“Ancient Khmerian relics are sought after the world over because they’re blessed by the God King. Bathed in his aura, each contains a trace of divinity itself.”

Chapter 30

The warehouse was in disarray. The wagons had been thoroughly searched and several were pushed on their sides. One was flipped completely over. Goods were ripped and destroyed. They lay strewn across the warehouse floor.

It was clear to Wil that the thieves had not been interested in the regular goods the caravan held. The silks and cloth, even the large urns of scented oils and spices that Quentin had purchased in Angkor, were all ripped, cut or smashed on the ground.

They had clearly been looking for something, and they had not spared a thought to keep the other valuables intact in their search.

Wil idly nudged a discarded item on the ground with his foot as Quentin paced furiously nearby.

She had determined after a brief search that the priceless magical relics from Khmer were missing. They were the obvious targets of the thief’s search.

Gathered nearby were a group of guards, all wearing the silver scales of the East Haven Mercantile Association. Several were sporting fresh cut and bruises on their faces. They had been assaulted while guarding the warehouse. Although strangely, none of them could provide a description of the attackers.

Standing next to Quentin was a large man wearing the black and yellow robes of the Association. However, unlike the employees at the auction house, this man’ robes were made of the finest silk.

He was wide as he was tall, wore jeweled rings on each of his fat fingers, and his neck was weighed down by gold chains and necklaces. He reminded Wil of a stereotypical, greasy fingered merchant from a roadside play.

“Ruined! All that’s left is ruined! You guaranteed me the security of this warehouse, Mr. Barton.” She said as she pointed a finger in the large man’s face. It nearly touched his large, bulbous nose.

“And we will compensate you for your loss, Miss Quentin. After you provide us with a list of all the damaged or missing items, we will certainly give you a fair value for your goods.” He said, making a calming motion with both of his large hands.

“Compensation! Fair Value! What you offered barely covers my costs, to speak nothing of the profits I stood to make. I want an explanation for this theft, Mr. Barton.” She exclaimed, continuing her pacing.

With a heavy sigh, Barton looked as if he were doing her a favor by humoring her request.

“As I have said, Miss Quentin. Our guards were assaulted by unidentified cloaked individuals late in the evening. They were bound and subdued while your wagons were searched. I can’t speak to the motives of these robbers, and you will have to forgive me if I do not believe your claims of ‘priceless artifacts’ in your caravan without providing the proper evidence.”

“Evidence! You know damn well what I sold at last night’s Auction!” She said, whirling to face Barton.

“Without proof, I can only assume that you sold the only artifacts you had in your possession. How am I to believe that you didn’t stage this entire ‘robbery’ to try and fleece our organization out of more gold?” He said, smiling smugly at Quentin.

“How dare you! You want proof?” She said, tossing a handful of documents at Barton. The man did not even bother to pick them up from the ground. “Those are bills of sale from the estate auction I attended, with an itemized list and purchase prices.”

Barton, not even looking down at the documents, had a condescending look on his face as he shook his head at Quentin. “Unfortunately, we will need to verify your claims. It may take months, if not years. You know how slow things can be when dealing with foreign kingdoms. I suggest you take the compensation offered and look at this as a learning experience.”

Quentin stood, shocked by Barton’s words. It was clear to Wil that Barton was involved in some way with the robbery, maybe even the entire Guild had taken part. Quentin had come to the same conclusion, as the pale white face began to turn red from anger.

Before she could erupt, Wil stepped forward and leaned in towards her.

“Play along.” He whispered, before standing up straight and walking towards Barton. As he walked, his entire attitude changed.

The slight smile he took to wearing when talking to Quentin, which she found so infuriating was gone. Wil always looked as if he was amused by her actions, but that expression was now replaced by a cold and indifferent face.

His back was ramrod straight. His slouched posture now replaced by a noble’s bearing.

Quentin blinked in surprise at the change. The easy-going Wil that she had gotten to know over the past few days had been replaced by a stranger.

She was now looking at an arrogant noble’s scion. Between one step and the next, it was as if Wil had become another person. All without changing anything about him physically, just his attitude and manner.

“Merchant” Wil drawled, filling his voice with as much disdain as he could muster.

“Are you implying that Miss Quentin is lying about her caravan’s goods. That she staged this entire affair for her own benefit?” Tilting his head upwards, he looked down his nose at Barton.

Barton, unsure of Wil’s identity, decided to play it safe. “Of course not, but we must investigate Miss Quentin’s claims before any settlement can be made.”

“Indeed…and are you not aware of Miss Quentin’s Patron?” Wil meted out his words slowly, as if too lazy to speak.

“Patron?” Barton asked, turning white at the implication that Quentin had a powerful backing.

“My father, the Earl of Brookmoor. I believe you people value…proof, as you say.” Wil removed a heavy gold ring from his pocket. It was his family’s signet ring, something he carried with him but never wore.

He lazily showed the ring to Barton, before placing it back in his pocket.

“Brookmoor!” Barton turned completely white in the face. He began to wring his hands nervously as Wil revealed his father’s title.

Barton’s nervousness did not surprise Wil. His father had a reputation for being blunt and his no-nonsense attitude in dealing with those he considered ‘lesser’.

He was also incredibly harsh in enforcing the Empire’s laws. When Wil was a child, his father had set out with his guards after news had reached him that bandits had attacked traders on his land.

His father had hung the criminals, as well as their families, before burning the village that had sheltered them to the ground.

Greaves had once told him a story of his father’s wrath. The people under his rule were so terrified of his judgements that if they found a coin on the street in Brookmoor, they would fear picking it up lest they be accused of thievery.

“So, you understand now that these goods are not Miss Quentin’s. They, in fact, belong to my father.” Wil lied, dropping the lazy attitude and focusing an intense stare at Barton.

“Someone stole from the Earl of Brookmoor, Merchant. As his son, it is my duty to enforce the law in his stead.”

“Milord! Of course, we will assist you in any way possible in finding the culprits!” Barton said, bowing to Wil, while glancing to the side at a nearby guard. The guard nodded slightly and left the warehouse in a hurry.

“Very well! Then I will begin by questioning the guards about their attackers. You will remain to assist.” Wil commanded, turning away from Barton and walking towards the nearby group of injured men and women.

They were looking nervously between Wil and the Merchant, unsure of how to react to the new development.

“Milord, unfortunately, East Haven is under the stewardship of Lady Ashworth. The investigation should be carried out by her house guards, in order to maintain…impartiality.” Barton said, wiping the glistening sweat from his brow with a white handkerchief.

“Is that so? Well… If baroness Ashworth has an issue with my conducting of the investigation. She may petition my father, the Earl, before the Crown Prince, who happens to be my cousin. Who do you think he will side with in this matter, Merchant?” Wil said, emphasizing the hierarchy in the titles he mentioned.

Barton turned even paler and began to sweat profusely. He knew that even though Lady Ashworth had some small standing in the Imperial Court, the Brookmoor family had held power since the Empire was founded. The Crown Prince would undoubtedly side with his uncle, the Earl.

Wil stood in front of the Mercantile Associations warehouse guards, pointing at one randomly. “You, recount the events of the attack.” Wil said disinterestedly, barely paying attention to the middle-aged man he had pointed to.

Quentin walked up next to Wil, focusing intently on the guard as he spoke.

With another nervous glance at Barton, the man licked his lips and began to speak. He recounted how they had stood guard all evening, before he was hit on the back of the head and woke up bound and unarmed outside.

The rest of the guards told similar stories.