The Charlatan

11. Dropping a Dime

"I'll hav' two more o' 'em, please, ma'am. I'm jus' fine, ma'am, two more o' 'em, please."

"No, sir. It is well past moonrise, and I must close," Charlie set down a couple of empty glasses, and looked up at the young man swaying on his stool at the bar. She clapped her hands together, "Get yehself home. The morrow shall be just as fine, and the sun will want to greet you." The man grumbled something as he slowly got down from his stool. He waved at Charlie, a shy smile painting his face, as he followed the other stragglers out the door. "Come again!" Charlie called after them warmly as she closed the bar doors. She switched the lights off, and paused. Today was the day.

With Shen having left earlier in the night, Charlie had found herself waiting a larger crowd than usual. Ever since the night she had helped Clara escape, the people of the Citadel had become anxious and snappy. More of them stopped by the bar, and stayed for far longer than would be responsible. The atmosphere around the city was tense. Conversations started and ended through gritted teeth. All the banks suddenly closed. Every gold piece that parted with its holder took a piece of that person's soul with it. It sparkled ever more beautifully, as if it had drained its colour from its holder.

The King had yet to show himself. It had been weeks, and he had made no announcements. The constabulary and guard were similarly tight-lipped, and the city's defenses were raised. Armymen slowly trickled out of the city day after day, and with silence from the King, the new ruler of the Citadel was an uncertain fear. It was unsaid, but they all knew. War.

Charlie checked the locks on the doors and windows, and set to putting away the last of the glasses she had cleaned earlier. She wiped down the tables again for good measure, and, when faced with no further responsibilities, she let out an exasperated breath. Here I go. She grabbed her things and shoved them into her pack, swinging it over her shoulder when she was done. She pocketed the keys to the bar and left through the back door. Her mind replayed snippets of conversation she had heard during the day.

"Did yeh know they've caught the Charlatan? Saw 'em haulin' 'em in this mornin'."

"About time! Say, what did the Charlatan even do? Any word from the King?"

"Does it matter? The Charlatan's got a stamp o' death on 'em. Must've done real bad to have a death penalty. Some sort of treason."

"My word... Do you think... the King...?"

"Hmm, he hasn't shown 'imself in quite some weeks."

"Do you think he...?"

"Murdered? Kidnapped? Now that'd be a real somethin'!"

Posters of the Charlatan, printed in solid black ink outlining Clara's face in the center, had littered the walls and streets of the Citadel since the night she went missing. Stamped in bold Velte above Clara's head was a single word: WANTED. The bar was filled with them. The Living District was filled with them. Even the hydro plant on the far west side of the Citadel had Clara's face pasted all over it. The people had quickly caught on that whatever crime this outlaw committed, it must have been grave.

Charlie took a sharp turn down an alley as she spotted the lights of guards on patrol ahead of her. She wondered herself what Clara had done. She had been a model courier. Dispatch well-nigh sang their praises for her when they did their annual recruiting. Clara was careful. But she is hot-headed, Charlie thought. Her mouth may have done her in. She chuckled. Indeed, Clara's mouth had gotten her into trouble before. But that was before the incident years back.

"Thank you, dear. Don't worry, I'm not here to question you. I'm sure you've had enough of all of that."

Charlie remembered the officer from the constabulary that had waltzed into the bar a few days ago. She had held a posture of triumph. She had clearly had a good day, and that kind of carefree demeanor was rare amongst the crowd of dark-eyed and hollow cityfolk.

"Indeed, ma'am, if you don't mind me speaking truthfully. Clara was a good friend of mine. Both the royal guard and the constabulary have been by many times. It has really impeded my work. We'll be losing serious gold at this rate!"

"Hahaha, that's the Charlie I know. Well, you'll not have to worry much longer. We've tracked her to Dehi. She didn't get too far."

"Ah, I see. I suppose that when she's brought in, she'll stand trial?"

"You are correct. Oh, and a white from your top shelf please, I'm feeling quite fine today. Clara will probably have to be locked up until then. She resisted arrest before."

"That won't be too pleasant, sharing a cell with criminals."

"Well, dearie, she is a criminal herself. Ah, that white really hits the stuff. I'm sure she'd be happy to be among like-minded folk. But alas, we have orders to detain her in solitary. Quite boring in my opinion. None of us can talk to her. In any case, cheers, Charlie. Don't let me keep you from the other customers. It looks like that young lady in the corner may need some coaxing out."

Trust and drunkenness were two things Charlie had taken advantage of in her fishing for information on Clara. Sometimes, the two combined to reveal things most people could never dream of finding in the most restricted archives, like how many guards were tasked to jail duty and where solitary confinement was located.