Free Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I by Chris Turner Page A

“Nuzbek is indeed without his toys, Captain.
Entertaining any cunning tricks while we are in charge is not to
happen.”
    Graves
mustered a gratified grin. “Very good, Jubben. Fetch the others,
Tilfgurd.”
    Tilfgurd
strode off in a black mood and returned shortly after, conveying
three civilians and seven Constables, two of whom held fire
lanterns and tallow-torches. By virtue of the white tags on their
uniforms, Baus identified them as Officers Mulfax, Madluck, Smiss,
Dunkin, Loops, Canjun and Burkothes. They were strapping,
steely-muscled individuals with well-built thews and biceps, yet
their normally ruddy cheer was gone at being extracted from the
pubs.
    Mulfax, a lean
wolf with a distrusting face, thrust a blazing torch upon the jars.
“What are these sea krakens?” he growled. His eyes bulged like a
frog’s.
    Graves spoke
with smiling irony, “Oddities only, eh Nuzbek?”
    Nuzbek only
grimaced.
    “I suppose we
must lug the grotesques back with us,” sighed the Captain. “Gather
them up, lads, whatever they are—quick and clean.”
    The jars
gleamed in the sepia light and even Baus had to suppress a shiver
that ran up his spine. Greenish in hue, the odd, unearthly
interiors were populated with four floating distorted countenances,
cargoes nothing that any of the officers wished to hoist on their
backs, Tilfgurd showed a grimace of distaste. White-haired Skarrow
was elected to be first and he hauled one jar out onto the grass.
So followed Mulfax, then Madluck, and finally Tilfgurd, though he
handled his jar with finicky aversion, which Graves rewarded by
boxing his ears with an impatient hand.
    Officers Smiss
and Dunkin secured Boulm and Nolpin while Jubben and Leaster helped
control Nuzbek. Graves ordered Canjun and Loops to help Burkothes
tackle Nuzbek’s wooden trunks which they heaved forcibly onto
Nuzbek’s wagon. Graves lumped the bulk of the material into the
category of ‘spoils’, though in terms loosely applied, ’twas
undoubtedly a broader term for ‘evidence’.
    Nuzbek was
appalled at the sight of his treasures being hauled away.
“Captain!” he cried. “This procedure is irregular. Why preoccupy
your valuable time carting away worthless gewgaws?”
    “The procedure
is self-evident,” declared Graves. “To secure contraband, and
collect possible case material.”
    Nuzbek
rejected such rationale. “We have overstepped your laws, agreed. My
aides Nolpin, Boulm remain apologetic for this fact and are
penitent. But arrest us for tomfoolery! It is absurd. We shall be
on our way and not take the law into our hands. You have our solemn
pledge—and you never shall see us again!”
    Graves fixed
the magician with a smiling stare. “As desirable as this is,
Nuzbek, I cannot comply.” He faced the magician, locking eyes for a
sinister second, then turned to his officers, giving a tired
bellow, “Canjun, Burkothes! Hump it up! Are you laggards? We wish
to be in our sacks before dawn.”
     
    * * *
     
    The hour was
old; the moon, a blurry wedge in the sky. Clawish clouds obscured
the growing moonlight which glowed from the west like a sullen
sconce. The troupe, illuminated under the ephemeral light, formed
an odd procession. Several stooped figures struggled with their
loads in the sticky fog, while Baus, jabbed along by Graves’ baton,
muttered and cursed. Weavil was bumped along by Burkothes, and
remained in joyless humour. Nuzbek and his aides were herded
roughly along by Smiss and Dunkin while the others hoisted the jars
on their shoulders and struggled to keep up with Nuzbek’s
wagon.
    An expected
ragtag of gawkers tailed the troupe, pitching righteous remarks and
lurid stares. Amongst them were Uyu and Migor. Gysod and Pisp
trotted behind: the Hilgimite vendors appeared well pleased with
the result, framing nods in the course of reparations being
imposed.
    The parade
continued. The troupe traversed the lower fairgrounds. They reached
the gate at Angler’s Row and no sooner had they