“I assure you I’ve been working to locate your tools. It’s a delicate matter to dance with the other guild leaders. I need to make sure the person I think has them has them before I start negotiations.”
“You said you had the power to find them and take them.”
“Yes, of course I do. Once I’m positive where they are, then I’ll use all my resources to retrieve them for you. I do appreciate the favors you’ve done for me thus far, and you have my gratitude.”
“I don’t want your gratitude. I want my tools back. My grammy gave those to me, handed down for generations. Blessed by the White Dragon Founder himself. They’re more powerful than anything my people can make now.”
“I think I know where those golems came from,” Jev whispered to Zenia, his bare shoulder brushing hers.
Zenia nodded. She’d been thinking the same thing. She was surprised Arkura would admit the value of her lost items—or were they stolen items?—to some criminal overlord, but dwarves were known for being blunt and honest. And getting impatient with those who weren’t.
How ever had she ended up coming to Iridium for help? Or had Iridium come to her and offered it? If so, how had she known the dwarf was in need of help? Zenia hadn’t heard anything about the disappearance of the tools, and Master Grindmor was a notable person in the city. If she’d reported a theft, the newspapers would have mentioned it.
“Maybe she’d like to make a golem for us,” Jev murmured.
Iridium frowned over at him, though she couldn’t have heard the whisper. “Jorgot, take the zyndar to my room and stick our inquisitor in a well-guarded cell while I send a message to Brick and see if he’s willing to pay for the honor of hosting her in his infamous abode.”
A hand gripped Zenia’s elbow from behind.
“Master Grindmor?” Jev stepped away from the guard reaching for him and turned the motion into a smooth bow toward the gem cutter. He smiled and spoke in dwarfish. Very rapid dwarfish. Zenia couldn’t understand a lick of it, though she thought she caught the name of the future king in there, Targyon.
Arkura’s bushy eyebrows rose, and Zenia hoped that whatever he was saying might turn her into an ally. But she soon said a few terse words, waved a skeptical hand at his naked form, then spat on the floor.
Jev rushed to speak further.
“Stop him from talking,” Iridium ordered her men, her voice hard.
Jev, still speaking, tried to evade another grasp, but one man ran forward and jammed the butt of a pistol into his kidney. He stopped with a grunt of pain.
Zenia had the urge to kick his assailant in his own kidney, but someone grabbed her other arm. The men shoved her toward the doorway.
Jev did not speak again. He let his guards take him toward the exit.
As Zenia was pushed out into the corridor, she glimpsed Iridium placing a placating arm around the dwarf’s shoulders and guiding her toward another door.
Eight armed men accompanied Zenia and Jev, prodding them down the passage with pistols and daggers. Had it been four instead of eight, Zenia might have attempted to escape, but the odds were too poor, and she wasn’t desperate, not yet.
She arranged to walk shoulder to shoulder with Jev. “What did you say to her?” she whispered, trying to make the words too soft for the guards to hear.
He smiled lopsidedly. “I told her I had a friend who wanted to meet her and learn from her and would devote every day and every night to finding her tools. I also offered my family’s resources and mentioned knowing Targyon. I said that if she was willing to use her magic to arrange for some rocks to strategically fall away to form a nice hole in a wall that I could escape through, I would do my best to help her.”
“And she said?” Zenia feared she already knew the answer.
“That I looked like a naked fool who couldn’t grow a beard to my balls if I had a hundred years.”
Zenia raised her eyebrows.
“That’s a heinous insult to a dwarf.”
“Ah.”
“I’m afraid my charm doesn’t work as well on dwarves and elves as it does on humans.”
“You have charm that works on humans?”
“Well, you keep brushing your naked shoulder against mine. You’re clearly drawn to me.”
“I’d knee you in the balls, but I’m too busy being appalled by the idea of your beard growing down to them.”
One of the guards cleared his throat and gave them a shut-your-yaps glare as they rounded a corner and headed for an ornate carved-wood door. In the middle of it, an obsidian inlay with red marble insets formed the image of a black widow.
“I’m guessing that’s your stop,” Zenia said, not caring about the guard’s glare.
“It looks homey.” Jev lowered his voice to the faintest whisper. “I’ll try to keep her distracted in the hope that you can slip out.”
“Noble of you to sacrifice yourself,” Zenia whispered back, not managing to bury the dryness that crept into her tone, “but I doubt you having sex with her is going to cause the guards to leave my cell door open.” Dryness and… bitterness? Her own emotions surprised her. “I don’t get why she wants to have sex with you, anyway.”
“I’ll try not to take offense at that. Besides, I’m still hoping she’ll barter.” He twitched a naked shoulder. “I’ll see what I can manage. Just be ready to escape if you get an opportunity.”
“I can’t leave without my dragon tear. Or my prisoner.”
Jev gave her an exasperated look. “You can come back with help if—”
One of the men behind them jostled him hard enough that Jev stumbled.
“No conspiring.”
“What?” Jev asked. “Who said we were conspiring? Maybe I was confessing my love to her before we’re irrevocably parted and sent off to vile ends.”
“That’s not allowed either,” the guard said without apparent humor.
He opened the black-widow door, and he and three other guards escorted Jev inside. The other four turned Zenia back toward the intersection. She glanced back and caught Jev giving her a long look over his shoulder. Then the door thumped shut, leaving her alone with her guards, on the way to some dingy cell. Or to be traded to a torture-happy loon.
How had this assignment gone so wrong so quickly?
11
The stone walls in Iridium’s room held no windows, as it was twenty or thirty feet below the surface of the city, Jev guessed, but lanterns burned on most flat surfaces. The scents of dragon-scale incense and dried oleander competed in the air, pungent and hinting of death, much like the macabre decorations. Ancient torture implements were mounted on the walls, skulls rested on shelves, and she had framed pages from books that showed surgeries in progress.
Jev supposed he should have been alarmed by it all, but the thought trying too hard floated through his mind. He also suspected this was a show room and not Iridium’s true sleeping place. Either way, he didn’t want to spend any more time there than necessary.
Iridium reminded him uncomfortably of the elven priestess who had forced him to spend several nights with her when he’d been captured by her people. She’d dressed in pretty dresses and smiled prettily at him, but her cruelty had gone far beyond physical torture implements.
Years had passed since then, but the memories still made him bitter and ashamed, both because he’d allowed himself to be caught and put in that situation and because he’d eventually spilled all the secrets he knew. That had been what she’d truly wanted, though he’d gathered later that she’d slept with him to irk some lover or husband.
“That’s me. The means to make other men jealous,” he muttered, eyeing notches carved into a bedpost. Men Iridium had slept with? Maybe she did use this room.
He peeked through a side door to a bathroom complete with a carved stone tub, a stone sink, and a stone washout. He almost gaped because everything looked to be plumbed. How had criminals living under the city managed to tie into the water and sewer systems? Less than half of the city�
��the legal and tax-paying portion—had been hooked up, at least when he’d lived here before.
More than the plumbing, the stonework was impressive, the work of a master. Had Iridium convinced Arkura to create this fancy bathroom for her? If so, those diamond tools the dwarf had mentioned had to be truly priceless to her.
Jev wished he’d had more time to talk to Arkura. He’d been too hasty, too desperate, in the throne room. He wasn’t surprised she had dismissed him as a naked raving loon. Maybe it was a good thing Cutter wasn’t there and hadn’t heard him promising he’d go on a tool-finding crusade for Arkura… if she simply helped Jev get out of here. Of course, he was almost positive Cutter would happily do just that. He would jump at the chance to prove his worth to the master gem cutter.
A knock came, and the main door opened. Two guards leaned against the wall in the corridor, rifles resting in their arms. A filthy man in mismatched clothing stood in front of them, holding a silver butler’s tray in his hands, a cloche resting in the center.
What rested under it? Another skull? A severed head? Some other garish message?
“A gift the boss insists you use.” The man smirked.
Jev lifted it, bracing himself for more of the macabre. But a collection of shaving and bathing products were all that lay under it. Shampoos and soaps, small scissors, combs of various sizes, and a number of scented gels and rubs he wouldn’t consider using under normal circumstances.
His father had always mocked the zyndar who came to visit smelling of strange colognes and oils, saying it was better to smell like a pig sty than a dandy who’d done no work in his life. Jev wouldn’t say he preferred a sty aroma for himself, but he’d certainly grown accustomed to it during the last ten years. Early on in the Taziira campaign, he and his men had learned that tranquil pools and hot springs tended to be places where elves set ambushes.
Jev accepted the tray. “No razor?”
The man dug into a back pocket and held up a folding razor with a six-inch-long blade. “She said you could have it if you gave your word not to use it on her.”
Jev looked bleakly at the blade. He was surprised Iridium would trust him to keep his word just because he was zyndar. Even if zyndar were supposed to hold their words and their honor closer than their lovers, he frequently encountered people who didn’t believe that drivel from the old days.
“Well?” The man wiggled the razor.
“No,” Jev decided.
He intended to escape and to do so in such a way that he could get Zenia out, too, and he didn’t want to have that razor in his pocket and be unable to use it because of his word. He also didn’t want to say anything to imply that he wouldn’t try to escape. He would get out without being forsworn. Ideally, he would also get out without promising one of his family’s priceless dragon tears. He’d only hoped to pique Iridium’s interest with that offer, to get her talking.
“No?” The man arched his eyebrows. “Don’t you zyndar all like to be smooth like a baby’s bottom? I heard some of you even pluck other hair out. Shave your chests and pricks, all to prove you can spend your days grooming yourselves instead of doing honest labor.”
“Some people have odd notions of what the zyndar are.” Jev resisted the urge to press an offended hand to his chest and shudder at the idea of shaving anything there or anywhere lower. “And also of what honest labor is.”
This oaf couldn’t possibly believe he was doing honest labor, acting as a servant to some criminal overlord.
The man shrugged and pocketed the razor. “It’s up to you. But Iridium likes pretty men. If you want to live, you might want to keep that in mind.”
“You’re not pretty, and she’s keeping you around.”
The man shrugged. “I came with the place.”
He left, closing the door behind him. Mumbles in the corridor suggested the two guards remained.
Jev took the tray of grooming items into the bathroom and set it on the sink. He gazed down at the scissors and soaps while debating if he wanted to be defiant and wait for Iridium exactly as he was or if he should take the opportunity to wash off his grime and clean up.
He wouldn’t mind looking and smelling less unkempt. It wasn’t as if his bedraggled state had kept enemies from recognizing him. Besides, he hadn’t planned to be defiant with Iridium. He wanted to negotiate a deal, something he’d done often with enemy representatives. Many times, he’d come out ahead in such negotiations. Even though he thought of Lornysh as a friend these days, their relationship had begun with a negotiation, with Jev convincing the elf that working with the very people who had been torturing him would be a good idea. It hadn’t hurt that Lornysh had felt extremely bitter toward his own people at the time, or so he’d implied. All these years later, Jev could still only guess at the truth.
He picked up the scissors. He had to convince Iridium that he had something she wanted—and that it was worth keeping him and Zenia alive for it. That might be more easily done if he looked appealing.
In his youth, he’d been told he was handsome, but he didn’t know if that remained true after years of war. He had far more scars than he’d had back then. Still, he believed he could present a respectable front if he wished, maybe making a woman conjure up bedroom fantasies when she perused him.
It wasn’t Iridium that came to his mind at the thought. No, he pictured Zenia and that haughty look she so often wore. She’d even worn a degree of it when she’d asked in her most puzzled tone why Iridium would want to sleep with him. Given the circumstances, Jev admitted it was odd—or not without ulterior motives—but for some reason, it stung that Zenia didn’t think he was someone with whom women would want to have sex.
He couldn’t brush it off and say it was because she hadn’t seen him naked because she had. Just as he’d seen her naked.
Heat rushed to his groin as he remembered the moment. He’d been careful not to look like he was looking, but he’d made sure he didn’t miss any detail, that he had burned every curve into his mind so he would remember for later. To what end, he didn’t know, except to inspire late-night fantasies. It wasn’t as if she was interested in him, and even if she were, she was… not insufferable exactly, but her tongue was far too sharp, with her attitude toward zyndar too grating, for his tastes.
“Yeah, and that’s why you’re getting excited all alone in a lavatory,” he grumbled, looking down.
He trimmed his beard in a small round mirror, did his best to make his hair hang in a straight line, then headed for the bathtub. He would make himself presentable for his discussion with Iridium, and maybe Zenia would find him presentable too. Then she wouldn’t be so startled when a woman showed an interest in him.
“Because that’s what matters right now.”
He forced thoughts of her aside and focused on what he intended to say to Iridium. Whenever she deigned to come see him.
Zenia watched the halls and doors they passed, hoping for inspiration, for something she might use in an escape. Not that her four-man escort was likely to let her stop and rummage through drawers for tools she could take into whatever cell they stuck her in.
Besides, if the meeting she’d witnessed with Arkura Grindmor was any indication, these people didn’t know how to find tools.
No, that probably wasn’t true. Iridium hadn’t sounded truthful when she’d spoken to the dwarf. Even without her dragon tear, Zenia had sensed that. She wagered Iridium knew exactly where the tools were. Maybe she’d even been the one to steal them and had then created this ruse of a rival guild taking them to enlist Arkura’s aid. In creating golems? No, it had sounded like the golems had been the latest in a series of favors.
What about that dragon tear Iridium had been wearing? Had it been newly carved? By the master gem cutter herself? Maybe that had been the first favor. Maybe the whole scheme had come about because the dwarf had refused Iridium at first, refused to cut a gem to help her kill people and commit crimes. Then her tools had mysteriously disappeared, and Iridium had offe
red to help find them…
If so, it had to have been cleverly done. Maybe someone from a rival guild truly had perpetrated the theft. Otherwise, Arkura would have been suspicious of Iridium. Dwarves were honest and blunt, yes, but that didn’t mean they were dumb.
They—
A thud sounded behind Zenia, and she lifted her head. The guards had stuck her in a tiny, dark room, shutting the door behind her, and she’d been too busy thinking to notice she’d arrived.
She sighed. It wasn’t the first time such had happened.
Hardly caring that she’d been left alone in the dark, Zenia dropped her chin onto her fist and continued to mull over the dwarf’s problem, going over the words Iridium had spoken in the throne room and trying to find clues in them. Evidence. Right now, she only had conjecture, and as she well knew, it was dangerous to hare off on the basis of conjecture alone.
Not that she could hare anywhere at the moment. She ought to be mulling over her own problems. But she’d always had a hard time stepping away from puzzles before they were finished.
“I’ll bet a hundred krons those tools are here,” she murmured into her fist.
But where? Arkura was a powerful magical being—she wouldn’t be able to increase the power of dragon tears if she weren’t—so she ought to be able to sense magical objects nearby. She definitely ought to be able to sense her own magical tools since she would be intimately familiar with them.
Maybe Iridium had an agreement with another guild leader—this odious Brick, perhaps—and they were being stored in someone else’s territory. But would Iridium truly trust some rival or even an ally with such valuable magical artifacts? More likely, she’d taken them far out into the wilderness and buried them.
“No, she probably wouldn’t do that,” Zenia muttered to herself. “First off, all the land within a hundred miles is owned by some zyndar family or another. Or the royal family. Bet she wouldn’t have wanted to risk being caught burying something out there. Besides, she’s a city rat, same as me. I wouldn’t think to hide something in a rural area. Hells, I’d be afraid I wouldn’t find it again. No, I’d hide it in the city. But if it’s here, why wouldn’t Arkura sense it? The city is large, but is it so large that a powerful dwarf’s senses couldn’t cover it?”
Agents of the Crown- The Complete Series Page 13