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Authors: Igor Ljubuncic
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not waste time waiting on brothels and eateries to open; after weeks and months in the open sea, they demanded instant satisfaction. Anything else would have resulted in riots.
Armin let himself be led to one of the establishments. They ordered ale, and Armin paid for it. Sitting in the corner of a large, dim room, the investigator waited for the shipmaster to speak first.
“Perano was killed one night not far from here. We found him in the morning. He lay sprawled in his own blood. They said it was revenge for a gambling debt.”
“Do you believe that?” Armin asked.
Lloyd spat on the floor. “Perano never owed anyone a copper.”
“Would anyone have a reason to kill him?”
“No more or less than any of us. Perano was a good man. He did bicker and fight, but no more than a sailor’s usual.”
“Was any of the crew suspected?” Armin ordered another round of drinks.
“They loved him like a father.”
Armin nodded. When men had such strong convictions about things, it was useless probing any further. Lloyd believed no sailor had killed Perano. He would have to examine the crew factor from a different angle.
“Do you know how he was killed?”
The shipmaster spat again. “Stabbed through from behind with a sword or like. Right through the heart. Bastards.”
“What happened to his crew and the ship?”
Lloyd averted his gaze, obviously uncomfortable by the question. “The council seized the ship and dismissed the crew. It says so in the contract. Some of us took Perano’s men on board our own vessels.”
Armin’s head was racing, searching for clues. “Do you know what cargo Perano dealt in?”
The shipmaster shrugged. “We’re all guild members. We do as needed. It’s all in the ledgers. The port master has it all written down neat. You can ask him.”
They parted with a shake of their hands, something Armin was not used to in his homeland. He left the pub no smarter than before. Apparently, Perano had been a meticulous guild member who paid his bills. No one seemed to have gained from his death. Money was not the motive here.
He would have to dig further.
His next target was much less cooperative. The widow of the dead chart-maker, Nespos, of the guild of scribes, refused to meet him. He left a note with the head servant and departed.
Armin decided to go back to his mansion on foot. It was a bright, sunny day, and he wanted to see some of Eybalen’s streets. While most locals probably thought the weather was hot and sultry, he found it refreshingly cool compared to his home island. Eybalen was not a pretty city, but it was not ugly either. But then, Armin believed in anthropology as the highest form of entertainment. Walking the streets would be great fun.
About half an hour before reaching his rented mansion, he realized someone was shadowing him. The person was quite unobtrusive, and most people would have never noticed. But Armin was a world-class investigator and could tell a hundred little clues from seemingly innocent objects and scenarios. He was absolutely sure the other man was not merely casually there, going the same way he did.
It was perhaps the sheer luck of his decision to walk, because otherwise, he would have never spotted the stalker. But now he knew. After a single day of work, Eybalen already had a keen interest in his deeds. The murder case seemed all the more enticing than before.
CHAPTER 8
“D on’t move or make a noise until we tell you to do so,” Boris warned in a low growl that was supposed to be a whisper.
Duvall nodded. Ewan noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead. It was not that hot. The senior brother was terrified.
They had gone south, keeping well off the roads. After Chergo, they found no more signs of struggle. The roads were empty. The good weather had abandoned them overnight, turning into a light summer rain that persisted well into the morning. The world turned from sultry to cool.
Weak and hungry and burdened with three small
Armin let himself be led to one of the establishments. They ordered ale, and Armin paid for it. Sitting in the corner of a large, dim room, the investigator waited for the shipmaster to speak first.
“Perano was killed one night not far from here. We found him in the morning. He lay sprawled in his own blood. They said it was revenge for a gambling debt.”
“Do you believe that?” Armin asked.
Lloyd spat on the floor. “Perano never owed anyone a copper.”
“Would anyone have a reason to kill him?”
“No more or less than any of us. Perano was a good man. He did bicker and fight, but no more than a sailor’s usual.”
“Was any of the crew suspected?” Armin ordered another round of drinks.
“They loved him like a father.”
Armin nodded. When men had such strong convictions about things, it was useless probing any further. Lloyd believed no sailor had killed Perano. He would have to examine the crew factor from a different angle.
“Do you know how he was killed?”
The shipmaster spat again. “Stabbed through from behind with a sword or like. Right through the heart. Bastards.”
“What happened to his crew and the ship?”
Lloyd averted his gaze, obviously uncomfortable by the question. “The council seized the ship and dismissed the crew. It says so in the contract. Some of us took Perano’s men on board our own vessels.”
Armin’s head was racing, searching for clues. “Do you know what cargo Perano dealt in?”
The shipmaster shrugged. “We’re all guild members. We do as needed. It’s all in the ledgers. The port master has it all written down neat. You can ask him.”
They parted with a shake of their hands, something Armin was not used to in his homeland. He left the pub no smarter than before. Apparently, Perano had been a meticulous guild member who paid his bills. No one seemed to have gained from his death. Money was not the motive here.
He would have to dig further.
His next target was much less cooperative. The widow of the dead chart-maker, Nespos, of the guild of scribes, refused to meet him. He left a note with the head servant and departed.
Armin decided to go back to his mansion on foot. It was a bright, sunny day, and he wanted to see some of Eybalen’s streets. While most locals probably thought the weather was hot and sultry, he found it refreshingly cool compared to his home island. Eybalen was not a pretty city, but it was not ugly either. But then, Armin believed in anthropology as the highest form of entertainment. Walking the streets would be great fun.
About half an hour before reaching his rented mansion, he realized someone was shadowing him. The person was quite unobtrusive, and most people would have never noticed. But Armin was a world-class investigator and could tell a hundred little clues from seemingly innocent objects and scenarios. He was absolutely sure the other man was not merely casually there, going the same way he did.
It was perhaps the sheer luck of his decision to walk, because otherwise, he would have never spotted the stalker. But now he knew. After a single day of work, Eybalen already had a keen interest in his deeds. The murder case seemed all the more enticing than before.
CHAPTER 8
“D on’t move or make a noise until we tell you to do so,” Boris warned in a low growl that was supposed to be a whisper.
Duvall nodded. Ewan noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead. It was not that hot. The senior brother was terrified.
They had gone south, keeping well off the roads. After Chergo, they found no more signs of struggle. The roads were empty. The good weather had abandoned them overnight, turning into a light summer rain that persisted well into the morning. The world turned from sultry to cool.
Weak and hungry and burdened with three small
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