Chapter 10 - Self-Snitching 101

'Deaths?' Malcolm shook his head like he was hearing a madman talk. 'You sound more like a fortune teller than a strategist, Callahan. It seems like your little drunken parties have finally started to get to your head.'

Callahan smiled. This was the part of the conversation where he could simply yield and take his leave. He didn't need to explain himself. He didn't need to warn the king. He could simply walk out of the room and let his schemes run their course in peace. The aftermath would be left to the king to deal with when the time comes. He could simply sit back and watch it all unfold in real-time.

But where would be the sense of challenge in doing that?

He knew himself well, knew the meticulousness of his own perception of things, and understood his ease of reading into a person like they were nothing more than a worn-out book on a shelf. It often made things — people — too predictable.

And predictability begets monotony.

Even before he had struck the match to burn the brewery, even before he had decided to strike the match, Callahan knew Malcolm would summon him for this particular conversation.

As much as the king wished to shroud himself in mystery — something which often worked for the knuckleheads he surrounded himself with — he was one of the easiest people to figure out. Callahan would give half of that credit to growing up in the vicinity of each other and the other half to the king's vanity that forbade him to see anything past his extensive authority.

So instead of walking away, he smiled. And instead of trying to vindicate himself like he was expected to, he decided to serve his own schemes — that this brother was working so hard to make him spill — on a golden platter.

'Ignorant minds lacking logic and forethought often mistake strategy for sorcery and insight for illusion. What I'm saying is not fortune telling, brother — it's merely the intellect of the mind,' said Callahan as simply as stating a fact.

He saw the king narrow his eyes at him — the words had stung him. The slight twitch of his lips informed Callahan that if the words had been spilt from another mouth, that person would have spoken their last. But the king pretended to remain calm and refused to retort, even if his eyes told a different story. A rare and appreciable show of judgement on the king's behalf, he noted.

So you haven't yet forgotten our agreement from all those years ago, Callahan amused himself with the thought.

'Then explain it to me, with your foresight,' said Malcolm, leaning back in his chair. 'Why would any man be so foolish as to have the audacity to challenge his king?'

'Is it a challenge to your authority if the brewery was established without a permit?'

'Destruction of any establishment within Valon borders, with a permit or without, is treason, brother. No one else knows that better than you.' Malcolm tilted his head to the side, his fingers were entwined, resting just below his chin.

'Certainly,' nodded Callahan. 'Then would you say the same about mass murder? Does it qualify for treason in your books?'

Malcolm frowned, disoriented by the turn of the conversation. 'Harm to the people is harm to the Kingdom. It does.'

Callahan smiled as he walked leisurely towards the chess board spread out by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Slanted rays of the sun, filtering through the window panes, sprayed on the glass pieces arranged on the board like swirling honey in warm water. 'Then, I believe we've already figured out your prisoner.'

'And who would that be?'

'Duke Winslow.'

Malcolm frowned, not pleased with the direction their conversation was headed. Callahan knew the diversion of the subject by his brother was only on the horizon, bubbling to show its face.

'What does the Duke have to do with anything that happened last night?' the king demanded curtly.

'Arthur,' called Callahan as he sat in the chair in front of the chess board and leaned back with an elbow resting on the chair's arm and eyes zeroed in on his brother. 'Please brief the king about the Duke's shenanigans from the recent fortnightly report.'

Arthur bowed and walked up to the king's desk, his hands clutched politely before him and eyes stuck on the floor. Callahan started moving the chess pieces as Arthur began to summarize the report.

'After last month's investigations where it was found that the ales produced by the Duke were highly adulterated, he was advised by Prince Callahan himself to either shut down his business or improve the quality of the produce. As Your Highness would remember, there was a serious contention where the Duke refused to believe his product was faulty. However, after some harmless persuasion by the Prince, the results of the investigations were accepted and Duke Winslow had to develop a new plan of action. The recent reports revealed that the quality was severely improved and hence it was passed. But there has been a significant rise in people, including nobles, becoming sick. We fear it is from the ale and the new plan was merely a cover-up.'

'Our spies have revealed that the duke has set up new breweries in the isolated regions using fake permits and crests. We are yet to find who issued these permits but there are whispers that it's someone from the court.' Arthur bowed.

No surprise on the king's face, Callahan noted. As expected.

'The brewery was producing his ales. Defaulted produce, exploited labour. Let corruption go unchecked for long and it's bound to cause a revolt. I reckon that is what happened last night,' Callahan said. He picked up a pawn and let it dangle between his fingers for a few seconds before dropping it off next to the board. 'Your brew master. A supposedly non-significant sacrifice. But the first drop in a storm.'

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. The pieces on the board caught his attention and he got up from his chair, at last, to join Callahan near the windows. He frowned deeper as he noticed the position of the pieces on the board. The Whites — his usual preferred side — were being moved by Callahan the exact way to the exact positions from the game he had won two days before.

The game he had played against Duke Winslow. How in the hell would he know...?