by James Evans
“Meditation,” she said by way of explanation, “I find it helps me to think and today I have done a lot of thinking.”
She stood and pulled a bell cord by the fireplace.
“Tea?” she asked, sitting on the edge of a low sofa under the window.
Marrinek sat down in the armchair opposite Madame Duval. He fished in his purse and tossed the nugget of gold to Madame Duval, who caught it with her left hand before it could reach the floor.
“Compensation, as promised.”
Madame Duval looked at the nugget as it sat in the palm of her hand, weighing it carefully, her mouth suddenly dry. She looked up at Marrinek and there was doubt in her eyes.
“This is more than I paid for the twins, Bay, far more. My whole house is worth less than this nugget even if I add in the girls.”
“More than you paid, maybe, but less than they are worth. Be careful how you spend it and even more careful when you fence it. Do you have someone you can trust?”
“Yes. Well, maybe,” she said, nodding slowly, “if I break it up into pieces first.” She looked up at him.
“I’ll find a way. What do you want in return?”
“Your help, like I said. First, tell me what you’ve heard about the Snarling Goat.”
Her eyes went wide and now she seemed truly fearful.
“That was you? Four people dead was what I heard, including Hitton and Tam. Five if you count that bastard Gander. The North Enders are out for blood but they don’t know whose.”
She closed her fist then stood as the door opened and Nandy came in with a pot of tea.
“Thank you Nandy, on the table please. I’ll pour. Oh, and find something for the twins,” she looked at Marrinek again, “I assume they’re here?”
Marrinek nodded and smiled at Nandy, who curtsied before leaving. Madame Duval’s hands shook as she poured the tea. Marrinek leant forward to take a cup.
“To be fair,” he said by way of justification, “the evening didn’t play out exactly as I had planned. Hitton proved to be less amenable to persuasion than I had hoped and Tam was rather more incautious than I had expected. If he’d stayed downstairs they would probably all still be alive. Well, mostly. I’m not sure Hitton would have held to any promise he had made.”
He sat back in the arm chair and sipped at his tea.
“Oh, very nice. A light Imperial tea. Was it difficult to find?”
“Damn the tea,” said Madame Duval, anger chasing the fear from her eyes, “and damn you too. What the hell have you dragged me into, you bloody idiot! The North Enders have got people out all over the city asking questions, looking for the man who broke into the Snarling Goat, and here you are sipping tea like some effete bloody nobleman.”
“Well, yes. Sorry. I can take the twins and the gold and leave, if you like, or we can work out what to do next and settle in for the longer game. I can promise more riches, if you take the latter route, enough to get out of the game and set yourself up as a minor noble house.”
Marrinek sipped his tea again.
“This really is very good tea but a little cool for my tastes. Your girl needs to warm the pot and the crockery.”
“Forget the bloody tea,” said Madame Duval, putting down her cup with shaking hands, tea slopping into the saucer, “what do I tell the North Enders when they ask what I know? What do I tell them about you?”
Marrinek sipped his tea again, thinking.
“It’s all about the money. Well, money and power. We need the former to buy the latter which in turns brings security. Nobody will just give me what I want so I plan to take it from the North Enders. What should you do? Tell them the truth, or some of it, at least. Tell them that I came here this morning, flashing too much money, and confessed all to one of your girls.
“Tell them that I boasted about killing their men, that I made wild threats, that I mocked their dress sense, if you like, but make sure they know who to blame. In fact, let’s send them a message right now, before they have a chance to ask. Don’t mention talent, or the twins, just tell them that you think they’re looking for a tall thug with long hair and a staff who’s been loose-lipped around your girls.”
He sat back and finished his tea.
“I’ll leave the twins here for now - you’ll see that they’re well cared for - and I’ll pay another visit to the North Enders.”
Madame Duval shook her head as she stared at him.
“You’re mad, you know, totally mad. What do you hope to gain?”
Marrinek smiled.
“Well, I’d settle for an enormous sack of gold and a palace full of dusky maidens to do my every bidding but, lacking that, my plan is to take control of the North Enders, to squeeze out the other gangs and then use their combined resources to force my way into Vensille society.”
Madame Duval gaped at him again, staring as if he had grown a third arm.
“You really are mad. You’ll never be able to take control of the gangs and why would the nobles accept you, even if you had all the money in the world?”
“Oh, they won’t accept me, not even slightly, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be persuaded to make themselves useful, and I have all sorts of plans for a long and prosperous life. Now, what can you tell me about the rest of the North Enders?”
They talked for another hour or so, Madame Duval laying out in detail all that she knew of the North Enders, their territory, leaders, habits and weaknesses. Marrinek nodded and asked occasional questions. By the time Madame Duval’s lecture wound down, he had a good grasp on the local criminal scene and a decent knowledge of the city itself.
“So their leader is a man called Stern Fangfoss - ludicrous name - and he’s a powerful practitioner as well as a brutal thug, is that right?”
Madame Duval nodded and poured more tea.
“But he’s rarely seen outside Trike’s, next to the Snarling Goat, where he has some sort of apartment or suite of rooms.”
Madame Duval nodded again.
“Why is that? Hitton was the same - he stayed in the Snarling Goat when he should have been out running his men - what’s the story?”
Madame Duval frowned and shrugged.
“I don’t know all the details but a few years ago there was a clampdown. The gangs had grown bold, cocky even, and were running rackets across the whole city, fighting turf wars in the streets. It was bad for business, everyone’s business, and the Watch hit them hard. They arrested all the gang members they could find, hanged the leaders and sold the rest to slavers from across the ocean. Then they let it be known that they knew who else was involved and they would be hanged as well if things got out of hand again.”
“I thought Rhenveldt didn’t like slavers?” interrupted Marrinek.
“He doesn’t, hates them. Says they’re a drain on a decent city, if you can believe it. The way I heard it, he sold the gang members to send a message. Seems to have worked.
“Since then it’s been a lot quieter. The gangs still racketeer and smuggle and they run most of the cheaper bath houses but there are fewer of them and they settle their differences more discretely. And the leaders, especially the talented ones, stay out of sight. They’re playing a long game, waiting for the Watch to calm down, to forget their threat, so that they can go back to the way things were before.”
Madame Duval paused, thinking about how things had been.
“It wasn’t a nice city, back then, it wasn’t safe. The Watch made a big difference but I still pay protection, to them and the North Enders. Between them they make sure I never keep too much of my earnings.”
Her voice had grown bitter and dark and she lay back on her chaise, staring up at the ceiling.
“I want out of the game and out of the city but I can’t afford it. I have nowhere to go so I’m stuck here, running my House and trying not to upset anyone so badly they decide to make life difficult. This city is still a dangerous place, especially for untalented single women, and I don’t think things are going to get bet
ter now you’ve killed one of Fangfoss’s lieutenants.”
“Well, at least I know where you stand,” said Marrinek, “so let’s get started and see if we can help each other. You have a room the twins can use for now?”
Madame Duval nodded.
“Good. They have their studies but they also need more clothes - nothing elaborate, just good quality everyday clothes suitable for the children of a successful merchant. Not flashy, but enough to discourage undue interest. Can you arrange that?”
Madame Duval nodded again.
“Great. Now, let’s send a message to the Snarling Goat and see what floats to the surface.”
Later that day, with the twins settled in a large room in the attic, Marrinek waited in the servants’ corridor at the back of the house, idly running Chisel over the rear door and focussing power to harden the frame and the door itself. He was about to turn his attention to the bar and bolts and hinges that secured the door and held it in its frame when Shad appeared and beckoned him to follow him.
“Trusted Man from the North Enders just arrived,” whispered Shad, “he’s in with Madame D now.”
Marrinek followed Shad back to the servant’s door that led to Madame Duval’s study. He leant Bone Dancer carefully against the wall and rested his head against the door to listen but he needn’t have bothered. Madame Duval was really letting rip, denouncing him loudly, expressing her disgust at his boasts, insulting his manhood, appealing for help. Marrinek raised his eyebrows at one point and looked at Shad, who just shrugged and grinned. After a few minutes her anger wound down and she described Marrinek in some detail, throwing in more cheap insults to keep things interesting.
Eventually the man left through the other study door and passed quickly into the street. Marrinek opened the servant’s door and went in with Shad. Madame Duval was sitting behind her desk, fanning herself as she leant back in the chair.
“Well he took the bait. God knows what’ll happen now but I hope you’re ready - they’re all going to be looking for you soon.”
“Good,” said Marrinek, grinning, “time for me to do my part.” He checked his sword and shock cannon, pulled on his cloak and picked up Bone Dancer.
“Are you sure about the cloak? It’s not really the time of year for it…” said Madame Duval.
Marrinek just grinned and bowed and swept out of the room.
Back on the street, in the late afternoon sun, the cloak didn’t seem like such a great idea but it hid his sword and most of his hair. It still wasn’t a great disguise but hunched over with his head bowed he looked little like the tall, staff-wielding maniac that Madame Duval had described. He shuffled slowly through the streets toward the Narrows, pushing gently through the crowds until he was able to slouch against the wall opposite Trike’s.
It looked much like every other inn in every other city Marrinek had ever visited. The first and second floors jutted out into the street, shading the door. A sign hung over the door but the paint had pealed leaving only the carved triangles behind to announce the inn as Trike’s. The door swung freely as people entered and left and the noise from inside was loud.
Marrinek stretched his neck, loosened his sword in its sheath, rolled his shoulders and strode across the street into the common room. Inside it was much the same as the Snarling Goat. A gallery ran around the first floor but where the Goat had booths, Trikes had open space filled with tables and chairs. And drunks, it appeared, which explained much of the noise.
Marrinek, still hunched, lurched unsteadily across the room and up the stairs to the first floor. Even at this early hour the gallery was busy with people and the air was thick with pipe smoke. He found a small table in a corner and settled down to wait. A passing barmaid brought him a small jug of chilled wine and he sat back to enjoy himself, watching the room and the people and sipping at his drink.
It didn’t take long to spot a pattern. Every few minutes a tall thin man with an extravagantly twirled moustache would emerge from a door near the top of the stairs on the first floor and either walk around the gallery or down to the common room, apparently looking for specific individuals. Each time he found one he would lean down and whisper in their ear then return with them through the door on the first floor. A few minutes later the chosen individual would re-emerge and head out of the inn, sometimes taking one or two other people with him. After he had seen this happen half-a-dozen times, Marrinek decided he had seen enough to know what was going on.
He stood up and stretched, abandoning his hunch. He tossed a few coins on the table then walked across the gallery to the door, timing his arrival so that he got there a few seconds after the door had closed behind the moustached messenger and his latest guest. Marrinek paused briefly then pushed open the door and passed through into the room beyond.
As he closed the door behind him he found five men looking at him in surprise in a large room that seems to run most of the length of the inn. Along one side were shuttered windows looking out onto the street. Two of the men sat quite close by at a bench under the windows. Another, presumably Fangfoss, was lounging at a table further into the room. The moustached messenger was standing in front of the table with the fifth man, his latest guest, a heavyset thug with a multitude of scars and tattoos. All of them stared at Marrinek.
“Well,” said Marrinek, “this is awkward.”
He strode into the room, walking toward the fifth man until he stood a few feet in front of the table.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said to the seated man, “I’m Bay and you have many things I want.”
“Kill him,” said the seated man to the room in general. The two men on the bench stood slowly, drawing swords and edging forward. The story of Marrinek’s activities the night before, told and retold throughout the day, growing larger and more violent with every telling, had made them wary. Moustache, less worried by incredible stories from unreliable witnesses, whipped a pair of knives from his belt and turned quickly toward Marrinek only to find himself blocked by Tattoo, slower on the uptake than the others and standing motionless as he tried to work out what was going on.
Marrinek grinned at the seated man and undid the clasp of his cloak with a flourish, letting it fall to the ground. Then he pulled out Drake and held it loosely in one hand.
“Last chance,” he said, “why don’t we…”
Then Tattoo charged forward, swinging his knives.
Marrinek took a step back and triggered Drake, hitting Tattoo with a diffuse low-power blast that knocked him off his feet. Marrinek swung round and blasted Moustache as well then kicked Tattoo between the legs as he tried to stand.
Moustache was struggling upwards, a confused expression on his face. Then he pulled another knife and advanced again toward Marrinek, teeth bared.
Marrinek triggered Drake a third time and knocked Moustache back down then he spun round and used Drake to hit both the men behind him, stepping forward to kick one in the jaw before he could rise. The second man scuttled away on his backside, face white with fear.
Marrinek turned back and found Tattoo climbing to his feet, meaty hands clenched into fists, face red with rage. He raised Drake again and triggered another pulse, knocking Tattoo back into the long table. Then he stepped forward and punched the man in the face before he could regain his balance. Tattoo’s head whipped back, smacking hard against the table, then he slid to the floor and lay still.
Moustache came forward again, faster this time, fresh knives in each hand. Marrinek blocked one cut, dodged another then felt a third slice thinly across his arm. He yelped and punched out, missing Moustache but forcing him backwards so that he stumbled over Tattoo’s feet and fell in a heap on the floor. Marrinek released a final blast from Drake, emptying the reservoir, and smashing Moustache’s head heavily against the floorboards.
Marrinek swung round to face Fangfoss and pointed the depleted shock cannon at him.
“That’s enough,” said Marrinek firmly, “the next person to do anyt
hing violent, dies. Got it?”
Fangfoss, stationary for the duration of the fight, cleared his throat.
“Got it,” he growled. Only one of Fangfoss’s thugs remained conscious and he lay on his side clutching at his bruised ribs, unable to do much more than groan.
“You!” said Marrinek, pointing at the last man standing, or rather sitting, “Get out of here and take them with you.” He waved his hand at the fallen fighters as the man scrambled to his feet and began dragging his colleagues to the door.
“Right, let’s talk.” Marrinek pulled up a chair and sat down at the table opposite Fangfoss.
“So it’s like this,” said Marrinek, “your gang controls much of the northern end of the city, right?”
Fangfoss nodded, eyes narrow, shoulders tense, waiting patiently for his opportunity.
“Here’s my offer. I’ll take half of your profit from now on, you’ll pay weekly, starting now.”
Fangfoss stared at him for a few moments, then threw his head back and laughed. Marrinek sat for a few seconds, then slapped his hand down on the table, Drake beneath his palm. Fangfoss jumped, then laughed even harder. Finally, tears in his eyes, he regained enough control to speak.
“And it might be worth the money just to hear your jokes. Half, he says. You really have no fucking clue, do you?” Fangfoss shook his head as the last of his thugs was dragged from the room.
“You might as well have a mug of wine while you’re here and still able to drink it,” said Fangfoss, reaching around to the table behind him to collect two mugs and a jug of wine. He filled them both and pushed one toward Marrinek.
“Your good health, short though it might be.”
Fangfoss drank deeply then set down the mug and looked at Marrinek.
“You think you can just walk in here and take half my profits? Well, yes, of course I’ll give you half,” he said, sarcasm heavy in his tone, “why wouldn’t I? But you’ll be dead before sunrise.”