Chapter 13
Eleanor walked out into the city without a clear idea of where she was going. She couldn’t send a messenger to the Black Wolf Caves without betraying the Association’s temporary headquarters – as well as exposing her own precarious position. But somehow she needed to make sure they saw her messages... and unless an idea struck soon, she’d be relying on the exact plan she’d proposed to Ivan and Nicholas. Make enough noise, and someone would crawl out of the woodwork. She only had to hope her colleagues were smart enough not only to see the trap, but to spot her influence in setting it up.
She’d chosen to go out in her ordinary clothes this time, prefering to forgo the fearful respect that the Shadow Corps uniform engendered. It was a strange feeling after the anonymity of the Association’s operations, and not entirely pleasant. Besides, today she needed to whisper quietly into the ears of strangers.
She started in the market, but Almont’s neat rows of stalls were all carefully staffed by Imperial assignees, and there was no evidence of any additional interests. No-one looked like they’d care about whether the Association could get their third key, even if there was profit in it: smugglers kept their trade well beyond the Imperial capital.
It was early in the day for barflies but she was running short of other ideas, so she made her way to a well-known rebel tavern in the outer streets of the Market Quarter. The proprietor had always been careful to stay on the right side of the law, but everyone knew his sympathies. Her heart thumped as she pushed the door open; even without her uniform she was a distinctive figure, and there was always a chance that someone who’d seen her over the past few days would recognise her as one of the Shadows.
Three men were drinking in a corner, and Eleanor watched them as she waited for the barman to fill her a tankard of frothy beer. They were speaking in hushed tones and she struggled to pick out more than a couple of words. Once she’d paid for her drink she stepped across to join them.
“May I?” she asked, indicating a spare seat at their table.
The nearest man eyed her suspiciously. “Is it wise to be drinking so far from home?”
She recognised the phrase as one of the traditional rebel challenges, and met it with the expected response: “Are we not safe to pass the time wherever we have friends?”
He nodded and pulled the chair out for her. She sat and sipped her beer in silence, wondering if they’d trust her enough to continue their business, but their conversation had turned to banalities.
“I heard a rumour,” she said at last. “And I was hoping you could tell me if there’s any truth in it.”
“What kind of rumour?” asked the skinny, grey-haired man who’d given the test.
“I heard that the assassins have joined the rebel cause now, and that they might be in the market for a certain key.”
“What’s that to you?” The man who interrupted was the youngest of the three, and he gripped the edge of the table as he spoke.
“Just a passing interest,” Eleanor said. “Because I also heard of an old man at the palace who’s looking to supplement his Imperial stipend with a sale. I wondered if there was scope for a little profit, if I could arrange a deal.”
“There’s no deals to be made between honest men and Imperial chattels,” the young man said, leaning back in his chair. “So it’s probably time you were moving on.”
“Calm, Petor.” The older man rested his hand lightly on the youth’s shoulder. “Let the girl finish her drink.”
The third man remained silent, head bent towards the table, his face hidden under the folds of his hood.
Eleanor took another sip of her beer, and watched them.
“Well, if you do happen to hear of any interest, you could always leave me a message at the Old Barrel Yard,” she said, naming another tavern with rebel leanings. “I won’t trouble you further.”
She left without another word and turned into the alleys behind the inn. This first attempt hadn’t felt like a success, but she knew better than to expect immediate feedback. She’d go and put the word out in a couple more places, but after that, it was a waiting game. The rumour mill was sure to do its work, given enough time.
She stopped to talk to a couple of beggars, passing out coins in exchange for promises of assistance, then went to investigate the early clientele of the Old Barrel Yard.
The tavern was empty, so Eleanor sat at the bar and addressed herself to the landlord. “I’d like a little something to warm me up,” she said. “What do you recommend?”
“We’ve a good spiced ale,” he said. “We simmer it with apples and sugar, a few imported spices, and a dash of strong spirits. Does that sound like it might be to your tastes?”
“I’ll try it,” she said, though she’d never heard of anything quite like that before.
He filled a tankard for her and she wrapped her cold fingers around the sides, inhaling the highly fragranced steam. The spices caught at her throat and made her cough, but the drink was sweet and warm and soothing.
“Good choice,” she said. “Thanks.”
She settled down to wait, hoping for more patrons to fill the tavern. By the time she swallowed the last gritty dregs from the bottom of her tankard, a few small groups had gathered around the room. She put her tankard back on the bar, picked out one group of young rebels, and addressed them in a deliberately loud whisper as she passed: “I’m looking for a contact from the exiled Association,” she said.
“Association?”
“The assassins. I expect there’s a lot of money in it if you can help me.”
She left them to think about it, and strode back to the Shadows.
“Hold!”
The youth who challenged her at the gatehouse was someone she didn’t recognise, though he wore the Shadow Corps uniform. He stepped in front of her with his sword at the ready.
“Who are you?”
“Eleanor.” She held out her wrist so he could read her identity from her name bangle. “I work here.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know you, sorry. And you’re not even in uniform.”
“I work for Ivan,” she said. “And for obvious reasons, I left my uniform in my room. Now, are you going to get out of my way?”
“Sorry,” he repeated. “Can’t be too careful these days. The rebels are getting restless, as you’d know if you worked for Ivan.”
“Well, send for him, he’ll vouch for me,” she said.
“No, I can’t do that. How do I know this isn’t a trick to get at him?”
Eleanor was trying to think of a suitable argument when Jorge walked past, caught sight of the guard’s unsheathed blade, and came to see what was happening.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“Jorge, tell this kid you know me,” Eleanor said, relieved to see a familiar face.
“Of course I know her,” Jorge said. “She’s a filthy traitor – and we’re not under amnesty any more.”
“Didn’t Ivan tell you? I’m in the Shadows now, in his unit.”
“Lying isn’t going to save you,” Jorge said, drawing his own dagger.
“Listen, there are loads of people who’ll tell you – Ivan, Greg, even Nicholas. I’ve just been out setting something up, but I’ve been living here for weeks.”
She slid knives from both wrist sheathes as she spoke, but she knew she was setting herself up for disaster. Even if she could bring both men down without attracting anyone else to join them, she’d have trouble convincing the Shadows afterwards that it had been their mistake and not her treachery at work. And being labelled a traitor would make for a very short life expectancy in this company.
She turned and ran into the street. The young guard couldn’t desert his post, and she knew she could outpace Jorge with ease. She sprinted round to the palace gatehouse, hoping against hope that there she might find a guard who knew her.
“I’m here to see Nicholas,” she said to the girl behind the desk, who’d seen her a couple of times before.
“He won’t mind if I go straight up, will he?”
As she jogged to the tower without waiting for an answer, she heard Jorge skidding to a halt in the gatehouse. And by the time Nicholas answered his door, she could hear footsteps pounding on the stairs below.
“It sounds like a herd of cattle down there,” Nicholas said as he waved her inside.
“Oh, that’s just Jorge,” she said. “He didn’t want to let me in to the barracks, and when I headed here he followed me.”
“Jorge? But why?”
“I have no idea.” She sat and poured herself a glass of spring nectar. “Anyway, I’ve had a good day, I think. Drinking strange beer and leaking rumours all over town.”
Before Nicholas could reply, there was a pounding at the door.
“Jorge, what is the matter?” Nicholas demanded as he opened it. “You’re making a lot of noise.”
“I’m hunting a traitor,” he said. “That Eleanor dared to show her face again, and then she had the nerve to...”
“Eleanor works for me,” Nicholas said, cutting him off. He threw the door wide open, and Eleanor waved across the room. “She’s got a very important post under Ivan, so I’d prefer it if you didn’t try to kill her.”
Jorge looked flustered, then stormed off without another word, stomping down the stairs again.
“Sorry about that,” Eleanor said. “I didn’t want to have to fight him to get to my room, so it seemed easiest to just come here.”
“It’s always good to see you,” Nicholas said. “And I really would like to hear about your day. Do you think you’ve found a buyer for me?”
“Not yet, but have patience. It’s started. I expect it to take a few days to reach the right ears.”
Revolution (Chronicles of Charanthe #2) Page 35