She was less than a foot off the ground.
With a shudder of pain and released nerves, Katya let herself drop the rest of the way. She straightened, took several deep breaths to slow her racing heart, and stretched, trying to ease twisted, protesting muscles.
Then she examined the thing that had nearly cleaved her in twain.
It was a blade, wide and flat and evidently wickedly sharp, and it had sliced its way down only a few inches from the back wall. The force of its fall had sheered through an old crate and a discarded clay pot before imbedding the blade several inches into the ground, and Katya shuddered thinking about what it would have done to anyone in its path.
A normal climber’s reaction, upon hearing something above, would have been to pull in, hug the wall, and hope whatever it was passed them by. The blade would have split them in half. Only throwing herself forward, past its path, had saved her.
She rubbed her scraped forearms and winced. Well, at least she knew whom she was dealing with now:
Tumbler.
He was the only Guild member clever enough to figure out about the trade house, careful enough to set a trap for anyone trying to steal his target, and acrobatic enough to avoid the trap himself. The only safe way up was to climb a few feet out from the back wall. That took a lot of skill. Katya thought she could do it, but it would be tricky. Tumbler could handle it easily, though. He was known for his acrobatics. And his knack with thrown weapons. And his skill with the ladies.
Katya had almost fallen for him just now, at least.
She inspected herself for visible injuries, and her clothing for obvious tears or bloodstains. Her sleeves were a mess, torn and bloodied, and she discarded the entire jacket before wrapping her scarf around her like a shawl. It would cover her upper arms, at least enough for casual inspection. Enough for her to make it home, clean and bandage her wounds, and change into clean clothing.
She knew who else had taken this job. Now she just needed to learn more about the man who had hired them.
*
“What aren’t you telling me, Simon?” Katya shoved the little man, not hard enough to hurt him but enough to push him back against the tavern wall. A few patrons glanced up, but just as quickly turned their attention back to their drinks. It was unwise to interfere in someone else’s business, and often unhealthy to boot.
“Nothing, I swear!” Simon was sweating, his eyes wide and bulging, his lank brown hair plastered to his head. Unfortunately, that was the way he always looked.
“It doesn’t add up.” Katya pulled him closer and shoved him back onto his stool, brushing his back off where the wall had left dirt and grease and sawdust smeared. “You told me he’s a wealthy merchant from Calesh.”
“Yes, yes!” Simon’s throat bobbed along with his head, and he leaned in closer, lowering his voice. Katya half-suspected it was just a ploy to ogle her chest more closely, but she didn’t object. Simon had always been a useful information source, and if giving him the occasional eyeful kept him happy, so be it. “That’s what I heard. He’s a merchant from Calesh, lots of money, a large counting house, lots of servants.”
Something about the way his voice dropped on that last word caught her attention. “What about his servants?” She pushed him away so she could see his face. “Simon, what about them?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He glanced around and gulped. “Only...I heard a rumor.”
“Tell me.”
“This is just a rumor, mind—no proof, nothing.” He leaned in again, but this time to whisper in her ear. His breath smelled like stale beer and overripe garlic. “They say he is too lax with his servants. Because they come and go at all hours, without supervision or even permission.”
“Like spies.” Katya nodded. Now it made sense. A counting house or other trade house was a perfect cover for spies—it gave them a good place to work from and a good excuse to go all over on “errands” and “business.” And nobody noticed a servant. Unless they were careless and didn’t maintain the fiction of that role properly.
So Gunther was a spy. Of course. He had access to plenty of money but it wasn’t his own, which was why he hadn’t cared when she’d thrust his gold back at him. His actions were politically motivated, not powered by simple greed or lust. And given the odd details of this job, he, and whomever he worked for, wanted to pin the death on Imicar. But why?
“What do you know about Imicar and Rhocann?” She asked Simon, signaling the barkeep to refill his flagon. One of the things she liked about Simon was that he wasn’t too greedy—a few tankards of ale, a few coins, and he was happy.
“Imicar’s north and east, Rhocann is south and west.” He shrugged but happily accepted the refill, raising it toward her in salute before taking a hefty gulp. “The one’s an icicle and the other’s a desert.” The little man’s eyes narrowed, a smile touching his narrow lips. “But there’s some noise of an alliance in the works. Trading goods betwixt them.”
Katya nodded. If they did that, they could circumvent the kingdoms that currently handled trade for them. The biggest of which was—
Thalannon.
Of course.
She’d thought Gunther’s skin too dark for a native Caleshite, and his accent a little off. He was from Thalannon. And they handled most of the commerce between the other kingdoms. Losing Rhocann and Imicar’s trade would be a fierce blow.
Severe enough to set the two nations at war to prevent it.
Katya slapped a finger of gold on the bar by Simon’s hand. He jerked, and the money was gone.
“Thanks, Simon. Enjoy the ale.” She slapped him on the back, tossed a silver to the barkeep, and rose.
“What’s this all about?” her informant called after her, but his tone showed he didn’t really expect an answer. Nor did he get one. Katya was too busy thinking about what she’d learned, and deciding what to do about it.
*
That evening, Katya rented a horse and rode out through the Fourth Gate. She passed through the shantytown at a gallop, and kept riding. When the road forked, she took the path toward Rhocann.
A few hours later, she spotted a small cookfire in the distance. It was against a boulder off to the side of the road, a good spot that could see those approaching from either side but offered some protection as well. Whoever had stopped there could have reached Jakarr this night, but clearly knew better than to travel an unfamiliar city after the sun had gone down. They would wait until dawn, then saddle up and ride in, reaching the city by mid-morning.
It was exactly what she would have done, in their position.
Reining in, Katya slid to the ground. She pulled a piece of parchment from her sleeve, unrolled it, and placed it square in the middle of the road. A few rocks at either end anchored it. Hopefully they would draw the eye as well, come daylight. That was the best she could do without getting involved more directly. Wheeling her horse about, she headed back toward the city, though at a more leisurely pace. When she was still an hour or more out from the shanties, she stopped again, and found a place to lay out her bedroll and catch some sleep.
She was stuck until dawn, as well.
*
The sound of hoofbeats woke her the next morning. Glancing past the jumble of rocks and bushes where she’d sheltered, Katya saw three horses gallop past. From her brief glimpse, it seemed that each bore a rider, and all three wore the loose robes and wrapped headdresses of Rhocann.
She only hoped they had found her note.
Moving quickly, Katya rose to her feet, dusted herself off, and poured some water from her waterskin to splash in her face. She drank a few gulps as well, then poured more into her hand for her horse to drink. Finally she swung back up into the saddle and set off, turning her steed toward Jakarr and urging him to a quick trot. She wanted to stay far enough back that the men wouldn’t see her as a threat, but close enough that she could keep an eye on them.
She was still a few minutes away when she saw the puff of dust from their hors
es’ hooves disappear into the shantytown.
Katya kicked her horse into a gallop and raced across the remaining distance. They must have read it!
As she neared, she heard the clear sound of combat up ahead: the ring of steel against steel, the mumble of arcane words, a scream as someone was injured.
Was she too late?
But when she rounded a bend, dodging between two tents to find a clear path to the gate itself, she relaxed.
There were bodies littering the road ahead of her, less than two hundred yards from the now-open gate and the city beyond.
But none of the bodies wore Rhocannian gear. They were garbed in the leather of street toughs. Katya counted three on the ground, two men and a woman, and a third man cowered before three horsemen. One of the riders had one of Rhocann’s massive curving swords in his hand, and she caught the clink of chainmail beneath his robes. The second held a silvery saber unmarred by blood, and Katya could feel the power radiating from it. The third wielded a scimitar, and sat with regal bearing and an air of impatience.
She had found the target.
And, as she had guessed, he had not come alone.
Part of her wanted to stay and hear what they managed to learn from the surviving thug. But she didn’t want those three studying her too closely, despite the fact that she’d just saved their lives. Instead, she spurred her horse and raced past them, swerving to give those naked blades a wide berth. The gate—only rarely closed, and then only in extreme circumstances—loomed above her, and Katya instinctively ducked down slightly as she passed beneath the sharpened poles at its bottom edge, slowing once she was inside. She tossed the guard a finger of bronze; he nodded as he waved her past.
Excellent. One threat—the biggest one to innocent bystanders—eliminated. And the man and his bodyguards on alert.
Now she just had to deal with the Grass Hand and then Tumbler and everything would be fine.
Somehow, she doubted it was going to prove that easy.
*
Three men approached the Rhocannian trade house at a cautious trot. All three had swords drawn and held low to their sides, and all three darted glances this way and that as they made their way down the just-awakening main road. Katya watched it all from a vantage beyond the trade house, hidden deep in the shadows. Watched and waited.
They caught sight of the trade house and its coat of arms, and even from here she could see the tension leave three sets of shoulders.
And that was when Tumbler struck.
The first dagger took the warrior in the throat. It appeared out of nowhere, arrowing through the early dawn light, and he had an instant of alarm at the glittering approach but not enough time to bring his sword up or even to duck out of the way. He toppled from his horse with a quiet gurgle, blood bubbling up around the dagger’s guard where it pressed against his skin, and lay on the cobbles, quivering.
A second dagger hummed toward the mage, but bounced from the air before him with a faint sizzle and a blue flash. Katya thought she saw the man’s eyes narrow as he raised his saber, then widen as he realized what had just happened. But it was too late—he worked out the fact that that weapon had discharged his shield just in time to take a dagger in the chest. The impact folded him over like an empty cloak, and he collapsed atop his horse, the silvery saber clattering as it dropped to the ground.
That left only the target himself. He was on full alert now, wheeling his horse in a circle, scimitar before him, eyes roaming constantly. But it was Katya who saw the dark form tumble from that blind alley when the man had just turned past it. She watched as the shadowy figure bounded to its feet, flipped over, and vaulted the horse’s back. The target only had time to stiffen in alarm before the dagger had sliced open his throat. His eyes were already rolling back, his last breath rattling from his chest, as he slid from the saddle and crumpled to the ground.
And that was Katya’s cue.
“Tumbler.” She let her voice precede her, keeping her tone soft and as unthreatening as possible, and held both hands out in front of her, fingers splayed, as she approached. She saw him freeze, there atop the horse, then drop from it into a crouch, keeping the animal between them. Through its legs she caught a glint of steel.
“It’s Lady Kat,” she told him, pitching her voice so it would carry to him but no further as she approached slowly, cautiously. “I’m unarmed.”
A chuckle rose from beyond the horse. “I very much doubt that.” His voice was as smooth as she remembered, as supple as his limbs and as graceful as his tumbles. Small wonder the women fell for him so readily.
“Fair enough,” she conceded, not bothering to hide the smile from her own voice. “But my hands are empty, and I bear you no ill will.”
“This kill is mine.”
“I am not here to contest that.”
That drew him from behind the horse, just enough for her to make out his eyes alive within his dark cowl. “That cretin double-hired, I know that. The boy, Grass Hand, is after my target. Why not you?”
“He quadruple-hired, in fact,” Katya corrected, still approaching. She was only a few feet from the body now. “You, me, Grass Hand, and quartet of thugs.”
“Bastard.”
“Indeed. That’s why I canceled my contract once I found out.”
“You did?” He straightened slightly, and she could see the faint nod. “Yes, I’ve heard that about you—that you reserve the right to cancel a job if you decide there’s something wrong.”
“Exactly. I even returned his money. He has no hold on me.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I don’t like being tricked,” she told him bluntly. “This kill is not what he claimed. I don’t appreciate being used by other kingdoms to start wars, and I especially don’t like having amateurs pulled into a professional job.”
“We can agree on that, at least.” Tumbler straightened, and Katya was surprised to realize he was shorter than she was, though his compact form was leanly muscled. “What do you want, Lady Kat?” She took the fact that he’d called her by name as a good sign. So was the way he made the throwing knife he’d been holding disappear back into a sheath.
“Complete your assignment,” she answered. “I’ll bear witness to you fulfilling it to the letter. But let me adjust things afterward. You’ll still get paid, you’ll still take credit for the kill, but our mutual friend may find his plans not going quite as he’d hoped.”
White teeth flashed beneath his cowl as he smiled. “I can live with that.”
He sauntered to the body, catlike in his quiet poise, and knelt, drawing the familiar scrap of cloth from some hidden pocket. That went on the dead man, and then Tumbler rose and bowed fluidly to her.
“It has been a pleasure, Lady Kat,” he assured her. “I’ve long desired to make your acquaintance, and now I can see that the tales of your beauty and your...unusual integrity are not exaggerated. Perhaps someday we can meet again, and discuss matters of a more pleasurable nature.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed with a smile. He definitely had charm, and she could imagine he was as athletic and creative and thorough in bed as he was in killing. Something to test at a later date, maybe.
For now, however, she settled for a quick curtsy. Then she completed her own business with the corpse and left it there for the guards to find.
Which they would soon enough.
Now one last matter, and she could put this whole experience behind her.
*
“You seem disgruntled, Gunther,” Katya purred in his ear as she settled into the chair behind him at the inn. “Did your plans not work out the way you’d expected?”
The little man started, but to his credit he recovered quickly. “Ah, the lady cat.” He kept his own voice low as well, and didn’t glance back at her. Part of that may have been the dagger point pressing into the small of his back, but she suspected most of it was his training. Never call attention to yourself—that held true for spies as well as as
sassins. “And are you to blame for all this?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She laughed softly.
“I have just had to pay a very large sum for a botched job,” he replied, a bite creeping into his words. His hands raised to gesture, or perhaps something else, but he froze when she applied a little more pressure to her dagger. “I couldn’t very well refuse, given your Guild’s stature and the reputation of the individual in question, but I am most displeased.”
“Oh, don’t blame Tumbler,” she told him. “He did exactly as you told him. There was a piece of Imicarian travel cloak on the body when he left.”
“Ah.” She could feel the shift in his body as he processed this information. “You switched the cloth.”
“I did. I thought your people should get proper credit for their actions. Don’t you?” She had traded that scrap for a bit of Thalonnian scarf, the kind only worn by nobles at official functions.
“The next time you try to frame another kingdom for your own actions, and try to start a war just to preserve your nation’s profits, I suggest you choose a different city to host your perfidy,” Katya warned, her anger adding an edge to her words that matched the one in her hands. “We don’t take kindly to being Thalannon’s pawns, here.”
“I will be sure to relay that message to my superiors,” Gunther promised, his voice only a little strained from the point digging into his back. “As well as your particular role in all this.”
That drew another laugh from her. “No, I don’t think you will.” She leaned in closer as she sheathed her dagger and rose from her seat. “You see, I took care of your thugs, and destroyed your little plot. But the danger of hiring so many assassins is, only one can finish the job. And that could leave some very unsatisfied killers around.”
She stepped to one side, and the tall young man who’d been standing in the nearby shadows slid into the seat she’d just vacated. “You shouldn’t have given my job to someone else,” the Grass Hand warned Gunther quietly, one green-tipped hand reaching out to clasp the spy by the shoulder. “Shows a lack of confidence in my work. I don’t take too kindly to that.”
The Taste of Waterfruit and Other Stories (Story Portals) Page 17
