Not an extreme task compared to what Tethran had done before but certainly one that left many questions swimming around in his head. What type of business was this man operating that a solicitor sought to sink him? As far as Tethran knew, solicitors were just middle-aged men with bald spots and oversized spectacles. None were mad or brave enough to test the anger of a rich man. But questioning such details was not a part of his job either.
“I need a description.”
“Of course.”
He fidgeted through the pocket of his cloak and then slid a piece of folded parchment across the table. Tethran retrieved and unfolded it, glancing briefly at the sketched portrait. “Let’s talk payment then, shall we?”
“So, you accept?”
“Two hundred gold pieces and an additional fifty for travelling expenses.”
“Two hundr—Are you mad?”
Sighing, Tethran tossed back the parchment and shoved his chair backwards. “Well, seems you’ve decided to ignore that itch in your arse after all.”
“Wait!” The man almost jumped out of his chair. “Okay. Two hundred and fifty, it is. One-fifty upfront and the rest once you bring me…you know…the tongue.”
Tethran didn’t know what the obsession was with the tongue but hardly cared either way. This meeting was beginning to feel tiresome. “We’ll meet in the alley of the local marketplace before dawn on the morrow. Take the payment with you and don’t be late. Au revoir.”
“Th—that’s it?” He almost shouted as Tethran got to his feet. “Don’t you at least want to know my name?”
“No. And I don’t suggest you go around telling anyone here either. Not after they’ve seen you with the likes of me.”
Having no intention of discussing business any further, he shoved through the crowded room, keeping his eyes fixed on the door even as patrons scattered out of his way. Scorn was one hell of a thing to be on the receiving end of but Tethran LeMark had consumed so much of it, it was safe to say that he had somehow grown immune. Shaking his head, he stepped out into the wintry night, the sudden bite of the wind smacking harshly against his face. Nights like these reminded him of the solitary years he had spent in the monastery just outside the neutral borders of Baffin. It hadn’t taken long for him to discover that religious servitude wasn’t a life he had been destined for unlike the Catholic priests who had raised him. It had also been quite clear that a child of his disposition and robust stature had been more suited to tasks of the world than endless prayers and devotionals. God forbid, he would have faded away in that blasted abbey if he had not left.
Tethran slanted his eyes to the starry sky like he usually did whenever he felt like a fool. A part of him knew that there was someone or something out there watching…trying to guide him if only he permitted it. Perhaps this was his punishment after all; existing in a world where scars were enough to rob a man of his right to actually live. But people were right. They were all right. His soul was just as ugly as the scars on his face. And in two days’ time, he was going to take his favourite blade and remove the tongue of a solicitor because that was the type of man he was. It was the type of man Tethran LeMark had become.
A lone raindrop collided with his forehead and he ducked, pulling up the collar of his coat. The streets of Duit were empty as usual except for the few urchins who normally came out at nights, searching empty serf stalls for food scrap. Bracing himself against the rain, Tethran lengthened his stride as he turned a corner which lead towards the tavern he was temporarily staying at. An boardinghouse that had grown alarmingly costly the moment he’d arrived. Apparently, men of his uncharacteristic ugliness were required to pay twofold. Kicking his boots to get rid of the excess mud that clung to it, he ran a hand through his dampened hair and ducked through the open door. The moment he crossed the brightly lit lobby, the tavernkeeper’s head jolted upwards from where he stood behind an antiquated desk.
“Out and had you a fleshy wench, eh?” the old man cackled, showing a crooked grin. “Aint nothing better than two warm plump thighs in this kind o’ weather.”
Ignoring the jest, Tethran took the staircase two steps at a time, desperately in need of a quick washing and a good night sleep. Truth be told, he’d never slept as well as he’d done at the monastery. Perhaps, that had been the only thing he had liked about that place; the peace and quiet. The floorboards whimpered as he crossed the landing and moved down the dark mouldy hall. But something caused him to slow in his tracks. Inching towards the door to his room, he sniffed gently, not liking the changes he could sense in the air. Something was off here… Either that or the whiskey was toying with his mind. Tethran refused to accept the latter.
Clenching his jaws tight, he reached for the knife at his waist and unsheathed it, hand firmly gripping the doorknob. Mentally giving himself a quick countdown, he braced himself against the door before giving it a hard shove. The wooden frame almost splintered against the adjacent wall, sending off a resounding bang. Drawing to a sudden halt, Tethran glared at the back of a cloaked figure, nostrils flaring at the intrusion. But something kept him from flinging his blade at the troublemaker. He sniffed again. A troublemaker it was, indeed. The familiar scent of worn leather and horse suddenly engulfed his nostrils like an unwelcomed hello.
“My god, LeMark. Must you be so noisy?” The figure turned then, a smirk forcing its way through the dimness of the room.
He swung the door close. “What do you want, Sinclair?”
“Oh, the same as usual…” Sinclair reached for a flask on the small table next to the bed and took a slug. “Ah… Could always rely on you to have good liquor.”
Tethran silently shrugged off his coat despite the ire rising in his blood. It had been over a year since he’d last seen Ivan Sinclair. The carefree type of brute he’d always tried to steer clear of if he was to maintain his sanity. “You know damn well I do business alone.”
“Selfish as usual, eh? Never want to share the cake.”
He kicked off his boots. “Look, I don’t have time for the bullshit, alright? So just get your wily ass out of here or I will kill you this time.”
“Alright, alright.” He threw up his hands in mock defeat. “No need to resort to violence.”
Sighing, Tethran eyed him wearily before re-sheathing his knife and placing it with his boots. He reached for the bread and cheese he had left wrapped in a handkerchief next to the bed, then sat and ate quietly. Sinclair stood on the other side of the room, slanted green eyes watching him. Swallowing down the food tightly, he brushed his hands over his thighs and scrubbed his itching jaw. “Okay, you cocky fool, are you going to tell me what you are really here for then?”
He leaned against the wall. “It’s a sensitive job, and trust me, it truly hurts my soul to ask for your help.”
A smile quivered around Tethran’s lips. “Getting soft at the sight of blood?”
Sinclair scowled but ignored the jibe. “I need two extra eyes…and hands. Preferably, a pair I know won’t stab me in the back for fun.”
He flicked a piece of bread from between his teeth with his tongue. “Well, that’s a no can do. Already agreed to start a job in the morning. It’ll take at least a couple of days.”
His friend eased off the wall, eyes filled with intent. “I can wait two days.”
Cocking a brow, Tethran eyed him now with carefully masked surprise. He never knew Sinclair to be a man to delay a job. But neither was he cold-hearted enough to run him over if he were to agree with working with him. “What’s so important about this job?”
Sinclair released a heavy breath, pacing across the wooden floor. It was the most anxious Tethran had ever seen the man. He then stopped in his tracks and stared right at him.
“I think I might have found my sister.”
TWO
Eyes still squinted on Sinclair, Tethran downed a mug of water, wondering what the hell the man was talking about. In all their years of knowing each other, from the day Ivan had almost kicked his ass to the
days they’d begrudgingly shared mildewed bread on the streets, Tethran had never in his life heard of the man having a sister. Not once. He would have laughed and called him out on his lie except Ivan bore a look on his face that made Tethran want to vomit. It was a look he’d seen being exchanged between serf women and their children, or a bitch and her scrawny pups on the dirty streets of Duit. But he’d never expected to see it on the face of a man who butchered men for a living. The reality of the moment made him shudder with discomfort.
“What sister?”
“She’s…younger than I am. I last saw her when I was eight years old when we were living under an abandoned stall in Iqa City. I…I’d gone to fetch something…anything to eat but when I came back she was…gone.”
Tethran frowned and shook his head. “What makes you think you’ve found her?”
Grabbing the lone chair in the room, Sinclair pulled it up closer and sat down, elbows on his knees and a forlorn expression on his face. “Two days ago, I was passing through the city. It was sometime near midnight but there was a gathering near the river. You know, near the--.”
“--old ruins. Yes, I know of it. The spot where the elite conduct their exclusive auctions.”
“Yes!” He said the word with so much pain his teeth likely hurt. “But you know I could not just have entered. Those guvs would have had me arrested for trespassing. Or worse.”
“What happened?”
He shook his head. “It was her, LeMark. I know it was. The red hair, my eyes…that dimple in her chin. I know it was Josephine!” Jaws clenched, Sinclair then looked up, his eyes blazing with anger. “They sold her like a common whore.”
Christ. Tethran didn’t know the full details surrounding the auctions that took place in Iqa City but he hoped that they were illegal. As far as he knew, Alderman de Gesch was a principled man and couldn’t possibly know about such activities. Groaning inwardly, he roughly massaged his temples before glancing back at Sinclair. It was clear the man was going through turmoil. Tethran couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he’d found out something like that had happened to a sibling of his. If he had one. He shook his head. Correction: he would have done the same thing Sinclair was suggesting.
“Do you know who she was sold off to?”
Sinclair squeezed his eyes shut for only a brief moment. “Suth McCall. The bastard’s face has been stuck in my mind since that very night.”
He’d never heard the name before but Tethran hardly thought that would pose a problem. All men like him ever needed was a good description and a sharp weapon. Plus, judging by the raw fury vibrating off Sinclair’s body at the moment, he didn’t doubt this McCall gent would be dead within a week.
“I’ll go with you.” Rising to his feet, he moved across the room to the wash basin he’d left earlier in the morning. “You might want to step aside, Sinclair. There are corners of my body that desperately need washing and I hardly think you’d enjoy seeing them.”
Boots scraped against the floor behind him, followed by the swishing of thick fabric. Tethran chuckled to himself as he removed his trousers and shirt. He quickly added some soap to the cold water and soaked a bathing cloth before scrubbing his armpits. Sinclair was truly a devil, waiting silently as he conducted his bathing. The man must be awfully desperate but understandably so. “So how old is this sister of yours?”
The answer came delayed but quite forceful. “I refuse to have a conversation with you while you’re scrubbing your balls, LeMark.” His footsteps resounded across the room, followed by the opening of the door. “I’ll be outside.”
Nodding to himself, he squeezed the excess water from the rag and wiped his face, the raised scars there so prominent, he could feel them. There were days when he refrained from touching his own face just to avoid reminding himself of the permanent marks his own chosen lifestyle had afforded him. It was a topic he did not like to remember, least of all think of. The abbot had been right; his decisions in life would most certainly deal him an unfavourable hand. And they had.
Tethran quickly cleaned his genitals and then tossed the cloth aside, reaching for the only other fresh pair of clothing he had carried on this trip.
Just two more jobs, he thought. Just two more. And then he could finally go off and begin his life as a well-deserved hermit.
* * * *
“Try to remain still, damn you. Your pacing is giving me a headache.”
Sinclair shot him a glare. “Your so-called employer is late. Or doesn’t he know what ‘dawn’ means?”
“I mean it, Sinclair. Shut the hell up or I’ll change my damn mind.”
Kicking a pebble across the damp alleyway, his friend flung himself against the wall but waited silently, though he was very much correct. The rich man was late and Tethran was starting to feel itchy all over. It was usually the symptom that confirmed his annoyance with someone or something. Five minutes passed and a round of curses almost flew off his lips when he heard footsteps approaching. Silently alerting Sinclair, they sunk back into the shadows and waited until the person revealed himself. A tall figure entered with a cloak over his head and a small drawstring bag in one hand.
“Are you there?” The voice came cautiously.
Sinclair nudged him in the side. Why the hell did he bring him? Tethran stepped from the shadows. “You’re late.”
“Ah…yes. S-sorry about that but my mistress... Well, you know how needy women can be.” The man gave a smug chuckle.
Tethran didn’t bat an eye. “Move forward and hand me the bag and then be off. Are you certain no one followed you here?”
“Absolutely certain.”
He handed the bag over and Tethran quickly scanned through the contents. One hundred and fifty pieces. If not anything else, at least the rich man was smart enough not to cheat him. Stuffing the sack inside his own bag, he then drew up firmly against the wall as he heard another noise akin to a moving carriage.
“Get back,” he hissed, shoving the man behind him, waiting until the vehicle had fully passed.
“Christ.” His employer swatted at his clothes and chuckled. “For a moment there I thought that was a constable come to arrest me for dallying with a scoundrel like you.”
“Dallying?” came Sinclair’s voice, so powerful and abrupt that the man almost sprung from the alleyway like a frightened cat. “What are you? A sissy?”
“Good god, man! Who the hell are you?”
This time the man did hold his chest. Tethran sighed. For some reason he believed Sinclair had alarmed the man on purpose. “You should be going now. I’ll make contact once I get back to hand you your…token. In the meanwhile, try not to utter this arrangement to anyone. Not even to your needy mistress. Understood?”
“Perfectly.” After dashing a glance between Tethran and Sinclair, the man then disappeared from the alley, emptying water puddles as he went.
“I’ve seen him before. Has a decent property over in the plains, a pink-faced wife and twin boys.”
“Any idea what kind of business he’s into?”
“No. But it must be profitable. The man’s got a mistress.”
Tethran chuckled. “We should go. The sun is almost up. I need a horse and a day’s sustenance for the trip. You might want to supply yourself as well.”
Sinclair straightened, the short copper curls of hair damp against his skull. “I’m sure your innkeeper wouldn’t mind sparing two of those lovely stallions housed in his stable.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve already taken them.”
“Had no intention of asking.”
The horses were tied to a tree in a safe spot, a mile from the village, near the dirt track that lead out into the wider country. They were well saddled with supplies of bread and dried meat as well as drinking water and blankets. Tethran started to wonder just how Sinclair had known he’d agree to assisting him with recovering his sister. But then again, the man had always been a presumptuous brute. Shaking his head, he untied the reins of one of the horses, patted
the animal on the nose and then hooked a foot into one of the stirrups before swinging himself up astride.
“Shhh,” he rubbed the base of the animal’s neck gently as it jerked nervously and then regarded Sinclair. “So when was the last time you took down a man?”
His friend barked out a laugh. “Strange question, if you ask me. Or have you forgotten that you’re not the only man who’s been paid to kill. But if you must know, last night I had the most satisfying dream.” He climbed astride and pulled on the reigns as they both moved out onto the muddy road. “I dreamt that I had McCall by the throat and my blade so deep up his arse, he could taste his own shit.”
Tethran grunted, his mind somewhat distant. He wondered how long this business would really take concerning Sinclair and his long-lost sister. Hopefully not too long that it would impede his own personal plans. “Just when I thought all you dreamed about was rainbows and sunshine.”
The Strength of Baffin Page 2