Sal let his feet lead him. Conscious of his efforts or not, his feet took him to the one person Sal knew he could find.
The Cauldron was easily one of the least desirable districts in Dijvois, a kind with places like the Narrows and the Lowers. Brown water ran through the main thoroughfares, cobblestones washed over with mud, filth, and night soil. Just outside the reach of the Black Bay tide, the Cauldron was not the sort of place one would expect to find a noblewoman.
Her favorite spot to run her little charities was a cul-de-sac of abandoned buildings on the southern end of the district. The buildings had been abandoned and allowed to sink into disrepair long ago. Yet still they stood, defying their former occupants, along with time itself. Since they’d been abandoned before Sal had even been born, he had little sense of what the buildings might have been used for in the past, but at present, they served as a place to house gangs of ragged street urchins.
As Sal approached the abandoned cul-de-sac, he softened his steps, trying his best not to make any more noise than necessary. He heard her before he saw her. A voice like mulled wine, it warmed him like a hot coal in his chest and swooned his head with drunken pleasantness.
A big man stood at the center of the cul-de-sac, a bastard sword slung across his back. A searching look in his eyes, his mustache quivered when he spotted Sal.
Damor Nev was Lilliana’s personal bodyguard, and while the Bauden man-at-arms wasn’t so fond of Sal, they shared a sort of grudging respect due to their mutual interest in Lilliana’s wellbeing.
Damor was surrounded by a pack of urchins, a dangerous scenario for the typical citizen of Dijvois, but no pack of urchins, no matter how hungry and numerous, would dare challenge Damor Nev and his bastard sword.
It wasn’t until Lilliana stood that Sal saw her. Raven-black hair that fell to her shoulders, eyes like depthless pools of lapis lazuli, and lips that tasted like candied ginger. She wore a dress of sapphire blue, a make that could only come from the Far East.
Sal approached slowly, watching Lilliana as she handed out clothing to each and every child in the mob, addressing them one at a time with the patience of a divine being.
“One for my sister too,” said a little girl in stained rags, a red rash on one side of her face. “She’s not feeling well, she’s not, or she’d have come herself. It’s the wet cough, hasn’t been out of bed in two days.”
Lilliana handed the girl another bundle.
“Which building is she in?”
The little girl scuffed a shoe on the cobblestones, biting her lip.
“I want to send a mender by to make certain she will be all right,” said Lilliana reassuringly.
“That one there,” said the little girl.
Lilliana nodded, and the little girl moved off as another urchin stepped up to receive his bundle.
Sal watched her speak with another five, handing them bundles of winter clothing and words of reassurance. He approached tentatively, not wanting to startle any of the urchins and insight panic.
Lilliana turned slowly, as though sensing his presence before seeing him.
“Salvatori,” she said in surprise, “what are you doing here?”
“I—can we talk?”
Lilliana arched an eyebrow.
A little boy with soot-blackened hands tugged at the hem of Lilliana’s dress.
“Oh,” she said, handing the boy the bundle in her arms. “Look now isn’t—”
“Please, Lilliana, hear me out.”
Lilliana picked up another bundle and handed it to a skinny girl. “Damor, take over for me. I’ll only be a moment.”
“My Lady,” said the bodyguard, lowering his head deferentially.
Lilliana followed Sal out from the cul-de-sac and into an alley that was quickly deserted by a pair of urchins.
“What is it, Salvatori, what do you need?”
Sal wasn’t certain how to answer the question, as he didn’t know what he needed. Help, that was clear, but what sort of help? What kind of help could Lilliana offer? Even her father wouldn’t have the political sway necessary to assuage the monks of Knöldrus Abbey. Not even the duke could go against them, unless he dared the wrath of the entire Holy Vesipian Order and the might of Aduah.
“I need you, Lilliana.”
She scoffed. “Yes, well, be a gentleman and speak to my father about my price like the rest of them.”
“I don’t want to buy you.”
“No, you only want to try me out when it suits you?”
“That’s not the way of it.”
“Isn’t it? Tell me then, where have you been? I’ve not seen you for months, and now you turn up wanting—well, just what is it you what?”
“You, Lilliana, I want only you.”
“Only me? That’s not possible. You cannot have only me, because that is not all that I am. Much comes with my name and my blood, and with that, a certain responsibility.”
“We could be, you and I, we could be together.”
“How?” she said flatly, disbelieving.
“We could leave,” Sal said, giving serious consideration to leaving the city at that moment. “There are other places in Nelgand where we could be happy. Better, cleaner places, where a man eats what he earns and isn’t cheated out of house and home by the duke’s taxes.”
Lilliana fixed him with narrowed eyes. “You’d have me run away with you?”
“I would.”
“And why should I run? For that matter, why should you run? What are you running from, Salvatori?”
If he told her, would she agree to go? It was unlikely but not entirely out of the question. She’d given him chances before, hadn’t she? That is, until the day he’d given up. But that had changed, he had changed. Or so he hoped.
“We’d not be running away but running toward something better.”
“The nuance doesn’t matter. Run toward or away, but I’ll not run with you. It’s not in my nature.”
The words hit him like the blow of an axe, definite and fatal. The finality of them cleaved through his argument and struck him directly between the eyes. At that moment, Sal wanted nothing more than a cap.
He went quiet, and though he knew she expected him to speak, nothing came to mind. After all, what else could he say that he’d not already said a hundred times before? Then, it came to mind, the one thing he could say to salvage the situation.
“I love you, Lilliana.” Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted what he’d done. Like throwing a stone into the bay and expecting it to cause a wave that might wash away the shore. The words were but another drop in a sea of broken promises.
She didn’t scoff, nor did she grow upset. Instead, she seemed to frost over, to go cold inside, so much that Sal imagined her eyes had changed from the warm lapis to a pale ice blue.
“How can you say that?” Lilliana asked, “After what you did. You made your choice.” At that, Lilliana stepped past him and out of the alley. Sal watched in a sort of stunned silence as she went back to the cul-de-sac and resumed her work.
Sal turned and slowly walked away, resigned that there was a very good chance he’d lost Lilliana for good and all, and despite all of the foolish things he’d done in his life, losing Lilliana may have been his crown achievement.
Still, he didn’t know how much longer he could go without a cap. He’d kicked the stuff, gone a full two days without it. Yet, the climb out from the pit meant little and less if Lilliana would not wait for him atop the precipice. The thought of never being with her made Sal want to let go and sink back into the bottom as far as he could, down to a place where there was no longer thought or feeling. He wanted to melt away, wanted to burn all that came before, until his future was naught but black and ash.
And yet, somehow, he knew he wouldn’t allow it. He had come too far to turn back. He would fight. He would fight for Lilliana and his right to her favor. Only, he would wait until after he’d had a cap.
Sal started as a hand clapped him on
the shoulder. A large hand with a strong, firm grip.
“You’d do best to stay clear of her,” said Damor Nev. “A woman like that is not meant for the likes of you.”
Sal turned. “You’ve left her alone with that horde?”
“Lilliana’s a tough one. She could hold her own against a few urchins until I get there and start cleaving the little buggers in two.”
Sal couldn’t help but shift his gaze to the bastard sword slung on the big Bauden’s back.
“Fond of slaying children, are you, Nev?”
“Fond?” said the bodyguard, quivering his mustache. “Not in the least. Yet, if the dog bites the hand that feeds it, I must be the boot that kicks the dog.”
“These are children, not dogs.”
Damor shrugged. “And you are a man. An undersized runt of a man, but a man, and still, I would not hesitate to take your life should it prove necessary.”
“Are you anticipating such an event in the near future?”
“Only the gods know what will come to pass, but so far as I can predict, you would do best to keep clear of Lilliana Bastian. Ignore my advice, and wait for her father to learn of you, what you are, and your relations with his daughter—I’d suspect you had a short time to live.”
Sal feigned a smile, winked, and left Damor Nev in his slow wake.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Damor Nev was right. Sal had no business with a woman like Lilliana Bastian. Even if he was not the lying, thieving skeever that he was, his illegitimate birth alone disqualified Sal from the running for Lilliana’s hand. He was a nobody from nowhere, and he’d better get that through his thick bastard skull before thinking with his manhood got him killed.
Besides, there were other things to worry about, his locket the most prevalent. As he’d left it behind at Knöldrus Abbey, it was going to be difficult to get it back. Supposing Jacques had not told anyone of the locket, there was a chance it remained in the infirmary. Sal could simply climb the abbey walls and break into the infirmary, but then what? Would he search every corner of the building, rifle through every drawer, nook, and cranny with no inclination as to where it might be or might have moved? Would they not expect him to return for the locket? Even if they had thought him as good as gone, would he be mad enough to return?
It was a fool’s errand, and Sal knew it. And yet, he knew deep down, he would have to go back for the thing, somehow.
It didn’t take him long to find his way to his destination at the north end of the Shoe, a single-story hovel built of old stone, crumbling mortar, and loosely laid thatch. Sal knocked on the door with all the confidence and energy he could muster, hoping beyond hope he would get an answer in return. By the Lady’s fortune, Sal heard shuffling and the lifting of a beam. The poorly fitting door grated on its hinges.
Vinny’s frame filled the doorway, blocking Sal bodily from the threshold.
“Salvatori?” Vinny said with the hint of a smile, “Can it be?”
“Who else?” Sal asked, unable to look Vinny in the eyes.
“I thought you might never come around again. Not after what you did.”
“Right. Well, I am sorry for that. I feel awful about it, and I swear I mean to get you every krom—”
Vinny held up a hand for silence, then clapped Sal friendlily on the shoulder. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, mate. Come in.” The one-room hovel smelled of stale rushes and wood smoke from the hearth. “Have you eaten?”
Sal nodded, yet midday was nearly upon them. “Might be I could do with a bit more fodder. What did you have in mind?”
“The Hog Snout sounds fine right about now. I’m in need of an ale.”
Sal’s face must have given away what he was feeling at the sound of the Hog Snout. It was a fine enough place. Yet, there were memories Sal had of the Hog Snout that he never cared to think about.
“It’s been half a year,” Vinny said. “One of these days you’ll have to accept that he’s gone.”
“I’ve accepted it, but I won’t go back to the Hog, not yet.”
“The Anchor it is,” Vinny said, dropping the argument.
Sal shrugged. He supposed the Rusted Anchor was as good a place as any to spend an evening. If he wasn’t going to get skeev, ale might have to do.
Without even the chance to sit, Sal found himself back on the cobblestone streets of Dijvois once more, but for the first time in a while, he found himself walking in the company of a true friend.
“You’ve been getting work?” Vinny asked.
“Little enough,” Sal said, unwilling to tell the whole of the truth. “Yourself?”
“Valla has kept my pockets lined. The woman seems to set up a big job every month or so.”
“That kind of work is going to attract the wrong kind of attention from the Commission. How’s she avoiding the leg-breakers?”
“She’s not, of course,” Vinny said, smiling uncertainly.
“What do you mean?”
“You really don’t know?”
Sal shook his head.
“Gods, you have been away from things. Valla got herself made.”
“Truly?” Sal asked. “You’re not japing? Valla is a made man?”
“Why should I jape? She’s running with the Moretti family. A regular old earner she is.”
“And you,” Sal said, searching Vinny for any new tattoos, “have you gone and gotten yourself made while I was gone?”
Vinny chuckled. “No need. With Valla giving me steady work, I can hire out without paying Commission dues of my own. They cut Valla seven of ten after every job. It’s not right, but who’s going to speak up? Good as Sacrull’s kiss, that would be.”
“Best to keep silent, unless you want a red smile,” Sal agreed.
“Best to avoid it altogether if you can, but listen, if you need work, I’m certain Valla would be willing to cut you in. She’s already made the offer once, and we’ve been in need of a good second-story man. This new snatcher Odie brought in has a light touch like a troll, last week, she nearly set the whole City Watch on us.”
Sal laughed. It felt good to laugh. “Sounds like you’ve a crush,” he mocked.
Vinny scowled. “You want the work, you’d best knock that right off.”
“Well, it might be I could use some work. So long as this snatcher of yours doesn’t get us all thrown in crow-cages.”
Vinny shook his head, smiling. “If she does, I swear I’ll hunt that girl to the bottom of Sacrull’s hell.”
3
Bartholomew
INTERLUDE, SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
Sal never much liked the Lowers. The place terrified him, Lowers Point most of all. The cobbles were slick with mud. The streets were narrow and winding, cast into shadow by the towering stack-houses. Wind continually blew through Lowers Point with the sound of a howling madman that sent a chill through the soul as much as the flesh.
Sal took cover behind a rubbish pile. One was never far from a rubbish pile in the Lowers, especially this close to Lowers Point. However, the particular pile Sal had chosen smelled of rotten fish, enough that he gagged.
Sal stood halfway up, intent on moving, when he spotted something in his periphery. He dropped back down as a pair of thugs walked past his hiding place and entered the White Eyes den across the street.
The White Eyes were one of the many factions of the Dijvois criminal element. They weren’t a Commission-sanctioned family, but they were among the larger of the street gangs.
Sal held his position behind the rubbish pile, the stench of rotten fish strong enough to linger on his tongue. He watched the door of the White Eyes den with the patience of a hunter.Watching was a skill he had worked on as of late. He’d heard the big jobs paid well for good scouting, and Sal was confident he could master the skill with time. It would be a good way to get off the street level work. A good way to move from picking pockets to scouting for a real crew, supposing Anton didn’t kill him first.
When the door to the White E
yes den next opened, Anton stepped out into the street. The tall, slender Pairgu pulled up the hood of his cloak to fend off the chill of the sea air.
Anton passed by Sal’s hiding place, no more aware of him than the previous pair of thugs. Slowly, Sal crept from behind the rubbish pile, his feet fleetingly silent as he closed in on his victim.
“You’ve really got to learn to move quieter,” said Anton as he continued on down the street.
“Damnit,” Sal cursed. “When did you make me?”
“When I stepped outside and saw your head duck behind that shit pile,” Anton said, turning on Sal without his usual smile. “You bring my money?”
“I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that.”
“What’s to talk about?”
Sal looked to the cobbles. “I would appeal to your better nature.”
Anton’s eyes narrowed, but a sound at the door of the White Eyes den stole his attention as his head snapped in the direction of the noise. Anton nodded for the nearest alley. “Let’s discuss this as we walk.”
Sal didn’t have to be told twice. He moved up beside Anton, and they headed north, out of the Lowers and away from Lowers Point.
“All right, kid, which thumb am I going to take?”
Sal sighed. “I suppose I’d have to say the left one, as I need the right for wiping my ass. Ever tried wiping without thumbs? Wicked difficult I tell you.”
“Everything is a jape with you.”
“Life is a jape, mate,” Sal said. “I mean, what’s the point of it all, truly?”
“There are no japes where my coin is concerned,” Anton said, his sharp, angular features deadly serious.
“Oh, but is not coin the biggest jape of all? Think about it. We spend our lives scrimping for krom to buy our next scrap, all just so we can keep on living to scrimp for the next scrap. Tell me, is that not a joke?”
“I fail to see the humor,” said Anton. “You owe me nine krom, kid. If you don’t have it now, you’re going to rack another two krom a day until I have the principal in full.”
A Fool of Sorts Page 3
