That doesn’t mean it should happen to you.
Piddle on the diddler, tell the vagrant, ‘shoo!’
No, say I, and no, say you.
Piddle on the diddler, for that’s what we do.”
“Hold a moment,” Valla said, sliding down from the edge of the fountain. She approached the crowd about the singer like a wolf parting a flock of sheep.
“And if a diddler diddles your—”
The singer cut short as Valla put a hand to the man’s throat and whispered something into his ear. When she withdrew her hand, the singer nodded and waddled off quickly, the crowd dispersing in his wake.
“You feeling all right?” Sal asked as Valla returned.
“Fuck yourself,” Valla said, sitting back down on the edge of the fountain. “Hate that bloody song.”
Aurie smiled nervously, and Sal laughed. For someone with such a sharp tongue, Valla had notoriously thin skin.
“So, I seem to recall you told me you had something for me,” Sal said.
“I have a job in the works.”
“A job? Well, that’s not exactly what I was expecting, but I suppose I’ll bite. What sort of job?”
“The sort of job that is in the crucially sensitive planning stages,” Valla said. “Word is, a very valuable shipment should be arriving within the week.”
“And you want me to do some scouting work?” Sal said with a smirk. If there was one thing Sal was good at, it was scouting a job.
“I’ve already got Aurie on that. I just wanted to let you know you’ll be needed soon.”
“And so, you asked me out here today to sit by the fountain and kick my toes in the water while you ladies chat?”
“Not exactly,” Valla said, eyeing him suspiciously. “You want what I’ve got for you or not?”
Sal shrugged. “Already said I’d take the job, didn’t I?
“Not the job, you ass.”
Sal frowned. “What exactly are we talking about then?”
“Tell me, does the High Keep job ring a bell?” Valla asked.
Aurie sat up straighter, her eyes widened slightly.
“Luca’s job?” Sal asked. “What of it?”
“Told you I had something of his that you might want to see, didn’t I?”
Sal felt his breath catch in his throat. “Oh, and what might that be?”
Valla pulled a folded, bloodstained piece of parchment from her jerkin pocket with a flourish and waved it before her face as though it were a fan. It took Sal a moment to realize what it was she held, when it suddenly hit him.
“The letter,” he gasped. It was the letter they had gone to the High Keep to steal, the letter that Anton had nearly died taking. Sal’s hand drifted to his collar where the locket hung. “How? Where did you get it?”
Aurie’s brow wrinkled in confusion.
“Went and took a little look around Luca’s place after that rat fuck was dead. When I saw this, believe it or not, I thought of you. Thought about how you were asking all those questions about it and the time you asked me what I thought was on the letter and who it was from.”
Sal nodded. “Well, what does it say?”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Valla said, wagging a finger. “That sort of information will cost you. What I will tell you, free, is that it is not at all what you think.”
“Not what I think, what do you mean by that?”
Valla smirked. “I suppose you’ll see, now won’t you? Once you’ve paid my price, that is.”
Sal sighed. “You’re really going to use this as bait for your extortion?”
“Of course I will,” Valla said, turning to Aurie. “See, sweetie, when you find any bit of leverage, crank on it until the whole thing comes crumbling down.”
Sal shook his head. “Well, Val, name your price.”
Valla smiled a big, wide smile and told him the price.
12
Bloody Noble Woman
Valla had been right. The letter was not at all what he’d been expecting. From what he had surmised of the botched job on the High Keep, Sal thought the letter would be something that could be used against Prince Andrej, perhaps for blackmail or ransom. He had expected a shady correspondence which somehow implicated the prince in less than savory practices.
Instead, he’d received an old piece of parchment. So old it looked ancient, it was tattered, torn in places, and stained with dried blood—mostly Anton’s blood.
The script on the parchment could quite possibly be a letter. However, Sal had no way of knowing, as he couldn’t read the ancient handwriting, whatever it was. Still, something of the script panged of familiarity, yet he couldn’t seem to catch hold of the fleeting memory which was associated.
However, he did know one man who might know just what it was he was holding, Lady’s sake, he might even be able to read the thing.
Sal didn’t bother knocking before he pushed on the door and stepped inside. The shop smelled of stagnant water, mildew, and an undercurrent of spices.
“You ought to light one of those incense you’re always burning in here,” Sal said, stepping onto the threadbare, Minnian spun rug. “And these cobwebs, Lady’s sake, Nabu, have you never heard of a feather duster?”
Nabu Akkad stirred from where he leaned behind the counter. A curious look in his heavily-lidded eyes. His braided black mustache glistened with oil as he stroked it. “Young Salvatori, how good to see you, my boy.”
“Nabu, how have you been keeping?”
“Like a stuffed sausage left for the curing, yes,” Nabu said. “I had not thought it possible you should keep me curing so long without even a visit to be certain I have not gone to the spoiling.”
“I’m sorry, Nabu. I know how fond you are of my perfectly distributed features, but I fear this handsome face of mine is in high demand throughout the city.”
“Bah, I have a wife for this thing. She may be older and fatter than she was, but it seems to me, she still has you when it comes to what is between the legs.”
Sal scoffed. “There’s no denying it, my pretty face is my finest attribute.”
“It is not your pretty young face but your business that has been the lacking. You have found another fence, have you not?”
“Nabu, why must we go over this every time I stop by? You haven’t lost my business, wasn’t I in here just a few months back?”
“I seem to recall a distant memory of a young man brought with him a handsome cloak, but of the man and this cloak, I have seen nothing for nigh on half a year.”
“Half a year? Has it truly been so long? Still, as you see, you’ve not lost my business.”
“I can hardly call this, visiting once a year, business.”
“Well, in any case, I’ve not sent my business elsewhere. In fact, you wouldn’t happen to still have that cloak about, would you?”
Nabu rested on one elbow and drummed his fingers. Upon each finger, the Shiikali wore rings of gold and silver. The rings clicked upon the wooden countertop with a tap-tap, tap-tap, while the gems sparkled in the candlelight. “The sable trim, made of the finest black wool,” Nabu said shaking his head. “A fine piece of the cloth. I am afraid, if this is why you have come, you will be most disappointed. It was very easy for the selling.”
“Well, no matter,” Sal said, trying to hide his disappointment. “I didn’t come for the cloak, anyhow. I had only hoped—in any case, I came to ask about something else.” Sal reached into the pocket of his jerkin and withdrew the folded, bloody piece of parchment.
“Where did you get this?” Nabu asked after he’d had a moment to inspect what Sal had given him.
“Luca Vrana. Seems this bit of parchment was half the reason for the High Keep job we did all those months back. You have any idea what it is?”
Nabu frowned. “You do not recognize the hand of the First Empire? The greatest kingdom of men ever to scour this world.”
“The First Empire. Can it truly be so old as that?”
“That’s what I
am telling you,” said Nabu in irritation. “This writing comes only from that time.”
“What does it say?”
“This is only a fragment, a page of a more greater work. This thing you have brought me is the work of Kellenvadra.”
“Hold on, I know that name. You’ve spoken of her before. Kellenvadra, she was some great magicker. The one who made the—”
“She was much and more. The Fifth of the Prophets, the Arbiter to the gods, the last of the Pure.”
“What was she, some kind of ascendant or something?”
“There are those who have made such claims.”
“This fragment of parchment, you’re saying it could have been hers?”
Nabu nodded. “I am thinking this thing, yes.”
Sal laughed, disbelieving. “I still don’t understand how you could know that. Did she write her name on it or something?” He had meant it as a jape, but it seemed Nabu was in no mood for joking.
Jaw clenched, the Shiikali’s gaze sharpened to a glare. “You name me liar?”
“I would do no such thing. I was just trying to break the tension of the situation. It’s only, well, how could you possibly know who the parchment belonged to?”
“I have not spoken of whom they belonged, only from where they came. The books of Kellenvadra, they became called by the priests who assembled the fragments of her writings. Though, long after Kellenvadra’s death, this was.”
“The books of Kellenvadra, what in Sacrull’s hell are they?”
“You ought to know of this thing. It was the books of Kellenvadra which supplied many of the stories told in your so-called holy book.”
“My holy book? You mean the holy book of the Vespian Order?”
“They are far from the first cult of the Light which owes its foundation to the works of Kellenvadra. The Forger of the Final path, the finder of the Way, the last of the Pure, there are few cults left which do not owe their origin to Kellenvadra. Yet, it seems there are few in this land who know of Kellenvadra. Why is this thing you might wonder, yes?”
Sal nodded. “You’ve certainly piqued my interest.”
“You know of the men who first walked this land. Those from who your Pairgu descended?”
“I do,” Sal said slowly. “What of them?”
“What know you of their gods?”
Sal shrugged. “I’ve seen the Godstone in South Market.”
“And of this thing, what do you know?”
“Little and less, I suppose.”
“And do you know why this is so?”
“I’d have to assume it has something to do with one iconoclasm or another, the Lady knows this city has seen its fair share of those.”
Nabu smiled and tapped his temple with a finger. “Very good, yes. You are knowing the truth of this thing. Iconoclasm, very good. When the first empire came to this land, they brought with them iron, beasts of war, new magics, and gods of their own. It was the First Empire which built this city, long before the Pairgu kings ruled this land, it was but a backwater of the First Empire.”
“I know this, but we still worship the same gods of the First Empire.”
“Some of them.”
“Well, in any case, unlike the gods of my ancestors, the gods of the First Empire are known. Solus, Tiem, Sacrull, Susej, the Lady White, Malev—”
“I know their names, my boy, but these are scant few, only the names of the gods not forgotten. Even still, they have changed with time. These names you speak would be unrecognizable to a man of the First Empire. And in the great city of Aduah, this homeland of your Vespian Order, they recognize but one God. The Nelsigh have cast off the rest as pretenders, have they not? But this is the way of it. As one God gains primacy, the rest must fall ever farther.”
“And you’re saying this is what happened with Kellenvadra, she was forgotten?”
“Removed from the history, I am saying.”
“And the parchment?” Sal asked. “What does it say?”
“It speaks of the Arbiter, the Fourth of the Prophets, the mentor of Kellenvadra, and this here—this is something of the summoning. This summoning they intended to stop.”
“A summoning?” Sal asked. “What sort of summoning? Why did they try stopping it?”
Nabu laughed. “Many questions and none of them simple. I know not, this is all the page tells.”
“That’s it?” Sal asked. “All that writing, and it says something about an old dead man and a summoning?”
Nabu bobbed his head side to side.
“So, you’re telling me this thing is worthless?”
Nabu’s eyes went wide, the apple in his throat bobbing. “Worthless? My boy, this thing—” Nabu frowned and rubbed his hands together, shifting his weight from foot to foot while avoiding Sal’s eyes.
“It’s not worthless?” Sal asked. “How much?”
Nabu cleared his throat and bit his bottom lip, looking anywhere but at Sal.
“Is it worth a lot?” Sal asked.
Nabu continued to grow uncharacteristically squirrely, an unreadable look in his eyes when he finally looked at Sal.
“Priceless?” Sal said.
Nabu scoffed, but Sal knew it was feigned. Nabu’s forehead was beaded with sweat; his hands clasped together in a white-knuckled grip.
“Nothing is beyond price,” said Nabu. “Remember this thing, my friend, nothing.”
Sal smirked. “I can think of a handful of things I would never sell, but then again, I’m not Shiikali.”
“Bah, you Pairgu are even worse. You bleat like pious sheep, and yet you would trade your own gods for a loaf of stale bread.”
“I believe you’re thinking of the Nelsigh. If not for their subjugation of our land, my people would likely have stripped naked and scampered back into the forests from where we came. It was those Vespian monks who brought along the façades of piety.”
“Of this thing, you may have the right,” Nabu conceded.
“Well then, seems I’m not so ignorant of history as you’ve always claimed.”
Nabu scowled. “One can hardly call this thing history. Still, I have said before that you know some of the past of your little city, but what of the greater world, the pools of origin from which men crawled, and the ancient deserts where civilization began? What do you know of the times when men and gods alike walked the earth?”
“You have me there, Nabu. I know little and less of it. Still, it seems to me you’re merely avoiding the question. Now, what is this slip of parchment worth?”
Sal stepped out of the Rusted Anchor, his head spinning slightly with the haze of alcohol, his pockets stuffed with what was left of the fifty krom Nabu had paid him for the slip of parchment. A pittance of what the parchment was worth, but truth be told, he was happy to be rid of the thing.
Fifty krom was a beggar’s fortune, and besides, anything worth more than fifty krom was not something Sal wanted to carry about with him on the streets of Dijvois.
He crossed the Tamber at the Bridge of the Lady, making certain to pay his respects when passing the limestone statue of the Lady White. The day was pleasant, the river calm beneath the bridge. He could even make out fisherman on the Little Island.
When Sal reached the High Town bridge towers, the sun had nearly set behind him. Hooded acolytes belonging to the Keepers of the Flame were out with their pole-candles, lighting the street lamps in pairs, doing their part to fight back the dark. Most shops had locked up for the night, while the seedier wine sinks, pillow houses, and gambling dens had only just opened their doors for business. The streets were far less crowded and much quieter than during the daylight hours, but to Sal, the city itself hummed a melody, as though it kept a tune all its own.
He slowed his pace as he considered something that had not occurred to him until then, Lilliana didn’t look favorably on drunkenness, and if Sal wasn’t drunk, he’d been well on his way before he’d left the Rusted Anchor. He could eat something. Food might mask the odor of his brea
th and help to sop up the ale in his stomach. Though he was short on time as it was, and it would take some strong-smelling foods to mask the smell of his breath.
His next option was to simply not show up. He would need to tell Lilliana he’d forgotten, and hope she would forgive him for a slip of the mind. He assumed she would be willing to forgive an honest mistake before drunkenness. In the end, he decided to take his chances. He could mask his drunkenness. He’d done it before. If he merely focused, he could pretend well enough to fool his own mother into thinking he was sober. Sal just had to be smart, and Lilliana would never know.
“You’re drunk,” Lilliana said, a look of disgust on her face.
“I—well, yeah,” Sal admitted. “I might be a tick flush, but I have good reason, and—”
“You can save your reasons. I’m not interested.”
“Ah, but it involves a magic dwarf, a dragon, and a distressed maiden in a high tower. You’re certain you don’t have a moment to spare?”
Lilliana smiled despite herself. “But I have heard this story more times than I can count on my little fingers and toes,” Lilliana said playfully. “Doubtless, you slew the dragon, outwitted the dwarf, and kissed the maiden.”
“Kissed? The maiden? Bah!” Sal pretended to spit. “Clearly you are a bit confused about the details, nay, lass, I did not kiss the maiden. No, her, I outwitted. But the magical dwarf, well, he was far too clever for the likes of me. Him, I slew. Oh, don’t look at me like that, magical dwarfs are much easier to kill than they are to outwit. And you see, that’s my tale, outwitted a maiden and slew a dwarf. Naturally, after such an affair, an ale was required to wash away the memory of my slaying and my missed opportunity to kiss a beautiful woman.”
Lilliana looked unperturbed, yet she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You, Salvatori, are a jackanapes.”
Sal winked.
“But what of the dragon?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“The dragon. You outwitted the maiden, slew the dwarf, and you neglected to mention the dragon.”
“Ah, well, lass, I had hoped I wouldn’t need to tell you, but you see, after a bit of ale I found that dragon wasn’t half bad looking, and I had that kiss left me, and well—must I go on?”
A Fool of Sorts Page 13
