Dynasty of Rogues

by Jane Fletcher

  “You’ve noticed.”

  Tanya was at the top of a new page. Riki saw that the finished pile had three sheets in it and that the ink drop on the table was smeared.

  “You did your fingerprints okay?”

  “Yup. They’re in the pile.” Tanya answered without looking up.

  “Great.”

  “It’s a good thing grandma rescued me when she did, else my fingers might not have been in a fit state to make prints.”

  Tanya’s tone was light, but Riki felt a kick of outrage in her guts. She drew a breath, hesitated, changed her mind, and then decided to ask anyway. “In the prison, were you questioned by the Corps?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. I saw the bloodstains on your clothes.”

  “That was from a nosebleed when I was captured. And Loke was the one who did it, punching me in the face.” Tanya looked up. “The Corps did have a go at me, and it wasn’t fun. But like I said, Grandma got me out before things got too serious.” For a moment her expression faltered. “I’d just rather not go back there again.”

  Tanya returned to writing. Riki slipped down in her chair and turned her head to look through the window. However, her thoughts were not on the view of Landfall. She was surprised by the rush of anger she felt, and the surge of protectiveness on Tanya’s behalf. Riki wanted to kill Loke, and whoever it was in the Corps who had hurt Tanya.

  Would anyone believe that she was capable of getting so upset on someone else’s behalf? Certainly not Tanya. Riki remembered the conversation of two days before. Tanya clearly took it for granted that Riki would not help anyone without some personal gain. Riki clenched her jaw, trying to stifle any show of annoyance, but the exchange had irritated her beyond belief. Did Tanya really think she was so callous and cowardly that she would leave a comrade to be tortured to death? What sort of asshole did Tanya have her marked down as?

  And was Tanya justified in holding her opinion? Not that she was right, but that Riki’s behavior had given reasonable support for the belief.

  The question dug uncomfortably into Riki’s thoughts. Meeting her sister had set off a barrage of upsetting memories, and not just to do with her mothers. As a child, Riki used to have friends. She had been in more than her fair share of trouble, but nobody had hated her, as far as she could remember. Yet since joining the heretics, she had set herself against everyone. She had succeeded in hurting her mother, at a cost of complete isolation. Her loneliness had become obvious to her only when sitting in Jan’s house, surrounded by her nieces and their playmates.

  Riki looked back at Tanya, who was now on the fourth sheet. Despite skepticism over her motives, presumably Tanya was feeling moderately well disposed toward her at the moment. Maybe it was too late to change her image among the heretics, but there was no reason to keep annoying everyone for the fun of it.

  “Tanya, I...”

  Tanya glanced up. “What?”

  “I really am sorry about what happened to you. I wish I could have stopped Loke somehow. I know I said I wanted revenge on the bitch, but you get first crack when we get back.” Riki gave a lopsided grin. “I’ll hold your jacket if you want.”

  “You honestly think Mom will stand back long enough to give either of us a chance to take a swing at her?”

  A grin lit Tanya’s face and her eyes locked briefly with Riki’s before returning to her letter. Riki leaned back in her chair and studied the ceiling, while wondering why her stomach suddenly felt so strange.

  *

  Riki walked down the temple steps and into the daylight outside. The sky was gray and the paving underfoot was wet and slick, but the cooler weather was a welcome break from the heat of the previous few days. A broad path led through gardens to the gates out. Beyond the railings, the streets of Landfall were seething with afternoon activity, undiminished by the light drizzle falling.

  Riki paused at the exit from the temple complex. Guards also stood on duty here, swords drawn and at attention, seemingly aloof from the chaos around them. Their eyes were unfocused, dead to the streams of women passing in and out of the gates. Riki briefly considered the women in pristine red and gold uniforms, and then walked on.

  She wanted to talk to some Guards, but not these ones and not so publicly. The sentries would be normal Guards, supposed soldiers who did nothing more adventurous than stand very still at conspicuous points around the temple, apart from the odd occasions when their officers decided that they needed experience in getting lost in the Wildlands. The Guards Riki wanted were those in the Intelligence Corps, and she had instructions on how best to make contact.

  Riki turned right and strolled along the bustling pavement, dodging carts, horses, and fellow pedestrians. After a hundred meters, she passed the main entrance to the Guards’ compound, again sparing the sentries no more than a glance in passing. Soon she reached a junction and turned onto a smaller side road, and then a narrow passage between two blank brick walls.

  By now, she was alone. The sound of traffic on the main street had softened to a distant drone. Then she heard voices. For a second Riki hesitated before ducking back into the shadows. Farther along the alley, two women were deep in conversation. To Riki’s relief, they soon moved away, having showed no sign of noticing her. Most likely they were innocently passing through, but Riki did not want to be waylaid before she reached her destination. She had reached an area where it would be easy to arouse suspicion, and she wanted her arrival to come as a surprise.

  Once her route was clear, Riki completed the last hundred meters, to an unremarkable side door at the end of a blind alley. No sign hung on the building. It might have been unoccupied, were it not for the absence of litter in the door recess, proof that it was in regular use. Riki opened it without knocking and stepped through.

  The interior gave the impression of being a half-abandoned storeroom. Empty crates were stacked at one side. Two women in scruffy civilian dress were lounging casually, using old barrels as seats. They broke off their conversation at Riki’s entrance and got to their feet. Their expressions were hard and distrusting.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Riki tipped her head to one side. “I’d like to talk to Colonel Zelenski.”

  The older of the women gave her a long, appraising stare. “Who are you?”

  “Someone Zelenski will want to talk to.”

  “You’ll have to introduce yourself better than that.”

  “Why don’t you send a message to Colonel Zelenski, then, and say Marlena Azid is here to share some information about her employer.”

  The woman hesitated, weighing up the words, and then jerked her head to her companion, who disappeared through another doorway at the back. She continued to study Riki.

  “How did you know about us?”

  “I have good sources.”

  “Care to share their names?”

  “No.”

  The woman gave a snort of humorless laughter. “You better pray Zelenski does want to talk to you. Else you won’t be leaving again.”

  Fortunately, it took less than a quarter hour to discover that Colonel Zelenski very much did want to speak to Marlena Azid. Riki was escorted through the rear doorway and down steps. A long underground passage ended in another flight of stairs up.

  Riki and her guide emerged into an enclosed courtyard. An archway opened onto the parade ground in the middle of the Guards’ compound, with a view across to Celaeno’s temple rising on the far side. However, Riki did not have long to get her bearings. She was ushered through a doorway and into a small office.

  From the layout and position of the building, Riki knew this was the Intelligence Corps Headquarters. She was struck by the thought that if they knew who she really was, she would have been kept underground. Riki glanced at the floor. Beneath her feet was the Intelligence Corps dungeon—somewhere she might yet end up if things went badly wrong.

  Riki had to work to control her grin. The stakes were high, but the game was so much fun.
She tried to clamp down on the excitement bubbling inside her, intoxicating like wine. She dared not let it blunt her judgment. The following scene would be crucial, and she was playing on her own, without Isabel Coppelli in support.

  After a few minutes’ wait, Colonel Zelenski stomped into the room. She sat on the desk, rather than behind it, and studied Riki thoughtfully.

  “I understand you wish to talk to me about Madam Coppelli.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “So talk.”

  “My aunt, Jean. Do you know who she was and what she used to do for the Coppellis?”

  “I’ve found out a bit about her. She was a thief, among other things.” Zelenski’s disapproval was clear.

  “It’s the other things that are important. She was good at jobs that weren’t totally legal. And for a price, she’d do anything.”

  “I can only express regret that she was killed before the law caught up with her.”

  “The law couldn’t have done nothing. Not while the Coppellis have all the judges in their pocket.”

  Zelenski brushed some imaginary dust off her uniform. “While this is interesting, I don’t see why you want to tell me.”

  “Aunt Jean was murdered.”

  “I know.”

  “But did you know it was on Isabel Coppelli’s orders?”

  “No.” Zelenski looked at Riki more intently. “I assume you’re not happy about that.”

  “Too fucking right, I’m not. I’ve been working for Isabel Coppelli for a few months, but it was only a week ago I found out. I don’t think she knows that I know. In fact, I’m sure she doesn’t, else I wouldn’t be here. I want the old bitch to pay for what she did to my aunt. But the problem is that Coppelli has the Chief Consultant in her pocket. Bakara will protect her, so she has to be got out of the way first.”

  Zelenski’s expression hardened. “That’s a very serious accusation, and threat. Chief Consultant Bakara is the Goddess’s representative on earth.”

  Riki paused, but she had noted that the Colonel did not sound as outraged as a devout Guard should. Clearly, Zelenski’s loyalty to Bakara was already under strain.

  Riki gave a one-shoulder shrug, half defiant, half cajoling. “Oh, come on. You must have noticed how Bakara jumps whenever Coppelli tells her to. Like that crap about Coppelli’s grandkids forging the warrant. Making you hand over the granddaughter. Have you never wondered why?”

  Zelenski opened her mouth but said nothing.

  Riki continued. “Back when the last Chief Consultant died. There were two front-runners in the election. Remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bakara and Consultant Joannou from up at Fairfield. And there was that scandal about Joannou, all hushed up, but it ruined her chances.” Riki paused.

  “Go on.”

  “How much of the story do you know?”

  “Assume I know nothing. Enlighten me,” Zelenski challenged.

  “Okay.” Riki paused. “A few months before the election, a young Sister hightailed it from the Fairfield temple. I guess it happens now and again, when a Sister discovers she isn’t cut out for celibacy. Nobody acted surprised. I don’t know if they tried to find her, but they didn’t succeed. When the election was announced, and Bakara knew who her main rival was, her and Coppelli got my aunt Jean to track down the runaway.”

  “I assume that she managed it?”

  “Oh yes. Aunt Jean was good at things like that. The ex-Sister had got herself a lover and didn’t want to go back to the temple. My aunt promised not to tell anyone where she was if she’d write some letters to Joannou, making like they’d been having an affair, but putting a twist, as if Joannou had forced the young Sister into it. Then Aunt Jean got her to write a formal letter for the temple authorities, accusing Joannou of making her break her vow of celibacy. Saying that was why she’d run away, because Joannou had been abusing her, and she was speaking up now ’cause she didn’t think Joannou should be allowed to become Chief Consultant. Aunt Jean took the letters along with a couple of trinkets. She went to the Fairfield temple, broke into the Consultant’s bedroom, and planted the stuff. Then she sent the denouncing letter to the authorities at Landfall. When they got it, they ordered a search of Joannou’s room, found the planted letters, and that was Joannou sunk.”

  Riki had finished speaking.

  Zelenski got to her feet and walked slowly to the window, clearly thinking the story over. Without turning round, she asked, “Can you prove any of this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Bakara know about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And can you prove that?”

  “Yes. My aunt hung on to some stuff, and Coppelli kept other letters from Bakara. That’s why she’s got a hold on her. She’s been blackmailing Bakara ever since she was elected.”

  “What proof could you get for me?”

  Riki rubbed her nose. “Let’s see. There’s the letter from my aunt when she found the runaway, giving a breakdown on what was happening. There’s the letter signed by Coppelli telling her to sort it out. And then there’s a map of the sanctum at Fairfield, drawn by Bakara, with notes in her handwriting, saying things like Joannou’s bedroom. I could also get the note from Bakara about the Sister’s robes Aunt Jean wore to get into the sanctum. And there’s the Coppelli accounts, showing regular payments from the temple funds. How much of that do you want?”

  “All of it.”

  “It will cost. And I’ll need some money up front.”

  Zelenski shook her head. “I’m not that gullible.”

  “I’ll need to pay some people to keep quiet and to hand over the stuff.”

  “I want proof you’re not lying first.”

  “That’s easy. If you want proof you can get it today, though it won’t stand up in court or anything. Next time you’re with the Chief Consultant, mention my aunt, and then mention Joannou, and then mention how lucky it was that the letters were discovered before the election. Then say something about blackmail, and watch Bakara’s reaction. I’m guessing you don’t become head of the Corps without learning to spot a guilty conscience. And that’s what you’ll see in Bakara. Once you’re happy she’s guilty, leave a message for me. I’m at the temple every day. Then we can discuss the price.”

  “I thought you were doing this for revenge.”

  “I am. But if I’m selling out the Coppellis, I want the money to run a good long way.”

  *

  Zahina Brown sat in her usual seat at the back of the Three Bells Tavern, surveying the barroom though half-closed eyes. Most of the patrons were familiar to her, as she was to them, although they knew her by the nickname of Dicey. She was aware that she had the reputation of being a Corps informant, but she was confident that nobody realized she did more than inform. In fact, she held the rank of sergeant, with twelve years’ service in the Intelligence Corps.

  She certainly did not fit the public image of a member of the Temple Guard. Her clothes had been repaired so often they were more patch than original cloth. Dirt was engrained in the lines on her face. Her lank hair had not seen a comb for weeks. A half-empty tankard sat on the table in front of her. Brown wondered if anyone noticed that she never drank from it, but after all, Guards were sworn to abstain from alcohol. She would drink only when it was essential to maintain her disguise, and prayed to the Goddess afterward for forgiveness.

  A woman sidled close to the table, keeping to the shadows. A deep hood further concealed her face from view. Sergeant Brown had been watching her since the moment she entered the tavern and was not surprised to see her approach. She could always spot the ones who had come to the Three Bells to speak with her. Some would approach her straight off. Some would skitter around for hours before edging close. Some would stare at her, and some would not glance in her direction, but Brown could spot them from the second they walked in.

  The woman slipped into the chair opposite. “Is your name Dicey?”

  “Why do you want to know?”<
br />
  “I hear you buy information.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Just someone. So do you?”

  “Maybe. Depends on the information.”

  The women leaned closer, and light from a candle touched her chin. From the absence of lines around her mouth, Brown could tell that she was young. Brown had already noted that she was short and lightly built.

  “It’s about Old Lady Coppelli.”

  “And supposing I was interested. What would you have to sell?”

  “Some sheets from her accounts. Not the current ones, ’cause they’d get noticed quick. But from a couple of years ago.”

  Sergeant Brown scratched her chin thoughtfully. “What interest would I have in the financial dealings of an honest businessman?”

  “Honest?”

  “There are few who dare say otherwise.”

  “Yeah, well. What these pages show is that Chief Consultant Bakara has been regularly paying large sums from the temple funds into the old lady’s pocket. Does that interest you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Yes or no?”

  Brown looked at the other woman. “How do I know they’re genuine? How did you get them?”

  “They’ve got the Coppelli stamp on the bottom. And I got them by... Well, let’s say that I work in the place. Somebody hinted that they’d pay me if I passed the pages over. She said the Intelligence Corps was interested. She offered to cut the money with me. But I’m wondering if I can get more if I sell them myself.”

  “How much do you want?”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  Brown laughed. “I was thinking more about ten.”

  “Azid said she’d give me thirty.”

  Brown kept a stone face, but the woman was clearly an amateur, who revealed her hand far too easily. “Really? How about I make it forty?”

  “Eighty.”

  “Sixty. Take it or leave it.”

  The woman ducked her head. “I’ll take it.” She scrabbled around inside her jacket and produced a wad of folded sheets, which she laid on the table.

  Brown reached for them. The woman slapped her hand down on top. “I want to see your money first.”