“I must congratulate you,” he enthused. “You put that upstart in his place. And to think that insufferable bore Lord Adriano thought he would make it to the finals! Ha! He’s lost a lot of face, I can tell you.”
Been following my matches, have we? “You know him?” The bald man hadn’t played badly, really. Only been unfortunate to come up against her when she was in a bad mood and needed to have the game over with quickly.
“Oh, not really. But one hears things.”
She nodded. “One does. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to…compose myself before my next match.”
“Of course, my dear Morgaine. If I may call you that?”
His obsequiousness was beginning to grate on her nerves. “Just Morgaine is fine. I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll be watching your matches in awe. And picking up tips for my own play, no doubt. I too managed a victory yesterday. But the stripling they had me against hardly knew what she was doing.”
So Stryden was also in the tournament. He was checking her out, assessing the opposition. She made her goodbyes and strode away as if she had somewhere to go. She didn’t, she just wanted to get away from Stryden. Her next match began in half an hour.
A few vendors were set up against one wall, and the enticing aromas drew Felice over. She paid for a cup of hot eel with butter and parsley, and a mug of lasoop, a drink made from ground roots flavored with milk and honey. Both were kept warm over a charcoal fire. While the vendor waited, she devoured the eel, handed the cup back, and sipped her lasoop. The vendor used the same cup to serve the next person, without washing it. Felice felt slightly ill.
Finishing her drink and feeling fortified, she made her way to the board where she’d be playing next. Her opponent was a young girl, which surprised Felice. She’d had to have won three matches already to make it this far, and from her flawless skin and pretty flower-printed dress, Felice wouldn’t have thought she’d be old enough to be allowed out after dark without an escort. So…probably a nobleman’s daughter mentored by stuffy tutors. The girl’s game would be one of finesse, her opening moves bland and predictable. Felice knew how to deal with predictable. Her Crow and Moon piece would come in handy here.
An hour later, after staring at the board with a rueful expression for a good ten minutes, the girl resigned. She looked up at Felice, and gave her a cheeky smile and a short bow. Returning the grin with one of her own, Felice tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“Learn,” she said, and the girl nodded.
Standing behind her defeated opponent, a barrel-chested man wearing expensive clothes and jewelry stared daggers at Felice. Her father, obviously, come to watch his daughter play. Behind him stood two well-muscled men, with scarred knuckles and broken noses. Bodyguards…maybe. Felice made a mental note to add them to her list of suspects. Avigdor could do what he did best and research them.
Felice left them and made her way to the competition scoreboards, which were behind a large raised dais. These unofficial rankings determined betting odds, but the competition was an elimination format. Above the area hung an elaborate chandelier of sorcerous globes and colored crystals. The dais itself was tiled in a black and white checkered motif, with the occasional red or green tile, mimicking a Dominion tier motif. Tradesmen of different types bustled about the dais, no doubt preparing it for the final game and the Emperor’s appearance. It looked like a building site, with a hastily erected scaffold allowing workers access to the chandelier, which was being cleaned. Men were also repairing tiles on the dais, no doubt a hasty restoration job to replace cracked ones before the tournament started.
Felice was surprised to find herself second. She’d expected to be first, but that spot was taken by…Stryden. From the territory and piece scores, he’d absolutely demolished his opponents in very short order.
So he’d been sizing Felice up as his main competition.
~ ~ ~
Her next two matches took Felice longer than the previous day’s, but she still didn’t break a sweat. Six down, how many more to go? It couldn’t be too many before she was in the last eight.
On her way out she looked around for Stryden, only to find his board deserted and reset and the attendants long gone.
Outside, she strode down the steps and, without breaking stride, hurried along the street toward the canals. Man-made, they fed from the rivers and were used to transport goods, keeping the streets free of a great deal of wagon traffic. They were also filled with rubbish and flotsam, and they were a favorite congregation place for street children with time on their hands, who searched for anything they could sell, or use, amid the detritus.
At the canals, after half an hour of handing out copper ducats to the street children and waiting, Hedgehog appeared, looking as scruffy as he had before.
“Did you find out anything?” Felice asked without preamble.
“Maybe. Could be worth more to someone else to keep me mouth shut, though.”
The little scamp didn’t lack impudence, that was for sure. “Or if you’ve stumbled onto something they want unseen, you’ll get a yard of cold steel stuck through your gut.”
Hedgehog stared at her, obviously deciding the worth of her argument. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “Some heavies have been scaring us away from a warehouse down by the river. We was doing nothing, either. Just hanging around. Sometimes there’s jobs to do and we get paid a coin or two.”
“Down by the river” could be almost anywhere in the city. “Where’s this? And I take it you think they’re hiding something?”
Hedgehog shrugged. “It’s in Rat Town. I don’t know what they’re doing. You’d be surprised what some people get up to. That’s why we keep out of their way.”
She wouldn’t be surprised. Felice had heard of the grisly things that went on in the shadows of the city, and she’d seen a thing or two in her time. That meant the boy’s information could be a dead end. Rat Town was what the street children called the Red Tomb District in the far south of the city. The cemeteries and catacombs and sewerage works there ensured the rats didn’t lack for food or shelter. It was becoming quite a problem, and the city offered a bounty for dead rodents, which was one reason Hedgehog and his friends were probably there often.
Seeing she was unimpressed, Hedgehog said, “There’s more. If you can pay.”
Felice tossed him a silver ducat, which he snapped out of the air like a striking snake. It swiftly disappeared into the folds of his shirt.
“They chased us out of the sewers as well. Underneath the warehouse.”
Felice’s ears pricked up. This was something worth following. “Do you know why?”
A shake of his head. “Nah. But we always have the run of the sewers, apart from the cleaning crews. And the thieves. And killers. And—”
“I get it. This was out of the ordinary.” He wouldn’t know more than that.
“Is there more coin if I find out what they’re up to?”
Immediately, Felice shook her head. “Don’t do anything stupid. You don’t want to end up like Flo.”
“We’ll all end up like Flo one day, as long as dangerous men run the city.”
Bloody hells, she wasn’t going to be able to dissuade him. “I don’t want you injured. Pretend you’re hunting rats. Make sure you keep a few dead ones with you. That’s what you’re doing if anyone asks.” She handed him another silver coin. “Meet me here every day from now on—” with the Dominion tournament, she couldn’t be sure she’d make it here before evening “—at sunset.”
She had more work to do before she could rest tonight. She was supposed to meet Marius and wasn’t looking forward to it. He was always curt and easily irritated. But it had to be done if she were to uncover the true motives of this Constance woman. Whatever web she was weaving, Felice wanted a way out. And preferably three or four.
~ ~ ~
With a sigh of relief, Felice placed her foot on the last stair and dragged her exhausted body up it. A light sheen
of sweat painted her face, and her armpits were damp and slippery.
A long hot bath would be nice. And a glass of wine.
She knocked on the landing’s only door and let herself in. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a few cushioned chairs and a large desk between her and a window. Papers covered the desk, and a teapot in a glazed holder sat warming over a small flame. The view was magnificent, she had to admit. But the climb up and down those stairs multiple times a day would probably kill her. She liked to keep healthy, but she also wanted her calves small enough to fit into her favorite boots—the ones with the hidden knife sheath, a present from an old flame.
“Sit down,” said a grouchy voice.
“Always lovely to see you, too, Marius,” she said.
He was kneeling on the floor under the window, sorting through piles of paper. Marius was a compact man, with a week’s growth of stubble too patchy to be called a beard. No lamps or candles were lit, and the window provided the only light. He’d always been cheap, which he attributed to a poor upbringing. Since Felice knew he’d been born into a wealthy family, she attributed it to being miserly and the fact he spent a great deal of ducats on collecting trinkets. An excellent investment, he’d once told her.
She sat in one of the cushioned chairs and waited for Marius to finish. He could be churlish when interrupted.
After a time, he wiped his hands on his pants and stood. “What do you want?”
His gratitude was short-lived. Felice had tracked down a number of the ancient sorcerous artifacts for him previously, and you’d think he’d be appreciative. They were potentially powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands. What would happen if someone of Larard’s nature got hold of illicit trinkets? Nothing good, that was for sure.
“I need information,” Felice said. “On a government official who doesn’t appear to exist, at least on public records.” She realized it took more power and influence to stay anonymous. Which meant she was dealing with someone who operated on a whole different level to the regular officials, and was therefore far more dangerous.
Marius’s eyes narrowed. “You interrupted me for this? Go ask around the taverns they frequent. I’m sure you’ll find out more by—”
“She goes by the name Constance, but I’m sure that’s false. She has a high enough position to order around a squad or two of the Emperor’s soldiers, and said she works for the Emperor. I mean, technically, all the officials do, but…” She trailed off. Marius’s face had gone as white as milk, and he blindly reached for a chair. Finding one, he sat down hard.
“Get out, Felice. Now. Whatever it takes. You don’t want to get on her bad side.”
“Wouldn’t crossing her get me on her bad side?”
“Well, yes. But even so—”
“I made her a promise.”
“Felicienne…”
“I don’t break my promises.”
Marius frowned.
“Unless I’m forced to,” she added. “She’s obviously known to you councilors, so who is she?”
“Constance is her real name. First Adjudicator Constance Norwick.”
Felice let out a slow whistle, but inside she was unsettled and trying not to show it. “One step below the Emperor and his councilors. His real councilors, I mean, not you and your cronies.” She couldn’t resist the jab.
Marius took the bait. He drew himself up, and his face went red. “Although I’m only on the third tier of councilors, we still do important work.”
Mundane, run-of-the-mill, boring bureaucratic work, Marius meant. It was his department that ran the city’s ducats-for-dead-rats program, and they’d come up with the name themselves. She’d save that bit of knowledge to spring on him another time. It was too good to waste.
“First Adjudicator Constance is a powerful woman,” continued Marius. “But if you cross her…well, let’s just say you’ll be dead.”
“That’s blunt.”
“But accurate. She is ruthlessly ambitious, and practically usurped her position from the previous incumbent. It was a sordid mess. What’s happened? How did you come across her?”
“She interfered with one of my jobs, and then gave me a task of her own.”
Marius shifted slightly as he settled back down into his chair. “She’s a cunning woman. And you wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”
“I can always use friends in high places.” In fact, she needed them if she was to reach her goal of becoming the wealthiest woman in the Empire. Then, she wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. No one could touch her.
A wave of laughter came from Marius. “Constance doesn’t have friends. She uses people.”
“I’d guessed that already,” Felice said wryly. “What does she do? What’s her bailiwick?”
“Information and spying. Probably more gruesome business as well, though that’s unconfirmed. She’s like a fat-bellied spider. I’m telling you, Felice, by the ancestors, steer clear of her if you can.”
Felice shook her head. “The best I can do is complete this task of hers and wave goodbye.”
Marius’s face grew grim. He wiped his hands on his pants, leaving damp patches. “Once you’re hers, there’s no going back. If she has her hooks into you, then you’re her tool.”
“We’ll see about that.” Felice rose. “Thanks for the tea.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know.”
~ ~ ~
Night was closing over the buildings, and shadows lay deep upon the streets and alleys that crisscrossed the city. Darkness swallowed the districts and the rivers, and only a few of the tallest structures and towers built upon the city’s highest points were still bathed in sunset’s orange glow.
Weaving rapidly through the streets, Felice arrived at her office. Avigdor glanced up at her from the papers he was reading. The room was cluttered but serviceable. Being located on a main thoroughfare was its only redeeming feature. On his desk, in a clay vase, were the dandelions Flo had given her. They drooped quite badly.
“Pastry?” he asked, brushing crumbs from his hand onto a napkin. A pile of what looked like blueberry and raspberry pastries sat on greased paper on his desk.
“If it stops you wolfing the whole lot, then yes.” He’d put on weight over the last few months, which was a good sign he was over his illness. The fever and cramps had had him bedridden for weeks, and with the watery discharge, he’d lost weight rapidly.
“There’s a pastry epidemic in the city. I’m just doing my part.”
“What are you working on? And sorry I’ve been absent a bit over the last few days.”
With a wave of his hand, Avigdor dismissed her apology. “We knew that would happen during the tournament. I only have a few trivial cases and can handle them on my own. A missing young woman, probably eloped. A wayward husband about to be thrown out of home. The usual.”
Felice perched on the edge of his desk and chewed a pastry. It was good, with flaked almonds and crystalized sugar sprinkled on top. “I’ve forgotten to eat today,” she mumbled through a mouthful.
“That happens a lot,” chastised Avigdor.
“I’m through to the third round, by the way.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d washed her hair and had it re-braided.
Avigdor only grunted. “Those two mercenaries were here earlier. Said they’d only talk to you. That smaller one’s dangerous. A killer. But the big one…he’s worse.”
Perceptive of Avigdor, but then, that was why she’d hired him. “What’s worse than a killer?”
“A smart killer?”
“Did you manage to place a few bets on me?” The Middle Tier Tournament was followed by avid Dominion enthusiasts all over the city. And that meant practically everyone. Every bookmaker in the city gave odds on the matches. The game was almost a way of life.
“I’ve made us a few ducats, which is good. And should make more unless you’re knocked out, which would be bad. Is there anything I should know?”
“Someone I�
�ve never seen before is playing well, or came up against easier opponents. A man named Stryden. See what you can find out about him, will you?”
“I’ll add it to my list,” Avigdor said dryly.
Felice chewed the last of her pastry and licked her fingers. “Now, there’s—”
The door opened to the dust and clamor of the street, and Squall and Whisper entered. The smaller man’s eyes flicked around the office as if he expected trouble. Whisper’s eyes locked onto the pastries. He looked at Avigdor and raised his eyebrows. With a resigned sigh, Avigdor nodded. While Whisper helped himself to one, Felice did the same. Squall met her eyes and gave a nod, then leaned against a wall, where he could keep an eye on both the front and back doors, and the window opposite.
Someone must be after him, thought Felice. Or else he’s just extremely careful. Her instincts told her it was probably both.
“I take it you’ve found something out?” she said.
Squall glanced at Whisper, but the big man had a mouthful of pastry and shrugged.
“Yeah,” Squall said. “That valuable shipment from the south that’s supposed to arrive in the next few days? Well, it’s nothing valuable that I can see. It’s lucky we worked out which one it was. A few too many guards for what the caravan carried. But the goods are just alchemicals, and that seemed suspicious to us.”
Felice tugged an earring, processing this information. There were plenty of manufactories in The Capital that pumped out huge quantities of alchemicals. There was no reason to ship any into the city unless you didn’t want anyone knowing about them.
“I need a sample,” she said, almost before she finished the thought. “We can’t trust the bills of lading. No doubt they’ve falsified the contents.”
Squall took his time, but eventually he nodded. “We’ll need more ducats.”
“Hole in your purse?” Felice said.
“Bribes are expensive. Inflation, you know.”
Avigdor cleared his throat. He held out a silver ducat. The Emperor’s face stamped on one side seemed to glare at them.
At the Sign of the Crow and Moon: A Sorcery Ascendant Prequel Novella Page 4
