Chương 45: 34. Lord Wanderbilt of Ardark

The Lord Wanderbilt of Ardark was not to be confused with the Lord Wanderbilt of Lorelark even though both were named Jacob, both had a son named Jacob, and both had a father named Jacob—well, they did share the same father, after all. Using proper titles, their father—may the Goddess rest his soul—was Lord Jacob Wanderbilt the First. This made both he and his brothers Lords Jacob Wanderbilt the Second. To help distinguish them, they appended to their titles the order of their birth.

This made him Lord Jacob Wanderbilt the Second the Second, and his brother in Lorelark was Lord Jacob Waderbilt the Second the Third. There was of course no easier way to distinguish between the Lords Wanderbilt of Ardark and of Lorelark. Besides the two of them, there were two other brothers and three sisters in the family. The best genealogists in the kingdom were still trying to work out the proper titles for their children.

When Lord Wanderbilt of Ardark learned that a caravan had just arrived from their southern neighbor, he sent a runner down to the trading house to take delivery of his shipment of spiced rum. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, as he was hosting a dinner party in a couple of days. Unfortunately the runner returned with bad news. The rum had been destroyed in transit. As immeasurable as his disappointment was, he didn't blame the trading house or the workers.

The southern road was notoriously dangerous of late, and deliveries hadn't been getting through in weeks. It was commendable that they'd made the effort, at great personal risk. The problem with this sort of crisis was the uncertainty. He'd considered getting things sent around the long way, but it was a lot of additional cost and would take so long that the matter in Ygg Latten Bay could be resolved before his items even arrived.

The man who ran the trading house, Alder Song, always a consummate professional, had given the runner a note to bring back stating that a full refund would be issued to his bank account. He was even offered a discount on the medicinal herbs needed to treat his arthritis. Lord Wanderbilt tried to look on the bright side. Though his spiced rum was lost, at least he'd be able to play polo again. The equestrian club had been waiting on a shipment of sticks from Lorelark.

Before being dismissed, the runner handed him a bundle of letters he'd collected on the way. Quickly flicking through them, he saw one from his nephew Jacob. He was a bright boy. Possessed of some harmless vices like every Wanderbilt, but that came with a great eye for opportunity. That's why he'd entrusted him with control of the Lorelark arm of his insurance business. Eagerly he broke the seal and began reading. What struck him immediately was how hastily it had been written.

Little Jacob must have been rushing to get it to the mail carrier in time for the caravan. The letter told of a brave adventurer who'd shown up in Lorelark and done him a great service. But it didn't describe what that great service was, and instead only cautioned him not to be fooled by their low guild rank. In fact his nephew had been in such a rush that he'd completely left out the adventurer's name and any description of him whatsoever. How was he supposed to make use of this barest scrap of information?

At that moment the steward appeared at his office door.

"You have a visitor, sir."

"Anyone important?"

"Just an adventurer, sir. A mere bronze." He was too busy to deal with small matters.

"Send him away."

"Very well, sir." The steward turned to leave.

"Wait." The steward halted midstep and returned to the door. Something important was nagging at him. He scratched his head trying to figure it out. Then it occurred to him. He was running low on wig powder.

"Send a runner to the Seven Songs for wig powder. They must have received some in their new shipment from Lorelark."

"Very well, sir." The steward turned to leave.

"Wait." The steward halted midstep and returned to the door. Something important was nagging at him. He scratched his head trying to figure it out. Then it occurred to him. His son Jacob (not to be confused with his nephew) had been complaining about running out of pomade. The boy's hair had been a terrible mess lately, and it was affecting his ability to sell real estate. Lord Wanderbilt hated the way it looked—the mess was just so much harder to deal with when sober.

"Have the runner bring back some pomade too. There should be some in the same shipment."

"Very well, sir." The steward turned to leave.

"Wait." The steward halted midstep and returned to the door. Why was something still nagging at him? He looked down at the letter in his hand. That's when it occurred to him. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Did you say the adventurer's a bronze?"

"He was wearing a bronze badge, sir."

"What reason did he have to see me?"

"Something about tracking down kidnappers, sir." Lord Wanderbilt skimmed through his nephew's letter again. There was a part on there that he'd skipped because the writing had been unintelligible scribbles. But if he squinted, he could imagine the word kidnappers in there. Could it really be the same hero?

"Oh, and there's one other thing he mentioned, sir. He only arrived in Ardark today. Came in on the caravan from Lorelark." That settled it.

"Tell him I'll see him."

"Very well, sir." A couple of seconds ticked past.

"Are you going to invite our guest in?" Lord Wanderbilt asked his steward, who remained standing by the door. The steward haltingly asked, "Are you sure there isn't anything else you need, sir?"

"Get on with it, man."

"Yes, sir." After making his preparations, Lord Wanderbilt went down to the parlor. The steward had already helped the guest to settle with a glass of unspiced rum. The man turned out to be an elf in dark mage's robes, and the bronze adventurers badge was displayed prominently on the lapel. He could tell from the state of the robes alone that this individual had done more adventuring than most silvers.

He began to appreciate the wisdom behind his nephew's word of caution against placing any emphasis on this person's rank.

"Lord Wanderbilt," the elf said.

"Thank you for taking the time to see me. My name is Havlo." Havlo spoke with a calm confidence more common among crystal-rankers. Lord Wanderbilt felt like he was speaking with an equal rather than a supplicant. So much so that he started feeling self-conscious about the unpowdered state of his wig. He invited his guest to make use of a single-seater lounge while he took the other one. The moment they were both settled, Havlo dived straight into business.

"I've come to Ardark on the trail of a people-trafficking operation. I would really appreciate any assistance the city can provide in locating the criminals involved and recovering their victims."

"Do you mean to tell me that these criminals are operating right here in Ardark?" He'd been expecting something serious, but this still felt like a blow to the chest. The problems afflicting his home were worse than he thought.

"It's possible that Ardark is only a stopover point. Either way they have operators here and we must find them." It was easier to believe that the criminals were only passing through rather than accept that he'd so lost control of his city that an organized cell of people-traffickers could manage to get set up here. But if he wanted to get his city back on track, he couldn't afford to bury his head in the sand.

"I'm afraid the problems with our city go deeper than you think," he said.

"I have every faith in the good men and women of the watch, but a man cannot dig a hole if you don't give him a shovel, if you know what I mean."

"I understand that the city watch is stretched because of all the forces called over to Ygg Latten Bay. But I'll only need a little assistance and some open doors. Give me a week and you'll have one less problem to worry about."

"I don't think you fully grasp the severity of our constraints," he replied.

"Doors I can open for you, though not as many as you might have hoped. But when it comes to assigning people, I'm afraid my hands are tied, and so are Captain Ozstin's."

"What if I already have a promising lead?" Havlo asked.

"Then I suggest you pursue it."

"I captured some of the bandits terrorizing the Lorear Hills. They were holding a girl at their hideout. I believe it was their intention to sell her to the traffickers. Which means that they know how to make contact. I need a trained interrogator to find out what the prisoners know."

"Hold on," he said.

"Can you repeat that part about the bandits?"

"All of that was about the bandits," Havlo said impatiently. Lord Wanderbilt thought back to what his nephew Jacob had said in the letter. While the boy hadn't been very good at conveying useful information, his excitement had definitely come across on the page. And now he understood the reason for that excitement. This mage had done what the city's security forces had been unable to for months, and he was casually treating it as an afterthought.

With this hero's help, they could eliminate the bandits for good and make the road to Lorelark safe again.

"Where are these bandits now?" he asked.

"We handed them over to the watch," Havlo replied.

"Then they'll have been taken to the city dungeons. We'll head down together, and I'll send a runner to have Captain Ozstin to meet us there," he said, rising to his feet. They took his private coach. On the way he tried to get Havlo to open up about his background, but the mage was very private. Instead they ended up spending most of the ride talking about any news that had come out of Ygg Latten Bay, which wasn't much, though he gladly shared all the speculation. When they got to the dungeon, there was a problem.

"What do you mean the prisoners are gone?" Lord Wanderbilt demanded.

"They've been bailed out, sir," the dungeon clerk said.

"How did they even qualify for bail? You understand they were in for banditry?"

"A judge approved it."

"Which judge?" The clerk began flipping through his notes.

"Judge Monet." He cursed and turned to Havlo.

"I'm sorry. Let's speak in my coach." When they began their drive back to the estate, Havlo said, "I take it that this Judge Monet is corrupt?"

"Half the city council is corrupt. How do you think our problems got this bad?" He rubbed his temples.

"Whenever I try to assemble a task force to deal with the highwaymen, the watch's budget gets slashed."

"You believe those councillors are affiliated with the highwaymen?"

"Someone clearly doesn't want the problem to be dealt with. Someone who can afford to grease a lot of palms."

"Then it should be easy to narrow down the list of suspects."

"We all know who it is." He pointed out the window. They were driving past one of the large trading houses.

"Three of the four major trading companies have formed a merchant cartel. I was a fool, a complacent fool, and they've managed to wrest control of the council away from me. I may be the chairman, but I'm a lame duck."

"But what are they doing with the bandits? What's their goal?"

"I don't know. I've never been able to figure it out." He turned to face Havlo again.

"But with your help maybe we can figure it out. You want those traffickers, I want those bandits. You see how the two might be linked, right?" Havlo nodded.

"I've been thinking about how the traffickers would have to transport their victims and cages through the Lorear Hills. There's no way they can do that successfully unless they have something going on with the bandits." As the coach continued to trundle on, Lord Wanderbilt leaned in close and lowered his voice.

"If you happen to get your hands on any more bandits, bring them around to my estate. If you can do it without anyone seeing, my steward can find a place to hold them where they can't get bailed." To his surprise, Havlo frowned.

"You aren't going to torture them, are you?"

"Are you concerned about that?" Havlo continued to look at him without replying.

"It'll be a standard interrogation," he assured the mage.

"We may even cut them a deal. What we're after is reliable intel, and that isn't something that can be gained from torture." This seemed to satisfy Havlo, who said, "If I'm fortunate enough to find them again, I'll bring them to you. But what are the odds in a city of this size?"

"I'm sorry you lost your best lead like that," he said. Havlo nodded.

"But at least now I know that this city must be the end of the line."