The constabulary of Jader

Posted on 08 Sep 2020 @ 4:47am by Warrior Martin Josceran

1,942 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Guard station, Rose of Orlais

"- and he assaulted me for no reason ! A hero of Orlais !"

The highly agitated Fereldan mercenary had been going on for a solid five minutes and Martin felt his headache build up. He should have been off duty fifteen minutes ago, but then this fellow had seen fit to come in, with a red welt across his face and a thick Fereldan accent lacing his Orlesian. It was a good thing Martin knew a smattering of Fereldan, or he'd have had a hard time following what the man was saying.

"Please calm down, Mr. Weylin." Martin's patience was beginning to run out. "What did you say the man's name was ?"

"The other one called him "Monsieur Sausage," the mercenary growled. "Don't know his first name. Tall guy, long girlish hair, didn't catch a good look at his eyes."

But he had gotten a close look at this "Monsieur Sausage" 's rapier, judging by the darkening, purplish red welt across the mercenary's cheek. It stood out all the more with how livid the man was.

"Alright." Martin jotted down the information. "So you have several witnesses ?"

"The innkeeper of the Rose of Orlais," Weylin said. He was almost literally oozing hatred and malevolence. "And the serving girl, whatever her name is. He was a regular, I'm sure of it. I'm sure the innkeeper knows where he lives !"

"Hmm," Martin said noncommittally. "I wonder though - with you being such an experienced war hero - " his voice trembled with the effort to not sound sarcastic, "how did this man get the upper hand on you ?"

"He got me by surprise," Weylin mumbled. All of a sudden he showed less bluster. "And his friends helped him, at least two - no, three ! I didn't see their faces because they - uh - got me in the back."

Right, and Martin was the Emperor of Orlais. "So, what reparations do you seek ?"

"This man is a public danger," Weylin spat. "He should be locked up. And - fined," he added quickly. "He should give me reparations for the business I'm going to lose while I heal. That's a lot of money, I'm a famous mercenary."

"Huhuh." Martin swallowed back a sigh. He was now officially late to meet Gauvain. A tavern brawl was not exactly worthy of the time he was going to waste on this. "Well, your complaint has been officially registered." He finished jotting down the deposition. "Please sign or put your mark here."

The mercenary did so with his off-hand, Martin noticed ; the other one was badly swollen, possibly broken. It certainly looked all the shades of blue.

"So what are you going to do ? Are you going to arrest him ?" Weylin asked eagerly.

"We will give this complaint all due attention," Martin assured him. Which, as far as he was concerned, meant it was going to be shoved under a pile of more urgent affairs to follow up on, like the recent increase of purse-cutting robberies.

"What about my reparations ?" the Fereldan insisted.

"If the perpetrator is arrested, the matter will be brought in front of a magistrate," Martin said. "They will then decide what reparations, if any, you're entitled to."

Weylin must have realized that making any money out of this incident was unlikely, as his face twisted into an ugly sneer. He stank of alcohol and smoke.

"You tell that magistrate, I'm a hero of Orlais." He waved his hand in front of Martin's face. "The Empress herself gifted me this ring ! She was going to make me a nobleman and a knight, but I was above such thing. I'm in it for the honour, you know. She begged me to stay and help - "

The effort required not to roll his eyes almost gave Martin a twitch. "We'll let you know if the investigation turns up anything," he said blankly, an open invitation for the man to leave.

Weylin finally took the hint and turned away in a racket of armour, limping heavily and muttering darkly about how these "fucking orlesians" always stuck together. As the door swang shut behind him Martin rubbed his face and groaned.

"What rained on that guy's parade ?" Audrey asked. She had been filing reports and coming in and out while Martin took Weylin's deposition, so she had not been able to follow most of the story, but she'd obviously caught enough to be curious - and amused, judging by her dimpled smile. "Did he step in dog shit or what ?"

"Stepped on a "Monsieur Sausage," apparently," Martin groaned. "I'll take a common robbery any day over a tavern brawl."

"Sausage ?" Audrey frowned. "You mean Sauvage ?"

"No, he said Sausage."

"Really ? Because if this is about a tavern brawl, sounds more like good old Sauvage, to me. That guy always gets in trouble. Well, less trouble than he would if his pockets were less deep." Audrey snorted and ran a hand through her short, tousled hair.

Now that she mentioned it, Martin remembered the name being spoken casually in his presence - most often by the guards who worked the evening shift in the port district. And at least twice mentioned in reports about tavern brawls, one of which had already taken place at the Rose. A serial brawler, then. Well, he was going to have to go to the Rose now, take the innkeep's testimony, if only to say he'd been thorough. At least it was on his way to the Thistle of Jader, the inn where he was meeting Gauvain tonight, so with a bit of luck it wouldn't delay him that much longer.

"I'm off, Audrey."

"You should have been off thirty minutes ago," she snorted. "Stop putting in unpaid overtime, you make the rest of us look bad."

"Sorry. Not." Martin gave her a loose salute and grabbed his sword. He'd planned on changing from his uniform but now he was really late, and if he was going to interrogate a witness on the way he might as well look a little bit official.

He brushed hair away from his face as he strode outside. The fresh air of the night was a welcome change from the somewhat stuffy atmosphere of the guard station. It was darker than he thought, the sun having completely disappeared below the horizon. Martin eased into a long stride, the sheath of his sword beating rythmically against his thigh. He was familiar with the streets of Jader, having spent the last ten years of his life in this city, and he edged into a narrow alley to take a shortcut towards the port, near which most inns were gathered. Many if not most of their patrons were typically sailors or merchants, embarking or disembarking one of the many vessels that stopped at Jader.

The Rose of Orlais was one such ubiquitous tavern, no better or worse than most as far as Martin was concerned. He'd been there a few times, mostly in a professional capacity, though not nearly as much as some of his colleagues in the guard.

The tavern was uncommonly quiet at such an early hour of the night, Martin noticed as he approached. A few committed patrons still sipped at their tankards but there wasn't much else going on. The gaming table was conspicuously empty, despite the cards still in disarray all over it, and it definitely looked a little bit wobbly. A bit further a waitress was scrubbing some spilled ale off the floor with a crestfallen look on her face. As for the innkeep, his sour expression turned downright acerbic when he spotted Martin's uniform.

"What can I do for you, Monsieur ?" he asked, trying - and failing - to sound the least bit welcoming.

"Are you the owner of this place ?"

"Oui, monsieur, indeed. Name's Robert Andrieux. My papers are in order if you wish to see them."

"That won't be necessary." This time, anyway. Many taverns and inns this side of town operated on smuggled wine and beer, and everyone knew it, but that was not the purpose of Martin's visit and they both knew it. "There was a brawl here, earlier tonight, I'm told."

"Oh - nothing serious." Robert didn't really sound convinced by what he was saying. "Just a small disagreement between customers."

"A small disagreement that ended with a man beaten blue ?" Martin raised an eyebrow. "A broken hand and a messed-up knee, sounds a bit more serious than a "minor disagreement".

"That lout deserved it." The waitress had got to her feet and was wiping her hands on her apron, her cheeks flushed with anger and her dark eyes full of thunder. "He asked for it. Monsieur Cainan was the only one man enough to shut him up - "

"He caused yet another fight, is what he did," Robert snapped. "Do you have any idea at all how many money we lost tonight ?"

"You're not the one getting pawed at - "

"Hem," Martin cleared his throat loudly, and the waitress clamped her mouth shut, still glaring at her boss. "So, this mister... Cainan ? He is the one who beat up the Fereldan citizen ?"

"The Fereldan... gentleman... may have been a little bit obnoxious," Robert admitted grudgingly. "But he was a paying customer, and telling stories isn't against the law, monsieur."

"And apparently, neither is grabbing my - " the waitress began bitterly.

"Girl !" Robert snapped.

"So, who started the fight ?" Martin asked. "The Fereldan, or this Monsieur Sausage ?"

"Sauvage started it," Robert said immediately. Martin looked to the waitress.

"...I guess he sort of did," she mumbled eventually. "But everyone was tired of the Fereldan braggart."

Martin was beginning to get the picture. A serial brawler, probably keen to start a fight under whatever pretense allowed him to look like the good guy. Not that the Fereldan was much of a hero either. May or may not be worth an arrest, he was still making up his mind on that. Perhaps a warning and a fine would do.

"So, Cainan Sauvage is the name. What does he look like ?"

The innkeeper's description was fairly close to the one given by the Fereldan mercenary, and detailed enough that Martin thought he might be able to recognize the man on sight. Maybe. On a good day, anyway. He bade the innkeeper farewell and left the inn, deep in thought as to what his next move should be. He was fairly sure he could find this Sausage fellow if he really put his mind to it, but he wasn't sure that it was really worth the effort. Although Weylin had been beaten up pretty badly, he hadn't seemed like the most upright sort of fellow.

"Guardsman ! Hey, guardsman !"

Belatedly realizing that he was the one being addressed so cavalierly, Martin looked up. A young man was running towards him, somewhat dishevelled and out of breath. He thought briefly about mentioning that he was not on duty anymore - he knew he should have changed into civilian clothing - but his sense of duty won out.

"Yes, citizen ?"

"A mugger... caught... at the Raven's Roost !"

"A mugger ?"

"Yes, the Chantry mother brought him in, I don't know how she did it ! He'd been mugging patrons in the back alley, she said. Barkeep asked me to get the guard. Promised me an ale for my trouble."

Well, at least that story was outlandish enough to be worth the overtime Martin would be putting in. Since when were Chantry mothers doubling up as vigilantes ? This he had to see. Pushing away the regretful thought of Gauvain waiting for him, Martin nodded and waved at the youngster to lead the way.

 

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