Del Garza nodded, keeping his face calm as the door closed again. He had appropriated this office for a very specific interview, following which he would address his subordinates. But first, very much first, he would speak to the captain of the Paragon, a blockade ship that had just happened to drift off her position at a critical moment this morning.
He heard a man’s voice approaching, clearly raised in anger. There were no answering voices as the one who shouted came closer. A knock sounded on the closed iron-strapped wooden door and del Garza contemplated it for a short interval. There had been a momentary silence after the knock, but it was soon broken again by the protesting, expostulating voice.
‘Come,’ the acting governor said quietly.
The door opened instantly and del Garza met the eye of his subordinate as he entered the office. He saw both amusement and exasperation there and not a little disgust. For an instant del Garza wondered if the thinly-veiled contempt was directed at him, but at the last, the man glanced to the side, and del Garza realized the scorn was directed at the man who followed close behind.
Though not a small man, the secret police operative was thrust aside by a very large, very self-important one wearing the salt-stained coat of a sea captain.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the captain demanded. ‘I must protest this treatment! I am a gentleman, sir, and I was brought here under protest! I was given a missive summoning me to a meeting with the acting governor, but no sooner did we make dock than this—’ he sneered at the fellow he had shoved, ‘—brigand tells me that I am under arrest and seized my sword. My sword, sir! What possible excuse could there be for such an action?’
He stopped and stared at the man behind the desk. ‘And who, if I may ask, are you, sir?’
Del Garza stared at him while the other two guards took up position behind the Captain. Captain Alan Leighton was indeed a gentleman, the third son of a very minor nobleman whose family were willing to pay to get him out of the ancestral home; in other words, someone of less real use than the average dock-walloper or ditch-digger. And he would have been dismissed from either position for incompetence within a week. His commission and his ship had been bought for him, not earned, while better men had to wait. The Baron knew his type and despised him. He was a man who was just important enough to be a nuisance, and not important enough to have any real value.
‘I am the Governor,’ he said, his voice as flat and cold as a window in midwinter.
The captain shifted his feet and looked at him uncertainly. Del Garza was an ordinary enough looking man; rat-faced, and his dress was of simple if expensive weave.
‘Indeed?’ the Captain said dubiously.
‘Indeed,’ del Garza confirmed quietly. ‘Be seated, Captain Leighton.’ His nod indicated a stool in front of the desk.
The Captain looked at it, then at the acting governor in disbelief. ‘On that?’ he sneered. ‘The thing will collapse.’ Leighton turned to one of the guards. ‘You there, bring me a proper chair.’
Del Garza leaned forward. ‘Sit,’ he clipped out. ‘Or be seated.’
The two guards moved a step closer to the blustering seaman, ready to reach out and slam him down. For the first time Leighton actually looked at their faces; he blinked, and slowly sat down, his gaze moving from each of the men in the room to the next. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he asked. His voice tried to carry the bluster, but there was a quaver in it now.
In answer, del Garza rubbed one hand over the stubble on his jaw and gave him the glance that a tired man would give a buzzing fly. Every irritation and annoyance from the day he had set foot in Krondor until this morning rose up and seemed to resolve itself in the person of this pitiful excuse for a sea captain. Del Garza decided at that instant that Leighton needed to pay for them all. ‘Can’t you guess?’ he asked through clenched teeth. ‘Can’t you even begin to guess?’
Leighton gazed at him like a mouse fascinated by a snake. ‘No,’ he said at last. He leaned back, remembered just in time that he was on a stool and frowned. Leaning forward, the Captain went on the attack. ‘I say, is this some form of joke? If so it is in very poor taste and I assure you I shall complain of it to your superior.’
‘Do I look as if I’m joking?’ del Garza asked. ‘Am I smiling? Am I, or my men, laughing? Does this seem to be an atmosphere of mirth and good-fellowship to you?’
Nervous perspiration dewed the Captain’s broad brow, his eyes shifted left and right. ‘No,’ he said and shook his head. ‘I suppose not.’ He straightened. ‘But I still do not know why I am here.’
‘You have been arrested for treason.’
Leighton shot to his feet, ignoring the guards who moved yet another step closer. ‘How dare you, sir? Do you know who I am?’
‘You are the noxious toad who took a bribe to break the blockade,’ del Garza said. ‘During wartime such an act can be nothing less than treason.’