A Much Arranged Marriage

By Jim Webster

Benor is asked to help warn off a blackmailer who appears to be threatening a young girl's chances of marriage. But the deeper he digs, the more dangerous things become.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AG Books
• Release date: Nov 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781785383564

Jim Webster

I can cope with being described as fifty-something. During the course of a reasonably quiet life I’ve done a number of things. I’ve farmed cattle all my life, and at the same time have been a consultant and a freelance writer. I also fit in being a husband and father. My life has included some intriguing incidents, at the age of twelve, my headmaster was somewhat put out to discover that not only was I selling ammonium nitrate to other boys to make bangers, it wasn’t actually forbidden by the school rules. I’ve watched Soviet troops unload coffins from a transport plane at Tashkent; been questioned by an Icelandic gunboat captain, not so much at gun point as at 40mm Bofors point, and according to the nice man at Frankfurt airport, I inadvertently invaded Germany. I was perfectly happy to believe him, I am happy to believe anyone who points a Heckler & Koch MP5 at me. Brought up on the classic masters of SF, I bought Jack Vance, ‘The Dragon Masters,’ in the early 1970s and that book taught me that the world or society the characters lived in was every bit as important as the plot. I’ve also written Supplements for Pelgrane Press to go with their ‘Dying Earth’ role-playing game, inadvertently contributed to the design of the FH70 Field Howitzer and living where I do on the outskirts of Barrow-in-Furness most of my mates have at one time or another built nuclear submarines. Me, I tend to seasickness on a particularly bracing bus trip.

Book preview

coincidental.

Chapter 1

It wasn’t a knock of overwhelming force. Far from it, the knock was hesitant, it was the sort of knock that a man in late middle age might use when he arrives home after a very convivial evening and wants to wake a servant to open the door, but does not wish to rouse his young wife.

Before the last echoes of the knock had died away Benor had got out of bed and was starting to dress. This is something any Toelar Roof-runner could do in the dark. In Toelar, teenage girls may leave their clothes strewn in a thick layer over the floor but teenage boys are habitually tidy and lay their clothes aside carefully as they take them off so that they can more easily put them back on. Even in the throes of passion a Toelar man will still somehow manage to leave his clothing carefully arranged.

From downstairs Benor could hear the voice of a servant telling whoever had knocked that he was coming. There was the lifting of the bar and the creak of the door as the master of the house gained admittance. So far Benor’s paramour had not stirred but he was already fully dressed. He put on his shoes with their soft soles and walked as quietly as possible to the window. Outside it was a fine night, indeed the night would soon be over. The street was empty below him and Benor reached out and grasped the knotted cord he had used to make his entry. He tugged firmly and the rope held. He could hear the creaking sound of someone coming upstairs. He swung himself out of the window and climbed the rope, scrambling over the guttering and onto the roof. He stood up, feeling the contours of the tiles through the soles of his shoes. Then he walked up the roof and untied his knotted cord from around the chimney. As quietly as he was able he made his way along the roof ridge. At the end of the terrace there was a narrow street between the houses and the Temple of the Aea in her Aspect as the Personification of Chastity. He laid a plank over the gap and walked across. In Toelar there were any number of these bridges, but here in Port Naain Benor had had to provide his own. He scrambled up the Temple roof and climbed into the cupola of the tower at the summit. He sat there, catching his breath and watching the false dawn on the eastern horizon. Glancing round it struck him as a good place from which to take bearings on some of the other landmarks. He’d need that for his mapping work. The Corn Exchange Tower above the ferry pier at Roskadil and Timball’s Folly at Saskadil would lock in the far side of the estuary. Up on the ridge he could see the Insane Asylum, for the life of him; he couldn’t remember what the symbol was for one of them. Then, with the first hints of true dawn appearing he headed for his own bed. He should arrive back and get a couple of hours sleep before Shena woke him for breakfast.

Tallis was sitting at a table in an unregarded corner of the Grand Salon. He listened carefully to the gossip around him, at the same time trying to give the impression of a man who was dozing, or at best lost in the work of literary creation. While Mistress Bellin Hanchkillian had not specifically asked for his presence, he knew that on those mornings when he wasn’t there, his absence caused comments to be made. Mistress Hanchkillian didn’t expect a lot of her poet, but she did expect his attendance for a couple of hours in the morning, in case she had sudden need of him.

He sipped his coffee. To be fair, she served excellent coffee and one only had to raise a finger to have a maid appear with a tray of biscuits and further refreshment. There were times when he was glad of the chance to breakfast here. Also, if he was honest, it wasn’t as if he had anything else particularly pressing to do. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs. Nobody within earshot was saying anything particularly salacious or noteworthy, so he might as well appear to be awakening from his doze.

The door of the Withdrawing Chamber opened and all eyes turned to it. Who would be summoned within? Baltan, Mistress Hanchkillian’s factotum stepped out, closing the door behind him, and looked around the salon. Spotting Tallis, he weaved his way between the people who had been loitering in the middle of the room and came up to the table. Tallis stood up to meet him and Baltan held out a hand. Tallis shook it. Good to see you, sir.

Glad you’re here, Tallis. Mistress would like a word with you.

Now?

Baltan glanced round, and then said dryly, Unless you have something else planned?

No, no, I’m sure I can fit her in.

I’m sure she will be suitably flattered. She specifically said she feared she might disturb you in the midst of some taxing literary endeavour.

Tallis bowed. She is, as always, too kind.

Baltan gestured towards the door. You’d better go, lest the next missive is a maid with a note saying ‘Entirely in your own time’.

Baltan turned and made his way across the Salon and out. Tallis walked towards the Withdrawing Chamber door, people stepping back out of his way as he approached. At the door a maid opened it before he had chance to knock. He bowed deeply and stepped inside, only for the maid to close the door again, with herself on the outside. Tallis looked round. He was