by karlov, matt
Eilwen stretched her shoulders, her neck, loosening the muscles of her arms and torso. She had forgotten what the anticipation was like. This was her gift, her calling. Her opportunity to do good. How could she have lost sight of that? It was justice and penance both, and both equally satisfying. I deserve this no less than she does. Attend me, gods, and see how I make amends.
She felt as though she had been stumbling through a desert, parched and sun-sick; but now, at last, an oasis had appeared before her. It was time to drink deep.
Somewhere inside, some part of her twisted away in revulsion. Not this, it begged. Not any more. But the voice was weak, lacking in conviction, and easy enough to ignore.
Footsteps approached from the corridor beyond, halting before the door. There was a scraping noise as someone fumbled with the key; then it slotted home, clicking the lock as it turned, and the door swung open.
“Hello, Laris,” Eilwen said, a wide smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Laris froze in the doorway, her form silhouetted against the softly-lit corridor. “Eilwen? Is that you?”
“I was starting to worry. Thought maybe you’d decided to give up this life of trade and join the Weeping Sisters yourself.”
The Trademaster’s flinch might have gone unnoticed if Eilwen hadn’t been expecting it. “Leave now, please. Leave or I’ll call someone —”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Eilwen smiled again. “I don’t think you want anyone else overhearing the conversation we’re about to have.”
Laris considered her for a long moment. When she spoke, her tone was lighter, as though she too was smiling. “As you wish.” She stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. “You won’t mind if I light some lamps?”
“Be my guest,” Eilwen said, then chuckled. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. Be my host.”
Light flared in the gloom. Laris inclined her head in welcome, but the muscles around her eyes and jaw were tense. A second lamp added its illumination to the first, and the Trademaster placed it on the desk and perched herself beside it, just out of arm’s reach. “What is it, Eilwen? Have you discovered something?”
“You might say that,” Eilwen said. It felt like her manic smile would never leave. “For one thing, I figured out who the lying, murderous whore of a traitor is.”
“Really.” The word was cool, a perfect facsimile of politely feigned interest.
“Really. Imagine my surprise,” Eilwen said cheerfully. “It’s you!”
“Now listen, Eilwen —”
“No, you listen to me, you duplicitous bitch!” Her smile vanished as though it had never been. “You murdered Havilah. Oh, I know all about your alibi. Don’t even try. You killed him.”
Laris’s face was smooth. “I suppose that makes you Spymaster now.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? A new Spymaster who just happens to be in your debt. No. Sorry. Not going to happen.”
“Debt?” Laris raised her eyebrows. “Why would I need anything from you? I’ve got my own people to find things out. And you’d be surprised at what they’ve discovered.”
Listen, some part of Eilwen whispered feebly, the word barely even a suggestion. Talk. Anything. Just don’t kill.
She shook her head.
“Change is coming, Eilwen,” Laris said. “I don’t know the exact shape of it, but there’s a new power out there. One to rival even the Quill. And where the Quill seeks influence by making itself indispensable, this group prefers a more, shall we say, direct approach.”
There was an edge in Laris’s tone that Eilwen hadn’t heard before. A thrill ran down her spine. “Does this group have a name?”
“They call themselves the Oculus.”
Eilwen shuddered, and the dissenting voice within her whimpered once and went quiet. Images of the Orenda flashed before her. The horrendous crack of the ship splitting in two, as though torn apart by two enormous hands. The screams of her shipmates as they plunged into the icy water. Acid stung her throat and she swallowed hard, willing her stomach back down. The black amber egg lay heavy against her side.
“I see you’ve heard of them,” Laris said.
Eilwen coughed hoarsely. “And what have you done about them?”
“What do you think? We’ve sold them timber, of course.” Laris shrugged. “Among other things. They’re planning an invasion, that’s plain enough to anyone with half a brain. Not here, obviously, or why start trading with every house in the city? But somewhere nearby. Rull, maybe, if they’re starting small. Neysa if they’re not.”
“Gods. You want to be their allies?”
“Allies? Don’t be ridiculous.” Laris laughed. “Just their suppliers.”
Eilwen pressed her hands to her head. The Oculus, invading? It was too bizarre to be true. Gods help me, why can’t they leave me be? But they had, hadn’t they? This time they’d needed a more powerful tool, and they’d settled on Laris.
A wild laugh bubbled up. Here we sit, two traitors to the Guild. Two pawns of the Oculus. I was hunting myself all along.
How Havilah would weep if he were here.
“Explain to me,” Eilwen said, her words slow and deliberate, “how any of this makes the slightest shit of difference to Havilah.”
Laris frowned. “Eilwen, you need to look at the bigger picture.”
“No. This isn’t about sorcerers, or invasions, or any of the rest of it. This is about you pulling yourself up the ladder and cutting down anyone you find in your way. Trademaster isn’t good enough for you, is it? You want to be in charge of the whole damn show.”
The Trademaster surged to her feet, her face filled with contempt. “Havilah was a fool —”
“Havilah was a good man!” She was shouting now, and she didn’t care. “He believed in the Guild. He believed in me! All you believe in is yourself!”
“Havilah was holding the Guild back! Vorace still is! But the Guild is bigger than them, and it’s a damned sight bigger than you. What in the hells have you ever done for it?”
“This,” Eilwen said, and drove her fist into Laris’s stomach.
Laris doubled over, gasping for air. A tiny knife tumbled from her sleeve and clattered across the floor. Staggering, Laris turned for the door, but Eilwen was too fast. Springing from her chair, she launched herself at the other woman’s retreating form, driving her to the ground. Reaching into her boot, she withdrew the loop of sharpened wire, and as Laris raised her head to gasp for help she slipped it around her neck and pulled it taut against her throat — tight, but not tight enough to kill.
“Hush, now,” Eilwen said, and she could feel the smile stretching her face once more. “Hush.”
For a frozen moment they held there, Eilwen kneeling on Laris’s back, Laris wheezing beneath her. Eilwen thought of Havilah, still slumped on the floor of his office. Dead, without even knowing why.
See what I do for you, Laris. I tell you why.
“Havilah didn’t like me doing this sort of thing,” Eilwen said conversationally, tightening the wire collar fractionally around Laris’s neck. “If he was here now, he’d tell me to let you live. Probably.” She shrugged. “Shame he’s not here.”
“I have gold,” Laris rasped. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“My dear Laris, I think you’ve misunderstood. This has nothing to do with me. This is about justice.”
“If you do this, there’ll be no place for you here.”
She laughed. “Do I look like I care?”
Another rasp. “Can’t… see…”
Eilwen laughed again, and pulled.
There was a moment’s resistance, then the wire sliced through Laris’s throat. She convulsed, shaking as blood began to pool beneath her. Eilwen knelt at her side. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “Looks like you’ve made a mess after all.”
She released the wire and resumed her seat, settling back to watch Laris’s life bleed away. Thus are you avenged, Havilah. Thus do I deliver justice.
And the beast within her opened up its mouth and sang.
•
Dark, streaky clouds thrust gold-edged fingers across the brightening eastern sky. Arandras yawned, rubbing his heavy eyes and cursing his foolishness at subjecting himself, yet again, to the irrational whims of the Quill.
The others were already there — even Mara, to whom Arandras had dashed off a note the previous afternoon in the hope that she would receive it in time. She leaned languidly against the wall across from Isaias’s shop, cleaning her fingernails with a dirk, a faint frown creasing her forehead. Narvi and Ienn had found a fruiterer somewhere along the way and were talking softly over a bag of figs. Fas stood before the locked door, arms folded, his foot tapping out his impatience on the cobbled street.
Morning people, all of them. Arandras blinked hard and tried to convince himself to wake up.
The street was beginning to fill, the early morning traffic of household staff and foodmongers pushing Arandras to the side. He shuffled across to where Mara stood, resting his back and the sole of one foot against the wall with a sigh.
“Doesn’t like waiting much, does he?” Mara said, gesturing at Fas with her chin.
Arandras grunted. Serves him right for getting us all out here so early.
Mara switched the dirk to her other hand. “You ready for this?” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone.
“Sure,” Arandras said. “When Isaias opens up, I’ll just yawn at him.”
She chuckled. “I like you better when you’re half asleep.”
Huh? Arandras gave her as sharp a glance as he could manage, but her attention was entirely focused on the dirk as she flicked its point out from beneath a nail. The remark had sounded like it meant something, but he was damned if he had the slightest idea what. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wall. Weeper’s breath, I hate mornings.
Fas stepped forward, hammering on the door with his fist. “You have customers, Isaias!” When the door failed to swing open he exhaled sharply, fists on his hips, and muttered something inaudible.
“‘Doesn’t he know who I am?’” Mara murmured, and Arandras coughed a laugh.
A loud rattle from the door jolted Arandras alert. It swung open to reveal Isaias caught in the middle of a prodigious yawn. “About time,” Fas said; but with eyes clenched and mouth agape, Isaias showed no sign of hearing.
The yawn ended. Isaias looked blearily at each of them in turn.
“Huh,” he said, the utterance as much a sigh as a word, and his expression shifted to a watery smile. “Welcome, friends. Come in, won’t you? Come, come.”
They climbed the stairs without speaking, Isaias breathing heavily as he led the way. On reaching the top he made a beeline for the green armchair in front of the hearth, collapsing into it with a loud exhalation as Arandras and the others filed into the room. Narvi and Fas cast uneasy glances at the narrow, anamnil-filled cabinet and found positions on the other side of the room, their Quill brooches catching the first rays of sunlight through the window above the counter. Mara sauntered past, unconcerned, as Ienn halted at the top of the stairs, his arms folded.
“My friends,” Isaias said, rubbing his drooping eyelids and smiling beatifically. The cat, Pinecone, slunk around the corner of the armchair and disappeared behind the counter.
“Hello, Isaias,” Arandras said. “Sorry to burst in on you like this.”
“Ah, Arandras, do not trouble yourself with such trifling considerations. Isaias is always delighted to welcome such dear friends as yourselves.”
Arandras glanced at Fas, who gestured impatiently but at least had the sense not to speak. Thank the Weeper for small mercies. He scratched his beard, trying to think past his own haze to find the appropriate opening. “We, uh, are here to purchase a map.”
“How wonderful!” Isaias said, the exclamation both enthusiastic and entirely devoid of recognition. “Isaias is already longing to hear more. Pray, continue.”
“Understand, please, that I’m here under my own auspices,” Arandras said. “As you can see, I have gathered some other, ah, associates in this venture, but I remain the sole holder of the project’s key asset.” It was not quite a lie. The urn is the key asset, and it’s mine. Never mind that the Quill no longer needed the physical object. “These gentlemen are here to supply funds, nothing more.”
Isaias blinked mildly. “I see. And now, perhaps, you would be so kind as to describe this map you wish to purchase?”
There was a coolness in the shopkeeper’s tone that Arandras knew from long experience. The last thing I did was give him money and tell him not to reveal the map to the Quill. And now here I am, at an hour we both detest, shepherded in by no less than three of them. Small wonder if the man thought something was up.
“It’s fine, Isaias,” Arandras said. “Really. Just fetch us the map I was looking at the other day.”
“Which map was that, friend Arandras?”
“The one that —” Arandras broke off. Isaias wasn’t budging. And he’s not going to so long as the Quill are here. Fas gave a loud harrumph, and Arandras raised a hand to forestall him. “I’m sorry,” Arandras said to Isaias. “We’re wasting your time. We’ll leave now.”
“No, we damn well won’t!” Fas shouldered Arandras aside and planted himself before Isaias. “You know what we’re here for. Bring out your maps, man, and don’t try to fob us off with the same rigmarole as last time.”
Isaias adopted a regretful expression. “Alas, friend Fas, my answer today is the same as it was on your prior visit. Believe me when I say I would be delighted to sell you the object you seek. Truly, such transactions are the heart’s blood of this humble shop. Yet Isaias must sorrowfully confess his inability to —”
“Enough!” Fas stepped closer. “There are five of us here. You are alone. One way or another, we’re getting what we came for.”
“What?” Arandras blinked at Fas. “No, that’s not how this works. If Isaias says he’s not selling, then he’s not selling.”
“The hells with that,” Fas said, glancing around the shop. “We’ll start here, then move to the private rooms. Narvi, check the shelves and drawers behind the counter. Mara, the cabinets. Ienn, you keep Isaias here company. Arandras, you can help Narvi —
“Are you mad?” Arandras stared in disbelief. “You can’t just ransack his shop! Weeper’s tears, we’re not thugs!”
“Seems like a good way to get on the wrong side of the city garrison,” Mara said, in a tone Arandras chose to interpret as agreement.
Fas waved a dismissive hand. “The garrison owes us more favours than I can count. This is worth at least a couple.”
“If I may,” Isaias said. He seemed calm, yet there was a hint of steel in his tone. “Isaias is exceedingly familiar, alas, with customers who allow their enthusiasm to override their judgement, which I am confident, in other circumstances, is truly exquisite.” He turned his head, lowering his collar to show the fading bruise on his neck. “Some others visited my shop just a few days ago with a similarly, uh, forthright approach to their negotiations. Nonetheless, they left empty-handed.”
Fas paused, and Arandras took advantage of his hesitation to drive home the point. “What you’re doing is contemptible,” he said. “And if that doesn’t mean anything to you, the fact that it’s not going to work should. Give me the money and leave. Let me talk with Isaias alone.”
“And let the two of you swindle us while we wait downstairs like mugs? Forget it.”
Gatherer take you! Arandras clawed at his hair. “Gods, how can you be such a fool? Take your idiot pride outside and let me buy you the damn map!”
Yet as he said it, he felt a pang of doubt. What if Isaias isn’t simply being stubborn? Clade had been one step ahead of them the whole time. Could he have somehow prised the map from Isaias’s grasp? Arandras glanced across to where Mara lounged by the counter and saw the same thought in her expression. Weeper, tell me we haven’t been gulled. Again.
>
“My idiot pride?” Fas planted himself a finger’s breadth from Arandras’s face. “Can you even hear yourself? The Emperor of Kharjus is less arrogant than you! No wonder the Quill booted you out the first time around. I wouldn’t be surprised if —”
“Excuse me,” Mara said, and something in her tone made them all turn around. Isaias gave a stifled hiss.
The shopkeeper’s cat hung from Mara’s hand by the scruff of its neck, its legs dangling in the air.
“Now, my dear Mara,” Isaias said, his voice no longer as calm as it had been a moment ago. “Pray do not do anything you will later regret. Put her down, if you would be so kind.”
Mara lifted the cat to a level with her face. “Pinecone, isn’t it?” It gave a plaintive meow. “Are you well, Pinecone? Does the big round man over there look after you?”
Isaias coughed. “Mara, my friend, please. Release my beautiful Pinecone.” The Quill looked on like a trio of mummers, Fas intent, Narvi pained, Ienn impassive.
Let her go, Mara, Arandras wanted to say; yet somehow the words wouldn’t come. Without the map, there were no golems. Without the Quill, there was no luring Clade from the city. And without both of those, there was no vengeance for Tereisa.
And that was the most important thing of all.
Not like this, though. Not this.
Mara’s free hand drifted to the hilt of her dirk.
Isaias gave a sudden yelp. “No! Do not harm Pinecone, I beg you!”
She paused, her hand resting on the hilt, an enquiring expression on her face.
“Ah, my friends.” Isaias gulped, pressing his sleeve against his forehead. “I do believe I have just this moment remembered a collection of documents I purchased some time ago, from, ah, an eccentric old… well, no matter. As it happens, many of the papers do, in fact, show maps, including one in particular which I recently had cause to set aside. Perhaps I should fetch it, so that we might peruse it together?”
Mara lowered the cat to the counter, but kept hold of its scruff. “What an excellent suggestion,” she said.