Truth be told, Sal wanted nothing so much as to bury his face into two handfuls of powdered skeev. He wanted to smoke the stuff until the cogs in his brain ceased to turn. The physical cravings had not occurred for some time, yet his want for the stuff was stronger than ever, worst when his mind was left to wander.
He disentangled himself lazily from the bed, kicking free of the blankets, made all the more difficult by the soft feather mattress and down pillow. He stretched, yawned, and slipped the thin, silver chain of the locket about his neck.
When his bare feet hit the cold tile floor, he shivered and was tempted to crawl back inside the feather bed. He supposed there would be no harm to him getting another hour of shuteye, he had nothing better to do—did he?
Sal scrambled as realization struck. He shook his head to clear the sleep, shoved a linen shirt over his head, buttoned his doublet with fumbling fingers, and threw on a jerkin. He shoved his legs into a pair of trousers and jammed his boots on his feet before he bolted out the door.
He sprinted headlong for High Bridge, slowing his pace as he neared the steel caps standing sentry. The last thing Sal needed was to be mistaken for a thief on the run. A poleaxe would certainly slow his pace, regardless of where it struck.
From the High Road, he cut over to the Kingsway and doubled back until he reached East Market. It wasn’t an unusually busy day, and still, the market-round was filled with shoppers, vendors, and peddlers alike.
There was no sign of her, and Sal hoped she hadn’t left. He was over an hour late, judging by the position of the sun. To expect a woman such as her to wait for a man such as him was nothing short of foolishness. Especially after what he’d done to her. His heart sank. His chance to explain crumbling before his eyes like ash. A fortnight of asking, of laying down every shred of pride that remained to him, pleading until she’d agreed to meet with him. All for not.
He turned to leave. The market holding no appeal to him, as Lilliana was nowhere to be seen. He scanned the vendor carts once more, hoping he’d simply overlooked her, but had no luck to that order.
However, he did see someone he recognized across the round. Odie would have been hard to miss twice. As one of the biggest men Sal had ever seen, Odie stood a head and a half taller than the next biggest man in the market.
The big man was in an argument with a Yahdrish vendor. The two men would have been nose-to-nose if the vendor had been taller. As things stood, Odie towered over the vendor, while the little Yahdrish man yelled at his navel.
“Made man or no, I’ll not be intimidated by your guild of thieves,” said the vendor, jabbing his finger into Odie’s chest to accentuate his point.
Had Sal been the vendor, he would have been wise enough to keep his hands to himself. If Odie had ever given him that look, Sal would have shat his trousers and run, but it seemed the little Yahdrish had more balls than brains, as he continued to jab his finger in the big man’s chest, like a child prodding a bull.
Odie shook his head, slow and controlled. “Twenty and five is too high. Ten and seven.”
The vendor barked a laugh. “I would dump the barrel in the river before I sold you a stone’s worth at ten and seven. Twenty and five and you can consider it a bargain.”
Odie reached behind his back, wrapping meaty fingers about the long handle of his war hammer, the ball of which had been forged in the shape of a man’s fist.
The Yahdrish laughed. He opened his arms wide and lifted his chin to the sky as though presenting himself for the hammer blow. Odie let out an animalistic grunt of frustration and turned away from the vendor, a look of pure frustration twisting his features. Sal considered abandoning his plan but was spotted by the big man before he could change course.
“Oy, Salvatori Lorenzo, back from the dead, are you?”
Sal smiled. “For the time being, how’ve you managed of late?”
The big man looked over a shoulder and stared daggers at the Yahdrish vendor. “Twenty and five for a stone’s weight in snap-powder, what’s this world coming to I ask you?”
“He just might be able to get the price. The trade tariffs with Shiikal have yet to be lifted, and pure snap-powder is becoming more rare than indigo.”
“Used to be I could have bought the whole barrel for twenty and five. Anyone going to do something about them—them what you call em’s—tariffs?”
“The duke will needs do something, elsewise half the city will be rioting come autumn.”
The big man shook his head. “Might be time someone went and had a talk with them little fishes on the High Council.”
“It just might be. Have anyone in mind?”
The big man nodded but didn’t bother to tell. “But you, boy, you’re supposed to be dead. The way Vincenzo told the tale, you went and got yourself picked up by the City Watch. I been expecting to find you hanging in one of them crow-cages.”
“Me, in a crow-cage?” Sal said with feigned astonishment. “I should think not. What sort of stories has Vinny been telling?”
“Says things went south, and you were taken to the Magistrate’s Compound.” The big man shrugged. “I suppose you wasn’t?”
Sal smirked. “You know me. Slippery as a polecat, I am.”
Odie seemed to find this explanation satisfactory. “And what is it that brings you to the high-side of town?”
“The women,” Sal said with the hint of a smile.
Odie clapped him on the shoulder, “Always knew you was smart, boy. Can’t go wrong chasing a rich merchant’s daughter or two, so long as you keep them at arm’s length of each other once you pinned them down. Course, you go and put a baby in the girl’s bellies, they’ll be the ones doing the chasing, eh?” Odie laughed and nudged Sal with a massive elbow that nearly knocked Sal to the cobblestones.
“Can’t say that’s what I had in mind,” Sal said as he recovered his balance.
“Aye, well, might be you’re not so smart after all. Still, you might want to give it some thought. You could spend a year and a hundred krom courting a rich girl, and she wouldn’t be half so interested as she would if you put a baby in her belly.”
Sal laughed uncomfortably. He was beginning to think Odie wasn’t japing.
“Been working?” Odie asked. “I mean, other than when you’re botching jobs.”
Sal shook his head. He wanted to steer clear of the subject of work. The last thing he needed was for word to get around the city about his botched job with Vinny. Bad enough he’d have to explain away the arrest after Vinny had opened his big mouth. He needed to talk to the bloody half-Norsic fool before Vinny told the whole Sacrull damned city.
“Been picking up any work yourself?” Sal asked.
Odie nodded. “Always work to do for the Commission. I make collections ten days of every fortnight, and Valla’s been running a little crew of her own on the side. Went and got herself made, she did. Can you believe that? A bloody woman’s a made man.”
“She’s as competent as anyone I’ve ever known, just as smart too, and twice as mean. Besides, I’d have been more surprised if she hadn’t made her blood.”
“Aye, well you might have expected it, but you’re alone in that. Wasn’t a single man I know that saw it coming. Been the talk of the whole Commission for months.”
Sal shrugged. “With Luca dead, it was only a matter of time before Alonzo Amato filled the opening.”
“I reckon you’re right,” said the big man. “Still, a woman in the Commission ain’t happened before, and it might be it won’t happen again.”
Sal bobbed his head absentmindedly, and Odie continued to talk, but Sal had stopped listening. A flash of blue had caught his eye in the crowd. A blue dress, not indigo, nor the dark blue produced by common woad, but the deep, full blue of lapis silk, thread-worked with a floral pattern. Her hair was raven-black, trailing to the mid-ridge of her back and disappearing into the crowd.
Without a word to Odie, Sal ran after her. He pushed and wedged his way through the crowd, frantic
ally searching for a glimpse of the blue dress or the black hair, to no avail. Anxiety kicked into full gear as he worried he’d lost her yet again.
Just as despair began to sink in, he saw it, another flash of blue. He pushed past a man and nearly trampled a small boy in his haste to reach her.
“Lilliana,” he called. “Lilliana!” Damor Nev turned, as did Lilliana—her brow raised in question, eyes burning with cold fury—but Sal didn’t care. Just the sight of her made his heart leap. “I’m sorry,” Sal said as he closed with her. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
Her frozen stare melted, but that warmth—that warmth he’d known for so short a time—did not rekindle. Instead, she looked as much apathetic as she did sympathetic, a look that swiftly smothered the spark which he’d clung to for so long. She sighed, “Well, you’re here, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“I wanted—look, can we sit down somewhere and talk?”
Lilliana seemed to consider.
“There’s a pair of open stools there,” Sal said, pointing to an oyster cart at the edge of the market-round.
Lilliana walked to the cart and wordlessly seated herself on a stool. Sal followed, considering how to begin. He could tell her the truth, but what good would the truth do? If anything, it would make things worse.
Damor Nev stood near the cart, lingering just out of earshot, his bastard sword slung across his back.
The vendor asked how many oysters they would like and looked irritated when Lilliana waved him off. Sal ordered a clutch of six to placate the man, and only after doing so, realized he didn’t have his coin purse.
Lilliana paid, dropping two iron dingés on the counter in a way that suggested she was thoroughly annoyed.
“Hot radish, pepper sauce?” asked the vendor.
Not wanting to keep Lilliana waiting any longer, Sal waved the man off. “Thank you for coming,” Sal told her, “I wanted to apologize, you know, for everything.”
“Where were you?” she asked. “Where did you go?”
He’d been expecting the question, and yet, he had no answer. What could he say? Should he tell her he’d been right here all along? Should he tell her he’d climbed down to the bottom of the deepest, darkest pit he could find, tell her about the skeev, his arrest, and the coming trial?
He skewered an oyster and popped it in his mouth. It was chewy and somewhat slimy, the way they get when left in the sun for too long. He swallowed and opened his mouth to explain.
“Forget it,” Lilliana said. “What you did for me—I don’t know that all things are equal now, but if you go missing for another half a year, don’t expect me to forgive you a second time.”
“And where you and I are concerned?” Sal asked, holding his breath for the answer.
Lilliana shook her head. “I’ll not go away with you, Salvatori.”
Sal nodded. This too he’d expected, and still, it worried him more than he wanted to show. If he wasn’t able to find the man who’d committed the murder, he would have to flee the city or face the sword of judgment. If he fled, he would be forced to leave Lilliana behind for good.
Though, in truth, leaving her behind would, in all likelihood, be the best thing for her.
“What news of the city?” Sal asked, eager to change the subject. “Surely much has happened while I was away.”
“Unrest is brewing throughout Low Town.”
“Oh?” Sal said, hoping she would elaborate.
“The High Council has placed a new tax on goods sold within a mile of the city walls. There is talk of a trade dispute. The Naidia Trade Company has threatened not to dock unless the latest tariffs have been lifted. In the meantime, the prices of indigo, saffron, and coriander have risen five-fold.”
Sal chuckled sardonically. “All because of a few merchants who want to offload some excess woad.”
“Well, I will admit, with the price of indigo so high, no one can afford not to dye with woad. Though it is hardly for the sake of the clothiers and dyers that the High Council has increased the tariffs.”
“Oh?” Sal said, smiling confidently. “And who in Dijvois has more sway with the High Council than the Merchant Guilds?” Sal knew the answer. The Commission had more sway than anyone in the city. Only, why would the Commission support the Naidia tariffs? “Well, if not the Merchant Guilds, who?” he prompted.
“Me,” Lilliana said, seemingly unable to suppress the smile that formed.
“You?” Sal said, hardly believing what he’d heard. “But—you, what do you mean?”
“I mean to say that I am responsible for all of it,” Lilliana said. “It was at my behest that the tariffs were placed, and at my behest that they were increased.”
“But what’s it all for? Why should you care?”
“I always care. It is my nature to care. But as to what I hope to accomplish, well, my goal has remained the same. I want to stop the importation of drugs into the city. Bliss and skeev, for a start.”
“Bliss and skeev, truly?” Sal asked, wondering how much Lilliana knew of where he’d been for half a year and just what it was he’d been doing.
Lilliana nodded somberly. “You’ve not been here to see how bad things have gotten. Still, I fear the trade tariffs will not be enough. We won’t see much, if any, progress until the duke agrees to a full trade embargo with Naidia”
“Embargo? Lilliana, that’s madness. Don’t you see what a precarious position that would put the merchant houses in? The tariffs have likely hurt them already. An embargo would force them to trade illegally just to stay afloat.”
“The merchant houses are not my concern. When children are in danger, we need to think long and hard about a solution. And thus far, this is the only solution I have been able to surmise.”
“And what of the merchant guilds and the Naidia Trade Company?”
“They would be obliged to cooperate, elsewise the High Council would be forced to give right of trade to others willing to obey the law.”
“You’ve thought this through,” Sal said, somewhat impressed. “Still, how did you do it? What sway do you hold with the High Council?”
“Why, Daddy, of course. He sits Fourth Seat upon the council. I’ve put a word in Daddy’s ear from the beginning, and Daddy always listens to reason.”
“I see,” Sal said, their previous conversations regarding trade tariffs cast within a whole new light. Lilliana seemed to know much more of the subject than she had let on before. “Will the High Council impose an embargo, do you think?”
“They will do what is right in the end.”
“A vote of confidence I wish I could share.”
“You doubt me?”
Sal smiled. “Never. It’s those fat lords of the High Council whom I doubt. Behind the closed doors of the High Chamber, I worry the jingle of a heavy coin purse sounds far louder than the cries of the children in the streets. Worse, I fear the merchant guilds have no shortage of krom, and so their strangle hold upon the council may not end anytime soon.”
“Daddy holds more sway than you might expect,” Lilliana said, rather petulantly. “He is Fourth Seat of the High Council. When he speaks, the others listen. And when I speak, Daddy listens. Believe me, a solution will present itself. God will not abandon the children, and neither shall I.”
“I don’t mean to be a heel, but it’s in my nature to expect the worst of others, those lords of the High Council more than most. But you’ll needs excuse my lack of faith. I hold no such apprehensions where you are concerned.”
“So good of you to put your faith in me,” she said mockingly. “What could I have done to earn such high praise?”
“You can do anything you set your mind too, Lilliana, I’ve known that from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Ah, you must be referring to the day you slapped me on the ear? The day of End, was it not? Tell me, was it before or after I hit you back that you decided I was capable of all things?”
Sal chuckled. “I want to help.”
Lilliana looked skeptical. “Oh, and what could you do?”
“I hold more sway in this city than you might think.”
“So, what exactly are you proposing?”
“Right. Well, I’m dammed useful for a start,” Sal said, giving her his most disarming smile. “My charm and good looks ought to serve as well, but most importantly, I know Low Town better than anyone else you are like to meet.”
Lilliana looked thoughtful, biting her lower lip in a way that made Sal’s pulse quicken. “Do you know of anyone who sells the stuff?”
Sal hesitated. Again, feeling that uneasy sense that Lilliana knew more than she was saying. “I know someone who might point me in the right direction. Why do you ask?”
“Could you take me to them?”
“Take you—Lady’s sake, Lilliana, what for?”
“Well, I know how the drugs are getting into the city, I think. What I do not know is how they are getting out into the streets. More importantly, who is putting them out there.”
“Even if I find someone willing to meet with me and answer a few questions. I’m afraid they’ll up and run should they see Damor Nev approaching with that bastard sword of his.”
“Just me then,” Lilliana said. “Damor would stay behind.”
“Damor would never allow it.”
“Damor Nev serves me. It is not for him to allow.”
“I still don’t know, not without time to speak with the man. Besides, even if I talked with him, there is no guarantee he would agree to meet with the both of us. It’s not as though I know him that well,” Sal lied.
Lilliana didn’t seem happy, but she did seem to accept his proclamation. She looked up at the sky and sighed. “I need to be going. It would seem I am late for an appointment. Good day, Salvatori Lorenzo.”
Sal took her hand and kissed it. “A good day to you as well, M’lady,” Sal said with a smirk. Lilliana smiled back, and Sal felt a rush of giddiness course through him as she stood and walked away.
When she was no longer in sight, Sal returned to his oysters, requesting hot radish from the vendor. He spread the white pulp on each of the five remaining shells before skewering his next bite. As he chewed, thinking over his conversation with Lilliana, an overlarge hand clapped him forcefully on the shoulder.
A Fool of Sorts Page 8