Huge Ajax's Arc

Chapter 516 of 619

The four forged letters sat wrapped in oilcloth on Ajax's table. Marco had spoken the words, Aldric had written them, Chalam had sealed them. But a sealed letter was worthless in a drawer. Ajax needed each one placed in the right house's hands, in the north, eight days by sea. If any northern man traced a letter back to Black Oak, the whole scheme died. He could not sail up himself. He could not send a sworn brother whose face might be marked. He needed a stranger who would never remember carrying them. "A courier at the port," Ajax said. "Hired, not sworn. He takes the ship north, hands the letters to four house doors, and forgets he ever saw us." Marco leaned on the wall, arms crossed. His gold bracelet caught the fire. "He'll see faces on the way. Ours. The captain's. The dock." "That's the risk," Ajax said. "That's why I want you at the wipe." Chalam set his satchel on the table. He drew out chalk and a numbered vial, laid them in a straight line, and did not touch the third. "I can strip his memory of faces," he said. "Not the errand. He must still know to deliver. I take the who, leave the what." He looked up. "It's fine work. If I cut too deep, he forgets the doors. Too shallow, he keeps your face." "Then cut it right," Ajax said. Marco went to the port at dawn and returned by dusk with a lean man in a patched coat. A hungry man, no debts, no ties, the kind who walked the docks for coin. Marco had read him clean. The courier stood in the hall, uneasy, eyes moving from Ajax to the wizard. "Four letters," Ajax told him. "Four doors in the northern city. You sail up, you knock, you hand each one over. You say nothing. You come back, and you're paid twice over." The man nodded. He wanted the silver. Marco stepped behind him. "Hold him," he said quietly, and pressed two fingers to the man's neck. The courier went still, staring at nothing. Chalam wet the chalk and drew a short line on the man's brow. He tipped the first vial once against it. His lips moved, low and quick. The courier's eyes fluttered. "Faces gone," Chalam said. "He'll wake knowing an errand and a purse. Nothing else." The man blinked. He looked at Ajax and showed no fear, no recognition. Only a hired hand waiting on orders he half remembered taking. Ajax pressed the oilcloth bundle into his hands and named the four house marks pressed in the wax. "Marcus sails on the next tide," Ajax said. "You're on his ship." The courier tucked the letters under his coat and walked out toward the dock, carrying four lies into the north. He would deliver them, then forget them. Ajax watched him go. The four houses would soon be reading their rivals' hands and reaching for their blades.