Sal chuckled. “Lord Cheese?”
“Ay,” Vinny said. “That bloated toad eats the stuff morning, day, and night. Hard, soft, sharp, nutty, you name it, this bastard has eaten it. Hell, he ordered five wheels of Skjörd bleu just this morning—five wheels!”
Sal shook his head, smiling. Five wheels certainly was an excessive amount. Not to mention, Skjörd bleu often went for more than forty krom a wheel.
“Lord Cheese,” Sal said with a nod, “seems appropriate.”
Vinny’s head bobbed, but his face had taken on an expression of a more serious nature. “This whole thing, it seems rather risky. You’re certain all of it is necessary. I mean, you’re certain we even need His Lordship?”
“He’s an important player on the High Council,” Sal said. “And he is solely responsible for the pushback against the Scarvini Family’s drug trade. If we can position the pieces the way we want them, it might be Lord Cheese will take care of our problems for us.”
It wasn’t really a lie—just an omission of a good deal of truth.
Vinny looked somewhat doubtful, but he nodded all the same.
“Right, then,” Sal said. “Suppose we’d best take our places.”
“Suppose you’re right.” Vinny sighed before he slunk across the paved street and slipped into one of the darker alleys.
Sal leaned against a stone wall and waited. He pulled the locket from his neck and ran his thumb over the ridges in the rune. When he heard voices, he looked up but saw only a tall, well-dressed man and a slender, pinch-faced woman walking past. Sal nodded a greeting, but the man kept his eyes averted, while the woman stuck her nose in the air.
Some ways off, he heard the rattle and clamor of a carriage and the clap of hooves on brick.
A team of horses rounded the street from the north, six in all, a massive coach trundling behind them. Upon the door of the town coach was a gilded relief of the Bastian crest. The town coach clattered past Sal and came to a stop three buildings down the street.
One of the drivers dismounted the bench, lowered a set of steps, and opened the door. Two men exited, big loutish brutes with sloping brows and large round bellies, Amos and Ponder.
The guards wore the livery of Lord Hugo, the black bull, upon their green tabards. Each carried a spear which they planted at their sides as they stood at either end of the steps.
Lord Hugo was the next to exit. He stepped slowly down the small makeshift staircase, a large bundle of ruby red silks in his arms.
Ponder led the way to the jeweler’s shop, opening the door for his lord, who entered, dress in arms, followed by the fattest slob of the trio of fat slobs, Amos.
As the second driver climbed back onto the town coach bench, Sal made his way up the street and into the jeweler’s shop.
He stopped short in the threshold, as he nearly ran headlong into Ponder.
The fat guardsman looked at Sal as though trying to place him, but was no doubt thrown by the fine Kirkundan clothing.
“Good sir,” Sal said. “It would seem your tremendous girth is blocking the doorway.”
Ponder tucked his chins, his brow wrinkling stupidly, but he didn’t move.
“That is to say, pardon me, dear,” Sal said, brushing past the guardsman.
For an instant, it seemed as though Ponder would block him with the spear, but likely thought better of laying hands on a man wearing such finery.
Amos, the other Bastian guardsman, watched the commotion between Sal and Ponder with interest, a look of bemusement on his flabby face.
Lord Hugo Bastian seemed not to notice anything amiss. The red silk dress was laid over the counter beside one of the glass jewelry display boxes. The little lord held a pair of earrings, polished silver set with stunning rubies each big as the nail on his little finger; he compared the stones to the silk, making noises of admiration.
Sal moved along the outer edge of the shop, slow and deliberate in his pace. He kept the lord and the shopkeeper in the periphery of his vision, even while he felt the pair of guards watching him as though he were a leg of roast mutton.
“Your wife’s a lucky woman, Mi’lord,” said the jeweler.
“My daughter,” said Lord Hugo, “But yes, I think she will love them, and about that necklace you mentioned?”
“Ah, yes, Mi’lord,” the jeweler said, seeming the slightest bit out of sorts, his tone betraying a hint of frustration.
Sal hoped Lord Hugo didn’t notice. His lordship seemed entirely enthralled by the earrings. Had he been more observant, he might have noticed the jeweler’s apron was about seven sizes too small. Or perhaps he’d noticed the tattoo on the big man’s hand, a black cross that displayed his open allegiance to the Moretti Family.
“Here we are,” said the jeweler, after some time scrambling through the jewelry cases.
He handed Lord Hugo a necklace. Polished silver, a ruby the size of a robin’s egg set into a silver sun, finely made, and more expensive than Sal cared to imagine.
The round lord made a noise that could only mean he was pleased with what he’d been handed.
“Mighty beautiful, Mi’lord,” said the jeweler.
Sal smirked.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Lord Hugo. “And what will this come to?”
“Ay, let’s see here. Ten thousand for the necklace, two for the earrings. What would you say to eleven?”
“I would say it’s a fair price,” said Lord Hugo. “I’ll take the set. Amos, pay the man.”
“No!” Sal blurted.
Everyone stopped short.
Amos blinked, and Ponder dropped his spear.
Lord Hugo looked as though Sal had poked him with a stick.
The jeweler was the only one who didn’t flinch.
“How dare you,” said Lord Hugo, his cheeks blushing a bright red.
“Beg pardon, My Lord. It’s only. Those pieces aren’t worth eleven thousand; they’re not worth eleven hundred. Seven hundred might be, but not eleven thousand krom.”
“And what would you know of it, boy,” said the jeweler.
Boy, was that truly necessary? Well, Odie could be a cheeky bastard, but he was helping, wasn’t he?
Sal cleared his throat. “Do forgive me, My Lord, but I do know that if those are rubies, I made a whole fistful of sapphires in my privy just this morning.”
“What are you saying?” asked Lord Hugo.
“That’s pure silver there, boy, and them are true rubies,” said Odie, feigning irritation in his seven times too small leather apron, brandishing one of the earrings as though it were a club.
“Blood garnets,” Sal said. “Those aren’t rubies, and I don’t shit sapphires, and you know it. Those there are blood garnets.” Sal closed the distance to the counter. He snatched the earring out of Odie’s massive hand and got close to Lord Hugo.
Amos and Ponder shifted, but the little lord held up a hand.
“You see here, My Lord,” Sal said. “This metalwork, well, I’d not go so far as to say shoddy, but it’s novice work at best. This bit here, you see that, and the setting.”
“What’s wrong with the setting?” asked Lord Hugo.
Sal had hoped the man wouldn’t ask, but he was good on his feet.
“Three teeth is no good, My Lord. No man with a lick of sense would set a true ruby with three teeth. No, if this were a ruby, you’d see five.”
“Five?” said Bastian.
“Five, My Lord,” Sal said. “Ask the jeweler. Even this man wouldn’t dare lie about such a thing.”
Odie looked down at the ground as though ashamed, a magnificent bit of acting by the big man if Sal had ever seen it.
“Ay, tis more often a man would set a ruby with five teeth, but three isn’t so bad. I’m telling you they could be rubies still.”
“Could be?” asked Lord Hugo.
“Ay, well, they probably are rubies, look to be rubies, don’t they?”
“You mean to say you don’t know?”
�
��They are a fine pair of blood garnets,” Sal said. “But I tell you, those are no rubies.”
“And who are you to make such a claim?” Odie said, squaring up to Sal behind the counter.
“My name is Salvatori Ewan.”
“And I never heard of you,” Odie said. “Not in the stone market, and not any of the trade guilds. Mi’lord, this boy—”
“You’ve not heard of me because I’ve only recently arrived in the southlands. Dijvois is merely my first stop of many. But you would ask for my credentials, very well, I am Salvatori Ewan of Azish Town. My father, Lord Stewart Ewan of Azure Lake, just so happens to be the most prominent trader of gemstones in northern Nelgand. He owns eight mines on the north slopes of the Iron Fall Mountains alone, and his trade is expanding every day.”
“I’ve heard of Azish Town.” Lord Hugo nodded. “Blood garnets, you say?”
“Blood garnets,” Sal said. “I’d not pay a krom more than six hundred for the set.”
Odie slammed the countertop two-handed.
Lord Hugo Bastian stumbled backward and let out a squeal.
Despite expecting the move, Sal nearly stumbled back himself, but somehow managed to keep his feet planted.
The entire counter rocked as though it might collapse at any moment.
Sal smirked. “Listen here, jackanapes, your brutish tactics might work on common folk, but for myself and his lordship, well, we are of finer stock than those that you would seek to intimidate. If I were you, I’d consider myself fortunate if his lordship deemed this rubbish worth five hundred.”
Sal dropped the earring on the counter beside the dress.
“Five hundred,” said Lord Hugo, tentatively.
Sal nodded. “Five hundred, My Lord.”
“Yes,” said Bastian, puffing up like a bloated toad. “Yes, five hundred, and that’s my offer.”
“Even if the boy is right,” Odie said, feigning a touch of venom in his tone. “Blood garnets or not, this is real silver. The set ought to go for two thousand krom on that alone.”
Sal shook his head.
The little lord seemed to take courage from Sal’s show of bravado. “Five hundred, and that’s my final offer.”
Odie made quite a show of considering the proposition, acting as though he were the one taking the hit on the sale.
Meanwhile, the true owner of the jeweler’s shop remained hogtied and gagged in the backroom. Sal hoped Odie had remembered to give the man at least one hole to breathe with.
The big man was the genuine article, fierce in a fight, generous to his friends, and loyal to a fault. But he did forget the basics at times.
“Five hundred,” Odie said sullenly.
“Very well,” said Lord Hugo, a broad smile on his round face. “Amos, pay the man. Six hundred krom,” he added with a wink and a confident flourish of his hand.
Odie made a show of gratitude, as he was paid by Amos, while Ponder went to open the shop door. Lord Hugo scooped up the dress, earrings, and necklace, and motioned for Sal to follow with a nod.
“I’m grateful for your help,” said Lord Hugo as they stepped outside. “You did me a great service. I nearly overpaid a centure and one.”
“Right. Well, you did overpay, My Lord.”
Bastian chuckled. “You saved me ten thousand krom, my boy, what is another hundred?”
“Generous of you, My Lord.”
“You do not approve?”
Sal shrugged. “It’s not for me to say. You may do as you like with your coin. I, for one, prefer to take an eye for an eye. A man who attempts to cheat me can expect nothing less.”
“Yes, well, I like to think I can afford the luxury of forgiveness, these days,” Bastian said. “Though, in my youth, I would have aspired to have half your courage, young man. Why the way you stood up to that man. It must be that Kirkundan blood.”
“Ay, My Lord,” Sal said. “There are rumors the stone of the very mountains runs through our veins.”
He’d never heard anyone say it, but it seemed passable. And anyhow, Lord Hugo didn’t seem to question it. Still, there seemed to be a thought churning behind the little lord’s eyes.
“Your name,” Lord Hugo said. “It is Kirkundan?”
“Ewan, yes,” Sal said. “But Salvatori is Adill—my mother—she was from Adillai, you see.”
“Ah, that would explain the hair,” said Lord Hugo, as Amos and Ponder moved ahead of them toward the town coach. “I’ve not met many sons of the mountain with hair dark as yours.”
Sal glanced at the town coach. Ponder and Amos had been summoned over by the second driver. It seemed there was something wrong with one of the coach wheels, and the driver needed the assistance of the guards.
“Yes,” Sal said. “I have much of my mother’s look.”
Lord Hugo nodded. The bundled up dress in his arms, the necklace, and earrings loosely held in one hand.
“I dare say, you’ve been a true help,” Lord Hugo said. “Yet, I must be going.”
“Farewell, My Lord,” Sal said, looking down the street and catching sight of a figure slipping out of an alley. “Light’s blessings upon you.”
Bastian was already moving toward his town coach, his back to the figure in black moving toward him at a dead sprint.
Sal yelled out as the figure slammed bodily into the round little lord, knocking Lord Hugo to the ground, but not before the dress and necklace were ripped from his hands.
An earring dropped to the brick street with a soft tink.
With the dress and necklace in arms, the figure in black ran.
Sal pursued.
The thief turned into the first alley and took a quick left, a right, and another left.
Without warning, the man in black about-faced and smiled, bits of green still in his teeth from earlier when he was eating the flatbread. Vinny tore a sleeve off the dress and made another tear in the seam of the hem. He then threw the necklace to Sal, followed by the dress.
“Lady’s luck, with Lord Cheese,” Vinny said. Then he turned back around and ran until he disappeared into another alley.
Sal retraced his steps until he was back out on the street just outside the jeweler’s shop. Both drivers and the two guards were circled around their lord. The little nobleman was seated in the middle of the street, one hand holding his head as though he were dazed.
However, the moment he saw Sal returning, dress in arms, he seemed to reenergize. Lord Hugo sprang to his feet, and to the protest of his retinue, closed the distance to Sal.
“By the Light,” Bastian cursed. “My boy, how? What of that man—that thief?”
“The thief got away,” Sal said. “Once I had hold of the dress, the man decided to cut his losses, it would seem. Though, not before this.”
Sal held up the dress to show the separated sleeve.
Bastian gasped and took the dress from Sal.
“The bastard, I’ll have the City Watch on him, see if I don’t.”
“My Lord, if you’d be so willing, I know a man, a tailor, as good as any seamstress this city has to offer. He could have this dress mended in such a way that you would never know it had been damaged.”
Lord Hugo sighed and shook his head as Sal handed him the necklace. “Salvatori Ewan, it would do little to show my gratitude for all you’ve assisted me with this day, but it would please me if you would accept my invitation to a dinner at my estate, as a way of thanks.”
“I would be honored.”
“Very good,” said Lord Hugo. “You can bring my daughter’s dress with you then; that way, she might know whom she can thank for saving her gifts.”
Sal smiled wide and nodded deferentially. “Nothing would please me more, My Lord.”
17
That Which Makes A Man
In the weeks following the death of Prince Matej, not but rumors had surfaced, and as time went on, the more fantastic those rumors became. Prince Matej had died in the night of a sudden illness; Prince Matej had been poisoned by his
wife, the Lady Tereza, when she’d discovered his many infidelities; Prince Matej had been strangled by an assassin, sent by the High King of Nelgand when he’d discovered the prince’s plot of rebellion; Prince Matej had been struck dead by the sting of a manticore, sent by the high priest of the temple Darkness, when the prince had stumbled upon evidence for the resurfacing of the once-great death cult—and so on.
Whatever the true cause of the prince’s death, no trial was held, and no public executions had been put on display. Nevertheless, there was a funeral ceremony. For a day, the bells of Dijvois had rung. Five tolls as they had on the morning of the prince’s death. A royal procession was led from the High Keep to Knöldrus Cathedral. Following the final rights of the Light, the procession made its stumbling way south across the Singing Bridge. A funeral pyre had been erected at the center of Town Hall; upon a platform built about the great fountain of Uthrid Stormbreaker. The prince’s pyre had burned like a brazier deep into the night, and neigh on half the city had gone to mourn the death of Matej—filled the air with the sounds of mourning, and the tolling of the bells. Five tolls: one for the Light, two for the Dark, three to gather, four to fight, and five—five for death.
Sal thought about the sound of the bells as he made his way south that day. Five tolls for death, and yet, even after the death of a prince, life goes on for the commons, at least, Sal’s life had gone on. He’d grown used to his new route through Lower’s Point—the Underway it seemed, was a new constant in Sal’s life. He was doing more and more work with Alonzo Amato. The man had put him out on a number of collection runs and had talked of giving Sal steady work in that department.
Each time he was summoned to Lowers Point, he’d gone right into the Underway. He’d met with Alonzo, and headed back out. Once, Sal had been sent alone. The other times, he’d gone out with none other than the big man himself.
Odie was a collections expert, the work suited him, and his capacity in the field was far superior to anything Sal could ever hope to achieve. On the other hand, Sal hoped his time working collections would be short-lived. He was revolted by what they did—every instance in which he’d been forced to cause someone pain seemed to stick with him long after the act. The moments cycled through his mind, one after the other, whenever he closed his eyes—most often at night—when he was trying to sleep—his mind too tired to keep the horrors at bay.
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