by Jon Sprunk
“You work for the archpriest.”
“I am Levictus.”
Ral shifted in the chair and forced his lips to form a small smile. Many men had trembled to see that smile just moments before their deaths.
“Tell your master I am doing everything I can. We'll find Caim and the girl. Don't wor—”
“I come on my own behalf. With an offer.”
What was this? Ral sat up.
“For many years,” the sorcerer continued, “I have worked tirelessly in the archpriest's service, but in recent days I have come to discover that his aims no longer reflect my own.”
That was interesting. Yes, very interesting indeed. “You mentioned an offer.”
“I seek a new partner, one whose goals are more closely aligned with my own.”
“So what brings you to me?”
The cowl dipped slightly. “You are ambitious. You chafe under the yoke of servitude, just as I do. Separate we are formidable, but together…there would be nothing to stop us.”
“There's Vassili and the Church. And the Sacred Brotherhood. Even without a grand master, they aren't going to sit idle and let us take over.”
Levictus drew up straighter and the room suddenly felt too small for the both of them. Ral squeezed himself farther into the chair.
“The Church is not as unified as it appears,” the sorcerer said. “The prelate's gaze is turned across the sea. The electors are divided by their lusts. As for the Brotherhood, you already possess the leverage you need.”
“Markus.”
Ral worked his tongue around his mouth to drum up some moisture. He didn't like feeling small. He hated it, in fact, worse than anything else he could think of. Yet there was something to this figure standing before him, an awful power he could not deny, and one he dared not ignore. “And His Sublime Radiance?”
“All men die, the small and the great alike.”
Ral tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. Despite the theatrics, this man meant business. The deadly serious sort. The kind of business he enjoyed best.
“Sounds like you have it all figured out. What do you need me for?”
The sorcerer loomed closer. “The archpriest's plan was too timid. We will eliminate the Elector Council, down to the last priest. Then, as the only powers left in the city, we collect all the spoils.”
“Is that all? Do you want me to knife the Holy Father himself while I'm at it?”
The intruder said nothing.
“God's balls, you're serious! Listen. I didn't mind working for Vassili. He made me certain assurances, but what's my end of this grand scheme?”
The other leaned forward. Despite his best efforts, Ral pressed back against the chair to keep the distance between them as a sibilant whisper issued from the dark cowl.
“I will deal with the prelate, but it is time for Nimea to regain her soul. For that, the realm needs a strong hand on the reins. You were content to accept the scraps from Vassili's table. Would you pass up the chance to hold this entire city in the palm of your hands? Unfettered. Answerable to no man. For once, your own master.”
Ral sucked in a deep breath. “How—?”
Levictus extended a scroll sealed with a dollop of black wax. Ral reached for it as though it were a serpent. The parchment was stiff and strangely textured as he unrolled it, like cowhide but much smoother. With a start he realized it must be human skin. He held it aside so he could watch the man while he read.
“These are your new targets. Complete this task and all that you desire will come to pass.”
Ral read through the list and appreciated the straightforwardness of the plan. Yes, it could work. With these individuals out of the way, there would be no one left to defy them. If this man could be trusted to do his part. Ral wished he could see the sorcerer's eyes. This was a risky gambit, but the rewards were beyond anything he had previously dreamed. Governorship of the greatest city in the world. He would have everything he had ever wanted: respectability, money, prestige.
“What about funding? An operation such as this—”
The sorcerer opened his other pale hand, and a stream of coins spewed forth like a fountain. “Do we have an accord, Lord Governor Pendarich?”
Ral gaped at the fortune in gold and silver rolling across his carpet, and up to the sleeve from which it had come. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Lord Governor Pendarich. I can live with that.
“I accept.”
Heat flared in Ral's hand and he dropped the scroll, which had erupted into sizzling flame. He coughed and waved his hands. When the smoke cleared, the scroll and Levictus were gone.
Ral stood up. Long shadows filled the corners of the room despite the bright sunlight that shone through the windows. Thirteen square boxes rested on the table beside his armoire. Identical in appearance, each was constructed of a creamy wood, beach or maybe white pine, bound with brass fittings.
Ral went over to investigate. Fearing some trap, he abstained from touching them at first, but then his impatience got the better of him and he lifted one of the lids to peek inside.
He swallowed as he shut the box. An unsightly business, but necessary. He looked at his hand. A black smudge marred the smooth patch of skin between ridged calluses. He rubbed it on his shirt, but the mark remained. With a frown, he held it up to the light.
In the center of his palm gleamed a silhouette of an ominous black tower.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Caim awoke on his side with one hand tucked under a pillow. Thoughts drifted through his mind like clouds through a murky gray sky, memories of his wild days riding with Jame's band of marauders. The brawls, the comrades, the sultry nights in Brevenna where every woman was a beauty and the wine never stopped flowing. Sometimes he missed those days. They were a more innocent time in his life, a time when he'd never had to watch over his shoulder unless it was for an angry husband or a suspicious lawman, and either could be dealt with by coin or blade. He wondered what had happened to the fiery-tempered rogue he had once been.
He rolled onto his back and stretched, fully believing he was home in his cot until the shifting of the soft mattress beneath his frame made him sit up in alarm. The piercing agony that ripped through his side drove away the last vestiges of sleep. He groaned and settled back on the mattress. His stomach did a little flip when he opened his eyes. The pink walls, the frilly lace canopy, tin ornaments on the shelves polished to resemble silver. The smells of rose petals and talcum. There was only one place he could be.
Madam Sanya's Pleasure House on Paradise Lane.
It was a bolt hole he had used a few times in the past to recover from arduous jobs or just to clear his head. By the slant of the sunbeams filtering through the window slats, it was early morning. Sounds drifted in from the street—people talking, bartering, and arguing over the hum of the city. A familiar scent floated in the air. Another look around confirmed it. He was in Kira's room, and he wasn't alone.
Josey sat in a chair beside the bed. Part of him was amazed to see her. He would have wagered she'd come to her senses before now and taken off. Another part of him was irked. He was losing his edge if he could sleep soundly with someone else in the room.
She had changed outfits, replacing the tattered nightgown with a maroon off-the-shoulder kirtle. It was a decent fit, if a little tight across the bosom. High, buttoned boots peeked from beneath the hem of the flaring skirt. He marveled at the spoiled aristocrat's daughter, who probably spent more on shoes in a sennight than most people scraped together in a year, sitting in a whore's bedchamber in a borrowed dress and looking absolutely gorgeous. Though he wasn't partial to red, the color brought out the glow in her cheeks. He couldn't look away, and didn't say a word for fear he might lose this moment. He felt her beauty tightening around his soul like a web of steel. Then, he thrust it away before the spell could settle over him for good. It was harder than he expected.
His good feelings faded under her fierce glare.
“You
brought me to a…a bordello!”
Kit dropped from the ceiling and plopped on his bed without disturbing the covers. “Hey, look who's finally awake! You gave me a good scare, Caim. Don't do it again.”
He cleared his throat and started to sit up, but stopped himself. He was naked. Worse, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten that way. Kit couldn't touch him and Josey…He banished the thought. Surely, she hadn't…
“You look, um, very nice,” he said, and meant it for both of them.
“Don't say a word about the dress.”
Kit snickered.
“I was just—”
“Not a word!”
“Fine.”
“Good!”
He was glad to hear the fire in her voice. The things she had seen in the past couple days would have broken many people, especially a young woman from the fair streets of High Town. But Josey had responded with good instincts and poise. Unfortunately, those fine attributes wouldn't count for much if they were found. Twice now the Sacred Brotherhood had come for Josey, and had risked a great deal to see her dead. Twice he had saved her. Laid up with a hole in his gut, he didn't want to find out if three was his unlucky number.
“Actually,” he said, “you brought me here. I was in no condition—”
“You gave me the directions!”
A knock at the door broke off whatever he was going to say next. A cold wave of dread washed over him as he tried to sit up again, and he clenched his jaws as a ripple of pain tore through his side. Where were his knives? He spied a familiar strap hanging from the bedpost by his head and grabbed for it just as the door opened. A familiar face peeked in. Caim suppressed the urge to groan again. Instead, he pulled the bedsheets up to his chest. Of course, it had to be Kira. He should have known.
Kira beamed at him as she swept into the room with a wooden tray and set it on the nightstand beside the bed. Caim returned a small smile, not wanting to appear impolite. After all, he and Kira had spent more than one night together in this very room on the few occasions he had felt the need for companionship.
Kira ignored Josey as she stood over him. “How are you feeling, Caim?”
Josey's mouth tightened in a way that made Caim glad to have his knives close at hand. Kit grinned like a cat with cream on her whiskers as she reclined beside him and watched the exchange.
The door opened again to admit the lady of the house. The panels of her lavender gown were wide to accommodate Madam Sanya's exceedingly ample bosom, which threatened to spill out of the low-plunged collar at any moment. It was widely whispered that she had been a great beauty in her youth, the most sought-after courtesan in Othir. Caim could almost believe it. A striking woman still lurked in the depths of her apple-shaped face, but she had been concealed under too many layers of makeup.
“All right, Kira.” Madam Sanya made with a shooing motion. “Out now. Leave them to their rest.”
The girl departed, after shooting another heated glance at Caim that earned him further mouth-tightening from Josey.
“I'm sorry about that,” Madam Sanya said. “That girl can be a proper pain in the backside, but she's popular with the men.”
“No.” Josey came to her feet. “She's been very generous, as have you all.”
Madam Sanya gave a lovely chuckle that could have come from a much younger and slighter lady. “It's no problem, darling. Caim is a good friend of the house. We're glad to help.”
Josey leveled a bemused gaze at him. “Oh? Is he a regular at your establishment?”
Caim cleared his throat, ready to defend his reputation, but Madam Sanya didn't give him the chance. “Not quite a regular, but he's helped us out of some unpleasant situations. Not every man is a gentleman like Caim. Some have to be convinced to behave themselves, but it's just me and my girls here. I've never kept a bruiser at the door, and I never will if I have my way.”
Arms crossed over her chest, Josey studied him with a mysterious expression like she was weighing him on some invisible scale. He didn't like the look one bit, but naked and abed there wasn't much he could do about it.
“Once,” Madam Sanya continued, “we had a real hard case in the house, a Hvekish sellsword with more muscles than brains. Well, he hadn't been upstairs with Abilene for more than ten minutes when I hear an awful commotion. He was beating the vinegar out of the girl. Some men are just like that, mean to the core. Anyways, I sent Suri to fetch help, and she came back with Caim just as quick as you please. Without a word, he goes upstairs. We heard a mighty ruckus, but I was too scared to go up and look myself, not till afterward. There was Abilene, all busted up and bleeding like a lamb at market, but alive. The sellsword was stretched out with enough holes in his gullet to sink a man-o’-war. We threw the body out back with the garbage. Since then, everyone knows to keep civil in my house.”
Caim changed the subject. “What's the latest, Sanya? Anyone looking for us?”
“Well, most tongues are flapping about the murders up in High Town.”
“My father,” Josey said.
Caim saw the pain written on her face and felt a stab of remorse. He hadn't killed her father, but he would have, and the knowledge of that made him feel just as guilty as if he had been the one holding the knife. Not for the first time, he reconsidered the direction his life had taken. Was it too late to give it all up? Would anyone ever see him as anything but a killer? Would he?
“You said murders, Sanya. There's been more than one?”
“Three all told,” the madam replied. “Two was members of the Elector Council, killed in their own homes and no one's seen nothing. The whole city is buzzing about it. Personally, I think it's one of them southern death-cults at work. Did you hear about how that high priest got his head cut off down in Belastire? And by one of his own servants, mores the worse.”
Belastire? That rang a bell in Caim's head. Someone had mentioned that city to him lately. Then he remembered who—Ral. Rotten bastard, what are you up to?
“I tell you,” Madam Sanya said. “People are crazy these days, worshipping snakes and cats. Anyway, there's more tinmen on the street than I've seen in twenty years on the Lane. Someone will be hanging in Chirron's Square come sunset, mark my words.”
“You didn't answer my question, Sanya,” Caim said. “Is anyone looking for us?”
The mistress of the house gazed down into her generous chest. “Some say it's you behind all those killings, Caim. They say you've gone mad. But I don't believe it. You've been nothing but a gentleman to my girls and me.”
“Thank you,” Caim said. “For everything.”
This time it was the big woman's turn to blush. She did it with grace and left, closing the door behind her.
“What does it mean?” Josey asked.
“It means someone is making their move.”
“What kind of move?”
Thoughts tumbled around in Caim's head like pieces of a giant puzzle, each obscure on its own, but all of them hinting at a bigger picture. Othir had always been a hotbed of backroom dealings and political intrigue. Unrest had been the watchword since the day the Church deposed the last legitimate emperor and installed itself as the new regime. It was one of the reasons Caim had chosen here for his base of operations. Turmoil was lucrative in his line of business. Now it worked against him. With the rumors flying about, he couldn't go anyplace he was known. Madam Sanya had taken a big chance letting them stay here.
His gaze moved to Josey, seated once more in the ladder-back chair. Her proud features were out of place in the cheap room. He was missing something, some bit of vital information sitting right in front of him.
“Your father. You said he was a governor.”
“The exarch of Navarre, but he retired when I was little and we moved to Othir.”
“My contact told me he was a general responsible for ruthless massacres in Eregoth.”
A look of horror crossed her features. “My father never harmed anyone.”
“Sure,” Kit murmured. “
I bet her old man was a pussycat. Probably ate like a king while his people starved in the streets.”
Caim shook his head. Kit pouted, but he didn't care. This wasn't the time for a debate on social injustice. He was onto something. He could feel it, like a fish wriggling on the end of a line.
“So he wasn't a military officer?”
“No, he was never in the army. He had a lame foot since childhood.”
Caim considered that. Mathias wasn't one to make careless mistakes. He was purposely misled, and by someone he trusted.
“You think my father's death is connected to these other murders?”
“I don't believe in coincidence. The same person who set me up at your father's house is somehow involved.”
“How does that help us? We can't go to the authorities. The Sacred Brotherhood is trying to kill me, and you're wanted for about a thousand crimes.”
“When was the last time you saw your father alive?”
He instantly regretted his boorishness as bright spots of moisture formed in the corners of her eyes. To her credit, she didn't break down.
“Earlier that day in his study,” she answered. “We had an argument.”
“About what?”
“He wanted me to leave the city. He said it wasn't safe for me here. He wanted me to take a trip abroad. He said he would send for me when things got better.”
Caim sat up and received a sharp reminder of his condition. He ignored it. He didn't have time to be hurt. “Did he say who he thought was such a threat?”
“No.” A hint of gold sparkled under Josey's neckline as she ran a hand over her forehead. “I told you. My father was a well-loved man. We never had trouble like this before.”