The Taste of Waterfruit and Other Stories (Story Portals)

by Richard Lee Byers

  "I'll come to you. Usual rooms?"

  "As always. That's if my messenger did his job right."

  "I'll be there after dark." And in disguise, though she did not need to tell him that. He was intelligent enough to understand.

  "I'll have coffee ready." He stared right past her, added a brief bow, and said in a jovial voice: "My two most honoured patrons both here to greet me as I arrive! I am indeed a fortunate man."

  "It is we who are fortunate." Yosaf lounged at the other side of the litter. One hand rested, impertinent, on the silk drape. "And an excellent afternoon to you, Lady Zaida. Here for the excitement of the caravans?"

  "For the spice market."

  "Are you not content with the selection on offer in the northern quadrant? Or has your trade declined so far that you must watch your coins?"

  "Neither," Zaida told him in a breezy voice. "My cook speaks highly of the market here, and I have never been. The notion amused me, that's all. And when I saw that I'd been lucky enough to coincide with Afif, of course I must wish him a safe and speedy journey. Farewell, my friend. Bring me fine goods on your next trip."

  "I've just arrived." Afif played along, while an indulgent smile touched the corner of his mouth. "And my first order of business, after seeing to my goods and beasts and staff, and making myself presentable to the better sort, was to call on you, madam." He shot a glance at Yosaf. "And on you as well, of course, sir. I think you will both be pleased by my little offerings."

  "Indeed." Yosaf tilted back on his heels, then forward again, as he studied Afif and then Zaida. "I had been used to coming first in your attentions."

  "And your house is nearer," Zaida said sweetly. "Nice and central, close to the traders' quadrant. I fear my own little villa merely overlooks the palace gardens."

  "Quite." Yosaf had complete mastery of his features, as befitted the most powerful merchant in the city, but his eyes gave a brief flash. "Trees and flowers bore me, I confess."

  "Of course I would call on you first, sir." Afif gave a creditable impression of startled surprise. "It would not have occurred to me to do otherwise. And on the Lady Zaida next."

  "Naturally." Zaida offered Yosaf a slight bow of her own. "As I am second to you in all things, sir."

  "Hm." Faced with such a gush of flattery from both of them, Yosaf appeared to mellow. "I shall expect you this evening, then. About the time of the dusk temple call."

  "That would suit me admirably." Afif agreed without a flicker. Zaida made a mental note to arrive a little later than she had planned. "Perhaps, madam, we might defer our formal meeting until tomorrow?"

  "That is quite acceptable. Goodbye." Zaida snapped her fingers at the bearers. "Walk on."

  * * *

  But she wouldn't have to be second to Yosaf for long, she reflected as she ascended the staircase to the quality rooms. She had spent years gradually eroding his position, once so apparently unassailable. She was richer than him, more influential than him, and only his contacts among the pearl traders had been slow to yield. They'd known him from boyhood, of course, whereas she had been raised to deal in fabrics. Now she commanded the best robes, and vied with Yosaf for the best pearls. But if she could secure exclusive access to Afif's supply, that would be the beginning of the end for Yosaf's rule. She would have the best quality merchandise—and more importantly, she would have cut him out of that deal. It would send a message to the entire upper reaches of the merchant class, even to the palace itself, that her power outmatched his. And the palace always wanted to surround itself with the best and most successful merchants. It helped bring lustre to the crown. If she could wrest the monopoly on supplying the palace from Yosaf as well, he truly would become a spent force. And she would be first among merchants, as she had dreamed of all her life.

  She let her bodyguard, Nasir, step into the room before her. They had passed as a couple at the reception desk below, but she knew better than to precede him into any space, no matter how familiar. She paid him well to secure her life and safety—if necessary, at the expense of his own. No sense in doing the work of her own staff, for all her posturing excuses at the market this morning.

  He spent longer than she'd anticipated. She had several moments to glance side to side, wonder at the silence from within the room, exchange puzzled looks with her second bodyguard, frown. And then a low quick whistle from within, to tell her to approach with caution.

  She stepped through. And it wasn't the painted scenes on the walls that drew her eye, nor the embroidered cushions and wide bed slung with gold damask. It was the corpse of Afif, midway between the bed and the low copper-inlaid table, sprawled full length on the mosaic floor.

  "What happened?" she asked. And then, because it hadn't occurred to her before: "Why is he alone?"

  Behind her, at a nod from Nasir, the second bodyguard shut the door. She had time for only a brief tremble of fear—even well-paid staff had been known to turn—before she realised it was a basic precaution. If she was found here, it would be hard for her to deny ever having entered the room.

  Nasir knelt down next to the body, scanned it without touching or leaning too close, tapped a small sigil embroidered onto the silk sleeve of his shirt. Then he looked up with a frown.

  "As far as I can tell," he said, "this man suffocated, but for no obvious reason. There's no food on the table, no spilled drink. That says magic to me. But there's no trace of magic here—well, nothing aside from the ordinary."

  Zaida nodded. Her own sigils had already picked up the customary wards and enhancements. Nothing to threaten her, just the usual comforts and precautions. "So he was waiting for me, after a pleasant meal at Yosaf's house, and then just...keeled over?"

  "That's how it looks."

  Zaida pondered. "Seems rather too convenient."

  "Yes." He glanced around, stepped over to the door that separated the main room from the servants' area with its separate entrance. "Nothing here either. Must have sent them out for a night off."

  Zaida studied the corpse on the floor. He'd been handsome enough in life, and wealthy and powerful in his way. It wasn't inconceivable that he might entertain the occasional clandestine assignation. "Do you think they knew someone was coming?"

  "It's possible." Nasir nudged one clenched hand with the toe of his boot, which caused a gleam of pallor to light between the bent fingers. "Counting pearls, by the looks of it." He studied the bare table for a moment. "Counting to one, at any rate."

  Zaida spotted a scrap of silk under the table. "It came wrapped."

  "So it did." He checked the fragment, shrugged, tossed it aside. "No poison and no magic. Maybe he just liked one to play with."

  He strode around the body, checked the curtains and the windows behind them, nodded satisfaction. "I think we're all clear. My suggestion is we leave right now, quietly and pleasantly as we came. It's a natural death, nothing to cause suspicion. He ate or breathed something that caused him a spasm—it has been known to happen—and no one need take the blame. But you're best out of it."

  Sound sense. She could rely on him for that. But Afif deserved better.

  "We'll leave," Zaida said. "But after that I have an errand for you."

  * * *

  "So." Katya studied the woman across the low table. They were in the back room of one of the better taverns, right by the great temple of Belanon, and the murmur of patrons doing a spot of genteel gambling over their mid-morning coffee provided a pleasant backdrop to this darker transaction. "You think maybe he was killed, by someone who's either out to damage his business or discredit you, and you want me to investigate."

  "My bodyguard thought it a natural death. I'm not convinced. If you find that it is, so much the better. But if not—if he was killed—then I want you to track down the murderer and kill him."

  "Or her."

  "Indeed."

  Katya permitted herself another moment of scrutiny. There wasn't much to tell—she guessed that the pale-rose blush and silver hair were as m
uch an artefact of magical glamour as her own black stubble and silk waistcoat. But sometimes the expression of the eyes could not be magicked away. She had learned to keep her own neutral, no matter what. Not everyone had that gift.

  And this woman—if it was a woman—was angry.

  "You have a personal interest in this?" Katya asked. She insisted on knowing who her patron was, even if that was not the person she did actual business with. Her companion had given the name of Zaida, and had taken the trouble to get that lady's personal appearance right. Katya saw no reason to enquire further. She had always got paid promptly and in full during their few past engagements.

  But why one of the wealthiest merchants in Jakarr should care about the fate of a mere trader was beyond her. Pearls, admittedly. There was a connection there. They would certainly have known each other.

  "I had plans," the woman said. "For an exclusive arrangement. We were to meet and discuss the details. I found him dead. So it may well be that someone is attempting to damage my business. Or perhaps simply to undermine my position in the merchant community."

  Katya nodded. “Go on,” she said.

  "I met him," the woman said. "I spoke with him. And now he's dead. That's an affront to me. An insult, or a warning—to me or to others. A way to show that my favour is not to be desired, and offers no protection. Do you see?"

  "Of course." Years ago she had trained as a courtesan in the temple of Shi’in, groomed to accompany heads of state to crown dinners and to converse intelligently about politics and intrigue at even the highest levels, so following the nuances of this woman’s machinations was easy enough. "So what enemies do you have?"

  "Oh, goodness." The woman laughed. "Who likes another's success? But I do have my eye on one man in particular. Yosaf. You'd do well to start with him."

  "Any particular reason?"

  "I'm a threat to him, and he knows it." The woman's expression grew thoughtful. "And he was there yesterday, when we fixed our meeting."

  "Do you think he overheard?"

  "No. We were both careful. But he may have guessed." She glanced down at the embroidery on her sleeve. "I suppose it's possible he carried some kind of listening magic—I wouldn't put it past him. But I believe I'd have known." Still something niggled at her, to judge by the faint puzzled frown. "You know, there's something odd about that pearl."

  Katya waited. Sometimes understanding grew best in silence. The whorl of conversation from the coffee room drifted through the thick panes of the wall.

  "Why would he be holding it just at the moment when he died?" Zaida asked—if it was indeed Zaida. "It makes no sense. But my man assures me there was neither poison nor magic there."

  "You trust his judgement?"

  "He's a professional."

  "Even so." Katya pondered for a moment. "I'll want payment in advance, as usual. A boy will let you know where to drop it. Do not have him followed or the deal is off. You can leave now."

  One flash from dark eyes warned her to check her presumption. But Zaida rose, nodded to her bodyguard, and strolled out of the room.

  Katya made one last sweep for hidden traps and wards. She didn't need to, she'd checked everything on first entering the room, but it was the mark of a true professional never to trust even herself. When she was satisfied, and knew by the steady hum beyond the door that no one had sneaked back without her knowledge, she slipped out through the hidden panel in the side wall and emerged into the street.

  A useful meeting place. She liked it, though she never used it more than once in a year. From here she had only to cut across the street and follow the alley at the back of the temple to reach her own modest home. But of course she took the long road, just in case anyone tried to follow her.

  Shame about Afif. She'd done a little job for him once, and thought him a good man. Katya never got personally involved with her professional targets, but she did find herself anticipating this particular kill.

  If it was murder. Katya still wasn't convinced.

  * * *

  Meles leaned her elbows on the counter as she studied the pearl. "If I were going to make a suggestion—which of course I never do—I would say that what you search for is a spell that is laid for one specific person, is set to discharge on contact, and dissipates afterwards, leaving the object apparently harmless."

  "Is that possible?" Katya asked.

  Meles turned clear emerald eyes on her. "Most things are—for a price."

  "And how much," Katya said, "would you charge me for a spell like that, which causes the person in question to suffocate and then disappears without trace?"

  "I would charge a great deal," Meles said.

  "And have you made any fortunate sales lately?"

  "You know I can't discuss such matters."

  "With, oh, say a powerful man who trades in pearls?"

  "Not recently."

  Katya watched the steady gaze. "In the last day or two?"

  "Did you come here to buy?"

  Katya drew in a deep breath. Meles' careful dignity told her all she needed to know.

  "I did." It would cost, but Zaida always paid well and without demur. And Katya was angry now. Death was a sacred matter, not something to deal out in a fit of pique. "I want you to lay exactly such a spell."

  Meles offered her an ethereal smile.

  "I can do more than one, if you wish."

  "One is enough," Katya said. "I have plenty of knives."

  * * *

  Katya didn't have the standing in the Assassins Guild to get access to their confidential records. Technically, every professional hit and its fee should be reported to them, though that was a rule seldom followed. In part because assassins tended to be secretive—either that or dead—and in part because they were mostly loners, who avoided any more contact with their fellow humans than was strictly necessary.

  So she was in no position to verify exactly who had taken the job of eliminating Afif, or even whether it had been a professional hit. She thought so, though. Amateurs left traces, and Zaida's own professional staff had found none. Zaida had money and intelligence, and if her trust in her staff was not misplaced, they could be assumed to know their work. Which meant a professional job. Which meant a fellow assassin.

  And although successful assassins were rarely the ones who kept to set patterns, Katya thought she could hazard a guess as to which of her colleagues had collected the fee for this job. Quick work for high fees, with zero residual and a sick sense of humour. She knew of one man only who specialised in that area. And he had another quirk, too: he insisted on meeting all his clients at least once face to face.

  Which meant he knew what Yosaf looked like.

  Which meant Katya had the advantage, because she did too.

  "I told you one meeting only." Her colleague didn't exactly scowl—that was never wise around the powerful and wealthy—but his eyebrows drew down into thick black lines.

  "I'm not happy with the job." Katya made her body language match what she'd learned from watching Yosaf these past couple of days. "You said there would be no traces left. There were."

  "No." He wasn't as old as he appeared now, she knew that much about him, and perhaps both youth and arrogance combined to make him a little less sure of himself than he ought to be. The job had been perfect, and if he'd had the confidence of an older assassin—like herself, for instance—he would know that, and would have no need to bristle.

  "My sources tell me Zaida has hired someone to investigate."

  "Let her. There isn't anything to find." His expression grew meditative. "You want Zaida done too? Either now or after you've pushed her off the council."

  Katya pretended to consider the offer. "After, perhaps. Quietly. But not right now. Two contracts in succession would make people start asking questions. The wrong people."

  "City guard never troubles itself with professional hits."

  "I'm not worried about the city guard." Someone of Yosaf's standing wouldn't be. "Leave Zaida al
one for now. But if something does turn up that might lead the council to me, I'll need your services again. Quickly. Don't leave town."

  "I wasn't planning to. But you'll have to pay a retainer if you want me on call."

  "Same place, half the amount."

  His lips twitched, as if he'd caught a whistle before it emerged. "Done."

  Katya rose. She emulated Yosaf's posture—the tilt of the head, the set of the shoulders—and strode out of the room with every appearance of confidence.

  The money wouldn't be there, of course. But that hardly mattered, because by the time her colleague went to collect it, Yosaf would already be dead.

  * * *

  "I thought we weren't supposed to meet again." Yosaf shifted on the cushioned chair. His eyes flicked back and forth as he checked the curtained window, the painted plaster walls. "You said once only."

  "Something's come up." She'd got him pretty much exactly right for the benefit of her colleague. Possibly the tilt of the head was slightly more pronounced—she'd made sure she wasn't overdoing it. A snippet of information to store away for future identity games. And to apply to the present. She let her colleague's arrogance come through a touch more strongly. The glamour that gave her his appearance was already perfect. Yosaf showed no sign of suspecting she wasn't who she claimed to be. "My job, my way. You pay me to get it right."

  Yosaf didn't rise to that. "So why are we here?"

  "This." Katya pulled a silk scrap from her pocket, laid it on the table between them, unwrapped it. A pearl glistened within, white and pure. Yosaf shifted back on his chair, and the skin on his face tautened. "It's safe," Katya lied. "All the magic's dissipated. No traces, just as you ordered."

  His skin relaxed. He leaned forward, though he still did not reach out to touch. "What's the problem?"

  "The spell was highly specific." Katya nudged the pearl with her fingertip. It rolled off the silk and across the table. On instinct, Yosaf put out a hand to stop it. "It can't harm anyone except the person it was laid for."

  "So you told me." Yosaf picked up the pearl, rested it in the palm of his hand, studied it. "And?"

  "I put on a slight delay." Katya gathered up the scrap of silk. "Just enough for me to step back." As she rose, understanding seized his features. She leapt back nimbly, without upsetting the chair. Yosaf stiffened, and his hands clutched at his chest. He hovered for a moment, struggling to breathe, then slumped. Katya ran forward and caught him just in time, broke his fall and settled him quietly onto the floor. The pearl dropped from his fingers. She gathered it up in her silk scrap and tucked it safely away in one of her many pockets.