by Tom Lloyd
Sitain scowled. ‘You promised me the mercenary’s life would be all glamour and adventure.’
‘Pretty sure I didn’t.’
‘I still blame you anyway.’
‘Don’t worry, I blame me too.’
Atieno descended the narrow staircase and emerged into the oven room. Whether intentionally or not the wide central room of the building resembled a great tree formed from ancient unglazed clay. A fat oak trunk of a chimney rose in the centre, its sides dotted with a few dozen charms of blackened glass that bore the devices of Veraimin and Catrac. Snaking out from that were six bloated roots that extended halfway to the walls before opening out to reveal the glow of coals within.
The air was heady with baking bread and the meaty aroma of stew, a nimble team of bare-limbed children attending the various oven mouths while patrons sat at the booths and tables skirting the outer wall. The mood was muted, news of the massacre at the Fountain adding to a sense of disquiet in all parts of the city. Atieno laboured over to the booth Lastani had adopted as her own and slid in opposite her. She flinched and looked up with panic in her eyes, but only Atieno noticed. He’d not heard anyone mention her by name yet and when they did, they’d be describing her as a local girl.
Lastani now had white-blond hair just down to her chin, one advantage of Jarrazir’s prohibition being the plethora of alchemists selling all manner of potions, dyes and other chemicals. They couldn’t easily change her eye colour, but a new jacket and pale hair made her look as northern as the name she’d adopted in public, Kovrul, to evade attention a while longer.
‘Could you not bank the fires a bit?’ Atieno asked, pretending to shiver, as one of the grinning urchins scampered over.
The oven room put him in mind of a benign sort of hell – dim with a heart of leaping flames and oppressive heat, populated by gleeful imps of a minor devil. The child, a boy of no more than ten, bobbed his head and exposed a few more of the gaps in his teeth.
‘Fetch you a blanket too, grandad?’
‘That’d be kind. Maybe a warming stew as well?’
‘Day’s stew it is.’
Once the boy was gone, Lastani hissed and closed her book. ‘Veraimin’s breath! Why do you encourage them?’
‘You don’t know?’
She sighed. ‘I know why they started that with you; old stories about the south being a burning wastland, about black skin being—’
‘We both know,’ Atieno broke in gravely, ‘but the stories told by fools about my homeland aren’t their fault, and this is a white man’s city in case you’d not noticed. The idle jokes of children are easy enough to endure.’
‘So you play along and draw attention to us?’
‘You’d prefer I rage and glower? Confirm all that some cretin told them about men with my colour skin? Each child has had a conversation with me over the last few days, each one found out for themselves I’m a man like any other.’
‘Hardly that!’
He paused. ‘Well, aren’t you lucky that you can afford to think of yourself as better’n the rest. Men of my calling don’t get that luxury, we’re cursed as much as blessed.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘Most important,’ he interrupted with a wave of the hand, ‘they know us and like us. Customers who’re liked and pay on time don’t get informed on.’
He watched her chew his words over, reluctantly accepting he was right. Lastani was a highly intelligent young woman and a skilled mage, but her life had been a sheltered one. From her blushes and discomfort at pretending to be his young lover, she was inexperienced in a number of ways, but right now her inability to blend in was the one that concerned him.
Lastani possessed a blossoming beauty too that meant most men noticed her, a detail not helped by the fact she clearly didn’t belong on these streets. When not nervous and wary of everyone around her, Lastani bore an aloof and scholarly air that made her even more conspicuous. Thus far a warrant for her arrest hadn’t been announced, but it was common knowledge that a young woman had survived the opening of the Fountain. Soon the brown-jackets would be actively hunting her and as the population’s fear deepened, folk would start to wonder about the strangers around them.
‘You’re right, my apologies,’ Lastani said at last. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.’
Atieno smiled inwardly; ‘this’ being anything not considered proper for a nice girl from a good family. She’d not yet questioned that a wandering, dark-skinned mage would be anything but in his element when on the run amidst the lowest of her city’s society.
Not to mention the fact no one’s looking for me, he reminded himself, his gaze briefly drifting down to the silver ring on his left hand. But a coward can’t stick to the life he chooses and a fool is determined to. Somewhere between the two stands this old Vagrim.
‘Sitting out in the open reading three books at once isn’t much of a start,’ Atieno commented, dragging himself from his thoughts. He closed one and read the title embossed on the front. ‘A commentary on Three Ancient Translations. You prefer the exciting ones, I see.’
‘We must have overlooked something,’ Lastani hissed, ‘somewhere in the translations we used, the ones we did ourselves, we must have missed a crucial detail in the riddle. I’m going to find what it was, I’ve got to.’
‘To what end?’ Seeing her reaction to that Atieno softened his tone. ‘You’re torturing yourself. Even if you do find the mistake, it undoes nothing.’
‘But I …’
‘What’s more,’ Atieno continued, ‘you may be looking for something that does not exist.’
‘What would you have me do then?’ she asked helpessly, the glint of tears in her eyes.
He spread his hands. ‘Get out while you still can, how many more ways do you want me to say it? I wasn’t going to abandon you then and I don’t intend to now, but if you won’t see sense maybe I should just walk away.’
‘No, I have to defend our work, Mistr—my teacher’s good name. They’re saying all these deaths are her fault, but our work was sound and I can find no mention in any of the Duegar texts that any such defences existed.’
‘Give that a go if you end up on trial,’ he said. ‘Until then, get out and live a few more years. Find yourself a boy to make some glorious regrets with, see the wonders of the east perhaps. If the Monarch’s Inner Court wants a scapegoat, you’ll serve well – and trust me, sooner or later the blame’s going to start to fly.’
‘No,’ she insisted, ‘I must write a defence. The scholars of the city will know of our work, they will understand reason.’
‘They’ll keep their mouths shut and their heads down. Some girl with no power or influence starts contradicting the official line while the City Regiment hunts her? They’ll call that sedition and hang anyone who kicks up a fuss.’
Before Lastani could reply, a bowl of stew appeared on the table, steam curling around the edges of a slab of bread covering it. Atieno thanked the lad and set about his food as a young lutist made his way around the central oven, heading for a small raised bench across from the outside door. Soon the lad was singing a well-known lament, one an audience could normally be counted on joining in with, but today the room just watched him in captivated silence. Atieno barely noticed a woman in a drover’s hat enter the building as the lament built to its conclusion. It was only the cold air that crept in around her frost-kissed leather coat that caught his attention as she passed their table, but once he looked Atieno was quick to return to his meal.
The woman was armed, broad-limbed and beautiful but with a hard look about her that he doubted was just a result of the biting weather. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, warming her as she scanned the room. Something at the back of Atieno’s mind prickled a warning and he gently reached out to close Lastani’s remaining books, sliding them off the table and out of sight.
The girl frowned, but had at least learned to follow his lead in the last few days. She broke
off a piece of his bread, letting her hair obscure her face as she leaned over the food.
‘Owner?’ the newcomer asked one of the serving children, catching a girl’s arm.
‘I’ll fetch her, mistress,’ she squeaked nervously.
‘Tea as well,’ she said.
Off to her right there was a man eating alone and with a tilt of the head at him, she was waved down into the chair opposite. She kept her coat on despite the sultry heat of the room, looking like a braggart gunfighter until she wrapped her fingers gratefully around a clay mug of tea that was brought over. On the far side of the room, the girl she’d spoken to ducked through a narrow door, re-emerging into the half-light of the oven room a moment later.
Behind her was a tall woman, taller than Atieno even, with the olive skin of southern Parthain and ruddy, plump cheeks, her hair hidden beneath the many folds of a headscarf. Sulais, the owner of the Badren Ovens and chief demon among this tribe of infernal imps. She strode over and inclined her head to the woman who’d asked for her, not quite a bow but as much respect as the woman could ever muster in her own domain.
‘I am Sulais Badren. You asked for me?’
‘I did, thank you.’ The woman turned to her table companion. ‘Could you give us a few minutes?’
‘What? I …’
‘Just go for a piss and leave us girls to our gossip,’ the woman said firmly, her tone leaving little room for argument. The man spluttered a few moments longer then stopped as she fixed him with a hard look. Muttering he pushed himself up and headed towards the outhouse, leaving space for the owner to sit down with the stranger.
‘Our temple dues are all paid,’ Sulais started hesitantly, ‘our licences are all in order and …’
The newcomer raised a hand. ‘This isn’t a shakedown. I’m just looking for someone.’
‘Someone? I think you might have—’
‘A woman, Lastani Ufre.’
‘The mage?’ Sulais frowned. ‘You don’t strike me as the City Regiment type.’
‘I’m not. Just consider me an interested third party.’
‘If I knew where she was, why would’ve I not told the authorities already?’
The stranger shrugged. ‘She might not want to be found. If she is, she might find herself caught up in the games of others and that’s never a fun place to be.’
‘But you mean her no harm? Well I’m sure she’ll be glad to get such assurances from a foreign relic hunter.’
‘You ever known a relic hunter to care about what the local authorities want?’ the woman said, pointedly not denying anything. ‘Could be the girl can help me, make herself a worthwhile investment.’
‘Investment for what?’
‘She’s got valuable knowledge in that head of hers. She might want to get paid for that knowledge or she might want something in kind. Either way, getting arrested means her knowledge goes for free and I don’t get an advantage in bidding for the contract when the Monarch sends a team downstairs. She’s kept clear of friends and family so far, but she’ll be scared, her funds will be limited and the city’s mood is souring every day. She wants to talk to me and do some business, my name is Toil – she can leave a message for me at the Sothergen lodging house.’
Sulais nodded slowly. ‘Any reward on offer?’
‘Nope. I’m not looking to snatch her off the street,’ Toil said, leaning forward, ‘or make her disappear. If she tells me who passed on my message, they may get a generous tip next time I bring my custom their way. Which reminds me, have one of your kids fetch me a butter-loaf, largest you’ve got. There’s a little boy I need to bribe.’
Atieno rose at that point and whispered, ‘Stay here,’ to Lastani before he started off for the rear of the building where the outhouse was located. From there, he remembered, he could skirt around the oven room and see which way the woman was heading.
I can’t let her get too far ahead, not if I want to catch her in the street, he thought, glancing down at his heavy, stiff leg. Should have brought your walking stick down from your room, you proud old fool.
As he turned the corner he looked back as surreptitiously as he could and caught sight of a silver coin being tossed on to the table in payment, a gesture that spoke volumes given the price of bread. He drew back into the shadows of the corridor beyond and watched a few moments longer, trusting the woman wasn’t looking for anyone matching his description.
The strange woman, Toil, rose and drained her tea while Sulais gestured for one of her staff. A butter-loaf was fetched fresh from the warming racks and wrapped in a clean cloth before being handed over. Toil tucked it under her arm and adjusted her hat before offering a small bow to Sulais.
‘Thank you for your time, Mistress Badren,’ she said with a hint of humour in her voice.
She didn’t wait for a response, just turned and headed back out into the chill evening. Sulais was still sitting there, watching the closed door, as Atieno hurried out into the cold. He worked his way around the building as fast as he could, the rounded dome of the oven room a dark-tiled anomaly amid the snow-dusted roofs thereabouts.
The streets were near deserted as dusk fell, the suggestion of ghostly monsters enough to drive most indoors and the cold dissuading the rest. Walking was arduous, his lame leg feeling even more difficult in the cold, so once he’d reached the main door he thought he’d already lost sight of the woman. Luckily it turned out she’d headed down a long straight road that ran almost directly away from the front door. She was almost fifty yards ahead by the time he started off, but walking without haste so Atieno pushed on as fast as he dared.
The cold ground was slippery underfoot and just crossing the street was perilous to a limping man, but he pushed on with a long-practised shuffle. His stick was mostly there for balance when his muscles tired of the dead weight within, but Atieno figured he’d either quickly follow the woman to her next destination or be left behind. He could only walk quickly for a short period before his strength was drained. Anyone hurrying through the cold would soon leave him behind.
Atieno looked around the dark empty street as he limped forward, feeling vulnerable though he was the pursuer. He put his hand to his belt where there were three unobtrusive pouches riveted to the leather. Each one was a small quarter-sphere of steel with a short plate serving as a lid to keep the glass mage-beads inside safe, though they also were coated in wax to act as limited protection.
Most free mages who lived beyond the academic pursuits would have something similar, cherry-sized balls charged with magic to hurl when matters got desperate. It was rather more vital for a mage of tempest, however. Their magic exacted a toll on the wielder that no other sort imposed. The more reflexive and uncontrolled his magic, the greater the consequences.
He rounded a corner and found himself on a wide avenue – two ranks of bare pollarded plane trees lining the roadway. The evening was rapidly darkening, one small spot of light punctuating the night as red paper lanterns swung from a pillared dome above a roadside shrine to Catrac. There was no one kneeling at the shrine or anywhere else on the avenue, but still he felt eyes on him as he lurched after the woman, using what cover the line of tree trunks afforded. Atieno mumbled the words of a prayer as he went, but it was mostly habit nowadays, his faith turning to stone as the years went by.
Up ahead she turned right, almost cutting back in the direction she’d come, and Atieno slipped his hand over one bomb-pouch as a sixth sense kicked in. True enough, he turned into the side street only to be presented with a large man lounging against a wall, a mage-pistol in his hand, half-hidden by the folds of his coat.
‘Evening,’ the man called. His face was shaded by a tricorn hat and the high collar of his coat, but Atieno recognised the look all too well. He’d met a few Hanese mercenaries in his travels and none had been anything other than murderous thugs.
Atieno pulled the sphere from his pouch and held it up between finger and thumb.
‘No need for that, just want a chat with
you.’
‘We’ve nothing to discuss,’ Atieno replied. ‘Now let me pass.’
‘Now what sort of man would let you pursue a lone woman through the streets?’
‘She hardly looks helpless and vulnerable.’
The mercenary laughed. ‘Aye, true enough. Still, it’d be bad form o’ me.’
‘Better than risking a fight, though,’ Atieno pointed out, raising the ball a little higher.
‘Could be right there.’ The mercenary tilted his head to one side. ‘How about we put our cocks away then, talk more civilised?’
Atieno peered forward to get a better look at the man. Definitely Hanese and not some young buck out in the wider world in search of adventure.
‘Veteran?’ Atieno ventured.
‘Aye.’
‘And Hanese – hardly two details that scream “civilised chat”.’
‘Aye, well, you should hear what folk say about your lot back home,’ growled the mercenary. ‘Don’t mean you should play your cards blind now, does it?’
‘Your point is well made.’
‘Good.’ The man made a show of putting his gun back in its holster, going so far as to slip the cartridge out of the breech once he’d done so.
Atieno breathed out, tension having taken a grip of his chest, and replaced the ball. Too late did he sense someone behind him, advancing softly across the snowy ground. He had only half-turned before a wash of blackness swept over him and the world vanished around him.
Chapter 10
The barge slipped silently into darkness as it entered the great gloomy purgatory beneath Jarrazir’s Bridge Palace. Sotorian Bade watched the shadows slip over him like a familiar cloak settling on his shoulders. It had been a day of low sun sparkling on the tattered sail of cloud overhead, but now the sky was laden and dark, a faint scattering of snow whipping across the bows.