Thieves' World: Enemies of Fortune

by Lynn Abbey

  Everywhere he turned, he saw cats or heard their menacing snarls in the rainy blackness. All his scratches stung and tingled, and the cuts on his left buttock burned most of all. But at length, drenched and chilled to the bone, he returned home to his Citadel of Crime, slammed the bar across the door and latched all the windows. Room by room, armed only with a broken chair leg, he searched the interior for any sign of a cat. Only then did he set his overturned table upright and retrieve the one intact chair. He sat down and rested his head in his hands.

  A scratching sounded at the door, followed by a plaintive meow.

  By midnight, Regan Vigeles was beginning to pace. An hour before, he’d bid good night to the healer, Pel Garwood, who’d spent much of the evening tending to Ronal. But with Pel finally gone and Ronal safe and asleep in his own bed, his thoughts turned to Aaliyah.

  Idly, he turned a gold royal over and over between the fingers of his left hand, walking it over each knuckle with impressive dexterity, sometimes palming it, making it seem to disappear. Such minor feats of prestidigitation often calmed him or helped him to think. Tonight, they did neither, and after a while he pocketed the heavy coin and turned the wicks on the lamps higher to fill the shop with light.

  He considered going out to look for Aaliyah and decided to wait one hour more. Of one thing he was certain—Topo didn’t have her. No man, and certainly not that one, could hold her captive against her will. That meant she was up to something, or wandering the streets to her own purposes. In any city but this one, he wouldn’t have worried at all.

  But this was Sanctuary, and it was midnight, so he worried.

  Just as he was about to grab his cloak, a light scratching sounded at the door. Turning toward it, he heard a soft, familiar meow and rushed to throw back the locks. With a sigh, he eased the door open a few inches and leaned on it. Lightning flashed, outlining Aaliyah’s naked beauty.

  “You must be lost,” he said with a smile as he pointed over her shoulder. “The Street of Red Lanterns is that way.”

  Aaliyah posed provocatively in the rain, put her hands on her hips, then gave a sudden shake of her head. Waistlength ropes of wet black hair snapped forward, showering Spyder. Putting a hand on his chest, she backed him into the shop, rose on tiptoe, and flung her arms around his neck. She was soaked to the bone, but her green eyes sparkled with mischief.

  With a growl, Spyder swept her up in his arms and carried her to their apartments upstairs. “Shahana,” he murmured in her language, burying his face against her neck as he bore her. All his worries melted away. Aaliyah was safe, and Ronal resting. For the moment, all was well. How often could he say that? “Quanali pahabaril maha elberah yora! Quanali muriel maha elberah canta!”

  Each time we part, my heart cries. Each time we meet, my heart sings! For Regan Vigeles, called Spyder, those few words had become as important to him as a prayer.

  In their shared quarters, he set her down again and kissed her. “The locks,” he said, remembering the front door. Quickly, he descended to the shop, set the locks again, and turned out the lamps. When he returned, Aaliyah was drying herself with a towel. He prepared a basin of water and, kneeling, washed the mud from her feet.

  Touching her heart, she made the sign that meant Ronal’s name.

  “Angry, embarrassed, worried about you,” Spyder said as he looked up at her, “and quite asleep, thanks to Pel Garwood’s potions. He’ll be off his feet for a little while.” Taking a fresh towel from a pile, he began to dry her hair. “I think I’ll have to find Topo tomorrow and ask him for your boots back.”

  At Topo’s name, Aaliyah turned and gave a soundless laugh.

  But Spyder didn’t have to track down the little crook. At midmorning, when Spyder threw back the locks and opened his shop for the day’s business, he found Topo waiting with a sack. Topo pushed quickly inside and set the sack on the counter.

  “Your lady’s things!” he stuttered as he wrung his hands. “But I c-c-can’t return her, be-because I don’t have her anymore! I d-d-don’t know where she is!”

  Spyder turned away and covered his mouth with one hand in an attempt to appear somber. But the mass of scratches on Topo’s face and head and hands! And the rips in his garments! It was all Spyder could do to keep from bursting out in laughter. “She’s … safe,” he answered, turning slowly around again.

  Topo’s gaze darted to all corners of the shop. “I c-c-can’ t say the same!” he exclaimed. His stuttering grew worse. “Spyder, you p-p-played straight with me when we made our arrangement, so I f-f-feel I can t-t-talk to you! Some people say some of your weapons are, well, special. You—you know!”

  Spyder raised an eyebrow. “You mean enchanted?”

  “T-t-that’s what some say!” Topo crept to the door, leaned out, and looked both ways up Face-of-the-Moon Street. The rain had stopped, and the storm moved on, but a gray blanket of clouds still hung over the city. He spun back toward Spyder. “You—you got anything g-g-good against d-d-demons?” He rubbed his hands together again. “I’ll 1-1-let you off the h-h-hook for, say, two months p-p-protection payment!”

  Spyder stared at the plump little man for a long moment, then made a subtle gesture. “Did you bring me any information?” he asked.

  Topo’s bloodshot eyes glazed momentarily, and his stuttering ceased. “There’s a krrf shipment out of Caronne arriving at the wharves tonight,” he muttered. “I don’t know who’s claiming it, though.”

  “Demons, you say?” Spyder raised his voice just a little. “No, I have nothing that can ward off demons. My shop is just a shop, and I’m just a humble merchant!”

  Topo’s shoulders slumped, and he looked crestfallen.

  Spyder hid a sly smile. He noted the scratches again and the rip in the seat of Topo’s trousers as the little crook turned away. He wondered suddenly, Why should Aaliyah have all the fun?

  “But I know someone that I’m sure can help you,” he added. “Come back tonight after it’s dark.”

  Topo swallowed hard as he looked at Spyder. Hope and fear warred across his features. “After it’s dark?” He gulped. “I’l—I’ll d-d-do anything!”

  Spyder watched as Topo slunk away. He almost pitied the poor little crook. Almost, but not quite. Alone, he looked around his shop, and his gaze fell on the strange little eight-hundred-year-old dagger from the mysterious wreck on the reef. He picked it up and tapped it on his palm again as he made his plans.

  “Channa, my love!” he said, when his housekeeper stepped through the door. She was still wearing her old dress, only scrubbed clean. He swept her up and executed a few quick dance turns before setting her down.

  Breathless, she looked up into his face. At first nervous, she began to smile a smile that mirrored his own. “Gray eyes,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Gray eyes mean trouble.”

  “But not for you, Mother,” he answered. “Not for you.”

  An hour after nightfall, Topo returned. A drizzling rain had begun to fall, and he shivered under his old cloak as Spyder let him into the shop. His eyes had lost some of the nervous fear he’d exhibited that morning, but his scratches had reddened considerably and looked quite painful. “I c-c-came!” he announced simply. “B-but maybe the d-d-demon is gone. I haven’t s-s-seen any c-c-c—”

  A fine-boned white cat padded down the staircase from the upstairs apartments. With an easy leap, it settled atop one of the wooden display cases.

  “Cats!” Topo shrieked. He backed toward the door. “Cat!”

  Spyder laid a firm hand on his shoulder, preventing his retreat. “What cat, my good friend?” he said in a calming tone. “There’s nothing there. What are you pointing at?”

  Topo stared at Spyder with terror-filled eyes. “You don’t see a c-c-cat?”

  Spyder turned and surveyed his shop, then hugged himself and faked a shiver. “Now that you mention it,” he answered in an ominous voice, “although I see nothing, I do seem to feel some presence, as if we were being watched.”

 
The little crook took a step behind Spyder and, peering under the taller man’s arm, watched the white cat lick its paws with indifference.

  “We’d better go,” Spyder said. “Only a fool keeps Madame Struga waiting.”

  “Madame Struga?” Before Topo could say anything more, Spyder clapped a blindfold over the little man’s eyes. “Ouch! My scratches!” But despite his complaints, he offered no resistance as Spyder tied the blindfold tightly in place.

  Tossing his black cloak around his shoulders, Spyder steered Topo out into the night. The white cat followed soundlessly for a short distance, then perched on the street corner as the two men marched up and down Face-of-the-Moon Street, turned a corner, marched back, walked around the shop, then walked around the shop again.

  The Black Spider had two doors on Face-of-the-Moon Street, one that led directly into the shop, and another seldom-used entrance that led to private apartments. When Spyder had thoroughly disoriented Topo, he opened this second door, guided his man inside and into one of the rooms. There, he yanked free the blindfold.

  “Ouch!” said Topo, clapping one hand to the side of his forehead.

  A single half-melted candle burned on a small round table at the center of the room. S’danzo cards lay spread upon its surface, and in the middle of the red silk tablecloth, a crystal ball shone. Only a pair of gnarled hands could be seen on either side of the crystal.

  Topo stared around and hugged himself. “Gods’ balls,” he muttered, “its c-c-cold in here!”

  An old crone rose from her chair behind the table. The candle and the reflected light from the crystal ball revealed a shadowed and charcoal-smudged face and wild hair bound in scarves of orange and yellow.

  Slightly behind Topo, Spyder smiled to himself. Channa had surpassed his expectations. The room was perfect, as was her makeup. When he’d explained to her that Topo was the man responsible for turning the mop bucket over her head and for harming Ronal, she’d gleefully agreed to play her part. It was obvious, too, that she relished the role.

  She let out a cackle, and even Spyder’s eyebrows shot up. “You!” she said, thrusting a finger at Topo. “You have the mark of demons on you!”

  “Th-th-they’re just s-s-cratches.” Topo sounded almost apologetic.

  “Not those, you idiot!” Channa shouted. “The mark of demons is invisible to everybody but me!”

  Topo forgot his fear and lunged toward the table. “Oh! Oh yes!” he cried. “I do! I’m sure I do!”

  “Stay back!” Channa’s harsh command froze the little crook in his tracks. In the candlelight, her heavily made-up eyes burned. She fixed Topo with them, then began to wave her smudged hands over the crystal ball, slowly at first, then more wildly, swaying back and forth. “Cursie, cursie, little mousie—cats are playing in your housie!” she chanted. “Cat, cat, bo bat! Bonana fana fo fat!”

  Spyder pushed back his hood and nodded. With a grave expression on his face, he joined in. “Fee fi mo mat—cat!”

  “He knows!” Channa shrieked as she threw both hands into the air and curled her fingers like claws. The candlelight wavered, flickered, threatened to go out, then grew steady again. Her sharp-eyed gaze returned to Topo. “From the wreck on the Seaweal they came, ghosts and demons, a hellish crew from an unknown hell. Demon captain! And the first mate his thrice-damned bitch! Cursed souls and haunted, every crewman, every oarsman!”

  Channa’s voice rose in pitch and volume as she ran her hands over the cards, stirring them, mixing them. “Now they’ve come to ground! Freed from the sea! Freed from their ship! Free at last! Free at last!” Arching her back suddenly, she shook her fists toward the unseen ceiling.

  Spyder cleared his throat.

  Interrupted in the middle of her grand speech, Channa leaned over the candlelight and glared at her employer with one eye squeezed shut. Then, clearing her own throat, she bent over the crystal ball. “I see the wreck!” she proclaimed, waving her hands. “I see the demons coming ashore—horrible things they are, clawed and cat-eyed and ravenous! I see! I see!”

  Spyder leaned close to Topo’s ear. “Madame Struga sees all.”

  Topo trembled as he nodded. “So I see.”

  Channa stirred the cards again and hummed an eerie note as she carefully drew one and turned it over. “There!” she cried, flinging the card at Topo. “The cards reveal you—abuser of harmless women! That’s the reason why the demons have chosen you, marked you, and persecuted you! Even the damned cannot abide such a sin!”

  “It’s true!” Topo shouted, falling to his knees at the edge of the table, but careful not to touch it. He snatched up the thrown card from the floor and placed it carefully back among the rest, his fingers shaking, eager to be rid of it. “I repent! I repent!” He stared across the crystal ball, seeking Channa’s grace. Yet, he shrugged. “Well, not of crime, of course. It’s my destiny to be a great criminal mastermind!” He waved a hand at the cards. “You’ll find that in there somewhere, I’m sure.” He put a hand on his heart and raised the other hand. “But I’ll never abuse another woman again on my climb to greatness, I swear! Just rid me of these demons!”

  “I think she’s rid you of your stuttering,” Spyder observed.

  Topo shot a look of annoyance toward Spyder. “I’m not scared anymore—just desperate!” He turned back to Channa. “Don’t let the cats get me, Madame Struga!”

  Spyder gave Channa a secret nod, and from deep within the folds of her many-layered garments, she drew a small medallion on a leather cord. “Nothing can turn them from their prey!” she informed Topo as she dangled the ornament before his eyes. “But this will hold them at bay if you wear it!”

  Topo thrust out his hand. “I’ll take it!”

  Channa snatched it back and leered at him. “Five silver shaboozh,” she said in an icy voice.

  Still on his knees, the plump little crook swallowed as he eyed the medallion. “One,” he countered.

  A loud cackle, and Channa leaned forward again. “Four!”

  Tears began to stream down Topo’s face. “No!” he insisted. “I mean, I can’t haggle! I only have one shaboozh! I had five, but my cowardly ex-partners took three, and I lost another, and now I’ve only got one to save my soul!” He clapped a hand to his mouth.

  “Poor choice of words,” Spyder commented from the shadows.

  Channa tapped her lips with the tip of one finger as she considered. “Very well,” she said slowly. “But the medallion’s power is limited and must be renewed. At the end of each month, return to Spyder with two silver shaboozh. He’ll bring your fee and the medallion to me, and I’ll restore its magic! If you fail …” Sweeping a hand over the table, she turned up a card. It showed the painted image of a cat.

  Topo’s eyes widened as he stared at the card. “Two silver shaboozh?” The words croaked from his dry throat. “A month?”

  Channa dropped the medallion on the edge of the table in front of him. “The price of protection,” she said.

  The door to the room creaked open a few inches. The white cat walked regally across the floor and sprang up on the table, scattering several of the cards. With a highpitched shriek, Topo snatched at the talisman. “Agreed!” he cried, slapping down his last coin. Then, leaping to his feet, he shoved Spyder aside and fled out into the rainy night. The cat dived from the table, following close on his heels.

  “Did I do well?” Channa asked as she and Spyder watched Topo’s vanishing form from the threshold.

  “Madame Struga was marvelous!” Spyder laughed as he hugged her and kissed her forehead. “The shaboozh is yours, and all his coins to come.”

  Now Topo’s bound to me even more securely than before, Spyder thought to himself. Come rain or shine, he’ll be back each month with his worthless trinket. And if he fails even once to show, I’ll send Aaliyah.

  Legacies

  Jane Fancher and C.J. Cherryh

  “And the next I knew, the prince was asking for volunteers.” Beneath his grizzled hair, Grandfather’
s pale, staring eyes glimmered with pride. “I could swim, and swim well. I was one of the first to step forward.”

  Lightning flashed, darting through the smoke vents and every failing seam in the old building. Thunder rattled the shutters on their rotting leather hinges. Kadithe Mur huddled closer to the brazier, holding his breath, knowing well what came next, yet never tiring of his grandfather’s heartfelt rendition.

  The prince, the golden-haired Kadakithis, had taken a handful of volunteers out on his beloved Shupansea’s huge ship. They’d braved the fierce storm to save the fishermen caught in the unexpected squall. Caught and stranded on reefs or drowning. Grandfather and the others had tied ropes to their waists and leaped into the foaming sea, searching for anyone still living. Kadakithis himself had dived with them, a prince risking his life for the humblest of his subjects.

  Kadithe sighed and leaned against the cold stone south wall.

  Together, Grandfather and his prince (with a little help from the ship’s crew and the other volunteers) had fought off pirates attempting to take his lady’s ship with one hand and rescued nearly a hundred men that day. Some said the prince had been a fool, had risked two hundred lives to save a handful, that there were always more fishermen, but to him the prince and all those who’d helped him were heroes, heroes of the sort which, with one notable exception, Sanctuary hadn’t seen in thirty years.

  Not since Kadakithis had kissed Shupansea farewell and headed north to reclaim the Rankan capital, even as the Beysa sailed off to her own destiny.

  He knew, even if others didn’t, that Kadakithis hadn’t deserted the city for the opulent life among the Beysa. He knew because Grandfather had been there. Grandfather had been denied the right to go with the prince. Kadakithis himself had pressed golden coins into Grandfather’s hands and told him to stay in Sanctuary, to care for his wife and young son.