by Damien Lake
This question had come up several times before. “Because he is closer to a rival than a friend, precisely. Looking around your shop,” Marik added, studying the laden shelves that carried far more stock aimed at magicians than the previous stores, “I imagine you are familiar with us. All of us have our strengths.”
The rest went unsaid. He could see the assumptions sprouting in the fat man’s head. Most magicians sought power, and refusing to aid other magicians who wanted what only they could accomplish was a form of power. Whichever magician had crafted the item they sought, he had refused to supply them with what they wanted.
Ilona furthered the fiction. “We’ve traced the item we asked his…rival…about as far as Thoenar.” She paused before adding, “Reed was our best bet, but he didn’t pan out. He sent us to you instead.”
The fat shop owner jerked his head around, interested. “Reed? That filthy bandit has never sent me so much as leftover stalk of stink grass before.”
“He learned not to double-deal us. After we educated him on that, he suggested we give your shop a try.” It impressed Marik how smoothly Ilona delivered the lie.
“Hah! That sounds like him! I hope you did more than ruffle his feathers. I was wondering, you see, about how you found your way to my shop.”
“Through a very winding path.” She leaned seductively over his counter again. Marik found the way the fat man’s eyes roamed her body annoying and disgusting.
“I’ve never doublecrossed a customer, you can trust Jenni on that.” He paused to load his tone with implication. “Or a supplier, for that matter. In my business, I can’t afford to.”
Ilona brought the discussion to the point. “Do you have anything like that?”
“It would help if you told me what you’ve been chasing.”
She allowed her eyes to dart around, a habit of untrustworthy people checking for strangers within listening distance. A habit she had been careful to imitate. “My friend’s friend can make wondrously interesting devices. The one I want looks like bracelet. That’s what he told us before he kicked us out. He says it can make things very small so you can hide them easily. In my line of work, it would greatly increase my profits from an…expedition, if I could easily carry unwieldy treasures.”
As she talked, Marik saw a light of recognition in the fat man’s eyes. Marik flexed his hand slightly, a habit of his own. His hand ached for the feel of his hilt. They had just found the shop they spent days searching for, had probably found their enemy’s den, and his most useful weapon was miles away.
He’s the one who supplied the lady assassin with the bracelet, Marik thought with satisfaction. He’ll tell us he never saw such a thing before of course, or else he’ll say that he already sold the item we were hoping to buy, but it was him! And he can probably tell us where to find the other assassins. I doubt they stumbled in off the street looking for a handy tool. They have connections.
“And your...uh…friend wouldn’t make you one?”
“Oh, he offered. He only wanted to charge us five-hundred gold coins for it.”
The fat shopkeeper laughed. “It would take a great many expeditions to recover the cost of such an expensive tool.”
She nodded. “I decided to track down the bracelet he already made. As you know, crafting an item with magical properties is very difficult. We both looked for another who could make us what we wanted, but no one else knows how.”
“A’yup,” he chirped, a single nod to emphasize the point. “Magicians I know who can actually craft a lasting item can only make two or three different ones.” Jenni continued letting his eyes grope Ilona’s bound yet bulging breasts, then sighed audibly, a decision having been reached. “There’s no point in carrying risky stock if you don’t risk making any sales. Hold on for a moment, dear.”
With many puffs, the fat man rose from the tall stool he perched atop. Out front, beside the shop’s door, hung a small wooden plaque with the word open carved on it. Jenni pulled the door open and switched the sign with the closed plaque hanging from a hook inside the entryway. After locking the door, he shuffled behind the counter.
“Come back here, dear. Both of you.” He held up the hinged countertop so they could pass under.
The counter, shaped like an L, barred off the shop’s back corner. Once they were inside the forbidden zone, Jenni led them through a hanging curtain. In the back storeroom he carefully arranged the curtain so it completely covered the doorway.
Marik found the storeroom filled with crates, sacks, barrels, boxes, leather pouches, bottles and tied packages. Jenni maneuvered his bulk through the narrow aisles, bringing them to an enormous, oversized barrel lying on its side. It could easily hold a hundred gallons of wine.
“Move further back,” he instructed when they halted before the massive cask. Jenni pulled a clawed hammer off a wall hook. Using the claw, he pried at a nail stuck into the inside rim an inch above the wagon wheel lid.
Looking closer, Marik saw that three nails held the giant round circle in place. None were pounded far in. It would be impossible for this cask to actually hold any liquid.
It required little work on Jenni’s part to pry the nails out. They had only been there to prevent the lid from falling over. “Now,” he said while he tucked the nails into his pocket. “For something like this, a shopkeeper takes a risk. The price needs to match the punishment I’d receive if it was ever discovered by the cityguard.”
Ilona nodded again. “I did not expect this to be cheap.”
Jenni poked at the lid until it tilted into his hand. He did not pull it out. Instead, he spun it enough that he could reach into the dark interior. It prevented Marik from seeing what else might be inside, as the fat man obviously intended.
When he retracted his hand, he held an item wrapped in old cloth. He pushed the lid back against the barrel with his bulk to hold it in place.
Both Marik and Ilona leaned forward while Jenni unwound the cloth. A glint of gold flashed in the dimness. The man held it up, balanced on his pudgy palm.
It was exactly the same, except this one held no charms. Every line was identical to the one Marik had taken from the unconscious assassin. He caught his breath as he gazed on the golden circle.
Until then, Marik had believed the only possible road that might yield answers had been to find the shop that sold the assassin’s bracelet in the first place and trace it to whoever purchased it, on the prayer that such a shop existed at all. Never had it entered his thoughts that there might be more than one of the artifacts. Elation raced through him. Not only had their assumptions proven correct, but this was undeniable proof they could present to the world.
“It works like this,” Jenni said, enjoying their hungry gaze. The fat man took the hammer and passed the golden bracelet over its shaft. With a familiar pop, the hammer disappeared. A golden charm in a hammer’s shape bounced from Jenni’s grasping fingers to the floor.
Marik retrieved it since the fat man continued using his back to prop his hiding hole closed. He examined the charm. “Yes,” Marik whispered lightly. “That’s what my friend said would happen.” Bouncing the charm on his palm, he added, “And it weighs next to nothing. This will help you with those bulkier treasures you’ve had to leave behind before.”
Ilona took the charm from Marik. Her face wore that peculiar expression familiar to him. The same look that always appeared, however briefly, when she succeeded in forcing a demonstration of his magic. Was she forcing herself to remain calm in the face of such unnaturalness?
“Yes. This will be most useful. I could carry away most of the house in a single night.”
“There are limits to it,” Jenni warned, recapturing their attention. “You can only reduce a few items at a time. After three or four, you’ll wear the magic out. It takes several candlemarks to refresh, and the same goes for returning the charms to their normal states. And it won’t work on anything living.” He passed the golden hammer through the bracelet. This time he caught the han
dle before it tumbled away.
“Still it is useful,” Ilona replied. She hesitated, than asked, “And how much would you be asking for it?”
Jenni shrugged. “I had a second one. It sold for forty-two golds.”
Marik choked as even Ilona looked startled. “That much?” She sounded outraged. “That’s a king’s ransom, that is! I could buy your shop five times over for that!”
The fat man merely shrugged. “This is a one-of-a-kind item.”
“It’s hardly one-of-a-kind,” Marik retorted, “if you’ve already sold another!”
Jenni raised his eyebrows. He refrained from a response.
Ilona haggled. “How many customers will walk past your door with ten golds to their name, let alone forty?”
“Forty-two is the going price. Take it or leave it. Sooner or later somebody will pay it.” The fat man wrapped the bracelet back in its cloth.
“Do you expect me to carry around that kind of wealth?”
Jenni replaced the magical item inside the wine cask. “I expect that if you want it as bad as all that, that you will find a way to come up with the coin. And don’t think about stealing it. My shop is protected.” He pounded the nails back in without explaining exactly what he meant by that.
Continued outraged protests fell on Jenni’s deaf ears. In the end they promised the man they would return. Marik felt as happy to go. The reek of the fat man’s sweat gradually lightened his head in the enclosed space. Out on the street, Dietrik rejoined them the moment they exited.
He kept them from wasting their breaths when he read it on their faces. “You struck gold.”
“Yeah,” Marik replied. “A vein the size of this street. This is the place!”
It was still early. This had been the second shop of the morning. They worked their way back to the Inner Circle while Dietrik asked questions. In the end, he asked, “Tonight, then?”
“I think so,” Marik told him. “I’m amazed there’s two of those bracelets, but I can’t imagine multiple shops are selling them. Jenni will be able to tell us about whoever bought the first one.”
Dietrik agreed. “What shall we do with Hilliard? The lad can’t be left alone, and Landon and Kerwin will insist on coming.”
Marik toyed with the idea of leaving him with Walsh’s regulars, who would buy the young noble a steady round of drinks all night to keep Hilliard recounting the harrowing tales of the tournament events. He discounted that as too risky when Ilona offered, “Why don’t you leave him at the Spell?”
Before Marik could respond, Dietrik faced her. “Not to be rude, lass, but I do not think you will add anything to the efforts tonight.”
“Who said I was going along with you? I’ve got what I need. I’ll tell the cityguard tomorrow all about that fat bag of guts and his wine cask. That should clear the Standing Spell of all suspicion of involvement.”
“Then why offer to involve yourself in our affairs?”
Fresh surprise colored her lovely features before she tossed her wavy hair back. “Involve?” She laughed. “In case you’ve forgotten, mercenary, the Standing Spell is a place for a gentleman with extra time on his hands.”
Marik entered the fray. He felt his skin reddening. “Uh, well Ilona…while I suppose that might be the last place an assassin would think he would hide, I don’t see how I could convince Janus that the coin spent at a br…um, gentleman’s establishment was a necessary expense.” His face flamed.
She laughed all over. “Men always enjoy jumping to conclusions. I never said we would provide him with any of our services. I said you could leave him at the Spell. Mother loves a good conversation better than a good man in her sheets.” Marik knew his hair would catch fire any moment. “She’ll keep him up all night talking and having tea and being concerned about the attack. You’ll be back before he realizes its nearly morning.”
Before Dietrik could make his feelings known, Marik hurriedly said, “Then I guess that’s the best bet. Uh…thanks…Ilona.” She studied him with her sharp-edged amusement. He increased the pace so he walked ahead where she could not see him.
After they returned to the Spell, he shucked out of the uncomfortable robe. For the last time, he fervently hoped. Dietrik remained in the foyer, striving to be cute for Rosa, whom he seemed to find attractive. Marik hardly noticed the heavy perfume in the hallways any longer. He was strapping his sword to his back when Ilona entered, stripping off the thief’s shirt. His fingers went clumsy on the buckle while he watched her back arch as she let the sleeves slip down her arms.
Only the cloth strip winding around her bosom covered her torso. She dug through a pile of feminine clothing on the floor as he stood frozen for several moments, lost in the graceful perfection of her movements. But she had faced the mirror, he realized, and further realized she must be glancing at him in it, staring at her like a witless fool. He finished securing the long sheath in a clumsy rush.
“You’ll bring your noble by at nightfall?” She turned with a long dress draped in her hands.
“Yes.” Marik wanted to sound casual.
“I’ll tell mother to expect him, then.” Ilona faced the mirror, adjusting a lace on the dress’ bodice. Marik drank in one last look before heading for the door. The shop was found, so her part in it had ended. It depressed him mightily. Tonight would be the last time he would probably see her.
“Marik.” He glanced over his shoulder to see she had not moved. She watched him from the corner of her mirror with the cold calculation most familiar to him of all her moods. Then, as sudden as an unseen punch, and driving the wind from his lungs in much the same manner, her mouth twisted into the faintest hint of a wily grin. “After you finish this business of yours…”
“Yes?” He held his breath.
“Come by and tell me about it.” A pause. “I’m curious how it will finish.”
Marik nodded. “I’ll do that.”
He collected Dietrik and, walking with him, worked very hard to avoid acting as foolish as his old friend Chatham.
* * * * *
Kerwin sauntered closer to where Marik stood watch by the entrance. Marik shifted from studying the dark street outside through the slightly cracked shop door. Wheezing and muted words drifted from behind the curtain dividing the back room from the public area.
“I’m surprised that fellow has lasted this long as a shady shopkeeper in the city,” the gambler opened with. “He cracked at the first tap of the shell.”
Marik grimaced. “How hard did you tap?”
“Oh, hardly a flick of the fingernail. Dietrik’s sitting on his fat belly, and that sad sack is so out of shape he’s having trouble catching his breath. Add in Landon’s hard-bitten mercenary act, and he’s trembling with eyes wide. Looks like a drunk who just realized he lost his drinking coin on a sure bet.”
“At least we didn’t need to get…well, worse than that. Still, I wonder why he collapsed so fast.”
“I can hazard a guess on that matter. He’s a front man for Thoenar’s dark guilds. The local thugs know enough not to cross him, or else his backers will visit the troublemakers in the night. As long as Jenni works for them, they look after his back. No one has ever held a knife to his throat before.”
“So he is in with the dark guilds then. He told you that?”
“After Landon started drumming his fingers along his dagger hilt, yeah.”
Marik nodded in satisfaction. “Good. So we were right after all.”
“Well…” Kerwin scratched a fingernail against his jaw. “Yes and no. This is one of those cases where we only profited because we were lucky as all hells. Seven out of thirteen, with snake’s eyes all around.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We decided to look into the shady alchemy shops because of the phosphorus we found on that killer’s clothing, right? We thought the thieves might be connected to one of those, right?”
“Yeah. And so?”
“And so we find out where all the nasty
shops are and begin looking. That bracelet of yours also added fuel to that particular blaze of our thinking.”
“So what, Kerwin? We found what we wanted.”
“So,” the gambler continued, “we were wrong.”
That startled Marik greatly. “What?”
“Here’s what our fat friend told us. An eightday or so before we arrived in Thoenar, the local thugs brought over a group of outsiders from Spirratta to his shop. These foreigners were in town to take care of a little business.”
“Hilliard,” Marik stated.
“We know that, but Jenni says he didn’t know the particulars. The Spirrattans needed a place to stay hidden while in the city, and the regular safe havens the local guilds used were all compromised due to a sweep by the cityguard. Bad timing and all that, because the guard was sweeping as many rats out of the city as they could to make it safer for the tournament. So they dumped the group on Jenni with orders to put them up.”
“I bet he didn’t like that. But the phosphorus they picked up in the shop brought us to them in the end.”
Kerwin shook his head. “No, that’s where our assumptions dead end against the wall. What happened is that Jenni became extremely nervous. The cityguard already keeps their eye on his shop, and having a gang of killers upstairs made him jump like fat on a hot pan. He wanted them out of his shop, so arranged with one of his stock suppliers to house them.”
Marik blinked. Kerwin continued as he analyzed this new information, looking for the sense.
“Turns out there are plenty of businesses on the city’s outskirts, doing work that’s too unpleasant to do in the heart of the population. Renderers and slaughterers and the like. Out there is a setup that refines all sorts of chemicals and components for shops like this. One of their biggest products is phosphorus. That’s where our first assassin friend picked up the white powder on his clothing.”
