The Book
A Blackwatch Chronicles Short Story
H.M. Clarke
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Book (The Blackwatch Chronicles)
Proven
Something is rotten in the city of Brookhaven. And it is up to the Blackwatch to root it out.
Also By H.M. Clarke
About the Author
Also by H.M. Clarke
The Way to Freedom Series
1: The Kalarthri
1.1: The Cavern of Sethi
2: The Dream Thief
3. The Awakening
4. The Enemy Within
5. The Unknown Queen
6. The Searchers
7. The Whisperer
8. The Deceiver
9. The Great Game
10. The Gathering
11. The Mark of Fate
12. The Mark of Service
The Complete Season One–Books 1 5
The Complete Season Two–Books 6-10
Coming Soon
13. The Mark of Freedom
The Blackwatch Chronicles
1: Proven
2: Uprising
The Book: A Blackwatch short story
Coming Soon
2: Sacrifice
The Verge
1: The Enclave
Coming Soon
2: Citizen Erased
The Order
1: Winter’s Magic
Marion: An ‘Order’ Short Story
John McCall Mysteries
1: Howling Vengeance
COPYRIGHT © H. M. CLARKE 2020
All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
First published in The United States of America in 2020
HMC Press, Dayton, Ohio.
Cover design by Exciting Worlds Await
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
DEDICATION
As always, this work is dedicated to my two beautiful children, Keith and Ariadne.
The Book
‘If books could kill...’
THE RED SILK COVER of the book shone in the moonlight and the gold and silver thread embroidered in the front cover glinted as Kurt bent further into the light to study it.
The design was in the shape of some kind of bird, wings raised in flight to lift it out from the fire that raged at its feet. The gold and silver contained in that picture alone could let Kurt live like a prince for months. His dirt-encrusted hands lifted the cover and quickly flicked through the pages of the book. There were no pictures to speak of, only the jumble of ink marks that he recognized as writing.
Kurt could not read but he could write his name, a fact that he was proud of. A priest had taken pity on Kurt and taught him to scribe his name when he was a boy and every chance he got Kurt would practice writing it. The priest had told him that there was a power in names and that one should learn to control their own. But Kurt did not need to read or write in his line of business and he had seen no mystic powers at work whenever he scratched his name on a bit of parchment. It was enough that he could read if his name appeared on the City’s wanted lists and to lie low until it came off again.
Closing the book with a snap, he slipped it into his bag and bent again to look through the rich robes of the comatose man lying in the filth of the alley. Blood was caked in the man’s hair and his face was already puffed, bloodied and bruised from the beating he had received.
Deft fingers picked out the three hidden pouches, the jewel-encrusted belt and the large gold brooch that was pinned at the base of the man’s throat. All the while Kurt hummed happily to himself, thinking that the Prince of Thieves had blessed him this night. He had only come into this alley to take a piss on his way back to the rat hole he called home and found this unconscious man in the far corner.
Kurt had had a bad night all round and was beginning to think that he would not be able to pay his monthly dues to the Gyld on time. The Gyldmaster did not look favorably on those who could not cough up ‘the goods’ on their designated payment date. Kurt had seen many examples of the Gyldmaster’s displeasure floating in the river Flovious. He did not care why the man was left in this condition or why his valuables had not been touched. He only cared that now they were his.
He shivered at the thought that it might have been him. But not now. Here in his hands Kurt held enough wealth to pay his dues for a year and still have enough left over to live comfortably on.
Stuffing the rest of his newly found wealth into his bag, Kurt stopped to finger the rich material of the man’s cloak. It looked thick and warm and would service Kurt a lot better than this frayed and battered coat he currently owned. But he decided against it. A rich cloak like that worn by one such as himself would draw unwanted eyes. The last thing he needed was a curious City Watchman on his back.
Dropping the fold of material, Kurt took one more look at the man’s face. He was still out cold but at least he was breathing. He certainly would not like to be him when he came to. He also would not like to be around when someone eventually came looking for him. “It’s been good doin’ business with ya,” Kurt said giving the unconscious man a jaunty salute of thanks.
Rising quickly to his feet, Kurt turned and left the narrow alley and traveled the dark streets of the city towards the hovel he called home. It was late; probably an hour after midnight and the streets were virtually deserted except for the City Watchmen who walked their rounds, but Kurt knew how to avoid them. He also knew how to avoid the other undesirables that hunted the streets waiting for an unsuspecting victim to pounce on. Most of these undesirables knew him and would think nothing of thumping him for the bulging bag he now carried. There was no honor among thieves–except between fully paid Gyld Members.
Kurt picked his way through the winding backstreets of the city, passing the sleeping houses and shut up shops. Everything was quiet and peaceful. It was also nice and clean in the Merchant’s Quarter of the city. As he slipped quietly across a wide stone-paved road, Kurt entered the common part of the
