The Story of Samo: Chapter Three, Part Five
On his way out of the guardhouse, Tarat did get waylaid by Torin, who did hassle him. When he took the commander’s suggestion and told Torin the mutton chops made him look like an idiot, the sputtering conniption that ensued reminded Tarat of Professor Lasci. He smiled triumphantly and left. Expecting to see Kiara outside, he was surprised, and disappointed too. She may have been abrupt and harsh with him, but he still hoped to be able to talk to her sometimes, even if she did hate him. He hoped to change that. Oh well, he thought. Time to get to work. He strode down the street, fully aware that people stared at him. Those who knew him stared because it seemed strange to see the boy they knew in an official guard uniform. Those who did not know him, stared because—well—because he was a cop and could throw them in the dungeon at any time.
He didn’t want people to be afraid of him, not if they were innocent. Many of the citizens were like that, though. Unfortunately, they had reason to be. Mostly, it was officers like Torin, who took advantage of their power and were idiots to boot. See one person whose skin is a little darker, or pale like the mountain-folk, and they think—well, he wouldn’t get into that. There were other assumptions as well. Scientists and inventors, even if they weren’t a member of the Order, were automatically suspect. Most people didn’t even know what the Inventor’s War was about. He knew that he didn’t understand it. He didn’t want to try. All he knew was the Samo wasn’t the kind to take over the world, like people said the Inventors wanted to do.
Tarat stopped in his tracks. He’s back. He went over the words in his mind. Who? What did it have to do with Samo? Was he talking about the Inventor? Or was Creas, the sorcerer, back? The city had fallen to Creas’ schemes during the war. His own grandfather had fought on his side. Of course, after the enchantment was broken, he was one of the people that attacked the city hall to destroy everything to do with the man, including his broken corpse. If either one had returned from the dead, then—Tarat hurried forward. He sprinted through the street in the direction of Professor Lasci’s house. He wouldn’t tell him what he thought—an officer had no need to confess to witnesses. He would, however, give him the message and ask what he thought. When he bumped a shopkeeper, the man turned to curse him, but covered his mouth, hoping Tarat hadn’t noticed.
He had, but he didn’t care—much to the shopkeeper’s benefit. Some officers would have turned from their mission to give the man a “lesson.” When he was in front of Lasci’s house, he banged on the door with his fist. “Professor Lasci! Open up, I have a message for you,” he said. “Professor Lasci! This is the city police! Come to your door!” When no one came, he banged again and shouted up at an open window. He muttered to himself. Doesn’t the man have at least one servant who can answer the door? He knew he did have a butler, or valet, or whatever the man was. Did he have the day off? He banged on the door a third time. This time, the door came open under the force of his fist. He held his fist in the air as it swung loose.
Cautiously, he stepped in and checked the hinges on the door. The wood had splintered slightly, just enough to open the door without being obvious. It did not seem to have broken from his own pounding, although that most likely added to it. He had not even considered the idea that it may have been broken. Of course, who would? The room inside seemed clean and neat, no sign of robbery. He drew his rapier and pistol as he walked in.
“Professor?” he called. “Are you here? This is Officer Tarat su’Aren of the city police. Are you hurt? Can you answer me?” He looked up a carpeted staircase and started up, holding his rapier on guard, just in case he needed to use it. As he walked down the hallway, he heard moaning coming from an open door. Someone was definitely hurt. As he turned to look in, something struck him hard against the back of the shoulders and sent him to the floor. The pistol went off, sending a musket ball into—yes, even through—the floor. He rolled as he landed, dropping the pistol and stabbing up with the rapier from where he lay. He caught his attacker in the liver as the man came down on him with a wooden beam. The man dropped the beam, narrowly missing Tarat’s head by inches, and fell onto the rapier, opening the back of his liver to the air and breaking Tarat’s sword in half.
Tarat scurried back and ran to the window. He shouted, “Police! Police! Send for the police! There’s an injured man and a dead man up here! Send for the police!” When people looking up saw that it was, indeed, an officer shouting, some ran to find other police officers. When it was clear that help was coming, Tarat gripped the window pane and lowered himself to the floor. Pressing his back against the wall, he groaned and lowered his head to recover his balance.
Tales of the Inventor's War 