by William King
He sounded more serious than usual, and Rik could tell from his expression that he had something more on his mind than merely cheating at cards. Perhaps he suspected that some of these men suspected him of it, and wanted back up to clear the house with his winnings. It would not have been the first time Rik had performed such a service.
“Yes?”
“There’s some stuff came up in conversation that I think you should know.” He nodded in the direction of his playing partners. They were hard-faced, hard-eyed men. If he knew Weasel they were probably something in the local gangs, not leaders but well up within the hierarchy. Probably all of them were involved in one or the other of the Quartermaster’s little schemes.
“Wait a bit till the Barbarian gets up, that way I won’t have to repeat myself,” Weasel said, his gaze shifting between Rik and Rena.
“You know what he’s like in a place like this. We might not see him again for days. We were just going to have breakfast. I am hungry.” The hangover put a whine in Rik’s voice.
“Fortunately, I had the foresight to send someone with a wakeup call.”
“He’ll never leave his bed for anything less than the building burning down, and not even then if he likes the girls.”
“We’ll see.”
A bull-like bellow from above let Rik know that the Barbarian’s wakeup call had arrived. Shortly thereafter he appeared, wearing only his britches and carrying his huge knife. He hopped down the stairs obviously having got a splinter in his foot. They creaked ominously beneath his weight. The pain was not making him any happier.
“Where is this bastard that says he can take any Northman here?” he roared. He was so angry his walrus moustaches bristled.
Rik looked at Weasel who shrugged as if to say it was the only way.
“He ran away when I told him you were coming downstairs,” said Weasel. The Barbarian looked a little mollified but glared around sullenly to see if anyone would take up the challenge. The local hard-men found other things to look at. Hard they might be, but crazy they were not. There was no profit for them in getting into a brawl with the likes of the Barbarian.
“Anyway, now you are up how about joining me and Rik for some breakfast?” Rena tugged at his arm as if to say this was not what she had in mind. Rik looked at her and said, “Wait a moment. This could be important.”
The Barbarian looked at them both and said; “You would not be having me on about anything, would you?”
“Would I do that?” said Weasel. “There is something I want to talk about though, and it is important.”
“It’s not about the books, is it?” said the Barbarian glancing at them both significantly and winking. Rik shuddered. Weasel put his hand on the Barbarian’s shoulder and said to Rena; “I promised him a book with dirty pictures in it. He can’t read but he likes to look.”
The Barbarian looked at him as if he had gone mad, then slowly realisation dawned. It was written all over his face.
Weasel gave Rena a long hard look then handed her a coin. “Go and get us all something to drink, girl. All of this playing has given me a thirst. Get yourself something as well.”
Rena could take a hint. Her fist closed around the coin like a trap and she vanished through a side door. Weasel drew them all down to a nearby table. They all slumped into the chairs.
“What is it?” Rik asked.
“Vosh was right. There are Agante tribesmen in town. A fair number too.”
“So what? They come here to trade all the time,” said the Barbarian. “All the hill-men do. Even I know that!”
“Eagle Eye Ari over there says they are looking for somebody, somebody who answers to the description of our friend Vosh.”
“That’s his problem,” said the Barbarian.
“Vosh was not the only one they were asking about,” said Weasel. “They were asking about soldiers as well, just come back from the hills. Paying good mountain silver for the information too.”
“How does Eagle Eye know?” asked Rik.
“Because it’s his business to know,” said Weasel and tapped one long finger on the side of his nose. “It’s his trade. The others back him up too, and believe me, they are the sort of men who know these things.”
“You mean he’s one of those who took the silver?” Rik said.
“Ari’s a friend; he would never do that to me. He knows better.”
From his experience in Sorrow Rik doubted that. There were few things men would not do for money if the chance arose. Women too, for that matter. The image of Sabena, blonde and so innocent looking danced through his mind.
“Wait a minute,” said the Barbarian. “You mean those hill-men might be looking for us?”
“I knew you would get there eventually,” Weasel said.
“But why?”
“Revenge for their dead kinfolk. Maybe. Just a thought.”
Revenge was something the Barbarian understood very well. It was the sort thing that happened all the time in his cold homeland. His answer did not surprise Rik.
“Bring them on,” he said.
Rik shook his head. It was bad enough being shot at when he was on duty. Now it looked like he might have some murderous hill-men after him even when he was not. “Maybe we should tell the Watch.”
“And what will they do? If the Agante give them a little silver they will probably help find us.” There was something about Weasel’s pleased expression that told Rik he was saving the worst till last.
“Why do I have a feeling you are not telling us everything?”
“Also I think I have a real lead on a buyer for our little book collection…”
Rik felt his heart sink. That he desperately wanted to hold onto them for as long as possible was not something he was going to tell Weasel.
“A buyer? Who?”
“There’s an old rich guy, a factor for the Selari, name of Bertragh, has a mansion in the merchant’s quarter.”
“I hope you did not mention anything about our books to anybody,” said Rik.
“Give old Weasel some credit. His name came up in conversation as we were playing.”
“That was convenient.”
“Seems Ari’s boys have sold him stuff in the past. He’ll buy any sorts of old books, no questions asked. Has a particular interest in mystical ones. Seems just lately he’s been looking to buy some more.”
“Sounds like he’s a prime candidate for a visit by the Inquisition,” said Rik. He was thinking this sounded like classic behaviour of one of the Dark Brotherhoods, those legendary conspiracies so-beloved of chap-book writers. Rik knew that they were more than legendary though. He had seen some strange things during his time in Shadzar.
“Not if he’s buying on behalf of his patron.” Rik saw where this was leading and did not like it one little bit, although there was not much he could do about it at the moment. It was a factor’s business to do what his master’s wanted, and if some Selari Terrarch collected old tomes, it would be his business to furnish the library. He did sound like a good candidate for a sale, unfortunately.
“Ours are not exactly the sort of book that the Exalted approve of.”
“So much the better. Apparently this guy’s patron has a particular interest in such things. Pays good coin for them. Ari claims some of his lads got extra leverage just by hinting their wares were in the Scarlet Index.”
“Ari’s boys robbing libraries, are they?”
“Some of them do high wire work just like you and Leon, Halfbreed. Sometimes when they lift from a house they find books in the treasure chests along with the gold. You know as well as I do they are always worth something.”
Rik did indeed. He thought back to some of the things he had found in strongboxes. Account books with complete lists of debtors, letters that incriminated certain wealthy, respectable and very married citizens, a collection of vintage pornography. It had all been worth something. When very young and naive he had even come across a book in one of the Dead Tongues that he kne
w now was a grimoire. Foolishly he had given it to the Old Witch. He supposed there just might be something to this tale.
“Assuming this Bertragh is interested, how do we contact him without giving the game away?”
“You’re getting slow in your old age, Halfbreed. I thought it would be obvious.” It was when he thought about it.
“We tell him Ari sent us…”
“Sometimes you are even quicker than the Barbarian is.”
Rik smiled. He needed to be seen to go along with just now. He needed time to work out a way to push an iron bar through the spokes of this deal. Another thought struck him like a blow.
“I reckon we should ask brother Vosh some more questions, some very hard questions.”
“Way ahead of you,” said Weasel. “I already sent Leon to fetch him. The lad’s an early riser.”
“What about finding these tribesmen ourselves,” said the Barbarian. “Get them before they get us.”
Weasel sucked his teeth and shook his head slightly. “It might take a little time.”
“Well, when you do find the bastards let me know,” said the Barbarian. “I’ll make sure they never trouble anybody ever again.”
Weasel nodded. It looked like they were finished here for the moment. He drummed his finger on his thigh, waiting for Rena to come back so they could go eat. Just then Leon came in. His face was pale and he looked more than a little sick. Rik guessed it was not because of his hangover either.
“Somebody got Vosh,” he said. “He’s deader than a dragon’s dinner.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sardec woke from strange dreams of far times and other days. He wondered if they were true visions of the Blessed Land and things that had happened there, or mere fantasies. Sometimes, the Dreamwalker let the Farborn see true. He had heard that some of those born on the soil of Gaeia had visions of things only the Everborn could know, and the truth of their dreams had been confirmed by their elders. Such visions were especially common around Solace, and were said to be a good omen.
Sardec tried to remember exactly what he had seen but already it was fading, receding into those caverns where dreams go when they wish to avoid scrutiny. All he could recall was the presence of two Terrarchs so similar looking they could only be brothers. Both had cast very long shadows. There had been a dragon there too, the power of its halo so intense that Sardec could recall it vividly. The great beast had been far more alive, far more wrapped in power than anything born on Gaeia. He shook his head. If there had been a dream-reader close by, he might have gone to her, but there were no true interpreters of visions in a provincial place like this.
He rose and strode into the outer chamber. His bath was already drawn, warm as he liked it, and filled with the scented oils his mother had sent from the capital, and which he preferred because they reminded him of home. On a silver plate on a mirrored chest of drawers were two envelopes, both of expensive paper and bearing the seal of Princess Asea. One was an invitation to visit her at noon.
The second was a beautifully engraved invitation to the Solace Ball, at Asea’s palace. He swiftly penned a response to both and dispatched them into town by courier before settling himself into the warm waters of the tub.
Vosh had not died easily. Blood was everywhere, soaking the bed, forming sticky congealing pools on the floor. Flies lapped it up. A gag had stoppered his screams.
Rik looked at Weasel. The poacher was a little paler than usual but his face was stony. The Barbarian whistled jauntily but something about his eyes told Rik he was no happier than Weasel. Leon did not even pretend nonchalance. He was busy being noisily sick in a chamber pot.
No wonder the boy was so thin, Rik thought. He seemed to have trouble keeping anything down. He guessed it was not the corpse alone that was bothering them. God knows they had all seen plenty of those before. It was the incongruousness of it, finding a body so mutilated in a place where they had been drinking the night before, that had no connection with the scene of any battle.
“What in the Seven Hells happened here?” The landlord Shugh seemed to have forgotten all about his threats of the previous evening. He was perplexed that such a thing could have happened in his inn, and seemed to welcome anyone who might give him a clue. Seemed was the appropriate word. It was possible he had been in league with whoever had done this and did not want anyone to know. It would not do his business any good, if people thought things like this could happen to them in his hourly rate rooms.
Rik looked at him coldly. “What I would like to know is how something like this could happen without anybody noticing?”
Shugh looked at him, read the suspicion in his eyes and replied quickly; “He was bound hand and foot. He had a gag in his mouth. He had paid for the room for the night. No one was going to trouble him till he refused to get up when your friend here came calling this morning.”
“He was alone then?”
“No. He went up with a girl. Marla was her name.”
“She didn’t do this on her own.”
“She left an hour later. Said Vosh was asleep, and did not want to be disturbed.”
“Somebody disturbed him,” said the Barbarian, his voice a little thicker than usual. “Somebody disturbed him quite a lot.”
Weasel started as if he suddenly remembered something, strode forward and undid the rag from around Vosh’s mouth. Something like a small shrivelled sausage fell out.
“They stuffed his dick in his mouth,” said Weasel, with a certain gloomy satisfaction. “Hill-men did this for sure. It’s their favourite punishment for traitors. They did it while he was still alive and bleeding to death.”
Rik nodded. He had heard the stories. It was one thing to hear about them. It was another thing to witness them from this close. Leon got even paler when he heard this. His eyes locked on Weasel’s face.
“You think they want to do this to us.” It was an alarming prospect Rik thought. Weasel shot Leon a warning look. This was not the sort of thing to be discussed in front of Shugh.
Shugh just looked at him. “We’re going to have to get rid of this body,” he said.
“Don’t be cutting it up and putting it in your pies,” said Weasel.
“It might improve the taste,” said the Barbarian. Not surprisingly Shugh did not appreciate the joke. He lumbered off downstairs shouting for his sons. Nobody had suggested calling the Watch. Nobody would.
“Think we might have hit a nerve there,” said Rik.
The Barbarian looked at Vosh’s open mouth. “Don’t think I will be trying the sausage rolls around here.”
“What now?” Leon asked.
“I say we find this Marla,” said Weasel. “And keep our eyes peeled for hill-men.”
“And all I wanted was a good time,” said the Barbarian looking up at the ceiling and chewing the ends of his moustache wistfully.
“That’s all he wanted too,” said Weasel. “Look at him now.”
Who had done this, wondered Rik? And had Vosh told them anything about the books?
As he rode through the outskirts of the Exalted quarter, Sardec could not help but notice the beautiful mansions of the human parasites who had attached themselves to the coat-tails of the Elder race. Here a discreet golden disk hanging over the door announced that a lovely broad-fronted house belonged to a goldsmith just as much as the bars covering the windows did.
On another a sign of a mortar and pestle showed this shop belonged to a particularly prosperous alchemist. The buildings showing the insignia of the local Terrarch Houses announced their inmates to be factors of the Exalted, those human middle men who oversaw the estates of their masters and handled all their business. Such men often became very wealthy themselves, doubtless by pocketing a proportion of the money that rightfully belonged to their masters.
Approaching the centre of the town, Sardec was relieved to see the humans became fewer and better dressed, neatly liveried in garments that bore the emblems of their masters. Many Terrarchs saluted him as h
e passed, and he returned their greetings in the casual off-hand style of the high nobility. Most of the people were in their temple best, and seemed to be coming from the noontime prayers. Here at least people kept to the Mourning Time rituals.
The streets widened. Townhouses gave way to the palaces proper, where the local Terrarch families dwelled when they were not on their estates. Sardec entered Temple Square. The massive structure loomed over him. Its sides were covered in alcoves containing numerous dragon-winged angels; their small horns were nubs of gold.
Since it was Mourning Time black prayer flags bearing the green dragon sigil of lost Al’ Terra fluttered from the corner towers of the temple alongside the red dragon of Talorea. Ropes with more small triangular mourning flags descended from the great central dragonspire jutting from the roof to each of the lesser towers.
Sardec reined his destrier in, and placed his hand first on his forehead then on his heart when he faced the Temple. Some of the Terrarch Priests robed in the traditional green and white fringed with Mourning Time black noted his piety and nodded approvingly. Sardec ignored their attention as was suitable for a high noble, and rode directly towards Princess Asea’s palace.
It was in a particularly favourably aspected location, occupying one whole side of the square facing the temple itself and rivalling it in size. A massive sandstone observatory tower rose from the eastern side of the building. A ritual dome loomed atop the building. This was a fitting mansion for one of the First, one mighty in sorcery. Sardec had heard stories of the labyrinths beneath it where Asea conducted her rituals and her research. Some of those tales were not entirely wholesome. It was a mighty structure in the old style arranged around a central courtyard.
Sardec passed through the archway into the first courtyard. Leaving his destrier in the charge of the grooms, he strode through another archway and into the much larger inner courtyard. He stopped and breathed in the scented air and took in the beautiful surroundings. In the centre of the courtyard was a stand of Dreamflowers brought from Al’ Terra during the Exile. Locked away in that dingy village beside the Redoubt, it had been too long since he had experienced the allures of his own culture. It was nice to be reminded of what he had sworn to defend when he had taken the Queen’s Oath.
