by Alex Bledsoe
“I should just slit your throat and hide you behind one of these stalactites. You’d be less trouble that way. But I’ll make a deal with you: I’ll keep your secret if you’ll keep mine, and help me blend in here.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I haven’t cut your throat yet. Why should I trust you?”
“Because all I have to do is scream and people will come running, and I haven’t done that yet.”
“True. Of course, you wouldn’t live to tell them what you were yelling about.”
I let her think that over. Her face was strong, with a dimpled chin and full lips, while her eyes were blue behind dark lashes. Where did I know her from? Not from Neceda certainly, and she wasn’t old enough that I could’ve encountered her before I settled here. Did she just look like someone I’d once known? Had I crossed paths with her older sister, or even her mother? That thought almost made me laugh, because of the subsequent absurd notion that she might therefore be my own daughter. Man, had I read too many cheap vellum broadsheets in my life.
Finally she bit her lip, cut her eyes at me and said, “All right. You clearly have an advantage you haven’t pressed. I’m guessing you’re one of the good guys. I’ll help you, but you have to help me.”
I nodded and lowered the sword. “How?”
“One of the men here, he… well, he wants to get me alone. In secret. See, when we excite them, it’s supposed to be saved for their gods, but he’s not willing to keep things religious. And I’m running out of polite ways to say no.”
“It’s not Prince Frederick, is it?”
“Good lord, no. His name’s Doug Candora.”
“You want me to have a talk with him?”
“No, I want you to… well… take me for yourself. Claim me. Once a girl’s taken, none of the others can bother her. If they do, they have to face the test of the baby dragon.” She nodded at the cage on the table.
I looked at her dubiously. “Uh-huh. And how exactly do I ‘claim’ you?”
“All you have to do is just let me stay with you.” She lowered her chin and raised her eyes, the very picture of demure supplication. “It won’t be a miserable experience, I promise. I know a lot of things, and since you’re not technically a follower of Lumina-”
“Stop it. This is a business transaction, not a seduction. I have boots older than you. But it also sounds like a good plan.” I took her chin and turned her face toward the light. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty,” she said, and twisted free of my hand. “And if this partnership is going to work, you can’t touch me.”
If she was twenty, then so was I. My tastes hadn’t run to girls this young since I was that young. I smiled. “I think I can manage to control myself.” I offered my hand. “Well, my name’s Eddie.”
“Nicky,” she said as she took it. Her hand was small and, when she placed it in mine, she did so with the practiced grace of someone used to having her hand kissed or bowed over. She noticed it as soon as I did, and abruptly gripped my fingers in a tight man-style shake. “Looking forward to working with you, Eddie,” she said.
“So where is this Doug Candora?”
“He’s not here yet. Marantz sent him on an errand.”
“He’s one of Marantz’s guys?”
She nodded. “He pretends to be a believer. Knows all the prayers and rituals, but doesn’t believe a word of them.” She smiled mischievously and added, “Like you. He keeps Marantz up on the flock gossip.”
“Okay. I need to finish looking around down here; how will I find you?”
“I’ll be in the common room. I’m safe as long as I stay there. We can go to one of the private rooms after that.”
I nodded. She started to say something else, thought better of it and swept dramatically out of the cave, her red cloak billowing enough to display her bare feet and calves.
I waited to hear the distant slam of the cellar door. Then I went back down the tunnel. At the far end, a single torch blazed in a sconce and illuminated a second cavern. This one was smaller, and was mostly taken up by a slow-flowing black river that emerged from one low-roofed tunnel and exited down another with a much higher ceiling. Three docks for rowboats stretched out from the narrow, rocky ledge. Two boats remained; Marantz and Tempcott must’ve departed in the third. There was no way to tell where this river ended up for sure, but to be efficient for smuggling it had to join up with the Gusay at some point. That meant the two ringleaders were probably somewhere in Neceda.
I reminded myself that I was, too. The Lizard’s Kiss, or whatever the hell it was now, was smack in the middle of town, yet I’d seldom felt so isolated. A dragon cult, sponsored by a gangster and patronized by royalty, operated underground-literally-in a third-rate river village. The royal might be a genuine convert, but the gangster had to be in it for the money. And why had the gangster ordered the torture and death of a girl in the Black River Hills?
And how did it tie in to Lumina, half of an obscure cult’s dragon deities? The fire dreams are made of, Frankie had called it. They had one skull for an icon; did Laura Lesperitt know where the other was? Would that be worth her life to these people?
And how did that fit in with the old guy with the gloves? And Liz’s apparent betrayal? And Hank Pinster’s murder? And Mother Bennings’?
Clearly I didn’t have all the pieces yet. And I wouldn’t find them huddling upstairs with a pretty young girl.
I’d promised her I’d come back; I didn’t say when. I climbed into one of the two remaining boats, untied it and shoved it off. The current caught me and carried me off into the dark.
SIXTEEN
At least I didn’t fall out of the boat.
The softly lapping water and humid darkness put me right to sleep before I’d even gotten out of sight of the little dock. It had been a long day, after all. I had no idea how far I’d traveled, and didn’t awaken until I emerged from the tunnel. The boat scraped loudly against the shallow bottom at the point the stream entered the Gusay. I grabbed the oars, looked around and had only an instant to orient myself before the current yanked me downstream.
Apparently I slept through some major twists and turns underground, because the hidden tunnel exit was just up stream from Neceda, whose lamps and torches loomed out of the night. I got the boat under control and rowed up to an overgrown part of the riverbank. I beached the boat and hid it beneath some brush, hoping I could find both it and the tunnel again when I needed to return. If the one Marantz and Tempcott used was no larger than mine, they could’ve gone no farther than town. The Gusay was too treacherous for a long rowboat trip in the dark.
According to the stars it wasn’t very late, so I’d only slept for a few minutes. The passenger boat was still docked, so the town should be crowded and active, making it easy for me to blend in again. My plan was vague: track down Marantz and Tempcott, then decide what to do based on what they were doing. After that, I’d have to slip back into the Lizard’s Kiss, find Nicky and hide her from the guy with more than religion on his mind. It looked like my little catnap might be all the sleep I’d get tonight.
The streets were full, and light blazed from the windows of most public buildings. As I skulked along the streets, avoiding eye contact and darting from shadow to shadow, I thought about where Marantz and Tempcott might go. Neceda wasn’t a very big town, and I couldn’t imagine the old geezer interested in gambling or women. That left food and drink. I started with Long Billy’s, where Pansy was still tied among the other horses. I actually hid from her as I slipped into the tavern, because if any horse would betray me, it was this one.
I seldom came to Long Billy’s, mainly because of my loyalty to Angelina. I didn’t know much about it except that Billy was the reason Angelina first came to Neceda, and that even though they lived in the same town they hadn’t spoken in over five years. Neither ever mentioned the other, and woe to the idiot who asked Angelina about it. I wondered if Billy was similarly touchy. It force
d people to make a choice of loyalties, and luckily the town split fifty-fifty, which let both establishments prosper.
Long Billy Hudson sure didn’t appear touchy right now, though. He sat on a stool behind the bar, holding forth to a half-dozen men and women young enough to be his children. He earned his name: six and a half feet tall and rail thin, with a round, open face always set in a smile. In five minutes he could convince you that you were his best friend for life.
I sidled up to the group in time to hear the end of the story. “No,” the bartender said, “they’re there to hold down Old Joe; he doesn’t go for that sort of thing, either!”
His audience laughed in appreciation. Ah, to be so young I hadn’t heard that joke a hundred times, I mused wistfully. At that moment Billy noticed me and scowled. “Eddie LaCrosse? Is that you?”
“It’s me,” I said. His entourage made room for me, so I leaned my arms on the bar. The girls, much drunker than the boys probably due to some selective pouring, eyed me provocatively. “Got a minute, Billy?”
“For a sword jockey on a case, always.”
One of the girls, a blonde who could barely keep her eyes open and her bodice closed, stumbled into me. “Ooh, you’re a sword jockey? Really?” She raised her thigh provocatively between my legs.
I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently away. Her skin was silky and firm. “No, honey, I’m just a figment of your imagination. I don’t really exist.”
She blatantly pressed her hand to my crotch. “Are you sure?” she giggled.
“Hey, sweetie, Eddie doesn’t play games,” Billy said. He pulled the girl away and firmly but gently pushed her into the welcoming arms of one of the boys. The girl did not seem to miss me.
Then Billy guided me across the floor into his office. It was neat, roomy, and reminded me of my own. I wondered what business a tavern owner like Billy needed it for. He offered me a drink from one of the expensive bottles on his desk. “So what can a lowly bartender do for you?” he asked.
I took the drink and tossed it down. It was smoother than the Biwabik infantry. “I’m looking for some VIPs I know are in town. Wondered if you’d seen them.”
He sat on the edge of his desk. “And who might that be?”
“Gordon Marantz.”
He nodded, appreciating the scale of the name. “That’s a VVIP in my line of work.”
“Mine, too.”
“Why do you want to find him?”
I smiled. “Billy, if I told you that, I’d have to slice out your tongue to keep you quiet about it.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Secrets aren’t my specialty.”
“But gossip is.”
“True. Everyone talks to their bartender. Even you, from what I hear.”
I didn’t take the bait. “Can you help me?”
“Well, I do owe you for making sure my flatbread supplier didn’t get muscled out by that bakery syndicate. Even though you weren’t working for me on that, I got the benefits of it. So I would help you if I could.” He spread his hands in a shrug. “But I haven’t seen Gordon Marantz in probably two years. If he’s in town, he hasn’t come in here.”
Many times my job came down to knowing who to trust. Billy had never lied to me, or intentionally misled me. He was slippery, but that wasn’t the same as dishonest. So I believed him.
“Somebody was asking about you, though,” he added. “Actually two somebodies.”
“Who?”
“A Captain Argoset from Sevlow. He was very specific: Wanted to know if you ever took work as killer for hire. And if you’d be willing to kill a woman.”
“Who else?”
“An old guy with big gloves on. He wanted to know if you’d been seen with a young blond girl.” He raised his eyebrows to imply his meaning.
“What did you tell them?”
Billy smiled. “Not a thing. I sent them both to Angelina’s. Told them you always took your business there, and seldom darkened my door.”
“I do have my office there.”
“Of course. And that’s fine. But…” He paused and chewed his lip as he thought. When he spoke again, he was more serious than I’d ever seen him. “I’m not going to say anything bad about Angie, Eddie. Really. Just… you’re a decent, straight-up guy. I try to be the same. Angie has different priorities.”
“Like what?”
His grin returned. “Hey, you’re the sword jockey, Eddie. You figure it out.”
That mystery, if mystery it was, would have to wait. I left Long Billy’s and resumed poking through town, seeking any sign of the gangster and old Tempcott.
Outside the Wheelspinner, one of the gambling houses where you might occasionally actually win, I saw the dark-skinned scribe again. He leaned against the wall and wrote on his vellum until he apparently made an error. With a curse I couldn’t hear over the crowd, he tore it from the pad in disgust and threw it to the street.
I stepped beneath the Wheelspinner’s awning and bent as if something was wrong with my boots. He began writing again, completed his notes and looked around at the crowded street, pondering his next move. Then he stepped into the crowd and vanished.
As soon as he was out of sight I scooped up his discarded note, getting it just before a horse trampled it into the mud. I held it so light from a hanging lantern shone on it.
Nothing in the sky. No strange sounds. No mention of Lam-
That’s where he stopped. Was he misspelling “Lumina”? No way to know without asking, and I didn’t have time for that. I crumpled the note and threw it back into the street. I checked every other possible place I could think of for my quarry until, at last, only one was left: Angelina’s. Lucky me.
I couldn’t just march in and look around, though. I was in disguise, sort of, and while Angelina could be trusted to keep her mouth shut, Callie would certainly give me away with a shout of surprise or a startled, “Mr. LaCrosse, your hair!” Not to mention I’d likely encounter lots of other people I knew. The hitching post was full, and as I approached a pair of drunken tinkers staggered out in mid-song. I caught the door with my fingertips as it swung closed, and risked a look inside.
The place was crowded, but not mobbed. Callie moved among the tables and Angelina was behind the bar. The smell was heavenly, and reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I saw no sign of Liz, Gary or any other familiar faces. But at the far end of the room, beside the booth known as “the hole” because its position hid its occupants from sight, Tempcott’s cane leaned against the wall. In the next booth sat three tough-looking men, bodyguards nursing their cups of ale and constantly scanning the crowd.
I let the door close and sighed. Any other establishment in town and I could’ve just sauntered nonchalantly in, taken a seat nearby and eavesdropped, but not here. So I had to be creative.
I went to the rear of the building and entered the kitchen where Rudy the cook nursed his concoctions. Rudy was short, wiry, and never seemed to gain any weight despite working around food. I was taught never to trust a skinny chef, but Rudy had a way with beef that would make a cow proud to be a steak. He looked up and was about to say something when I put my finger to my lips with one hand and held up a silver coin with the other. He took the money at the same time he recognized me, frowning at my new haircut and shave. I took a clean bowl from the rack and ladled some eel soup into it, then tore off a fist-sized chunk of bread. I stood in the shadows by the door and ate with no thought for etiquette until Angelina came back to get some more tankards.
“The hell?” she exclaimed softly when she saw me. “What happened to you?”
“I’m in disguise,” I said through a mouthful of eel-flavored bread. “Do you know who’s sitting out in the hole?”
“Yeah, I know. Why?”
“The string I’m pulling leads to him.”
“Then you better just let it go.”
“Sound advice. But I need to know who he’s talking to and what about.”
She shook her head
. “Can’t be done. His men are at the only table close enough.”
“ You could do it. Clean a table nearby, take a little too long getting an order.”
She stared at me for what felt like one of the longest moments in my life. “That’s Gordon Marantz,” she said at last.
“I know.”
“He’s been known to kill tavern owners over a bad bowl of soup.”
“That’s just one of those stories.”
“People don’t laugh when they hear it.”
“And it’d never happen here,” Rudy interjected.
“You’ll plug those ears if you know what’s smart,” Angelina barked at him. To me she said more calmly, “I’m sorry, Eddie, it’s too big a chance.”
“I understand, but this is important,” I said as I put the soup and bread aside. “One of the knots on that string I’m tugging is Hank Pinster.”
She scowled, annoyed by being put in this spot. I didn’t blame her. Suddenly Callie came into the kitchen, leaned against the wall and, with no warning or explanation, burst into sobs.
Angelina rolled her eyes and stomped over to her. I discreetly slid behind a stack of wooden lettuce boxes. “For fuck’s sake, Callie!” Angelina said, hands on her hips. “He was a minstrel; they’re like that! You can’t trust them, and you can’t depend on them!”
The girl could barely get words out in response. “He… said
… he loved… me…”
Angelina, with no warning, slapped the girl hard. Her hair snapped around over her face, and her sobs shut off like a wine cask spigot. Callie took a deep breath, brushed her hair aside and said quite calmly, “Thanks. That should hold me for a while.”
“That’s the fifth time tonight, Callie. People are going to think I beat you.”
“It’s the only way to get me out of it once it starts,” she said. She fanned her cheek with her hand. “No word from him, then?”