Death's Angels tc-1
Page 22
Ahead of him, he could hear a footman booming the names and titles of the guests as they entered the vast ballroom. He strode on himself, anxious at the prospect of seeing Lady Asea.
Drunken men in papier mache masks and costumes ranging from Dragon Knights to hill-men filled Mama Horne’s. Rik found the latter disturbing simply because they reminded him of Vosh’s death and the fact that he might be next. On a night like tonight any assassin wearing his tribal colours would just blend into the mass. None of the hill-men wore Agante colours but that did not mean much.
When he came through the door with Rena and pressed on into the throng, he was delighted to see half a dozen Foragers were in the saloon and looked more or less alert. Toadface gave him the thumbs up, and even Handsome Jan stopped fondling one of the bar-girls long enough to wink at him.
“Wait for me down here,” he told Rena. “I have some business upstairs.”
“Not another girl?”
“No. It’s business with Weasel and the Barbarian.”
“Don’t take too long about it then.”
“I’ll do my best.” He shoved his way upstairs to the private room they had booked earlier. He felt a little drunk but nothing that some coffee and water would not soon solve. He knocked on the door and heard the Barbarian bellow. “What’s the password?”
“There is no password, you moron. It’s me, Halfbreed.”
“That’s good enough!” The door opened and Rik was hauled inside by one massive hand. Weasel sat at a table with the books piled in front of him and a loaded pistol on top of the pile. The Barbarian breathed beer fumes all over Rik.
“So you finally showed up, did you? Come to get your share of the cash.”
“We haven’t got it yet,” said Rik. He checked to make sure his gear and the package of costumes they had bought earlier were where they should be. He strode across to the windows. They were shuttered and the atmosphere was close, filled with the stink of tobacco, beer, cold meat and unwashed bodies. He threw the shutters open and looked out. The noise of the street rushed in: music, singing, the bang-bang-bang of a string of fireworks being set off, the constant pealing of bells as even the priests celebrated Solace evening, the Promise of the Dragon Angel and the delivering of her chosen people from the Shadow.
Rik surveyed the streets below from the balcony. They were crowded. He looked up. You could drop from the rooftop onto the balcony, he reckoned, if you had a line wrapped around the chimneys up there. He looked at the balconies on either side. A brave man could leap from them onto this one, if he was prepared to risk his life. He glanced across the street. A sniper might be able to take a pot-shot from those windows across there, except that they were all already filled with revellers.
“I wish we had some caltrops to scatter on this balcony,” he said.
“Why?” Weasel asked.
“What are they?” roared the Barbarian.
“Nasty little spikes, set in spheres, stick into your foot if you are not careful,” said Weasel. “You think somebody might try to surprise us from there? Nobody knows we are in this room.”
“Except Mama Horne and half her staff.”
“Too late to change it now.”
“Maybe,” said Rik closing the doors. Briefly he considered moving the furniture to block the balcony entrance but then decided not to bother. If for any reason he needed to make a sudden exit, those nearby balconies were the only way out. He realised exactly how on edge he was now. He was proceeding with all the caution of a thief on the run in Sorrow. It was an instinctive reaction, he thought, and he trusted his instincts in matters like these. He had been right often enough about such things in the past.
“Relax, Rik,” said the Barbarian. “Nothing is going to go wrong.”
“I am glad that you are so confident. I will feel much better when the books are gone and we have our gold. I’ll feel better yet when we are back in camp with it,” said Weasel.
“I’ll second that,” said the Barbarian.
“I see the lads are downstairs,” said Rik.
“It’s good to have them on call if need be,” said Weasel.
“If there’s any trouble, I’ll handle it,” said the Barbarian.
“If there’s any trouble, you’ll probably cause it,” muttered Rik under his breath. He was more or less resigned to going ahead with the sale now. There was no way out of it that he could see unless he wanted to fight with Weasel and the Barbarian and attempt to take the books by force.
That was not something he could do. Aside from the fact it was madness, they were his friends and comrades. Killing them by stealth was not something he could consider for more than a passing moment, even if he could get away with it, which was doubtful. It looked like it was plan number two, he thought with more than a hint of trepidation.
There was a knock on the door.
“You get that,” said Weasel. The Barbarian strode over to one side of it. Weasel took the other. Rik strode to the door, decided that it was thick enough to stop a pistol ball, and said; “Who is it?”
“Somebody with an interest in books,” said a muffled voice. It was familiar. It sounded like Bertragh. Rik unlocked the door and stepped away from it. He had his pistol in his hand now, and a knife in the other.
The door swung open and a small figure stood there. It was wearing a very basic Solace costume and a mask in the face of some pig-faced demon. It had a small travel bag in one hand. Several massive burly figures garbed as ancient knights flanked it. The pig mask cocked to one side, and Bertragh’s voice said; “My, we are ready to do violence, aren’t we?”
“Come inside,” said Rik. “You can bring two of the bruisers with you. The rest can wait outside.”
Bertragh shrugged and entered. Two of his men followed. The rest looked like they were about to, but the factor sent them back with a gesture. Once in the room, he removed his mask and glanced around. “What delightful quarters.”
Rik locked the door. Weasel and the Barbarian placed pistols at the heads of the two bodyguards and took away their weapons. Bertragh studied this unworriedly. He beamed cheerfully and had there not been a bright, almost feverish gleam in his eyes, Rik would have said he was totally relaxed, so relaxed in fact that Rik suspected him of having been smoking witchweed.
“There’s no need for that, really,” said Bertragh. “We are all friends here.”
“Sometimes misunderstandings happen, even between friends,” said Rik. “Sometimes they can be fatal, and we are trying to avoid that.”
“A laudable ambition but quite unnecessary in this case.”
Weasel and the Barbarian gave the bodyguards a thorough search and then backed away. They carried a fair number of small pistols suitable for concealment, as well as larger ones, and two blades. Rik sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. He gestured for Bertragh to take the seat in front.
“Now we can do business,” he said. “You have the gold?”
Bertragh reached inside his jacket. Instantly Weasel and the Barbarian were ready, pistols levelled.
“Carefully,” said Rik. He toyed with the pistol on the table-top. Almost accidentally it pointed at Bertragh. “We want no misunderstandings now.”
“Quite,” said the factor. “I am now going to take off my money belt. Please try not to shoot me while I am doing it.”
Rik found himself almost admiring the little man’s calmness and good humour. Clearly he was no stranger to high stakes negotiation. Bertragh hitched a broad canvas belt above the level of his britches, untied the drawstrings and let it fall onto the table with a heavy thunk. He opened it and a number of gold coins fell out. A large number. Rik picked one up weighed it in his hand. It felt like gold. It looked like gold. He scratched it with his knife. If it was gold plated the plating went deep.
“Those are gold regals,” said Bertragh. “You have my word on it.”
Rik believed him. He had held regals before and this was what they looked and felt like. They would
pass with any merchant in the land. Of course, people would start asking questions if common soldiers started spending them. Rik mentioned this.
“I am sure your friend there,” Bertragh indicated Weasel with a jerk of his thumb, “can get some of his friends downstairs to change them.”
Weasel gave an almost imperceptible nod. Rik was not sure he wanted the coins changed just yet. They were a lot more portable the way they were.
“These are the books?” Bertragh asked. Rik nodded.
“Please, allow me to inspect them.”
“Be my guest.”
Sardec strode into the main ballroom. The footman boomed out his name and title. He stood for a minute to make sure everyone got a good sighting of him and then strode down into the guests.
Asea wore the garb of a Cobalt Mountain Witch. Her robes were long and intricate and intermingled with long chains of plaited gold at the end of which were small tinkling bells. Her mask was a mere domino, held onto her face by either paste or magic. Long gauntlets ending in raking claws covered her hands. It was an effective and striking ensemble. He bowed in response to her curtsey of welcome.
“I am hoping I may inveigle you into dancing me, Lady of the Mountains,” he told Asea.
“I am sure you can, heroic warrior,” she responded. “Come ask my favour when the orchestra starts.”
Sardec felt more than a hint of satisfaction. He would get the first dance. “You do not know how happy you have made me, Lady,” he said, and with another small bow strode off to join his fellow officers in the main hall.
Jazeray watched him with something like a sneer, although Sardec could sense his envy and his pique. It seemed he, too, had set his sights high.
“You look a little distraught,” he said.
“It is nothing,” said Jazeray. “The merest bagatelle, the slightest of setbacks. It shall soon pass.”
As a group they headed into the swirling mass. The orchestra took its seats on the dais at the end of the hall.
The factor picked up the book, scanned it, and put it down after a few minutes of careful observation. He appeared to be checking for missing pages, removed leaves, damage of any sort. He repeated the process with all the books in turn, until after a full hour, he was apparently satisfied. Occasionally, the men outside made enquiries after his well-being, and he reassured them. At the end of the time, his eyes were lit by an even more feverish light than before.
“I am satisfied, gentleman. We have a bargain.”
Rik counted the coins. There were sixty of them in all.
“One question,” said Rik. Bertragh stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“Yes?”
“How did you know exactly how much money to bring?” The factor relaxed visibly, clearly he had been expecting either some objection or something far more difficult.
“The books are part of a set. I knew how many there would be if there was a full set.”
Rik shrugged. “Thank you.”
Bertragh reached forward with one hand. “We have a deal?”
Rik clasped it. It was cool and dry, skin like parchment. Briefly he considered squeezing the fingers very hard and attacking the man but that would have been madness. He let his grip loosen. “We have a deal.”
The merchant began to put the volumes into the leather satchel. They fitted almost exactly. Clearly, Rik thought, the man knew almost exactly what he was getting. It was an impressive display.
“You can go now,” said Rik. “We’ll keep your friends here for a little while and then let them go.”
The two bruisers began to object but quietened when they found loaded pistols pointed at them. Bertragh smiled at them reassuringly. “It’s all right, Leopole. The rest of the lads will take care of me, and I am sure our friends here mean you no harm. If I guess aright, it is their own safety they are concerned with.”
Rik nodded and opened the door. “Well, goodbye then, gentlemen,” said Bertragh. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”
A moment later, he was gone, leaving Rik with a curious feeling of anti-climax. That vanished when he saw the way Leopole and his partner looked at them. There was violence in his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Weasel looked at Rik and the Barbarian and smiled. “That went better than I expected,” he said. Despite Rik’s misgivings they had let the bodyguards have their weapons back and depart ten minutes ago and nothing untoward had happened since. Rik was just starting to relax. Weasel and the Barbarian finished counting their share of the coins.
“There’s a bunch of very hard men out there who know we have a lot of money,” said Rik. “I would not be at all surprised if they came looking for it.”
“Me neither, Halfbreed” said Weasel. His smile was disingenuous. “There’s so much treachery in the world.”
“Sad, isn’t it?” said Rik.
“But we’re rich,” said the Barbarian.
“For the moment,” said Rik, but he could not help smiling too.
“Best get our costumes on and get out of here then.” They donned the costumes and in a few minutes three men in papier mache dragon masks and vast red cloaks left the room.
Rik made sure his special pack was beneath his robe.
The Governor himself led the dancing. Sardec swirled around in the great figure of the quadrille with Asea in his arms. Her scent was as intoxicating as her beauty and he guessed it contained some subtle narcotic. He felt like saying this but he restrained himself. He was wary of using cliches.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I understand that you wish to go into the mountains.”
“I see you have talked with Colonel Xeno.”
“So have you it appears.” She cocked her head to one side as she looked down on him. He felt she was judging him and he did not like that feeling.
“And to think I asked for you especially…” Was that mockery in her voice? He found that he disliked her intensely at that moment. She was too beautiful, too poised, too self-satisfied. The glitter in her eyes told him that she was reading him like a book.
“Why, Lady?”
“For the charm of your company, of course, and because you know where to find this mysterious mine.”
The intricate figure of the dance sent them spiralling into orbit around another couple. The male was Colonel Xeno. The female Sardec did not recognise at once, but she was tall with silvery hair and air of languid beauty behind her fox mask. She was garbed as a moon spirit, he realised.
“That is Midori of the Selari,” said Asea with just a hint of venom in her voice. “A distant cousin. She is our local beauty. A collector of rare books too.”
“I thought that was you.”
“I have no desire to be compared with her in any way.” She spoke softly but not so softly that her words were not audible over the music of the orchestra. Sardec wondered if she wanted Midori to hear her.
“Sheathe your claws,” he said, smiling as pleasantly as he could. “Why do you dislike her?”
“She is thoughtless, vain and cruel. She is the cousin of our dear Governor, and his mistress, and she wields a disproportionate influence because of it. She longs too much for the old days.”
“In short, she belongs to a different faction. Such is the way of things. I saw her yesterday I think. She was mounted on a great wyrm as she crossed the river, and accompanied by a screaming monkey. She seemed perhaps a little thoughtless in her chosen method of transport.”
“She is more than a little thoughtless. Doubtless you encountered her coming in from her estates. She was most likely dunning her factor Bertragh for more money.”
“Why?”
“She spends it as fast as he makes it. And he has a genius for business. Or so they say.” Sardec did not like the direction this conversation was taking. He did not like the thought of any Exalted being so dependent on the greasy commercial skills of a human, and he said so.
“It is a disgrace,” he said.
“But it is to be dependent on them. A master should rule, a servant should serve.”
“I have not said that Midori does not rule Bertragh.” There was a coldness in her tone that affected Sardec. He had said something to offend her and he was not sure what. Before he could ask her the music had stopped.
“When can we expect to leave?” he asked, bowing to her.
“Soon but there are some preparations I must make first.” She curtseyed and rose. Jazeray approached to ask for a dance. “I will make sure you are informed.”
Sardec was glad to get away, despite her beauty and the envious glances of the other males. Some things were just too complicated, he thought. He longed for simpler matters.
Rik strode by Rena without acknowledging her. She was dressed in the cowled and body-hugging robe of a Scarlet Witch, with only a small domino mask to cover her face. She did not recognise him in his present costume, and he was sorry about that, but he did not want to take any chances until he was certain that they were not being watched. Of course, any observers set to watch the corridor and stairs leading from their room would notice them, but it did not matter. He was hoping that they would.
He ducked out through the main door of the building after Weasel and the Barbarian, and headed down into a dimly lighted side alley. They stopped there for the moment, in the shelter of the arch, glanced around to make sure they were not being observed, and then shucked their costumes. Underneath, they had different costumes and another set of masks. The Barbarian was garbed as a mountain troll, Weasel as a river pirate, Rik as a Priest of the Gibellian sect. The Barbarian’s mask was a particularly impressive one, and Rik suspected he took a childish delight in it.