“I did. I considered it a situation to deal with after I’d dispatched the Telemarch and the Knife.”
“Good job you failed then.” I explained what the Hag had told me, that the city would just die a different death if the Telemarch’s disaster was averted. When I was done, he steepled his fingers in front of his face and lost himself in thought for a while.
“You say she needs the Founder’s Stone.”
“That’s what she said. Though how in hells I’m going to steal a two-ton slab of rock out from under the Syndic’s ass—” Oh.
Oh, sometimes I have a thought, and it approaches being clever.
“What is it?”
“I think I know how to do it. I need some more information to make sure, but it’s at least possible. But I’m going to need your help.”
“You have it. Whatever it is and if it is within my power.”
I left him shortly thereafter to recuperate and made my way back to my inn. Along the way, I slowly became aware that someone, or something, was watching me. I knew it with perfect certainty though I saw absolutely no evidence. Once, I heard what might have been the soft scrape of a foot on a rooftop. Or it might have been something completely different.
Suspicion? Paranoia? Considering the life I’d led, it was entirely reasonable for me to assume that everyone and everything was out to get me. Far too often, that assumption has been dismally accurate.
I made it back to my rooms no worse off and none the wiser.
Chapter Seventeen
It was abysmally early in the morning, which generally meant for me that it was almost time to sleep. Instead, I was squatting at a low, rickety little scrap-wood table in front of one of the many, many kef shops in the Keddy Glam neighborhood of the Girdle. The kef was good. I’d drink it more often if it wasn’t so gods-damned time-consuming to make. Or if women on their own were more welcome in Helstrumite establishments. But I wasn’t there for the kef, and I hadn’t picked the place.
I’d sent Keel to set up the meet when I’d returned to the inn. He’d been happy to get out but doubtful about delivering a message that late at night.
“Don’t worry about it,” I’d told him. “Coin never sleeps. There’ll be somebody up to take the message.”
He had come back with the details on where and when the meet would take place, and I’d let him sleep a couple more hours while I paced my room and turned the situation over in my mind.
As morning approached, I’d woken Keel, who’d been snoring away again on the couch in the sitting room, and sent him down to the Wreck to ask the Hag a simple, very important question: How much of a physical beating could the Founder’s Stone take without being damaged?
Keel hadn’t liked the second errand. Not even a little bit.
“She’s dangerous,” he’d complained, rubbing his eyes with a knuckle of his good hand, “and scary as all hells.”
“I’m dangerous and a lot more likely to stick you. Especially since you snore like a rabid goat.”
“Rabid goat? That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Go, whiner. And try not to get noticed by your crew along the way. I’ll be too busy with my own stuff to save your ass again.”
“Pffft.” With that and a yawn, he’d headed out the door, and I’d followed him a few minutes later to keep my very early morning appointment.
The measured, cultured voice of a Keddy priest washed through the streets from the temple a few dozen yards away, magically enhanced. It was morning prayer time. I don’t speak more than a few phrases of Helstrumite, so I had no idea what he was saying. But based on the Keddy religion’s dim view of women, I disagreed on principle.
I was waiting for Hoddy Marza. Marza was an information broker. Fengal Daruvner, my fixer in Lucernis, had distant family ties to the Marzas and, much more importantly, a current business relationship that was apparently mutually beneficial. So playing on Daruvner’s name, I’d reached out via a note delivered by Keel and secured a meeting. I could have gone to him when I’d first arrived, to find Theiner, but I didn’t like to use business contacts for personal matters. And I didn’t like Keddy Helstrumites. And I didn’t trust information brokers.
Those who dealt in information were untrustworthy on principle, to my mind. The fact that someone was seeking information was information in and of itself and potentially worth payment from someone else somewhere. I always assumed that whatever I might say to such a person would eventually find its way back to ears that would have an interest. Which is why I usually let Fengal deal with such matters and gave him his cut. It’s also why I hadn’t gone to Marza first when I was looking for Theiner, even more than the fact that I just plain dislike Keddy adherents. My fondest wish is to be utterly unknown. To everybody. But life rarely grants us our fondest wish.
I could have used an intermediary to meet with this Helstrumite. It might even have made more sense to send a man. Which is probably why I hadn’t gone to the trouble. Let this Keddy talk to a woman as an equal, as a client. Let it stick in his throat.
That, and the list of people I would trust to go to a meet for me had exactly two names on it—Fengal and Holgren—and neither of them happened to be available. Besides, who knew me in Bellarius now? I wasn’t staying long enough, one way or another, to worry about any long-term issues with identity.
I needed three pieces of information. I was looking for an old man who was, at least nowadays, nobody. At least, I didn’t recognize his name, and neither had Keel, so either he’d changed it or he’d never risen much in the city’s power structure however important he might have been in the Blacksleeves fifteen years ago.
I also needed detailed plans of the Riail and the Citadel. I didn’t have time to case them myself seeing as how the city was going to become a big hole in the ground come the next morning.
A few minutes after the morning prayer had finished, worshipers began clogging the streets. I’ll give them this: The fear of being trapped, unable to leave, that seemed to be slowly gripping the rest of the city seemed nonexistent here. The Helstrumites were going about their daily business as if nothing unusual was happening, unlike the confused, frightened gabbling I’d passed on my way to the meet. Too bad that business included looking down on me. I suffered a few hostile glances before Marza appeared in front of the kef shop, unwinding a red prayer cloth from around his face and head.
He was a handsome man and pale in the way most Helstrumites are with close-cropped, platinum blond hair and sky blue eyes. He looked to be in his early thirties, on a par with me. His smile was brilliant and disarming. If you didn’t know better.
“Amra Thetys,” he said, spreading his robes and squatting opposite me. “It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“You are Bellarius’ most famous daughter, at least in the circles that you and I travel. Your deeds rapidly approach legend.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, straight-faced.
“Of course you do not. Just as you would have no idea that the Governor of Lucernis is missing an entire crate of an almost mythical vintage, or that a cask of Westmarch fire opals disappeared one day from the most secure vault of the most powerful banking concern on the Dragonsea, or—”
“Like I said,” I cut him off. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was good. Too good. Information like that, if it got out, could get me dead. Which is why he’d said it, of course. To show he was worth the fee he was going to charge me. And to make me nervous. Nervous people let things slip and didn’t haggle nearly as hard over fees.
“As you say,” he replied. “How is Fengal Daruvner?”
I smiled. “Fat, happy, almost completely bald. Surrounded by nieces that he spoils shamelessly.”
“It’s a pleasure to hear that,” he replied. “When next you see him, please tell him the Marzas send their regards.”
“I will.”
&
nbsp; “To business, then. How may I be of service today?”
“A few things. First, I’m looking for someone here in Bellarius. All I have is a name and some speculation as to what he was into fifteen years ago.”
“And what was this mystery man into fifteen years ago?” he asked.
“Exterminating street rats.”
Marza’s face froze then suddenly became blank, devoid of any emotion. I was pretty sure I knew why. Fifteen years ago, he was probably a street rat much like me; a refugee driven northward to Bellarius by war, plague, famine, or a combination of them all.
“And what would you wish of me?” he asked lightly.
“I told you. I’m looking for this man. You are a master of information. I’d like you to inform me of his whereabouts.”
He leaned forward slightly. “Why would you wish to know such a thing? What is revenge to you? You left Bellarius. You escaped.”
I could have asked him why he wanted to know. I could have said it wasn’t his concern. I could have lied to him. Instead, I just told the truth.
I locked eyes with him and traced the scars that marred the left side of my face with one finger. “I didn’t get these plucking my eyebrows, Hoddy Marza.”
He nodded slightly and leaned back again.
“You remember when the killing started in earnest,” I said. It wasn’t a question. If he lived through it, he remembered. “No matter how well-hidden we were, they found us. And ripped us apart. The man I’m looking for, he’s the only one left who knows the mage that made it possible for the Blacksleeves to find us no matter where we went to ground.”
He didn’t agree or disagree. He didn’t confirm or deny being a street rat during the time of the death squads. But I saw the slightly flushed tone on the fair skin of his face, the slight, almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils, the sudden jumping of the artery in his neck above the high, tight, stiff collar.
I leaned back and smiled a small, tight smile. “I thought I might pay this man a visit and do a little reminiscing. If I can find him.”
Marza cleared his throat and signaled the shop boy, who brought him a steaming glass of kef. He sipped from the steaming glass before he spoke.
“This name you have. I and others have been seeking just such a name for a very long time. Despite considerable effort and gold, and not a little ingenuity spent on the search, such a name has not surfaced. Out of curiosity, may I ask how you found it?”
“I didn’t. A friend did.” Supposedly. Though I had my suspicions. But I wasn’t getting into that with Marza. My plan was to get the man’s location, have a nice chat with him, and find out if the list was real or a pack of made-up rubbish.
“I understand. Your ‘friend’ would no doubt prefer to remain anonymous.”
“He won’t care. He’s dead.” Maybe. “His name was Theiner.”
“This man, this name. You understand he will be wanted in his own right. Not just for what he knows but also for what he did.”
“Wanted? By who?” In one sense, I knew exactly who. People like Marza. People like me. Survivors. But he understood my question.
“There is an affiliation, I suppose is the best word, of like-minded individuals who have an interest in…chastising people such as this man whenever they are found. Members are all over the Dragonsea, including here in Bellarius, of course. I’m surprised no one ever approached you.”
“Well, I make a practice of being difficult to find.”
“There is that.” He smiled. “My point is, this affiliation will very much want to have a representative present when you meet with this man.”
I thought about it. I leaned toward “no” but didn’t want to offend Marza. So I put the question off.
“I’ll think about it. But Marza, I’m not doing this for some group I never heard of before just now.”
“If it is a question of money—”
“You know it isn’t.”
He nodded.
“Your ‘affiliation’ can have what’s left of this old bastard when I’m done talking to him. Once I get what I want. I don’t plan on killing him. I want the one whose name he knows.” I pulled Theiner’s list out and passed it to him. “They can also have this.”
He took it but did not unfold it.
“What is it?”
“A list. Lots of names there along with what they did and where they are now. Some are apparently dead. Every name on it will have to be verified, Marza. I can’t vouch for it not being a pack of lies. Don’t take any of it on faith.”
He nodded again and made the paper disappear inside his robes. I noticed his hand trembled slightly. “Many thanks, Amra Thetys.”
“So. How much for finding this man?” I asked him.
“As you said, this isn’t a question of money. The list you just gave me would have more than covered the fee in any case. If it’s genuine.”
“If, yes.”
“Just tell me the name, and I will find him.”
“Affonse Yarrow. It’s on the list as well.”
“You said you need a few things. That’s one.”
“I also need a map of the Riail and the Citadel. And I need them today. Actually, I need everything today.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“Let’s pretend that’s possible. Can you tell me why? It’s not a question I usually ask, but…” He spread his hands, raised one eyebrow in amusement.
“Because tomorrow morning, Bellarius is going to cease to exist unless I do something about it. And to do something about it, I need those maps and time to plan.”
His face slowly sobered. “You’re serious.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Does this have something to do with the wall of death that’s gone up around the city?”
“It does.”
“What you ask is not a small thing. You say the city will be destroyed if you do not get maps of the Syndic’s palace and the Telemarch’s sanctum, the two most powerful men in the country. On this, I have only your word. However, if I am caught getting or giving you such information, I will absolutely and unequivocally be executed even if you only hang those maps on your wall as mementos.”
“If you can get me those maps, all our chances for survival improve. If you can’t, I understand. I’ll just have to make do without them.”
He shook his head. “I don’t even know if it’s possible.”
“You know your business best,” I said, standing. “I need them by tonight or not at all.”
“Wait,” he said.
“Yes?”
“The city is about to be destroyed, you say. You are, it would appear, determined to save it. And yet you are still looking for a man whose crimes, and knowledge, will cease to have any meaning in a day if you fail.”
“That’s about the size of it, yes.”
“Why?”
“I have to take care of Theiner’s business before it’s too late, now don’t I? I came back to this cesspit to help him. I was far too late; he was dead before I ever boarded ship. But he had unfinished business. I can at least try to clean up the worst of it before everything is blown to hells.” It sounded good at any rate.
“I’m not sure I understand the logic, frankly.”
“That makes two of us,” I replied. “But it’s something I need to do. And that’s enough.” I didn’t have time to explain the feeling in me. Somewhere, there was a mage who ferreted out street rats for the Blacksleeves, who found their every hiding place, and who ripped away any shred of safety from them. From us. And all the while, he remained hidden, anonymous, and safe—denying us what he himself had apparently guarded jealously. Still guarded, fifteen years later.
I wanted to take away from him what he had taken away from so many. I wanted to rip him out of his hiding place and leave him exposed, vulnerable to anyone who wanted to take a bite.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been so deter
mined if I hadn’t discovered a child’s skeleton stuffed under a desk or experienced the dismal, terrifying deaths of three pitiful street rats. Probably not. I’d spent a great amount of time and effort putting the past behind me. But I had found those bones and experienced those deaths just as if they were my own.
It had changed things for me.
I gave Marza a leave-taking nod and set off back toward the inn to wait for Keel and the Hag’s answer. It was only a piece of what I needed to keep Bellarius standing. But…
One thing at a time.
#
I heard whimpering coming from an alley I was passing. That wasn’t an especially remarkable thing in the grand scheme of things, not in any city I’d ever been in. I’d almost certainly have passed by without a second thought or a single glance if something hadn’t told me it sounded like Keel.
There aren’t any coincidences in my world, and I expect the worst pretty much all the time. If it sounded like Keel, it probably was him. If he sounded like he was in pain, he probably was. I turned into the alley, hand on a knife.
It was rubbish-choked and rat-infested. They scattered away from me as I took cautious steps, scanning the heaped garbage for the kid.
I didn’t find Keel. But I found something else.
He looked like a moving pile of garbage, one among many, and he smelled much worse. It was only with some difficulty that I made out the human bits: head, with two eyes, a mouth, and a nose where it definitely shouldn’t have been. The two expected arms, ending in rather unexpected and brutally malformed hands, resembled nothing that came to mind. I couldn’t make out any legs. He—it—dragged itself toward me on its arms. It blocked all of the narrow alley’s far end.
It was a revolting sight. Somehow, I knew that this thing had once been a normal human. It wasn’t any more. Now, it was a moving mound of trash and offal with a carrion stench to go along with it. It mewled piteously. It also blocked my way. I wasn’t stupid enough to think it wasn’t, in some fashion, dangerous.
Thief Who Knocked on Sorrow's Gate Page 13
