Regis hung onto the front of Mako’s tunic while raining blow after blow onto his unprotected face before pushing him away to get rid of the fingers clawing for his eyes. Maybe keeping him so close hadn’t been such a good idea.

You're pathetic. Mako spat at Regis' feet. I thought Jarkonatak’s henchmen would be better sport.

Regis clinched his fists, waiting for an opening. You’re just a payday. Give up. We don’t have to take you back alive.

Of course not. Mako sneered. Your murdering king can't let the truth be told.

That supposed to be new to me?

Mako charged.

Regis tensed to swing, but the target turned to the exit at the last moment. He sprinted forward and drove Mako through the door and spilled them into the snow.

Give up. Regis grappled for a front choke hold.

A half solid knee to the groin answered him.

Regis moaned and slapped a thumb from his eyes. He slammed one forearm into Mako's face, spraying blood into the salty air from a broken nose. Still, he couldn't shake off the smaller man clinging to his clothing and trying to blind him. Then he connected a short elbow with Mako's temple; he went limp for the briefest moment and Regis pushed him away long enough to stand.

Mako wobbled to his feet--the lower part of his face a crimson mask--and pulled a dagger from one boot. I underestimated you.

Regis' instincts took over, automatically blocking the low stab aimed at his abdomen and striking Mako in the throat with his extended fingers.

Mako collapsed, wheezing and clutching his neck. His lips moved but no voice issued. Fewer sounds as he turned blue. Desperation made him claw at his neck so hard that he dug deep gouges in his skin. He struggled for almost another minute before being still.

Regis, weary of being tricked, checked the body. A purple face and bulging eyes were convincing enough to make him believe the night had ended. He tied Mako’s arms and legs together with leather lashes carried just for that purpose. Normally, his quarry lived, but the lashes made the corpse easier to carry.

With the body bound, Regis paused. Drim would ransack Mako’s pockets, no reason not to first. The search turned up little. Just a handful of various silver coins that he dropped into his own purse. He went inside to find Drim covered in blood and searching Mako‘s backpack.

Where’s Mako? Drim didn’t look up.

I had to put him down.

Easier for us.

Depends. He could've had a lot to say. Anything interesting?

Just supplies. Drim held out a piece of parchment. And that.

M. Jarkonatak is becoming a threat to our affairs. Proof of his demise is worth double your normal price. K

Regis folded the paper up. Sounds like someone is tired of our fraudulent king.

Who?

Regis shrugged. Who doesn’t want Jarkonatak dead for one reason or another. Rumors say he kidnaps children to molest, murdered his father for the crown, and hunted down members of the former leadership. Not to mention the war with Notom.

Maybe the next guy will get him.

Let’s get this over with. The thought that we helped that bastard is turning my stomach.

Then you can buy us a nice dinner to calm it. Drim tossed the backpack to the floor. You can be mad all you want, but who would Jarkonatak put that kind of reward up for? Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out the door.

Regis looked at his feet for a moment before following. He might get to put it up for me one day.

Chapter 2

Dedrik hurried down the cobbled street. Frigid wind tugged at his fur lined cloak and carried flakes into his face. Snow had been removed from the main streets but some whirled around his boots with each step. He didn’t want to be out on such a day. He should’ve been pulling his shift inside, but when the Magistrate gave the Captain an order, the closest guardsman ended up with extra work. Today, that turned out to be him.

Only the Magistrate, Captain, or one of their seconds got more information than necessary. When the Captain told him to find two men called Drim and Regis for a special job, Dedrik nodded and went to work, even though he wondered why a known rogue and mercenary were being called upon. At first he couldn’t find them. The needed information flowed only after convincing the Crow’s