Rogues Gallery Read Online Free PDF

get serious about things, Zandor would oblige them.

 
     
    Chapter Two
    “I think that edifice will do well,” Becket said and turned the page. “I like the colors.” He stood in his foyer with a few workers, going over several potential designs for the backdrop on his foyer’s walls. He was looking for something artistic but simple enough to go with his bucolic theme.
    “Yes. I want that background here below the right side staircase. Can you recreate it well enough?”
    The artist opened his arms. “Of course, Master Becket! We do splendid job, sir. Very splendid.” He was short and thin, with wisp thin hair that belied his vigorous body language. His name was Monthua and came recommended by some of Becket’s friends. The man was older, perhaps sixty, but didn’t act that way.
    Monthua clapped his hands, and his assistants snatched up the large codex of pictures and scurried away.
    “Will have done for you very soon! Ah-ha!”
    Becket smiled and waved. “Much appreciated. Let’s start this week, shall we? Perhaps tomorrow, I’m a bit busy now.”
    “Yes, yes! Very good, sir.” Monthua nodded and left.
    It was early morning, and with all the excitement of his redecoration, Becket was needed at the Western Docks, as always. There were so many things with The Guild that required his attention. It was intimidating.
    Outside, he breathed in a deep breath of the cooler, more autumnal air that was breaking in as the seasons turned. He felt invigorated. His neighborhood was part of the wealthy quarter where the city’s upper echelon lived, merchants and politicians alike. His abode was not in the most elaborate section of the gated community, but he still enjoyed a somewhat premier status.
    It was important to keep up appearances as they said. The fountain that adorned the cobblestoned walkway leading to his marbled steps needed a fresh coat of paint. The white was cracked in places.
    Walking through the gate and nodding to the security guards there garnered little attention. The men dressed a lot like the dock security with dark leather breeches and loose fitting shirts with simple short swords and gauntlets and skin guards for armor.
    “Mornin’ Master Becket,” one of them said, sounding bored. “There’s a missive for you.”
    “Oh?” Becket stopped by the little guard shack and took a rolled parchment. It was from Warden Harris, pleading for him to come to the asylum at once. Becket raised an eyebrow.
    “My thanks,” he said and kept walking. His path took him past Tranquility’s Palace, the city’s cathedral, and the Dock Master was always glad of it. It was a beautiful building, with tall spires, four cornered peaks, and stained glass windows that went higher than most structures in Sea Haven. He had been inside once or twice, but the sermons were not for him.
    He turned left towards the waterfront where his Western Dock offices were located, but something in the note from the warden made him slow. Something glimmered in the back of his mind, a warning that the message mattered.
    Or perhaps he didn’t feel like dealing with the workload that faced him at the docks. Whatever the reason, Becket turned the opposite direction and headed to where Sea Haven housed their insane. It was a non-descript building, almost like one of the warehouses on dockside, with simple gray siding and extra thick boards nailed over the windows, with only the barest crack available to look in or out.
    The front door was a thick, cast iron affair with bolted reinforcement that could keep out a battering ram. Or was it meant to keep people in? Becket was certain it was the latter. Standing in front of the door, the urge to leave struck hard, but curiosity got the better of him, and after several knocks and shouts, they let him in.
    As the white shirted attendant escorted him down a darkened corridor to Warden Harris’ office, Becket remembered his last visit. Years ago, he’d been a material witness to a crime and had