Passion lifted Jon from her knees and stood to fetch a mug of water from the bucket on the cupboard. ‘Maybe it was an attack from a disgruntled customer,’ she suggested as she poured her drink. ‘Anyone else thirsty?’ The small gathering shook their heads.
‘I was talking with Whitewood who saw the archers,’ Wahim told them. ‘He said they were professionals. Only someone important or rich could afford trained professionals to burn down a building.’
‘Were we the target?’ asked Mouse.
‘No doubt about it,’ Wahim confirmed. ‘Whitewood said our roof was hit by six flaming arrows. They had some special fluid because the flames spread really quickly over the whole roof.’
‘So why us?’ asked Passion, but no one had an answer.
‘Where do we work now?’ Mouse asked.
‘Guess we have to work from our homes, until Mister Whoreson rebuilds the Perfect Pleasures,’ said Rose.
‘If he rebuilds it,’ said Wahim. ‘He might buy another place. Or he might just leave it alone.’
‘He needs the money,’ Passion argued.
‘No he doesn’t,’ Rose told her. ‘He’s a very rich man because of all the work we do on our backs for him.’
‘But he’s got some serious gambling debts to feed,’ said Wahim. ‘I think you’ll find we’ll all be working just as hard as ever, and very soon.’
Chase rose from his chair. ‘I’ll leave you to talk. I’m still looking for work as well.’ He stooped to pick up Jon and hugged the boy. ‘Look after your mother,’ he said, and kissed Jon on the forehead. He lowered him to the ground, and withdrew.
As he stepped outside, he heard Passion’s voice and she ushered him outside into the alley. ‘I had a visitor while you were away,’ she said. ‘Swift.’
‘Where is she?’ Chase asked.
Passion glanced up and down the alley. ‘She killed the prince.’
He was astonished. ‘Shortear?’ he asked. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But how?’
‘She’s an assassin.’
‘Swift?’ Chase asked, still struggling with the news about his sister.
Passion looked around nervously again and said, ‘Yes.’
‘But—’
‘Listen,’ Passion insisted. ‘She told me to tell you to keep away from the Joker too. She said it’s too dangerous.’
‘But where’s Swift? Is she all right?’ he asked.
‘She said we have to watch and be careful in case anyone works out that she’s related to us,’ she told him. ‘If we hear anything at all, we have to get out of the city.’
‘And Swift?’ he persisted. ‘What about her?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘She said it was better if we didn’t know anything about her.’
‘And Runner? Does he know?’
‘I haven’t seen Runner for a long time,’ Passion said.
‘Go back inside,’ Chase said and hugged Passion. ‘I’m going to see if I can find out anything about what’s going on. I’ll ask around for where Runner is too. All right?’
‘Be careful,’ Passion urged. She kissed her brother and retreated into the cottage.
He looked up at the overcast sky and guessed the time to be slightly before noon. The time tower would undoubtedly chime soon. He was the solitary pedestrian between the tightly clustered two and three-roomed single-storey poor houses, so he was surprised when three men turned into the lane a few paces before he reached the street. He nodded to them in greeting and made to pass by, until he realised they were staring at him and that they were strangers. And they stepped into his path—and produced daggers. He turned and fled.
He sprinted the length of the lane, past his cottage, only glancing over his shoulder to check that his pursuers weren’t stopping there. They didn’t. Good, he thought, I’ll lead them away from home. At the intersection, he turned right and veered across the street, dodging a horse and cart, and dashed past a group of men who looked up to see what was happening. He ran hard along the street and turned into a familiar dead-end alley, one he knew well from his youthful capers. At the end was a low house wall, the top just within reach of someone making a running jump using a foot on a brick jutting from the wall for added leverage. The ploy was simple. Gain a few precious seconds on a pursuer who didn’t know the trick and get a good look at who was pursuing as you vaulted to the top. He jumped over a broken box in the alley, accelerated and leaped up the wall, grabbing a roof beam to haul himself up.
At the top, he turned. The first pursuer was leaping up the wall, but with a well-timed kick to the man’s face Chase sent him tumbling to land at his colleagues’ feet. One hurled a dagger that Chase dodged, the spinning blade whistling harmlessly past, before he scrambled over the wall and dropped to his feet in the adjoining alley. A few quick paces on, he entered the black-painted door of a low-ceilinged, darkened tavern, the Fat Wombat.
The same man, Plug Lager, had owned the tavern for as long as Chase could remember. Lager’s simple philosophy was that his tavern was a refuge for all manners of people, the exceptions being those who were wealthy and those who were intent on violence in his tavern. In the Foundry Quarter, Lager’s reputation for being ruthless at keeping the peace in his tavern was so legendary that even the king’s men, the soldiers assigned to watch duty in the Foundry Quarter, never pursued a criminal into the Fat Wombat. They simply awaited another opportunity to make an arrest when the person being sought re-emerged from the refuge.
‘Problem, son?’ a deep voice inquired as Chase stepped into the dark, smoke-filled common room. Four low-flamed lanterns sat on purpose-built stands at each wall, oozing dull light into the space.
Chase turned to a thickset, broad-shouldered bodyguard staring at him. ‘Just need to take it easy,’ he replied.
The bodyguard nodded knowingly. ‘I’ll keep an eye out,’ he said, and he reached up to the ceiling just above his head and tugged a thin wire.
Chase, knowing that in the rear of the tavern a group of bodyguards had just heard the ringing of a small bell calling them to duty in the tavern, thanked the man at the door and headed for a table and chair in the darkest corner. He saw six other patrons in the common room after he took his seat. Two were at separate tables, quietly watching him. Four were playing a card game closer to the dead hearth. All six were smoking.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
The boy’s unexpected question startled Chase. ‘Where did you come from?’ he gasped.
The boy grinned, his teeth pure white in the semidarkness. ‘Scared you, didn’t I?’
‘Right now, I’m not in the mood for tricks,’ Chase sourly replied.
‘Fair enough,’ said the boy, though he kept grinning. Chase guessed he had to be no more than thirteen years old. ‘So? What do you want?’
Chase fished inside his trousers for a penny and passed it to the boy. ‘A beer.’
‘Done, sir,’ the boy said, and pocketed the coin as he walked towards the short bar that was squeezed into the opposite corner.
A door opened near the bar and four men in black trousers and tunics emerged. They separated and moved to different tables against the walls where they took their seats quietly and melted into the shadows. Chase saw the card players look up for a moment before resuming their game. One man at the table looked towards Chase. When the boy returned with a tankard of foaming beer, he placed it on Chase’s table and said, ‘Mister Plug says can he come and sit with you?’
Stunned by the request, Chase hesitated before replying, ‘Yes.’
The boy grinned again and headed for the bar. Chase was observant, but he couldn’t see anyone else. Then he sensed soft movement beside him and the wall moved. A large figure appeared and sat at his table. Plug Lager. ‘Beer good?’ the taverner inquired in his customary gruff voice.
‘Fine,’ Chase replied.
‘It’s been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of your company, young Chase. How’s your sister
?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Good.’
The tavern door opened, letting the dull daylight spill in. Chase looked up to see a man enter, close the door, and speak briefly to the bodyguard. He approached the table where Chase and the taverner sat and bent to whisper in Plug Lager’s ear. Plug nodded, watching Chase as he listened. Message completed, the messenger returned to the door. It opened briefly and he left.
Plug leant forward across the table. ‘Word is you have some friends who don’t like you.’
‘I don’t know who they are,’ Chase explained. ‘They just came after me.’
‘These three are professionals. They come in here from time to time to keep out of harm’s way or to spend some money they’ve earned. They don’t come cheap. You’ve made a very powerful enemy, my young friend.’
‘How?’
‘You’ve been seen with the Joker. That’s not a wise move. Plenty of young men she’s had dealings with have ended up floating in the river or out to sea.’
‘That’s done with,’ Chase told him, but his memory flashed to the assassins who attacked the Joker’s small party in the cave.
‘For you, it might be done with, but someone out there isn’t happy with you. Someone wants you dead.’
‘But who? Who have I offended?’
Lager leant back and laid his hands across his ample paunch. ‘That I don’t know any more than you.’
‘Can you find out?’
‘You know I don’t work like that. I have integrity to protect. For you, my young friend, I can only offer safety until these three decide to go away from here. But, rest assured, they won’t leave you alone. You won’t get any relief from them until either you or they are dead. I’m sorry, but that’s the way they work.’ Lager rose and placed a copper penny on the table. ‘Enjoy the beer, young Chase. It’s on the house. Have as many as you like.’ He opened the panel in the wall, but turned back and added, ‘If your sister needs somewhere to stay for a little while, I have a spare room out the back. I won’t charge her any more than she’s willing to pay.’ He stepped through and the wall resumed its dark self.
He sipped at the beer, eyeing the door suspiciously, expecting his enemies to walk in like everyday customers and sit at his table to drink with him before they killed him. Someone wanted him dead, but who? Had the assassins who tried to kill the Joker in the cave reported back to their hirer and now he or she was determined to kill each member of the adventuring party individually?
The card players’ voices rose and fell with each ensuing hand, while the individuals in the darker areas sat in silence, drinking solemnly. The boy waiter brought Chase a second and then a third beer, and Chase drank them slowly, lost in his thoughts as he reasoned through the possible choices facing him as a wanted man. He laughed at the irony that the authorities would already have a record from the Bog Pit of him being dead and yet someone was going to kill him and the authorities would discover him freshly dead again. He wondered why the other individuals were hiding in the Fat Wombat. One stood and left. Three men entered later, and Chase tensed, peering in the dull lantern light to see if they were recognisable as the three who chased him. They weren’t. They didn’t even acknowledge his presence as they sat and ordered drinks. Another man left and the briefly open doorrevealed that it was already dark outside. The day had passed.
He had to warn Passion. Then the chill fear struck him. What if whoever was after him had already been to his home? He pushed back from the table, his head light with beer, and headed for the door where the bodyguard let him out into the cold air and night.
If his hunters were still waiting, he was a dead man. It no longer mattered. Beer numbed his fear for himself, even as it heightened his fear for his sister and nephew. He walked along the street, expecting at any moment to feel the cold, sharp stab of a blade, or for dark shadows to surround him, but he passed without incident and reached the lane to his home. He turned into it, half-expecting the men to be waiting, but the lane was empty, patched by the yellow squares of lantern and candlelit windows.
He stopped at his door and listened. The tiny window was awash with light. When he peered through, he saw Passion sitting at the little table, feeding Jon from a small bowl of gruel. A fire crackled in the hearth. Everything seemed normal, secure and warm. But the homely scene filled him with sadness. He had brought about its end.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Crystal signed the letter and sealed it with green wax, using the metal joker stamp her father had manufactured for the business. She rose from the desk and handed the letter to Stoker, reminding him, ‘Only for Prince Inheritor.’
‘Shall I take the streets, Mrs Merchant?’
‘Not this time. Go by the tunnel. Be wary of anyone following you.’ Stoker nodded and left the room. She turned to Hunter and asked, ‘Where is Lin?’
‘I think she said she was organising a business deal with one of the gambling houses along the Main Way,’ Hunter informed her.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t remember her mentioning anything. Did she say who?’ Hunter shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Crystal turned to leave the meeting room, but hesitated, and turning to Hunter she said, ‘How well do you know the city?’
‘Well enough not to get lost, Mrs Merchant.’
‘Do you know where there is someone with lots of old books?’
‘Not exactly, but I can ask.’
‘Do it. Then come back and let me know where I have to go.’ She waited for Hunter to withdraw before she headed for the lounge. Her two cats were curled on the floor, but Crystal ignored them and they ignored her. She passed through the house and descended to the lower levels where the tunnels began. The statue-like guard on duty, Mast, watched her approach. ‘Has Stoker passed through?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mrs Merchant, heading for the Palace.’
‘Good. I’m going down to the harbour.’
‘Shall I accompany you, Mrs Merchant?’
‘No, Mast. I’m going alone.’
‘Is that wise, Mrs Merchant?’ Crystal fixed him with a steady gaze and Mast stayed silent. She entered the lit tunnel that led to the city harbour district.
Crystal cautiously lifted the trapdoor to peer into a room lit by thin strips of flickering light slatting the floor and her ears were assailed by the raucous noise of a tavern brawl. Something heavy thumped against the other side of wall she faced as she emerged and glass shattered. She climbed out of the trapdoor and moved through the familiar storeroom between the piled crates to a door. Light along the sill revealed the adjoining room was occupied. Another heavy weight hit the wall separating the tavern common room from the storeroom to her left, dislodging pottery urns from a shelf and they shattered on the floor. Crystal slowly turned the handle. Seven faces turned to her as she entered. Cards were lowered. ‘Mrs Merchant. What a surprise,’ a thickset, dark-haired woman said in greeting as she rose from the table.
‘Lili,’ Crystal responded to the owner of the Lady Luck tavern.
‘You know everyone here,’ Lili said, with a broad smile and equally broad sweep of her arm. Crystal acknowledged each guest in turn. ‘Sit and play a hand,’ Lili invited.
‘I came to see Shipmaster Gull,’ Crystal explained.
Glass shattered beyond the door that led into the common room. Lili laughed, and said, ‘Chances are that Gull is busy at the moment.’
‘I’ll wait,’ Crystal replied.
‘You may as well join us for a hand or two while you wait,’ the older woman at the table, Love Wells, said, patting an empty chair beside her.
Crystal sat between the comfortable Wells and the rotund Shilling Marketman who smiled generously at her. ‘Fortune?’ she asked, looking at the cards and recognising the game.
‘What else?’ Lili answered. ‘Diminishing cards and elimination. Maximum ten shillings bet per hand. Trumps called by the winner of the last hand.’ The cards were shuffled and dealt.
‘How’s busi
ness?’ Courage Blacker asked, his narrow dark eyes sparkling in the lantern light at the end of the table.
Crystal met his questioning gaze. Blacker was one of her husband’s chief enemies for many years. His company monopolised the supply of pitch to the ship owners and he owned a sizeable fleet of trading vessels, most gained from ship owners who went bankrupt after borrowing money from Blacker’s lending outlet. Although he traded in a variety of goods on the ocean, he wanted to monopolise the lucrative drug trade, but Will Merchant beat him to that coveted prize.
Crystal had long entertained a belief that Blacker knew something about Will’s murder, but there was no evidence to prove it as fact. ‘Satisfactory,’ she replied, and returned to studying her cards.
‘I heard you’re struggling to meet your commitment to the princes,’ Blacker suggested.
Crystal looked up. ‘You heard wrong, as usual.’
Blacker raised a thin eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’
‘Your turn, Courage,’ Lili prompted.
Blacker played his card. ‘It’s dangerous to make the princes unhappy,’ he added.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Crystal retorted. ‘They’re always happy with what I provide.’ She played her card. ‘Which reminds me, Mr Blacker, how’s your latest wife doing?’
She watched Blacker flinch at her acid comment. He’d already been married four times and each former wife left him within two years, with rumours about their leaving cruelly revolving around his ability to satisfy a woman. ‘She’s very happy, thank you Mrs Merchant,’ he icily replied, and retorted with, ‘And how’s that bitch you keep on heat satisfying your needs?’
Crystal smiled as Marketman won the round, and Crystal and Plank the Finder were eliminated. ‘I’m very satisfied, Mr Blacker,’ she said calmly.
‘It’s quietening down out there,’ Plank announced as he pushed back from the table. ‘I might check what’s happened.’
‘Thank you, Plank,’ Lili replied, ‘but relax. My keepers will let us know what’s transpired. Pour another mead.’
Crystal watched the cards being dealt and played. Mrs Wells was eliminated. Marketman kept the deal. ‘Drink?’ Plank asked, holding a mug of warm mead towards her.
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