Novel 2. Royal Justice

As the patrol approached, the "blacks" and "greens" had already exchanged insults, but were just about to draw their swords. Armando drew his tipstaff from its noose and, holding it in plain sight, exclaimed:

— Noble gentlemen! Do I see here a violation of the law?

— Go away, you dog, — snarled back the tallest of the "greens" — probably the ringleader of the group. — None of your business.

— Duels and group fights between the nobles of the realm are forbidden by decree of Queen Octavia, noble don. — De Gorazzo stopped a few steps away from the brute, folding his arms across his chest. — So this is my business. You are going to fight, are you not?

It was only now that the angry young man noticed the rod with the coat of arms on it. He frowned, slowed down a little:

— Forgive me, don, I mistook you for a soldier. But all the same, please leave. This is a private matter.

In spite of the polite wording, the lad's tone was still impertinent. Not only his comrades-in-arms, but his opponents as well, echoed him in agreement. It seemed to be a question of jangling blades for both sides, and what that was worth was a moot point.

— King's law forbids the nobles of the realm to draw their weapons against each other, — Armando repeated wearily, as if they were foolish children. The presence of soldiers behind him added to his confidence, though not much. Still, there were more bullies than soldiers, and if anything happened, the guards would surely get away. Armando did not see anyone particularly noble or influential among the potential violators — just the children of minor nobles and knights. But even these would not be attacked by ordinary soldiers, except in the presence of, and by order of, the queen herself. — Your intentions seem clear to me. I suggest you disperse peacefully and quietly.

— The laws of honor are older and more important than the royal laws, — said the rude boy, and he was again supported by consonant voices. — And these rascals have insulted me and my friends. We will settle this at once.

— Well, then I propose a compromise — leave the weapons and sort it out on fists. — The royal bailiff shook his hands.

— Are you mocking me, Don? — The young bully turned white. His cheekbones turned into jowls.

— Not at all. It's just that if I don't, I'll have to give the order and the soldiers will beat you with spears like rioting shopkeepers. — Armando was starting to get a little excited, too. He hoped all would be quiet for the rest of his tour of duty, and that he could collect the money from Serpent in the evening and then go to sleep. But two gangs of boys with coats of arms decided to ruin his day for good.

— Oh, you... — the bully roared, grabbing his sword. He didn't have time to draw his blade before the royal bailiff swiftly struck the lad across the head with his staff. He could have struck him in the fingers, leaving him unable to wield his weapon. But de Gorazzo hoped that, left without a ringleader, the troublemakers would scatter. Alas, he was mistaken. "'Green" and "Black" watched in amazement as the brute fell into the dust, and then picked up their swords, clearly forgetting their grievances against each other. The royal bailiff found himself face to face with a dozen of the sturdy, angry lads.

And at that very moment a dead pigeon swooped down on him. The shabby bird clawed at Armando's hair, pecked him on the head with its beak. When he realized he had a chance, de Gorazzo grabbed the pigeon and held it out in front of him with outstretched arms:

— Everyone calm down! Here is a messenger from the crown judicial necromancer! If you do not obey, magic will be used!

The pigeon rose in Armando's arms, menacingly raised its half-decomposed chest, spread its wings wide, and let out a hiss that was not at all birdlike, which startled not only the young bullies, but the soldiers behind the bailiff's back.

— Pick up your comrade and disperse! — De Gorazzo shouted. — Away! Move along! Sergeant, see to it!

The two groups obeyed, snarling, glaring now and then at the usher and now at each other. While the guards escorted them to the other side of the square, Armando released the pigeon and fumbled with the note he had brought in his hair. The note said: "After the patrol, come see the Count. Important." Instead of a signature, there was a familiar face and initial.

— Bad news always comes in good time, — de Gorazzo grinned mirthlessly. — At last they're of some use.

Chapter 2

— Money, my friend, is not an aim in itself. It is only a tool to achieve a goal, — reasoned Gotech, swaying in the saddle of his heavy horse. — My parents were saving up money to buy themselves out of slavery. In the war I was saving to send my parents back home. Now I'm saving up so I can one day get the right to marry the woman I love.

— That... your dragon girl? — Armando chuckled. The black giant had more than once intimated that his fianc"e was a dragonknight. But he flatly refused to say her name. Considering there were barely six dozen noble dragon-breeding families in the entire kingdom, it sounded highly dubious. A girl from such a noble family could hardly even get the chance to meet a parvenu like Gotech. On the other hand, Ardano bore little resemblance to a dreamer. Though he bore little resemblance to a noble don with the rank of royal bailiff, he was one, too.

— Yep, — the big man nodded contentedly. — Keeping a dragon pack is expensive, so no matter how proud knights are, they're always after money. And, as you see, hoarding money is not the goal in any of those cases. Money is needed to achieve something. I wonder what it is that you seek to gain? You have enough to live on, so why get involved in illegal activities, hang out with gangsters, take bribes?

— Well... — Armando shrugged, rolling his eyes. — The manor has to be maintained... Look, what's that book you read on your breaks? That's what got you into philosophy, isn't it?

— Do you want me to lend it to you? You can read it yourself.

— No, thanks.

Normally de Gorazzo liked to travel in the company of Gotehe, but sometimes his friend would have what Armando called "the philosophical rage of a berserker" and the giant would indulge in such musings that after a couple of hours Armando would want to hang himself on the branch of the nearest tree. It took them three days to reach their destination, because Gotech's mossy-footed horse, the same size as the small island dragon, didn't like haste and preferred not even a trot, but a step.

When Donna Vittoria's dead pigeon had delivered Armando a note of invitation, he'd assumed that some recent scam he'd been playing on the smuggling business had come to light, and that the Count was going to give his subordinate a scolding. He was only partly wrong. The case did indeed turn out to be about smuggling, only not about the capital.

— Don de Gorazzo, you are aware of the latest disturbing rumors from the west of the kingdom, aren't you? — The chief bailiff began without preamble as he and Armando retreated to his office.

— In general, yes, — Armando replied cautiously, still unsure of the purpose of this conversation. — In the provinces bordering the Duchy of Veronne, someone is muddying the waters. The barons are amassing more troops than allowed, buying weapons from suppliers other than the crown's, negotiating with each other...

— That's right. — The lord sighed. — It smells like such a forgotten thing as a baronial confederation with demands on the crown. There hasn't been one for ages...

— What's that got to do with us, Your Grace?

— You ask? When the spies dig up something, it's up to a clerk of the Crown Court to check the evidence publicly and make the arrest. A bailiff. But Her Majesty doesn't cut and run and take her time.

— That's good, — admitted de Gorazzo. Sending a royal bailiff to a province where a rebellion was being prepared usually ended with the corpse of a judicial official being hung over the gates of the rioters' castle. A perfect excuse for the crown to move troops on the rebels, but that didn't make things any easier for the poor bailiff.

— But while digging for information about the barons of the west, our informants stumbled upon a rumor that a lord from the south had also purchased a shipment of weapons from smugglers. Only a rumor, and only about one baron.

— Which one, Your Grace? — Armando clarified, taking on a businesslike appearance.

— Baron Calisto de Montore. Lord of a castle and five villages. He's had a longstanding dispute with his neighbor. He's been fighting over a sixth village. — The chief bailiff grimaced. — I'm guessing while the capital's not busy with petty squabbles, de Montore decided to settle the score with his enemies. Hence the purchase of weapons from smugglers — so no one would know before their time. But the palace is worried and wants a report on the situation. I'm ordering you to go to Montore and see what's going on. Couple of days there, couple of days back, you'll be back in no time. I want you more in the capital.

— And what am I supposed to see there, Your Grace?

— Anything. There's no need to arrest anyone, just look around, come back, report. I want to reassure the lords of the palace, that's all. I think after the visit of the bailiffs, de Montore will not stir the waters at all and will calm down. You won't need soldiers, but you won't go alone. I'm sending Don Ardano there too. Tell him to give the Baron a scare. He'll keep quiet with a menacing look, a look of concern... well, you know how he is.

— I know, Your Grace, — Armando grinned.

And so he and Gotech galloped down the new, and therefore narrow, zigzagging, unpaved road south of the capital. Mother Nature herself, as the pagan Elves would say, admonished them — as soon as the bailiffs rode out of the gates of Daert, the first snow began to fall. Still, it wasn't the worst alternative to patrolling the streets, so Armando wasn't complaining. If only Gotech hadn't brought a book of some ancient thinker he'd recently bought with him...

— Maybe you should get married too? — The desert giant muttered, squinting mockingly at his companion. — I'm sure Vittoria will forgive you if you come to confess. You were a fine pair, you should not have run away from her...

— Believe me, my friend, an affair with a necromancer girl is much more... full of surprises than an affair with a dragon knight, — sighed de Gorazzo sadly. — Life gets too... rich with excitement. I was unprepared for such a thing. It is only my fault, and I am ashamed before Vittoria, but...

— You are afraid of her.

— Yes, — Armando answered simply. He could be frank with Gotech. — I am afraid. She's wonderful. Beautiful, smart, kind, determined... but... you haven't slept in her house. Let's drop it.

The dark-skinned bailiff only shook his head. For three-quarters of an hour they drove in silence, admiring the small drifts that had accumulated along the roadside. The trail was well-traveled, the snowfall was light, and there was no risk of getting stuck somewhere because of the snow blocks. Armando decided, however, that he'd better pick up the pace on the way back. By the time the frost hit, he intended to be in town.

— They seemed to have arrived. — At a moment Gotech pointed with his hook forward. De Gorazzo himself could see the tops of the towers rising on the horizon — the gray stone merged with the gray sky, but over the roofs flew the colorful banners of the barony.

Montore Castle was not really a castle, but rather a stone mansion with a couple of thin watchtowers attached to it. However, by closing the heavy shutters and locking the iron-clad gates to the courtyard, the mansion's inhabitants were able to defend themselves against any enemy not armed with bombards or trebuchet. The royal bailiffs were not expected at the castle. Their arrival caused a commotion among the servants — some stood up, dropping current affairs, some rushed into the mansion to notify their lord, some hurried to get out of sight, ducking around a corner or into a back room door. Nothing new. Baron Calisto himself, a round, fat man, met the guests in the lobby, running down the stairs from the second floor.

— Your Graces! — he shook his hands when he saw the officials shaking the snow off their boots. — To what do I owe the honor of your visit? Has something happened in the neighborhood?

— No, but it could happen, — Armando smiled wearily at him. — Baron, it wasn't the royal judge who sent us, but the chief bailiff Count de Gorino. We have received disturbing information from your barony. I should like to discuss it with you. In private.

— Certainly, — the Baron nodded. — And your companion...

— He was guarding me from bandits on the way, — Armando replied. The black-skinned giant habitually shifted into the state of "savage cannibal" and silently snorted, making a menacing face. — You would be wise to feed him in the kitchen while we talk.

— Certainly! — Don de Montore gave the necessary instructions to the servants and invited Armando into his study. Someone was already there — a middle-aged man, unremarkable looking and unremarkably dressed. He was waiting in an armchair in a corner of the office and did not seem the least bit surprised by the bailiff.

— My nephew, Don Mario de Luigi, — the Baron introduced the man. — Came from the Republic of Iolia. On... family business.

— Pleased to meet you, Don. — Armando exchanged bows with de Luigi. — It is good that he is here. I would like to speak with all your loved ones. It is important. Where is your wife, Baron?

— Out traveling, — de Montore answered guiltily as he sat down at the table. Armando sat down in the chair opposite. — And so are the children. They went to Iolia for the winter, closer to the sea. Alas, only my nephew is here now. But what's going on, sir bailiff? You frighten me.

— You know that the kingdom has been in turmoil for a year now, — de Gorazzo began inspirationally. The baron should have put funnels in his ears, for Armando was about to pour into them a select wine of lies. So a couple of pints, one for each ear. — Our beautiful queen and her faithful servants are working to bring peace back to our lands. Word has reached the palace that bloodshed is brewing here in the south.

— This cannot be! — The baron shrieked. His fright looked genuine. But Mario's nephew only frowned.

— It is no secret of the long-standing enmity between you and Baron de Stroga. — The bailiff's face remained deadly serious. — Not so long ago, they began to rumor that someone in the south criminally bought a large shipment of weapons. Perhaps even someone was secretly recruiting mercenaries. What could that mean but preparations for a massacre?