by Jon Sprunk
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
Step, 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 fire-blackened, 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.
His disguise, while serving admirably in the streets, was severely out of place in the Vine. As soon as Mistress Henninger noticed him, she rushed over with a look of alarm.
“Out you! There'll be no begging in here. Come round back later on and Cook will see if we have any scraps for you.”
Caim winked from under the hood. “Relax, Mother. It's me.”
She sucked in a deep breath, which threatened to burst her bodice. Thankfully, she kept her voice down. “Caim? You in trouble, sweetling?”
“Nothing I can't handle. Got a table for an old friend?”
“An old friend, eh? Of course.”
Caim looked around as he followed the wine mistress. Nothing had changed in the Vine. He had half expected to see the place in shambles after his last visit, but whatever he released from the shadows hadn't caused as much damage as he feared. Except for some new holes in the grimy wattle, the place looked the same as ever.
Then he noticed the empty tables. It was past midday, a time when the Vine would normally be filling up. Yet there were only a handful of patrons scattered through the common room. Caim hid a grimace of discomfort as he slid into a hard wooden chair.
“Some wine?” Mother asked. “I got a good Calamian in stock this week.”
“Just a small beer. And Mother?”
“Yes?”
“Don't hassle the chit in the red dress.”
“What?”
Caim nodded in the direction of the front door, where Josey stood. With shutters over the windows and smoky hanging lamps, the Vine was kept dim. Everyone who entered paused for a moment on the stoop to let their eyes adjust. It was an effective way to size up newcomers, which was one of the reasons Caim liked the place. That, and Mother never watered down the drinks.
As he'd said at Madam Sanya's, the dress hadn't been enough of a disguise, but now even her own father, had he been alive, wouldn't recognize her. Her jet black locks had been dyed with henna and chamomile. The resulting hue was a peculiar shade of reddish gold that was actually rather fetching. The whole coiffure had been pulled up into a gravity-defying design that drew eyes away from her face, the only change to which was a sassy beauty mark nestled in her left dimple.
“As you say, sweetling,” Mother said as she eyed Josey. “I'll just go fetch your beer.”
While Mistress Henninger waddled off to the bar, Caim watched Josey survey the room. Kira and Madam Sanya had tried to give her some pointers on how to act like a lady of the streets, which Caim observed with much amusement until they booted him from the room. When Josey emerged an hour later, all dolled up like a courtesan, he was genuinely surprised. She strutted ahead of him on the way to the wineshop and looked every bit the part.
Of course, Kit had been furious. She argued every step of the way, rattling off
the many reasons Caim should cut his losses now while his head was still attached to his neck and flee the city for greener pastures.
“Don't let that pretty face fool you,” Kit said. “And don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been watching her! She's just using you. She'll leave you high and dry the first good chance she gets.”
He listened to her tirade all the way to the Merchant Quarter before he lost his temper and muttered some very pointed things about meddling spirits and the ugly head of jealousy.
“Fine!” she said. “I guess you've made up your mind.”
With that, she left in a puff of sparkling silver dust and he hadn't seen her since. Now he regretted his words. He didn't have enough friends that he could afford to lose one, but Kit would be back once her temper cooled. Sooner, he hoped, rather than later.
As he watched Josey saunter around the room, lingering at the occupied tables, Caim began to think she was enjoying the charade. That is, until she turned in his direction and transfixed him with a venomous glare. Thankfully, Mother arrived in time to save him. While he handed her twice the price of the drink, plus a sizable tip for the inconvenience, Caim caught Josey's gaze and jerked his head to a nearby table.
She stalked across the taproom and alighted gracefully into a chair. She started to sit up like a proper lady until she saw his expression and slouched, hips thrust forward and legs dangling askew, the perfect picture of a bored streetwalker taking her ease. Mother avoided looking in her direction, but every other eye in the place was plastered to her every move. That was exactly what he wanted. If they salivated over the lusty whore, they wouldn't notice the noblewoman behind the act.
The sound of the door swinging drew Caim's gaze back to the entrance. He breathed a little easier at the sight of Hubert. After the way they had been forced to flee the last time they'd met, Caim had feared the young man wouldn't show. He signaled.
Hubert came over. He grinned as he took in the disguise. “Going back to your roots, Caim?” He helped himself to a seat at the table. “Or shouldn't I be using your real name?”
Caim set down his half-empty cup. “It's safe enough here, but I'm trying to cover my tracks.”
“I was a little surprised to get your message. I thought you were done with us. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Mathias is dead.”
Hubert's smile vanished. “What happened?”
“Someone dealt me a poisoned job, and then went back to make sure I couldn't get more details from Mat. Now they're after me. And my friend.”
“Friend?”
Caim gave a slight nod in Josey's direction. Her seat was close enough to overhear their conversation without appearing obvious. She looked Hubert up and down before turning away with a bored yawn.
“Hubert,” Caim said, “meet Josephine.”
“She's lovely.” Hubert's eyebrows rose. “A friend or a friend?”
Josey's smile curled up into a feral smirk as she pretended to examine her nails.
“Careful,” Caim said. “She bites.”
Hubert tipped his hat in a way that included Josey, or perhaps he saluted the entire room. “Charmed, milady. Hubert Vassili.”
Josey frowned. Out of the side of her mouth, she whispered, “Vassili?”
Hubert nodded. “No doubt you've heard of my father, the archpriest.”
Josey inhaled sharply. Caim glanced around the taproom. Few in Othir dared to talk openly of the Elector Council these days. People had been known to disappear for voicing opposition to their edicts.
“Do not be alarmed, milady.” Hubert touched the blue feather in his hat. “Despite my father's office, I am a sworn enemy of the theocracy that holds our fair city in bondage.”
He called for a drink as he turned back to Caim. “Say, are you behind those funerals up in High Town?”
Caim gave the young man his best deadpan face. “No.”
“Ah, just as well. So I gather you've got a problem that you need my help to solve. Let me guess. The lady has a jealous husband?”
“Not exactly.”
“A jealous pimp?”
Josey's smile became a strained grimace as a patron approached her with a lecherous smile and a cocky swagger. Caim slipped a hand behind his back, but Josey rejected the fellow with a dismissive flick of her fingers. Not precisely in character, but it worked. The man turned around and went back to his table with a glum frown. Mother shot Caim a frown of her own as she hustled over to soothe the jilted lover with a fresh flagon of ale. Message received. She didn't want any more trouble in her place. He needed to hurry this up.
“I'm trying to find someone. A city official, maybe high up.” Caim gave a brief description of the man Josey had seen in her father's study, complete with the sigil stitched into his clothing.
“Crossed keys?” Hubert asked as a decanter of wine arrived with a semiclean glass. “That would mean a minister of the Church treasury. From what you've told me, I'd guess you're talking about Ozmond Parmian. He's the assistant to the keeper of the Holy Coffers.”
Caim digested that for a moment. “Any idea why he would be meeting with a retired exarch just hours before that respected man should be killed?”
Hubert tasted his wine and made an unpleasant face. “You're talking about Earl Frenig.”
Caim's nod was so slight as to be almost imperceptible.
“Oh ho! Caim, you've gotten yourself into a real wasps’ nest, haven't you? Old Frenig had his hand in all sorts of interesting business.”
Josey spun around on her chair. “If you're insinuating he had anything to do with underhanded dealings, you're severely mistaken, sir! He was a—”
Caim held up a hand. “Josey, I'll handle this. You're drawing attention.”
Hubert looked between them. “Josey…Josephine.” His eyes widened. “As in Lady Josephine of House Frenig?”
“One and the same,” Caim said. “Now you see my problem.”
Hubert sat back in his chair and scratched his forehead. “Maybe better than you do. You're frogged seven ways to Sun Day, my friend.”
“Tell me something I don't know. Like this Parmian guy. Was the earl dealing with the prelacy?”
Josey stiffened in her seat, but Caim ignored her. He didn't have time for niceties. They could be found out at any moment. He had no illusions about what would happen if they were caught. He'd never make it to Castle DiVecci's infamous dungeons. A convenient accident would silence his involvement in this matter for good, and Josey might not survive much longer.
“That's the thing,” Hubert said. “Frenig was well known to be an active opponent to the Church, one of the last loyalists to the old imperium. That's why he was recalled back to Othir.”
“He retired!” Josey hissed under her breath, loud enough to make Mother jump as she passed by with a tray of drinks.
Hubert shook his head. “I beg your pardon, milady, but that's not how I heard it. The Reds didn't like some of the things he was saying and so they cancelled his commission. His choices were return to Othir where they could keep an eye on him or be branded an enemy of the people.”
“It doesn't make any sense. Parmian is a bright star in the prelate's administration, but he wouldn't treat with someone like Frenig. It would be a death sentence if he was ever found out.”
Caim's gaze wandered around the room. The place was filling up as people got off from their day's labors and sought solace in a wine cup. “We have to get hold of this guy. He knows something about the earl's death.”
“I can help with that,” Hubert said. “Let me contact a few friends and we'll set up a meeting.”
“Is Mr. Parmian going to know about this meeting?”
Hubert tipped back the last of his wine and stood up with a flourish of his silk-lined cloak. “Not until it's too late.”
“Good. You can send word to me at Madam Sanya's.”
Caim nodded to Josey as he got up and shuffled toward the door. She followed him outside, where a crowd had g
athered. People holding lit candles and sticks of burning incense marched down the street. Then, he saw the coffins: six boxes of raw pinewood.
Caim pulled down the hood of his shabby outfit and led Josey down a side street, away from the procession. His side ached something fierce. It put him in a foul mood. His palms itched for the handles of his knives. He almost wished to see a squadron of red uniforms converging on him.
The sky was clear, its cerulean perfection marred only by the smoke of the city's chimneys, but he could feel a storm coming. He searched every passing face and glanced down every alley in expectation of an ambush. Only the soft patter of Josey's boots at his back kept him from melting away into the dim recesses of the city. He continued his tottering, stumbling gait while the anxiety grew inside him.
By the time he sighted the gauzy festoons of the pleasure house, his nerves were scoured raw. And he had to admit, even though she annoyed him to distraction, he missed Kit. Wherever she was, he hoped she was all right.
He went around to the brothel's back entrance. As he made his way around puddles of mud and offal, Caim tugged his hood down a bit farther. The sun was dipping in the west. Suddenly the night didn't feel so friendly.
Step, clack, slide.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Caim rubbed his hands together in the dark alleyway and tried to ignore the cold. A frigid southerly had blown in from the bay, sending the inhabitants of the city's better neighborhoods home early for the evening. The windows of High Town's homes glowed cherry red around the edges of their lowered shades as families gathered indoors. Caim cursed them one and all for their comfort and wished he'd thought to bring a flask of something warm.
“It's freezing out here.” Josey huddled next to him in a long wool coat, another loan from Madam Sanya. Underneath, her pretty dress had been replaced with a boy's tunic and breeches that didn't quite fit. A linen scarf hid her nose and mouth. Caim fought the urge to grin at her, the very image of a dainty little bandit.
Hubert breathed into his folded hands and nodded. He wore a mask, blue of course, smelling of whiskey.
