Stealing Life

by Antony Johnston

  Sarathin almost spat in disgust. “Please, don’t speak his name. It makes me ill just to think of him. Darro!”

  The young adept had stood patiently by the door all this time. Now he approached the woman, his head bowed. “Chancellor?”

  “I did feel a quiet stirring somewhere around 4th Avenue. In the Crolling Heights area, I think. Not a strong signal, but perhaps there is potential. Go and find out, would you? If I am right, bring the child to me.”

  Darro bowed even lower. “Chancellor,” he said, and walked out the door.

  Nicco’s mouth dropped open. “Potential? You’re just going to snatch some wizard-to-be off the street?”

  Sarathin scowled at Nicco. “And if I were to ask you to attend this college, would you come voluntarily? Would your parents allow you to, here in Azbatha?”

  Nicco backed away a little and shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so,” said Sarathin. “Now, there is nothing more I can help you with. Please go.”

  Nicco and Allad hurried back through the garden, toward the arch and a return to civilisation, in silence. When they were finally outside the compound walls, Allad was the first to speak.

  “Oh, brilliant. Just get on the wrong side of a wizard, why don’t you? You’d have us turned into flatfish or something!”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing.”

  “Me neither, but by the watery saints...” Allad shook his head. “Anyway, no luck there. What’s next?”

  “Nothing I need you for. Thanks anyway, Allad. I owe you one.”

  “I think by now you owe me about five.”

  Nicco laughed. “Probably.”

  FREEZING AIR BLASTED down the street, funnelled by the towering skyscrapers. Nicco shivered against the cold, hunched his shoulders and thrust his hands into the deep pockets of his overcoat. The moon was full and bright, the silver disc blurred by the sodium haze of streetlights. Neon spilled out from the forest of holo billboards, blocking all but the brightest stars from view.

  Nicco checked his watch. Almost midnight. The street was thinning as most of Azbatha’s population made its way home for the night, leaving just the nighthawks, crooks, dealers and cops. On any other night, Nicco would have felt very much at home. But tonight he had other things on his mind.

  He checked his watch again. Still almost midnight.

  Skycars zipped high overhead, mainly cops and cabs. Groundcars rumbled by down on the street, more cops and cabs with the occasional groundtruck or freight car pulling a graveyard shift.

  He checked his watch. Midnight.

  “Salarum!”

  Nicco looked up. A sleek black groundcar, long and low, sat idling by the kerbside. Nicco hadn’t noticed it a moment ago, and didn’t see it drive up. A tall, muscular man with very pale skin stood by the passenger door, gesturing for Nicco to approach. As he did, dodging his way through the oblivious crowd, he noticed that the man wore an expensive suit and shoes. The shoes positively gleamed, reflecting the streetlights like a mirror. The goon opened the back door of the groundcar and nodded at Nicco.

  “Get in.”

  Nicco ducked into the car. The goon slammed the door behind him and returned to the passenger seat. He’d barely closed the door when the driver moved off, pulling the groundcar into the main flow of traffic.

  The back of the car was separated from the front by a semi-opaque screen of glass, with a speaker grille inset into the centre of the screen. Nicco turned to observe his companion in the back.

  The man was past middle age, with a spreading belly and several chins on his clean-shaven face. His skin was pale, his eyes deep and dark. He wore a black suit, crisp and well-fitted. His fingers were adorned with ornate rings, silver and steel carvings of fish and birds with inset jewels. The fingers rested on a black cane, topped with a silver head in the shape of a bird.

  “Hello, Bindol,” said Nicco.

  “Salarum,” said the ‘magus’ in greeting. His voice was calm and low, a steadiness that belied his seeming infirmity. “The last time we met, you told me to take my magic and stuff it up my backside. I did not take your advice, much to the delight of my delicate regions, but I remember the incident well.”

  Nicco winced. He had hoped Bindol would have forgotten by now, but it had always been a long shot.

  “And now, on this night, I receive a message. A message that Nicco Salarum, whose skills as a thief are matched only by his contempt for my own talents, wants to see me. No—that he needs to see me. Witness the generosity of my character, that I deigned to hear his plea.”

  Nicco hesitated. One wrong word here could see him wearing a tanglefish’s head for the rest of his life. Finally he said, “I’m very grateful, Bindol. I only disturbed you because this matter’s very urgent. And very important, possibly to everyone in Azbatha.”

  The magus snorted. “I doubt that very much. What do you require?”

  “Do you know a wizard called Xandus? He says he’s from Shalith, but living in Azbatha at the moment. Or at least, he was. He’s disappeared.”

  “We are very good at that.” Bindol chuckled. “What more can you tell me about this wizard?”

  “He’s tall, dark-haired... blue eyes, small beard. Long, thin face.”

  “You misunderstand. What more can you tell me about his magic?”

  Nicco sighed. “Not much. I know he didn’t go to the Azbathan college. I know he had four thinmen bodyguards, all with his face.” A thought struck Nicco. “Did you...?”

  Bindol turned to face Nicco for the first time, his dark eyes narrowing.

  “I make golems for civilians, Salarum. Men like Bazhanka, who barely have the wit to wipe their own arse, let alone create works of magic. Men like you. Why would a wizard need me to make his golems?”

  “That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

  Bindol tutted. “Foolish child. No, I did not create this wizard’s guards. Now tell me more.”

  “There isn’t much more to tell. He’s a collector, or so he said. He didn’t want me knowing where he lived. He left his thinmen to guard the place. When I found it, they nearly killed me.”

  “Ah.” The magus pursed his lips and turned to look out the window, watching the streets roll past.

  He was silent for a long time. Nicco rubbed his hands. In contrast to the streets outside, Bindol’s groundcar was warm. But that wasn’t the only reason his palms were sweating.

  The magus spoke without looking at him. “You have nothing more to tell me?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why do you wish so urgently to find this man?”

  “It’s... complicated. But he has something I need.”

  “And you are here at your own behest?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Bindol sighed. “Salarum, your dishonesty disappoints me almost as much as your lack of faith in my talents. Consider: I am the foremost magus in Turith. Do you think Bazhanka has not already called on my talents to answer these questions?”

  Nicco closed his eyes and sank into the soft leather seat. “You don’t know where he is, do you?”

  “I do not. I have never even heard of this man, and cannot locate him. Perhaps he is even more powerful than I. Though that is, of course, absurd.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me that straight away?”

  “I am still human,” smiled Bindol. “At my age, humour is in short supply.” He lifted his cane and tapped it on the back of the dividing screen. The groundcar pulled into a space by the kerbside, and the muscle-bound goon opened the door for Nicco.

  “Goodbye,” said Bindol as Nicco stepped out. “Give my regards to Bazhanka before he kills you.”

  Nicco pulled a face at Bindol before the goon closed the door. He watched the muscle-bound man hop back in his own seat and pull the passenger door closed. Then the groundcar vanished.

  We are very good at disappearing. No kidding, thought Nicco.

  The cold bit at his hands
and face as he began the walk back to his apartment. He could have taken a cab, but he needed time to think. He needed a plan.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  NICCO WHACKED HIS knee against a bolt sticking out from the drainpipe’s fastenings and cursed. It had all been a lot easier when he was a teenager.

  Of course, back then he didn’t normally have a large kit bag slung over his shoulder. He’d climbed this side of Madame Zentra’s place almost every night, sneaking out to steal gear to fence while his mother went about her working day. His spoils would then be stashed at Allad’s house, in the basement. Allad’s parents only used it to store their own clutter, so never noticed the growing collection of hot potatoes under their roof. That had been the start of Nicco and Allad’s working relationship, and the friendship that followed. Nicco’s only friendship for many years in fact, until he came back here and met Tabby.

  He reached the window of Tabby’s room and peered inside. She was just finishing with a client, waiting on the bed while the mark dressed and made his awkward excuses. When he’d finally gone, Nicco tapped on the window.

  Tabby spun round, startled, and he waved at her with an embarrassed smile. She sighed and opened the window.

  “What in the fifty-nine hells are you doing?” said Tabby.

  Nicco heaved the kit bag over his shoulder and tossed it inside. “Nice to see you too, my love. And I seem to recall it was you asked me to come here.”

  “I was trying to call you all day yesterday, too. Where have you been?”

  Nicco swung his feet over the windowsill and dusted himself off. This conversation was always the same. “I’ve been working.”

  “You should get voicemail. I can’t believe you won’t pay for it.”

  “If it’s that urgent, people call me back. You did.”

  Tabby huffed and walked back to the bed. “Well, I’ve got something important to tell you. And I’ve got another client in ten minutes.”

  “I know. You can get ready while I’m here. Just listen to me for a minute.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “That’s what I need to tell you.”

  Tabby stopped plumping up pillows and turned to face him. “What’s going on? Are you in some sort of trouble?” Her expression was suddenly quite serious. “You are, you’re in more trouble with Bazhanka, aren’t you? I recognised those thinmen that took you away, I knew they were trouble.”

  Nicco walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. It was time for the truth. “Do you remember that big job we were celebrating?”

  “Before those monsters dragged you from my bedroom screaming? It rings a bell, now that you mention it.”

  Nicco took a deep breath. “I was hired by a wizard to steal... something. Something big. And I did, and he paid me, and it was all fine. But it turns out that he didn’t tell me everything. Or maybe he didn’t know, I’m not sure...”

  “Nicco, you’re not making any sense. What did you steal?”

  He looked into her big brown eyes and grimaced. If he told her, he’d put her in direct danger. He didn’t want that. But she needed to understand how much danger he was in, too.

  He was still wrestling with his conscience when Tabby’s eyes grew wider. “It was you, wasn’t it? You stole that necklace!”

  Nicco exhaled. It was almost a relief that she’d worked it out for herself. “Yeah. Yeah, and it turns out it’s a lot more valuable than I thought. Trust me, love, you don’t want to know the details. But if I don’t get it back, Bazhanka’s going to kill me.”

  “Oh come on, how bad can it be? You already owe him thousands of lire, tell him to put it on your tab.”

  “I’m not being metaphorical, Tabby. He’s going to kill me.”

  What little colour remained in her pale cheeks drained away. “Then we’ll hide you away somewhere,” she said, talking as fast as she could think. “We could go to Turilum, or Jalakum, he’ll never find us somewhere big like that. Or we could get an airship, go to Praal until it all blows over. We can go anywhere, I’ve got money...” She trailed off.

  Nicco hung his head. “No, we can’t. This is Bazhanka. He’ll find us, one way or the other. And he won’t forget, either. We’d never be able to come back.”

  Tabby threw her arms around him. “I don’t care. As long as I’m with you, we could go to Hirvan and I wouldn’t mind.”

  Nicco put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I wish it was that simple, I really do, but I don’t have a choice. I have to find this guy who hired me. And I have to go alone. When Bazhanka realises I’ve skipped town, it’ll be bad enough. If you’re with me, he’ll think I’m not coming back, either. He’ll go mental.”

  “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.” It wasn’t quite a lie. If he did find Xandus then Nicco could take the necklace from him and return a hero, or at least free of his obligations to Bazhanka. But if he didn’t find the wizard, or couldn’t locate him before Werrdun croaked, then he may as well be dead himself. Nicco was sure that Bindol hadn’t been joking about that part.

  “So where are you going?”

  Shalith. About as far away as I can go without falling into the ocean. But he couldn’t tell her. Bazhanka had already threatened Tabby. When the mob boss discovered Nicco’s disappearing act, she was the first person he’d interrogate. But Nicco needed a head start, at least, to track down Xandus. He had to find the wizard, to redeem himself in Bazhanka’s eyes.

  “It’s safer if you don’t know.” Nicco leaned back and took Tabby’s face in his hands. “Now what do you need to tell me?”

  She looked at him blankly. “What?”

  “You said you had something important to tell me. That’s why you called me in the first place?”

  “Oh, that. It’s not important. Never mind.”

  Somebody knocked at the door. “Tabathianna! Are you in there?”

  Only Zentra ever called Tabby by her full name. Tabby leapt to her feet and began straightening the bed sheets. “The time! You have to go, I’ve got an important client waiting...”

  Nicco stood and picked up his kit bag. “No problem. Look, as soon as this is all sorted I’ll call you, okay? Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

  Madame Zentra opened the door and stepped into the room, aghast that Tabby was only just now tidying up. “What are you doing, girl? Your last client left ten minutes ago, and you don’t want to keep your—oh, Nicco!” She noticed him for the first time and frowned. “By all the watery saints, what are you up to?”

  Nicco had one leg over the windowsill, ready to climb back down the wall of the building. He felt like a naughty child, caught in the act. He often felt like that around Madame Zentra.

  “I’m, um, just leaving. It’s a long story.”

  “Wait, child! Don’t be silly. Come inside with me. I’m just relieved to see you’re all right after those ghastly golems came for you.”

  There was no love lost between Madame Zentra and Bazhanka. The mob boss had tried time and time again to buy Zentra out, to enforce protection rackets on her, even just to threaten her, but all to no avail. The Madame was old, cantankerous and stubborn to a fault, but just like Bazhanka, she also had connections. Half the Azbathan police force was on her client list, from street cops to chiefs, and that was just the ones Nicco knew about. He had no doubt the brothel’s clientele stretched even further up the chain of city office, and with clients like that, any hostility—criminal or legit—was laughable.

  Nicco had a feeling that in his situation, it wouldn’t hurt to stay on the Madame’s good side. If his plan went badly, he might need to call in a favour or three. He climbed back into the room, kissed Tabby on the cheek and followed Madame Zentra into the corridor.

  She led him away from the door then looked over to a couple of usher girls waiting by the elevator. She nodded at them, and one of the girls took Tabby’s next client by the arm and led him to her room. Madame Zentra walked in the opposite
direction along the corridor, gesturing for Nicco to follow her. “I do hope she hasn’t ruined her chances by keeping him waiting,” she said. “You know she’ll only blame you if she has.”

  “Chances? Of what?”

  “Didn’t she tell you? She’s been bursting about it since yesterday.”

  Nicco looked back over his shoulder at the client. He was just opening Tabby’s door. Nicco thought he looked vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place him...

  “What is he, a holokino star or something?”

  Madame Zentra smiled. “Nothing so mundane. He’s a holovid producer, and he wants Tabby to... audition. He saw her shopping downtown yesterday and followed her here.”

  The client glanced over his shoulder at Nicco. And now, Nicco recognised him. It was the producer from his table at the Astra dinner, the one the kids’ presenter had vomited all over. What a small world, thought Nicco. Of all the people...

  The producer smiled at him. A knowing smile. “Hello, Mr Salarum.”

  Nicco’s mind raced. How did he know Nicco’s name? How on earth could he possibly know who Nicco was, or what he looked like?

  My reach is long...

  Bazhanka. It was the only explanation. The mob boss must have set this up, told the producer what had happened and who was responsible. Did Bazhanka already know the producer? Did he have some dirt on him, blackmail material maybe? Or had the producer simply relished the thought of getting back at Nicco?

  He had no idea. But he couldn’t keep the producer away from Tabby without telling her what was going on, and that would just make the danger even more immediate, both to himself and Tabby.

  “Are you all right?” Madame Zentra asked.

  “I’m... I’m fine, yes. Sorry, I just thought I recognised that client.”