Homeward bound

Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt, 'The Voyage'

Thomas stared across the harbour he'd called home for some seven years, taking it in one last time. The late summer sun had set the water glittering, like so many gems he'd seen each night at the palace, as gulls and the odd hawk cried in the air. Mother had called him home. His Father was ill; the wasting sickness had laid claim to him. The physicians expect his passing before the year is out. And now he was to return, the Prince come home from his years at a foreign court. To leave all he'd built by his own hands to take up his Father, Grandfather, and Great-Grandfather's seat. To become King of his people.

He found that he was neither happy nor particularly displeased at the news or its timing. Annoyed was perhaps the right word. He'd had no small measure of success in the court of King Nahshon III, forging a kinship with his host and heirs. He was even, near as he could be, counted as one of Nahshon's sons. After Thomas proved himself a reliable, sensible man to his host and his family, the King gifted him command of the harbour, its maintenance, orderly business, and defences should any be so foolish as to attack from the ocean.

He'd had an all but spotless record after he'd secured the workers' loyalty, both through their wages and his willingness to work alongside them as needed. That was until two moons ago. He heard the rumours faster than most of the city; a ship pulling into port that reeked of sex and death, offloading one passenger before it sailed away, the bilge weeping blood into the deep green waters. That night, Prince Machmannah, third in line to the throne, was proven right about his suspicions of brothels hidden in the darker corners of the Bazaar districts, ones his brother Peleg, second in line, had sworn were eradicated. Not that any knew until late the subsequent morning when the body of a merchant was discovered. Tortured. Eviscerated. Innards strewn about the room, and ramblings in a queer language daubed in blood and feces, adorning the walls.

The city held its breath for a moon as Peleg and Machmannah set their men to tear the Bazaar district half to the ground to find whoever had anything to say about the incident. Thomas, for his part, all but locked down the port for that first fortnight, buying time to find the killer or forcing them to flee by foot or hoof. Few people talked, and none had anything beneficial to say about finding the guilty party. As the fortnight ended, King Nahshon ordered the port open, as no other similar murder had occurred, and the merchants, and even other Kingdoms, had begun pressuring for trade to resume unimpeded. Thomas did as commanded, opening the port again. However, he increased patrols as best he could without crippling Peleg and Machmannah's search efforts. Nothing came of it all. Whoever had performed the heinous crime was unseen, and its perpetrator perhaps vanished before anyone had even started looking for them.

And now he was called to leave it behind. To leave it all unsolved and let this vile creature that he allowed in to wander the world, free to kill again? But could he be a proper King if he did? If he ignored it, could he dare to lead others? If he would not see the law upheld now, why would he later?

He stared at the shifting waters below, obligation and conscience pulling him in opposite directions for identical reasons. Duty called along two different roads. But could he align them, he wondered? Every ship that could've carried the killer away, in the scant hours they might've escaped by vessel, had been seized and searched, bow to stern, keel to sail. The killer had to leave on foot or be a ghost or similar malevolent spirit. Perhaps he could return to his people by horse and find this killer along his path if they had travelled north. As the thought settled in his mind, Thomas found himself running to his office, a letter already drafting itself inside before his pen touched ink, let alone paper. As he finished his signature, he checked himself for presentability before he left for the palace.

King Nahshon III proved wholly amenable to Thomas' requests to leave with a small group of trusted men along the Northern Road. He even understood the sudden need to depart the court and his need to search further afield for this criminal who had escaped justice.

"You are an honour to have fostered, Prince Thomas. I, and my sons, look forward to a wonderful relationship between our Kingdoms. Take whomever will go with you, as far as they might, with my blessing."

The King's words filled his ears as he saddled his horse and, with five trusted men at his back, took off after a murderer, then homeward bound.