Mermaid Pirate Dispatch

[This story is part of the Soothfinder Series.]

Thomas rolled over in bed and stretched, only vaguely aware of the rooster calls rolling through the countryside. His elbow knocked hard against something at his bedside and it took him a moment to realize what it was. A pang of hollow memories rippled through his heart.

He took a deep breath and sat up, grabbing the bundle that he kept by his side in the loft. Down below he could hear Joan stirring as the rafters supporting him creaked lazily. The dark air was musty with the odors of dust and hay, and the sharp chatter of Joan’s flint and steel slapped his ears a few times before the crackle of fire slowly built up in the fireplace. By its light he descended the ladder, carrying the bundle, and made his way to the table.

“Mornin’ Thomas,” she said, smiling. The warm light of her fire soaked into the wood and plaster walls, gently illuminating her kind eyes and round, wrinkled cheeks.

“Good morning Joan.” He gave her a brief smile and returned his attention to the soft leather that encased his treasures.

“Oh my,” she said, watching as he unfolded the hide. “Is everything alright?”

The dominant object in the bundle was a gorgeous, compact crossbow. It had been a gift from his wife, a project she had coordinated with several craftsmen and artisans in the kingdom over the course of five years. The bow was thin and light steel, the finest ever produced she said. It was so expertly worked that the bow had a draw length of over a foot. The spinning nut firing mechanism was ornately carved ivory. The entire body of the weapon was inlaid with beautiful brass designs and the trigger was intricately worked to give a texture similar to a dragon’s scales. It was the finest crossbow he had ever seen, and despite the fact that he could easily draw it from the belt using a simple hook, it fired with enough power to penetrate some plate armor at close distances.

He was lost in the details of its workmanship and Joan cleared her throat, asking nervously, “Thomas, is everything alright?”

“Oh,” he choked, coughing. “Yes, everything is fine.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she mused, adding a log to the fire.

“There’s been a threat made against the queen,” he admitted. “I’m helping to foil the plans laid out by the conspirators.” He looked down at his crossbow again. “Figured I should take some practice shots today, just in case.”

She gave him a long, hard look. “Hm, well do be careful. I’m rather fond of the stipend the queen has been giving me for hosting you here. If you die I’m afraid I’ll get nothing,” she chuckled nervously.

Thomas laughed. “I’ll make sure they take good care of you if I am killed serving the queen. Don’t worry about me.”

She shook her head and grabbed a bucket to take to the well. “Just please, take care.” She said, heading for the door.

---

“Woah! Nice shot!” Thomas cried. Isabel shook violently, startled nearly to death.

Gasping, she tried to laugh. “Don’t do that!” she groaned, doubling over and holding her heart. She swiftly slung the bow she was holding over a shoulder and ran to cover the short distance between them. “Good morning!” she said, breathing heavily. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” She glanced at the magnificent crossbow hanging from a hook on his belt. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! May I?” she extended her hands toward him to receive it.

He smiled and handed it to her, nodding at her bow. “That’s a pretty slick bow you’ve got. Looks to be just the right size for you.”

Her eyes wandered eagerly over the entire length of his crossbow, lost in admiration. She nodded. “I’ve had it for a while. It was a gift from one of the guards when I was five.” She shrugged. “I used to practice with Bartholomew, but when he got promoted to head of the guards he stopped coming by.”

“Really?” he asked. “You and Bartholomew used to be friends?”

She glanced up from the crossbow briefly and gave him a sour look. “Friends would be stretching it. I think he felt like he was paying a debt to my father.”

“Huh.” Thomas didn’t know much about her father, and despite his deep curiosity, he decided to leave some topics alone. “Well, that last shot landed just shy of the center mark. Let’s see you take another shot.”

She smiled and handed the crossbow back. “Alright,” she said. She slipped out of the bow and pulled an arrow from a small, tight quiver strapped to her back. Without returning to her previous firing position, she nocked the arrow where she stood, took aim, and let loose with surprising efficiency. The arrow lodged into the target at an angle, but mere inches from the center.

“Wow,” he remarked, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m afraid you’re a much better archer than I am. That’s why my wife gave me this over-engineered automatic arrow firing device.” He cracked a wry smile and she stifled a chuckle.

He had a bag of long bolts, nearly the same size as her arrows, hanging from the back of his belt. Setting the spinning nut in place and threading the string of the bow into the hook on his belt, he swiftly shoved the weapon down with his foot in the stirrup, listening for the click of the trigger while sliding an arrow from behind him. In one more fluid movement, he nocked the arrow and raised the stock of the weapon to his cheek, took aim, and squeezed the long trigger. The thwap of the release combined with the high speed spin of the ivory release nut in his line of sight brought back memories of the many months Emma had forced him to practice with the crossbow. She said it would save his life one day, and she had been right.

If only it could have saved her life instead. He sighed, drowning in his memories, while Isabel clapped. “Good show!” she cried. “It’s right in the center! Great shot!” She turned to look at him and immediately sobered up at the sight. He appreciated that despite her obvious curiosity about his past, she too kept some questions to herself.

“Well,” he said at last. “I’ve given it some thought and I have an idea about how we can assist the queen and her guards in preventing this assassination plot. Are you ready to go to the castle or do you want to take a few more practice shots?”

She smiled and pulled an arrow from her quiver. “I’m going to try to hit your bolt. The traitor only just got his letter yesterday. I think it will be some time before the queen is in any real danger.” Grinning, she turned and drew back her bow with nearly perfect form.

---

“What can you tell us about the traitorous monk?” Thomas asked the Abbot. A small group had been gathered, comprising the queen, Bartholomew, the Abbot, Isabel, Thomas, and Ava, the head of castle staff.

“His name is Dustin,” Abbot Emil said. “He arrived shortly after Archibald did, though he did not claim to know the man beforehand. In fact, he said he was from the south. He was destitute and had sworn to serve the Lord, that is about all I knew of him before. He and Archibald would talk on occasion, but beyond what we read in the letter, I cannot imagine what interests they shared.”

“What does Dustin study?”

“Mostly economics and labor,” the Abbot shrugged. “He has spoken to me before about our trade enterprise and our markets. He said we should be capitalizing on the people’s labor as other kingdoms do.”

The queen spoke up. “And he has the original letter now? Who delivered it to him? How was it done?”

“My queen,” Thomas said. “I instructed the Abbot to deliver it along with an explanation about the messenger being killed in an accident. Dustin believes we found the letter in an envelope on the body, addressed to him, and sealed with wax.”

Bartholomew shook his head. “And what if he expected the letter would be hand delivered, not in an addressed envelope?”

Thomas shrugged. “Having read the letter I believe this may have been their first correspondence. The letter included instructions for how Dustin was to send a return message, so I think it is safe to assume Dustin did not know by what means he would receive a communication from the outcast Archibald, though it was admittedly a risk since they would have had to agree on a key for the cipher in advance.”

The Abbot added, “by watching him we will determine whether he suspects anything is amiss.”

Thomas turned to the head of castle staff. “Ava, who tends to Dustin’s room?”

“Currently…” she looked up and hummed for a brief moment. “I believe Alice is assigned.”

“Do you trust her?”

“Oh yes, with all my heart,” the girl replied immediately. Ava was young, perhaps only eighteen or twenty. Thomas was surprised she oversaw the entire castle staff.

“The letter instructed Dustin to place his reply in the window of his room every morning for just an hour after sunrise. I don’t want to put your staff at risk. If you think she is up to the task…”

Ava sat up briskly in her seat with wide, eager eyes. “Of course! You wish Alice to sneak into the room to retrieve the letter during that time?”

Thomas smiled. “Yes, but not immediately. Perhaps on the second or third day of setting the letter out. Do you understand? It is imperative that she is not caught. Her life could be in danger if she is discovered.”

Ava nodded enthusiastically, her bright eyes full of excitement. “She will not fail you.” She glanced lovingly at the queen. “All of my staff is happy to serve the queen in whatever way we can, no matter the risk.” She smiled sheepishly and looked down at her lap.

“Thank you,” the queen said graciously. “Your service is appreciated.”

“What more?” Bartholomew asked. “Surely there is more we should be doing to protect the queen.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much more we can do until we intercept the next message.” Thomas shrugged. “Any action taken by the guards could alert the traitors that we are privy to their plans. They could be spooked into acting prematurely or disappearing until we’ve forgotten about them. For now, the best thing the royal guard can do is to go on with business as usual.”

Bartholomew almost growled with frustration, but his nod indicated agreement.

“Once the reply has been intercepted, I need Alice to deliver it directly to myself or my apprentice. Sorry Father Emil, I do not want it lingering among the monks.”

“Understood,” the old man sighed.

“Have Alice deliver it herself immediately,” he said to Ava, who nodded rigorously. “We will be waiting for her at the archery range every morning around that hour.”

---

It was almost a week before the girl Alice came running up to Thomas and Isabel at the archery range, breathless and trembling.

“Were you spotted?” Thomas asked.

With tears beading up in her long lashes, she shook her head, her lips kinked in agony.

“Were you harmed?” Isabel asked with deep concern, placing a hand on the girl’s back. Alice and Isabel were nearly the same age. Thomas guessed Alice was perhaps four or five years older than his apprentice.

“Have a seat here with us a moment,” Thomas instructed, leading her to a nearby bench. The three sat, Alice in the middle, while Isabel wrapped her arms around the shaking girl.

Thomas heard Isabel whispering something to Alice while he spotted the letter in the girl’s clutches and carefully pulled it free of her grip. Immediately he opened it and began attempting the substitution process in his head. He had studied the original and the decryption provided by the Abbot enough that he could remember most of the letter pairs, making it easy to spot the majority of the words. Luckily, this letter was using the same substitutions.

“Well,” he said after a few minutes. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. There’s only one traitor in Riverwood, but the attack on the queen is going to come swiftly.”

Alice sniffled. “Did I do well?” she asked through her tears.

Thomas smiled at her. “You did a great job. Really. You’ve saved your queen’s life today.”

The girl smiled, tears pooling in her dimples. “I’m glad. Because the Abbot is dead.”

---

Thomas was numb to everything but the powerful thumping of his heart as he took in the scene. By dumb luck the girl hadn’t alerted anyone else to the Abbot’s death, so Isabel and Thomas had Dustin’s room to themselves as they snooped around looking for clues.

“What are we looking for?” Isabel whispered as she roamed around the room, carefully sidestepping the broad pool of blood on the cold stone floor.

“I’m not sure,” Thomas breathed, preoccupied. The old man’s throat had been cut clean, with a finely sharpened blade, and it had to have been done in Dustin’s room. All of the blood was pooled perfectly right where it should be with no footprints to be seen. The Abbot lay awkwardly on his side in the bed, his mouth half opened and his eyes wide and empty.

Isabel stood by the window, staring at the body while she turned the scene over in her mind. “It doesn’t make any sense,” she mused. “I can see why a conspirator would want him dead, especially if they figured out he may have helped break their cipher, but why kill him now and put the guards on high alert?”

She looked right at Thomas and her eyes went wide just as he sprang for the door. “Find Bartholomew!” he shouted.

She grabbed her bow, yanking herself out from its slung position. “Be careful!” she yelled after him.

Thomas dashed to the great hall where he hoped he’d find the queen, but it was empty except for a few of the staff. “Where is the queen right now?” he demanded, shoving his foot in his crossbow’s stirrup to draw the string back.

A wide-eyed boy opened his mouth and froze, then a woman stepped forward. She went for a ride, sir, to Rosewood.”

“Thank you!” he called, rushing to the stables in the courtyard. The guards always kept a few horses saddled and ready, and he mounted one of them quickly. Just as he was about the spur the horse Isabel arrived with Bartholomew and another guard in tow.

“Wait!” she called, rushing to his side. He grabbed her forearm and she swung herself up behind him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and they sped off out the gates and into the streets of Riverwood with the guards close on their tail.

Thomas kicked and spurred the horse into a frenzy, lifting his and Isabel’s bodies up a little in the saddle as the horse galloped at full speed beneath them. The late morning air rushed by, taking their breath away. Thomas looked back over his shoulder and yelled at the top of his lungs, “find Dustin! Find the monk!”

Bartholomew bellowed a reply but it was whisked away behind them before reaching Thomas’s ears. He hoped they had caught his message.

“Dustin?” Isabel yelled over the drum of pounding hooves on beaten dirt. “What about the assassin?”

“Dustin is the assassin!” Thomas replied. They raced over the mill bridge and followed the road toward Rosewood off to the left, climbing a gentle upward slope. Thomas didn’t go to Rosewood often since his wife’s death. It was a busy port town, but the local guards generally did a good job keeping everything running smoothly ever since he and Emma had rooted out a massive ring of corrupt merchants and guards.

As they approached the edge of town Thomas pulled back into a trot and instructed the guards to split up. Isabel readied her bow again and Thomas nocked a bolt in his crossbow.

They maintained a brisk pace as they roamed the streets, keeping their eyes peeled for the queen or their rogue monk. Thomas scanned rooftops, alleys, and windows while Isabel peered into crowds and through doors.

“Do you think he’d be dumb enough to wear his monk’s robe?” she asked.

“At this point I don’t think he’s the man of the cloth he claimed to be.” he remarked offhandedly. “It will be easier to find the queen than the assassin.”

“There!” Isabel cried, jumping up in the saddle and pointing over Thomas’s shoulder down a side street. “The queen’s horse!”

He urged the horse back to a gallop and once they reached the other horse Isabel leaped to the ground before they came to a stop. She stumbled a bit, caught herself, and swiftly readied an arrow, looking around quickly as she searched for any signs of danger. The street was lined on both sides with two story residential buildings, with many doors and shutters open.

Thomas began ducking through doorways calling out for the queen. A troubled murmur rose up from the townspeople as folks wandered into the streets to investigate the tumult.

“Back inside!” Thomas barked over his shoulder as he rushed from one doorway to the next. “I need the streets clear!”

To his relief he found Queen Julia in the next house, on her knees talking with a couple of young children. She turned to him, alarmed and scowling. “What is going on?” she asked.

“I need you to come with me right this moment,” he said, checking over his shoulder. “The assassin has already killed Father Emil and he’s hunting you as we speak.”

With a dutiful sense of urgency, the queen excused herself from the children and Thomas helped her to her feet. “Where shall we go?” she asked, as he led the way back out into the street.

“To the castle, my queen,” he said, scanning the rows of houses. Their thatched roofs offered a poor perch but the spaces inside and through the windows were dark. He was about to help the queen onto her horse when a tiny movement and a subtle glint of light caught his eye coming from a nearby second story window. “Window!” he cried, just as an arrow sailed out toward them. He threw himself onto the queen and tackled her to the ground.

Isabel quickly whipped around, her bow already drawn, focused, and let loose. Her arrow flew into the window just as Bartholomew rounded the corner. He read the situation briefly and rushed to the same house. In an impressive feat of acrobatics, especially for a man in armor, he got to his feet in the saddle and jumped up, pulling himself through the window just seconds after Isabel’s arrow had passed through.

Thomas waited a moment, his body draped protectively over the queen. He still clutched his crossbow in one hand, though the bolt had tumbled to the ground with them. He was breathing heavily, craning his neck to watch the window below which Bartholomew’s abandoned horse snorted and stomped impatiently.

To his surprise, the queen began to laugh, her thin frame shaking gently under the full weight of his body. He looked down into her face and saw a huge, tight smile stretched across her lips. “Why Thomas,” she chuckled. “If you wanted to lay with me…”

He shook his head, startled. “My queen!” he sputtered. “It’s not… I.. It’s the… The assassin!” he managed. He looked around frantically, found the arrow that had narrowly missed them, and pointed at it, collapsing painfully onto Julia.

She grunted and laughed harder. Thomas’s already baffled look contorted into one of utter, sick confusion.

He heard shuffling feet and looked across the street to see Bartholomew emerge from the house, roughly jostling a young man with a bruised eye, a split lip, an arrow through his shoulder, and blood running down his forehead. The head guard jerked him to a stop, his gloved hand gripping the man’s clothing tightly around the neck area. “I believe this is our assassin,” he said disdainfully.

Thomas got to his feet and helped the queen up. Isabel shouldered her bow and rushed to the queen’s side, helping her brush off the soiled dress.

“Nice shot,” Thomas remarked to Isabel. She beamed and nodded, still wiping dirt from the lovely royal fabric. Thomas nodded at Bartholomew. “Well done,” he said. “Take him to the dungeon and I’ll question him when he’s had some time to think.”

“That was unexpected,” the queen said, watching Bartholomew violently tie the man up and throw him over his horse’s backside. “How did you come to realize the attack would happen so quickly?”

“Sad news,” Thomas said remorsefully. “The Abbot is dead.”

The queen gasped and held her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes. “Emil,” she whispered.

Thomas lowered his head and mourned briefly with the queen, feeling the sting of tears gathering in his eyes.

She composed herself and looked at Thomas expectantly, her eyes still shimmering and wet.

“I saw that the Abbot was killed with an extremely sharp knife. Only a soldier or an assassin would sharpen his weapon so fastidiously. While I contemplated this fact, it was Isabel who pointed out that the Abbot was a logical target, but killing him would put the guards on high alert. I am ashamed that it took me so long to put everything together, my queen. I misread the meaning of the first letter we intercepted,” he sighed. “I wrongly assumed that they were planning to admit an assassin into the castle. The reply Alice intercepted confirmed that there were no co-conspirators in the kingdom but also indicated that the assassination would happen soon.” He paused. “I didn’t realize how soon until we found the Abbot dead. In that moment I realized that Dustin had everything he needed from Archibald’s first letter, he was the assassin, and he was making his move.”

The queen smiled. “One soothfinder is worth a dozen strong guards.” She turned and looked down at Isabel. “And two soothfinders are more precious to me than an entire army. Thank you both for saving my life this day.”

Isabel’s countenance shone like the stars and she pulled her shoulders back with pride.

“And…” Thomas began. “My queen, if it pleases you, I just want to add that I didn’t intend for…” He cleared his throat and looked down bashfully.

She laughed. “I know Thomas. I know. I was… nervous. And perhaps I got a bit caught up in the excitement of the assassination attempt. I cracked a joke at your expense. I hope you don’t mind.” She smiled warmly at him, blushing softly.

He smiled back and nodded, his cheeks bright red. “Of course, my queen. I am at your service in all things.”