On the Matter of the Red Hand

by JM Guillen

  Our waitress was a true citizen of Teredon, a wide and wild mix. She had the thick, black hair of the Esperan people but with deep brown skin, darker than a pure Esperan heritage would leave her. Her most stunning features were her eyes, however. Almond shaped eyes were common traits from those that claimed Nimjemin ancestors, but hers were as blue as sapphires. She delivered my sweet, creamy drink with a wink and a smile.

  “Enjoy, Judicar,” she purred.

  I am. I gave her my sweetest smile as she walked away.

  I turned to Grith. “I think I will.”

  He simply sat, his arms crossed.

  I considered telling him that he looked like a toad, but then realized that he probably already knew.

  “So, Grith, tell me, what were you doing over at Booker’s this morning?”

  He scowled at me. “That’s not really your concern now, is it?”

  “Grith, I’m hurt. I’m concerned about all my citizens.” I pressed one hand to my heart. “Especially ones that are missing. You do remember that, don’t you, Grith? I’m on the look for a missing girl.” I made a few gestures to Scoundrel, out of Grith’s sight.

  “Looking!” she croaked.

  He startled and stared at my girl as if she were holding a snake in her beak.

  “I—’course I remember.” He glanced at me but only briefly. It seemed Scoundrel had gained his wary attention. “I took ya to talk to the Filch, didn’t I?”

  “Filch!”

  Grith’s eyes couldn’t be more round.

  “So then, tell me what you were doing up at the Wyndhause. Or are you withholding information that would lead me to find out you’re involved?”

  His eyes jerked to me. “Wot? No! No, I’d…” His eyes flicked to Scoundrel for just a beat. “I’d never…” Again his eyes strayed to my bird.

  I sighed. I’d never get answers out of him like this. I set Scoundrel on the ground, just out of Grith’s sight.

  He looked me in the face. “I just don’t like you pokin’ ‘round my business, right?” He tugged at his lapels.

  I noticed his speech had improved markedly.

  Scoundrel spied some crumbs under the next table over and hopped over to snatch them up.

  “You wouldn’t want me doggin’ you all over.” He gave me a foul look. “Shovin’ in, askin’ all the why’s and wherefore’s. Too right you wouldn’t.”

  Scoundrel looked like she was about to leap up onto some of the occupied tables and steal some of the pastries there.

  I glared, and gave her the tiniest shake of my head.

  She cocked her head at my movement.

  I narrowed my eyes and gave her a sign. No. Bad bird.

  She hopped closer to the tables. I looked back to Grith.

  “The difference between you and me—” I glanced at Scoundrel and scowled. “—is that I am oathed to the city, to safeguard her citizens.”

  “Judicar. You can’t think—” He scowled at me and opened his mouth.

  I abruptly glanced away, shaking my head at the greediest bird in the world. I glared toward her with my fiercest, most frown-laden glare. She pecked at the ground, and then fluttered back to my chair, landing on the back of my seat to groom her feathers, the very picture of innocence.

  “Thing is—” I looked back toward Grith, my smile all edged shadow. “I actually want to find the girl.” I reached back and scooped Scoundrel out of it. I dumped her on the table and sat.

  Grith pushed back from the table just a touch, his eyes on Scoundrel. “I want to find Rebeka!” His eyes flicked to me. “I do; she’s like a sister to me.”

  “Then you should be happy to assist.” I kept my tone sweet. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

  “Fine. If you must know, I’m doin’ your job, ain’t I?”

  “My job? What do you mean?”

  Scoundrel hopped onto my shoulder and settled in to take a short nap.

  “You knew that Doc Thane’s shop went up a bit back, right?”

  “Right.” Wil had actually handled the fallout from that situation, so I mostly heard about it second hand.

  “Did ye know it happened the same day Rebeka was taken?”

  I stopped short. I hadn’t put that together.

  Grith continued, “Well, Ol’ Doc Thane was done in when his alchemy and potives shop blowed up, and Senír Santiago asked me to peek into things. Doc owed Santiago a touch of money, and it seems like a nice time for the Doc to end up dead. Then, Rebeka was taken, same day—”

  “Doc Thane owed Santiago?” Wil had told me that the shop went up, but I hadn’t heard anything about this.

  “Yeah, keeping it quiet, aren’t they?” Grith grinned. “His ‘prentice’s still puttin’ out the salables, and the Red Marquis needs his cut. Santiago is just tryin’ to keep a good face, but he still wants his money, don’t he?”

  I tilted my head in acquiescence.

  “Mebbe someone was sticking a poke in Santiago’s eye by killing one of his best ’migos, making certain his shop was closed and making sure the Senír didn’t get his money…”

  “But…” I gave him a tight smile. “It’s an awful coincidence that Santiago should have two events of this magnitude happen all in one day.”

  “Yessir.” Grith nodded. “Best to be certain of things, right?” He had a conspiratorial grin. “Since there’s actually three.”

  “Three?”

  “It were the night you came to talk with the Senír. While you were funnin’ with the Filch, somebody went to the Saltmen in Santiago’s name. Liquidated about a thousand salt notes—all with the Marquis name on them.”

  “A thousand—!” I sat back in my seat, boggled. That was a huge sum of money. For a long moment, I simply looked at him.

  “Only a handful of people coulda done that, mind you—”

  “Killian Gould.” I looked squarely at Grith. “The Coin could have done it. But Santiago sent the Coin after Rebeka.”

  And then sent the Spider after the Coin? The thought was boggling, but the more I considered it…

  “I was with your father. Now, I’m looking for him again.” The woman’s voice was smooth, with a razor edge. “I’m afraid he has become distant as of late. I was hoping to discuss my business with him.”

  Grith nodded and then held his hands out, palms flat.

  “So what does Booker have to do with that? Does he know where the Coin is now?”

  “My question too. I hoped Booker would know, right? He didn’t.”

  I sipped at my horxata then set the square shaped mug on the table. My head spun with the new information.

  “Thom?” Scoundrel nuzzled at me. I scratched her head, my thoughts drifting.

  How did it all fit together? A thought occurred to me.

  “Grith, I’ve been attacked twice since starting this assignment.” I gave him a sideward glance. “Twilight Blades, both times.”

  “Blades?” Grith looked surprised. “I ’ent heard anything about the Blades being involved.”

  I gave him a long, hard look, and he held both hands up.

  “Not funnin’, Thom. I told you all I know.” He shook his head, glancing at my girl.

  The thing was I believed him.

  Grith might be a snake, but he was loyal to Santiago. That was something that struck me.

  “Grith, I’ve been thinking.” I gave him a long, even look. “I’ve been thinking that whoever took Rebeka might have had some ties with someone in the Red Hand. I’ve been thinking someone close might have had a hand in the mix.” As I spoke, I remembered Santiago’s white-fisted fury at the thought of mice in his house.

  “You think?” Grith let out a low whistle. “That’s a man with stones.”

  “Just watch for me?” I raised an eyebrow. “Let me know if anyone stands out?”

  “I will.” He glanced at Scoundrel. “I promise, Judicar. I will.”

  “That’s good, Grith. Thanks.” I stood and extended a hand. He took it, and we shook. “It’s always a
pleasure to find someone cooperative.”

  He shrugged. “Jus’ find ’er, Judicar. I wish I could.”

  I gave the man a brief nod. I whistled for Scoundrel and set off for the Wyndhause.

  “Thom,” He called from behind me. “If’n you find the Coin…”

  “Understood,” I looked over my shoulder and gave him one slow nod.

  Grith nodded back, and I set out through the alleyways, my head spinning.

  2

  The Wyndhause was like so many other buildings in the Shipman Slums. Specifically, it was quite old. The lintel and beams were made from a kind of oak that wasn’t even used to build with anymore. The foundation was probably as old as the Warrens.

  “‘Scuse me, sir.” An oily-skinned man stepped out of the door and held it for me. He was polite enough, but I noticed he did not meet Scoundrel’s eye.

  “My thanks.” I tipped my hat to the man. It did nothing to make him smile, and I knew it was likely that nothing would.

  The Wyndhause foyer was smoky, cramped, and littered with shadows. There was a small tap-room in the front, but there were only three tables. It was the kind of place that only sold a couple of different bitters. The bar itself was abandoned, as was the small stage where a singer or player might entertain a small group.

  It was clear that the dusty stage saw almost no use.

  This place was a house of secrets, where deals were wrought in the shadows. Moreover, the man who oversaw this place was like no other in the Warrens, with a mind that was as much a tool as it was a weapon.

  Santiago had made a good throw when he took Booker Dox to his service.

  There were two men sitting at the table by the corner having a hushed conversation. They grew even more suspiciously quiet when they realized that a judicar had just walked into the room. One of them gave me a slightly nervous smile, and I nodded in return.

  “Ely?” Scoundrel’s voice sounded forlorn but hopeful.

  “No, sweetling.” I knew what my good girl meant. It wasn’t just that she wanted to go and be spoiled by my friend or that Ely was on her mind. No, I knew my girl well. She was saying: I don’t want to be here, Thom. Anywhere but here, Thom. Maybe we could go see Ely?

  “You need to be my brave little girl.” I scratched her on the head.

  “Good Thom.” She shuffled on my shoulder, sounding slightly unconvinced. “Good, smart Thom.”

  I shrugged at the one of the men looking at me. “I am quite smart.” I gave him a sarcastic smile, hoping to get one in return.

  I did not.

  “Either of you gentlemen seen Booker Dox?” I knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it. I should have said fellas or boys.

  One of the men took a long drink. When he set his bottle down, he did not meet my eyes. “Booker’s upstairs. You wait for him, and I’m sure he’ll be back down.”

  “Not much for waiting, myself.” I gave the man a grim nod. “I’ll step on up. See if I can find him without too much of a fight.”

  “Fight.” Scoundrel mimicked me, still slightly nervous. “Fight. Fight. Fights.”

  The same man nodded. I noticed that his fist was clenched. He had an odd look about him, almost nervous.

  It was a common reaction.

  Turning my back to the man, I stepped to the stairwell. Like in so many of these old buildings, it was narrow and just a touch crooked. At the top of the first flight, an oil lantern burned, bathing the old dark wood in a sickly, yellow-tinged light.

  “Thanks, fellas.” I glanced back to see if either of them would respond.

  They did not.

  Gathering my great cloak around myself, I stepped up to the rickety stairs. I expected them to creak and groan the moment they took my weight. In actuality, it seemed as if the wood had been well oiled and the nails cared for with goose grease and polish. They were far more stable than I had considered upon first looking at them.

  On the first floor I only found a narrow hallway with a faded red rug running down the middle of it. Old, dusty oil paintings hung on the walls, and there was a shrouded window at the end of the passage. As I stepped into the corridor, I noticed a young couple off to the side, passionately enjoying each other’s attention. It was the woman who saw me first, and she whispered something to the young man whose face was buried into her neck. They slipped into a room and closed the door. I heard it lock behind them.

  I stepped upstairs.

  Booker Dox was in a room on the second floor, a room that smelled like cheap, rotgut liquor. He was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at a stain that I hoped was not blood.

  “Hello, Thom.” He hadn’t looked up at me, not that I had seen. “I trust you and Scoundrel are having a pleasant day?” He rested back on his feet and looked up at me. The slightest curve pulled at the edge of his lean face.

  “Booker.” I nodded. “Pleasant enough. Maybe more pleasant than some.” I nodded at the stain.

  He sighed. “Drunken Kab came in here, couldn’t handle himself. Sick up all over my floor.” He tossed his rag into the bucket. “Just part of the job, I suppose.”

  “I hope it’s not a common part of it.” The smell wasn’t so much as strong as it was persistent.

  He shrugged. “It is what it is. That’s not what you’re here to talk about, of course.” Booker’s voice was smooth. “Shall we go downstairs?”

  I was tempted; the room had a powerful smell. “I’d rather not talk where others can hear me. It’s a private matter.”

  Booker stood, looking at me for the first time. His gaze stripped me to the bone. It was an odd sensation, but then Booker had an uncanny mind.

  He clucked sympathetically. “You had a hard yesterday, and you don’t expect today’s going to be any easier. I’m sorry, Thom, I’ll try to let you take your ease here while we chat about Rebeka.”

  I must have looked as stunned as I felt. “How—?”

  He chuckled. “Your knuckles are scraped.” His tone was soft. “You’ve been in a scrap recently… No, more than one, those marks around your cheek are older.” He glanced at Scoundrel. “Your bird’s blades are clean, but she seems to be unusually wary about her surroundings and touchy about her wings.”

  I shook my head ruefully.

  “I wish that we judicars had half the training that you do, Booker.” If he heard me, he didn’t indicate it. In fact, he didn’t stop speaking.

  “Your pretty girl isn’t on her perch on your left shoulder. You’re dealing with her talons rather than having her there. Your stance is also a touch sideward. I’d say that the scrap you were in left a score of bruises, and your shoulder is powerfully sore.”

  I said nothing, simply touching the side of my nose with one hand and pointing at him with the other.

  His eyes travelled up and down my body. “I’d say that you lost at least one fight, to get scraped and bruised that much…” His words drifted off, as if thoughtful. Then, his eyes widened. “The Warren’s Spider?”

  “What?” It was as if he had struck me a physical blow. “Booker, how could you possibly know—?”

  “I can surmise that if you are speaking to me, it involves my guild affiliations.” His tone was soft. “I currently am aware of more than one matter concerning the Red Hand, and one of them involved the Warren’s Spider. When I met her, she smelled strongly of coniym, an immobilizing paralytive.” He smiled sheepishly. “One of the symptoms of being dosed with coniym is darkened circles under the eyes, as if a man hasn’t slept.”

  “That’s… unsettling, Booker.” My hand unconsciously came to my face. “I wish I had known about it beforehand. Is there a counter to coniym?”

  “Well, if you know it’s coming,” His voice was distant, almost distracted. “You can take yrris root in a tincture. The stimulant effect balances the stupefying slowness of the coniym.”

  “While also making one excitable and nervous.” I shrugged. “Good thing to remember, anyway.”

  “So you met the Spider…” He blinked back to me
and smiled faintly. “And survived her bite. How very interesting. You’ll have to tell me about this—”

  I smiled. “Not today, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course. Judicar business, I understand.”

  I nodded. “You are also square on regarding why I am here.”

  “Yes, your business involves Santiago Il Ladren. As I said, the Red Hand has more than one iron in the fire just now, but I would say that of those, only one might merit a judicar’s visit.” Finally, he met my gaze. “You’re looking for Rebeka.”

  I gave him a slow nod. “I am. I spoke with Santiago two nights ago, and have been empowered to seek her out.”

  “You aren’t the first.” He watched my face carefully. “But you know that. You know that others came to me before you.”

  “Four or five others, if I guess right.” I tallied the folks in my head who Bryana had discussed with me and added Grith for good measure.

  “Four.” He nodded. “Grith also, but you likely met him as he left. Do you know why they came?” He watched my face closely, then before I could respond added, “Of course you do.” He gave a small nod. “And you know who they were.”

  “I do.” I fidgeted, and stroked Scoundrel. “Although I had a hard time conning to the Warren’s Spider.”

  Booker pulled a small kerchief from a vest pocket, carefully wiping his glasses, then his hands. “I’ll be happy to speak with you, Thom. Let’s step into one of my side rooms, and we’ll get away from this unpleasantness.”

  I nodded then followed.

  Booker did not have a ring of keys—I knew that it wasn’t the way he did business. The Wyndhause was not the most reputable place, and if he started handing out the keys, they would walk off. Instead, his offer was simple. He’d unlock the door for you and charge you for an evening. When you left, the doors had a trip latch that locked behind you. Of course, it meant that most folks stayed in the rooms, conducted their business, and left.

  That was exactly as Booker wanted things.

  We trooped to the attic.

  The room he opened was a small garret room but was clean. It smelled strongly of cedar wood polish and had a small table overlooking a crescent-shaped window.