Shadows son s-1

by Jon Sprunk

  Ral gaped at the fortune in gold and silver rolling across his carpet, and up to the sleeve from which it had come. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Lord Governor Pendarich. I can live with that.

  "I accept."

  Heat flared in Ral's hand and he dropped the scroll, which had erupted into sizzling flame. He coughed and waved his hands. When the smoke cleared, the scroll and Levictus were gone.

  Ral stood up. Long shadows filled the corners of the room despite the bright sunlight that shone through the windows. Thirteen square boxes rested on the table beside his armoire. Identical in appearance, each was constructed of a creamy wood, beach or maybe white pine, bound with brass fittings.

  Ral went over to investigate. Fearing some trap, he abstained from touching them at first, but then his impatience got the better of him and he lifted one of the lids to peek inside.

  He swallowed as he shut the box. An unsightly business, but necessary. He looked at his hand. A black smudge marred the smooth patch of skin between ridged calluses. He rubbed it on his shirt, but the mark remained. With a frown, he held it up to the light.

  In the center of his palm gleamed a silhouette of an ominous black tower.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  aim awoke on his side with one hand tucked under a pillow. Thoughts drifted through his mind like clouds through a murky gray sky, memories of his wild days riding with Jame's band of marauders. The brawls, the comrades, the sultry nights in Brevenna where every woman was a beauty and the wine never stopped flowing. Sometimes he missed those days. They were a more innocent time in his life, a time when he'd never had to watch over his shoulder unless it was for an angry husband or a suspicious lawman, and either could be dealt with by coin or blade. He wondered what had happened to the fiery-tempered rogue he had once been.

  He rolled onto his back and stretched, fully believing he was home in his cot until the shifting of the soft mattress beneath his frame made him sit up in alarm. The piercing agony that ripped through his side drove away the last vestiges of sleep. He groaned and settled back on the mattress. His stomach did a little flip when he opened his eyes. The pink walls, the frilly lace canopy, tin ornaments on the shelves polished to resemble silver. The smells of rose petals and talcum. There was only one place he could be.

  Madam Sanya's Pleasure House on Paradise Lane.

  It was a bolt hole he had used a few times in the past to recover from arduous jobs or just to clear his head. By the slant of the sunbeams filtering through the window slats, it was early morning. Sounds drifted in from the street-people talking, bartering, and arguing over the hum of the city. A familiar scent floated in the air. Another look around confirmed it. He was in Kira's room, and he wasn't alone.

  Josey sat in a chair beside the bed. Part of him was amazed to see her. He would have wagered she'd come to her senses before now and taken off. Another part of him was irked. He was losing his edge if he could sleep soundly with someone else in the room.

  She had changed outfits, replacing the tattered nightgown with a maroon off-the-shoulder kirtle. It was a decent fit, if a little tight across the bosom. High, buttoned boots peeked from beneath the hem of the flaring skirt. He marveled at the spoiled aristocrat's daughter, who probably spent more on shoes in a sennight than most people scraped together in a year, sitting in a whore's bedchamber in a borrowed dress and looking absolutely gorgeous. Though he wasn't partial to red, the color brought out the glow in her cheeks. He couldn't look away, and didn't say a word for fear he might lose this moment. He felt her beauty tightening around his soul like a web of steel. Then, he thrust it away before the spell could settle over him for good. It was harder than he expected.

  His good feelings faded under her fierce glare.

  "You brought me to a… a bordello!"

  Kit dropped from the ceiling and plopped on his bed without disturbing the covers. "Hey, look who's finally awake! You gave me a good scare, Caim. Don't do it again."

  He cleared his throat and started to sit up, but stopped himself. He was naked. Worse, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten that way. Kit couldn't touch him and Josey… He banished the thought. Surely, she hadn't…

  "You look, um, very nice," he said, and meant it for both of them.

  "Don't say a word about the dress."

  Kit snickered.

  "I was just-"

  "Not a word!"

  "Fine."

  "Good!"

  He was glad to hear the fire in her voice. The things she had seen in the past couple days would have broken many people, especially a young woman from the fair streets of High Town. But Josey had responded with good instincts and poise. Unfortunately, those fine attributes wouldn't count for much if they were found. Twice now the Sacred Brotherhood had come for Josey, and had risked a great deal to see her dead. Twice he had saved her. Laid up with a hole in his gut, he didn't want to find out if three was his unlucky number.

  "Actually," he said, "you brought me here. I was in no condition-"

  "You gave me the directions!"

  A knock at the door broke off whatever he was going to say next. A cold wave of dread washed over him as he tried to sit up again, and he clenched his jaws as a ripple of pain tore through his side. Where were his knives? He spied a familiar strap hanging from the bedpost by his head and grabbed for it just as the door opened. A familiar face peeked in. Caim suppressed the urge to groan again. Instead, he pulled the bedsheets up to his chest. Of course, it had to be Kira. He should have known.

  Kira beamed at him as she swept into the room with a wooden tray and set it on the nightstand beside the bed. Caim returned a small smile, not wanting to appear impolite. After all, he and Kira had spent more than one night together in this very room on the few occasions he had felt the need for companionship.

  Kira ignored Josey as she stood over him. "How are you feeling, Caim?"

  Josey's mouth tightened in a way that made Caim glad to have his knives close at hand. Kit grinned like a cat with cream on her whiskers as she reclined beside him and watched the exchange.

  The door opened again to admit the lady of the house. The panels of her lavender gown were wide to accommodate Madam Sanya's exceedingly ample bosom, which threatened to spill out of the low-plunged collar at any moment. It was widely whispered that she had been a great beauty in her youth, the most sought-after courtesan in Othir. Caim could almost believe it. A striking woman still lurked in the depths of her apple-shaped face, but she had been concealed under too many layers of makeup.

  "All right, Kira." Madam Sanya made with a shooing motion. "Out now. Leave them to their rest."

  The girl departed, after shooting another heated glance at Caim that earned him further mouth-tightening from Josey.

  "I'm sorry about that," Madam Sanya said. "That girl can be a proper pain in the backside, but she's popular with the men."

  "No." Josey came to her feet. "She's been very generous, as have you all."

  Madam Sanya gave a lovely chuckle that could have come from a much younger and slighter lady. "It's no problem, darling. Caim is a good friend of the house. We're glad to help."

  Josey leveled a bemused gaze at him. "Oh? Is he a regular at your establishment?"

  Caim cleared his throat, ready to defend his reputation, but Madam Sanya didn't give him the chance. "Not quite a regular, but he's helped us out of some unpleasant situations. Not every man is a gentleman like Caim. Some have to be convinced to behave themselves, but it's just me and my girls here. I've never kept a bruiser at the door, and I never will if I have my way."

  Arms crossed over her chest, Josey studied him with a mysterious expression like she was weighing him on some invisible scale. He didn't like the look one bit, but naked and abed there wasn't much he could do about it.

  "Once," Madam Sanya continued, "we had a real hard case in the house, a Hvekish sellsword with more muscles than brains. Well, he hadn't been upstairs with Abilene for more than ten minutes when I hear an awful commotion. H
e was beating the vinegar out of the girl. Some men are just like that, mean to the core. Anyways, I sent Suri to fetch help, and she came back with Caim just as quick as you please. Without a word, he goes upstairs. We heard a mighty ruckus, but I was too scared to go up and look myself, not till afterward. There was Abilene, all busted up and bleeding like a lamb at market, but alive. The sellsword was stretched out with enough holes in his gullet to sink a man-o'-war. We threw the body out back with the garbage. Since then, everyone knows to keep civil in my house."

  Caim changed the subject. "What's the latest, Sanya? Anyone looking for us?"

  "Well, most tongues are flapping about the murders up in High Town."

  "My father," Josey said.

  Caim saw the pain written on her face and felt a stab of remorse. He hadn't killed her father, but he would have, and the knowledge of that made him feel just as guilty as if he had been the one holding the knife. Not for the first time, he reconsidered the direction his life had taken. Was it too late to give it all up? Would anyone ever see him as anything but a killer? Would he?

  "You said murders, Sanya. There's been more than one?"

  "Three all told," the madam replied. "Two was members of the Elector Council, killed in their own homes and no one's seen nothing. The whole city is buzzing about it. Personally, I think it's one of them southern death-cults at work. Did you hear about how that high priest got his head cut off down in Belastire? And by one of his own servants, mores the worse."

  Belastire? That rang a bell in Calm's head. Someone had mentioned that city to him lately. Then he remembered who-Ral. Rotten bastard, what are you up to?

  "I tell you," Madam Sanya said. "People are crazy these days, worshipping snakes and cats. Anyway, there's more tinmen on the street than I've seen in twenty years on the Lane. Someone will be hanging in Chirron's Square come sunset, mark my words."

  "You didn't answer my question, Sanya," Caim said. "Is anyone looking for us?"

  The mistress of the house gazed down into her generous chest. "Some say it's you behind all those killings, Caim. They say you've gone mad. But I don't believe it. You've been nothing but a gentleman to my girls and me."

  "Thank you," Caim said. "For everything."

  This time it was the big woman's turn to blush. She did it with grace and left, closing the door behind her.

  "What does it mean?" Josey asked.

  "It means someone is making their move."

  "What kind of move?"

  Thoughts tumbled around in Calm's head like pieces of a giant puzzle, each obscure on its own, but all of them hinting at a bigger picture. Othir had always been a hotbed of backroom dealings and political intrigue. Unrest had been the watchword since the day the Church deposed the last legitimate emperor and installed itself as the new regime. It was one of the reasons Caim had chosen here for his base of operations. Turmoil was lucrative in his line of business. Now it worked against him. With the rumors flying about, he couldn't go anyplace he was known. Madam Sanya had taken a big chance letting them stay here.

  His gaze moved to Josey, seated once more in the ladder-back chair. Her proud features were out of place in the cheap room. He was missing something, some bit of vital information sitting right in front of him.

  "Your father. You said he was a governor."

  "The exarch of Navarre, but he retired when I was little and we moved to Othir."

  "My contact told me he was a general responsible for ruthless massacres in Eregoth."

  A look of horror crossed her features. "My father never harmed anyone."

  "Sure," Kit murmured. "I bet her old man was a pussycat. Probably ate like a king while his people starved in the streets."

  Caim shook his head. Kit pouted, but he didn't care. This wasn't the time for a debate on social injustice. He was onto something. He could feel it, like a fish wriggling on the end of a line.

  "So he wasn't a military officer?"

  "No, he was never in the army. He had a lame foot since childhood."

  Caim considered that. Mathias wasn't one to make careless mistakes. He was purposely misled, and by someone he trusted.

  "You think my father's death is connected to these other murders?"

  "I don't believe in coincidence. The same person who set me up at your father's house is somehow involved."

  "How does that help us? We can't go to the authorities. The Sacred Brotherhood is trying to kill me, and you're wanted for about a thousand crimes."

  "When was the last time you saw your father alive?"

  He instantly regretted his boorishness as bright spots of moisture formed in the corners of her eyes. To her credit, she didn't break down.

  "Earlier that day in his study," she answered. "We had an argument."

  "About what?"

  "He wanted me to leave the city. He said it wasn't safe for me here. He wanted me to take a trip abroad. He said he would send for me when things got better."

  Caim sat up and received a sharp reminder of his condition. He ignored it. He didn't have time to be hurt. "Did he say who he thought was such a threat?"

  "No." A hint of gold sparkled under Josey's neckline as she ran a hand over her forehead. "I told you. My father was a well-loved man. We never had trouble like this before."

  Caim wrapped the blanket around his waist and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He thought better on his feet. He exhaled slowly as tiny slivers of agony crawled under his skin. Josey started to get up, but he waved her away. Using the bedpost for support, he managed to stand up on his own. The first step was uncomfortable, but it got easier after that. Kit hovered at his side. Whatever she had done to his ankle, it felt a world better.

  As Caim shuffled across the small room, he tried to think of other avenues of information he could pursue. When he reached the wall, he turned back. "Did your father have a mistress?"

  "Of course not!"

  He grimaced as another jolt of pain rippled through his side. "Forgive me. I'm trying to find loose ends."

  "What?"

  "People who may have been involved with your father. Associates, business partners, lovers. People who had a vested interest in his survival, or his death. Most assassinations are arranged by close relatives."

  "That's atrocious!"

  "That's human nature."

  "Well, it's disgusting. I-" Josey looked at the floor.

  Caim halted and watched the play of thoughts across her face. "What is it?"

  "The day my father died he was talking with a man, someone I'd never seen before. I didn't think much about it at the time. My father had many well-wishers. But there was something odd about the conversation."

  "What?"

  Her shoulders fell as she leaned back in the chair. "I don't know. I just got the feeling they didn't want anyone to overhear what they were saying. My father was never a secretive man. He told me everything."

  "Except that."

  "Yes. It bothered me at the time, but I forgot about it in the heat of our argument. When I found you in his bedchamber that night, I was coming to convince him not to send me away."

  He felt the urge to touch her, perhaps brush the strands of hair from her face, but he suppressed it. "Was there anything odd about this man? A feature you'd recognize again. The way that he spoke-"

  "Keys." She looked up. "He had a pair of keys stitched on his breast, crossed like a pair of swords."

  "Does that symbol mean anything to you?"

  "No." She slumped back in the chair.

  He scratched his bristly chin. "Me neither."

  "This is pointless," Kit complained. "She doesn't know anything, Caim."

  He shushed her and got an odd look from Josey. Then, a sudden inspiration made him smile. He headed toward the pile of his clothes on the dresser. "But I think I know someone who can help us."

  "Wait a minute!" Kit jumped up to bar his way. When he passed right through her, she spun around and floated past his head. "Enough is enough, Caim. You've done your civic
duty. You rescued the wench and gotten yourself shot in the process. Now let's do the smart thing and get out of this place. East, west, across the sea-I don't care which direction as long as it's away from here!"

  "I can't," he replied.

  "What?" Josey asked.

  "Nothing. Listen, I'm going to go meet this person. I want you to stay here. And don't leave this room."

  "You're crazy!" Kit said.

  "I'm not staying here," Josey replied.

  "Be quiet!" he shouted. To Josey, he said, "It isn't safe on the streets. You'll be better off here."

  Kit crossed her arms across her chest. "Since when did you start caring about other people, Caim?"

  He almost choked when Josey adopted an identical posture. "It's my life," she said. "You're not my father. You have no right to tell me what to do."

  Caim sighed. This wasn't fair. No man should have to put up with this much harassment.

  "Fine," he said. "But you can't go out like that."

  Josey lifted the skirt of her borrowed dress. "What's wrong with this?"

  "Oh, the dress is fine." He winked at Kit as he put on his pants and the figments of a plan coalesced in his head. "But the look's not complete yet."

  Savoring the confusion on their faces, he hobbled over to the door and called for the lady of the house.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  tep, clack, slide.

  Caim kept his head down as he shuffled through the door to the Blue Vine. A grimy, rust-colored robe covered his leathers, compliments of Madam Sanya, who had closets full of clothes left behind by old clients. The robe's deep hood concealed his face. A cane, gnarled and fireblackened, completed the ensemble.

  Step, clack, slide.

  He winced as he stepped into the wineshop's cool interior. His side pained him, but by leaning on the cane and dragging his right foot he could get around reasonably well, and the limp made his mendicant act all the more convincing. He just hoped he wouldn't have to leave in a hurry like last time.

  The disguise had been his idea, but in truth he'd had little choice in the matter. Kit and Josey both agreed he shouldn't leave the brothel room without one. They argued that he wasn't up for fighting if it came to that, and he didn't disagree. Of course, his knives rested against his back under the heavy robe just in case.