by Lisa Shearin
WILD CARD
A Raine Benares Novella
By Lisa Shearin
CONTENTS
The Novella
About This Series
About the Author
Also by Lisa Shearin
The Novella
There were three men waiting for me in my office. Though calling it “waiting” implied that they had an appointment.
They didn’t.
In my line of work, that told me they had violent intentions—either to threaten it or deliver it.
Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.
My name is Raine Benares. I’m a seeker. I find things and people. For the most part, it’s satisfying work. The crappy side is when certain individuals want me to find things that aren’t theirs—otherwise known as stealing—or locate and appropriate people who don’t want to be found—also known as kidnapping.
I refuse to do either one. I think I’m the only Benares who would refuse.
Let’s just say my family and I don’t draw our lines in the sand at the same place.
While they engaged in any number of less than legal professions, the one the Benares family was best known for was piracy. And whatever pirates took off a captured ship, be it plundered gold or pilfered people, all of it was fair game.
I had news for the trio in my office: I was not fair game, nor did I fight fair, as they were about to find out.
Even though I was still down the block from my office, the sentry crystal I’d installed above my office door gave me plenty of warning when I had uninvited and unwelcome guests. A simple linking spell connected the crystal to its twin mounted in a silver cuff around my wrist. A red dot on the cuff represented the heat signature from one person.
Right now there were three dots.
I sighed. Three dots, three reasons why I wished I’d stopped for coffee.
In half an hour, I had a meeting with a new client, a paying client. I always tried to be early in case they were. If I was to have any kind of luck at all today, I’d be able to clear my office of the three undesirables before she showed up.
The city of Mermeia in the kingdom of Brenir consisted of five islands. Way back when the city was coaxed into existence out of the marshes bordering the Daith Swamp, each major race settled an island; and for the most part, their descendants stayed there. Canals were all that separated the Districts from each other. Sometimes we even got along. Present-day Mermeia consists of five districts: the humans in one, elves in another, goblins in still another. The fourth and fifth were occupied by magic users of many races and the island housing the city government.
I lived and worked in the Sorcerers’ District: my home was above an apothecary shop on Mintha Row, with my office above a magical instruments shop four blocks over. The proprietor rented out space to a few who, like me, found it prudent not to do business where they lived. Crystal balls, scrying mirrors and other favorites relied on by mediocre talents were displayed in the front window. She kept the quality stuff in the back, available only to a few select clients she deemed capable of wielding them. Too many deaths were bad for business.
I paused at the foot of the stairs. My office door was half-open and I could hear voices coming from inside. I recognized one of them by name. The other two voices were deeper and belonged to the muscle that made the first voice feel important. I had multiple locks on my door—both magical and mundane—but even though Ocnus Rancil didn’t rank very high on my list of dangerous people, he’d had enough skill to get past my physical locks, and obviously enough magic to negate the wards. The little bastard had probably shredded them in the process, earning him yet another black mark next to his name.
Since I was early, Ocnus and his boys probably weren’t expecting me quite yet, and I’d operate on that assumption. I knew which of the wooden stairs to my office creaked and which ones didn’t. I reached the landing outside my office door without a sound. I wore my swords in a leather harness on my back. After loosening them in their scabbards, I slid my shirt cuffs back slightly, clearing the way for the long daggers strapped to my forearms. I stepped around the corner and leaned casually against the doorframe.
Ocnus Rancil had made himself at home behind my desk, his grubby fingers pawing through my client records.
“Morning, Ocnus.”
He yelped and the handful of papers he held flew into the air. I hated the thought of sorting and refiling it all, but the look on Ocnus’s pudgy face was worth it.
“You could’ve just made an appointment,” I told him. “It’d have been easier.”
The hulking, hobgoblin muscle silently arranged themselves against opposite walls. I walked between them to the middle of the office, my hands loose by my sides, ready to move. I didn’t intend to be violent, just prepared.
Ocnus Rancil was a goblin. The vast majority of goblins were tall, sleek, and considered wicked sexy by anything with a pulse. Ocnus was the exception to all three. Rumor had it there was troll snuffling around somewhere in his bloodline.
“If you’re looking for something,” I added, “I’m good at helping people find things—but only if those things belong to them to begin with.”
“My client’s business is none of yours, Seeker.”
He sneered the last word as if it were a bad thing. Seeking wasn’t the flashiest occupation a sorceress could put out her shingle for, or the most highly regarded, but it paid the rent on time. I debated whether to take Ocnus’s insult personally. I decided to wait. I could always be offended later. With Ocnus there were ample opportunities. Right now I wanted to know what he was after.
“You’re in my office, so it is my business.”
Ocnus ignored the papers on the floor. “My client wants a meeting with Phaelan Benares.”
I groaned inwardly. My cousin had been at it again.
Next to my Uncle Ryn, the most feared pirate in the seven kingdoms was his son, and my cousin, Captain Phaelan Benares. He plied his trade across all of their oceans, seas, harbors, and various waterways—and that trouble nearly always extended to whatever port city he was in at any given time.
“I’m not my cousin’s keeper,” I said. “No one could pay me enough to take that job.”
I’d said variations on those two sentences often enough that they came out automatically whenever anyone came around looking for Phaelan. While they could have been looking for any number of reasons, none of those reasons had ever been good, or anything I’d wanted to be even remotely connected to.
“Let me guess,” I continued. “Your client thinks that Phaelan has stolen his money, insulted his honor, boffed his wife or girlfriend, or insert other offence here.”
“Yes,” Ocnus said.
“Which one?”
The little goblin paused, apparently running down my litany of possible Phaelan offences.
“One and three,” he finally said.
I sighed.
“And number two because of one and three.”
My cousin had been a busy boy, but then he always was the go-getter in the family.
“Wife or girlfriend?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Dammit, Phaelan.
“So you want me to set up a meeting because your client is too scared—or has too much good sense—to go looking for Phaelan himself. And rather than going to the Fortune where you’d never get anywhere near Phaelan before his crew cut you into bait-sized chunks, you come here.” I spread my hands. “Where there’s no crew and no bait buckets.”
Ocnus folded his meaty hands on my desk as his small eyes glanced toward Thug #1 and both men took one step forward.
I saw where this was going, and my cousin was going to owe me, big-time.
I shook my head and made tsking sounds. “Threaten me to ma
ke Phaelan meet with your client? Someone didn’t think this through. After all this time, you don’t know me or my cousin, do you, Ocnus?”
I didn’t think I was making a dangerous gamble. As far as violence was concerned, magical or otherwise, Ocnus Rancil wasn’t really worthy of consideration. His muscle-bound bookends didn’t rate much higher. They were good at one thing—being big. To their credit, they did it very well, but speed, either of thought or action, wasn’t a skill either one possessed.
Ocnus squirmed, settling his bulk more comfortably in the chair. My chair. A chair I would be cleaning within an inch of its life as soon as Ocnus’s ample posterior left it. “I’ve been authorized to make you an offer, Mistress Benares.”
My back stiffened. “I’m listening.”
“My client would like to meet with Captain Benares at a warehouse he owns. It’s a mere three blocks from where the Fortune is docked. He can even bring six members of his crew.”
“Six. How generous.”
“My client sends his assurances that he only wants to talk.”
I stared at Ocnus for a good long time before responding. “And if Phaelan says no—or if I refuse to even ask him?”
“Then my client would be forced to offer additional incentives to secure your cooperation. Unfortunate and regrettable incentives.” Ocnus’s fleshy lips spread in his idea of a smile. “You wouldn’t like them, Mistress Benares, and neither would your adoptive family.”
I considered Tarsilia Rivalin, the proprietor of the apothecary shop above which I lived, and Piaras, her grandson and apprentice, as family. My mother had died when I was young, and Tarsilia had filled that void in many ways. Piaras was like the little brother I never had.
No one threatened my family.
I crossed to my desk in two strides. I felt rather than heard the thug to my left move toward me. I ignored him. I put my hands flat on my desk and leaned over it until my face was inches from Ocnus’s own. My hands were open, but hardly empty. The daggers were insurance against interruption. I had something else in mind for Ocnus.
“Call them off,” I said through clenched teeth.
He looked at my daggers and his head jerked in a nod. I felt the looming presence retreat.
I wasn’t counting on daggers or threats to get the results I wanted. I’d had it with Ocnus Rancil, and he needed to know that in no uncertain terms. The goblin wouldn’t go anywhere near my cousin. He needed to start applying that same caution to me.
Generally I stayed away from curses. They were mean, and I was not a mean person. But threaten the people I loved, and I would get vindictive all over your ass.
The words to the curse were short, sweet, and to the point. Perfect for when you didn’t want to waste words—or any more time—on someone. However, I put a three-day time limit on it. Fire fleas took four to reproduce. Like I said, I wasn’t a mean person, but I never hesitated to teach a deserving individual a well-earned lesson.
Ocnus started to twitch as the fleas scurried under his clothes; then his piglike eyes widened to almost normal proportions.
He knew exactly what I’d done.
I smiled sweetly. It’s nice to have one’s work appreciated.
“Tell your client that if he or any of his people, including you, get within one block of the Rivalins’ home, I will hunt all of you down and make what will be happening to you in the coming hours and days feel like a trip to a Rina spa.” I leaned forward. “And guess what, Ocnus?”
His bottom lip quivered. “What?”
“Next time it’s spiders, thousands of itsy-bitsy spiders.”
As I leaned toward him, Ocnus leaned back. My desk chair creaked ominously under his weight.
I smiled and it was genuine. “And you might not want to do that, either.”
The chair flipped back, Ocnus squealed, and both landed on the floor. I’d been meaning to fix that chair. Really.
Thug #1 hurried to help his boss off the floor. Thug #2 thought about drawing his sword. He thought too long. Mine was already out and leveled at his throat.
“Get out.” I didn’t take my eyes or my blade off the man, though my words were for Ocnus. “If you keep annoying me, or anyone I know, you won’t have to come looking for me again, I’ll find you. And you know I can.”
Ocnus’s hands shook as he straightened his robes and swatted frantically at what was crawling beneath.
“I will tell my client that you refused to assist him,” Ocnus said. “He will be disappointed.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Ocnus managed to look scared and smug at the same time. Then he smiled, and the smugness won out. “No, he won’t.”
They left, shutting the door behind them.
I blew my breath out and put away my blades. Damn, I needed some coffee.
*
The solace of roasted, ground, and brewed beans was not to be.
After dealing with Ocnus and his boys, in addition to coffee, I needed sugar, and I wanted it now. Maira Takis’s bakery was usually my first destination of the morning for coffee and sugar knots. But my appointment would be here any minute, so buttery, sugar-dusted, fried-doughy goodness would have to wait. My stomach minded, but I didn’t. This meeting promised to be interesting.
Rather than send a servant to request an appointment with me, Lady Kaharit had come to the instrument shop yesterday afternoon and spoken with Willa, the owner, who acted as my receptionist when I wasn’t in the office. Whatever was bothering my potential client was serious and sensitive enough for her to come herself. That was the first item of interest. The second? Lady Kaharit was a goblin. Goblins didn’t come to elves for help. Period. And since a goblin was about to do just that, flavored ices were about to be served in the Lower Hells. That was worth missing coffee and sugar knots for.
Goblins and elves had what you might call a history. Every hundred years or so, the two races had themselves a war that accomplished nothing except to lay the groundwork for the next one—that is, if you’d call that an accomplishment. I didn’t.
Though elves might have had a wee bit more reason to be paranoid around goblins, and I didn’t think that because I was an elf myself. About every other war involved the goblins enslaving elves to work in their mines. That was the sort of thing a race tended to take personally—and made them hold on to the resulting grudge with an iron grip that never let go.
Goblins were just as uncomfortable being around elves. However, not all of that discomfort came from racial animosity. The two races simply weren’t awake and out and about at the same times. Elves loved sunshine. Goblins were mainly nocturnal, by preference bordering on necessity. They could be out during the day if they had to, but their dark eyes were painfully sensitive to sunlight. Shops and businesses in the Goblin District opened at twilight, then remained open throughout the night and into the first few daylight hours. The early evening and early morning hours were for those of other races who preferred not to be in the Goblin District at night. If goblins had to go out during the day, they usually went hooded and wearing dark-lensed spectacles.
In my opinion, dig down deep and the cause of all racial distrust and hatred in the seven kingdoms throughout history boiled down to one thing.
They are not like us.
Movement down in the street outside my window caught my attention. There was a lot of movement any time of any day on the street in front of my office; it was only the unusual that caught my eye.
It was midmorning, but it was already hot and muggy. Two people crossed the street in front of my office wearing cloaks with full hoods. I was betting that one of them was my appointment. And she’d brought an armed retainer. The tip of a sword scabbard protruded from beneath the cloak’s hem, the broad shoulders indicated a male, and the fact that he was walking two steps behind and to the right of the smaller figure indicated that he was a servant.
My door was still open from Ocnus’s exit, and I’d left it that way. Cloaked or not, anyone who had passed Lady Kah
arit and her guard knew they were goblins, and cloaked or not, I imagined they’d been subjected more than once to comments no one should have directed at them. I wanted to make sure they felt welcome at my door.
I heard the outer door open and close, but no footsteps on the stairs.
I stood. Time to put out the welcome mat.
I stepped out onto the landing, clasping my hands loosely in front of me, careful to be as nonthreatening as possible considering the amount of steel I was wearing. I had to admit it wasn’t exactly what most people expected from their friendly neighborhood seeker.
“Be welcome in my house,” I said in formal Goblin. Technically my office wasn't my house, though I’d had to sleep here on more than one occasion, but the Goblin language didn’t have a word for office, at least not one that I knew. Better to make the sincere effort to speak faulty, though acceptable, Goblin.
The slighter figure raised gloved hands to push back her hood, and I detected a small smile.
Yep, I’d used the wrong word, but Her Ladyship didn't seem to mind.
“Your welcome honors me.” Lady Kaharit held out her arm and her escort took it. To help him up the stairs.
His hood fell back, revealing an elderly goblin somewhere between eighty and ancient. If his body was as frail as his face looked, I was surprised that sword hadn’t tipped him over.
I hurried down the stairs. “Sir, can I—”
He raised the hand not holding Lady Kaharit’s arm, and his lips twitched in a smile. “I'm not as far gone as I appear, Mistress Benares.”
I figured the best way I could help was to simply stay out of the way. I went back to the landing and waited for them to get there.
It didn’t take that long, but I was glad I kept ale and brandy for clients who might need refreshing—or reviving.
I offered drinks, even though it was a little early in the morning, at least for an elf. For a goblin, it could be a nightcap. Lady Kaharit declined, her companion accepted brandy, and considering the way my day had gone so far, I poured one for myself.