Pathfinder Tales - Shy Knives

by Sam Sykes

  I had washed away the grime within minutes of entering it, a two-foot-deep ivory basin set into the floor of a nicely rounded chamber filled by servants who, even now an hour later, still came by to replenish it with jugs of hot water. I leaned back, feeling the chill of the ivory in my arms as I draped them over the rim, feeling the warmth of the water seep into me, the steam shroud me like a blanket and bid me to go ahead and close my eyes and pretend I was a real lady of class.

  Ah, Sem. If you could only see me now.

  I just might have let myself enjoy that thought.

  “May we finally discuss business?”

  Were it not for certain people intent on ruining the atmosphere.

  I cocked open one eye, glanced to the side of the chamber where Lady Sidara stood a polite distance away—so polite, in fact, that I might have been offended. After all, it wasn’t like I was that dirty.

  “I believe,” she said, as forcefully as her educated enunciation would allow, “that I have been exceedingly patient with you, Miss Rat—”

  “Shy,” I corrected her.

  “Very well … Shy. I ought to have you reported to the authorities for what you put poor Herevard through. The fact that I have not only abstained from that, but also waited as you tended to your vanity, would suggest that my faith in you is already being stretched.”

  “While I’ll be sure to thank Norgorber for your saintly patience,” I replied, maneuvering over to the other rim of the basin, “I have two points of advice for you, Lady—”

  “Dalaris,” she interjected. “My name is Dalaris.”

  “Dalaris,” I said. “The first? Never pretend going to the authorities is an option when you’re talking to a woman like me. Whatever you require of me, it’s going to go a hell of a lot easier if we both don’t pretend that what we’re doing is the sort of thing we need to involve lawful types in.”

  She stiffened at that, the realization doubtless striking her like a slap across her face. Yet she slowly loosened with a long, resigned sigh.

  “Agreed,” she said. “And the second?”

  “The second is that it’d be much easier for us to talk if you’d turn around to face me.”

  Now, I could only see the back of her head, but I would have paid to have seen the face she was making at that moment. If the way her body went tighter than a bowstring was any indication, it was worth at least twenty gold.

  “I … I will not!” she said. “You’re indecent.”

  “I mean, that depends who you ask, but at the moment, I’m merely naked.”

  “It’s immodest!”

  “Well!” I said, mock indignation creeping into my voice. “I don’t know what you heard about Katapeshi, but I promise you, my lady, I don’t have anything you don’t.”

  “It’s not that! I assure you, I have nothing but respect for—”

  “Relax, dear. I’m teasing you.” I leaned forward on the rim, laying my chin on my folded arms. “I’m just saying it seems a little odd that you’d ask me to murder someone if you’re too reluctant to look at me.”

  Lady Sidara—Dalaris, I mean—didn’t loosen like she did before. When she turned around, it was so slowly I thought I could hear her joints creaking. But regardless of how hard she held herself, her voice was soft, meek. Almost afraid.

  “I don’t want you to murder someone,” she said, looking at me at last. “I want you to find out who murdered my husband.”

  And there it was again. That look. That eerie feeling that made me feel even more naked than I was. Like she knew. Even from behind her spectacles, her stare felt like a knife on my flesh.

  I resisted the urge to turn away—I’d look rather stupid doing that now, after all the lip I had just given her. I forced myself to look at her, into those big round lenses, and speak.

  “Go on.”

  To my unspoken gratitude, she averted her gaze once more and sighed.

  “You are obviously not from Taldor,” she said. “I would wager you’ve not spent much time in Yanmass, either?”

  I didn’t take her for a gambler, much less a good one, but she was dead right about that.

  Set in the plains in the northern part of Taldor, where the dying empire’s borders had contracted after a number of messy secessions from its former vassals, Yanmass wasn’t a city people like me went. Unless they came to serve people like Dalaris, that is.

  It had begun as a small trading outpost where caravans were gouged by tax collectors on their way to be gouged by other tax collectors in the capital of Oppara. Eventually, that wealth had attracted the attention of nobles, who found the rolling plains to be an ideal vacation spot. Word spread, and nowadays the people who lived in Yanmass were mostly aristocrats who had no desire—or ability—to hack the political scene in the capital.

  “I’ve spent time in Herry’s library,” I replied. “I know a little of the city.”

  “How much is a little?”

  “Enough.” I paused, choosing my next words carefully. “My trip to Yanmass was a tad … spontaneous, if you will.”

  “And if I won’t?”

  “Then you’d better learn to.” I turned, reclining on the rim of the tub and beckoning a nearby servant to come add more water. “Anyway, I know enough of this place to know it’s like any other rich man’s city. A den of snakes wearing silks, each one of them speaking gentle words and trying not to be noticed as they unhinge their jaws to swallow the others whole.”

  “That is … a disgusting metaphor, Shy,” Dalaris replied. “And frustratingly apt, as it were. Those ‘snakes,’ as you so eloquently call them, have been feeding on House Sidara for years now. My house.”

  “I gathered that much.”

  “In truth, it can hardly be called a house anymore. Sidara was a name that helped build Yanmass, the noble protectors who guarded the weary travelers who came this way. Then the other nobles came and picked us apart until we became what we are today.”

  “And what are we, my lady?”

  “Me,” she replied simply. “I am the last heir to House Sidara. All that remains of our holdings is my manor and a handful of servants after my mother died of a fever not two years ago.”

  “My condolences.”

  I said those words like I meant them because I most certainly did. Everyone needs a hard-edged woman in their lives, especially someone like Dalaris.

  “My sole regret is that her last days were not peaceful,” the noblewoman continued, sighing. “She was wracked with concern for me before she passed, and went to considerable lengths to ensure that I was looked after.”

  My ears pricked at that. I glanced at the servant, made a dismissive gesture. I rolled around to face her once again, fixed her with a hard stare. “How considerable?”

  “She arranged a marriage,” Dalaris replied. “A union to ensure that Sidara’s legacy would not be lost and that I would be cared for. After considerable negotiation, she persuaded the heirs of House Amalien to take me in.”

  “Ah,” I said. “And this is where your husband came in.”

  She nodded. “Gerowan—” she paused, catching herself, “—Lord Gerowan Amalien agreed to marry me.” She looked down at the floor, her voice growing soft. “Today would have been our wedding day.”

  She took a moment to simply stare at her feet. A moment I was inclined to give to her; if we were to talk business, I wanted her composed. She did not look back up, instead beginning to pace back and forth as she continued to speak.

  “House Amalien deals primarily in ore,” she said. “They refine metal dug out of the mountains by the dwarves in Maheto and send it north to Galt. Galt always needs more metal.”

  Ah, Galt. Short on everything except corpses. Rife with moneymaking opportunities, if you can stomach all the blood.

  “So, what? Your husband was killed in a bad deal?”

  “No,” Dalaris replied. “He was on a routine journey to a caravan-rest just west of the city to check on a shipment heading north. There, he was killed.” S
he glanced up at me. “By centaurs.”

  “Centaurs,” I replied, flatly.

  “You don’t sound surprised.”

  “Well, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly expecting them. Odd that they should be in Taldor, but if you’re asking me to be surprised that centaurs killed a guy, I’m going to have to ask if they were all wearing pretty dresses while doing it.”

  “They were not, and you should be surprised. I certainly was when I heard that the thirty-five guards they keep stationed at that caravan-rest were insufficient to ward off a raiding party.” She eyed me, suspicion on her features. “Because the guards were not present.”

  I quirked a brow. This was getting interesting. More interesting than theoretical fashionable centaurs, at least.

  “For the past few months, a clan of the horse-people have been harrying the local caravans. It’s alarming enough that they’re so well organized as to have been successful, but they’ve also shown an unusual sense of diplomacy, permitting caravans to go unmolested in exchange for a portion of their cargo.

  “But on the day Gerowan was killed, they were brazen enough to attack a fortified position. They came thundering across the plains in broad daylight, launching fire arrows at the caravan-rest. The guards mounted up and took pursuit, chasing them off into the hills to the east. Not twenty minutes later, another war party attacked from the south. They came in, grabbed some cargo, and ran out. And when they left, Gerowan was dead.”

  I took in every word, furrowing my brow. “So you want me to…”

  “It can’t be a coincidence, Shy. Centaurs attacking in such coordinated fashion? Gerowan was nowhere near the cargo they seized. They sought him out. Maybe Gerowan was killed by them, but it wasn’t their idea to do so. Someone ordered my husband dead.”

  She came to a stop and fixed me with those hard eyes of hers.

  “And I want you to find out who.”

  I simply looked back at her for a moment.

  People not quite as worldly as myself might have called her crazy for seeing a conspiracy here. After all, the Inner Sea isn’t exactly a safe place, and there were sure as hell safer places in it than the outskirts of Taldor. Monsters killed people all the time; it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that they could do so in a country that couldn’t afford to watch its borders anymore.

  And yet …

  Maybe it was what she said, or maybe it was the way she said it, so full of conviction, but something just didn’t make sense.

  Centaurs attacking a position they couldn’t overrun, provoking the guards and then fleeing? Another party arriving right after only to kill one man and take a few crates?

  It sounded like either a conspiracy or one hell of a coincidence.

  And in my line of work, you learn to stop believing in coincidences in a damn hurry if you want to stay alive.

  “Herevard said you were resourceful,” Dalaris continued, at my silence. “And I suppose you must have been to blackmail him. Until I know who was involved in this, I can’t tell anyone else. If you have any sense of justice—”

  “I do,” I interrupted her. “Same sense of justice that anyone else has.” I rubbed two fingers together. “How much is this worth to you, my lady?”

  She couldn’t have not been expecting that, yet I could tell by her frown that she was still annoyed by my question. Perhaps she had been hoping I harbored some hidden heart of gold beneath all the grime I’d cleaned off myself.

  I couldn’t bear to tell her that this wouldn’t be the first time I would disappoint her.

  “Five hundred,” she said.

  “Gold?”

  “Platinum. A third up front, the rest upon completion to my satisfaction.”

  A third. Smart girl. Five hundred shiny pieces wasn’t enough to retire on—not with my tastes—but it’d be a fool who walked away with only a third when she could have it all. Still, it wasn’t the most satisfying number she could come up with. And this sounded like an awful lot of work. But then again, my gig with Herry had just met an untimely end.

  Also? My bath was getting cold.

  That sealed it.

  “What the hell,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “I’m in.”

  Her face lit up like a kid on her birthday. She smiled so wide I damn near thought her face was going to split apart.

  “Really? You will?”

  “Give me a moment to get dressed and we’ll be on our way.”

  I stood up out of the basin. Immediately, that glow on her face turned a deep shade of crimson. She sputtered several things that almost sounded like words, desperately searching for a place she could look that wasn’t full of naked Katapeshi woman.

  I was half-tempted to stand there a little longer, just to see if she’d explode. But it wasn’t like I was getting paid by the hour.

  I slipped out of the basin, made my way to a nearby mirror, and checked myself out. Might as well make sure everything was in working order; I’d be charging her extra if I came out of this with any scars.

  My hair was just the way I liked it: short in the back, long in the front, and black as night. Time in Herry’s wine cellar hadn’t seemed to diminish me at all: beneath my skin, I could see lean muscles cord and tense, ready to get back to work. Nary a curve on me, but I had always been built short and thin like a dagger. When I was younger, I cursed myself for this.

  Had I known what I would eventually grow up to be, I might have appreciated the thematic appropriateness.

  Herry hadn’t objected to my using his bath one last time, though he had made sure to make my eviction clear by having my effects sent down in a trunk that lay nearby. I kicked it open, pulled out my leathers, and dressed in quick succession: black boots and leggings that fit me snugly, a belt and gloves to match, and a short-cropped vest coming down to my ribcage that some in Qadira might have said was far too short and many in Katapesh would have said was far too long.

  But no wardrobe was complete without a bit of metal. And I found mine at the bottom of the trunk. The last bit of home I kept with me, a short curved dagger in a black leather sheath. I took him by the handle, pulled him out. He was as sharp and shiny as I had left him.

  Whisper.

  “Look lively, darling,” I said, sheathing him and attaching him to my belt. “We’ve got a job to do.”

  I sprang up and walked to Dalaris, who had taken a discreet position facing the door. I tapped her on the shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The look of relief on her face that I was clothed was short-lived, replaced by a rather peculiar look at the state of my leathers.

  “That’s what you’re wearing?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I … well, it seems a touch immodest.” She glanced at my vest. “At least, for a woman named Shy.”

  “Yeah, well…” I rolled my eyes, pushed past her and toward the door. “I should have told you I got my nickname from a guy named Jeb the Ironic.”

  3

  Cold Coffins for Rich Men

  Just like you can’t really understand a wound without understanding the weapon that caused it, you can’t really understand a city like Yanmass without understanding a nation like Taldor.

  Of course, the ailing empire’s many woes were about as common knowledge as water being wet, which is how I knew all about the disastrous years of failed military expeditions, which led to breakaway colonies gaining independence, which led to an impotent senate bickering atop the ruins of a fast-crumbling infrastructure.

  Which led to where the empire was today: a withered old man of a nation pressed between the hulking shoulders of Cheliax, its former thrall turned infernal rival; Andoran, the boorish upstart with its notions of “democracy” and “liberty”; and Qadira, its rather forward neighbor to the south. It was an ongoing bet among the few politically savvy gamblers which nation would swallow up Taldor first.

  And if even a Katapeshi girl knew that Taldor was screwed, you could damn well bet that the Taldans themselves knew e
xactly how screwed.

  The wheels of Dalaris’s carriage rolled over a pothole, jolting me out of a trance. I leaned over to the side of the cabin and flipped open the window, peering out into the streets of Yanmass.

  Funny, but to look at the city with its nicely paved streets and tall manors, you’d think the average Taldan could pull gold out of his stool.

  Greenery was everywhere, with trees and hedges planted in small plots to give a healthy contrast to the gray cobblestone streets they lined. As the carriage rolled past, I could see great works of art: carved statues of famous Taldan heroes, elegantly flowing fountains, monuments to former glories. But even as beautiful as these were, they seemed trifling against the majesty of Yanmass’s manors.

  Like the nobility that had settled here, the houses were old and brimming with prestige. Their domed roofs stretched high to the sky. Their stained-glass windows were broad and glistened like rainbows in the sunlight. Their many marching pillars resolutely held up many powerful eaves.

  To look at them, you’d think Taldor was doing pretty damn well.

  That is, unless you looked closer.

  Even with the carriage going as slow as it was, I almost missed the finer details of those houses. The domed roofs included slots where the massive heads of ballista bolts peeked out. Behind the glass windows I could see iron shutters ready to slam down and prevent entry. And there were a few pillars rigged to fall over and bring those noble eaves crashing down on whoever might be trying to get in through the front door.

  “The people of Yanmass are well prepared,” I noted, mostly to myself.

  “Preparedness and paranoia aren’t the same thing.”

  I glanced across to where Dalaris sat, staring out the other window and doubtless seeing the same thing as me. Her brow furrowed above her tremendous spectacles.

  “Back when Qadira came surging up across the border, many nobles of Oppara decided that a vacation to Yanmass would be quite ideal,” she said. “And as the war dragged on, they figured more permanent establishments would be worthy investments.”