Felice shrugged. “The clues were there; I only had to see them and draw the correct conclusions.”
“Exactly! Most people seldom see what’s in front of them. But you’ve made a business of it. A well-paying business at that.”
“Get to the point.”
The woman’s face became hard, and Felice immediately regretted her tone and choice of words. This lady didn’t just have wealth; she had power. But one thing puzzled Felice: she’d gathered extensive notes on the nobles and those who profited from them, and she’d never run across this woman before.
“Felicienne Shyrise, I know quite a bit about you. You make most of your ducats from Dominion tournaments, though you only fleece an occasional wealthy noble or merchant. You have six properties and a number of investments under different names. You keep yourself busy by doing odd jobs for people: finding things, unearthing affairs, and now, bringing murderers to justice.”
“Aren’t you well informed? Is there anything else about myself you think I should know?”
The woman smiled thinly. “The person we’re looking for will be at the event, or so my sources tell me. And I think they’re right. The tournament is quite the spectacle, and a prime opportunity for a statement of dissent. Or more disorder. You’ve shown me you’re the right woman to help out with a little problem I have. I want you to play. You are to keep your eyes and ears open.”
“And who might this person be? Oh…you don’t know!”
“Someone was pulling Larard’s strings, stirring him up to create unrest. Larard is just a symptom, an indication of far worse to come. What we really want is the cause. I’m on their tail, but I need help. And I think you’ll help me.”
“Will I now?” She’d asked the question, but Felice already knew she’d go along with this woman’s plan. It fit her ambitions, after all, and she needed to atone for what had happened to Flo. If Larard was only one cog in a machine, then she wanted the mastermind.
The woman smirked, a hard glint in her eyes. “You will. I can open doors for you, and it always pays to have someone higher than you in your debt. You want money and influence? I can help you with that, introduce you to the right people. My people.”
“So I do what I planned to all along, and my career is made and you’re in my debt? Come now. Nothing is that easy. Why do I get the feeling I’m the goat tied to a stake?”
The woman stood and stretched her back. “Whether you are prey or the hunter depends on you, Felice. I have an initial task for you. Go to the tanner’s on Shoe Lane, in Aspic Bend. Ask for Sparrow. Tell him Constance sent you. He’ll outline what’s required of you.”
So that’s her name. Or the one she’s using at the moment. “Is that where you buy your boots?” It wasn’t, of course. Aspic Bend was a seedy district nestled in one of the bends of the river Sorbasi, which was one of three rivers meandering through The Capital. Constance’s boots had been made by Jorg Arwin, a leatherworker only the wealthy could afford. Felice recognized his mark pressed into the ankle of the boots.
“Ignorance pays, as they say,” continued Felice. “But in this case, I think I should know who you’re working for. I don’t want to inadvertently compromise a parallel investigation because I don’t know who our allies are.” Felice had a fair idea already. Some noble with far too many gold ducats and time on their hands.
“You would have put the pieces together soon enough. Not only have these murders started up, but there have been a number of thefts lately. From warlocks, no less. The Emperor has tasked me with the investigation. But it’s become somewhat…complex.”
Pignuts. Felice glanced at Squall and Whisper, but they both remained unmoved. Not the reaction she’d expected from them. Felice had heard of the thefts. The Emperor’s warlocks were livid. She was secretly pleased someone had the audacity to poke them in the eye.
“The culprit,” Constance continued, “has been spoiling my plans, making a nuisance of themselves. There’s a strategy of orchestrated chaos, but each time I try to close in on a part of it, I’m thwarted. And the mastermind has been taunting me, sending me gifts. I mean to stop them. And if you make yourself valuable, there’s a lot more in it for you than ducats. I can always use good help.”
“Couldn’t we all. So what’s this miscreant’s name?”
“He or she—who knows?—calls themselves Slake. Or so the cards that come with the gifts say.”
What kind of man would taunt someone like that? Perhaps he was deranged. “Maybe he’s thirsty.” But Felice knew that slake was also the name of a rare, extremely poisonous fish, which was only found in the warmer oceans of the deep south.
The woman shrugged. “It’s also a poisonous fish, so perhaps they have a proclivity for the dramatic.”
Hmmm. “I didn’t know that.”
“My proposal to you is meet with Sparrow and see what he has to say. Then play in the Dominion tournament, but keep your eyes and ears open for anything untoward. I’ll have a few of my people there, in case they’re needed.”
This wasn’t what Felice desired. And she was sure it wasn’t what the mercenaries wanted. When you became entangled in politics and the nobles’ business, you were sure to be used and abused. The bloody Emperor, a powerful sorcerer who’d ruled over the Mahruse Empire for centuries. She’d studiously avoided entanglements with the top tier of nobility, along with sorcerers, and especially the Emperor’s warlocks.
One job, she said to herself. A chance to prove herself, earn a few favors, bring Larard’s employer to justice, and make things right.
“I’ll do it,” Felice said.
~ ~ ~
Five things were bothering Felice. For a start, there was the fact it was pouring rain, her feet inside her boots were soaking wet, and she looked as bedraggled as a…well, whatever animal was unwise enough to get caught in the rain. Then there was her walking through Aspic Bend in the late evening, where she couldn’t see to avoid refuse, which, even worse, was tossed into the streets. Something stuck to the bottom of her boot, and she wasn’t able to scrape it off. There were no sorcerous globes here to illuminate the night. Even bolted to walls, they lasted less than a day before they were stolen, but their steady light now brightened many a house in the district.
Thirdly, there was Constance, though it was unlikely that was her real name. Felice knew too much, and she was sure there wouldn’t be an easy way out of this bind. Fourthly, who was Constance? Was she really in the Emperor’s employ? She’d been remarkably obtuse. Of course, Felice reckoned she could put it all together, but why go to that trouble if the woman could have spelled it out? And lastly, if someone was pulling Larard’s strings, and stealing from warlocks, it pointed to a mess among powerful players she might regret placing herself in the middle of.
Although Constance had said she’d been after the murderers herself, and arrested their leader, she’d left them to perpetrate their horrible crimes while they sought other leads. Something Felice couldn’t have done. But it still showed Constance was an agent of…justice?
Felice rolled the word around in her mind. There wasn’t much justice on the streets of The Capital. Was Constance crazy enough to think she could make a difference?
She snorted, eliciting a frown from a woman passing by. Felice winked at her, and the woman huffed off. She shouldn’t be out at this time alone anyway. Not everyone had two mercenaries guarding them. Felice glanced around, but couldn’t spot Squall or Whisper. She hoped they were protecting her…
The tanner’s was up ahead, a dingy building, and it was still open. Sparrow was probably waiting to be contacted, decided Felice. She clamped her fingers over her nose. The air already stank of urine and shit and decaying flesh. She was surprised it was even allowed to operate within the city, but then again, this was an area most of the lawmakers avoided. She wanted this business over with quickly, and not just because of the stench. She had her first game of Dominion tomorrow in the Winter Tournament, and needed a good night’s sleep if she was to p
lay at her best.
Inside, a large room contained examples of the tanner’s work on display. Leather and hides stretched between wooden frames. A stocky man wearing a thick apron stood behind a counter. When he saw her enter, he smiled and nodded and made his way to her.
“A pleasure!” he said insincerely. “A pleasure indeed! What are you looking to purchase tonight, young lady? Perhaps a—”
“Are you Sparrow? Constance sent me.”
Blood suffused the tanner’s face. “I, ah… Of course.” He swallowed, enlarged larynx bobbing, and glanced furtively to either side, as if checking for an eavesdropper. “Tell Constance that I’ll do as she says. My family…please.”
Interesting. “She said you’d know what to tell me,” prompted Felice.
“All I know is that there’s a valuable shipment arriving in the next few days. Something from the far south. That’s all my friend let slip. All he knows is it’s valuable, and it’s to be stored briefly in a warehouse before they move it somewhere else. If you’re going to get a look at it, that’s the place.”
The far south…the Desolate Lands. Where hardened treasure hunters searched for sorcerous artifacts.
Sparrow wasn’t exactly outlining what was required of her. Obtaining a peek at an unknown shipment didn’t strike Felice as something that required this much subterfuge and deception, nor was it something worth threatening her over.
It was then the realization hit Felice. Constance hadn’t known what news Sparrow had come across, only that it was important. And she’d left Felice to do what she wanted with the information. This was also a test.
On the face of it, it seemed crazy. Why leave her to make decisions for herself?
Felice tugged an earring and bit her bottom lip. What did Constance want her to do? Find out what was in the shipment? She doubted mere contraband would elicit this much subterfuge, and simple reconnaissance could be carried out by any half-competent mercenary.
Constance wanted to see what Felice would do. She’d said this was a test, but there was another reason she’d recruited Felice. Constance’s soldiers couldn’t move around undetected, which was why they’d taken so long to find Larard. But Felice knew these streets. She knew the urchins. She’d built up the kind of networks you couldn’t buy with ducats.
A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Under-promise and over-deliver, was the oft-repeated piece of terrible advice.
Outside, Felice paused as a rat scurried along the wall of the building opposite her, avoiding the arc of light seeping from a window. As it disappeared into the shadows, she noticed a group of three drunken men staggering up the street to her right. Two of them supported the third, head hanging limply, feet dragging along the cobbles. Well-kept boots, clothes freshly splashed with liquid. No doubt to make them stink of ale or spirits. The two men on their feet carried a bottle each. Empty bottles, which a real drunk would have tossed.
Felice bolted to her left and saw two more men coming toward her.
By the ancestors! “Ambush!” she yelled, and skidded to a stop. She turned and ran back toward the tanner’s just as Squall and Whisper, alerted by her shout, emerged from a darkened side alley.
Whisper’s dagger looked like a toothpick in his massive fist. Squall brandished his slender sword as if he were performing warm-up exercises. Which he might well have been.
Felice had only begun fighting lessons a few months ago and felt she was fairly competent. But she wasn’t prepared to face five men sent to either kill or rough her up. At this point in time, she hoped it was the latter.
She slipped inside and slammed the door shut behind her. She thought about locking and barring it, then decided Whisper and Squall deserved better if they had to beat a hasty retreat. Steel clashed outside. Someone cried out and was abruptly silenced. There were shouts and squeals, then a gurgle.
Bloody hells.
Behind the counter, Sparrow stared at her.
“There’s a back way out, right? How many exits?” They might have them covered… “Is there a way to exit unseen?”
Sparrow remained silent. Felice stepped closer. “I asked if—”
His throat had been slit from ear to ear. Blood still bubbled from the cut, down the front of his apron—which, Felice realized, slightly hysterically, was doing its job of keeping his shirt clean.
She glanced around the room, half-expecting the killer to walk out from behind one of the hides on display. Felice shivered as guilt crept up on her. She’d probably sealed Sparrow’s death by talking to him. Constance was playing a far more dangerous game than she’d let on. And the method of the killing turned her legs to jelly. It was as if they’d said, “We could have killed you too, but we didn’t.”
But why?
Someone knocked on the front door, causing her to jump.
“Mistress Shyrise.”
Squall! Thank goodness. But to dispatch five men in such a short space of time? Felice had a niggling suspicion these were no ordinary mercenaries.
The two men entered the tanner’s. Their weapons were bloody, but apart from that, they didn’t look the worse for wear.
“Not much opposition.” Squall shrugged. “Low-level thugs.”
“One got away,” added Whisper. “And the city watch will likely be called.”
Felice read between his words. We’d better clear off.
Five dead, by her count, already. And she still had no idea what she was doing.
~ ~ ~
Constance expected to find out what was in this shipment? Well, with five corpses, at least, in her wake, Felice wasn’t about to do the minimum required.
She hadn’t slept well, and ordered another coffee with salt and honey from the cafe’s waiter, thought for a moment, then ordered two more.
The establishment was close by the hall where the Dominion tournament was to be held, and she was expecting Squall and Whisper to arrive at any minute. This business was a distraction when she didn’t need one, and it was likely to affect her performance in the tournament.
As her three drinks arrived, Squall and Whisper sauntered up. Well, Squall sauntered; Whisper sort of lumbered.
She gestured to the mugs. “These two are for you. Sit, please.”
It was early, and there was still a chill in the air. They both nodded thanks, sat at her table, and wrapped hands around mugs to warm them.
“What are we up to today, boss?” Squall said.
“Don’t call me that,” Felice said absently. She tossed a full purse onto the table, where it hit with a clank. “There’s enough ducats for the both of you for another week, plus a bonus for last night.” She tossed another purse next to the first. “That’s for expenses. Someone has killed to keep this shipment a secret. They probably know we know of it now, which means it’ll never appear at that warehouse. Unless we find it, we’ve failed.”
“And you don’t like failing,” said Whisper.
He was a sharp one. “Not if I can avoid it. Ask around the trading caravans, the importers and exporters. If the shipment’s come from the far south, then someone should know of it.”
“And be careful,” Whisper said.
Felice nodded. “Yes. Talk only to people you know, at this stage. I have a few leads I’ll chase up, but my day is going to be busy as it is.”
Whisper drained his mug and belched. Squall gave him a disapproving frown, but Felice knew this was part of their act. Squall was an expert swordsman, and big, dumb, crass Whisper was likely a sorcerer. She’d caught a glimpse of a rune-covered wristband and a chalk smudge on one of his pockets. Easy to write runes on the fly with, Felice had once been told by a sorcerer she’d had occasion to employ.
They both stood. “Good luck, boss,” Squall said with a grin.
It took all of Felice’s self-control not to growl at him as they walked away.
~ ~ ~
Halfway to the tournament, the streets became congested with wagons and carts and a crowd of gawking bystanders all blocking the w
ay. Even side alleys were full, as people tried to maneuver around an obstruction ahead.
Felice cursed under her breath. It would take her just as long, perhaps longer, to try to go around. She pushed and elbowed her way to the cause of the chaos: a large wagon with a broken wheel. It was one of those newer types, with multiple bolts holding the wheels on rather than one large hub. A few red-faced men argued and gesticulated at each other, spittle flying, but nothing much was getting done. Which was strange, as there was a spare wheel on the back of the wagon, and they’d levered the broken wheel side up off the ground, where it was held in place using chunks of timber.
“Well, we can’t get down there!” one man shouted.
“Then get your wagon off the road!” roared another.
“Get out of the way!” said someone in the crowd.
A piece of fruit landed with a splat on the wagon. It looked like an orange with green mold covering the skin.
Eyeing the disabled wagon, Felice drew herself up and put on her most imperious expression: eyes and mouth narrowed, shoulders back, head held high. “What’s the problem here? Clear the way! You’re creating a disturbance, and these people need to get about their business.”
“The wheel’s broke!” said a burly man with a beard—no doubt the wagon driver, as he had callouses on his hands where the reins rubbed, and he held onto a wrench.
“I can see that,” Felice snapped. “You have a spare wheel. Attach it and get going.”
“He’s lost the bolts!” said another man off to the side. There was a tinge of glee in his voice. Someone who relished the commotion, and the misfortune of others.
“I didn’t lose them!” growled the wagon driver. “Someone kicked them into the sewers. Down that grate there!” He pointed to the offending sewer grate a few steps away on the side of the road. “All four! I can’t attach the wheel now. Have to wait for replacements.”
Pignuts, cursed Felice. The solution was obvious. “Listen!” she said loudly, to catch their attention and head off another shouting match. “Take one bolt from the other three wheels, and use them to attach the spare wheel. That’ll be good enough to get you to where you need to be until you can replace them.”
At the Sign of the Crow and Moon: A Sorcery Ascendant Prequel Novella Page 2