Wartorn: Resurrection

Not quite. Slydis, under questioning, confessed readily to an accomplice. Aquint had his doubts. One way to take heat off yourself was to direct it toward somebody else, even if that somebody didn't actually exist. Slydis, however, provided a good physical description of the man, and even the location of his lodgings. It seemed the dwarf copyist had had the man followed home after one of his visits to the workshop. Probably he'd done so to ensure that if he was ever caught, he would not be solely blamed for the counterfeiting operation.

Slydis had confessed to printing unbelievable amounts of fake money. Gods knew how much he and the other man he'd implicated had put into circulation. That money made all the scrip in Callah essentially worthless. Issuing it in the first place had been a dubious experiment, Aquint thought. Then again, it wasn't his problem, it was Jesile's.

Slydis had admitted to no other criminal activities, with one exception. He had also manufactured a civilian travel pass for his partner.

The Felk governor was understandably furious. He sent soldiers to arrest this other man, but he had fled the scene, eluding capture and murdering a soldier in the process. Now he was at large somewhere in Callah. They had no name for this man, only Slydis's description. In his room they had found only one unusual possession, a musical instrument, a vox-mellifluous.

Another matter had arisen during all this turmoil.

Somebody in the Governor's Office had finally noticed the pattern of vandalism in the reports that Aquint had first requested upon arrival in the city.

They were the brands on the walls and doors that Cat had seen. A circle with a slash through it. Jesile called Aquint in to ask him if it meant anything to Internal Security.

Aquint had wanted to save this ploy until later, when he might find a way to profit from it. But this, at least, would firm up his authority here. Jesile was deferring to him by calling him in on this matter. It was time to capitalize.

"Governor," Aquint had said, solemnly, "that is the mark of the rebel underground that I am investigating."

The Felk governor's hard face was etched with lines of anger. "And why did you keep this fact to yourself?" he spat.

Aquint met the man head-on, not flinching. "Because I do not answer to this office, Governor. Your domain is Callah. My jurisdiction extends throughout the empire, and my immediate superior is none other than Lord Abraxis himself!"

He was proud of the display, prouder still that it seemed to work. Jesile backed off.

The very next watch, however, the governor had ordered a city wide removal of all those brands that had mysteriously appeared during Lacfoddalmendowl. It was no doubt an indicator of frustration on the governor's part more than anything. The garrison soldiers had removed doors and chopped down wood posts where necessary to carry out the Governor's orders. Also, Jesile had ordered stricter enforcement of the occupation laws, including public floggings for offenders.

Then the murder had happened, and everything went crazy.

The garrison hit the streets in force, when the word had spread. The soldiers entered homes, seized people. There wasn't much rhyme or reason to it. They were searching for the killer of one of their own, and they weren't gentle or methodical about it. Jesile eventually reined the patrols in, but not until after a number of serious injuries had been inflicted on hapless citizens.

Since that episode, a few days ago now, the Felk had instead conducted systematic searches, without undue brutality. Callah's perimeter security was tighter than ever. No fugitive was going to get out of town unless he got himself transported by a Far Movement wizard, and that wasn't likely. All civilian travel passes had been declared worthless. Slydis had no doubt manufactured a very convincing one for his accomplice.

"Are you sorry now?" Cat asked one day, apropos of nothing.

"About what?" Aquint wasn't particularly in the mood for the boy's habitual criticisms.

"About wishing for this."

"I never wished—" Aquint started, then caught himself.

Of course Cat was right. He had wanted something like this. He had even thanked the gods for sending a trouble-maker to Callah, so that Aquint's job as an Internal Security agent would stay secure.

"Shut up, boy," he grumbled.

The problem was, this might be too difficult of a problem to handle, despite the fact that Aquint didn't really know for sure if there were rebels here. According to the evidence, they only knew that the copyist had gotten the idea and the funding for a counterfeiting operation from a second, u

But that killing might have just happened in the heat of the moment. Maybe the man was so desperate to avoid capture that he had been driven to commit the murder.

So, all they had for sure was a counterfeiting setup, with two operators. That didn't necessarily entail an uprising against the Felk. That meant two greedy, inventive men had dummied up batches of fake money. Frankly, Aquint admired the scheme.

As for those slashed circles, they could be anything. Maybe it was simple vandalism and nothing more.

Aquint and Cat returned to their rooms. It had been a long day of fruitless investigations. Aquint was too tired to even enjoy the luxuries of this apartment.

"Tell me, Cat," he said, putting his feet up, "if our mystery man has a forged civilian travel pass, does that mean he's originally from Callah, and meant to escape the city if things got too hot... or he came here, after the occupation by the Felk?"

"Why would he do that?" Cat asked from the soft chair where he had curled up.

"Well, we came back to Callah."

"Right. But we're loyal, upstanding members of the Felk Empire," the boy said archly. "I don't know who this fellow is, but he's not Felk."

Aquint nodded tiredly. This was too much like hard work.

Then a thought occurred to him. "Who, exactly, would have a civilian travel pass? I mean legitimately."

Cat was frowning. "That's a good question. I guess people from the conquered city-states who are collaborating with the Felk. Maybe former government officials who now want to lend their expertise to the new regime. Maybe experts on farming or other civic industries. They might be allowed to travel relatively freely in Felk-occupied territory."

Aquint turned to regard his young friend. "You talk smart when you want to."

"And only when I want."

Aquint considered. "No. I can't see this man being some consultant or..."

"What?" asked Cat, when Aquint trailed off.

Aquint slapped his hands together. "That stringbox!"

"How's that?"

"They found it in his room. A stringbox. By the madness of the gods, how did we miss it?" Aquint gri

"You're that sure?" Cat said.

"It fits. Name me any other category of person who has traditionally had such freedom of movement, even during wartime, as a wandering minstrel. Around these parts it's considered bad luck to turn one away. You'll get warts if you do." Aquint laughed.

"Do you really think the Felk would honor that tradition?" Cat asked.

"Why not? We've been around enough of them. They're not all monsters. This man and his 'box probably passed right through a city border checkpoint."

Cat frowned again. "Meaning he already had a travel pass, right?"

"Right. But they confiscate those at the Registry whenever somebody arrives with one," Aquint said. "Then they issue a temporary resident permit."

"How do you know that?"

Taking a haughty tone, Aquint said, "Because, my j youthful associate, I've read up on the procedures."

Cat gave him a grudging grin. "Good for you."