His eyebrows rose. “You think him dangerous?”
“No.” She frowned and looked toward the window. “Not dangerous. But one day his … his thoroughness may do more harm than good.”
“Like now,” Rothen said. “He has you too well caged and cowed to do what you know you are the best person to do: find this rogue and bring her to the Guild.”
She stared at the window. The University lay just outside, and beyond that the city, and a woman who was using magic – possibly to kill. “It will not be like before. Cery said she was older, so she may have many years of using magic behind her. And he suspects she is the Thief Hunter.”
“Then it is even more important that we find her quickly,” Regin said. “Before she shifts from killing criminals to anyone who gets in her way.”
Sonea thought of Cery’s family and shuddered. She may already have done that. She turned from the window and looked from Regin to Rothen. “But if I openly defy the restrictions to my movements, I’ll draw attention and censure before we can find her.”
Rothen smiled. “Then it is not entirely our fault we are forced to work in secret. Still, there is no point taking needless risks. As soon as you find out anything, send messages to the both of us. One of us can investigate if you cannot slip away to do it yourself.”
Sonea looked at Regin, who nodded. A wave of relief washed over her. It was a compromise. Not a perfect compromise, though. Failing to bring the matter to the Higher Magicians might still be frowned upon, but at least she wouldn’t be risking that they’d make a mess of finding the woman themselves. But it did mean Rothen and Regin were going to face disapproval from the Guild when it was revealed that they hadn’t passed the information on, either.
Let’s hope Regin is right, and it’ll be overlooked when they find they’ve got a captured rogue to deal with.
“I had better go,” Regin said. He inclined his head to Sonea. “I will be ready to give my assistance when you require it.” He nodded to Rothen, who returned the gesture, then walked to the door and left the room.
Once he had gone, Sonea sat down and let out a sigh. At least I know the hunt is in the right hands, she thought wryly. I have enough to worry about already, with Lorkin in Sachaka and the hospices full of roet users.
“You look tired,” Rothen told her, moving to the side table to prepare sumi and raka for them both.
“I worked the night shift.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospices lately.”
She shrugged. “It gives me something to do.” Then she gave a short laugh. “And now I have even more to do, ferrying information about the rogue to you and Regin.”
“The hospices will take care of themselves,” he told her. Moving to the chairs, he handed her a cup of steaming raka. “And we’ll take care of you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “You and Regin?”
He nodded. “I told you: he’s matured into a sensible young man.”
“Young man?” Sonea scoffed. “Only in comparison to yourself, old friend. He’s only a year or two younger than me, with two grown daughters.”
“Even so,” Rothen replied with a chuckle. “He’s improved a great deal from the novice you thrashed in the Arena.”
Sonea looked away. “He’d have to, wouldn’t he? Couldn’t have got much worse.” She gave him a searching look. “Can we trust him, do you think?”
He met her eyes, his expression serious. “I believe so. He has always valued the integrity of his House and family, and the Guild. It was the source of his arrogance as a young man and is now his motivation as an adult. It bothers him that so much lawlessness has crept in to all those things. This is another way he can help set things to right. He’s sensible enough to realise the best way is for us to do it together, in secret. The Guild may not make a mess of finding the rogue, but there’s a chance they will. We can’t take that chance.”
“You’re probably right.” Sonea grimaced. “And you had better be right about Regin, because if he wants to make my life unpleasant he certainly has the means to do it now.”
The Black Tub bathhouse wasn’t as clean as Cery would have liked. It stank of mould and the cheap perfume meant to mask the odour, and the gowns he and Gol had been given bore some interesting repairs and stains. But the place was the only establishment within sight of the pawnshop that they could plausibly linger in, so it needed investigation.
They had been led to a changing room and left there. It was on the first floor, with cheap undecorated window screens hiding the customers from the street. After changing into the gowns, Gol had slipped out of the room to investigate those next to it and Cery had moved a chair to one of the windows. Cery slid the screen open and smiled in satisfaction as he saw that the pawnshop was within view.
The door opened again, but it was only Gol returning.
“What do you think?”
“There’s nobody in the rooms around us, but I can’t vouch for upstairs. We can talk, but quietly.” Then he grimaced. “It’s a bit run down.”
“And the service is slow,” Cery agreed. “Probably from lack of staff.” He indicated the window. “But the view is good.”
Gol moved closer and peered outside. “It sure is.”
“We should take it in turns. One watching while the other scrubs up.”
The big man grimaced. “The water better not be as bad as this place smells.” He moved another chair and sat down. “Did our friend say anything about how she intended to do her business?”
Cery shook his head. Sonea’s message had been cryptic, saying only that she would be dealing with the matter he had drawn her attention to, thanking him for the information and telling him to send any further news to the hospice. Clearly she was being cryptic in case the letter was intercepted. If she is dealing with the matter of the rogue then it’s unlikely she’s told the Guild anything. They wouldn’t trust her with the task of finding the woman.
A knock came from the door. Cery slid closed the screen back across the window.
“Come in,” he called.
The same thin young woman who had led them to the changing room opened the door and stepped inside. She did not meet their eyes.
“The bath is nearly ready. Would you like it warm or hot?”
“Hot,” Cery replied.
“Would you like it scented? We have—”
“No,” Gol interrupted firmly.
“Do you have a little salt?” Cery asked. He’d heard a salt bath was good for sore muscles, and he was still aching from the practice knife-fight bout he’d had that morning. It was also good for cleaning bad water, too.
“We do.” She named a price that raised Gol’s eyebrows.
“We’ll have it,” Cery told her.
The girl nodded politely and left the room. Turning to the window, Cery opened the screen again and glanced outside. The street was busier now.
“Should we convince Makkin the Buyer to help us?” Gol asked. “He’s already scared of her so it won’t make her suspicious if he acts a bit nervous.”
“He’s the sort that’ll cooperate with whoever he’s most scared of,” Cery replied. “If he knows she has magic he’ll be more scared of her than us.”
“She sent him out of the room before she opened the safe. That suggests to me he doesn’t know she has magic.”
“Yes, but …”
Gol hissed. Cery looked at the man and found him staring out of the window.
“What?”
“Is that her? In front of Makkin’s shop.”
Cery spun back to the window. A stooped woman had stopped in front of the shop. Her hair was streaked with grey. For a moment Cery was sure Gol was mistaken – so much so that he was about to tease him – then the woman turned her head to survey the street. He felt a shiver of recognition.
He looked at Gol. Gol stared at him. Then they both looked down at the wraps they were wearing.
“I’ll go,” Gol said. “You watch.” He leapt over to the pile of clo
thes he’d removed and hastily began to dress. Cery turned back to the window and watched as the woman entered the shop.
His heart was hammering. He felt every muscle in his body slowly tense, and counted every breath.
“She still in there?”
“Yes,” Cery replied. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see you’re following her. Even if you have to pay someone to—”
“I know, I know,” Gol said impatiently. Cery heard him open the door. At the same time he saw the door to the shop open and the woman stepped out.
“She’s leaving,” he said.
Gol didn’t reply. Cery turned to find the big man gone and the door swinging open. He looked back down into the street and caught a glimpse of the woman just before she moved out of view. A moment later Gol appeared. Cery breathed a sigh of relief as his friend and bodyguard headed in the same direction, his steps confident.
Take care, old friend, Cery thought.
“Um … sorry for the wait.”
He turned to find the bathhouse girl standing in the doorway. Her eyes shifted from him to the window screen then to the floor. Cery closed the screen and stood up.
“The bath is ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good. My friend had to leave. Take me to the bath.”
Her shoulders drooped at the loss of a customer, then she gestured for him to follow and led him out of the room.
CHAPTER 18
THE TRAITOR
As the slave whimpered, his head squeezed between the large hands of Ashaki Tikako, Dannyl couldn’t help wincing. Though Dannyl had never had his mind read by a black magician, if the reaction of this man’s slaves was anything to go by, he gathered it wasn’t a pleasant experience.
Tikako gave a gasp of anger and frustration and thrust the slave away. The man fell back onto a shoulder, then scrambled away on all fours as his master shouted at him to leave. The slaves kneeling nearby, waiting their turn to be questioned, hunched as the Ashaki’s attention turned to them.
There weren’t many slaves left. Dannyl had counted over eighty so far. None of them had produced any useful information about Lorkin and Tyvara. They couldn’t even confirm if Tyvara had ever spoken to anyone within the estate.
The master’s finger jabbed, and a young woman reluctantly came forward, shuffling on knees reddened from long contact with the rough stone pavement. Tikako grabbed her head before she had even settled before him. Her brows knit together, and Dannyl could not help holding his breath and hoping she would prove to be holding the secret to Lorkin’s whereabouts, even if that did mean she would probably be killed for not coming forward with the information when her master first demanded it.
After a long pause Tikako stared at her, then with a wordless roar of fury he half lifted, half tossed her away from him. Her eyes flew open as he sent her flying across the room. She crashed into one of the large pottery jugs spaced along the walls, from which pretty, flowering plants spilled. Rising to a sitting position, she blinked slowly, her eyes glazed.
Dannyl bit back yet another curse. The brutality of these people. They like to think they are so dignified, with all their rituals and hierarchy, but underneath they still are as cruel as the histories have always described them. After today, Dannyl knew he would not easily forget why the Sachakans were so feared, even when his hosts were being perfectly respectful and well mannered. It was not the power they held that made them cruel, but their willingness to use it to dominate those weaker than themselves.
The girl had not risen to her feet. Nor had any of the other slaves moved to help her. As Ashaki Tikako called another slave, Dannyl slipped away from Ashaki Achati’s side and approached her. She blinked at him in surprise, then looked down quickly as he crouched at her side.
“Let me see that,” he said. She passively bowed her head as he examined the back of her skull. It was bleeding and starting to swell. He placed a hand against the wound and concentrated, sending magic to heal the wound. Her eyes widened, and her gaze cleared.
“Better?” he asked, as he finished.
She nodded, then leaned closer to him.
“The ones you seek are gone,” she told him in a quiet voice. “He is dressed as a slave now, his skin dyed to look like us. They are taking a cart to the master’s country estate to the west.”
“Do you mean … ?” Dannyl began. But she shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it, and backed away from him.
“Don’t waste your power, Ambassador.” Dannyl looked up to see Ashaki Tikako smirking at him. “She won’t cost much to replace.”
Dannyl rose to his feet. “Saving you even a little money is the least I can do after you spent so much time and effort questioning your slaves.”
“Without much success, I admit.” Tikako sighed and regarded the last five slaves. He beckoned wearily, his anger now turned to resignation.
As the master began to read their minds, Dannyl moved back to Ashaki Achati’s side. The man gave him a questioning look. Dannyl shook his head slightly. He couldn’t tell Achati what he’d learned within hearing of Tikako. If Tikako learned that the slave had managed to conceal something from his mind-read he would be humiliated. The slave would be questioned again, and possibly killed. That was hardly a nice way to repay her for the information.
Though it is possible it was a decoy. Dannyl frowned. Why not tell her master when he first asked for information, then? If she did not want him to know, why did she tell me? Is her master working with the woman who abducted Lorkin?
Whatever the reason, clearly the Sachakan mind-reading method wasn’t as thorough as they thought it was. Ashaki Tikako sent the last slave away and turned to Dannyl and Achati. He apologised for failing to find Lorkin. Yet there was a defensive tone to his voice. He felt vindicated. None of his slaves had been hiding fugitives. None had lied about knowing nothing.
Or perhaps they did know, and he pretended to find nothing to protect his pride and honour – or involvement in the abduction.
Achati seemed satisfied, however. He thanked Tikako and told him his assistance would be rewarded. Soon he and Dannyl were walking back to the carriage, farewelling their host and climbing inside. Achati’s two slaves, both young men, looked relieved to be leaving.
When the vehicle had rolled out through the gates to Tikako’s mansion, Achati turned to Dannyl, his forehead creased with worry.
“I don’t know where to go next, I have to confess. I—”
“Westward,” Dannyl told him. “Lorkin is dressed as a slave now, and he and Tyvara are in a cart heading for Ashaki Tikako’s country estate.”
Achati stared at him, then smiled. “The slave girl. She told you this?”
“Yes.”
“Your methods of investigation, unlikely as they may be, do appear to be working.” The man’s smile faded. “Hmm. That means … that suggests one of the worst possibilities I have been considering may be the correct one.”
“That Ashaki Tikako read this in his slave’s mind and did not tell us because he is involved with the kidnapping of Lorkin, or that Sachakan mind-reading methods aren’t as effective as they ought to be?”
Achati shrugged. “The first is unlikely. Tikako is related to the king and is one of his greatest supporters. The second has always been the case. You need time and concentration to fully search a mind.” He grimaced. “But it is the way of the mind that what it most wants to hide tends to be in its thoughts when it is being read. Tikako should have seen this information. The fact that this girl managed to hide it hints at abilities that she should not have. Abilities that only the members of a particular group of rebels have.”
“Rebels?”
“They call themselves the Traitors. They use women slaves to do their spying and to carry out assassinations and abductions. Some – mostly women – believe they are a society made up only of women, because it is women in difficult and unfortunate circumstances they most often take. I suspect it is a rumour to encourage cooperation from their v
ictims, and the real reason for stealing the women is to sell them into slavery, here or in some other country.”
Dannyl felt a chill run down his spine. “What do they want with Lorkin, then?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes they meddle in politics. Usually with bribes or blackmail, but sometimes by assassination. The only gain I can see for them in abducting Lorkin is embarrassing the king.” He frowned, thoughtfully. “Unless they want to stir up a war between our countries.”
“Surely they would have killed Lorkin if that was their intention.”
Achati’s expression was grim as he met Dannyl’s eyes. “They may still intend to.”
“Then we have to find them quickly. Are there many west-leading roads to Tikako’s country estate?”
The Sachakan didn’t answer. His expression was of distracted puzzlement. “Why tell us?” he said.
“Who?” Dannyl asked.
“The slave girl. Why did she tell you how to find Lorkin if she is a Traitor? Is she trying to put us off the trail?”
“Perhaps the Traitors aren’t involved, and want to avoid being blamed for Lorkin’s abduction.”
Achati’s frown deepened. “Well, it is the only clue we have. Decoy or not, we have no alternative but to pursue it.”
The road to Tikako’s country estate bore a constant stream of traffic, forcing Lorkin to follow Tyvara’s advice and not speak in case his Kyralian accent drew attention. He could not ask her where they were going, or question her more about her people, or the people who had tried to kill him. His skin itched from the dye that coated it. She frowned at him disapprovingly if he scratched it, and kicked his ankle gently if he forgot himself and looked directly at the people they passed – even the slaves. This was immensely frustrating, and made the slow pace of the cart, hauled by an ancient-looking horse, almost unbearable.
From time to time he stole a glance at her, noting the tension in her body and the way she chewed at her lip. He could not also help admiring her near-flawless brown skin. It was the first time he’d seen her outside and in sunlight, rather than in the glow of lamp or magical globe light. Her skin had a healthy sheen and he found himself wondering if it would be as warm to touch as Riva’s had been. Then the inevitable memory came of Riva’s dead, staring eyes and he’d look away.
The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy Page 24