‘No,’ she replied.
A knock at the door interrupted the game. Lili rose to answer it. A man’s head appeared, a brief exchange took place, and Lili frowned. The keeper’s head disappeared. ‘There’s a problem,’ Lili announced, turning to her guests.
‘What sort of problem?’ Mrs Wells asked.
‘I’ve got three dead out there.’
‘Oh,’ Marketman gasped.
Lili looked directly at Crystal and announced, ‘One of them is your shipmaster.’
The fire was burning heartily when Crystal entered the lounge and Lin was sitting comfortably before it with the grey cat on her lap. ‘Where have you been?’ Crystal asked.
Lin looked up from stroking the cat and replied, ‘Organising a small deal with an old friend along the Main Way.’
Crystal remained unmoved. ‘Who exactly?’
Lin straightened up. ‘If you must know, it was Wine Caskmaker.’
‘I thought you and he didn’t speak anymore.’
‘Generally, no, but this was a business matter.’
‘And?’
Lin snorted, showing her boredom with the questioning game. ‘He wanted me to cut him a small part of the euphoria deals, you know, for old time’s sake. His tavern’s not doing too well. He thought if he could get some cheap drugs for his customers he could grow his business.’
‘You know I don’t do that,’ Crystal abruptly remarked.
‘I know that, Crystal darling,’ Lin crooned. ‘I told Wine exactly that. He’s getting desperate. That’s all.’
‘We had an agreement about ex-lovers.’
‘You’re not jealous, are you, Crystal?’ said Lin, rising to approach Crystal coquettishly.
‘Don’t be so stupid!’ Crystal replied, but she avoided Lin’s arms and crossed the room to the kitchen door.
‘Why so grouchy then? Lin asked. ‘Wine Caskmaker’s no threat to you.’
Crystal glared. ‘How do you know that? Who in this city isn’t a threat to me?’
‘Me,’ Lin answered, smiling.
‘If you keep skulking away to make private meetings with ex-lovers you become a threat,’ Crystal warned.
‘How?’
‘Someone is making a well-planned attempt to break my business with the princes. They’re exploring every vulnerability I have.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Everything that’s happened,’ Crystal replied and moved back towards the fireplace. ‘The shipwrecks. The attack in the tunnel. Now they’ve murdered Shipmaster Gull.’
‘Murdered Gull?’ Lin gasped. ‘When?’
‘In the Lady Luck. It was made to look like just another brawl, but someone knifed him seven times.’
‘Who?’
‘Hired murderers. Gull wasn’t the only one killed. Two other men died. Witnesses, and none of them are reliable, said they thought Gull killed one of the dead men. He was a labourer in the iron foundry. Wife and five kids.’
‘And the other dead man?’
‘A fisherman. He was drinking with Gull when the fight started. His name was Snook. He always had drinks with Gull, apparently.’
‘Are you sure it was murder? Tavern brawls can get very rough.’
Crystal snorted. ‘They get rough enough. Men fight to show off and let off steam, but no one wants to die or kill anyone. It was murder. I’m certain of that. So is Lili.’
‘Any clues at all as to who would organise such a thing?’
‘None.’
‘Why Gull?’
‘Because he might have known something I needed to know about who’s interfering with the shipments.’
The lounge door opened and the servant girl, Apple, entered. ‘Mrs Merchant, Hunter wants to speak with you.’
Crystal nodded and said, ‘Tell Hunter to wait in the meeting room. I’ll come presently.’ Apple exited.
‘Is that why you went to the docks?’ Lin asked.
‘Yes.’
‘So what will you do without Gull to supervise the shipments?’
‘I’ll find a replacement.’
‘Let me do that for you,’ Lin offered, approaching Crystal again. ‘I’ll get someone we can trust to do the job thoroughly.’
‘I can deal with it.’
‘No. I insist,’ she said, and stroked Crystal’s hair. ‘You’ve got too much on your mind as it is. I’ll find a new shipmaster. I know someone who might fit the order perfectly.’
‘Who?’ Crystal asked.
‘Let me speak to him first. If he’s interested, I’ll arrange a meeting with you.’
‘I’m getting too many surprises of late, Lin. Who is it?’
Lin smiled sweetly and touched Crystal’s cheek softly. ‘Trust me on this. I’ll go to speak to him.’ When Crystal merely stared at her silently, she took hold of Crystal’s hand and said, ‘It will work out. It always does.’ She kissed Crystal’s cheek and headed for the meeting room door.
Crystal followed in Lin’s wake and found Hunter waiting. ‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Did you find what I was looking for?’
‘Yes, Mrs Merchant. There’s an old woman with a bookshop along Brewery Lane just over the bridge.’
‘Thank you, Hunter. Can you take me to her this evening?’
‘Her shop won’t be open, Mrs Merchant.’
‘But she lives in the shop, doesn’t she?’ Crystal asked.
‘I think she lives above it.’
‘Then we will pay her a visit.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
For Swift, the request passed by word-of-mouth to her by Plug Lager’s boy to meet with an unnamed individual in the Fat Wombat at midnight was unusual. She normally received orders from boys sent with code words to identify them as Guild messengers. The exception was the youth who earlier that day brought her the commission to assassinate Prince Gift and she was wary of that job because it came through an inappropriate channel. The system as she understood it was breaking down and that made her nervous.
She arrived early in the evening at the Fat Wombat and monitored the patrons who came and went as she sat aloof at a table in the corner, watching for any hint that she was in danger. She knew Plug Lager could be trusted. His tavern was an agreed haven for anyone in trouble in the Foundry Quarter. But desperate people were capable of ignoring such agreements to get what they wanted. Her mentor, Killer Dagger, warned her to always use discretion and caution, no matter who was claiming to be on her side. When Plug sat to share a drink with her, she asked him if he knew who she should expect to come at midnight. ‘I wish I knew,’ he replied. ‘Only people with something to hide and a dark deal to make come that late into our Quarter. But don’t you worry. I’ll be watching them.’
‘It’s not usual practice,’ Swift said. ‘What if it’s an elaborate trap? I’m not exactly the most popular person in the city now.’
‘You have important friends watching out for you,’ Plug reminded her. ‘You just listen to what is offered and make up your own mind on the matter as you always do.’
So she waited for midnight, while the customers gradually dwindled, until only three men at a table near the entrance remained. They were high on euphoria and were involved in quietly playing a slow hand of cards. Plug and the boy, Hop, were cleaning the pots and jugs and tabletops, tidying up after a quietly successful trading night. Finally Plug spoke to the men at the table and they rose and departed. Then he crossed to Swift and asked if she wanted anything to drink or eat. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.
‘By the candle rings behind the bar, it’s already past midnight. Your guest is late,’ he said. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you something?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘If he doesn’t show shortly, I’m leaving.’
Plug sent Hop to bed and blew out the lamps around the tavern, except for one near Swift’s table and the solitary wire-lightning globe above the bar. He slid the bolt on the front door before stacking the chairs onto the tables, one by one. As he lifted the last chair i
nto place, someone knocked at the door. Swift looked across at him. ‘I’ll open it,’ he said, moving towards the entrance. Plug unlocked the door and opened it cautiously. A muffled voice spoke, after which Plug ushered in a hooded figure, pointing towards Swift. He closed and re-bolted the door.
As the figure approached, Swift noted the man’s confident gait and leather boots. He sat on the chair opposite and lowered the hood, revealing himself as a handsome young man with thick, wavy dark hair. ‘You’re a soldier,’ she said.
The young man’s eyes widened. ‘What makes you so sure of that?’
‘What do you want with me?’ Swift asked, her hand resting on the handle of her knife.
‘I asked the first question,’ the soldier returned, unfazed by her directness.
‘Nice boots. The way you walk. Your build. Pretty face. Soldier. King’s guardsman, in fact.’ She smiled cynically. ‘Now your answer to my question.’
The soldier glanced over his shoulder at Plug’s shadowy figure leaning against the bar, then turned back to Swift and leaned forward. He placed his right hand on the table and turned the palm up to reveal a playing card. ‘Your call,’ he said.
Swift reached for the card and flipped it over. The joker. She took the card and slid it inside her tunic. ‘Payment?’
‘To be made upon completion of the game,’ the soldier replied. He raised his hood abruptly, stood and headed for the door.
Plug reached it first, unlocked it, and let the soldier slip through into the night. After he locked it, he returned to Swift and asked, ‘Well?’
She nodded, and answered, ‘Interesting,’ without further explanation.
‘Anyone of interest?’ he asked, but when he saw Swift’s stern expression he nodded and said, ‘I know, I know,’ and walked towards the door, preparing to let Swift retreat into the night.
As the youth slid into a side alley among the morning shadows, Swift hesitated, pretending to be attracted to the pottery wares on a vendor’s stand in the tiny street market. She used her peripheral vision to observe the alley. A tousled head peered out and slid back. There was no doubt that she was being followed. Why she was being followed could be for several reasons. She picked up a copper pot, rolled it over in her hands, then returned it, ignoring the potter’s haggling pleas, and headed for a nearby tavern. If the youth following was seeking her for business reasons, a tavern would suit his needs. If he didn’t follow her in, she would have to lose him and quickly—or kill him.
The sign above a small doorway identified the Three Barking Dogs, a diminutive, dirty establishment, one of a hundred of its kind in the Foundry Quarter. Poor people have few pleasures and drinking cheap beer is one, she reminded herself. The old assassin who taught her the trade often muttered that maxim. ‘The rich can enjoy their fine wines and big halls, but our kind have the inns and taverns and alehouses, and that makes us all the richer,’ he said one night at the height of a drinking binge.
Swift entered and examined who was in the little common room. An old man was hunched at a table. A youth slouched behind the bar. Swift chose a table near the door, sat and waited. Moments later the door opened and the dark-haired youth entered. He blinked in the dull light, but when he realised that Swift was staring directly at him he flinched nervously. Instead of retreating, however, he approached and asked nervously, ‘Are you Swift?’
‘Who’s asking?’ she retorted.
‘I need to know if you’re Swift. I’m to say “nemesis” if you are.’
‘Jarudha is a hoax,’ she replied. The youth’s eyes widened in recognition. ‘Sit down,’ she told him. ‘You’ve found me.’ She waited for him to sit before she asked for his message.
The youth looked around nervously. ‘Is it safe?’
‘Tell me the message,’ she repeated.
Composing himself, the youth closed his eyes and said, ‘Thirdson next.’ He opened his eyes.
‘Is that it?’ Swift asked. The youth nodded. ‘Good. Now go,’ she told him.
She waited until the messenger was outside before she stood at the dirty window, watching the street in case the youth was a decoy in an elaborate trap. When she was satisfied that his mission might have been genuine, she went to the bar, ordered a beer, and asked the skinny youth serving behind the bar for what he knew of Prince Thirdson’s recent affairs. ‘He’s gone north with Prince River and the army to fight the rebels,’ the boy told her.
‘When?’ she asked.
‘A couple of days before the king died. There was a big commotion down at the docks with soldiers and ships being loaded.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, and downed her beer. Thirst slaked, she left the tavern and headed for the residences where her sister Passion lived.
Her mind was cataloguing and assessing a strange assortment of information and nothing seemed right. In the space of a day, she suddenly had three jobs to complete—the elimination of two princes and a major citizen. The boy who had brought the job naming Prince Gift as her next target came in an unusual manner, without the familiar passwords, and she was naturally wary of that employment. The second boy used the password, but he came with a commission to kill a prince who was out of the city, which made no sense. And there was the soldier’s visit. From where he came, she didn’t dare presume, but his job was for her to assassinate the Joker, the drug mogul and most powerful mercantile figure in Port of Joy. She knew of several professional attempts to kill her, none successful, so even if she took the job she doubted it was one she could do—which left her wondering who the players were behind this sudden rash of job offers.
She turned off the Main Way after a short distance and cut through a long alley, but halfway along, sensing that all was not right, she stepped into a doorway and waited. The alley was empty, except for a mangy brindle cat scratching at a refuse pile. She checked the direction from which she came, but there was no one in sight except people passing along the Main Way. Perhaps she was being too wary. Her mentor committed a lot of time early in her training to get her to master her fear. ‘Fear will kill you quicker than any sword. It’s self-administered poison,’ he warned when she lost her nerve practising an approach on a target. ‘Master your fear and you will save your life.’
Assassinating a wanton wreck like Shortear was a challenge with a degree of professional and moral satisfaction. She understood why he had to die. Killing a young prince, a boy of Gift’s age, was questionable and dangerous. Being asked to kill a third prince, especially a man with Thirdson’s status as the city’s military leader, presented a conundrum. Who was intent on methodically killing the princes? And was there a connection between the commissions on the princes and the assassination of the Joker?
Movement at the far end of the alley distracted her. A soldier appeared—then two more. They walked casually, but their swords were drawn and they peered into the doorways they passed with deliberate purpose. They wouldn’t be looking for me, she reasoned, but she pressed against the door and tried the handle. It was locked. She swore. The only option was to calmly walk out as if she’d been in the house, to avoid attracting attention, and head for the Main Way from where she’d come. They’re not looking for me, she reminded herself. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out. Surreptitiously glancing in the soldiers’ direction to confirm that they were advancing steadily, she turned away from them and started to stroll towards the Main Way. A cart rolled across the narrow vista. A dog trotted past. Two women passed. ‘You!’ Hearing the soldier’s shout, she ran.
At the Main Way, she crossed between two men on horseback and a cart carrying chickens in baskets, looking over her shoulder to find that the soldiers were after her. One was clearly faster because he was already crossing the street. She assessed where she was. The bridge to the Northern Quarter was a short distance, but with the guards on duty that was not on option. Instead, she bolted along the street to the east, eluding the pursuing soldier’s outstretched hands as he lunged at her, and cut into a narrow street lined with merchant sto
res. She jumped over a group of small children playing in the street and skirted men unloading bags from a wagon outside a grain store, before turning into a broken doorway that opened into an abandoned two-storey shop. She skipped up the wooden stairway to the second level, where she crouched to rest, catch her breath, and listen to the noise in the street outside.
The top storey, like downstairs, was a single space, probably once the living quarters of the shop owners but now empty, except for bird shit and cobwebs. Green roof shingles had tumbled to the wooden floor. A broken wooden shutter hung from one surviving hinge, letting in daylight. A pigeon sat on the windowsill, head cocked inquisitively, watching Swift. Boots scraped on the dirt below. She presumed it was the leading soldier. If she was lucky, he’d peer in, see and hear nothing and move on. Then she heard running steps approach. ‘She’s in here,’ a voice announced.
‘Do you think it’s her for certain?’
‘She ran when she saw us. She fits the description. It’ll be her.’
‘Should we send for some help?’
A man laughed, and said, ‘One girl. Three of us.’
‘She’s an assassin.’
‘She’s one girl.’
‘You first.’
‘My pleasure.’
Swift drew her knife, but stayed crouched where she was. She wished she had her hand crossbow and reminded herself that she needed to buy another weapon. She surveyed the room, looking for potential weapons. A broken narrow beam looked useful, especially with a triplet of long rusted brads protruding like twisted, pointy fingers at one end. The window was an option. Or up through the roof.
The stairs creaked. A red cap appeared over the top step and then the muzzle of a thundermaker. She sprang, swinging on the banister post, and kicked the soldier solidly in the face with both feet. As he cartwheeled into his companions, Swift reclaimed her balance and scampered back up the steps, sheathing her knife and picking up the broken beam. It felt solid, weighty. She swung it as the second soldier reached the top of the stairs, the brads tearing across his cheek and ripping into his neck, the impact sending his thundermaker tumbling from his grip. He screamed with pain, but he surprised Swift by grabbing the beam to wrench it loose, so she lashed out with her boot again, catching his left temple, sending him crashing back. The third soldier, poised on the bottom of the stairs, looked up at her. ‘Come on, then,’ she challenged, but he held his ground, waiting for his companions to rally.
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