“You have not failed me yet,” Lord Marak tried to smile. “I did not expect such a reaction from the citizens. Do you think it is normal for this to happen to someone who is elected to the Lords’ Council?”
“I do not know,” answered Gunta, “but I intend to find out.”
Halman returned with a pot of boiling water, a sharp knife, and some clean pieces of cloth. The innkeeper looked nervously from the kitchen doorway.
“Come and help,” Gunta called to the innkeeper.
The old man hurried across the room.
“Is it poison?” he asked.
“It is,” nodded Gunta. “We must cut the flesh around it and removed the poisoned area.”
“There is a better way,” the innkeeper offered nervously. “May I return to the kitchen?”
Gunta stared at the old man for a moment and then nodded. “Be aware that your life is tied to Lord Marak’s,” he warned the innkeeper. “If he dies, you do as well.”
The old man nodded as he ran into the kitchen. He came right back with two small pouches of powder. Gunta watched as the old man dipped a rag into the boiling water and proceeded to wash the contaminated area. He then sprinkled a white powder on the wound.
“This will draw the poison to the surface,” the innkeeper said. “It will draw a fair amount of blood as well so do not be alarmed at the bleeding.”
Halman and Gunta watched as the wound began to bubble through the white powder. Within a few minutes, there was a brownish clump of substance on Lord Marak’s back. Gunta thought it resembled dark oatmeal. The innkeeper took another cloth and wiped the mass away. He poured a small amount of hot water on the wound and then opened the other pouch. He sprinkled a yellow powder on the wound and walked over to the fireplace and procured a burning stick.
“This will ignite,” he cautioned. “Do not be worried. It will seal the wound so it does not become infected.”
He brought the burning stick to the yellow powder and a flame leaped from Lord Marak’s back. Lord Marak grunted in pain, but the fire extinguish quickly.
“You are fortunate that it was such a small incision,” commented the innkeeper. “He will be fine in an hour or two.”
“Where did you learn this skill?” asked Lord Marak as he struggled to turn over and sit up.
“I learned in my youth,” answered the innkeeper. “There were many assassinations in Khadoratung at that time. Not like today. Use of poison was a favorite, so that you did not need to be very skilled to kill. I was an apprentice to a healer in those days. I have always kept pouches of the powders ever since. Never got to use them until today.”
“Well I am fortunate to have been close to your inn,” smiled Lord Marak. “You have saved my life.”
“Not really,” smiled the old man. “What your boys were about to do would work just as well. This just avoids taking a chunk of your flesh away. It also heals you quicker so you can continue fighting.”
“Well, I am still grateful,” smiled Lord Marak. “How can I repay you?”
“Take seats,” grinned the old man. “I will bring out today’s best meal for the three of you. I am just pleased to be able to serve the newest member of the Lords’ Council.”
“Is it common for people to mob a new member?” asked Lord Marak. “I certainly did not expect it.”
“It is not common,” frowned the innkeeper. “I would suspect that someone organized it in order to get close to you. The people are easily aroused. I can see someone having no difficulty in getting others to mob you, but that is something citizens would not dare do without prompting. I guess people don’t like to think much for themselves these days. They are herded like clova.”
“So we must look for the shepherd,” Lord Marak remarked softly when the innkeeper had returned to the kitchen. “Someone had to instigate that welcome for me. If we can find those who were in the crowd, we will know the identity of the assassin.”
“I will go out and find Latril,” offered Halman. “I doubt the Imperial troops will allow her through their ring of protection. Should I send for the rest of our men?”
“No,” Lord Marak shook his head. “There will not be a repeat of the attack today. The next time we travel in public, my enemies will be surprised to see a full squad as my escort.”
Lord Marak dressed and sat at a table with Gunta. Several minutes later, Halman returned with Latril.
“The Imperial guards are removing the ring of protection,” Halman stated. “They will leave two men at each door, but the rest will return to their patrols.”
“That is fine,” nodded Lord Marak. “Our enemy knows that we will be alert now. He will not chance it again today. Are you all right, Latril?”
“I am fine,” nodded Latril. “The Imperial troops were a little rough in disbanding the crowd, but I think everyone understood. Are you hurt?”
“Not really,” smiled Lord Marak. “How large was the hole, Gunta?”
“Just the very tip of the blade,” Gunta replied. “If it was not poisoned, it would not have been worth bothering with.”
The innkeeper returned with three plates of wasooki and saw Latril had joined the group. He hurried back to the kitchen and brought out a fourth plate for her.
“Where are we heading?” asked Halman. “Maybe I can go on ahead and check out the area.”
“There is a broker just a few doors down,” Lord Marak stated. “Stay and eat. We will travel together.”
“They have a back door,” offered the innkeeper. “There will be very few people out back this time of day.”
Lord Marak nodded and the Toraks finished their meal. Lord Marak issued a script for a thousand gold and handed it to the innkeeper as he left. The innkeeper smiled broadly as he held the door open for Lord Marak.
The group passed through the two Imperial guards and moved swiftly to the broker’s back door. They entered the office and the broker greeted them with a friendly smile. Lord Marak walked to a map hanging on the wall, which depicted the city of Khadoratung and showed all of the buildings in the city.
“Is there a particular section of the city you are looking to invest in?” asked the broker.
Lord Marak put his finger on the map and pointed to a building not far from the side of the Imperial Palace.
“I have heard that this building is for sale,” Lord Marak stated. “I would like to visit it.”
“Certainly,” nodded the broker, “but it is hardly fit for the residence of a member of the Lords’ Council, Lord Marak.”
“Why not?” questioned the Torak lord. “It is close to the palace.”
“Yes,” frowned the broker. “It is close, but it hardly is befitting your station. As you can see, the building fronts on two parallel streets, but only half of it is a residence. The other half hosts a tavern. It was the house of a merchant, and he rented the tavern portion out, but you would have to make major renovations to restore it to one dwelling. I have properties for sale that are much better for your purpose.”
“Perhaps,” responded Lord Marak, “but I will see this one first. Give me the keys, and we shall go examine it. If it is not suitable, I will let you show me others.”
“Very well, Lord Marak,” sighed the broker as he opened a drawer and handed the keys to Lord Marak. “I did warn you.”
They walked out the back door of the broker’s office. Another man dressed as a Torak soldier was waiting for them. Lord Marak nodded to Fisher as the spy casually joined the group as they walked the few blocks over to inspect the building. No words were spoken until they had entered the old house.
“I heard that you had a bit of a problem in the marketplace,” Fisher said softly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” nodded Lord Marak as his eyes gazed about the old structure. “Is this the house that you wanted me to see?”
“It is,” chuckled Fisher. “I know it does not look like much, but you will see why I recommended it. Come upstairs.”
The building was in an older part of Khadoratung, and it was four stories tall with a basement underneath it. Fisher led the way to the top floor.