The Eyes of a Doll (The World of Shijuren Book 2)

by Howell, Rob

  I knew not the particular myth, but so many others followed a similar path that I nodded in understanding.

  Aegiala and her sisters were turned into poplar trees. One day Marko— you’ve heard of Marko, right?”

  I nodded.

  “One day Marko passed by Aegiala and was struck by her beauty, even in the form of a tree. Marko returned and attempted to woo her, but Aegiala could neither respond nor inform him of the success or failure of his charms.”

  “Frustrating.”

  She laughed. “Very. So Marko demanded that the gods return her to her form so that she could tell him of her choice. Three challenges the gods placed before Marko before they would grant his wish.”

  “And the play is about his heroics.”

  “And his wooing, can’t forget that.” She smiled.

  “Of course, not.” I smiled back.

  “I hope you go. You’ll love it, everyone does.”

  “When does it start?”

  She frowned for a moment in thought. “Soon. They ring bells about an hour beforehand and again when it’s nearly time to start.”

  “How far can you hear the bells?”

  “Pretty well in the neighborhood. Outside of the district, not much.”

  “Good. There should be a food vendor within hearing then.”

  She dimpled at that. “Oh, gospadar, allow us to offer our hospitality since you’ve spent so long communing with us.”

  I wondered if she had seen me donate two silver dinars. Either way, I decided to accept. Surely they had better fare than a mass of dough that briefly met meat somewhere in its travels.

  I was right, though the fare was simple. They laid out loaves of dark, sliced bread upon which we spread an odd pink substance. It hinted of walnuts and the cheese from Jovanka’s odd-named pastry, but mostly tasted of a rich flavor I could not identify. Each diner was allotted a small amount of a hard sausage, salty, with a hint of paprika. We sated whatever hunger that remained with fresh blackberries. I ate too many, but so did the priestess and four others who joined us.

  I donated another silver dinar as I got up. She started to protest the amount, but her protests were cut off by the loud ringing of bells in the direction of the amphitheater.

  “An hour to the show?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll take my leave then and go there now.”

  “Thank you for enjoying the gifts of the Mousai, gospadar,” she said formally.

  “Thank you for sharing,” I replied.

  Outside, the sun informed me the shaded interior of the shrine had been well designed to keep its visitors relatively cool. On the longest day in Achrida for the year 1712, no clouds had impeded the sun’s wrath, and the streets and building were armed with her violent heat.

  I found the amphitheater much more active than earlier in the day. I picked a shaded corner and watched the preparations.

  The stage had been covered with a long curtain. Occasionally, someone behind the curtain would move against it, creating odd-looking bulges. The occasional sharp command also echoed up to my spot.

  The old man was now methodically sweeping the seats of the amphitheater. His pace was no faster than before, and I suspected he had simply been sweeping all through the day. As I watched, he slowly stepped up to the last row. The Mousai would be pleased, for it looked like he would successfully get the entire amphitheater clean in time for the show.

  Groups of people had already claimed their spots, and several others were strolling down the steps. The only sign that any of them noticed the heat were the blankets and rugs they placed on the stone seats before sitting.

  Several food vendors were cooking for the anticipated crowd. I could see at least four groups maneuvering casks into temporary racks. I longed for Ragnar’s ale. Other vendors with non-consumable goods were arriving and setting up their kiosks.

  I saw no sign of Gabrijela or Radovan.

  Nor any sign of an ambush. The crowd’s lack of weapons longer than my saex reassured me somewhat.

  The bells rang again. Here, next to the amphitheater, their sound pounded at our ears, but one could also discern the subtle, smaller bells that wove amongst the larger ones to provide music as well as notice.

  By this point the vendors were selling briskly to a large crowd assembled on the street above the amphitheater. At the bell’s call, the people began making their way into the arena.

  I found a spot to the right-hand side on the penultimate row next to one exit, near another, and a straight shot to a third across the way.

  Warily, I eyed the crowd, again finding no familiar faces. The amphitheater was full, and discerning particular features proved more difficult than I expected. I scratched my beard, hoping it was confusing any who looked at me.

  Soon the curtain opened and the play began.

  I am not sure who would have been angrier with me, Sebastijan, Piri, or Hlodowic. Bedarth would have approved my devotion to study and chastised me for my stupidity at the same time.

  In any case, I forgot that I needed to find Gabrijela. I forgot all about Honker Harald. I forgot that this night might easily result in my death from an ambush I did not notice.

  The story caught my attention immediately, and the man playing Marko was immensely powerful. He effortlessly dominated the entire amphitheater with his presence.

  I assume I breathed at some point during the first act, but I was not aware of doing so until the first intermission.

  I guiltily looked around for any of the relevant faces or signs, but found none. The crowd moved around me, but no one tried to stick a knife in me or appropriate any of my belongings.

  I resolved to concentrate on my surroundings when the play resumed.

  I had no greater success during the second act and spent the second intermission redoubling my resolve.

  Despite that resolve, I found myself cheering and crying with the rest of the crowd when Marko, having successfully overcome the challenges, managed to win Aegiala’s heart.

  As the last applause died down, I sighed and let the people crowding around me make their ways to public jakes or to the vendors who eagerly took their coins. Apparently, Gabrijela had not received the message or Gibroz had refused to send her.

  Then a woman I had barely noticed at the far end of my row of seats pulled back her hood, and there she was.

  Subtly, she motioned for me to follow. I trailed her out of the amphitheater among the crowd strolling home. She led me through quieter streets east of the Trade Road into an old neighborhood that wanted to retain its pride, but could not.

  Limestone decorated most houses, eaten away by the years instead of having been replaced or fixed decades ago. The ceramic roof tiles that pelted roads in every neighborhood after a major storm remained in the street, crunching underfoot. It lacked the sheer trash of the Stracara, but also its desperate life-and-death vibrancy. This might have been a safer area to live in, but not necessarily a better one.

  My hands now poised to grab blades, I prowled down the street. Gabrijela, seemingly at random, turned into one of the cheerless buildings.

  No help for it, I supposed, and I followed her into the building. Inside she was seating herself in a chair, having placed two ceramic mugs on a table before it. Another chair awaited me next to the table.

  She and sipped from one of the mugs. Her daintiness contrasted starkly with the rough pottery. She motioned to the other chair, and I sat down.

  She was as lovely as I remembered.

  “I’m glad you came. I didn’t see you until the end.”

  She laughed.

  “I did not recognize you immediately, so I didn’t meet you before the show. I’m not sure I like the beard.”

  “I know I don’t.” I scratched furiously. The beard, and the scratching, both made me feel uncomfortable around her.

  She laughed again. “And then, when I was sure I’d found you, you seemed to be engrossed in the show.”

  “I was. The main acto
r was fantastic.” I blushed. When was the last time I blushed?

  She nodded and shifted to business. “Gibroz would like to know what you’ve discovered.”

  “I bet he actually said something like, ‘Find out what the fuckin’ Sevener knows.’”

  She laughed yet again. “Something like that.”

  “Since you’re here, I assume he read Ylli’s letter.”

  She nodded.

  “So he knows someone is playing both of them for fools.”

  She nodded again.

  “I can’t tell much more than that. What I can tell you is my plan for finding out more. It will require your assistance.”

  She leaned back.

  I took a breath and for the first time in a while relaxed. Look and look again. Such pretty eyes she has.

  Fool, pay attention or you’re dead, ordered another part of my mind. I shook my head clear and waited for her to respond.

  “The letter said that. Gibroz grumbled, but assented. I’ll be yours as long as you need.”

  Mine? Those eyes could be mine? So deep and inviting. I sighed happily until my mental voice raged at me again, and then shook my head clear.

  “Ylli and Sebastijan suggested we start with Ognyan, Ylli’s man here in Achrida.”

  “That makes sense. How do we find him?”

  She thinks I make sense. Excellent. I shook my head and cursed at myself. Why could I not focus today?

  Then I sighed in realization. “Please stop.”

  “Stop?”

  “Yes. I’ve sat across from beautiful women before and managed not to blush. I’ve also managed to concentrate on important things, like, say standing in the middle of a war between criminal lords. I can’t concentrate right now, and something doesn’t feel right. That something is you. Stay away from my emotions.”

  To her credit, she did not protest innocence.

  “I told Gibroz it wouldn’t work.” She smiled

  I shrugged. “There’s no need anyway. I already like you. You don’t need to create that emotion. As for anything else, if I feel you mucking around in there again I won’t ever let you anywhere close again.”

  I paused with a smile and some daring. “And you know, that might be a shame.”

  She smiled, this time a more naturally pretty smile. She did, after all, have very nice eyes.

  We sat uncomfortably for a long moment.

  “Why Gibroz?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t seem like anyone Gibroz would have met in his normal daily life. How did he hire you in the first place? And why do you stay?”

  She grew tense. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  She turned away. I drank out of the mug, discovering a vintage whose flavors contrasted dramatically with the plainness of the cup. Eventually, she looked back.

  “My life with Gibroz is as pleasant as my life has ever been. I have money, respect, and a place. Leave it at that.”

  I thought about pressing the question, but, honestly, I did not want my past examined thoroughly myself and I had no real need to know, simply curiosity. I nodded.

  “Where were we?”

  “You were talking about Ylli’s man in Achrida.”

  “Yes, his name is Ognyan. He passes Gibroz’s portion of Ylli’s lake trade to one of Gibroz’s people.”

  She nodded and I continued.

  “Ylli gave me a list of some places to watch for him. Apparently he works from a variety of places, so we can’t simply wait at one place.”

  “Inconvenient for us, but wise for him.”

  “Yes. All the more inconvenient since Ylli suggested we watch him for a while, learn his habits, and see if we can deduce anything relevant from them.”

  Gabrijela shook her head.

  “That will take too much time. I don’t think Gibroz will wait that long.”

  “Even though he now knows that Ylli is not cheating him?”

  “I think that makes him more anxious to find out what’s going on, not less. At least with Ylli he could simply start fighting openly. This way, though, he has to wait, and waiting is not something Gibroz is good at.”

  I chuckled. “Especially waiting to find someone brave enough to muck with both Ylli and Gibroz. Whoever is playing them off against each other will not enjoy the result if we catch them.”

  Gabrijela nodded with a sour twist to her mouth.

  “Something wrong, Gabrijela?”

  “I hate that part.”

  “What part?”

  “The part of Gibroz’s business where he kills people.”

  “Does it happen often?”

  “Often? It’s hard to say. He cultivates the image of violent thug, which he is, but he doesn’t order people killed out of spite or anger.”

  “Fortunately for me.”

  “Yes, he’s been quite put out with you several times.”

  “I’ve no doubt. He’s not one of my favorites either.”

  She laughed. “He respects you more than most koryfoi, I can tell you that.”

  “I respect him more than most criminal overlords.”

  She laughed again and returned to the task. “Where do we find Ognyan?”

  “The first place on Ylli’s list is a tavern called the Plucked Owl. He apparently is there more afternoons than any of the other places he might be.”

  “We’ll start there. What else does he do for Ylli?”

  “Ylli didn’t say, but he did say that Ognyan was more in the way of a contracted factor than one of Ylli’s sworn men.”

  “Sworn men? You make it sound so noble. So… so… normal and koryfoi. Almost like someone serving the Emperor.”

  “I don’t know how else to put it,” I muttered.

  She laughed at me, and soon I laughed with her.

  “You said Gibroz would not likely be patient enough for us to just watch Ognyan. In that case, what do you suggest we do?”

  Gabrijela sipped some wine.

  “We go in and talk with him. I’ll see if my talents can tell us anything.”

  “Won’t that warn him we’re trying to find him cheating on Gibroz?”

  “Not if we have a good reason to be there.”

  I nodded for her to continue.

  “My suggestion is that you claim to be a new factor sent from Basilopolis wanting to listen and learn.”

  “Do I know enough to be able to fool people?”

  “It takes about four weeks for a caravan to make it to the Great City from here.”

  “Well that is certainly important to know. What will I be selling?”

  “Cotton fabric.”

  “Cotton fabric? Why cotton fabric?”

  “Because Gibroz keeps saying people will buy more cotton fabric here in Achrida. And because he had some samples I brought that we can show if people ask.” She pointed at a satchel sitting along the wall.

  “That’s what’s in the bag?”

  She nodded.

  “And you, Gabrijela? If I’m the factor, who are you?”

  “I’m your assistant.”

  “You seem to have all the answers.”

  “Of course I do, and don’t you forget it.”

  She laughed pleasantly. And put her hand on my knee for a moment.

  She did have such nice eyes.

  Chapter 32

  Late Evening, Wodensniht, 1712 MG

  Gabrijela and I agreed to meet the next midday at a particular intersection on the Trade Road. For as long as we continued, we determined, we would set the next day’s meeting place when we separated for the evening.

  I finished my wine and left. Once outside, I took a deep breath. The air in this neighborhood was hardly fresh and sweet, but I felt like I had not breathed in hours. I started walking to the west and the Trade Road, the street stretching emptily before me.

  I had a half-breath of warning before I was slammed to the side into a building. The blow was heavy but not stunning. I turned to strike back,
but my attacker had turned to something else.

  Jovanka’s longer dagger fit nicely in my hand as I stepped away from the building to look around.

  The person who had struck me was Radovan, and he now stood confidently, sweeping a heavy cudgel before himself.

  One of the four cutpurses before him jumped in with his own long dagger. Radovan swung his cudgel negligently and missed as the thug jumped back, but clearly Radovan had anticipated the following strike from another cutpurse. His cudgel crunched heavily into the man’s arm. My mind idly tried to name the Helper who focused on broken bones as the man with the broken arm shuffled away in agony.

  I stepped forward to cover Radovan’s left flank. One of the cutpurses stepped to my left, trying to separate me from him. Initially I simply let him float away, but Radovan grunted at me.

  “I’ve no fear of two of them.”

  With a languid flip of his cudgel he drove the two in front of him back a step, and I moved toward the third.

  Our blades were evenly matched, but the cutpurse was used to mugging merchants and tradesmen, not a thegn of the Seven Kingdoms trained with a saex almost from birth.

  He jabbed at me, and I flipped my blade downward and swept it left to block. I then stepped inside of his thrust, almost turning my back to him, and grabbed his wrist with my left hand before he could pull his arm back. I sliced deeply into his forearm, and his blood poured into my hand as his dagger dropped to the ground. Before stepping out of range, I hammered my elbow into his nose.

  I turned to face him directly again, but he was already staggering off, awkwardly holding his forearm with his left hand.

  I turned my attention back to Radovan and his pair. The cutpurses had watched me drive their companion away with ease and clearly were losing interest in the fight. Radovan took advantage of their momentary distraction by completing one of his cudgel flips with a step forward and a drive into the leg of the rightmost assailant.

  A louder crunch told everyone Radovan had broken the man’s leg. The final cutpurse decided he had a pressing engagement elsewhere and raced off.

  With a heaving chest, I looked at Radovan.

  “Thank you. I never saw you, and I looked.”

  “It’s not the first time I’ve guarded a blind sheep’s dick.”