Chapter Seventeen

THE SEARCHER

The ferry edged into Hollyoake harbor and slowly pulled up to the dock. A tall, balding, and aesthetic-looking man was among the disembarking passengers. He was dressed in old but neat clothes and carried himself with the dignity and authority of someone sure of his position in life. Michael Kargas went by neither his real name nor the one Rowowan army intelligence had bestowed upon him. As soon as he could, Kargas had used some of the money Horace had given him to purchase a new false identity card from a sketchy character in Emerald City. That was not the only thing he did to ensure that the Rowowans were not monitoring him. He went to great lengths to make certain no one followed him. He never stayed in one place for long, spent his money frugally, kept a low profile, and refrained from contacting anyone he knew. Somewhat to his shock, he found anonymity easy to obtain.

Considering his obsessiveness and commitment to the Allerian cause, it was unsurprising that Kargas soon made his way to Hollyoake. He told himself that he was doing so to pay his respects to Princess Iona, but there was more to it than that. Kargas did not like uncertainty, and there was plenty of ambiguity regarding Iona’s suicide that he wanted to clear up. The most obvious questions were the lack of a corpse and Horace’s taciturnity. Kargas could not understand why the Rowowans were so quick to declare Iona dead without a body. Moreover, although Kargas had found Horace’s volubility annoying during their chess matches in prison, the overlord never volunteered anything about Iona. When Kargas broached the topic once, Horace changed the subject immediately. Kargas simply could not shake the feeling that Iona’s fate was not as clear-cut as people said. Whatever his motives, Kargas felt compelled to travel to Hollyoake just to see for himself whether that avenue to Allerian independence was really closed.

Kargas checked into the Palisades Hotel. He spent several days at Hollyoake’s public library reading everything he could find on Iona’s suicide. Indeed, the backcopies of the local newspapers were full of stories, interviews, personal accounts, commentaries, and public records about that tragic event. Kargas also visited the hotel room where Iona spent her last day and rowed around Lake Wagner on the same kind of boat she had used. Claiming to be an author, he talked with as many people as he could locate who interacted with her, including the hotel clerk and maid. He took careful notes on everything he read and heard.

Kargas long ago realized that answers to difficult questions rarely reveal themselves quickly or easily. They instead come slowly and painfully, in bits and pieces, if at all. Revelation was akin to assembling a jigsaw puzzle whose form comes into focus gradually, then all at once. He tried to keep that in mind as he spoke with the young man who had rented Iona the boat that fateful morning.

“Is there anything you can tell me, something that you might have forgotten to tell the police – or anyone else?” Kargas asked.

“No, sir,” he replied. “I’ve told this story a dozen times. There really wasn’t much to it.”

Kargas paused. “Okay, well, thanks for your time.” As he turned to walk away, a thought struck him. “Say, what can you tell me about that one-eyed guy who also came in that day?”

The young man thought for a moment. “Well, I mostly remember the eyepatch and the scars on his face. He had a slight limp, but not enough to slow him down, though he did trip over a box when he returned the boat.”

Kargas smiled ever so slightly at the thought, any thought, of the overlord’s discomfiture, but tried not to show it. “Well, I understand he was a wounded veteran.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t the limp that caused it; it was that chain he was carrying.”

Kargas narrowed his eyes. “Chain? Why did he take a chain out onto the lake?”

The young man shrugged. “He didn’t, but he brought one back with him.”

Kargas knew instinctively that this was important. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. When he rented the boat he had both hands on the counter when he looked at the brochure. No chain then.”

“Did you tell the police this?”

“No. No one asked.”

Kargas walked back to his hotel, brewed up some tea, and sipped it as his mind worked the chain into the problem. Iona had taken a chain with her, and allegedly used it to lash herself to the cinderblock that she threw over the side of her boat. Kargas wondered how Horace had gotten the chain after Iona employed it to commit suicide? To Kargas, the obvious answer was that she was not dead at all. Kargas grabbed a map from his desk and unfolded it. The nearest train station was only a half mile from the eastern part of the lake. Horace had faked her death.

Kargas knew in his gut that he was right. He was pleased with himself for solving the mystery that Horace Oxenstera had created. Now that he had convinced himself that Iona was in fact alive, Kargas turned his mind to unravelling why she had gone along with Horace’s ruse. Kargas guessed that Horace had offered her the same deal that he had presented to him at that restaurant in Mollyfield a few months earlier: anonymity and a chance to start a new life in exchange for tacitly acknowledging Rowowa’s conquest of Alleria. Kargas assumed that Iona accepted the agreement rather than go to prison. If so, she was probably somewhere in Alleria, Valgor, or Ethosia, perhaps looking for him.

If Iona was in fact still alive – and Kargas was sure she was – then he felt that he had an obligation to contact her that superseded any implied promises he made to Horace. Finding her, though, would not be easy. Kargas realized that he needed money and time to locate her. He had plenty of the latter, but a diminishing amount of the former. Fortunately, he knew someone with access to the resources he needed: Lloyd Juganhouse, the mayor of Kirkwell.

Decisive ever, Kargas departed for Kirkwell as soon as he had concluded that he needed Juganhouse’s assistance. He boarded a train for Haddonsburg and then hopped on a ferry for the trip across the Valgor Strait to the island. He disembarked in the late afternoon and walked up the hill toward city hall. Although he lived on Kirkwell for nearly a year, he had no emotional attachment to the island – or any place, really. It had been simply a means to an end. On the other hand, he worried that someone might identify him. To be sure, he had acquired a slight limp during his time in prison that had altered his gait. He hoped that this, as well as his shabby clothes, would provide sufficient anonymity, but he knew it was risky. As he trudged along, he was surprised by the buzz of activity around him. Workers were busy expanding the docks and widening the road to the warehouses. New businesses dotted what had recently been a swampy field. Kargas had heard that the city sustained considerable damage in the previous year’s battle, but there was almost no evidence of it now.

At city hall Kargas learned from Juganhouse’s secretary that the mayor had already left for home. He followed her directions to Juganhouse’s new house on the hill where the old stables were once located. He arrived just in time to see Juganhouse emerge from his car. His tailored suit did not disguise the weight he had obviously put on. Juganhower initially looked alarmed to see this scruffy-looking man limping toward him, but a grin spread across his face when he recognized Kargas.

“Mr. Kargas!” he exclaimed as he extended his hand. “I never thought I would see you again. I heard that you had disappeared into a Rowowan prison forever.”

“I was in prison,” Kargas responded. “But not forever.” Shaking Juganhouse’s hand, he continued, “Can we go someplace quiet to talk?”

Juganhouse led Kargas into his house and to his study. The place was still a work in progress. Wet plaster dotted the walls, fixtures were exposed, and there were no doors. Although Kargas was not ordinarily one to pay attention to such trappings, he noticed a certain extravagance and decadence to the place that he found disturbing.

“Nice house,” Kargas said after he and Juganhouse sat down.

“Thank you,” Juganhouse responded. “I expect to be here for awhile, so I decided to put down more permanent roots. And even if I do end up back in Aurora, I can sell it for a tidy profit.”

Kargas looked out the window at the unfinished landscaping. “Municipal government has been good to you.”

Juganhouse paused, trying to gauge the amount of sarcasm in Kargas’s voice. “Yes, it has. I’ve worked hard for this island.”

Kargas suddenly remembered that he was here for help, not to judge his former lieutenant’s lifestyle, so he changed the subject, “The town certainly looks happy and prosperous.”

“Yes, it is,” said Juganhouse, equally relieved to discuss other matters. “A Rowowan shipping conglomerate bought up much of the port and is spending a great deal of money to modernize it. It provides lots of jobs and tax dollars for public works. We’re building a new school. Maybe a new city hall, too.”

“Are the Rowowans difficult to work…with?” Kargas asked.

Juganhouse’s sarcasm detector went off again. “Well, they’re not as hands-off as Horace Oxenstera was, that’s for sure. There’s a team of Rowowans here to ‘help’ us, one for public safety, one for economic development, one for public health, and so forth. The overlord sticks his nose into everything. However, once we learn their specific agenda, then it’s easy to manipulate them to suit our purposes, like we did with Horace Oxenstera. We take advantage of them to promote the Allerian cause and the welfare of the Allerian people.”

Kargas nodded politely, but wondered who was using whom.

Juganhouse sensed his doubt and changed the subject again. “I was very sorry to hear about the royal twins. It shouldn’t have ended like that for them. They deserved better.”

“Yes, well, Rael’s death was a tragedy,” said Kargas. “But Iona’s fate is more complicated. I believe that she’s still alive.”

Kargas explained his reasoning to a skeptical Juganhouse. When he finished, he said, “I know it’s a long shot, but if she’s alive, then I am obligated to find her. Doing so requires resources – money.”

“Most of my money is tied up in this house, but you can have whatever cash I have,” said Juganhouse.

Kargas held up his hand. “No, I can’t walk around with large amounts of cash. I need a bank account with a reliable line of credit that I can access wherever I go. Can we arrange something like that with Fitz Hollander over at the bank?”

Juganhouse pursed his lips. “It’s not as easy as it used to be. There are now lots of Rowowan banking rules and regulations in place. The accounts we used when you were here are frozen. There’s also a Rowowan official at the bank who must approve of all major accounts and transactions.”

“Any ideas?” Kargas asked.

“Well,” said Juganhouse. “Perhaps Hollander can surreptitiously transfer the assets from the frozen accounts. We can find someone on the island to set up a small account in his or her name and keep it replenished. It would take a couple weeks for the usual Rowowan bureaucratic reasons.”

Kargas shook his head. I cannot stay that long. Someone might recognize me.”

“Okay,” said Juganhouse. “We’ll mail or telegraph you the account number, hide it in some innocuous message.”

Kargas shook his head again. “No, I don’t trust the Rowowan post office. Is it possible that someone trustworthy can bring me the account number? I’m going to Aurora next, so he can meet me there in a few weeks.”

“I know just the person,” said Juganhouse.

“Who?”

“Norma Craddock. She hates the Rowowans and she’s been talking about going to Aurora to visit some relative there. Moreover, her sister died a couple months ago and she’s been looking for something to do. Finally, as a woman she’ll attract less attention.”

Kargas thought about it and nodded. “Ask her to be in Aurora three weeks from today. Ask her to check into the Presidio Hotel under her name. I will find her there.”

“Okay,” said Juganhouse. And if for some reason she can’t make it, I’ll send someone else under her name with the account number.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Kargas said, “I cannot stay. I am going to catch the last ferry to Rahway.”

As he got up to leave, Juganhouse had some advice for him. “Mr. Kargas,” said Juganhouse. “Please be careful. I’ve managed to keep Kirkwell safe and prosperous, but the island is an exception. Law and order are collapsing throughout much of Alleria, especially in the southern wastelands. The Syndicate movement is growing more powerful down there with each passing day. But not just there. It’s not even safe to go to the Heath. The Rowowans simply don’t have the resources to exert their authority over Alleria. Indeed, they’re having trouble maintaining order in Rowowa.”

Juganhouse watched Kargas exit the house and walk down the road to the docks. Although he greatly admired the adviser, Juganhouse also believed that he was a throwback to a different era. There was no room in this new world for royalty and their advisers. They were complications neither he nor the good people of Kirkwell could afford. The next day he visited Fitz Hollander and Norma Craddock to establish the bank account and the delivery of its number to Kargas. Then he walked over to the overlord’s office and revealed everything he knew about Kargas’s mission.

After taking his leave from Juganhouse, Kargas hurried down to the dock just in time to catch the day’s last ferry leaving for Rahway. He spent the night there in a dingy hotel, then took a train for Aurora. It was Kargas’s first time in the city since Alleria’s surrender. Because he was there for practical, not sentimental reasons, he refrained from visiting old friends. Instead, every day he trudged over to the public library, holed up in a carrel in the basement away from prying eyes, and poured over material. He examined demographic information, railway and ferry schedules, climatic data, regional geography, and employment tables. He threw all this information into his mental hopper, as well as everything he remembered about Iona’s tastes, desires, fears, and so forth. He doubted that she would return to Alleria – too risky. As for Ethosia, the war had reduced its standard of living to just above subsistence level. Iona liked her amenities too much to go there. That left Valgor. She was familiar with the country, and it possessed a large exile population she could use for comfort, familiarity, and help. And of course it was not under Rowowan control. Her time in Kirkwell’s school showed that she enjoyed administrative work, so she likely found a job along those lines. Her fondness for urbanity and the ocean meant that she probably chose to live in a coastal community. When he finished sifting through all this information, Kargas came up with a list of a half dozen Valgoran cities in which Iona might make a home.

The day before he was supposed to meet with Norma Craddock at the Presidio Hotel, Kargas retrieved one last piece of information vital to his search for Princess Iona. He left his carrel and walked to the library’s reference section to locate an old misplaced biography on an obscure Ethosian nobleman. The library contained no record of it because Kargas had removed its cards from the catalog two years earlier. There, in the middle of its pages, Kargas found the rarest of all items: an accurate, unmarked, and clear photograph of Princess Iona.

The next morning Kargas packed his few belongings and checked out of the fleabag hotel at which he had been staying. Despite the poor conditions, he was optimistic about the future. Iona was alive and he intended to find her. He carefully tucked Iona’s photo inside his jacket pocket and plunged into Aurora’s busy streets. He spent his last cash on breakfast before walking over to the Presidio Hotel. He watched people come and go for an hour until he concluded that nothing was amiss. Finally, he entered the building and asked the clerk for Norma Craddock’s room number. He went upstairs and quietly knocked on her door, calling her by name. He was relieved to hear her tell him to come in. When he opened the door, though, he saw her sitting on a chair in the middle of the room with fear in her eyes. Before Kargas could register anything else, a man emerged from the closet and shot him in the head with a revolver at close range. Kargas was dead before his body hit the floor. Norma screamed. Another man standing nearby tried for a couple seconds to calm her, but gave up and gunned her down as well. The two assassins grabbed her purse and slipped out of the room and down the backstairs. They quickly blended into Aurora’s human cacophony and disappeared. Within an hour they reached the post office and reported the success of their mission.

The sound of the two gunshots brought hotel staff to the room within minutes, where they discovered the two still-warm bodies. The police arrived within the hour. They had little to go on. The dead man’s identification papers were false and his only relevant possession was a photograph of a regal woman who looked nothing like the other victim. He appeared to be one of the thousands of down-on-his-luck veterans who had failed to find a place in the Rowowan empire. The murdered woman, for her part, was obviously of higher status, but the address she provided turned out to be false. Perhaps she was a love-starved war widow meeting up with an old beau who had gotten into trouble? Unfortunately for the cause of justice, the police did not have the time or resources to investigate much further. There was after all a crime wave sweeping through the city and rioters to keep at bay. The authorities burned their belongings, filed a cursory report, and buried their bodies in a paupers’ field.