On the Matter of the Red Hand

by JM Guillen

  How strange.

  For some time, the two men talked. Then they were joined by one more. He was a man that Bryana recognized from the pawn-shop, but she had never heard his name. He wore rougher clothing than his companions. His sweat-stained work trousers and well-worn boots jarred with the black gloves, which he quickly tugged on. He glared at the surrounding tables. Other patrons started to glare back at the rude man, only to have table mates pull them back to their drinks and nibbles, gesturing to the bright tattoos covering the big man’s arms.

  The images were odd. Bryana had to squint to make them out.

  Scarlet blood slid in ribbons from tattoos of Gijonian long knives all along his skin. The scarlet ribbons formed a sensual woman’s long hair on one arm. Bryana couldn’t see his left with any detail, but it appeared much the same.

  Jakob ordered a round of drinks and howled with laughter. Bryana had never heard him cackle like that before. He grinned, his mouth seeming to stretch wider than his face could hold, and handed the newcomer a dusty greatcoat. The man took it with ill grace and slid it over his arms, hiding the marks.

  Bryana watched the men surrounding her father and shuddered.

  Something was wrong. The men drank, behaving as if they were not sitting in the lap of their foes. When nibbles were brought, the men ate without any seeming concern.

  Then came the woman.

  She was all dark hair and lithe cunning. From across the small court, Bryana could feel her intensity.

  “I’m here on your gentleman’s business.” Bryana could clearly read her lips. “I believe you are expecting me.” She leaned close. “The Hand seeks.”

  “Certainly.” Even Jakob seemed a touch off. He lifted a hand, and a chair was brought.

  Bryana watched as her father stood and held the chair for the woman.

  “Gentles, this charming woman has a great many faces. Of names, however, only one is remembered.” He smiled. Bryana knew he was being theatrical. “Let us make welcome a woman who needs no introduction—the Warren’s Spider.” He indicated the chair. The woman sat a small smile on her face.

  “Coin,” she replied.

  3

  It was like she had dropped an anvil in my lap.

  “No.” I could hear the incredulity in my voice. “Just… no.”

  “That’s what I saw. He said ‘Warren’s Spider.’”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Bryana might as well have claimed that the Leatherman was working for Santiago or that he had knackers and hobbes for dirkmen.

  “The Warren’s Spider.” My words were laced with disbelief. “She’s not real. Just some bogey that the Guilemen and other assassins use to hang their deeds upon.”

  Bryana stared at me in much the same way as an offended cat. For my part, I couldn’t quite believe she was going to stand on this one.

  I chuckled. “Look, Bryana. If you’re going to weave some fanciful tale about your father and a non-existent assassin, then I’m going to have to step along. I don’t have time to waste on boggert tales.” I rose from my seat and gestured to my good girl.

  “Thom?” Scoundrel hopped close. I saw she had some small shiny bit in her talon.

  “We’re on, pretty.”

  “Don’t you think I’d make up a more believable story if that were my aim?”

  The weary frustration in her voice stopped me as I turned to leave the room. I turned back to face her.

  Her eyes were hard. “That’s what I saw.” Her jaw was set at a belligerent angle.

  I sighed. “You really believe that. You really believe he met the Warren’s Spider.” I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my mouth at the idea.

  “I know my father. He’s not a man to mistake an identity, especially not then. If he were wrong, he’d have offended the woman, and if you’d seen her, you’d know he would do anything he could not to cross her.”

  I nodded sagely as every fight scene from every Warren’s Spider story I knew flashed in front of my eyes.

  Impossible. Still, perhaps there was something to be gleaned from this. It seemed as if Bryana didn’t think she was dealing me false coin.

  “My apologies. Please continue. Tell me more about the ‘Warren’s Spider.’” I gestured gallantly.

  She frowned. “I’m not asking you to believe that it was her. But I am asking you to believe that’s what he said.”

  Tainted night.

  Slowly, I sat. I leaned in and rested my arms on the desk. I looked into her eyes and spoke. “I sincerely apologize, Miss Gould. You understand, every petty street crook and two-penny pilcher I’ve run down has tried blaming his misdeeds on the Warren’s Spider. I’ve tales enough on her to fill this room. So whenever she’s mentioned…” I let my voice trail off, raising an eyebrow.

  She glared at me and opened her mouth to argue, but I continued. “Now, I don’t know what your Da meant by ‘Warren’s Spider,’ maybe it was a passcode, maybe it was a slip of the tongue, but I do know this: she’s not real.”

  “I’m not—”

  I hurried on, “I do believe he said it. I’ll give you that. But let’s not pin a meaning down on it just yet. Fair enough?”

  Bryana continued to stare at me as if she were trying to make up her mind. Eventually, she took up the thread again. Then, as I watched her body language, as I truly listened to her story, I truly understood.

  True or not, Bryana believed what she was telling me. As far as she was concerned, this story was Elsador’s truth.

  4

  The woman stepped to her chair, every movement one of dangerous, deadly grace. Bryana shuddered. That woman knew the secrets of a man, the fears of a woman, and how to kill them both.

  Death. Bryana couldn’t help the word from running through her mind. That woman is death given form. Death is meeting with my father.

  In the secret part of her that might always be a little girl, she was terrified that the woman knew she was there. Knowing she was there, the woman would look over. And then she would come for Bryana.

  She looked like a woman who could kill without a second thought.

  Without a first.

  The four of them sat there, sharing drinks and having discussions as if there were nothing out of the ordinary, as if Bryana’s entire world was not spinning around them.

  From Bryana’s hiding spot, Killian’s face and posture were like an open book to her.

  She had seen her Da worried, and she had seen him angry. In her entire life, Bryana thought that she had never seen him truly afraid.

  Until right now.

  The four of them talked for a long while. Bryana kept dancing in place, trying to angle closer, so that she might hear what they were about, but she was pressing her luck. Her father was a man who was supremely aware of his surroundings. If she got too close, or was too obvious, he would certainly see her, feel her presence.

  Even if he didn’t, then that woman would. Bryana did not need to be any closer to imagine what that woman’s eyes were like. Hard. Sharp. She would have eyes that missed nothing, like a hawk on a cloudless day.

  The woman projected deadly confidence.

  It was ridiculous to fear a woman two poles away, especially one Bryana had never met before.

  But she did.

  At almost the same time, the four pushed their drinks aside and stood from their table. For a brief, horrifying moment, Bryana thought that perhaps she had drawn too close. Perhaps they were going to come her way, and if so, finding different cover would be difficult.

  Almost impossible.

  She was crouched behind a large, painted sign that stood under the eaves of a closed clothier shop. There were only two ways to leave Llord’s Coffe House. Bryana began to look for another place to hide, some doorway to step into.

  There was nothing.

  Bryana held her breath as chairs were scraped under the table. She tried to arrange her features into a distracted, pleasant smile. Her father had always taught her to cover her tracks as much as
possible, even when caught.

  “You’ll pay double for that guilty look,” he always scolded her.

  Bryana took a deep breath in, stood, and stepped around the sign to face her would-be accusers head-on.

  But no. They were not there. They had walked the other way.

  Bryana steadied herself on the sign for a nonce before following as quickly as her wobbly knees would allow.

  As she followed, Bryana couldn’t help but consider that her father was a powerful and knowledgeable man. Jakob the Fox, when not behaving like a man on a bender, was well known for being capable and dangerous as well. The Warren’s Spider was practically a legend, of course.

  Bryana had to believe that, with the serious nature of her father’s body language, this fourth man with the blades on his arms was of equal capability. Perhaps in a different area, with different skill sets, but the conclusion was stark.

  Four of the most dangerous people the Warrens had to offer were walking side by side through broad daylight. They smiled at folke on the street, and for the most part looked like successful businessmen or landlords.

  They were not, of course. Together, Bryana had no doubt that they could make people beg to tell their deepest secrets, swear their family’s loyalty and wealth, or simply disappear.

  Yet they walked the streets. If anyone knew who they were, they did not say.

  Bryana followed them until they were well away from the neighborhoods that were strongly associated with the Twilight Blades. They wended winterward through the streets, going much farther than Bryana ever would have thought her father would on foot. The man took a cab everywhere. There were too many of them for a foot cab of course, but a horse and four could easily take them.

  Of course, with only a little thought, it was easy to understand why. It was actually more private in the streets. A driver might remember them. Whatever they were about, they made use of the special kind of privacy that can only be offered by being plainly and clearly in public, absorbed in a group conversation. Most other pedestrians barely noticed when they had to step around the group before continuing on their way, much less register what the group was discussing.

  Bryana’s feet were beginning to grow sore. Like her father, Bryana also took a cab to most of her habitual locations. Had she not been so carefully observing her father and his companions, Bryana would have noticed that the streets were once again becoming familiar to her.

  Soon the scent of fish stew and bitter brought her head up, and Bryana took note of her surroundings. The frown line between her brows eased a bit with the acknowledgement of familiar territory, but returned when she realized the group’s destination.

  They were going to Wyndhaus.

  Wyndhaus was a sprawling, rundown manse that stood not far from the winterward gate to Dockside. As an inn, however it was quite popular in the Warrens. It was a place where a person could get a room with no questions asked. Those who worked the desk would never see who came and went and no one cared about any kind of guild papers or identifications. It was the kind of place that, if you had money, you could get in and out with no record at all.

  It was also an official guild location for the Red Hand.

  Outside, the four paused again. They spoke for a nonce but then stepped to the door.

  Of course, Bryana could not follow them inside without being caught. She watched through a window as the party went in and spoke with Booker, a well-known, retiring man that catered his services to guildmen among the Red Hand. The four of them spoke at length.

  “Not a problem.” Booker smiled. “I would be happy to serve in this matter.”

  Then Booker led them to a small stairwell adjacent the counter. When the door closed, Bryana felt ice in her heart.

  Never again. The thought ran like a wild horse in her head. I will never see my father again.

  She hadn’t.

  5

  We sat quietly for a long moment after she was done telling her story. Scoundrel looked up at me, ever hopeful for a snack or a little bit of attention. I signaled for her to be quiet before she could even crow at me.

  “I appreciate your being forthright with me.” It was an understatement. I would have never expected someone like Bryana to be so honest with me, particularly when I knew the kind of business her father was in.

  She smiled wistfully. “Are you surprised?”

  I chuckled. “I am, actually. I often have to pry a story out of a person.”

  The crooked smile on her face wilted. “Years ago, my Da told me a story. Apparently, some members of his family ran into a little trouble several years back. It was the kind of trouble where a man ends up dead.”

  “Common enough trouble in the Warrens.” I nodded conversationally, wondering where this was going.

  “Out of absolutely nowhere, a judicar comes calling. He seemed to know everything about what happened, even knew things that he shouldn’t.” She glanced downward at my girl. “The judicar figured out who done it. He tracked down our problem, even though we hadn’t told him anything.”

  “Years ago?” I mused. “Was it Alejandro?”

  The small smile reappeared. “It was. I only ever met the man when I was a child, but he always had a bit of toffe for me or my brothers.”

  I nodded. That sounded like Alej all right. I had ‘prenticed to the man, and one of his first lessons had been about building relationships with the citizens.

  I gave her a sideward smile. “We are oathed to serve. Alejandro does a fine job of keeping that oath.”

  She continued, as if I had not spoken. “My Da always said that if something should happen to him, if I ever thought he was in trouble, I should watch for a judicar to come round. He said your rooks told you things that you didn’t have any business knowing. He said if he was in trouble, one of you would come calling.” She was quiet then, and she looked to the floor before continuing.

  “He said that I should tell you everything I knew, if I ever wanted to see him come home.” She looked back up at me. “I do, Judicar. I want my Da to come home.”

  Bryana Gould’s eyes shone wetly in the dim light. She took a breath, trying desperately not to cry.

  She failed.

  It wasn’t the loud, blubbering cry of a child. No, Bryana’s tears were quiet. They were the sharp, sorrowful tears of a woman who had been hoping for days, praying to any Devout who would listen that a Judicar would not show up. Wondering about her father was something she had been able to do. The moment I had come calling, however, Bryana had ceased wondering.

  In her mind, her father was dead.

  I said nothing. There was nothing I could say. All I could do was sit with her, listen, and hope I could bring Killian Gould home.

  Eventually, she spoke.

  I didn’t bring up the Warren’s Spider again.

  She chatted amiably for a time, but did not have much else to add. No, she had not seen any of the other people since. No, she had not filed a writ with the Offices of the Just.

  “Not yet, I haven’t.” She met my eyes. “I was about to. I had almost decided to head up there today, maybe tomorrow. My Da, the man he was—” She paused. It seemed to make her angry that she had said ‘was’ instead of ‘is.’

  She started again. “He has a healthy respect for the power of your birds. He would have told me nevermind about no tip-offs, but he warranted you would have showed up without any paperwork sooner or later. He seemed to think it was just the way of the world.” She smiled a touch wistfully. “It made the man a bit paranoid.”

  I nodded. “It must’ve been hard for you to wait for me for this long. I’m glad you did. I don’t know what Santiago would have done if you had gotten involved in this business yourself.”

  Her hand clenched. Her face was studied mask, but I saw her knuckles grow white. “I would hate to irritate Santiago Il Ladren.” Her anger at the man was like a physical heat. “I’d hate for him to stay up nights worrying about someone he loves. I would hate for him to be the one
who was troubled.”

  In that moment, I wondered if he was.

  I wondered if he paced his rooms at night wondering where Rebeka was. I wondered if he was capable of feeling as much as this young woman was. I wondered if a man like Santiago truly understood the bonds of family.

  I reached down and stroked my good girl, but I kept my eyes on Bryana.

  It was apparent that I needed to speak with Booker.

  I needed to go to the Wyndhaus.

  The Warren’s Spider

  Striving, Fifth Bell Morningtide

  My thoughts were a storm as I wound my way back up the narrow stair. Bryana’s tale had answered many questions but had asked many more.

  “I don’t want you to worry,” Bryana was close behind me on the stair, so I half turned my head so she would hear. “I promise you that as soon as I know anything, will know.” I reached for the door and pushed.

  I never heard her answer.

  The serum slammed into my mind like a torrent of molten gold thundering through my veins.

  Accidentally, the stranger drops one of the cards.

  “It bit me!” He seems shocked. I glance down. The card he dropped was “The Spider.” The stranger reaches for the card but then stops.

  “She’ll bite you too. Be careful.”

  Somehow, even though I can’t see his face, I know he’s talking to me.

  “Judicar?” Bryana came up behind me where I was leaning against the wall of the stairwell. “Are you well?”

  As the door opened, a woman’s cold eyes glinted down upon me. For a moment, I stood stunned, struck dumb.

  Oh. Oh no.

  “Judicar,” the woman nodded slowly. She was oddly certain, confident. It was as if she had waited for me at that exact spot, knowing I was walking up the stairway.

  “Miss,” I nodded a wary greeting at the woman. I stepped into the room, Scoundrel hopping after.

  Never had a word felt more inappropriate. More inadequate.