by A. C. Cobble
“That would be splendid,” responded O’ecca, her voice like lavender oil, effusing praise and respect.
Rhys chortled next to Ben, and he dug his elbow into the rogue’s side.
“When can I expect a response from the Veil?” O’ecca asked, the sweetness gone and only steel in its place.
Ben winced.
“She is very busy, but I will be in contact with you by tomorrow. In the meantime, I warn you,” scolded Lady Elin. “Do not meddle in our affairs.”
“I will wait until tomorrow,” snapped O’ecca. “No longer.”
Ben crouched low at the bow of a small craft. Behind him, his friends clustered, lying down so their outlines stayed below the gunwales. A pair of O’ecca’s men rowed, propelling them toward the dark dock that stuck out from a fishmonger’s warehouse.
In the district surrounding Fabrizo’s famous Fish Market, it was quiet in the middle of the night. Three bells before dawn, fishermen would arrive and begin hawking their catches to vendors who would fill their tables by the time the sun rose.
That gave Ben and his friends two bells to disembark and find their way through the empty stalls of the Fish Market to the Stranger’s Market. There, they hoped to meet with an agent of Ooswam who could tell them the news in the city.
“You know,” whispered Rhys as they scrambled out of the craft onto the fishmonger’s wharf, “she would tell you to leave her behind. She’s in no immediate danger from the Veil, and we’re putting ourselves at considerable risk if we try to free her.”
“Would you want us to leave you if you were captured by the Veil?” asked Ben, his voice barely audible above the sound of waves lapping against the pilings below them.
“I didn’t say you should leave me behind,” hissed Rhys. “I said you should leave behind Towaal. She’s just captured. It’s not like the Veil will execute her.” He paused for a moment. “Well, she probably won’t execute her. Not until they return to the Sanctuary, at least. That could be months from now.”
“You are incorrigible,” remarked Ben.
“It’s part of my charm,” claimed the rogue.
“Is it?”
Rhys winked and then scampered ahead to the locked door which would take them off the wharf and away from any eyes trying to spy who was departing the emissary’s vessel.
“I can open that if you need me to,” said Amelie.
A soft click, and Rhys pushed the door inward. He slid a pair of thin metal picks into a pouch and hung it on his belt. “No need.”
“We’re better off not using magic, if we don’t have to,” said Ben. “I doubt the Veil has wards in place covering the entire city, but we don’t want to accidentally stumble into one of her mages and give ourselves away.”
“I don’t think any mages will be in here,” remarked O’ecca, wrinkling her nose as they entered the fishmonger’s building.
It reeked of fish. Fresh fish and old fish. The floor was covered in a slimy residue of scales and guts. Boxes stacked in piles formed narrow alleys, and Ben didn’t need to look to know what was packed inside of them.
“I hope they don’t let this sit here long,” said O’ecca, pinching her nose shut.
“You don’t have to come with us,” mentioned Ben.
“If I’m not there, the agent will not speak to you,” reminded O’ecca. “Besides, I spend most of my days sitting quietly beside the emperor while he listens to lords and merchants complain. Coming to Alcott is like a vacation for me, and so far, this is the best part. You are always up to something interesting. Stalking through a city in the middle of the night, meeting a spy while avoiding the Veil’s guardians, it’s like we’re in a story!”
Ben grunted and led them through the towering boxes of fish. They found a door, and Rhys opened it a crack, pressing his eye against the gap to look outside.
“All clear,” he advised. The rogue led the way across the deserted Fish Market, followed by Prem, O’ecca, Amelie, and Ben.
Ben flexed his hands, struggling to keep them away from his longsword. Stealth was their friend, and any conflict could lead to their capture, not to mention a significant international incident for O’ecca and the emperor. She had offered to bring some of her men, the more swords the better, but Ben declined. More men would only mean more chance of discovery, and against their biggest concern, the Veil, the extra swords would be of no help. No, they were better off without her men, and they’d be better off with Ben not drawing attention by having his hand on his sword.
He straightened and tried to walk normally, letting his arms swing loosely by his side. Then, he thought they were too loose, so he slowed the motion and held his arms still. It forced his walk into a stilted waddle, and he tried to relax, swinging his arms again, before hissing in frustration and crossing them across his chest. Frowning, he struggled to recall how his arms moved when he walked.
“Ben, what are you doing?” hissed Amelie, looking over her shoulder at him.
He waved her forward and tried to act normal.
The only sounds that broke the silence of the city were the constant wash of water in the canals and their footsteps on the cobblestones. They avoided the streets that held the late night taverns, and it wasn’t until they were a bridge away from the Stranger’s Market that the familiar sounds of a populous city began to intrude.
It was still a bell before dawn, but already vendors were setting up stalls, animals were bleating, and they could hear the steady clatter of wheels over stone as carts began to arrive for the day’s commerce.
“Business should be finishing up at my contact’s establishment soon, and we’ll have the place to ourselves for most of the morning,” advised O’ecca.
“Finishing up,” asked Amelie. “What kind of establishment is this? A tavern?”
“Something like that,” confirmed O’ecca.
They stopped atop a steeply arched footbridge that would take them to the outskirts of the Stranger’s Market.
O’ecca pointed. “There. I think it’s the large tent on the west end. It was described as bright red, and I was told we can’t miss it.”
“Oh,” murmured Rhys appreciatively, “I’m going to enjoy this.”
“Oh, no,” groaned Amelie.
“What?” asked Prem, glancing around the group, confused.
“There are only so many professions that allow a foreigner to pass unnoticed through the various classes of society without raising suspicion,” explained O’ecca. “Our contacts are never stopped by the city watch, they fund their own operation, no one asks them questions, and you would be surprised at some of the places they visit regularly. Honestly, I was a bit shocked when I found out how effective the emperor’s intelligence networks are. Truly, men are fools.”
Prem frowned, a look of suspicion growing on her face.
“Let’s go,” said Rhys eagerly. “I want to see this place while it’s still lively. By dawn, the girls will be going to bed.”
Prem set her fists on her hips and glared at the rogue’s back.
Catching the interchange, O’ecca whispered quietly to Amelie and Ben, “See what I mean? Fools.”
“Keep your eyes and your hands to yourself,” Amelie instructed Ben.
“I will. I will,” said Ben. “We’d better hurry, though, or we’ll lose Rhys.”
The rogue was already halfway down the bridge. The rest of the party walked quickly to catch up.
Even after his travels, the Stranger’s Market of Fabrizo was exotic and strange to Ben. Odd assortments of goods, foods he didn’t recognize, and unfamiliar animals were being unpacked and displayed. He didn’t see any of the magical devices he’d found on his first trip through the market, or the scary eyeballs, but he resolved that if they were able, he would come back and spend more time. He recalled a far-seeing device one vendor had been selling that would be very useful if they made it out of Fabrizo.
Though, now he had access to mages. He looked at Amelie out of the corner of his eye and decided he
’d still buy the device and whatever else he saw that might come in handy.
“I hope they have food,” said Amelie, glancing wistfully at a small stove a woman was hovering over, cracking eggs into an iron pan.
“These places always have free food,” said Rhys over his shoulder. “A nice little buffet, usually.”
“Free food?” asked Prem, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, free is relative,” explained Rhys, either ignoring or not picking up on the girl’s displeasure. “They won’t charge you directly for it, but rest assured, they’ll find other ways to get their fingers into your coin purse.”
“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” huffed Prem, stepping right behind the rogue. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get their fingers caught somewhere they shouldn’t be.”
The rogue’s eyes stared straight ahead.
Ben shook his head and tried to remain focused. They hoped O’ecca’s agent would be able to tell them where the Veil was staying and what kind of security she had around the place. They knew Towaal would be held close by. It was possible that the Veil had decided holding her was too much trouble and had hurried an execution. Ben refused to think about that, though, and hoped that they would find her in good health and somewhere they could extract her safely.
They ducked into a wide alley amongst the carts and kiosks of the Stranger’s Market and found themselves standing in front of a tall, crimson tent. A narrow flap marked the entrance, and it was flanked by half a dozen heavily armed men. Even in the pre-dawn gloom, they appeared alert and prepared to bar entry into the tent, or to toss troublemakers out of it.
Rhys strode up confidently. The guards peered curiously over his shoulder at the girls. One spared a glance at Rhys then held up a hand. “You can’t come in here armed.”
“I’m with her,” said Rhys, hooking a thumb toward O’ecca.
The guards turned in unison and slowly took in O’ecca’s naginata, her black hair loosely piled up and held in place by two wooden sticks, her silk dress cut for movement and South Continent fashion, and the growing frown on her face.
“I have no idea who that is,” said one of the guards finally. “She can’t come in armed either.”
Sighing, O’ecca instructed the guard, “Go tell Madam Crimson that she has a visitor.”
“Madam Crimson gets a lot of visitors,” replied another one of the guards. “You’ll need to give us more than that.”
“O’ecca. Tell her O’ecca is here to see her.”
One of the men nodded and ducked inside.
“Quickly,” O’ecca called after him. “We’d like to be done before daylight.”
Ben glanced at the buildings surrounding the Stranger’s Market and thought that might be a vanishing proposition. Already, he could see a growing glow behind some of the eaves and between the openings where street or canal led to the market.
“Madam Crimson,” said Amelie while they waited. “Doesn’t that sound a bit… too easy?”
“It sounds mysterious to me,” offered Rhys.
“It sounds like it’s from the trashiest kind of story to me,” complained Amelie. Pointing at the tent, she said, “Look at that. Did she name herself after her favorite color of fabric? That’s like you naming yourself Master Lager. No one would take your seriously with a name like that, would they? I mean, can you even imagine a client coming up to you and saying, ‘Hello, Master Lager, we’d like you to go assassinate this lord.’ It’s ridiculous!”
Rhys stared back at Amelie, at a loss for words. Shifting uncomfortably, the guards outside of the tent pretended they weren’t hearing what she said.
Turning to them, Amelie continued, “I’m sorry. It’s just silly. Madam Crimson! Do you know anyone else named Crimson? I certainly do not.”
The men coughed and looked everywhere but back at her. Ben placed a hand on her shoulder and pressed a finger against his lips.
Amelie opened her mouth, but was interrupted when the first guard poked his head out of the tent and gestured for them to follow. His fellows all moved out of the way, and no one spoke when the party entered, O’ecca’s naginata leading the way.
There was a short hall made of thick fabric. Then, the tent opened into a large space that took up a third of the area under the canopy. It was scattered with low couches, pillows, and scantily clad women. Many of them were lounging beside men, and were draped over them like another layer of clothing. Ironic, thought Ben, as clothing was something a few of the women seemed to be missing. Other women moved amongst the crowd with heavy pitchers of wine and ale, dodging artfully and pouring liberally any time they saw a half-empty tankard.
“There,” whispered Rhys excitedly. “The buffet is at the back.”
“It is?” asked Ben, tearing his eyes away from the opposite end of the room where a woman danced on a stage. A veil covering her face, a flimsy scarf wrapped around her waist, and not another stitch of clothing was on her body. He glanced at Amelie to make sure he wasn’t caught staring, but her gaze was locked on a writhing couple on a nearby couch. Ben thought they should have long ago retired to a room.
The group passed through the open space quickly and entered the walled-off rear portion of the tent, which was separated into a number of different chambers. The sounds coming from behind closed flaps left little doubt about what was happening out of view.
Finally, the guard led them into a large room that was set up as an office. A simple table, a chair behind it, and two in front. A woman sat staring at them from behind steepled fingers. She was dressed in a thin crimson gown that was just as scandalous as the outfits the women up front were wearing. Ben felt his face flush as he tried to avert his eyes from the woman, while also ignoring the sounds coming from all around them.
“Please, take a seat,” murmured the woman, her voice like rich red wine pouring into a crystal glass.
O’ecca took one of the two open chairs, and the rest of the group looked at each other before Amelie rolled her eyes and took the second one. Ben stood behind her, shifting on his feet, pretending that he couldn’t hear half a dozen couples having vigorous sex just a few paces from him.
The woman, Madam Crimson, he supposed, rapped her knuckles loudly on her desk. Suddenly, the moans and cries of passion increased in volume.
“You may speak freely,” said the woman. “No one will hear you outside of this room.”
“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” said O’ecca.
Madam Crimson smiled. “I know who you are, girl. You’re the one who helped thwart the Red Lord’s plot against the emperor. He put you at his right hand, and he sent you to Alcott as his emissary. King Saala, the Veil… it is getting very busy here in Fabrizo. As emissary, we were expecting you to arrive sooner or later.”
O’ecca nodded. “We came here after Whitehall.”
“I’m told there was a bit of a disruption in Whitehall,” said Madam Crimson. “Can you tell me about it, or was it after you left? That type of information is always valuable in my position. Knowing it first is also helpful in this position. With the right information, and knowing the other positions in the city—”
Ben guffawed, and everyone turned to look at him.
“She keeps saying the word position. I, ah…” He waved his hand at the walls around them. “It’s just… the word position.”
“The spying part of my position,” clarified Madam Crimson, rolling her eyes.
“Yes,” said O’ecca, ignoring Ben’s interruption. “I can give you details of what happened that no one outside of the Veil’s closest confidantes are aware of. There is more to it than is publicly known in Whitehall or amongst the leaders of the Alliance.”
Madam Crimson nodded, showing no surprise that O’ecca would be aware of more than Whitehall’s own highborn.
“But first,” continued O’ecca, “I need to find out where the Veil is staying. I need to know the layout of the location, the number of men and mages she has around her, and everything you can tel
l me about the disposition of her forces and what they are doing in Fabrizo.”
The diminutive spear woman turned and winked at Ben.
“What?” he whispered.
“She said disposition,” remarked Amelie dryly.
“Ah,” said Ben with a grin. “Nicely done.”
A discreet cough drew their attention back to Madam Crimson. “That sounds like you are planning something dangerous. I warn you. Do not trifle with this woman, the Veil. We do not have mages in the Southern Continent, and I’m afraid not everyone knows of their—”
“I’m well aware of what the Veil is capable of,” interjected O’ecca.
Madam Crimson’s red lips pouted prettily. She challenged, “Does the emperor know of what you are intending? A move against the Veil is tantamount to declaring war against the most powerful organization on this continent. It should not be done lightly.”
“Nothing I do is done lightly,” assured O’ecca.
“Will you tell me of your plans, then?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot.”
The madam turned to study Ben and his friends, clearly understanding they were part of whatever plot O’ecca was hatching, but just as clearly having no idea what that plot might be. Ben thought it prudent not to mention that they were trying to rescue a former mage of the Sanctuary from the leader of the Sanctuary. When said like that, it seemed a high-risk, low-reward proposition. But he couldn’t leave Towaal behind, not after everything they’d been through. Not after the loyalty she’d shown him.
“The Veil is staying at one of the merchant’s palaces on the Street of Thorns,” offered the madam after a long pause. “I can get you some details on how many attendants she had when she arrived, but specifics about which ones are mages will be rather difficult. You understand that these women do not announce themselves or wear a uniform? They look just like you and me. My agents could speculate, but that is something we prefer not to do.”
“I understand,” responded O’ecca. She glanced at Amelie and then back at Madam Crimson. “I am sure you and your agents will give us the most detailed information you can, and will alert us where it is incomplete.”
