Chapter 48: SEBASTIAN - No Need for Deliveries?

Nightville, Nightway

SEBASTIAN

The first tiny hut they came upon was an elderly couple. The Weldons. A well-respected couple deep in Nightway. Many of the other peasants looked to them for healing and for advice.

It was to honor them that they always received the first delivery. They’ve earned that over the years.

Bast hopped down and both rushed from the hut with beaming smiles to greet him. Old Ms. Weldon tossed her arms around him and he hugged her tightly in return.

“How are you, My Boy?” She reached to fondly caress a thick lock of gold hair swinging over his shoulder.

He grinned down at her. “Well. Very well.”

“Yea. How are ye, Boy?” Boy called mockingly from the driver’s bench of the second carriage. Mocking that, for once, Bast was the one called lad.

Impertinent shit. He tossed an amused glower over his shoulder at the younger man.

“What would you like today?” He gestured to the carriage.

I’ve got some of all your favorites.

“Well, we don’t need much…” Mr. Weldon gave him a puzzled look. “We got your fist shipment only last week.”

First shipment?

“First shipment?” Bast asked stunned. “Of winter store?”

Mr. Weldon nodded. The loose skin of his face swinging against his thin frame.

From who?

“Who delivered it?”

“Young man. Blonde. Looked a bit like ye.” Mr. Weldon described. Eyes falling to the ground thoughtfully as he tried to recall more.

Who is that?

“Beads in his hair.” Ms. Weldon added.

“Was an unsavory lot with him.” Mr. Weldon added.

Unsavory lot? Nightway Rebels?

Delivering goods would be very far from their usual mission.

“Don’t say that!” Ms. Weldon chided. “They looked rough but kindly enough boys.”

Kindly boys? Bast had no idea who they were talking about.

“I didn’t send anyone with supplies.” Bast said warily.

“You didn’t?” Ms. Weldon gasped. “Where’d it all come from then?”

“I haven’t any idea…” Bast turned to look at Alazareth.

“Wasn’t me.” His brother shook his head. Looking equally as surprised.

“They brought many of us supplies…” Mr. Weldon whispered. “All through the country. We thought it was you…”

“Sebastian?” Ms. Weldon said. “I don’t know who he was but his men jokingly called themselves “The Seditious.”

“Yea, yea!” Mr. Weldon recalled. Pointing to Bast animatedly. “And they called him ‘King’.” His hand fell. “Was odd…Not Yer Highness or anything fancy. Just ‘My King.’.”

“Bast!” Alazar barked from behind him. Lurched up enough to stand on the bench. He waved his arm frantically to summon his twin.

What now? Bast strode to him.

“They’re talking about the King of Assassins.”

“What?”

“His Seditious Lot call him ‘My King.’ And the Weldons just described the bunch.”

“The boy running the Blue Lark Guild?” Bast’s brow knitted. “Why would he-”

“I don’t know.” Alazar cut him off urgently. “But there’s a method behind everything he does. He did it for a reason.”

Bast shook his head in confusion as he returned to the Weldons. “Well, whomever it was I doubt they got the things you love imported from the Isle. So have your pick and we’ll be on our way.”

The elderly couple wound hands and hobbled to the carriage to peer inside. They selected a few items and the sailors carried them inside for them.

“Sebastian?” Ms. Weldon’s soft voice rose again.

He paused to look at her, waiting.

“Could you take our extra goods to that Boy. To give to the others.”

“The Boy that brought you the Goods?”

“Yes. He says there’s more in the Blue Lark. Plenty more so we should take whatever we wished.” She frowned. “I don’t know what the Blue Lark is.”

Still shaking his head, Bast hopped back atop the driver’s bench and reined the horses.

Why?

Why would an assassin give to the less fortunate of Ardae? It made no sense. That’s not what assassins are about…

They sat circled around a fire eating dried driter meat.

“So…” Alazar said. “It appears, Bast, you’re no longer the only one caring for the paupers of Ardae. How are you taking that?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not certain….”

“What do you suppose has inspired someone else to do what you do?”

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“The King of Assassins, of all people…He has some end game intended.”

“He must.” Bast agreed.

“Well,” Boy drew their attention. “I for one, think it a good thing. Someone trails your step.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done?” Alazar countered.

Boy shrugged in acknowledgement. “He’s saved my skin more than once.”

He’s talking about that Cimmerii woman taking him all those years ago. Bast recalled taking Mardichi and the Captain to run through the hut and smashing in to get the boy back.

Without meaning to he found himself massaging his shoulder where the old bite wound, he’d sustained occasionally ached. It aches now just thinking about it. The sound of the beasts, teeth crunching into his shoulder sound like ice splitting. Ringing in his ears.