The New Year was quickly approaching and Sheld was preparing for its celebrations. For Lerran and his Family, that meant only a few nice meals and time spent with loved ones, while the public put on a number of plays, feasts, and other good-hearted gatherings. Lerran was relieved to get word that his ship had landed in the harbour before the end of the year, with the weapons shipment from Starath he had dispatched for a month ago.
He didn’t bother fetching Paksis this time. He could still leave his estate without her unusual strength and security. This time, he simply took Isar and a couple guards, including Kolt—one of the warriors that had accompanied him to Kedar in search of Renado. That felt like years ago, back when Gharo had run the Family, and when the Lord Employers had run the city. Now Lerran was boss and mayor, and felt a little older too.
Together, his men and he marched down the main street toward the harbour. It seemed drinking started even earlier the closer the New Year got, and party-goers were already dotting the streets amidst the evening workers and usual foot traffic.
Something else unusual was happening, Lerran noticed. Someone had put signs on the corners of some buildings. When he saw his name on one, he stopped in his tracks and marched up to it. An image of a falling meteor—the symbol of the Atmos Septi—adorned the centre of the page, while the words were written above and below it. “Save yourselves from a second disaster. The sins of Lerran’s Family make the Sky God weep. Leave Sheld or perish with the criminals.”
Lerran grabbed the top corner of the parchment poster and tore it from the building with a curse. “Kolt, run back and get a whole troop of guards out here. Search the streets, and tear these down. If you find whoever is doing this, bring them back to the estate. Send word to Antha too.”
“Sir,” Kolt said, and jogged off. The setting sun cast his shadow up the street as he chased it.
“We’ll keep going, but keep your eyes open,” Lerran said. Isar nodded, and they set off again.
As they were descending the steps from the city into the harbour district, they encountered another startling sight. A man, standing on some crates, was delivering a speech to the busy street, though no one seemed to be paying him much mind. “It was through a similar society that our God was first brought to drop a tear upon the world. The Old Empire of Noress was rank with corruption and crime, before the Orrish thundered the heavens and blasted the land into the sea.”
Lerran stopped walking right in front of the crier. The bearded man was wearing a beige robe and, on an amulet, the same symbol of his faith—a circle with lines above it, the falling meteor. “Cast out the evil doers!” the man told Lerran emphatically.
“Isar,” Lerran said. He was having a bad day. “Arrest this man.”
The preacher blinked. “Wait, what? I—” Isar and another guard stepped up onto the boxes and dragged the man down. As he landed on the cobblestones with a thud, the man stammered, “I’ve broken no laws! Unhand me!”
“You’re slandering Sheld and its leader. March this man back to our cell, where he can reconsider his words for twenty-four hours,” Lerran said. “If he silences himself, we’ll release him tomorrow night.”
“If Kolt finds others?” Isar asked.
Lerran shook his head, while their captured man tried to whimper excuses. “The same goes. And if any of these foolish preachers continue their words after their first visit to my estate, they will pay a visit to the scaffold in the town square instead.” He had no patience for the Grey Brethren getting involved in his business. Had his father somehow kept them at bay? It made no sense, but neither did their religion. “This is Sheld, not Saanazar, fool,” he told the captive before they dragged him away.
At last, Lerran and his remaining guards reached the harbour where sailors and labourers were unloading crates and barrels from Storm, the very same ship that Lerran had taken. Captain Urro stood, with his arms crossed and his back to Lerran, until the crime lord stepped up beside him.
“Lerran, sir,” Urro exclaimed, and stumbled to the side. Now Lerran could see that his arms were not folded. One was in a sling!
“What happened to you?” he asked. Captain Urro was one of their highest ranking captains in the Lerran Family fleet of sixteen ships. Captain Vanci, Lerran’s uncle who was still missing in action, was the only man more trusted by the leadership of the Family.
Captain Urro frowned, and gravely explained. “Mutiny, sir. Attempted, I should say. Ten of my men tried to take dear Storm from me, on the return journey from Starath.”
“And? You survived of course,” Lerran said. Could this day get any worse? “My merchandise, the weapons, they survived too?”
“They did. We forced those sorry louts onto a rowboat and sent them off into the saltwater. May they drown in it,” Captain Urro said. With his good hand, he waved at the unloaded crates. It was a large delivery, as promised. “The goods are all here, and they are exceptionally good too. Finest weapons I’ve had the pleasure of delivering, I daresay. May I keep one?”
“Of course,” Lerran said. “I purchased these weapons for the Family. And I think we’re going to need them.” Plots were afoot, whether that was the cloak-and-dagger of his father’s apparent secret life—Traz, as he was called—or the growing tension of the Atmos Septi, demanding clean business in Sheld.
Lerran shook Urro’s hand, and the two marched back toward the estate together, as the night set upon Sheld. It had been such a long day and even his walk from the Family mansion to the docks had been full of frustrations. All Lerran wanted to do now was have a drink and go to bed with his dear wife.