“Does it show so badly as that?” Matt asked, deflated. “I’d know you in a minute, and I’ve only been here a year and some months myself!”
“Then there are jobs!”
“Yes, if the Burglars Guild lets you learn the trade.”
Matt stared. “Burglars Guild?”
“Yes. We keep needing new members-so many of them go to the king’s gaol, and half of those to the noose. No, there’s always room for a newcomer who’s willing to learn to steal. You and I, now, minstrel, might do great business together-you holding the attention of a crowd while I slip into their homes…”
“Well, maybe some other time,” Matt said, abashed. “How about girls’ jobs? Is there a Housemaids Guild?”
The burglar gave him a tolerant smile. “There is, if you’re looking for that line of work-though I’d scarcely call it a guild, more of a gossip club.”
“Better than nothing,” Matt sighed. “Where do I find them?”
“In the Street of Rough Hands. Can’t miss them-there are always young women standing about the door, waiting to be sent out.”
“And older women, trying to recruit them into a different sort of housework?”
The burglar grinned broadly. “No, the Housemaids Guild keeps a couple of bruisers about to scare off the jackals. Your young charges will be as safe there as anywhere. The young man, now, might do well to join my guild.”
Pascal glanced about nervously. “Thanks,” Matt said, “but he’s not limber enough for second-story work.”
Pascal looked up indignantly. “Anyone can learn to cut a purse,” the man offered. “Yes, but I’m afraid that if he starts cutting leather, he’ll get carried away and start cutting skin.”
“Ah.” The burglar nodded. “No, that kind of thing is out of our purview. He might try the Murderers Guild.”
“Yes, of course.” Matt was feeling increasingly nervous. “Say, do you folks take care of armed robbery, too?‘
“No, that’s the Thieves Guild.”
Matt could imagine what the jurisdictional disputes must have been like. “You can only take things when people aren’t around, huh?”
“Not around, or sleeping. We can steal, but cannot rob.”
“I don’t suppose you set fires, either-or steal people?”
“The Arsonists Guild and the Kidnappers Guild?” The burglar scowled. “You are not really looking for that sort of work, are you?”
“No, but I’d like to know what to steer clear of. Any kind of crime that isn’t organized in this city?”
“None that I know of, no,” the burglar admitted. “Still, there is always someone about who will dream up something new.”
Matt shuddered at the notion and decided to get out of town before someone invented racketeering. “Well, thanks for all the info.” He turned away, then stopped and turned back. “I don’t suppose the heads of all these guilds have the same last name do they?”
“Only the Thieves Guild, the Burglars Guild, and the Murderers Guild,” the burglar said. “They’re Squelfs. The Gamblers Guild, now, with the Pimps Guild and the Peddlers guild, they’re Skibbelines. All the rest are DiGorbias.”
The girls shivered, wide-eyed, and Pascal swallowed heavily. Matt didn’t blame them-he was feeling the same sort of chill inside that they must have felt-but his curiosity was piqued one more time. “The Peddlers Guild? Peddlers are criminals here?”
“Only the ones who sell you what you can’t get in the shops.”
“Oh.” Matt couldn’t help himself. “Uh, what do they sell?”
The burglar’s grin widened even more. “Anything you want.”
“Right.” Matt turned away, “Thanks, friend! Come on, folks, let’s go.”
They found the Street of Rough Hands just as the sun was setting. The bouncer snarled at them, but when Matt explained that he had brought some young women who were looking for honest work, the bruiser sent one of the loitering girls in to call the boss. She came bustling out, a matronly sort in a blue dress and white apron, saw the new arrivals, said “Ah!” with a nod, and came down to look them over from head to toe. “Well, you’ll need a bath and a chance to wash your clothes, at the least. Go to the house next door, where the house warden will give you supper and a bed until you can find your own quarters. We’ll take it from your first week’s wages, of course, and we take one part in ten from all your wages after that-one part in five for as long as you live with us. Anyone hires you, they pay us, not you, and we pay you your share. If we catch you setting up work on your own, you’re still in the guild, but out of our services. Any questions? No? Off with you, then!”
Bemused, the girls turned away. The boss woman turned to Flaminia with a scowl. “You don’t wish to go with them?”
“Not yet,” Flaminia hedged. “The minstrel needs our help with other business first, I think.”
“Well, you look honorable enough.” The matron gave Matt a quick inspection. “You brought these poor deluded lambs to our doorstep, anyway. We can’t take them all, mind you, but we do what we can.”
That explained why they hadn’t had a recruiter just inside the gate. “I understand. Not all that much call for housemaids, is there?”
“Oh, there is work aplenty!” the woman said. “The town has swollen enormously since good King Boncorro came to the throne! The nobility have come flocking in-bored to death in the country, and eager for the delights of the city, now that there’s no chance the king will demand their wives in his bed, or themselves for his arena. So they have left their lands in the care of stewards and come to Venarra for excitement-and they all need food, and furniture, and new houses, and clothing, and all manner of silliness.”
“So there’s a sudden increase in the number of tradesmen and merchants?”
“Yes, and they are all growing rich off the trade-so their wives are wanting to spend more time in the shops and less at the housekeeping. No, there are jobs aplenty for girls who can clean and mend-but there are far more girls coming in. The peasant folk wish the exciting life, too, and far too many of them find it, but on the wrong end.”
“Yes,” Matt said grimly. “The noblemen want to be entertained, don’t they? And there aren’t enough clean and open amusements.”
“There are diversions aplenty, young man!” the matron said indignantly. “You’ll find you have far too much competition here-there is a minstrel on every street corner! Aye, and a theater in every boulevard, though their plays are very bad, and more what you would expect to see in a brothel than on a stage.”
“Yes,” Matt said grimly, “the pimps always learn early on that the theater is a great place to advertise, on stage or off. Isn’t anybody trying to keep them out?”
‘Trying, aye.“ The matron gave him a hard smile. ”Has anyone ever succeeded?“
“Well, they have in my country-but it took a hundred years or so. How about music-concerts of a dozen musicians together? That’s harder to corrupt.”
“Oh, there are whole bands of musicians playing in great halls every night, and livery stables, fencing masters, taverns for the lowborn and parties in palaces for the highborn.”
“But you don’t recommend the new arrivals try to find jobs in them?”
The matron made a face. “Certainly not for the girls! You have heard what I think of the theaters, and the troupes of dancers are every bit as much apt to abuse as to foster! Music’s another thing, I suppose, but it means learning to play or sing really well, and that’s no quick undertaking, as I am sure you know.”
“Yes, it did take me a few years to learn to play the lute.” Matt had needed something to fill the spare time while he waited for Alisande to set the date. “The dancers and players are poorly paid,” the woman said, “but a living is a living, I suppose.”
“Yes, if that’s all they’re after.” Matt frowned. “But if the plays and dances are really bad, they must be pretty unhappy about doing them.”
“Bitter, I would say-quite bitter.” The matron
shook her head, looking angry, almost frightened. “At least, the few who have come to me for employment have complained of it They tell me there are a few of the players who will never leave the theater, they are so ardent about it-but my ex-player women think those ardent ones to be mad, or nearly so. Certainly they will rage and rant, at a moment’s notice, about the paucity of mind in the folk who come to see them, and the poverty they must endure-and what they call the hollowness of the soul.”
“Yes, I’ve run into artists like that,” Matt said, “though most of the ones I’ve talked to have been painters and poets.” He didn’t mention that he had once thought of himself as being one of them. “They start feeling that there is no substance in their culture for them to draw on.”
The matron frowned up at him. “Oddly put-but it has the sound of sense, even though I think I do not understand all of what you mean. I only wish that I could provide a living for all these poor souls who feel themselves stretched so on the rack of fashion.”
“But you can’t,” Matt said sympathetically. “Too many girls and not enough work, and you’d stop making profit.”
“Profit? What is that?” the woman said impatiently. “We make a living, and so do they.”
Matt’s opinion of her went up. “Are you open to donations?”
“Donations?” The woman stared. “You mean gifts of money? Whatever for?”
‘To help protect more of them.“ Matt fished a gold piece out of his purse and pressed it into her hand. She stared at it, then looked up at him, her composure shaken. ”Thank you, young man-but I’ll hold this a week before I spend any of it, so you can come back for it if you find you have need.“
Matt nodded. “Very prudent. But I’m sure I won’t need it back.”
“I’ll wait all the same,” she said doggedly. “Keep it or not, I thank you-your heart’s in the right place.”
“Thanks.” Matt gave her a sardonic smile. “Like you, I just wish I could do more.” He turned back to Pascal and Flaminia. “Time to start pub-crawling, folks.”
“What is a ‘pub’?” Flaminia asked. “Anyplace where they serve beer and wine to people with more money than sense.” He turned back to the matron. “Thanks ma’am-and good night.”
She watched them go, brow puckered with worry, shaking her head. Pascal and Flaminia seemed rattled. “There is far more wickedness in this city than I had thought,” the young man said. Matt shrugged. “What would you expect, when it was the capital of evil for so long? Interesting to hear her call Boncorro ‘good’-but even if he were, he couldn’t reform his town completely in just a few years.”
“And from what I have heard,” Flaminia said, “he is not dedicated to Goodness-it is simply that he is not dedicated to Wickedness, either.”
“But his reign has produced more!” Pascal burst out. “Or as much, but of a different sort! It has brought the noblemen flocking into town to prey upon the innocent, and the country folk in to be their meat!”
“That’s one side of it, yes,” Matt said, frowning, “and as far as that goes, Boncorro’s try at a worldly culture without any teaching of values has produced a great deal of emotional suffering and exploitation of the weak-but on the other hand, nobody’s starving or homeless, or at least very few.”
“I have seen many beggars,” Pascal objected. “But they have been far from starvation,” Flaminia pointed out. Matt nodded. “Plus, I haven’t seen any dead bodies in the streets, though maybe that only means that it’s the wrong time of day. No, I think I’ll have to meet this king and talk with him a bit before I make up my mind about him.”
“Meet the king?” Flaminia looked up, frightened. “Surely you are jesting!”
“He must be,” Pascal agreed. “Why, to meet the king might be as dangerous as it would be exciting!”
“No, I really do want to,” Matt said. “I do not,” Flaminia said certainly. “But you shall,” said a voice behind Matt’s ear, and he was just beginning to turn when the pain burst on top of his head and spread through it. He fought to stay conscious even as he felt himself falling, but all the good it did was to give him a quick glimpse of Pascal struggling in the hands of one bruiser while another swung a truncheon, and to let him hear Flaminia’s screams as two more men closed in on her. He was just realizing that they wore livery when the darkness closed in.
Chapter 16
Matt’s first blurred impression was of a lot of cobblestones. After a minute he realized from the discomfort that he was lying on more than cobbles. Then he realized that there wasn’t anyone anywhere near, though there did seem to be a goodly number off in the distance, there-lined up, pointing, gesticulating. Then the headache hit. Actually, it had been there all the time-it just required a certain level of consciousness to feel it. His vision stayed blurred, and he gasped with the agony of it. He begged his pulse not to beat, because every throb made his head split all over again. Fortunately, he didn’t beg in rhyme. Through the blinding pain one thought bored: he couldn’t possibly function with his head splitting, and there was only one way to make it stop. What the hell? Whoever the chief sorcerer was around here, he knew where he was, anyway. “When headache’s pounding till you’re done, Get ibuprofen on the run! Instant-acting, long and wide, Analgesic, be inside!”
The improvement startled him. Suddenly, the headache was only a dull, persistent pain at the back of his head-not as successful a spell as it would have been if he had tried the same verse outside Latruria, but good enough. He raised a hand to touch the spot the pain radiated from, then thought better of it-he didn’t need to start another explosion. In what was left of his mind, he made a note to check himself for concussion when he had time to find a mirror-or conjure one up, more likely. With the pain reduced to a bearable level, he could take stock of his circumstances. Now that he thought of it, he remembered being hit on the head, remembered… Flaminia’s abduction! In a panic, he looked around for Pascal, and saw… A wall of tawny fur. He stared at it for a second, realizing why the onlookers were staying so far back. Then he looked up slowly to the double grin above. “Hi, Manny.”
“It is good to see you alive again, mortal.”
Matt pushed himself up to a sitting position, very carefully. “Somebody tried to kill me again, huh?”
“Yes-one of the soldiers in wine-red tunics. He changed his mind when I dropped down beside you.”
“Dropped down? How’d you get into the city, anyway?”
“Why, I leaped atop the wall, then sprang to the nearest house-top and prowled across the roofs.”
“Like any cat.” Matt nodded. “I kept you in sight all the afternoon, disappointed that there was no need of me.”
“Bet you were real happy to see them jump us, huh?”
“Yes. I could not prevent them from striking, but when the wench was secured and the leader turned back to you with a lifted knife, I knew my moment had come and dropped beside you with a hiss of joy. He was somewhat startled to see me.”
“I’ll bet. How was he?”
‘Too quick to catch, alas.“
‘Too quick for you?“ Matt stared. ”Yes. He shouted a few words I recognized from long ago, and disappeared, along with his soldiers and that scrumptious tidbit of a young woman.“
Matt thought that Pascal would probably agree with him on that last, and that reminded him. “Seen Pascal?”
“Yes. He is on my other side-” Manny glanced away, then back. “-only just now waking.”
“Safe, then-sort of. You say you recognized the soldier’s words?”
“Aye. They were in a language from the East.”
“How far east?”
“From Persia, I believe he called it-the magus who had come to Reme to teach the priests new ways to read the auspices and haruspices.”
“Auspicious indeed.” So the language had been Persian, or maybe older. Chaldean? Sumerian? “What did the leader say?”
“Only, ‘Return whence we came!’ ” The manticore frowned. “Few words ind
eed, to accomplish so much!”
“Not really, if he had left a spell hanging in the air and only needed a few final words to put it into action. What did he look like?”
“Difficult to say. He was masked, you see-but he had gray hair and beard, was tall and lean, and wore a robe of flaming orange.”
“Just your standard sorcerer, except for the color of the robe.” Matt frowned. “Could have been any senior magus. Any distinguishing features?”
“Only his knowledge of an old and arcane tongue, and the fact that he did attempt to enslave me with a spell of obedience in that tongue.”
Matt looked up, startled “And it didn’t work?”
“Of course not,” the manticore said with disdain. “I already walk under the old geas laid upon me by the ancestor of your mend Pascal, and renewed by that young man himself. They enjoined me by the power of Goodness, which is greater than the evil source of that sorcerer’s power. He would have had to remove Pascal’s spell before he could lay a new compulsion upon me.”
“So you were protected by loyalty.”
“Protected in more ways than one.” The manticore shuddered. “It is highly unpleasant to labor in a sorcerer’s command! Some tasty meals, aye, but they do not compensate for being restrained and constrained when I wish to ramble. Would that I could take revenge!”
“But they’re too powerful for you, huh?”
“Or too quick. I almost caught this graybeard on the tips of my daws, but he disappeared a half second too soon.”
“Too bad about that” Matt suspected he had just personally encountered the sorcerer who had been trying to have him assassinated all along. Apparently he had become fed up with his klutzy hirelings and decided that if he wanted the job done right, he’d have to do it himself. But why kidnap Flaminia? Just in case the sorcerer failed to kill Matt, of course. This way, Matt would have to come after the sorcerer. Or was Flaminia herself important in some way Matt didn’t know about? Or maybe Pascal? It seemed unlikely, but you never knew. “How’s your liberator doing?”
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