Despite her improved situation, not a day went by that Hadley didn’t think about the violation she’d permitted at the Pleasure Cartel. Of course, her body felt no different. The change was all in her mind. In one fell swoop she’d prevented a fall into oblivion, but the cost would always travel with her, a whisper in the dark. Still, there was plenty she could do to distract herself. Over two weeks she established a simple routine. She would rise early and visit the bakery at the base of her tenement in the hope of a fresh baguette. Munching on the deliciously hot bread, she’d begin her rounds on Mayberry Street and head south to the dockside market. There, she’d work the vendors discreetly, mentioning Grell in casual conversation. No one seemed prepared to offer definitive information, but Hadley had long since given up finding Grell on her own. From what she could gather, he was more likely to come to her. All she could do was persist with her inquires and hope to register on the mysterious man’s radar. It helped that she was no longer considered an outright intruder. In fact, the market folk handled her with easy grace. Her brown dress offered a discreet pocket in which she could store crowns without fear of thieving little hands. From the market, Hadley would head west along River Street and memorize the various side streets and alleyways of the bustling commercial district. Within a week she knew the name of almost every twisting thoroughfare off the main artery. She made a habit of lunching on raw vegetables from a wagon near one of the Sanctum archways. What they lacked in culinary finesse they made up for in nutrition. She figured she’d need to keep her strength up if she was to survive the critical days ahead. Afternoons were spent exploring the stately avenues atop Baler’s Hill, absorbing the ebb and flow of middle-to-upper class business. After all, it was here where she would hopefully be establishing contacts and finding allies. Recent news from the south was not making intelligence-gathering any easier. Andra was rife with rumors of an orcish host emerging from the Mittel Mountains and marching on Duskovy Castle. Combined with the elvish guerrilla attacks a few weeks earlier, it appeared that Ardennia had enemies on all sides.
An interesting development was the busy traffic of heavily-armed mercenaries passing through the Adventurer’s Guild. Hadley tried to infiltrate the building several times, once under the guise of selling flowers she’d stolen from the cathedral grounds. Every time she’d been rebuffed by the stern quartermaster. Still, it was obvious that able fighters were being drafted into Kingdom forces for various ‘unofficial’ missions. All in all, there was a palpable sense of shock in the streets. That the Southern Reaches could be threatened after a century of peace was confronting to say the least. A common school of thought was that humans had behaved abominably ever since the War Fellowship was created, frittering away any goodwill they once enjoyed. Hadley suspected there was some truth to that, but was tired of speculation and innuendo - she wanted to be on the inside. Clearly, she was a long way from the upper echelon of Andrian society. It was said that King Rosten’s sister, the Baroness Aurora, would be visiting within the week. That, at least, represented a vague opportunity to position herself under the right noses. If only she could locate this ‘Grell’ character and make some initial contacts.
In the space of two weeks Hadley steadily crafted a detailed mental map of the town she hoped to conquer. Her days usually ended with a simple meal of fresh fish and bread in her depressing little room. She had no interest in tackling the unpredictable milieu of the night, at least not until she had protection. However fruitful the past two weeks had been, she was still very much an outsider. A nobody, without influence or prospects.
One morning, as the distant cathedral bell ushered in a bracing dawn service, Hadley had a vague notion that her fortunes were about to change. The first thing she noticed was a steady influx of travelers on River Street. The baker told her that the villagers of Guill and other southern settlements had been forced to abandon their properties. Hadley had a pang of grief as she scanned the anxious-looking refugees, half-expecting to see one of her siblings. She’d long given up the idea of sending an urchin south to ascertain if anyone had survived. There could be no doubt that her family had been massacred. She’d seen Dahal Rane butcher her little brother Billy. Those elves had been hardened professionals - to hope for survivors was pure folly. Even Tanis, so brave in drawing the elves away from her, was most likely dead. Still, she forced herself to watch the incoming flow of people until it became a slow trickle.
The sun was climbing steadily by the time she began her daily route. Something was different about the way the crowd parted for her at the Fish Market. Was it a subtle sign of respect, a hint that she’d been accepted into the Andrian fold, or something more sinister? Hadley was too cynical to believe in the former, too streetwise to dismiss the latter. Studying the faces that slid by, she slowed her pace and came to the conclusion that she was being followed. She quickened again as she headed under the archway and onto River Street. She knew her way about town, but had no chance of shaking what had to be a professional shadow. All she could do was stick to public places and see what unfolded. If her pursuers were interested in hurting her, surely it would’ve already happened. A hooded figure stood perfectly still in the flow of people further up the street. Instinct compelled Hadley to veer into a side alley that terminated in a crumbling staircase. Cursing herself, she took three steps at a time. It was obvious she was being controlled like a puppet. The path down below hugged the river, where the rank smell of garbage ruled supreme. A towering stone wall loomed to Hadley’s left. At length the path slunk into a sewerage outlet. The tunnel disappeared into the bowels of the city. The shallow drain was only running a trickle, suggesting a dry summer to come. Even so, the surface was slick with slime and she had to check her footing. A brief glance over her shoulder confirmed her fears - two hooded men followed at a casual pace.
Fearful of slipping and ruining her one and only outfit, Hadley removed her slippers and stepped gingerly into the gloomy, pungent tunnel. The light faded depressingly quickly, but she could see a flickering flame high and to the right. She almost stumbled into the iron ladder before she saw it. Grateful for the opportunity to reach higher ground, she climbed onto a stone ledge above the sewer. Two men stood silhouetted in front of a guttering, wall-mounted torch. Hadley approached, taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. She resisted the strong impulse to demand an explanation, opting instead for silent appraisal. With pockmarked cheeks and greasy hair, the man on the left was short and rat-like. The other was taller and better-looking. In a raffish, untrustworthy way.
“You’re an interesting one,” said rat-man. “Throwin’ my name around the fucking town like that. Amazing you’re not dead with the rest o’ your family.”
Hadley worked hard to suppress a surge of anger.
“Yes,” she said at length. “Quite amazing.”
“Don’t mind Grell here,” said the charmer. “He hasn’t had a shit yet today.”
Grell didn’t laugh at his companion’s jape, instead fixing Hadley with a baleful glare.
“You been survivin’ by the skin of your teeth, missy,” he said. “Graftin’, grindin’, teachin’ yourself the lay o’ the land. Why didn’t you just throw yourself at the Governor’s feet?”
“What can he do for me?” she asked. “Sooner or later I’d still be here talking to you. Except you wouldn’t trust me if I’d gone to Ballist first.”
As the seconds dripped by, Hadley wondered if she’d made the right call. A grin spread on the charmer’s face, whilst Grell simply looked less hard than he did before.
“You didn’t rush in blind,” he said grudgingly. “A man can appreciate that.”
“A man can appreciate that,” said the tall man. “You waited. You knew we’d come to you.”
“You also know we’re against the governor,” Grell said, his slit eyes probing Hadley relentlessly.
It was as much as Hadley suspected. As far as she knew, Grell was a racketeer. Such figures were always in conflict with the authority of the day
. She had protected her flank by looking to engage Andra’s underbelly before doing anything else. Going to Ballist might’ve provided an opportunity to tell her story, but nothing would’ve come of it. And where did that leave her?
“So,” Grell said ominously. “You’ve avoided the blade so far. The question is - what do we do with you?”
“Get me closer to Ballist,” Hadley said without hesitation. “I have skills none of you have.”
This time a hideous chasm split Grell’s face. It could’ve been a smile.
“That right, darlin’?” he chuckled, exchanging a look with the charmer. “She don’t lack for balls, Dalton.”
“Truth,” Dalton said, eyes glittering. “One can only admire a woman who uses her assets to advantage.”
Hadley didn’t like Dalton’s leer at all. The obvious reference to the Pleasure Cartel made her feel cheap and tawdry, which was no doubt the intention.
“Might be we can keep you alive,” Grell said matter-of-factly.
“That would be acceptable to me,” Hadley said. Dalton continued leering, but Grell seemed to appreciate her dry humor.
“We need a woman who can think on her feet,” he said. “We know Ballist’s weakness and we think you can exploit it. But not as Hadley La Berne. We’ll give you a name.”
Hadley nodded slowly. On the one hand, she was attracted to the idea of underworld protection, but this was happening too fast.
“Come stay with us,” Grell said, perhaps sensing Hadley’s hesitation. “You won’t be harmed, love.”
Hadley nodded. She’d started this and had no choice but to finish it. No choice but to rely on her guile, like she’d been doing all her life. She followed Grell further into the sewer, only mildly troubled that Dalton had chosen to follow behind. It was apparent that Grell held the whip handle here. He radiated an intimate knowledge of how the machinery of Andra functioned. He’d probably been born under the street, spending his life scurrying in and out of danger. Hadley felt as though she could trust him as long as she proved herself useful. In truth, the day’s developments were positive - she finally had access to the town’s power structure. Her instincts had been correct all along. She was tall, buxom, flame-haired, educated and, most importantly, new. It was only a matter of time before someone of influence noticed her.
Grell led Hadley deep into an intricate network of sewerage tunnels. For the most part they were wide and dry, but occasionally they were required to leap over foul-smelling slicks. Intermittent light was provided by cold-burn malacine lamps. At length Hadley was confronted with a small iron door, which they all passed through. Grell turned and gave Hadley a meaningful look. He held a silk handkerchief in his calloused hands.
“A necessary precaution,” he said.
Hadley understood, turning her back so Grell could blindfold her. They continued in silence. Occasionally Dalton would steer her in the right direction. She shivered at his lingering touch but had no choice other than to endure the attention. As far as she could tell, more tunnels followed, though these seemed to be narrower and thankfully waste-free. Finally, after several minutes of twisting and turning, Grell removed the handkerchief. A second door was guarded by a weaselly teenager who grinned at Hadley as she headed in. The chamber beyond was almost hospitable. Plush rugs on the hard stone floor. Paintings mounted on the otherwise bleak walls. Hadley had to grin inside - there was no thematic style or cohesion to the collection. They were clearly stolen works arranged by an uneducated thief, but that was a good sign. It meant that Hadley already had something these people lacked - class. It was something she could leverage when the opportunity arose. A tool to add to her arsenal.
Grell sat behind a ridiculously over-sized desk covered in various sheets of parchment and consulted a well-ordered calendar.
“Aurora Rosten is gracing us with her presence,” he said without looking up.
“Next week,” Hadley agreed.
Grell shot her an approving glance.
“So they want you to believe,” he said. “She’s actually arriving tomorrow, so we don’t have much time to plan.”
“I don’t know, Grell,” Dalton purred, leaning belligerently against the wall. “Maybe we should stick with our original choice. This one seems … reckless.”
Hadley made a point of staring the tall man down. Sure, he was handsome in a robust, country-fair kind of way, but he was the exactly the type Hadley found difficult to tolerate. Smart enough to think he was clever but not smart enough for the sophisticated self-deprecation that set true intelligence apart. Such men were classic time-sinks. Pleasantly diverting for a while, but destined to disappoint exactly when they were needed most. Hadley resolved to give the man a wide berth if at all possible.
Grell took another look at Hadley as if to remind himself why they’d been tracking her for days.
“No,” he said firmly. “Take care of Lucinda.”
Hadley felt her stomach lurch.
“You had someone else in mind? What happens to her?”
“Throat gets cut,” Dalton said.
“Then for fuck’s sake Dalton, go take care of it,” Grell said, flashing anger for the first time. When the taller man had gone, Grell went back to his paperwork.
Hadley’s breath was caught in her throat and she had a strong impulse to flee. What had she gotten herself into? Had she just caused the death of an innocent? She pictured a young, helpless girl. Painted in lipstick from an obscene age and used by men all her life. The bitter truth was that death probably awaited whoever they’d chosen for this mysterious task anyway.
“Don’t mind Dalton,” Grell said at length. “He has a lot riding on this. Believe it or not, he was once a respectable businessman.”
“Then why is he …”
“Down here with the Rats?” Grell asked with a smile. “Ballist is a smart one. Too smart for Dalton. Ruined all his business links.”
“By shutting them down?” Hadley asked.
“By legalizing them,” Grell replied. “Dalton specialized in skrim contraband from the deep south. Now the flow is controlled by Ballist. His agents sell low, but the shortfall is made up through luxury taxes for shop owners in The Sanctum. Like I said, smart operator.”
“He’s subverted all of you,” Hadley said in wonder. There must be hundreds of disenfranchised ‘rats’ down here in the sewers. She couldn’t help but admire a man smart enough to solve the problem of black market trade so elegantly.
“You’re well-disposed to Ballist already,” Grell said. “Good. I want you to fuck him.”
Hadley blinked. This Grell didn’t mince words.
“So it is just a whoring job,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment.
“No,” Grell said, looking at her intently. “Sandor Ballist only keeps one woman at any given time. Not just for intimacy, but for advice. Guidance. Ballist’s lovers are his political sounding boards. It’s a weakness.”
Hadley wasn’t so sure about that. If the Governor sought a woman’s perspective before making key decisions, that was probably why he’d held his lofty position for over two decades. She was beginning to understand something of the bigger picture. Grell wanted someone to win Ballist’s mind as well as his body. From there, she presumed she was required to make a swift, killing blow. Pave the way for someone else to govern Andra …
“Dalton,” she said out loud. “You’re installing him as the new governor.”
Grell smiled, dipped his quill in an inkwell and resumed his surprisingly elegant scrawl.
“He’s useful,” he said at length. “Tall. Charismatic. Presentable. Pliable.”
Hadley understood. Dalton could be controlled by Grell and the other rats. And yet something still didn’t make sense. Governors were usually elected via an executive council of some kind and required ratification from the Palace of Senchance in Lakeshore. Unless there was an emergency. Of course.
“The orc advance,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite Grell. “Any word?”
“The warts are sieging Duskovy Castle,” Grell said grimly. “Depending on the Baron’s fortitude, they could be here within weeks.”
“Your rats can claim control of the town under martial law,” Hadley guessed.
Grell grunted in assent, sliding a parchment and quill toward her.
“Standard contract,” the thief said. “We’ll get you into the reception for Aurora Rosten. You’re Dalton’s latest wife, Ganria.”
Hadley scanned the contract carefully. Her task seemed relatively simple - gather as much intelligence as she could whilst making an ‘impression’ on Governor Ballist. The arrangement was null and void if she failed to spend the night at Overlook. If she succeeded in seducing Ballist, her payment would amount to 400 crowns. If she managed to secure a key or some other means of gaining entry into the keep, she would receive a bonus of 200 crowns. She fought to maintain her composure as she signed the parchment. The whole enterprise reeked of danger. Naturally, most of it was on her head. There was minimal risk to Grell and his rats, if any. She had no way of betraying the thieves if she didn’t know where they lurked. All she knew was that she was somewhere underground. If she was exposed at the reception, Dalton would no doubt find a way of extricating himself. She would rot in one of Ballist’s cells until the end of time. Worse, if she failed to make a dent in the Governor’s affections, she was effectively useless to the Andra Rats. That would be lethal. On the other hand, 400 gold crowns was enough for a woman to establish an independent lifestyle for a time. Who knew where that could lead?
“You can rest up down here,” Grell said. “In fact, we’d prefer you weren’t seen until the reception. Take a bath, have something to eat. Do whatever you need to do to draw the Governor’s piggy eyes.”
Hadley was at the door when Grell spoke again.
“Don’t make me regret my decision, sweetheart,” he said. “This is a golden opportunity to find a chink in the Governor’s armor.”
Hadley nodded and continued on her way. She found herself in a network of adjoining passages, all of which were punctuated by rooms. Cowled figures drifted past, many dressed head to toe in soft black leather. They moved like shadows. In a reflex action, Hadley stuffed her hands in her pockets. That infernal ball was still there - she hadn’t gotten around to selling it yet. Thankfully, none of the rats seemed to pay her much attention. She suspected they were trained to notice everything without making it obvious. Grell’s underground was a shadowy, dubious place, a place where much of the crime in Andra was conceived if not enacted. As she noted earlier, the very decor reeked of duplicity. Even the rugs were alluringly exotic, probably from the skrim deserts to the south.
Knight and Champion Page 19
