Degan scowled. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “To take over the cordon? No one runs the place right now. But if they’re that organized, why waste time on Ten Ways? There are better cordons out there that would be easier to take over.”
“Why indeed?” said Degan. He ran his hand over a carved faun’s head on the fountain, letting his thumb brush the stream of water coming from it. “What makes the cordon worth going after? Is there something about Ten Ways itself, a reason they need to control the cordon?”
“You mean besides the charming atmosphere?” I said. I’d been asking myself the same question: why try to control a hellhole like Ten Ways, given how hard it would be to bring it together? If they could bring it together. “I suppose it would be a nice feather in someone’s cap. No one’s been able to unite Ten Ways since Isidore, and he went on to become the Dark King. If someone managed to do the same, it would go a long way toward making him look like . . .” I trailed off and looked over at Degan. He was staring back at me.
“That can’t be it,” I said, almost in a whisper. “Follow in the Dark King’s footsteps? Take control of all the Kin in Ildrecca again? That can’t be it.” The first time had been a work of genius, a miracle, a fluke—no one could repeat that. Could they?
“It doesn’t mean someone can’t try,” said Degan.
I nodded as I connected the dots in my head. “And a war between a couple of Upright Men—like, say Nicco and Kells—would only help. Hell, if done right, it could draw in most of the bosses and Uprights within three cordons of the place.”
“That would put almost half of the Kin in Ildrecca at one another’s throats,” said Degan.
“And get the local element in Ten Ways up in arms, too,” I said. “Having the neighbors come in to fight their war wouldn’t go over too well.”
“It might even be enough to get the Kin in Ten Ways to unite behind someone,” said Degan.
“Someone who jingles when she walks and has Ironius in her back pocket,” I said sourly. “And all they’d have to do is sit back and wait for everyone else to weaken themselves by fighting one another. Then, when things are at their worst, they step in at the head of the Kin in Ten Ways and take over.”
“How very imperial,” said Degan.
He was right. It had been working for the empire for centuries—get local kings or chiefs to fight one another, then step in and shore up whoever looks to make the best puppet.
And now someone wanted to do it to the Kin.
“Tell me about Ironius,” I said.
“I—” Degan sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“Don’t say it,” I said.
“I can’t.”
“Damn it, Degan! How can you not?” My voice echoed off the buildings around us. Somewhere, a dog started barking. “This is me, for Angels’ sake!”
“Yes, it is,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower. I could barely hear him over the splashing of the fountain. “Which is why I’m telling you to let this go. Back off. Report to Nicco and be done with it.”
“What?” I forced my voice down to near-normal levels. “If we’re right, we’re talking about someone orchestrating a Kin war in Ten Ways—maybe even throughout the whole city. And if that happens, you know what comes next.”
“We don’t know that the empire will step in,” he said, not sounding wholly convinced.
“If it even looks like someone is trying to repeat Isidore’s climb, it won’t just be the Rags hassling us in the streets,” I said. “It’ll be the legions. The White Sashes. And I’m not going to let someone screw with my life and my livelihood just because he wants a midnight crown on his head.”
“You don’t know it will come to that,” said Degan. “This could just be about Ten Ways. You said yourself it was a fluke with Isidore—that no one can unite the Kin again. Let them set up Nicco. Let him go to war. Let him die. You’ve never liked the bastard, anyhow. Get out now.”
I looked up at my friend, seeing him, seeing his face in my night vision. I took a step back. “You’re scared,” I said, barely believing it. “Angels help me, you’re scared.”
Degan grimaced. “Not scared,” he said. “Worried.”
“About what?”
“About where it will take you. Take us.”
“‘Where it will take me’?” I said. I nearly laughed, only it wasn’t funny. “In case you haven’t noticed, things around me have been going from bad to worse over the last couple of days. I don’t want your worry right now; I want your help.”
Degan’s head lunged forward so fast, I nearly fell back. “I can’t help you in this!” he yelled. “Don’t you understand? I can’t! Not while . . .”
“While what?” I said. “What?”
Degan glared at me and turned away. I saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took a breath. “Just let it be,” he said. “Please.”
And then it hit me, and I got truly angry.
“This is about the Order of the Degans, isn’t it?” I said. “You won’t tell me anything unless I take your damn Oath!” I reached out and grabbed Degan’s arm, spinning him around. He didn’t resist. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take the damn thing. If that’s what you want me to do, I’ll do it.”
Degan jerked his arm out of my grasp. “It’s not what I want you to do,” he snapped. “And even if I did, that wouldn’t be all of it. There are other things at play here besides my being a degan.”
“Like friendship?” I said. I threw the words out, using them like a lash. “Like bleeding for each other so many times I’ve lost count? We’ve never needed an Oath for any of that!”
Degan winced. I pressed on.
“What the hell is it with you degans and your Oaths?” I said. “Secrets and silence and promises—you’re a bunch of fucking Arms, Degan! You lug steel around and dust other people’s enemies. If anyone ought to be demanding promises of silence, it’s me. I’m the Nose here. What’s so damn important about Ironius that you can’t . . . can’t . . .”
And I stopped and stared up at Degan. At Bronze Degan. Of course—I was too used to thinking of him as just Degan.
“It isn’t ‘Ironius,’ is it?” I said softly. “It’s ‘Iron.’ He’s a degan. He’s Iron Degan.”
Degan didn’t answer, but the look on his face made anything he might have said redundant. Whoever we were working against had a degan on their side. And if Bronze Degan wasn’t willing to talk about it, my guess was that Iron Degan and the woman had already exchanged the Oath.
Which meant that if I wanted Degan’s help against them, I would have to do the same. The only problem was, I suddenly didn’t want to take the Oath anymore.
Chapter Thirteen
“You don’t want to do this,” said Degan.
No kidding. But it suddenly wasn’t about wanting anymore; it was about needing. I needed to take the Oath.
“I have to,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” said Degan.
“Oh?” I said. “And how do you figure that? You’ve as much as said you can’t talk to me about Iron Degan or his business because he’s under Oath to whoever that woman is. And it seemed pretty clear in the sewers that unless I’m willing to take that same step, I won’t be getting any answers from you on the matter. So, yes, I’d say it’s a matter of need.”
“I told you before, I don’t know what Iron or his boss are up to. Your taking the Oath won’t change that.”
“But you suspect,” I said. “You have some ideas about what’s going on.”
Degan paused. “I have suspicions,” he said. “But they’re based on who Iron is, not on anything I know.”
“And . . . ?” Degan looked down at me in silence. “My point exactly,” I said. “You can’t even tell me your suspicions without the Oath.”
“Drothe, do you realize what taking the Oath means?” said Degan. “For you? For me?”
“It means I owe you,” I said. “Big. Really big. And that you can c
all in your marker at any time. I also know that I get you, not just as a friend, but as a degan, working for me on my payroll. And I get what you know about Iron and his boss, even if it’s just an educated guess.”
“And you’d be willing to take that deal?”
“Yes,” I said. Maybe. It was hard to say, not knowing what Degan knew, but I wasn’t going to get anything from him if I didn’t take the Oath. That much was clear.
Degan nodded thoughtfully. “And what if I told you that was the street version of the story? What if I told you there was more?”
“How much more?”
“When I say I can ask for anything,” Degan said, “I mean anything. And I expect you to serve it up on a plate, because that’s what I would do for you if I took the Oath. The Oath means I’m willing to put my life on the line, not only for you, but for your interests as declared in the Oath. I’m your man until I die or the Oath is fulfilled. And I expect the same of you when it comes time to call in my side of the bargain. You have to do what I say, without question, without hesitation, even if it goes against what you want or believe in. Even if it means you stand a good chance of being killed. Because we exchanged the Oath, and that’s the burden each side carries for the other—me for you, and you for the Order.”
“Wait,” I said. “What do you mean, the burden I carry ‘for the Order’? What do I owe them?”
A ghost of a smile touched Degan’s lips. “Just this: If I complete my part of the Oath and die before calling in my ‘marker,’ or I die in your service, your Oath passes on to the Order of the Degans.”
“The entire Order?” I said, feeling my insides going into a free fall. Angels, how many degans were there, anyhow?
“To the first degan who decides to call it in.” Degan leaned in toward me. “Even, maybe, Iron Degan. How would that turn out, do you think?”
Not well, I realized. But that involved a lot of ifs. It also brought up another question.
“What if someone refuses to fulfill his end of the Oath?” I said. “It has to have come up.”
“It has,” said Degan.
“And?”
Degan straightened up. “In many ways, the Order of the Degans is the Oath. It’s what makes us degans. Some of us have been known to give ourselves over for years in fulfilling an Oath. How do you think we would react if someone recanted on his end, especially if one of us had lied, cheated, killed, and maybe even died, to fulfill his part of the agreement?”
I shuddered. “That’d be a lot of pissed-off talent,” I said.
“And that’s only the beginning.”
That didn’t sound good—as if any of this could.
“We’re an old order, Drothe,” continued Degan. “And the Oath is an old binding.”
I felt my jaw dropping open and stopped it. “Are you saying there’s glimmer involved?” I said.
“I’m saying it’s an old binding. I don’t pretend to understand it, but there are stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
Degan eyed me coolly and remained silent.
Son of a bitch. Half of me was worried that Degan was playing me, trying to scare me off; the other half was just as worried he wasn’t.
“What’s your angle in all this?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“The degans,” I said. “What’s your angle? How do you come out ahead making deals like this? You said yourself, some of you spend years fulfilling your Oaths. How does getting one service in return even begin to make up for all of that?”
Degan’s eyebrows crept up. “Why, we ask for the right service. From the right people.”
“The right service for what?”
“The right service for the Order.”
I felt my hands balling themselves into fists at my side. “Dammit, Degan!” I snapped. “No games!”
“I’m not playing any. All I can tell you is that the Order of the Degans is content with what it gets in exchange for its services, both when it comes to members hiring out for money or taking an Oath.” Degan paused, then added, “We don’t take Oaths from just anyone, after all.”
Which hinted at volumes, but said nothing.
“Would you take an Oath from me?” I said.
“I’d rather not.”
I didn’t know if I was flattered or frightened by the answer, let alone by what it implied.
Degan read my expression and nodded. “Now you understand why I don’t want you to take the Oath. Because of our friendship and what the Oath may mean to it. Better for us both if you step away and let things in Ten Ways—and with Iron—run themselves out.”
“Except it’s about more than just Ten Ways now,” I said. “There’s the whole question of Larrios and Athel and the book and my relic. Iron Degan and his boss didn’t storm Fedim’s shop because they liked crappy pottery—they wanted whatever Larrios had. And now I find out they’re trying to start a Kin war between Nicco and Kells in Ten Ways, too? That can’t just be coincidence!”
“You don’t know for certain that the two are connected,” said Degan. “Larrios and the book and your relic may have nothing to do with Ten Ways.”
“You mean like the scrap of paper we pulled off Athel?” I said.
Degan opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand.
“Look,” I said. “You’ve scared the shit out of me with all of this about the Oath, all right? The idea of taking the Oath, of being bound to perform a service I can’t refuse . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t even go that far as a Nose—not with anybody. And then you tell me I would have to keep the Oath with Iron Degan if you died and he got to me first? That alone’s enough to shy me away from taking it.”
“Good,” said Degan, his shoulders relaxing.“Because—”
“Except,” I said, “that I wouldn’t be taking the Oath with a degan—I’d be taking it with you. I trust you, not only to keep your end of the bargain, but to not take advantage of my end, either. Hell, you’ve covered my blinds so many times, if you wanted to screw me, you’d have done it by now.”
A pained expression crossed Degan’s face. “My covering your blinds is worlds different from calling in the Oath, Drothe.”
“You’ve made that painfully clear,” I said. “But, really, it all comes down to trust. I trust you. I trust your Oath. And if I thought there was any other way, I wouldn’t ask you to do this. But whether you take the Oath with me or not, I’m going to keep pressing, and that means I’ll likely come up against Iron Degan and his boss at some point. When that happens, I’d rather have you at my back than not.” I held out my hand, palm up. “I want to exchange the Oath with you, Degan.”
Degan stared at me so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“We’re both a couple of fools,” he finally said. “Fools of the first order.” His hand came down and clasped my forearm, even as mine closed on his. Then he let go. “Come on, then.”
“Where?”
“Where we won’t be interrupted when we exchange the damn Oath.”
I followed Degan through the streets of Ildrecca as the sun lightened the sky in the east. He didn’t seem to be searching for a specific location so much as walking off his frustration.
His disquiet almost made me want to stop, to say that we could forget the Oath, that I would manage on my own. Almost. But I didn’t think I could do this without him, especially if I was going to be facing Iron Degan. And what I had said was true—I trusted Degan. I had to believe that he wouldn’t let me take the Oath if it wasn’t worthwhile, that he wouldn’t betray me when it came time to pay. There was too much riding on it to believe otherwise.
We finally turned into a series of alleys called the Cloisters, running along the border between Stone Arch and Lady of the Roses cordons. The alleys were unique in that they had a series of peaked arches running across them at regular intervals, providing not only artistic support for the buildings on either side, but easy bridges for anyone running the roofs.
&
nbsp; Degan led me down one alley, into another, then stopped. We stood beneath an ivy-covered arch. He turned around.
Degan drew his sword without preamble and held it by the blade, just below the guard, point down. He placed his other hand on the bronze-chased guard. I gathered I was supposed to do the same, and did so.
The metal was warmer than I expected. I wondered if it had picked up some heat from the sunlight and Degan’s body, or if there was another explanation. Then again, maybe my palms were just feeling chilled from the sweat gathering on them. Either way, it didn’t matter much at this point.
I looked up at Degan. He stood straight and formal, his eyes hooded in shadow. The look of near-amusement I was so used to seeing on his face was gone. Now he regarded me as he did everyone else on the street—without mercy or friendship. He was no longer my friend; he was Bronze Degan. For the first time in a long time, I remembered what that truly meant. I felt the fear he inspired in others, in those he did not call friend. I felt the weight of the Oath.
I swallowed and tried to clear my throat. It didn’t help. “So, how do we do this?” I asked.
“What is the service you wish me to perform?” he said.
Into it that quickly, then. I pulled my gaze away from his and stared at the sword while I ordered my thoughts.
Up close, I could see that the bronze inlays on the guard were immaculate. There was no hint of tarnish or greening there—even around the dents and scratches it had earned in hard service. Fine swirls and broad strokes intermixed in an almost-sylvan pattern against the steel of his guard, suggesting creeping vines, or maybe windtossed grasses. The blade itself had a milky quality to it, as if someone had just breathed on the steel and paused before wiping off the condensation. Below the seeming haze were tiny lines and arcs, slightly darker than the rest of the steel, running throughout the blade. Black Isle steel, forged at the monastery of the same name, renowned for its strength and near-legendary ability to hold an edge. It was the best steel that money—or anything else, for that matter—could buy.
Among Thieves Page 15
