by Aaron Pogue
A pang of guilt twisted in his stomach, but he ignored it. He patted her head and asked her softly. “When? How soon can you arrange it?”
“I . . . you won’t be fit to walk the streets for days yet. But I can bring him here. I’ll . . . I don’t know when. But I will make it happen soon.”
“And he will listen to me?”
“I’ll do everything I can.” She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide with excitement. “He does not exactly come when I call, but I should have him here within a day or two. In the meantime, get some rest and eat whatever Mary brings you. Understood?”
“Understood. But can you carry a message to the Nimble Fingers tavern keeper?”
She hesitated, frowning. “I would prefer to keep your secret close.”
“I’ll tell him nothing. But I have great need of information.”
“Ask me, and I’ll provide it. I have resources of my own.”
Corin could hardly doubt that. She was friends with Avery, and she had casually discussed the fortune she’d laid out to gather rumors. Then there was the physician, and this girl had spoken of Guiliano Vestossi with a casual familiarity. Unless Corin missed his guest, she was gentry born and bred. This Jane came well connected, and she would prove a mighty useful asset if he could just secure her.
That process always started with a show of trust. Corin bit his lip. How much did he dare reveal? He stared into her coal-black eyes, and she met his gaze unflinching.
“I need to know the date,” he said at last. “How much time have I lost?”
She nodded to herself as though she had expected that very question. “You’ve been in my care for half a week,” she said, “but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking. It’s April 1st tomorrow. You were seen in Rauchel, Raentz, in late November, and then you disappeared completely for three months.” She caught her breath, before asking him in a halting voice, “How long has it been for you?”
“Thirty hours,” Corin said. “Thirty hours, more or less. And I have lost the winter.”
She nodded, unsurprised. “Jessamine hasn’t. She’s been busy.” Corin’s surprise must have shown in his expression, and some hint of the questions that flooded his mind, because Jane leaned forward and nodded encouragingly. “You see? I can help you. And I won’t waste your time begging for explanations or doubting the things you claim.”
Corin shook his head. “You are remarkably informed.”
“Then ask me what you need to know.”
Corin’s mind buzzed with questions about the justicar. She hadn’t lost the winter. She’d been busy. The thought made Corin cold. She’d survived her trip to Faerie, then. Poor Kellen. And how had she spent her time, when he was nowhere to be found?
He shook his head. There would be time enough to dwell on that later. If he were in any imminent danger here, Jane would have told him so already. Better to focus on the things he could control first. So he bowed his head and prepared his list. “I need to learn the whereabouts of a dwarf named Ben Strunk. Last I saw him, he was leaving Aerome for Raentz, and he might have had that justicar on his trail.”
Jane shook her head. “Then pray the gods show mercy to his soul, because there won’t be much left of his body.”
“I’m not sure she even knows he exists, and I’d put my money on the dwarf either way. He has a knack for surviving. See what you can discover.”
“I will.”
“Good. And ask after Princess Sera. She has been missing for a while now, but I can’t believe the Vestossis have given up the search. Find out how much they know.”
“Do you mean her harm?”
“Would it trouble you if I did?”
The girl gave a shrug. “I only met her once. She mostly made me sad for her. I don’t suppose you could do much worse to her than her family’s already done.”
“I couldn’t,” Corin agreed. “And I won’t. No, I mean her well, but I need to know how much her enemies know.”
“I’ll find that out for you. Anything else?”
“You’ve spoken more than once about that justicar. Pretty little slip of a thing? Blonde?”
“Your information may be out of date. She’s lost an eye and half an arm, and she’s become a raving killer. I doubt you’d find her pretty now.”
Well. Kellen hadn’t died without a fight. Corin nodded. “I begin to think you know more about my life than I do. I’ll need a full report on the justicar.”
She nodded. “I’ll get the latest for you and tell you everything at once. Until then, just focus on recovering. You’re going to need your strength.”
She hesitated in the doorway and threw one last glance back behind her. “It’s bad,” she said. “It’s . . . it’s very bad.”
Jane did not return that day, though Mary did check in on him. Mary proved to be the actress—both the one whose room he’d stolen and the one whom Jane had called her dearest friend. Mary seemed almost worshipful of Jane, and she kept insisting she wasn’t at all bothered to lend her room to Corin for a few days. Not at all. Good for Jane.
It took Corin longer than he’d have cared to admit before he realized what Mary was assuming. She mistook Corin for Jane’s gentleman caller, and more than once he caught her looking him up and down, nodding to herself, and muttering beneath her breath, “Good for Jane. Good girl.”
He couldn’t guess whether Mary’s belief came from her own suspicions or from a cover story Jane had invented, and he didn’t dare jeopardize it in the latter case. So he held his tongue and tolerated the attention.
Apart from that, she was not bad company. The girl was easy on the eye, a redhead when she went without a wig, and playful with a sort of barmaid charm. Twice a day she brought him meals—beans and bread, or barley stew or something of the like, hearty and filling fare for the poor convalescent.
And in truth, he needed it. He began to suspect that he’d suffered some malingering infection, because the wounds he’d suffered held him to his bed for days.
For all the woman’s charms, she still sparked a silent curse in Corin every time she peeked through the door. He wanted Jane back. He wanted her information. And even more than that, he wanted her to bring him Avery.
Three days he had to wait before she finally returned, and when she did, she was alone. She’d asked after Ben Strunk, but all she’d really learned was that he’d gone to Raentz. Bourgonne, some said, or Rauchel or Ris. Some said he was now the protégé of the Raentzian king. But there was nothing certain, nothing Corin could use.
“Keep trying,” he insisted. “Trace the rumors, track them down, find out where he is.”
“Why is this dwarf so important?” Jane asked. “From everything I’ve heard, he’s something of a knave. Perhaps barely better than a dandy, and I don’t think that’s ever been said of a dwarf before.”
“He is no common dwarf,” Corin agreed. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve heard. If we cannot find him, everything is lost.”
“Then we’ll find him,” Jane said. “No matter what, he doesn’t seem to be in hiding. There are rumors everywhere. We only have to find the truest ones, and we will find your dwarf.”
Corin smiled at that. She was nearly quoting Nimble Fingers dogma there, and that dogma had been written down by Avery himself. It gave him hope that she was everything she claimed to be.
“I’ve faith in you,” he said. “I only pray that you’ll be swift about it.”
“My best resources are at work.”
“And Avery?”
She frowned at that and turned away. “He . . . I haven’t heard from him. Not yet. He isn’t often gone so long.”
“These are trying times,” Corin said, as much for his own comfort as for hers.
But she only looked more stricken. “Then you’ve heard.”
“Heard?” Corin hadn’t meant to, but he’d broached the subject he’d been dwelling on for days. Her final words as she had left him, and she’d left this for the last now that she’d finally returned. What had become of
Jessamine, that it troubled this young woman so?
Corin shook his head and sighed. “I have heard nothing.”
“I haven’t had the heart to tell you,” Jane said, sinking down beside him on the bed. “I’d really hoped that I could find some good news to bring you first, something to balance out the rest. But there’s been nothing, and I could hardly leave you stewing.”
Corin swallowed his sarcastic answer. Three days had certainly felt like stewing. Instead, he offered her an understanding smile. “I’ve seen hard times before. What are we facing now?”
“Jessamine,” Jane said, “has gone to war against the Nimble Fingers.”
Of all the bad news Corin had imagined—very bad, Jane had said—this possibility had never crossed his mind. He blinked up at Jane, his jaw hanging open, and finally he asked her, “What?”
“Jessamine has gone to war against the Nimble Fingers. She’s roused the armed authority of all the civilized nations in the name of Ephitel and called on them to stamp out the organization in every corner of Hurope.”
“Impossible,” Corin breathed. No one would attack the Nimble Fingers. But he could recall the feverish look in her pale green eyes. He could recall the threats she’d made against him. And if she had survived her trip to Faerie, if she had wrung some information from Kellen there, it would have pointed her to the organization like a hound after a hare.
“Unreasonable,” Jane said, “but all too possible. And effective. Every city has its shady tavern, and they are not close-kept secrets. The first raid was right here in Aerome, on a Saturday at midnight. Jessamine came herself, leading a contingent of the city guard. She’d sent a dozen investigators to infiltrate the place beforehand, and as soon as the guards came dashing through the door, the investigators were already waiting with a list of names.”
Corin shook his head, imagining the raid. The Nimble Fingers was an open secret, a tool at least as useful to local nobility as to its members. That utility had been their aegis through the years, far more than anonymity. But if the reigning powers turned against them, it would be a bloodbath.
Corin shuddered. “What became of them? The ones she took away?”
“Questioned,” Jane said. “Extensively. Then all but one or two were hanged in public squares.”
“Gods’ blood!” Corin spat.
“That’s been the pattern,” Jane said, her voice cold. “All across Hurope. Everywhere she’s gone, she has taken our best men and put them to the question, then put them to the sword.”
Corin didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to know the answer. “How many?”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to say precisely. Two hundred at the low end, but it could be near a thousand now.”
Corin covered his eyes and drew a heavy breath. “This is all because of me. A thousand men have paid because of me.”
It took a moment before she answered, but in the end she said, “Nobody blames you. You’re more a hero to them now than ever.”
Corin dropped his hands to meet her gaze. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“No.”
“What is she asking? When she questions them, what does she want to know?”
Jane raised a hand and ticked off the questions on her fingers. “Where is Corin Hugh hiding? What does Corin Hugh intend? How many men does Corin Hugh command? Who is the liaison between the Nimble Fingers and the druids? What has the Nimble Fingers done with Princess Sera? And finally, where is the anomalous sword?”
Corin’s heart seemed to ring like a struck gong at every question. No one she had captured could have answered all those questions—or likely any of them—but it still cut him to his core to hear laid out all the secret, hidden pieces of his plans. Of course she knew about the sword and the druids. That had begun with Aemilia. And perhaps it was Kellen who had pointed her to the Nimble Fingers, or perhaps she’d discovered it somewhere in Corin’s history. Either way, she knew. She knew everything but where to find him, and even that never seemed to take her long.
Eventually it struck him that neither he nor Jane had said a word for a quite a long time. He’d nearly forgotten how to breathe, but this whole time she’d sat unmoving, holding his gaze with hers and waiting patiently.
“What?” he asked, though he already knew.
“I want to know the answers,” Jane said.
“It isn’t safe,” he tried. But of course she already knew that. And she’d asked anyway. She didn’t even bother saying so. She just raised her eyebrows.
“Those secrets are my life,” he said. “They are my purpose. They are everything that I have left.”
“And I already know the only one that matters,” Jane said. “I’m the only person in Aerome who knows you’re here. Mary thinks you’re some pretty boy I rescued from a fight down by the docks. The tavern keeper thinks I’ve smuggled you away to some family estates near Rikkeborh. And no one else could even guess that I’m involved.”
She leaned closer and tapped his chest with a manicured fingernail. “I know where you are, Corin Hugh, and if I ever do betray you, you lose everything anyway.”
“No,” he said. “Even if she kills me, she won’t have Princess Sera. She won’t have Ben or Auric. Not if I can prevent it.”
Jane stared him down for a long time, but he refused to flinch. In the end, she smiled. “You will protect the princess. I’m glad to hear it.”
She drew up her legs to sit cross-legged on the bed and relaxed a bit. “I can accept your reservations,” she said conversationally. “Even admire them. So don’t tell me any names. That still leaves two very interesting questions. What do you intend, Corin Hugh?”
He weighed his choices in an instant. She hadn’t thought to press her advantages before—not when Avery’s secrets were on the line—but Corin had already carefully considered them. She had the upper hand, and he needed her assistance. More than that, he needed her trust.
So now he met her eyes and answered her question honestly. “I intend to kill the false god Ephitel. Before I can do that, I must draw him out to meet me. And when we meet, I must have with me the means to finish him.”
She grinned. “Then you have also answered the other question. The anomalous sword must be the thing you mean, and from the things you said before, I must conclude that it is in the hands of Ben Strunk.”
Corin concealed a flinch at that. He hadn’t meant to tell her quite so much, though it scarcely mattered. She now knew everything. The only thing left to do was wait and see how she would use this information.
He watched her eyes. That would tell him more honestly than anything she said. He watched her eyes and held his own expression as blank and innocent as he could manage.
She grinned. “I had hoped those were your answers,” she said. “I truly did. Otherwise, I’d feel a fool for investing as many resources as I have in tracking down those rumors about Ben.”
It was an ominous pronouncement, but he still saw no warning in her eyes. He kept his voice level. “You’ve found him, then?”
She shook her head. “No. I told you everything I know. But when you asked about him, I suspected he must be some connection to Jessamine’s mysterious sword—he is a craftsman, after all—and so I started on follow-up before I even brought the news to you.”
“Of course,” Corin said. “And to the rest?”
“To what?”
“I told you what I intend to use it for,” Corin said. “You don’t seem surprised.”
She measured him a moment, and then she blushed and dropped her eyes. “The only reason I am not surprised is because Avery assured me that must be your plan. He even thinks he knows the sword’s true name.”
“Godslayer,” Corin told her. “It was forged by Aeraculanon two millennia ago.”
“Gods’ blood,” she sighed, exasperated. “I hate that he is always right.”
“Then you have spoken with him.”
She nodded. “He insisted on this test.”
“And I have passed?”
“You passed. Avery will visit you at dusk.” She hesitated, clearly weighing something, and then she met Corin’s eyes. “He does not mean to support you in your plans.”
Corin’s eyes grew wide. “He didn’t bid you tell me that.”
“No,” she said. “He will hear you out, but he has no intention of tangling with Ephitel.”
“Then I must be convincing,” Corin said. “It will not be the gravest challenge I have faced.” At least he shared a heart with Avery. He’d tried his best with Kellen, and it had gained him nothing.
Corin breathed a silent prayer to Fortune for the poor elf’s soul. Had he survived as well? Or had she left his corpse back in that other world? Corin hated to imagine it. However obstinate the ages had made him, Corin still remembered the bright-eyed hero who had stood by him in battle back in old Gesoelig.
Jane still lingered in his room, some distant thoughts heavy in her eyes, and Corin hoped that she meant to feed him other clues. In the end, she only shook her head and slipped away, leaving him alone again.
Jane’s news had proven bad indeed. A thousand dead within the Nimble Fingers? He could scarce believe it. The organization had been almost a family to him, a refuge, a promise of safety within a vicious world. Now this Jessamine had torn all that to shreds.
He’d known enough to fear her when she came hunting him in Raentz. He’d known some tragedy could follow if he left her without a clear trail. He’d only feared for Auric and the princess then, and his efforts had apparently been sufficient to protect them. But he’d never guessed she would strike against the Nimble Fingers.
He shuddered at the thought. They weren’t heroes. They weren’t soldiers. They were the poor and desperate, the ones forgotten by the gods’ cruel justice. They were his brothers, and he had unleashed a fury upon them. Worst of all, he had no clue how to help them. He’d fought her once, and it had left him crippled in this bed.
The only spot of hope that he could find in Jane’s report was Jessamine’s question concerning Princess Sera. He’d never doubted that Ephitel would make the connection between Giuliano’s murder and the princess’s disappearance. But if his justicar was still hunting information, then she did not yet know where to find them. That ploy, at least, had been successful. He’d bought time enough for Auric to find refuge among the elves.
