by karlov, matt
She shuddered and pulled the curtain closed. She needed a clock. Maybe one with a chime peg to wake me up, she thought as she moved between the lamps, lighting them with a Quill sparker. She’d ask the house steward about it next time she saw him.
Someone knocked, loud and insistent. Brielle and Ufeus, at last. Eilwen opened the door and gestured them in. Ufeus entered first, glancing briefly at the curtained window but making no comment, his face impassive. A woman followed, taller than Eilwen by about a hand, taller even than Ufeus, with the pale skin and rough features of a Mellespene. She halted a pace in from the door, arms folded, and fixed Eilwen with a hard stare. Eilwen held the look, smiling slightly to show her amusement at the implied challenge, and after a moment the other woman snorted and broke her gaze.
Eilwen seated herself behind the desk. “You are Brielle, I take it,” she said, deliberately phrasing the words as a statement rather than a question. It was an old negotiating habit: an expression of knowledge and confidence to establish oneself as worthy of respect. “My name is Eilwen. As you know by now, Master Havilah has asked me to assume oversight of all Guild agents in Anstice. I’m still familiarising myself with everything that’s going on, so I’ll appreciate your assistance to fill the gaps in my knowledge.”
Brielle nodded once. Eilwen gave her a moment, but Brielle seemed content to stand in silence. Ufeus stood beside her, equally unresponsive, his expression as impassive as ever. But she’d seen this before, too: a show of stubbornness or reluctance, pushing her to reveal more of her position than she’d planned. Not that she had a position in this. Perhaps I’m overthinking it. Maybe they just don’t like me.
“Ufeus tells me you have a complaint about another agent,” Eilwen said. “Who is it?”
Brielle spoke at last. “I don’t know,” she said. She glanced across at Ufeus, then back at Eilwen, a resentful scowl on her broad face.
All right. Forget approachable. “You don’t know,” Eilwen repeated. “So if you can’t tell me who it is, what can you tell me?”
The woman flushed. “Ufeus said he already told you —”
“I’m asking you to tell me. Now, please.”
This time, Brielle’s answering nod was curt, little more than a jerk of the head. “Someone in the Guild has been talking to my man in the Exadius Company.”
“I see. And what has this person been saying?”
“They’ve been asking for things. Information about significant new loans. Repayment difficulties. Unusual transactions.”
Eilwen frowned. “Sounds like the sort of thing you all ask for. Your own reports are full of that.”
“You’re missing the point,” Brielle said. “That man is mine. I ask him these things. Nobody else.”
The passion in her face took Eilwen aback. Brielle seemed furious, as though the interference of a third party was a personal betrayal. Do all agents guard their contacts so jealously? Eilwen had no idea. She felt as though she’d strayed into a foreign quarter of a familiar city. Everything looked the same, but all the rules were subtly different.
She turned to Ufeus. “Does any other Guild agent have an Exadius Company contact?”
“No.” Ufeus’s reply was definite. “Not in Anstice. If there was any such communication, I would know about it.”
“But there is, and you don’t,” Brielle snapped, the contempt in her voice suddenly plain.
“I rely on agents to keep me informed,” Ufeus said, as coolly formal as he had been with Eilwen the previous day. “If they are not sufficiently forthcoming, there is little I can do.”
“‘Not sufficiently forthcoming’? So the fact you can’t control your agents is actually their fault?”
“Are you asking for a shorter leash?”
“If you want to know something beyond what I say, ask me!”
Eilwen watched in amazement. A moment ago I couldn’t get half a word out of the pair of them. Now look at them go. She should have realised it earlier, but she’d been too caught up in creating the right first impression. She’d assumed there were only two sides to the discussion. But in fact, there were three.
Which gave her an opportunity.
“Enough,” she said, and was gratified to see them both fall silent. She turned to Brielle. “This man of yours. He told you that someone else in the Guild has contacted him, correct?”
“Yes.”
“But he hasn’t given you any way to identify this other person.”
“That’s right.”
“Right,” Eilwen said. “Let’s go and see him.”
Brielle hesitated. “What, now?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ufeus blinked, nonplussed.
“Yes, I am,” Eilwen said. “Don’t argue, please. In any case, I’m not asking you to join us. Brielle and I will go.”
Ufeus’s eyes narrowed and he gave a stiff nod. Beside him, Brielle stared, the surprise still evident on her face. And silence is restored, Eilwen thought, torn between amusement and exasperation. She looked at Brielle.
“Shall we?”
•
Without Ufeus around, Brielle reverted to her earlier laconic self, speaking only in answer to Eilwen’s questions, volunteering nothing. But the quality of her silence seemed to have changed; it was calmer now, and not quite so defensive. Eilwen wondered if Brielle had received the intended message of her decision: an indication of support for her and a rebuff to Ufeus. Surely she had. She was an intelligence agent, after all.
They left the compound on foot, turning south at the thoroughfare and climbing the broad steps of Merchants’ Bridge. The high span was a relic of earlier times, built to accommodate the small trading ships that had once sailed all the way up the Tienette from the eastern sea. Most seafaring ships these days went no further than Borronor’s Crossing, leaving the upstream reaches of the Tienette to the numerous riverboats that now plied its waters. A fleet of river galleys flying the indigo and gold of Anstice patrolled the waterway all the way to the coast, protecting cargo and travellers from piracy and guarding against the threat of mischief from any who might wish the city harm.
Not that anyone would dare attack us now. The region had become known as the Free Cities at the time of Coridon’s fall, a period described in most histories as bordering on anarchic. Now, little more than one hundred and fifty years after the disintegration of the short-lived southeastern kingdom, five cities stood head and shoulders above the rest. On the southern coast, Damara and Spyridon; on the eastern, Neysa; to the northwest, hemmed in between the Kefirans on one side and the Gisleans on the other, the great craftsman’s city of Rondossa. And in the centre, greatest of all, Anstice, master of no fewer than eleven client cities and dozens of lesser townships. Only Neysa still speaks against us, and even they do so only in whispers. They need the coin to keep flowing as much as everyone else.
On the other side of the bridge they turned west, following the river into the heart of the city. The fortress-palace of the city chambers loomed ahead, its upper levels bulging beyond the limits set out by the lower to overhang the street below. A finger of stone thrust skyward from the roof: the clock tower, as tall again as the building from which it rose, the single hand on its face a few degrees shy of midday.
“You didn’t mention your contact’s name,” Eilwen said. Not a question, but an invitation nonetheless.
“Dallin,” Brielle said. “Dallin Nourt.”
Well, that’s an improvement. “How long has Dallin been one of ours?”
“A few years. His sister fell in with some bad people. We helped get her out of the city.”
“Any unusual behaviour lately? Asking for more money or something?”
Brielle snorted. “He asks for more money every time I see him. No, nothing unusual.”
They passed beneath the city chambers and cut through the adjoining square, the Tienette on their right. The Isle split the river here, its land crowded with buildings in at least four distinct architectural styles. Isle B
ridge, however, was plain and unornamented; the widest of the city’s four bridges, albeit barely high enough for barges to pass beneath. Fishermen perched on the pylons, some crouching on ledges just above the waterline, others sitting on the narrow shelves with their legs dangling in the water. River gulls swooped around them, snapping at their catches with the outraged shrieks of the dispossessed.
“How did you discover something was amiss?” Eilwen said.
“He told me.”
Of course he did. Eilwen kept her tone amicable. “Told you what?”
“I saw him two days ago,” Brielle said. “Regular meet. He gave me what he had. I questioned him on a few points and he got frustrated, said he’d already told us about that. Then he clammed up, like he’d just realised he’d said something wrong.”
“Ufeus mentioned contacts, plural. Are there others?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“But you told him there were?”
“I said there may be.” Brielle stopped, ducking slightly as a squawking gull flew past their heads. “We’re here.”
“Wait. What do you mean, you said there may be?”
Brielle shrugged. “Just that. I don’t know if there are others or not.” Eilwen folded her arms, waiting, and Brielle gave a frustrated sigh. “You want me to fill in the gaps for you? Try this. Ufeus is a self-important prick. He has no idea how this works. I tell him everything I learn, and it’s never enough. The facts are never enough. He always wants more. Opinions. Suspicions. So I gave him some.”
“Fine,” Eilwen said. “Then give me an opinion now. Do you think it likely that any of your other contacts have been approached by someone else in the Guild?”
Brielle fixed her with a baleful glare; then a grin spread slowly across her face. “You’re a step up, aren’t you? At least you know how to ask a question.”
“Well?”
She shrugged again. “It’s nothing I can point to. Just a feeling. Like when they’re talking to me, they’re not worried about someone else finding them out any more. They’re worried about me.”
“How many?”
“Three or four. Maybe more.”
“All right,” Eilwen said. “List it for me in your next report. And from now on, I want those opinions reported too. I won’t hang you if you’re wrong, but I might if you’re right and don’t say anything.” She gestured to the nearby building. “Lead on.”
The Exadius Company occupied a purple-grey building with a clear view of the river. A series of fluted columns supported a covered entrance, the central frieze of which showed a faded bas-relief of a group of soldiers marching through a forest, the image carved in such a way that the men seemed to dwarf the trees around them. The sides of the building were stepped like a Yanisinian ziggurat, with small rooftop balconies on each level. Dragon-headed gargoyles at the corners of each balcony glowered down at uncaring passers-by.
As they neared the entrance, Brielle caught Eilwen’s arm and steered her behind a column, away from the door. “There he is now,” she murmured, pointing up the street. “The one with the shoulder bag, coming this way.”
Eilwen scanned the oncoming faces, her gaze lighting on a young, angular man striding cheerfully toward them, his gaze on the river. She glanced back, wondering whether they should intercept the man on the street or follow him inside; but Brielle was already slipping away and taking up a position beside the door.
The man was so absorbed in his thoughts that he walked right past Brielle before she reached out and tapped his arm. He brushed her hand away with an absent frown; then he froze, his jaunty manner vanishing like mist.
“Gods below! What are you doing here?” He shot Eilwen a panicky glance. “And who in the hells is this?”
“Dallin, this is Eilwen. Also from the Guild. She wanted to meet you.”
Dallin turned on her, his voice a furious whisper. “Are you mad? What are you doing, meeting me here? Why not shout it from the roof, make sure everyone knows! Gods!”
Eilwen stared mutely back, suddenly realising her mistake. Ufeus had tried to warn her. Are you sure that’s a good idea? And she had told him not to argue. Damn. That was… stupid.
He scanned the street and shook his head. “You can’t be seen here. Go. I can be at the usual place in three hours.”
On impulse, Eilwen stretched out her arm, barring his way to the door. “Actually, this won’t take a moment,” she murmured. “I just want to know the name of your other Guild handler.”
“Oh, no. No no no. I don’t know what internal thing you’ve got going on and I don’t care. I’m not getting involved.”
“Ah, but you’re already involved, Dallin. The name, that’s all I want.”
“Damn you!” Dallin’s fearful gaze swept the street again, then fixed on Eilwen. She stared back, unrelenting. He was taller than her by a head. If he tries to break free, I won’t be able to stop him.
“The name, Dallin. Now.”
“I don’t know! We don’t meet! Just messages… exchanged…”
“When, and where?”
Dallin whimpered. “There’s a loose stone in the old wall, near the north gatehouse.”
“When?”
“Next drop… four days from now. Evening…”
Eilwen let her arm fall. “Thank you,” she said brightly, and Dallin rushed to the door, shoving it open and scurrying inside.
She turned, leaning against the wall and exhaling in a rush. That wasn’t put on for our benefit. The boy was genuinely scared. Unease stirred within her, and she hugged her arms to her chest. Ufeus was right, and Brielle too. Something was going on.
“You probably just burned him, you know,” Brielle said. “I doubt he’ll be giving us anything after that.”
“Would you trust anything he told us now?”
“Perhaps.” There was a long pause, then Brielle shrugged. “He didn’t ask for more money. That’s unusual.”
The slow grin spread across her face, and Eilwen gave an abrupt laugh. “Right. Seems suspicious to me.”
But her amusement soon faded, lost beneath her growing disquiet. She made her way back to the Guild in silence, Brielle padding alongside like a cat; and though they exchanged neither word nor glance, Eilwen found herself oddly glad of the company.
•
Arandras was last to arrive at Rhothe’s Bar. The work he’d ignored the previous day to go chasing information about the urn had caught up with him today, and it had taken him all day and part of the evening to complete the most urgent tasks. By the time he joined the group at their booth in the crowded back room and ordered a meal, Mara and the others had finished theirs and had a dilarj set out, each of them picking through their pieces and placing their selections on the board. A fourth pile lay untouched before the vacant seat, the coloured band on each piece a matching shade of faded red.
Druce glanced up at Arandras’s approach and gave a theatrical sigh. “Damn,” he said. “Thought Jen or I might have a chance tonight.”
“If you two were going to gang up on Mara, don’t change your plans on my account,” Arandras said, sitting. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Hey, I think he’s getting soft,” Druce said to Jensine. Three mugs already populated his corner of the table, two of them empty. “Wants us to do the hard work for him. How about we take him out instead?”
“Sounds good to me,” Mara interjected, her grin as sharp as one of her cutlasses. “Busy day?”
Arandras nodded. “Busy day.” Frowning, he began sorting through his heap, standing the pieces in rows. An outer shell on each piece concealed its identity from other players, with a small gap on one side to allow the piece’s owner to see within. As he found pieces he was sure to include — spire, dragon, both sorcerers, several fortresses — he set them aside, gradually accumulating his opening set.
“Have you sold the urn yet?” Jensine asked. Her starting pieces were already in position on the board, with the remainder — her reserves — arranged on th
e table in concentric circles.
“Yeah, don’t keep us in suspense,” Druce said. “How much did you get for it?”
“What’s the rush?” Arandras said, adding two archers and an assassin to his selections. “You got a bunch of coin just the other day.”
“Which went straight to the moneylender, didn’t it, Druce?” Jensine said, her light tone undercut by a streak of genuine irritation.
“Oh, shut up already,” Druce said, turning away from her to focus on Arandras. “How much?”
“Nothing yet.”
“But you’ve started shopping it around, right?”
“What? Yes, I spoke to a couple of people about it yesterday.”
“And?” Druce twiddled a piece between his thin fingers. “Didn’t you say it would only take you a day or two?”
So I did. Damn. His meal arrived and he perched the plate on the table’s edge, dipping his flatbread into the hot tagine and taking a bite. Mara and Jensine looked at him expectantly, waiting for his reply, and beside him Druce set the piece down and folded his arms.
“It’s turned out a little more complicated than I thought,” Arandras said, swallowing. “I need to do more research before I can sell it.”
Druce’s eyebrows drew together. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning,” Mara said, “that Arandras needs a better idea of what it’s worth before he starts negotiating prices. Maybe it’s worth no more than tonight’s drinks — or maybe it’s worth a great deal more.”
“Really?” Jensine’s tone was cautious, but she looked at him hopefully.
Arandras scratched his beard. Thoughts of the urn’s monetary value had all but evaporated after his conversation with Narvi the previous day. But the artefact was not his alone. Sooner or later, he’d have to sell it. “I don’t know,” he said, resisting the urge to shift in his seat. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up just yet. Give me a few more days and I might have a better idea.”
“So, best case,” Druce said. “How much are we looking at?”
“I really couldn’t say. I’m not being coy, I just don’t know.”
Druce whistled. “That much, huh?”