by Tom Lloyd
He risked a smile. ‘What a change! You’d have broken my arm if I’d done that in Scree.’
- Still can.
‘I’ll take your word for that,’ Doranei said, sitting on the side of her bed. He felt suddenly feeble, like a heartsick old man. ‘I didn’t expect any of this when I signed up.’
Legana watched him, motionless for a moment before writing her reply. - Poor baby.
Doranei frowned at her. There was more than a spark of the old Legana left, that prickly, savage woman he’d met in Scree. As she wrote on the slate the strokes were quick, merciless slashes across the surface. - You are not broken.
He could see the anger radiating out from those emerald eyes, stripping away the scars on his soul. ‘Gods, woman,’ he muttered angrily, ‘no wonder people think you’re a pitiless bitch.’ He stood, but as he started to walk away he remembered something. ‘Business then; how do I find Zhia?’
Legana didn’t reply beyond closing her eyes but Doranei, now irritated, gave her a rough nudge on the leg, then another. The third time she opened her eyes again and glared at him, but he stood resolute until she reached for her slate.
- Coin, Rose Fountain Square, blue door.
‘She’s there?’
A shake of the head.
Doranei thought for a moment. ‘She’s expecting you to be there, with her vampire friend - what was his name, Mikiss? Did you kill him?’
A nod.
‘So Zhia will probably be able to tell you’re not there, which will make her suspicious. So I need to pay someone to watch the house and give her a message when she snatches them.’
Now he had an idea of what he was going to do next, Doranei felt some of the weight lift. He headed for the door. ‘I’m off to check out this house first. You’ve got some strange sort of luck around your shoulders for us to run into you like we did, so maybe it’ll rub off on me enough to last the evening. If you flutter your eyelashes at Sebe while I’m out, he’ll probably take that message for you.’
As he closed the door behind him he heard something thud into it and turned to see the tip of a knife blade protruding through the wood. He grinned and went downstairs to fetch the other men.
Outside it was dark and quiet. The streets were close to empty, the night-time chill more than enough to drive most people inside. He checked his weapons out of instinct. There were enough armed men on the streets that he didn’t think he’d look out of the ordinary to a patrol, and looking a soft target was almost as good an idea as borrowing the high priest’s robe.
Overhead the clear sky was a dark blue, fading to black towards the western horizon where a spray of stars were visible. The Hunter’s Moon was at its height ahead of him, its pale light inviting him on. Below that were the tiers of the city, the wealthier districts looking down on the rest from the mountain side while the concave cliff of Blackfang itself towered over all of them, a sheer black wall of jagged teeth. He touched the sword grip under his coat and hurried on.
He’s visited the city before and found his way to the Rose Fountain without difficulty. Getting into the district hadn’t proved a problem; fortunately Zhia, true to form, had chosen rooms in an unremarkable corner of the quarter, a good area but far from any likely excitement. As he’d passed the gates to Eight Towers, he had seen the guards there, Ruby Tower soldiers as well as the Byoran Guard.
In Coin too the streets had an armed presence, but they were not restricting movement. Most were liveried private companies employed by the district’s bankers, and their instructions were to make their presence known and to discourage any potential excitement. Doranei knew they’d be no trouble unless he started taking an interest in the wrong house.
Where the road widened to bulge around the Rose Fountain stood three tall stone-faced buildings: a pair of silversmiths and what he guessed was a lending house occupying the ground floors. On the other side were the more expensive homes, half-hidden by elms and eight-foot-high stone walls.
Doranei slowed his pace as he reached the fountain and fumbled for a copper coin - a house, they called them in Byora, but it looked like any other copper piece he’d ever used. There were two men watching idly, standing guard at the side of an open gate that led into a courtyard. Most importantly for Doranei’s purposes, they stood like men who were bored, leaning on their halberds with glazed expressions. Rather than watch from the shadows, a risky idea when there were guards posted everywhere, he might as well hide in plain sight.
‘Need all the luck I can get these days,’ he called to the guards, gesturing towards the fountain.
‘Din’t you ’ear?’ one replied. ‘Luck’s in short supply these days.’ He was the younger of the two, the best part of ten winters younger than Doranei.
Doranei cocked his head. ‘Hear what?’
‘They say the Lady’s no more,’ the guard replied in a smug voice. ‘Bloody Gods bin arguin’ among thesselves and she got killed. That’s luck fer you - bad luck, hey?’
‘Shit, really?’ Doranei took a step towards them, his face a picture of shock. The guard grinned, pleased to have had such a dramatic effect while his older comrade watched them in taciturn silence.
‘Aye, that’s what they’re sayin’. Where you bin that you’ve not ’eard nuffin?’
‘Riding on the slowest bloody wagon-train I ever seen,’ Doranei sniffed. ‘Haven’t heard nothing ’cept mules and drivers farting for weeks.’ He patted his coat theatrically. ‘There were benefits though, I’ll tell you.’ He pulled out a battered leather case from a coat pocket. ‘Convoy carried tobacco for the main part - you can be damn sure I’m gonna make friends with any man transporting a hundred boxes of cigars!’
Doranei gave a hopeful little look at the guards, then through the archway. ‘Got a fire going anywhere?’
The younger guard’s grin became wider. ‘Got a spare coupla them cigars?’
‘Hah, didn’t say I wanted a smoke that bad,’ Doranei replied good-naturedly, watching the older guard carefully. The man was scrutinising his every movement, he’d be suspicious of any excess generosity. ‘These things cost half a day’s work each.’ He paused. ‘Tell you what though, maybe you could do me a favour as trade.’
‘You walk careful now,’ the older guard rumbled suddenly. ‘It’s a cold night an’ I’m in no mood to smack someone around, but we got a job to do here, so you want to watch what you say next.’
‘Nothing like that; I’m no thief,’ Doranei protested, holding his hands out. ‘I was asked to do something by the wagon-master, but the man’s a fucking criminal and I wouldn’t trust him further than I could throw the grease-haired bastard. I never been to Byora before, don’t know whether what he’s asked is going to make me money or get my throat cut.’
Doranei could see the man weighing up the situation. He waited; the eagerness on the younger guard’s face was plain, so he’d let the older one work it out for himself.
‘Fine,’ the guard said eventually, hefting his weapon to point it at Doranei. ‘Yanai, you go get that daft girl to fetch you a taper from the kitchen.’ He nodded to Doranei. ‘You try anything stupid while he’s gone and you’ll get this right through you, understand?’
He smiled and nodded, ignoring the impulse to step back, out of range of the halberd, while Yanai scampered off.
‘Name’s Kirer,’ he said conversationally. ‘You?’
Sergeant Loris,’ the older man replied.
Ah, one of those, Doranei thought. Insists on his rank even though he’s just a fucking guard. And Loris? Good Litse name that one, but his looks don’t back it up. The guard had a thick face and small features: thin lips and small hooded eyes. All cheeks and forehead, this one, like a child’s head that got inflated.
‘So, Sarge,’ Doranei continued, maintaining a harmless grin, ‘know the city well, d’you?’
‘Well enough,’ he grunted.
‘So what would you say to this job I’ve been offered? I’m to buy two bags of Queen’s Favour - whatever in Gh
enna’s name that is - from a house near here. I talked one of his drivers into a good deal and he reckoned I could do it twice.’
‘Queen’s Favour? I’ve heard of it,’ Loris said cautiously. ‘It’s a herb, gathered from the mountain slopes.’
‘So it’s just a medicine? No problem then—’
Loris grinned at Doranei’s naïveté. ‘Not exactly “no problem”, son. Witches and whores use it to kill babies in the womb, get rid of the unwanted. Gathering or buying Queen’s Favour is banned, so he better be paying you well for the risk you’re taking.’
Yanai returned carefully carrying a smouldering taper. Doranei handed them each a cigar, cut off the tip of his with his knife and lit up. ‘Man’s been sent to buy Queen’s Favour,’ Loris said to his colleague. He rested his halberd against his shoulder and bit off the tip of his cigar and spat it out. He brought the taper to it and drew deeply until it was glowing, then raised it in a toast and gave Doranei an appreciative nod. ‘Good smoke, this. Thanks, friend.’
‘Queen’s Favour, eh? Bad game that one,’ said Yanai, trying to copy the deft way Doranei had prepared his smoke. ‘So what’re you doing ’ere?’
‘This is where I was sent to buy it.’ Doranei indicated the blue door Legana had told him about.
‘Nah, not in Coin,’ Yanai said with a laugh. ‘You wanna go to Burn for that shit. These parts is respectable; a man don’t last long peddlin’ Queen’s Favour ’ere.’
‘This is where he sent me,’ Doranei insisted. ‘Said to ask for Nai the Mage, funny-looking man with odd-sized feet.’
Neither name nor description elicited anything from either man.
‘Mage, eh?’ Loris puffed out his cheeks. ‘Didn’t realise it had a use in magic too.’
‘’ere, reckon thass why that bloody kid was ’anging round ’ere?’ Yanai said to Loris suddenly. ‘Some brat checkin’ out the square coupla times a night for the last week now,’ he explained to Doranei. ‘Could be watchin’ out fer customers mebbe, or pr’aps be in the pay of one o’ the Burn gangs that sells Queen’s Favour and don’t like the competition.’
‘And tonight?’
‘Came past, mebbe an hour ago? Don’t ’ang around long when we’re ’ere, she knows she’ll get a beatin’ if we grab her. Just ’ad a look up the windows on that side and carried on past.’
Doranei nodded. The inhabitants of Coin wouldn’t appreciate a potential thief being allowed to case the houses here, but the guards weren’t going to waste too much time catching a girl if they didn’t think she was going to cause a problem. ‘Be back tonight?’
‘Fair chance - you c’n only be sure she’ll be ’ere at sunset though, she’s always through round ’bout then.’
Might be worth my while to catch her then, even if you two can’t be bothered, Doranei thought, drawing long on his cigar.
Tobacco was a spy’s friend. King Emin had told him that, years back. He didn’t much care for the habit himself, but he recognised its importance and smoked just enough to ensure he didn’t look out of place with pipe or cigar. Soldiers were the same the Land over: simple men, more often than not, with too much time on their hands. They’d rarely refuse the offer of a smoke, and once their guard was down they’d gossip worse than any knitting circle.
The King’s Men of Narkang didn’t have to play court games; King Emin had aristocrats to do that. The information Doranei got came from footmen, guards and kitchen-hands. He’d spent half a year when he was twelve winters getting slapped from one end of The Light Feathers’ kitchen to the other, and that experience had served him well countless times since. As Sebe put it, make friends with a cook who doesn’t know anything useful and you still get a meal for your trouble.
Monkey-faced little bugger will do anything for food, he added to himself, smiling inwardly.
He raised the cigar in a sort of half-salute to the two guards. ‘Right, I best be clearing off. Don’t want people to think I’m messing in anything illegal, don’t sound like the regiments have much sense of humour these days.’
‘Aye, you’re right enough there,’ Loris agreed. ‘Glad we’re well out of it over here. The city’s going to shit so fast Kiyer herself can’t wash the streets fast enough. Take the bastard’s money and find yourself a pretty young tart for the night instead. You clear out of sight and he won’t bother doing much about it, and the regiments will care about as much as a magistrate.’
Doranei grinned. ‘You could be right there. I left my stuff with the wagon-master, but six quarters will sort that out with change to spare. Teach him for being a crap judge of character.’
He made his excuses and left; the guards didn’t mind - talking to a passing stranger to ensure he wasn’t going to cause trouble was one thing, gossiping for too long smacked of shirking duty. Doranei made his way back to a crossroads he’d scouted out earlier: anyone coming from Burn would pass this junction, even if they were taking an oblique route. He didn’t think he’d need much luck to identify the young girl Yanai had been talking about, but he would need to avoid a scene - she was certain to be armed, with so many bored soldiers and mercenaries on the streets.
‘She comes only after sunset,’ he mused as he watched the glistening frost on the rooftops. ‘Looking for Mikiss or Nai, or Zhia herself? Can’t be an informant for the duchess or she’d be watching the door all day too.’
He was leaning against the trunk of an ancient creeper that covered a high courtyard wall and reached up the wall of the adjoining house to the rooftop. Though leafless, the ragged mess of tangled stems made a curtain dense enough to make Doranei near-invisible as he waited.
At the end of the wall, on the corner of the main street, a dozen or so long strips of white ribbon tied to the creeper fluttered in the brisk evening breeze - small offerings to Sheredal, Spreader of the Frost, he guessed. The owner of the house was probably elderly, and with this chill wind the ground in winter would very quickly become icy, a real threat to the elderly and infirm. However good High Priest Antil and his portly band of healers might be, a bad fall could easily be fatal. From what Doranei had seen on his travels, ribbons on a wall was as close to a shrine as Sheredal ever got, and the only image he had even seen of Asenn’s gentle Aspect was part of a carved frieze in Narkang. King Emin had commissioned it: a strange collection of minor Gods and Aspects that summed up the king’s whimsical nature perfectly; the image of Sheredal was a bent old woman with jagged, spiky hair and long, crooked fingers. She had looked sad and lonely, stuck between more noble Gods, but as far as Doranei knew, she was entirely the product of the artist’s mind.
But that doesn’t matter, not now. That’s how half of Narkang imagines the Spreader of the Frost these days. I think he commissioned the piece to give some of us a lesson in the power of belief.
Doranei’s vigil didn’t last long. None of the few passers-by noticed him standing there. He spotted a hunched figure trudging up the road, bundled up in a tatty sheepskin coat made for someone much larger, and realised immediately this was the girl the Yanai had spoken of.
He’d taken the precaution of filling a pocket with small stones earlier. He flung one at the girl as she reached the centre of the square and it thwacked harmlessly against the coat, stopping her dead, just as he’d intended. She looked around in puzzlement. The street was empty in both directions, and she had been so intent on watching where she was going that she’d not seen him emerge from the ivy to throw the stone.
‘Sorry,’ he called; assuming most thieves and murderers in Byora didn’t start by apologising to their victims. She turned towards the sound and peered forward. He took a step out into the street and waved.
‘What you do that for?’ she asked angrily. Her voice was high and rough, and even with Doranei’s imperfect command of the dialect he could tell she was from the poorest part of the city. She sounded younger than her height implied.
‘So you wouldn’t take fright.’
The girl checked behind her in case someone was creeping
up on her, but she was still alone, other than the strange man now talking to her. She tensed, ready to run.
‘What you want then?’
‘One thing first,’ he said, holding up a hand to stop her questions. ‘My aim’s good with stones, better with a knife.’
‘So?’
‘So,’ he said, trying to sound as un-threatening as possible, ‘I’ve got less friendly ways of stopping you in the street.’ As he spoke he produced a knife from his sleeve and spun it in his fingers so it was ready to throw.
The girl froze, about to run, but Doranei knew she didn’t want to turn her back on him. ‘There’s guards in the next street and they’ll come runnin’ if I scream.’
‘Yeah, I’ve met them. One old, one young. Neither think much of you, and you better believe I can take them both.’
‘What you want?’ She was clearly confused. Doranei had threatened her, but he hadn’t yet taken a step closer. He wasn’t so close that he could be certain of hitting her, or catching her on foot, but she knew that’d be a dangerous gamble to take.
‘To talk to someone.’
‘Can’t afford a whore?’
Doranei laughed. ‘You remind me of a woman I know. Her mouth’s got her in trouble all her life; if she weren’t one of the toughest bitches I ever met she’d have died years back.’ He sniffed. ‘Point is, you keep talking like that and you better be trained to kill as well as her, get me?’
The girl hesitated, then gave a quick nod.
‘I can’t hear you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied in a sullen voice.
‘Good. Now just listen. I don’t care about you, and you’ll get in no trouble for talking to me. You were going to Rose Fountain Square to check one of the buildings there again - any movement, any lights showing, that sort of thing - just like you’ve been ordered to.’
