by James Evans
“I’m looking for someone. He would have been a customer, probably looking for rare metals.” She was watching the shopkeeper closely now, waiting for some indication that she had hit her mark.
“An imperial citizen, tall, good-looking, dark hair. Demanding. Probably carrying a staff of some sort, maybe a sword.” She stepped closer to the counter and put her hands down flat on the surface.
“Have you seen such a man?”
“No, miss,” said the shopkeeper, shaking his head, “we don’t get many imperial visitors, I’m sure I’d remember him.”
“Are you sure?” she said quietly, “I am most keen to find him; I would be disappointed to find that you had lied to me.”
The shopkeeper bristled again, clearly annoyed at her questions and her threats.
“Yes, miss, I am quite sure. And now I think you should leave.”
She stared at him for a few seconds longer then turned to leave. She stopped at the door, holding it open.
“If you see the man I have described, tell him I’m looking for him. Tell him he can find me at the house of a man called Blucher.” Then she stepped out of the shop and closed the door behind her.
And so it went for the rest of the day. By late afternoon she had spoken to five shopkeepers and none had admitted to knowing Marrinek or shown any sign of recognising his description. It was late afternoon by the time she entered the sixth shop, a small narrow room lined with drawers and lit by charmed lamps now that the sun had fallen far enough to shade the street. The shopkeeper came forward to greet her as she entered.
“Good afternoon, miss. My name is Eaves. How may I be of assistance?”
“Hello, Mr Eaves. My name is Naseep and I’m looking for a man, a customer of yours, maybe. An imperial citizen, tall, dark hair, good-looking. Carries a staff. Might have been buying metals or tools.” She leaned over the counter toward Eaves, studying his face closely as she asked, “Do you know where I might find this man?”
Eaves eyes widened and his nostrils flared slightly but he shook his head firmly. Bay, she had to be asking about Bay, and his instructions had been very, very clear.
“N-no, miss, n-never set eyes on him, can’t help, sorry.”
Adrava's spirits soared. Eaves was a dreadful liar and clearly knew more than he was prepared to say. She stood there, staring at him, face expressionless as the sweat beaded on Eaves’ forehead.
“Don’t lie to me, Eaves. I know you’ve seen him,” she leant forward and whispered, “tell me where he is.”
“N-no, miss, you’re mistaken, I c-can’t help.” Eaves shook his head. He was trembling, shaking like a leaf in a breeze.
Adrava stepped back from the counter, certain now that she had found what she needed and that Marrinek was, or had recently been, in Vensille.
“Well, maybe I am, maybe I’m not, but if you see him, you tell him I’m looking for him. Tell him he can find me at Blucher’s house. You know Blucher, the merchant?” Eaves nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more.
“Then tell him. And tell him soon. Tonight would be best, or tomorrow I’ll come back and cut out your eyeballs.”
She yanked the door open then turned and said, “Tonight, Eaves.”
Then she stepped through the doorway and was gone, leaving Eaves alone and shaking.
Adrava stood outside the shop for a few moments then headed down the street towards Blucher’s house. Eaves would go straight to Marrinek, she was sure, or send him a message, so all she had to do now was wait.
Relaxed for the first time in months, she walked through the streets of Vensille with a sense that, finally, everything was going to work out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BREAKFAST ON THEIR first day in their new home was a little subdued. Aimes was apologetic but, at least for a few days, bread and cheese, preserved vegetables, fruits from the market and cold meat were likely to be all she could serve while the cook got the kitchen and pantries sorted out and into a manageable state. To the twins, used to a diet of whatever they could steal on the streets, and Marrinek, forced to accept whatever his jailers gave him, Aimes’ worries seemed unworldly and they ate eagerly.
Later, in the unused bedroom suite that Marrinek had designated a classroom, they worked together to practice the wood-forming techniques that Mr Eaves had shown them. After several hours both the twins were able to exert a degree of control over their sculpting so that neither of them was accidentally producing the strange waves of wood that they had made previously. By lunchtime Marrinek was satisfied that the twins were well on their way to mastering the simple techniques that Eaves had taught them and, more importantly, that they had an appreciation for the risks involved.
“Anyone can work wood with a blade,” said Marrinek when they took a break for lunch, “but the best results combine mechanical tools with power and charms. You two might, given time and practice, achieve a great deal with just power and charms; you seem to have a natural affinity with wood.”
Despite their success with wood, it was clear that neither of the twins was likely to pursue a career as a carpenter. Indeed, Marrinek would have been hugely disappointed if that was the limit of their achievements, useful and rewarding though it might be.
In the afternoon they worked on theory and the history of charms then moved to the stable yard to learn the rudiments of stick fighting.
“Shouldn’t we learn swords?” said Darek, disappointed to be handed a plain staff of wood.
“The sword is a gentleman’s weapon, an elegant tool for threatening or dissecting a man. A simple staff, often called the short staff even though it is six feet long or more, is a peasant’s weapon but no less dangerous. Easy to make, versatile, deadly in skilled hands, you’ll learn staff first, sword later. The staff is less threatening and often underestimated by swordsmen, especially lordlings and ‘men of quality’ who sometimes dismiss it precisely because it isn’t sharpened steel. You can use it for walking or for fighting and one skilled man with a staff can defeat three with swords. With this weapon, you have a longer reach and a heavier blow than any swordsman and you can block or attack with either end.”
Marrinek switched to Khem and they practiced together for two hours as Marrinek demonstrated the basic forms and stances and led them through the key moves, blocks, feints and attacks.
“Good. You will work the staff every day after lunch,” he said finally in Khem before switching to Gheel, “but that’s enough for now. Freshen up and change your clothes before dinner, then we will visit Mr Eaves again.”
The twins disappeared indoors and Marrinek followed them, heading back to his own suite to change.
After dinner Marrinek accompanied them to Mr Eaves’ shop. Darek’s black eye had started to fade and the twins were growing noticeably more confident as their lives on the streets slowly receded into the past.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so. Wait for me here if your lesson finishes before I return.”
He left them standing there and ducked into an alley, heading for Trike’s. When he got there the common room was full and the atmosphere heavy with pipe smoke, laughter and singing. He made his way to the stairs and climbed up to the first floor, then pushed his way to the door of Fangfoss’s room and let himself in.
Inside the noise was almost as loud as outside but it quietened quickly as people saw who had entered. News travelled fast in this and it seemed that everyone knew who Marrinek was. He looked slowly around the room, face blank, then he walked over to the table where Fangfoss was seated. The man sitting opposite Fangfoss got up quickly and backed into the crowd, leaving space for Marrinek to sit.
Marrinek took a glass from the centre of the table and filled it from the wine jug as the conversations restarted around him. At the end of the room the fiddle player struck up his tune again and someone started singing.
Fangfoss waved his glass at Marrinek.
“We’re celebrating the demise of the Flank Siders,” he said, standing. Then he raised
his glass and shouted above the din.
“A toast to our new friend, Bay, and to the end of the Flank Siders.” There was a cheer and the noise subsided as everyone drank the toast then the music resumed and the noise rose again. Marrinek sipped his wine.
“This is for you,” said Fangfoss, sliding a purse across the table, “your share of the week’s take from the North Enders. Don’t spend it all at once, we worked hard for that.” He sniggered, then said, “Well, someone worked hard for it and we put a lot of effort into taking it off ‘em.”
Marrinek slipped the purse into his shirt, nodded at Fangfoss and stood up to leave.
“What, leaving so soon?” said Fangfoss, “Don’t you want to stay and party?”
“Things to do,” said Marrinek, pushing through the crowd toward the door and making his way back to the common room. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs to secure the purse, then strode to the door.
Chickie came in just as he reached the door. He nodded to Marrinek and grabbed his arm as he passed, leaning in close to whisper.
“Mirelle was looking for you, Bay, earlier today.”
“For me? Why?”
“Money, of course.”
Marrinek grunted and pushed past onto the street. He wasn’t quite sure how Mirelle fitted into the scheme or what her plans were but if she was taking an interest then maybe it was time to deal with her. Then he shrugged; she was a problem for another day. He turned south and headed back to Eaves’ shop to collect the twins.
Mirelle caught up with him later that evening. Marrinek was sitting in the library, sipping a glass of the local liqueur and looking at the collection of books that had come with the house when Shaldring came in to announce a visitor.
Lady Mirelle swept into the room and threw herself into an armchair without waiting to be asked. Marrinek, who had stood to greet his guest, sank back into his own chair and picked up his drink.
“Can I offer you anything, my lady? This is really very good,” he said, waving the glass in her direction, “albeit a little sweet for my taste.” He clicked his fingers at Shaldring, who floated forward with a glass on a silver tray for Lady Mirelle. She took it and waited until Shaldring disappeared, closing the doors behind him.
“So, Lord Bay,” she said, sipping from her glass before setting it down on the floor at her feet, “what is it you want from Vensille?”
Marrinek frowned, playing the confused Imperial noble.
“Want, my lady?” he asked in heavily accented Gheel, “Look around. What more could I want?”
“Rubbish,” she said firmly, “don’t give me that. You’re up to something and I want to know what it is.”
Marrinek stared at her, frowning for a moment in genuine astonishment.
“You think I have some grand plan and that I would lay it all out for you if you just asked? I had heard that you were direct but this borders on naivety, even if I had a plan to describe.”
Lady Mirelle shrugged.
“I’ll find out sooner or later,” she said, picking up her drink again, “but it would save a lot of effort if you just told me all about it.” She paused to take a sip of her drink. “I might even be able to help.”
Marrinek raised an eyebrow and settled back into his chair. This was becoming interesting.
“Help how?” he asked cautiously, “If indeed we were to accept for a moment that there were things I still wanted.”
“Introductions, influence, assistance. I have contacts throughout the city and at the palace. Maybe if you tell me what you’re after…”
The pause lengthened until Mirelle began to think that Lord Bay had fallen asleep in his chair. Then suddenly he leant forward and when he spoke his accent had almost entirely disappeared.
“You’re Rhenveldt’s woman, his enforcer of choice. Why would I trust you?”
“Oh well,” said Mirelle casually, “I’m not sure I’d recommend trusting anyone, least of all me, but that doesn’t mean we can’t help each other.”
Another pause.
“Gauward is running the Lighthouse for you now, I hear. And Fangfoss reports to you as well, so you’ve united the two gangs. That’s impressive but what next? A play for the Duke’s throne?”
Marrinek snorted and shook his head.
“No. I’ve never been one to seek political power. I want only what everyone wants; peace, security and comfort. I have that now so what more could you offer?”
Now it was Lady Mirelle’s turn to snort with derision.
“If you think you’ve built yourself a secure foothold based on controlling the North Enders and the Flank Siders then you’re deluded. They’ll turn on you as soon as they sense an opportunity.” She paused again and tossed back the last of her drink. “For true security you need to be part of the ruling establishment, part of the elite that props up the Duke. Sheltering under the Duke’s wing with the profits from the two gangs and the Lighthouse might be a very strong place indeed.”
She stood up while Marrinek pondered her words and grabbed the decanter from the side table where Shaldring had left it. She filled her glass then walked over to fill Marrinek’s before setting the nearly empty decanter down on the floor.
“And that’s it, isn’t it?” she said in a sudden flash of insight. “This isn’t about the gangs or the money, it’s about bullying your way into the nobility.” She shook her head at the idea, at the sheer brazen arrogance of the man who sat before her.
“Sooner or later they’ll come for you, you know, if you grow too rich or too powerful and if you don’t have the Duke’s favour. The Watch, maybe, or some group of nobles. They might even send me. However it happens, they won’t let you keep what you have if the Duke isn’t getting his due.”
Marrinek frowned and narrowed his eyes.
“I’m confused,” he said, sipping his drink, “are we talking about the Duke’s needs, mine or yours?”
“All three. They’re interwoven. Look, you’ve done well to get so far so quickly but let’s be realistic. You’ll get no further without help and it’s only a matter of time before you lose what you’ve won. I can help, if you make it worth my while, or I can bring you down. Either way, I win, but there may be more to be gained by collaboration than competition.”
“Go on,” said Marrinek when she paused, “you have my attention.”
“The Duke takes a cut, always has done. Think of it as an informal tax on your position in society. If you pay, I’ll have something I can work with, something I can use to bring you into the fold. If you refuse or if you make life difficult, it will hasten their strike against you and you’ll stand alone. Whoever you think your friends are, nobody will help if the Duke turns against you.”
“You’re saying that I’m safe if I pay and at risk if I don’t. Blackmail, in other words.”
“More of a voluntary donation for the wellbeing of the city. In return, I’ll bring you into the Duke’s path and give you a chance to impress him. If you can make yourself valuable, you’ll be safe.”
“And what do you get out of all this?” Marrinek asked, “Besides feeling that you’ve accomplished something for the good of the city?”
Lady Mirelle threw back her drink and grinned.
“I don’t give a fuck about the city. It’s been good to me in recent years but nothing lasts forever. This is about insurance, a fallback when it all goes wrong. So you’ll tip me a little extra, to cover my costs, and you’ll owe me a favour. This city runs on silver but favours are what everyone craves.”
Marrinek was silent for a few long moments while he thought about this. Could he trust her? Could he afford not to trust her? Eventually, he made up his mind.
“I too have contacts. I can arrange for payments to be made,” he said quietly, “but I want the Watch kept away from my business. No more Watchmen holding out their hands and roughing up my people. It’s bad for business and it’s inefficient. You’ll get your money, once a week like before, and you’ll get it only from me.”
“It may be difficult to persuade the Watch to go without,” she said.
“I didn’t say they shouldn’t be paid, only that they shouldn’t collect from my people. I’ll handle the gangs, you’ll handle the Watch, everyone gets paid. Take it or leave it.” He stood up and held out his hand. Lady Mirelle stared at it for a moment then stood and shook.
“Deal. I’ll fix the Watch but it’ll only hold while the money flows. If that stops…” she shrugged.
“Understood. First payment tomorrow, then weekly. And in return…?”
“High society, balls, parties,” said Lady Mirelle, “and an introduction to the Duke. After that, it’s up to you.”
“Good. I look forward to hearing from you.”
Over the next few days, Marrinek’s household settled into something resembling a normal, everyday pattern. Marrinek lectured the twins and worked with them on their crafting and other skills in the morning. After a midday meal they would practice staff fighting and other martial arts. In the late afternoon there would be more lectures and practice followed, most evenings, by lessons with Eaves. At lunchtime on their third day in the house Aimes announced that the cook was now settled and had all the equipment and help she needed to feed the household properly. From that afternoon, the variety and quality of the food improved markedly.
Marrinek, for his part, found that he was enjoying the new routine. Apart from his time as an honoured guest of an Imperial prison, he had spent most of the previous six decades as a soldier, fighting his way back and forth across the Empire; the opportunity to spend time teaching and training the twins was turning out to be surprisingly rewarding.
It wouldn’t last, of course, these things never did. Even now he could feel the threat of the future weighing down on him, preparing to rip apart his new life and send him hurtling back into the days of death and terror and hate. Sooner or later someone would recognise him or guess who he was and he would be forced to run or fight. All he could do, right now, was prepare for the inevitable storm.