Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 5 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 5

Dedicated to the memory of Jonajosa. Be at peace, my friend.

Rather than walk back to the Palace, I used an amulet to cast Divine Intervention. Mainly, I chose that means of transport because I was terribly weary. But I admit that it was also a calculated insult to the Tribunal Temple. After all, the spell carried me to the entrance of the Imperial Cult, their religious rival. Once I had been deposited in the Palace courtyard, I mentally prepared myself for my meeting with Tienius Delitian. If possible, I hoped to keep Galsa Andrano’s name to myself- betrayal did not come easily to me. Though she was a member of Almalexia’s Temple, she was not responsible for its misguided choices. Before heading for the throne room, I nipped down the stairs to the basement and exchanged my armor for a robe. While the Dark Brotherhood armor might have served as a pointed reminder of Helseth’s murderous intent toward me, I did not think it wise to appear before his guards dressed as an assassin. While the King’s paranoia might be the product of a guilty conscience, theirs was a professional reflex- one that I preferred not to test. A measure of their caution was the fact that I had yet to lay eyes on Helseth, even in his own throne room. Confronting him with my…righteous indignation was going to be difficult if all he ever did was cower in his private chambers. Of course, he would also have a hard time governing from that position, a prospect that did not make me particularly unhappy. On the other hand, my disagreement with Helseth was personal rather than political, so I rather hoped he would show his sorry face sometime soon.

If Captain Delitian was happy to see me, he disguised it quite well. Stony-faced, he stared at me and queried,

“Have you anything to report? Or have you just been wandering around Mournhold gawking at the sights?”

I was becoming used to his irritating manner, having realized that his baiting was as much an attempt to surprise me into blurting something revealing as because he genuinely disliked me. Besides that, I didn’t really care- I didn’t much like him, either. So I simply smiled blandly at his sneer and described what I had discovered regarding the Temple’s view of his precious monarch. At the end of my recital, he grunted and said,

“Of course, I had someone follow you, so I know that you spent some time with the healer, Galsa Andrano. She certainly speaks her mind, and, from what you say, sounds sincere. You handled her well. The Temple seems to recognize that King Helseth will not be content to be a puppet like King Llethan, and plans to act against us. Very good work, Trey. The king will hear of your loyal service.”

So much for keeping Galsa out of it. Well, I had tried. And perhaps there would not be a confrontation between Temple and king. Better still, maybe someday I would get over the feeling that I was a particularly low form of life that betrayed confidences.

Meanwhile, Delitian had other things on his mind. Motioning for me to follow him out into the hallway, he dropped his voice and said,

“Now you can help us with another matter. King Helseth is concerned about possible disloyalty among the Guards. I've replaced many of the former king's guards with more reliable men. But I had to keep some experienced guards, and I can't be certain of their loyalties. I will pretend you wish to join the Royal Guards. That's your excuse for talking to the guards, sounding them out, and looking for evidence of disloyalty. If you find any hint of treason or evidence of disloyalty, report it to me. Take no action. Report to me, and I will judge what action is appropriate.”

The cover story struck me as being awfully thin, although it would have the advantage of explaining my repeated visits to the captain. Hoping for a bit of guidance, I inquired as to which guards I should investigate. Delitian’s familiar scowl reappeared and he replied,

“It's your judgment I'm testing, not mine. Talk to them yourself. Form your own conclusions.”

The assignment revealed still more of Helseth’s problems- and his errors. I was practically certain now that he was responsible for King Llethan’s death. And it seemed that a number of others had reached the same conclusion- including some of the palace guards. Regardless of whether they had personally liked the old king or not, his safety had been their responsibility…and they had failed to protect him. I had no way of knowing whether Helseth was any good as a ruler, but he had a positive genius for making enemies. So far, he had alienated the Temple, the conservative Dunmer (probably including House Redoran), and some of his own guards. And, oh yes, one insignificant but highly motivated Breton. He was beginning to discover that a major problem with ascending to the throne through assassination was the ideas it put into other people’s heads. Ideas like- if one king can be killed, why not two? Actual justice is often fickle or uncertain, but watching a guilty man squirm in fear of justice can sometimes be an acceptable substitute.

None of these ruminations were getting me any closer to finding out which guards, if any, were contemplating a change in management. The only thing for it was to visit the guard quarters and spread some charm and cash. I briefly entertained the notion of trying to implicate some of the loyal guards, thus weakening Helseth, but realized that Delitian wanted evidence- not just my accusations. I again had to play it straight if I was to have any hope of gaining the king’s confidence.

The guard quarters were functional and little else- each guard had a bed and a locked chest for personal items. The room itself was open and offered no possibility of concealment. A quick glance at the chests showed that the locks were of reasonable quality. I could get past them with sufficient time or with a spell, but the idea of getting caught rummaging through a Royal Guard’s possessions did not appeal to me. My fears were given additional emphasis when a guard wandered through the room, and turned his helmeted head to stare at me. Sighing with disgust, I sat down on a storage chest to consider my options. As I idly traced the badly carved name on the chest, Ivulen Irano, my eyes fell upon a scrap of parchment that had fallen between the chest and the foot of the bed. Thinking it was probably a note inviting the guard out for drinks after work, I picked it up. After some effort to decipher the tiny and nearly illegible handwriting, I understood that it was a copy of guard duty rosters for the past several weeks. Three names were always correctly spelled -- Milvela Dralen, Ivulen Irano, and Aleri Aren -- and those watches when all three were the only guards in the Throne Room were underlined twice. My finely-honed investigative senses told me that this might be what was known in the trade as a “clue.” More to the point, I thought it might be a good idea to talk to Guardsman Ivulen Irano.

[treydog]

So here is a birthday gift (in the hobbit tradition) for the one or two folks who are still reading. Enjoy

In order to find the writer of “The Common Tongue,” I would need to find someone likely to have contacts with the less savory elements in Mournhold. More important- that someone would have to be corrupt enough to tell what they knew for a little gold. I was aware that Delitian’s remark about people who “placed profit above honor” had been another of his gibes at me, but I had not been bothered by it. Regardless of what the captain thought, I was going along with him in order to exact revenge, not for any profit. And if I had wished to bother, I might have asked a few pointed questions about the so-called “honor” of a man who was complicit in the murder of the rightful king, his heir-apparent, and anyone who had the temerity to protest those murders. While it was true that I had blood on my hands, I had never been a murderer. None of which brought me any closer to tracking down the sort of informant I needed. Turning my thoughts back to the task at hand, I made a mental catalog of all whom I had met during my sojourn in this gloomy city. The denizens of the Temple and the Palace I dismissed out of hand- none of them were likely to move in the proper circles. Neither did I wish to impose further on Ra’Tesh, having strained our friendship as much as I dared over the business with Hloggar. As I tried to think of anyone I had met who seemed suitably shifty, I had a flash of insight- Ten-Tongues Weer-Hat, the shady pawn-broker. He might be just the lizard I needed to see- people gave all kinds of information to pawn-brokers, and I had already discovered that his business was not completely legitimate. Better still, I had already bought his cooperation- with any luck at all, he would have stayed bought.

When I first entered the shop, the Argonian was all smiles, almost as if he was really happy to see me. Somehow, that view of his pointy teeth did not fill me with a feeling of security. Of course, as soon as I stated my purpose, the smile disappeared altogether. He hissed and said,

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just buy a nice scroll? I can give you the loyal customer discount….”

I just shook my head and said,

“Maybe some other time. For now, I need to know who is printing the broadsheet.”

Lapsing into a street-dialect I had not heard since leaving Cyrodiil, Ten-Tongues related the following story:

“Here's what I've heard. I've heard that the guy who writes 'The Common Tongue' is someone named Trels Varis. Now, this is not a name known to me personally. I make it a habit to know the names of people in Mournhold personally. And this guy I do not know. And other people I talk to also do not know. Which is noteworthy in itself. I make the guess that this guy is well-hid, and wants to stay well-hid. But where do I first hear about this guy? In the Craftsmen's Hall. So maybe that is one place to look.”

Just to keep the pawn-broker happy, I bought one of his “special” scrolls. It seemed like a good idea- the way things were going, I needed all the good will I could salvage. And then it was time to take a walk over to the Craftsmen’s Hall for a talk with Master Smith Bols Indalen. And while I walked, I tried to recall where I had previously encountered the name “Varis.”

When I asked Bols about Trels Varis, his eyes darted to a door to one side of the main room, and then he shrugged and said,

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. There's no one named Trels Varis here. Ask me again, and I'll tell you the same thing.”

He may have been a master crafter, but he was a terrible liar. And I should know. That was often the way it went with people who were basically honest- they didn’t have enough practice at concealing the truth, so they weren’t very good at it. Cursing myself and the circumstances that had brought me to such a pass, I pressed him,

“So, what about that locked door, over there?”

Bols grew even more agitated and mumbled,

“I keep my more valuable supplies there under lock and key. If it's any of your business.”

He turned away and began banging furiously on a piece of heated metal, a clear hint that the conversation was over.

For the sake of thoroughness (and because I truly hated the idea of what I was about to do), I wandered through the rest of the Hall rather than going straight to the mysterious door. My explorations revealed some peculiar characters, but I saw no evidence of a printing operation. If the pawn-broker had told the truth, the press that printed “The Common Tongue” and the people who operated it were here. And they were behind that locked door. Waiting until Bols’ back was turned, I gave the lock a quick study. It was a serious piece of hardware, one that I was not sure I could defeat by physical means. And even if I could, it would mean a long time fiddling about with lock-picks, all while standing out where anyone could see me. What I needed was a scroll. To be precise, I needed a scroll with the spell called “Ekash’s Lock-Splitter.” And I had a feeling I knew who could sell me one- a certain Argonian who dealt in “special items.”