The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [40]
"Uh, no sir," Danovich answered, not comprehending Rickman's sarcasm, "and I only have updates on the three I mentioned. Should I add Elminster, King Azoun, and the Simbul to the list?"
"Just give me the report," Rickman demanded, a touch of weakness and exasperation in his voice. He couldn't help but be reminded of the inferior quality of men under his command since the Year of the Bow, when their fleet was destroyed by forces from Zhentil Keep. Back then men didn't just obey orders, they understood them as well.
"On the status of the escaped prisoner and the travel writer," Danovich reported officially, his mustached upper lip trembling, "there is no change. The escaped prisoner is still presumed dead, and the travel writer has not returned to Mulmaster since his observed exodus early yesterday morn."
"As I expected," Rickman observed, "but what of the itinerant?"
"According to one of our spies upon a Sembian merchant vessel of the name Tanyaherst, the former prisoner Passepout was shanghaied by a press gang, pressed into service, and subsequently thrown overboard when it was determined that he would be more of a hinderance than an asset on their journey eastward."
"Go on," Rickman urged in stern seriousness.
"He was thrown overboard, evidently still groggy from the physical persuasion that was inflicted on his cranium during his recruitment. Given his condition, and the deadly Moonsea tides, he is presumed dead. Officially, unless we want to challenge it upon the ship's return to Mulmaster, he will be listed as missing after an unfortunate shipboard accident."
"Any other interesting tidbits?"
"Well," Danovich answered tentatively, "the itinerant named Passepout was actually an actor by trade."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Rickman demanded.
"Nothing," Danovich replied sheepishly, "just that I, too, was trained in the theater."
Rickman rolled his eyes to try to suppress his rage at the incompetence and feeblemindedness that seemed to abound within the ranks of his men.
"Anything else?" he said, half under his breath.
"No sir," Danovich reported.
"Then back to work!"
"Yes sir," the Hawk replied doing a quick about-face, a smile crossing his lips as he left his superior's office, thankful that he, unlike previous men in his position, had not incurred the captain's wrath.
Rickman stood up and, hands clasped behind his back, strode to the lone window of his office, stopping only briefly to summon his batsman by means of the signal cord.
The batsman, Roche, arrived in a flash, finding his captain contemplating the sky over Mulmaster.
"My instinct tells me that a storm seems to be moving in," Rickman asserted.
"The weather scryer in the Cloaks has predicted as such, sir," Roche said officiously.
"Any word on the condition of the sea?"
"According to the last report from the Lighthouse, high tide is just now coming in. The seas are choppy, and a mariner's advisory has been issued. The Moonsea is quite unforgiving of those who challenge her, even under the best of conditions," Roche responded, confident in the degree of detail expected by his captain. He had been in service to Rickman for close to eight years.
"What odds for survival would you give someone thrown overboard during such seas?" he asked, still staring out the window.
"Slim to none, sir," the batsman retorted.
"Just as I thought," Rickman replied, turning to face Roche. "Nothing is ever certain. You may go, Roche, but please put in a change of orders for the soldier who was just in here."
"Lieutenant Danovich, sir?" the batsman confirmed.
"Yes."
"Where will his new posting be, sir?" Roche inquired, a pad instantly in hand to take notes.
"Use your own judgment, Roche," Rickman answered, once again taking his place at his desk, and starting once again to go through the surveillance reports. "Just make sure it's an assignment far from Mulmaster, with a very small survival quotient."
"Yet another one-way assignment, sir," Roche confirmed.
"You draw up the papers and I'll sign