A few minutes later, Sapphire pulls up a stool next to her.
“If Rattle turns up, do you want to use one of my private rooms to talk? We run our high-stake games in the back.” She huffs. “Merchants might come to Rat Town to slum, but they don’t actually want to be subjected to commoner contact.”
“That’s his name? Rattle?”
“So he says.”
“I brought an associate to watch from afar. I’ll talk to him out here.”
“Suit yourself,” Sapphire says. She produces a deck of cards from a pouch on her belt. “Care for a game of Miser’s Draw?”
Myrrh laughs. “I’ll keep the few coppers I have, thanks.”
The woman cuts the deck one-handed. She then bends the pack and sends the cards flying through the air with a whirr to securely arrive in her other hand. “I’m just teasing anyway. One of my dealers didn’t show today so I’m filling in.”
After what Myrrh saw in Cobalt’s shack tonight, Sapphire’s words put a chill in her gut. “Does that happen often?” she asks.
Sapphire sighs and shuffles the deck. “More than I’d like. Maybe I pay them too well if they think they can drop shifts when the urge strikes.”
Myrrh considers asking the woman to inform her if the dealer or any of her other workers actually disappear. Glint did say the mysterious deaths included prostitutes and fences and others who worked on the wrong side of the law. Dealing cards is a gray area, as is running a gambling house. Under the Maire’s rules, wagers were legal, but with the taxes imposed on the bets, no one could have made money that way. Sapphire is most certainly guilty of avoiding her tax payments, but if that’s reason for this mystery killer to strike, just about every citizen of Ostgard has reason to fear.
She decides against saying anything. Sapphire has enough to worry about with Noble’s crew prowling the district.
“And here is your new admirer,” Sapphire says, holding the deck of cards so that when she points at a man who just entered the room, her finger is hidden from his view.
Myrrh keeps her eyes on the bar top, fingertips pressed against the cool pewter of her mug. After a moment, she yawns and looks around the room as if considering whether to join one of the gaming tables.
Rattle is a dark figure, preternaturally still against the commotion in the gambling hall. He wears a black leather coat cut below the hips, unbuttoned and showing a tight-fitting shirt of dark wool beneath. The metal buckles on his belt and boots have been scuffed and oiled so they don’t catch the light. His dark hair is pulled back and fastened in a neat tail at the nape of his neck, and though not quite swarthy, his lined face is tan enough to indicate he spends some time under the glare of the sun.
One of Rattle’s eyes is the dark brown of rich coffee. The other is an orb of polished ruby-tinted glass. A faint scar crosses his eyebrow, attesting to the long-ago injury that cost him sight in that eye.
His bearing alone suggests a competent thief. But when his single-eyed gaze finds hers, she shivers in the knowledge that this man isn’t just an expert at his craft. He’s a merciless assassin and untouchable rogue. And he knows she can see it.
Myrrh leaves her half-empty drink behind and stands straight as she crosses the room toward the newcomer. He tracks her with his gaze as she weaves through the tables and avoids a scurrying barmaid.
“Myrrh, I assume,” he says as she stops a pace away and crosses her arms.
“I understand you wish to speak with me.”
“Shall we sit?” His voice is neither gruff nor smooth. It’s almost as if he wishes his words to be as unmemorable as possible.
She gives him a curt nod and gestures toward one of the few tables reserved for patrons not playing in the evening’s games. When they sit, it seems as if the room stills. Not so much as to be blatant, but in the way that conversations in a crowd of market-goers sink to whispers as people pass the corpse of a stray dog trampled under the hooves of a team of horses.
Myrrh pitches her voice low so that any would-be eavesdroppers will be disappointed. “Sapphire conveyed something of your interest in our syndicate, but I prefer to hear what you have to say directly.”
Sidelight from the table’s lantern sparks a glow deep in the man’s false eye. “It’s rare that a new organization so quickly grows from the ashes of another. The situation piqued my interest.”
“Some might say Slivers made a mistake by allowing so many freelancers to work Rat Town and First Docks. If we hadn’t had such a large grubber population ready to take over, no doubt there would have been the usual struggle for control.”
Rattle glances up as a serving girl approaches. Something in his gaze makes her pause, or maybe it’s just the shock of his glass eye, but after a moment she collects herself and stands beside them expectantly.
“I’ll have a water,” he says.
Myrrh shakes her head. “Nothing for me.”
He waits until the girl is a few paces away before leaning over the table toward Myrrh. “You succeeded spectacularly in grabbing control of Rat Town, yet your gambit to take the territory left you with powerful enemies.”
She shrugs. “A thief’s life is a dangerous one.”
“I can help you fend off Noble’s crew. I have certain…resources at my disposal.”
“Let’s start with you explaining why you want to help.”
“Hmm. Well, like you, I prefer freelance work. I don’t enjoy being beholden to an organization, and it’s rare that I find partners I can trust. But as I’ve aged, my reflexes have slowed. It’s harder to run halfway across the city to escape a persistent guard. A syndicate like yours could allow me the freedom I cherish while providing the support I will need in my later years.”
She’s surprised to hear him admit his failings. Most criminals are far too nervous to show such weakness for fear it will bring the vultures. In a way, that speaks to his abilities. Regardless of whether his skills are faltering, he’s still confident he can withstand an attack.
“All right. So you want support from my organization. What do you offer in exchange? We have little interest in giving charity.”
The serving girl returns with his water.
“Thank you,” he says, eyes still locked with Myrrh’s.
When the girl leaves, he takes a breath and continues. “I mentioned resources. I’m not ready to go into specifics until I know where we stand. However, my experience alone would more than make up for any drain I put on your organization. I am looking to lead. Perhaps to serve as a strategist and mentor. I understand you make decisions by way of a council.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s a bold request.”
“I see no benefit in hiding my aims. I understand we will need some time to get to know one another. What if, say, I helped you deal with Noble and the other Whites?”
“I’m not opposed to having the problem resolved sooner than later, but frankly, for all I know you’re working for Noble. Say I allow you to deal with him. How could I trust your report that the situation had been resolved? If I were to let down my guard so easily, he’d have an easier time getting his revenge.”
“Oh, I’m not offering to kill him for you. I’m offering to give you the tools to take care of your own problem.”
She stifles the urge to bristle at his implication that she can’t solve this without his help. “I already have an instructor in the art of swordplay.”
“I was under the impression that you and Glint were no longer quite so close.”
She’s glad for all the hours Hawk spent drilling her in hiding her reactions. How does he know about Glint? Myrrh’s definitely uneasy now.
“In any case,” she says, “opening Noble’s throat is not how I plan to resolve this. It’s not my style.”
“So why do you assume I wish to teach you to fight?”
“Is it poisons then?”
“You hide your emotions well. I know it disturbs you that I claim to know so muc
h about your recent history. But there’s no real magic in it. I have means of identifying relationships between people. The boy, Nab—”
“Nab has nothing to do with this. He’s learning his letters. He’ll get an apprenticeship as a scribe or courier.”
He raises a hand to stop her objections. “Whatever your plans for him, I was only going to say that I recognized the bond between you two and asked him a few things. Such as whether he could tell me about recent events and your place in them.”
Beneath the table, Myrrh digs her fingernails into her kneecaps. “When did you talk to him? He’s supposed to stay inside until the unrest in the city quiets.”
Rattle shrugs. “Perhaps he didn’t get that message. I followed him last night while he patrolled a circuit that took him past half-a-dozen of the district’s bakeries. Apparently, few of them lock their back windows.”
That little rat. He snuck out after letting Glint into the safe house. She should have checked when Glint claimed to have left him scavenging for pastries in the kitchen.
“Sixing flea,” she mutters. “I’ll have to deal with Nab later. So you must have followed me home after I came here to talk to Sapphire last night.”
“I figured she would call for you. Regardless of your claim that Ghost syndicate is run by council, it seems to me that everyone defers to you.”
“For now. Once the turmoil settles, I suspect it will be harder to exert authority.”
He nods. “Insightful for someone of your level of experience. During chaos, most people are all too willing to follow whoever seems to know where they’re going. It’s afterward that they start to complain about where the group ended up.”
Across the room, a chorus of disappointed groans rises from a table. A man with a wide face grins as he drags a massive pile of copper and silver coins toward his region of the tabletop. Rattle’s expression remains flat…almost. The faintest crow’s feet show as his eyes smile in amusement at the losers’ dismay.
The reaction from the Ghost members working as bouncers is much different. Hands on cudgels, they shift toward the table in case some of the losers decide to protest with their fists as well as their voices.
“You said you can recognize relationships between people,” Myrrh says, “but you didn’t see me and Nab interact. I haven’t even seen his weaselly little face in a few days.”
So far, Rattle’s water has stood untouched. He blinks, lifts the glass, and takes a swallow. “You’re right. I’ve never seen the two of you together, yet I know of your bond. Which brings us back to a discussion of the tools and resources I can offer you.”
“Tools and resources which you won’t talk about unless I agree to give you a position in the organization. On the council no less.”
“I didn’t say that, precisely. Certainly we’ll need a greater level of trust and cooperation for me to give you everything. But I understand we’ll remain at an impasse if I give you nothing. You are obviously aware of the effects of the glimmer resin, seeing as you used it to blind Noble and six of his men.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“There are other compounds from the Haava Islands.”
“Like nightbark,” she says, remembering the conversation with Glint where he explained that both substances caused terrible effects if too much was taken.
“Yes, that’s another which is commonly known. The compounds I’m talking about are much rarer. The substance I used to learn about you and Nab is called etch.”
“And?”
“You rightly concluded that I followed you from this establishment to your safe house. But it wasn’t your body I trailed. Every person has a unique signature. It’s a mix of their thoughts and spiritual energies plus the physical: the scented oils they wear, the particular odor of their sweat. As they move about their homes and cities, they leave behind a trail—an etching. This residue tends to collect more thickly around the places and people the subject holds dear. Your friend Nab is practically smothered in your lingering essence.”
Myrrh grimaces a little at the thought. “Etch resin lets you see this residue?”
“It’s a leaf actually. You must smoke it, which makes the dosage harder to calculate. But yes, when you’re influenced by etch, the trails are visible. It’s not easy to describe. Better to experience.”
“What’s the negative if you have too much? Nightbark kills. Glimmer blinds.”
“Etch maddens.”
“I see.”
“Etch can help you find Noble—you need to see the living person to learn to recognize their etching, but after that it would be trivial to follow him to his nest. I’ll give you a small supply for free, in exchange for allowing me probationary membership in your syndicate. I understand you won’t be ready to accept me on the council at first, but I would expect a position eventually.”
Myrrh lets the sounds from the gaming tables fall over her. From the bar, she hears Sapphire calling out a bawdy taunt, trying to goad someone into making a bigger bet.
“Perhaps you’d like some time to think about my offer,” he says.
She nods. “I’ll look for you here. Same time tomorrow, shall we say?”
He stands and leaves the table without another word. A small puff of cool air falls over her as he pulls the door open and steps into the night.
Chapter Seven
NOT LONG AFTER Rattle’s departure, Myrrh slips up beside Ivy. The woman has a silver and two coppers riding on her hand of cards, but she quickly folds and leaves her bet behind.
“I could have waited,” Myrrh says as they stride back toward the bar.
Ivy smirks. “I had two court’s fools, a six, and a three. Nearly the worst hand in Miser’s Draw. But now they’ll never know it.”
Myrrh leans an elbow against the bar and turns to face the other woman. “Tell me what you saw.”
Ivy grimaces. “I wouldn’t want to cross that man. I got the sense he wasn’t the forgiving type. But I’m almost certain he came alone.”
The bartender steps up with an expectant look.
Myrrh shakes her head. “I’m leaving soon.”
“Can you have one of the girls drop another ale by my spot at the Miser’s Draw table?” Ivy asks. When the bartender nods and heads for the tap, she turns back to Myrrh. “So what did he want?”
Myrrh isn’t ready to tell her council about etch. Best not to set the wrong expectations—she needs to know whether Rattle is trustworthy first. “He’s freelance from downriver. Getting older, thinks it’s time to join an organization.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him we have plenty of jobs, but he’s interested in leadership.”
“That takes trust.”
“That’s exactly what I told him. He’s welcome to stay in Rat Town and take some of the gigs open to syndicate members. After that, we’ll see.”
Ivy nods and glances at her spot in the card game.
“Go ahead,” Myrrh says. “I’m sure Sapphire has someone to send with me for the walk to the safe house.”
***
It’s not even halfway between midnight and dawn, but the streets are already as quiet as she’d expect from the morning hours when Rat Town sleeps off the night’s debauchery. A few muffled voices and shouts are held tight by the district’s taverns and gambling houses, the doors shut as if to keep out the darkness and unease that crouches over the city. Even the faint strains of music reflect the mood, harpists and lute players choosing tunes in minor keys, singers opting for quiet ballads.
Sapphire has assigned a different slab of muscle to guard Myrrh on the walk between The Queen’s Dice and home. The man follows a pace or two behind her, his feet thudding against the cobblestones. He holds his silence, responding with grunts if anything. It’s just as well; Myrrh doesn’t feel like talking.
She doesn’t know what to make of Rattle. Can she trust him? Glint never mentioned anything about etch or other rare substances fro
m Haava. And she still can’t help worrying that Rattle is working for Noble. From the perspective of the former Slivers boss, it would be a suitable revenge to trick her into using a compound that would turn her mad.
But if Rattle is telling the truth, this is an opportunity she shouldn’t pass up. The ability to track people and glean information about who and what they care for could be a tremendous boon. Flushing Noble’s nest would be a good first use for the leaf. As for other applications, her mind races through options: the opportunity to extract blackmail material from merchants, the ability to know where affluent travelers have rented rooms for their stay in Ostgard, the chance to follow tariff collectors to the city council’s secret vaults.
Distracted by her whirling thoughts, she hears the footsteps too late. By the time she spots the shadows emerging from the alley ahead, her bodyguard is already under attack.
He grunts as something hard thuds against flesh. Myrrh whirls, intent on closing the distance so they can fight back to back. Her breath catches when he falls to a knee. Three assailants surround him, flowing through the night like wraiths. Her guard lashes out with a backhand swipe, knocks out a knee, but another of the attackers leaps onto his back. Lithe, slight of build. Myrrh marks her as a woman, but she can’t be sure.
Myrrh shouts and jumps to his defense, aiming a fist at the shadowy area beneath the attacker’s cowl. Her knuckles connect with a crunch, snapping the woman’s head back. She spots the flash of glimmer in the woman’s eyes, the gleam of teeth as she snarls at the pain. With the glimmer resin coursing through their veins, the attackers can see as if in broad daylight. They can move with the precision of vipers.
Myrrh doesn’t have time to figure out whether she recognizes the attacker. A heartbeat later, the last of the trio that jumped her bodyguard is on her. A heavy fist pounds her ribs under her right arm. Myrrh feels the bones flex, pain flashing through her chest. The muscles of her back seize, and her arm goes limp as she stumbles away. With desperate blocks, she deflects a couple more blows that aim for her face.
Ruler of Scoundrels (Chronicles of a Cutpurse Book 2) Page 5