by A. C. Cobble
No one paid the man any mind, though, and after several moments of negotiation, he slid the bowl onto the table and scooped up a small purse before turning to leave. The bowl vanished into the shadows of the booth. A thief pawning his stolen merchandise. Rhys had been right.
With proof the rogue hadn’t merely made up the nature of the tavern to get an opportunity to drink and look at naked girls, the companions were able to look past the insanity of the place and began to study the room in earnest.
Ben was facing the booths and saw brisk custom there, as individuals would skulk in, meet quickly with the seated, shadowy figures, and then scurry back out once their business was conducted. The comings and goings were lost in the general revelry of the room. If the city watch walked in, their eyes would immediately be drawn to the dancing girls, and the figures in the booths would have time to filter out the back or stop their illicit activities before being noticed. The distraction worked. Ben hadn’t even seen the booths until after they’d ordered their drinks.
“These girls make a fortune,” remarked Amelie.
Raising an eyebrow, Rhys replied, “Are you thinking about—”
Ben stared hard at the man, and the rogue coughed discreetly.
“Ah, yes, they do,” Rhys continued. “A life of crime pays rather well, but easy come, easy go. Thieves, assassins, pirates, and the like are never able to hold onto the coin they’ve accumulated.”
“Why is that?” questioned Prem.
“An assassin can’t exactly settle down and live a normal life,” answered the rogue. “Neighbors, wives, and friends ask questions. You can lie to them, but that means there will always be a certain amount of distance between you and those around you. Don’t get me wrong. It is done. Then, the men who live those secret lives come to a place like this. They are understood. They can have a connection to another person without having to lie. They can spend their coin without awkward questions about where it came from. Even assassins need human connection. It doesn’t come cheaply, though. These girls will go to their grave with a man’s secrets, but they’ll do it decked in silver and jewels.”
“And not much else,” muttered Amelie.
Rhys winked at her.
“Is that why you come to places like this?” asked Prem. “Are you trying to find a connection?”
“No,” claimed Rhys, waving his hand toward Ben and Amelie. “I have friends. I come to places like this for the ale and the naked girls.”
The former guardian snorted and returned to sitting with her arms crossed, watching the rogue.
After a moment, Rhys began shifting uncomfortably under her gaze and finally suggested, “I think we’ve seen enough. Are you ready to get some information?”
“How?” asked Amelie.
“We talk to a broker.”
“A broker?” asked Ben.
Rhys nodded. “Assassins never meet their clients. At least, the professional ones do not. It’s for both the protection of the assassin and the client. Typically, instead of direct contact, a client finds a broker, explains the job and their budget, and that broker will hire the right assassin. Client and assassin never know who each other are.”
Ben frowned.
“It makes sense when you think about it,” explained Rhys. “If I know who my client is, it gives me the opportunity to attempt to blackmail them. If the client knows who I am, they could rat me out to the city watch or a rival instead of paying me.”
“I understand that,” said Ben, “but it seems like an awfully lot of people do know who you are, Rhys. That thief Casper back in Fabrizo, half the mages in the Sanctuary…”
The rogue grinned. “I’m a bit of a special circumstance.”
“Oh, boy, here we go,” muttered Prem, rolling her eyes.
“I’ll spare you the details,” said Rhys, “but it is worth knowing my situation is different from the way things are normally done. The Sanctuary is a client like no other.”
“Okay,” said Ben. “So, how do we find a broker?”
“She’s right there,” said Rhys, pointing at a little old lady who was making her way across the room to one of the booths. In her hand was a dainty tea cup, and she moved with the glacial patience of the very old.
“Her?” wondered Amelie.
“Her,” confirmed Rhys.
They stood and followed the woman, arriving at her booth as she slid into it and set her tea cup down in front of her. She smiled up at them toothlessly and bobbed her wrinkled, white-haired head in greeting. Without speaking, she gathered her tea cup in her hands and blew on it to cool it off.
“Come on, Lucinda,” chided Rhys. “I know that’s filled with cold grog and not hot tea. Who are you trying to fool?”
The woman coughed, spluttering the grog, or tea, and her look went from friendly and maternal to hard and angry. “Who are you, then, and why do you know my name?”
“I know a lot of things,” said Rhys, slipping into the booth next to the woman.
She shifted away from him, and suddenly, Amelie gasped. “She’s a—”
“I know,” Rhys said. “She’s a mage.”
The old woman stopped moving, only her eyes flicking between Rhys and Amelie.
“A runaway mage,” clarified the rogue. “That’s an important distinction, at least to someone trying to hide from the Sanctuary. Right, Lucinda?”
The old woman finally recovered enough to sip her drink, which turned into more of a gulp, and then another. When she sat it down, the tea cup was empty.
“That’s a bold accusation, young man,” she rasped.
“It’s not meant to be an accusation,” replied Rhys. “Merely a fact. I have no issue with mages, runaway or otherwise. I have no fear of them, either.”
The old woman’s shriveled lips pursed together, like she was considering making her own threat, but instead she simply asked, “What do you want?”
Rhys smiled at her.
“Come on, son. You know the mood in the city. The Citadel is days away from being stained red. Every highborn in this place is looking for knives. I have business to conduct. You came to find me. Now we’re talking. Spit it out.”
“Who is sending the assassins at King Saala and General Brinn?” asked Rhys.
The woman’s mouth fell open.
“You said you wanted to get right to business,” reminded Rhys. “That’s the information I want to know.”
The old woman shivered and then responded, “I don’t care how good you think you are. That’s not the kind of job you want. King Saala is an actual blademaster, surrounded by an army, and there thousands of soldiers in the Citadel around Brinn. Only a fool would attempt either job.”
“Several fools have,” reminded Rhys.
“They have,” acknowledged the woman. “They’re dead now. Isn’t that proof enough? Take my advice, and stay away from that business.”
“Who is hiring them?”
The woman shifted before finally admitting, “I don’t know.”
“No one has come to you for help on these jobs?” pressed Rhys.
Glaring at him, the woman snapped, “No professional in Whitehall is stupid enough to get involved in that business. I haven’t been approached, and I’ll save you the trouble. None of my competition has been approached either. If someone did come to us with an offer, we’d say no.”
“Foreign blades,” said Rhys, glancing at Ben and his friends.
“That’s my assumption,” agreed the woman. “None of my boys have been asked, and none of the regulars in the city are missing. They all know it’s a stupid risk and not worth any amount of gold. I told you, I don’t know who the attackers are.”
“What is your best guess?”
The woman stared at Rhys, pondering her choices.
Amelie slipped five thick gold coins across the table, drawing the old woman’s gaze. “Does the Sanctuary know you are here and what business you’re conducting? We’d prefer to be nice, but…”
“South Contin
ent,” said the old woman. She left the gold coins on the table for a long moment before scooping them up. “I cannot be certain. The other option is that someone on the inside is hiring dumb muscle and is sneaking them into the corridors near the targets. Anyone from Whitehall ignorant enough to take the job isn’t going to be skilled enough to get there on their own.”
“Why do you think the South Continent instead of dumb muscle?” wondered Amelie.
“That’s where King Saala is from,” explained the woman. “Old grudges are always the hardest to drop, and the rumor is, he had reason to flee north when he did. Sometimes, people do crazy things out of hate that they’d never do for coin. Also, an emissary from the South Continent is expected to arrive any day now. That timing can’t be coincidence.”
“I’m not buying it,” growled Rhys. “If someone from the South Continent wanted to kill Saala, they could have done it before he was king. This animosity is recent, and why would the South Continent be concerned with General Brinn?”
The old woman shrugged.
“You know something else,” accused Amelie. “Why do you think the assassins are from the South Continent?”
The old woman shook her head, and her hand drifted to her empty tea cup.
“It’s someone who scares you, isn’t it?” pressed Amelie.
The old woman’s eyes fell to the table, and she didn’t answer.
“Lady Avril,” guessed Amelie.
Lucinda flinched, and Amelie sat back, a satisfied smirk on her face.
“I think it’s time to go,” remarked Rhys, nodding over Ben’s shoulder.
Ben turned. Around them, a dozen men had formed a loose ring. In the revelry of the busy room, it wasn’t obvious they were hostile, except they were the only people who had hands on weapons. Ben reached for his sword, but Rhys put a hand on his arm.
“Lucinda,” warned the rogue, “if we were unafraid of you, given your unique talents, why do you think these men would concern us? I suggest you tell them to sit back down. If you care about any of them and want them to continue working for you, I also recommend you don’t let them follow us.”
“I will not answer any more questions,” snarled the old woman.
“You don’t need to,” replied Rhys.
“I’ll find out who you are and where you are staying,” said Lucinda, raising her gaze to meet the rogue’s. “You know as well as I, everyone sleeps. Tonight, tomorrow, a moon from now… Do not make me your enemy.”
“I don’t want to be your enemy,” assured Rhys, standing up. “We’re staying in the Citadel. You can come find us anytime, but if you decide to come blades out, remember I know how to find you, too. If need be, we’ll let our friends in the City know where you are. And if you’re not afraid of them, then I’ll let Avril know you’re sharing her secrets.”
Lucinda made them wait a long moment. Then her eyes snapped to her men. Quickly, they shuffled out of the way, and Ben and his friends had a clear path to exit. When they stepped out of the doorway, Ben let out a sigh of relief and started up the cobblestoned streets of Whitehall toward the Citadel.
“Why did you tell her where we are staying?” asked Amelie. “I don’t think that woman was a powerful mage, and I’m sure you’re better than any of the assassins working for her, but inviting trouble like that is the last thing we needed to do.”
Rhys shrugged. “I told her because it doesn’t matter.”
“That woman professionally dispatches assassins, doesn’t she?” asked Prem. “It seems like making ourselves a target certainly does matter.”
“She did professionally broker assassinations,” replied Rhys with a chuckle. “She’s probably considering doing it right now, but at some point tonight, she’ll come to her senses. She might not be afraid of us, but she’s damn sure afraid of Avril and the Veil. We knew where she was. How long before she thinks those women know where she is, too? The moment that thought hits her brain, she’ll run.”
“We got lucky seeing her in that place,” said Ben.
Rhys coughed.
“You knew she was there the entire time!” accused Ben. “You did just want to look at the girls.”
The rogue shrugged, a grin on his lips.
“How did you know her, but she didn’t know you?” wondered Amelie.
The rogue’s grin grew broader. “Because the Veil has always known where she is. Coatney likes to work with people she can trust, and she trusts mages. If it was something not suitable for me or one of the other assassins in the Sanctuary’s stable, there’s a network of agents Coatney would call upon, including Lucinda. The Veil and her messengers never revealed their identity, of course, but she shared the list of agents with me in case they found out who they were really working for, and I had to go tie up the loose end.”
Amelie grunted, and whistling a soft tune, Rhys led them to the Citadel.
“It will be good to see O’ecca again,” remarked Ben two days later. His booted feet clomped on the bare stone floors.
Amelie floated beside him, her slippers entirely soundless. The others came behind, Towaal trying to ignore Rhys and Prem’s flirty squabbling.
“It will,” agreed Amelie. “She’s done quite well for herself, it seems. Emissary to the emperor! I can’t wait to hear how—”
Amelie stumbled to a stop, staring down a side hallway.
Ben walked a few paces before realizing she wasn’t with him. When he saw she wasn’t moving, he darted back to see what had caught her interest. He looked in time to see a cloaked shape vanish around a corner.
“W-Was that—” stammered Amelie.
“It was,” confirmed Towaal grimly.
Rhys kicked off his boots and shot down the hall, his socked feet falling silently on the stone floor. Ben made to follow, but Towaal placed a hand on his arm.
“Who?” questioned Ben.
“I think that was Lady Avril. If it wasn’t her, it was her long-lost sister,” said Amelie, her voice quaking.
Rhys made it to the turn the former Veil had taken and paused. He glanced back at the party and shrugged. Towaal gestured for him to return.
“She couldn’t have gotten far,” said the rogue quietly when he got back within whispering distance. “Do you want me to poke around and see if I can find which way she went?”
“No,” responded Towaal. “It’s too dangerous to run into her unprepared.”
“How are we going to avoid that?” snapped Rhys. “She’s here in the Citadel! Next time, it may be her spying us and not the other way around. She probably already knows we’re here.”
“If she knows we’re here and hasn’t confronted us yet, she isn’t planning to,” said Towaal, her brow creased in thought. “Lucinda was right. The assassins are from the South Continent, and it’s Lady Avril who is directing them, but why?”
“If we’re not going to follow her,” said Ben, “then let’s go meet O’ecca. We need that boat, and maybe she can tell us more about Avril. The former Veil was the emperor’s advisor, wasn’t she? She was still there when we left O’ecca in Shamiil.”
“You are right. We need to talk to O’ecca.”
O’ecca sprang from the couch she’d been reclining on and dashed across the room, wrapping her arms around Amelie and tugging her tight. She spun and engulfed Ben, Rhys, and Towaal as well. She made to embrace Prem but then paused. “I do not know you, do I?”
“No,” said Prem, a smile on her lips at the small girl’s enthusiasm.
Turning back to Ben and his friends, O’ecca blurted, “Did you do it? Did you catch him before he made it to the Veil? I heard about the battle near the town of Kirksbane, and you are here…”
Grinning, and thinking about how much the tiny girl had changed compared to their first encounter, Ben responded, “It didn’t go exactly as planned, but we did get the staff, and we did stop the demons. We could spend all night telling you about that one. Some demons got away, but our forces are tracking them down as we speak. We’re on the ver
ge of eliminating the threat to Alcott once and for all. We still have concerns about the Alliance and the Coalition, but first, we need to ask you some questions about Lady Avril.”
O’ecca nodded, her smile fading a little. “Lady Avril was in Shamiil, as you know, but she disappeared days after you left. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than you already know. I can’t even speculate on where she is.”
“She’s here,” said Ben.
O’ecca frowned. “Why?”
Ben could only shrug. “We don’t know. I hoped you would be able to offer some insight.”
“I don’t know, Ben,” replied O’ecca. “I can’t tell you why she is here.”
“Why are you here?” wondered Towaal.
“The Alliance and the Coalition,” answered O’ecca. “Both parties are reaching out to the Emperor. After the coup attempt, apparently they felt it was the optimal time to make him an ally. Shamiil has been crowded with their delegates, and it’s been a chore keeping them from each other. Several of them were killed, and that’s why I am here. The Emperor felt it would be safer to conduct negotiations in Alcott and avoid blood spilling on the South Continent. He is secure following the coup, but his heir was slain, and political assassinations in the streets of the capital may send the wrong message to the noble houses.”
Ben turned back to O’ecca and ventured a sensitive question. “Can you tell us if the Emperor is leaning toward the Alliance or the Coalition?”
“Neither,” said O’ecca quickly. “I’m here to assure King Saala that we have no interest in Alcott and no interest in him. He’s free to engage in whatever activity he wants here, and I’m to convey a friendly request that he does not turn his sights south. After I am finished in Whitehall, I will travel to Irrefort and give the same message to Lord Jason. We chose Whitehall first because, well, you’re aware of Saala’s history with the emperor. We thought it best to confirm that the history can be forgotten as long as he does not antagonize us. If it cannot, well, then I would have a different message for Lord Jason. I do not think that will be the case, though. Now that I’ve been here and have seen the hectic activity in Whitehall, I don’t think Saala will have any interest in the South Continent. Even if he did hold a grudge against the emperor, he doesn’t have time to act on it.”
