Starwatch

by Ian Blackport

  Silva closed the drawer with a calm hand and straightened. “White swellfish isn’t something to trifle with.”

  “I never trifle. Do you have any on hand or should I hunt down a less loquacious apothecary and give that one my coins instead?”

  “There’s no need for that. I have a tincture available for sale, though I’m reticent. I had pondered the merits of tossing the small quantity aside. Newt tetrodotoxin might see me slapped with a fine, since it can be used as a balm to soothe burns. But even possessing swellfish is grounds for incarceration.”

  “All the more reason for me to take it off your hands,” Maylene said.

  Silva retrieved one narrow vessel stowing a liquid tinted cerise and held it between thumb and forefinger. “The slightest miscalculation can be fatal. And I don’t merely refer to your intended recipients. Many naïve chaps with delusions of grandeur have inadvertently killed themselves handling white swellfish.”

  “They’re not me. I’ve been using the toxin for years without ill effects. So let’s dispense with the unnecessary cautions and discuss price.”

  “Risky doings getting my hands on this. Skirting the law, slipping beneath the notice of the harbor master and his prying cronies. Thirty-five silvers seem reasonable.”

  Maylene folded arms atop her jacket and gave a humorless grin. “You admitted a desire to rid yourself of the venom, in a moment of foolish disclosure I imagine. Giving you even a trifle seems fair compensation in exchange for something you might have disposed of without a second thought. I believe twelve silvers is more reasonable.”

  “Folks put life and limb in jeopardy to capture the creature off Shodo Hai. A nasty critter when it extends poisonous barbs, and always eager to inject brazen humans. Peril forces the cost far higher than most substances. Don’t suppose I could go under thirty.”

  She jerked a finger toward the miniscule amount he held. “For this small a measure of tetrodotoxin you’d still make a profit selling at fifteen silvers and don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “Fifteen would hardly warrant the dangers I accepted in stocking white swellfish,” Silva countered. “Though perhaps twenty-eight might.”

  “This isn’t an in demand product. I walk out that door and you might indeed be forced to trash it. Eighteen.”

  “How many other apothecaries do you suppose are willing to sell a banned toxin? This is tranquil Arroyo, not Ercora. Another purveyor might be interested in charging you double what I am for a lesser volume. Would you be keen to slink back to me red-faced afterward, abruptly appreciative of my prices? I shan’t accept less than twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-two and I’ll call you a pirate for raising the price that high.”

  Silva embellished begrudging contemplation at the offer and nodded. “Less than what I hoped, but a satisfactory amount nonetheless. I’m pleased we could reach an agreement.”

  Maylene returned alongside him to the public shop and fished a jangling purse off her belt. “You and me both.”

  She unwound a leather string, emptying the pouch’s contents atop his counter. Silva handed venom to her and spread dull silver out while she slipped the vial into her jacket. Maylene slid spare coins back within the purse and fastened her pocket.

  “A pleasure,” he declared, sweeping his riches from sight. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Maylene bid farewell and crossed to the entry. She anticipated paying twenty-five silvers, one full gold sun. Even a modest discount cheered her spirits, since the remainder could be pocketed with her accomplices none the wiser. Three silvers might purchase a girl all manner of illicit burglary tools. She felt a yearning need to treat herself to a new twist-flex torsion wrench. Maylene descended stairs and emerged on the crowded boulevard once more, crossing to a nearby intersection swarming with wagons.

  She still needed to acquire red-tailed mushroom to satisfy her plans, though that purchase would be done elsewhere. Obtaining two questionable toxins from one shop might attract attention she was unwilling to deal with, even given her careful record. For a connoisseur of illegal tools, it was always prudent to diversify one’s suppliers. She utilized four metalworkers in Asdor City to fulfill specialized requests, and none knew about the others.

  Maylene ran fingers through knotted tangles falling on either side of her face and continued onward. Precautions necessary to keep an enterprising criminal unacquainted with the gallows were limitless and ever increasing. Her good fortune therefore to know them all.

  *

  The door groaned ajar in answer to her frantic thumping, revealing a swarthy face peering beyond in annoyance. Cyriana planted one palm on Rope’s chest and shoved, forcing him into a clumsy stumble. She whacked the entry closed, bolted an iron lock and faced the flustered Shiylan.

  Who smoothed crinkles on his shirt and raised an eyebrow. “By all means, do come in.”

  “We have a problem,” Cyriana declared.

  “Only one? I’ll take this to be a good day then.”

  “Shut it. This issue might be severe. I noticed a man eyeing me in the streets. He was cautious and reasonably skilled, enough to make me nervous. We’re being watched and I haven’t the foggiest notion who might be leering.” She halted her pacing and eyed Rope, searching his face for a wary regard and only finding unsurprised features. “Ah, the simple answer presents itself. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Naturally. I was the one who instructed him to watch over you.”

  “And you didn’t see fit to inform me about all this?”

  “Do you have difficulty comprehending the point of an unseen shadow? No one is supposed to be aware of his presence. Though given your predilection for skulking in the dark, I should’ve known you’d clue in eventually to a tail.”

  “Damn it, you fool. If I thought my stalker was threatening enough, I might’ve looped around and slit his throat. All because you adore secrets and don’t like sharing. And what makes you believe I haven’t given the chore of tailing me to one among my own companions? The two might’ve gotten into a knife fight, each thinking the other was a danger.”

  “Though churlish as ever, you raise a practical point,” Rope conceded. “Lack of coordination between us could be counterproductive or even dangerous. Perhaps it is wise for us to share more openly with one another. Despite these spats you insist on having, our objectives are the same.”

  “Glad we’re in agreement. And also, I know you’re paid to be a surly, mistrustful man, but my crew doesn’t need protecting. I’ve made a career out of staying alive when others want me flayed over coals.”

  “My investment is what requires safeguarding. Your remarkable arrogance aside, I have little doubt you can handle yourself when such times arise. Can the same be said for your entire team? My suspicion is you chose to hire thieves and tricksters, not mercenaries. Likewise, what of my vault at Vinaldor’s? Perhaps someone wishing you ill has no intention of clobbering you atop the head. Tracking you to our lending house could prove disastrous if we aren’t careful. While you might not notice pursuit, my agent will.”

  “Does this shy gentleman have a name?”

  “You may refer to him as Noose.”

  Cyriana uttered a hoarse laugh and cleared her throat. “You’re the Rope and he’s your Noose? Gods that’s awful. A little imagination and subtlety can go a long way. Feel free to make an effort one day.”

  “I leave matters of ingenuity to you. Wait, a thought strikes me. Not knowing whether his purpose was nefarious or not, did you honestly lead him straight to me? You could have brought an assassin to my doorstep for all you knew.”

  “Have faith in your night creeper. I ditched him in some roundabout alleys before slipping in here. I know how to lose a clinging voyeur, even the talented ones.”

  “I suppose that calms my mind. Now that you know his role, please refrain from disappearing. I’ll instruct Noose to withdraw farther and be less intrusive, but it is in your best interest that he be nearby if required. You’ll need to toler
ate his presence.”

  “And should I find myself in danger, is he more gifted with a blade than at remaining invisible?”

  “Much. I suspect you and he would get along nicely.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Rope snapped his fingers and consulted a stack cluttering his table. “It’s actually fortuitous that you barged in here today. I planned to send for you tomorrow morning.”

  “Regarding what?”

  “This,” he announced, lifting a worn vellum sheet.

  “And what might this be?”

  “The only surviving fragment copied from the Bharali relic you’re poised to steal. Specifically the beginning paragraphs. You have no idea what lengths I endured to acquire this.”

  “I’m cheery to learn you’re finally pulling your weight. Although I have a sneaking suspicion you didn’t actually endure any duress. Probably had an intermediary do it for you. I know what that’s all about.”

  “Snicker all you like.” Rope placed the document atop his table and traced a finger along faded ink. “Their method of writing runs alternately from right to left, and left to right. A fascinating stylistic choice.”

  “You might have me confused with someone who cares.”

  “Or merely someone halfway intelligent.”

  “Sarcasm aside, this will help immensely,” admitted Cyriana. “I had naught but your assurances until now that you could simplify our task with more details. I suppose we only need to match these words with the proper scroll.”

  “Essentially. Though I would recommend another method to further refine your search. Starwatch has dozens of Bharali artifacts at the least. I’d hazard a guess you won’t have the leisure to examine each with care.”

  “And you’d be correct. But at least now if we narrow our target to a handful we can make do in a pinch. Better than trying to stuff every scroll they penned into our coats.”

  “I wouldn’t judge you for doing what was necessary.”

  “Before I take my leave, are there any other treats waiting for me to discover in the coming weeks? It’s in your best interest to be honest with me, because the next shadowy creeper is getting a knife in the eye.”

  “Noose is currently my sole operative. I don’t have a private army.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you do.” Cyriana tucked vellum beneath an arm and waved with one hand. “Until the next time, Cord.”

  *

  An indistinct howl jerked Cyriana awake and she propped herself above the mattress on an elbow.

  Across the room Maylene moaned and stuffed a pillow over her face. “Oh, what the shit is that? It’s too late for bothersome noises. Don’t tell me wolves are lurking in the courtyard.”

  “Not wolves. That was human.”

  Shrill cries echoed beneath wooden rafters, and Cyriana felt a cold shiver seize her spine. The source did not originate outside.

  “Too close,” she whispered. “Daggers in hand.”

  Maylene slipped from her bed into a silent crouch, a glint of moonlight dancing over honed iron and all weariness gone from her hardened face. Clutching a key ring in one hand and knife in the other, Cyriana’s bare feet padded atop floorboards to the entry. She delicately twisted the knob and pulled, unleashing Maylene into the hallway with unsheathed daggers poised before her.

  “Deserted,” she proclaimed. “All doors closed.”

  Cyriana hunkered alongside the other woman, listening for noise amid her own ragged breaths exhaling in fits. Another shriek snagged her focus and she scrambled upright.

  “Zalla’s room.”

  An entry smacked ajar down the hallway and Cyriana whirled, uplifting her knife for a killing lunge. Baskaran stood wearing a light tunic, one hand gripping his dueling rapier in a guarded stance. Surprise flickered across his drowsy expression before he lowered the weapon and trundled closer.

  “Danger?” he whispered.

  “Don’t know. Keep the sword handy.”

  Maylene hurried forward, wrenched Zalla’s knob without evident effect and grumbled under her breath. Fumbling to fit the correct key into its slot, Cyriana kicked the door open and surged within. A vacant bed awaited on one side and she turned to glimpse Zalla spasm atop the other mattress, loosing a piercing wail.

  “Chamber’s empty,” Maylene declared, relaxing her posture. “Except for screaming beauty over there.”

  Tossing a dagger to clatter at her feet, Cyriana settled onto the bed and prodded the young woman with a lone finger. Zalla panicked at the touch and lashed out, flailing her limbs without conscious thought. Cyriana seized one wrist and gently pinned the arm, cursing as a balled fist whacked into her cheek. She gritted aching teeth and snatched the errant limb with more force, rattling Zalla in the hopes of rousing her. “Damn it, girl. Wake up!”

  Eyes snapped open, though no awareness crept over her face.

  “It’s me, Zalla.” She squeezed tighter and struggled to hold the thrashing girl. “Okay? It’s only me.”

  Frightened eyes shifted and settled on Cyriana. For a moment Zalla seemed not to recognize her, until gradually her quivering faded and the girl appeared to find solace in a familiar face.

  “What…?”

  “You’re dreaming, Zalla. Nothing you saw is real. Do you hear me?”

  “A dream…”

  “That’s right. You’re with me and you’re safe. I promise.”

  A yawn reaching obnoxious volume pulled Cyriana around. Thorkell closed his mouth and smacked dry lips. “Nice to know this wasn’t a genuine incident. Though it should be said a sleep-deprived con man is a liability.”

  “Then go back to bed,” Cyriana groaned. “The sympathy quotient can only rise with you gone.”

  Another set of footsteps echoed from the hallway and Jenian appeared wearing a woollen nightgown. “I heard screaming.”

  “We’re fine. No one’s hurt or in need of care.”

  Jenian leaned against the doorframe and glimpsed Zalla. Understanding washed over the older woman’s features. “Would she care for a cup of tea?”

  “That would be nice,” Cyriana responded. “Thank you, Jenian.”

  The considerate proprietor shuffled from sight as Thorkell ignited a lantern and settled it atop Zalla’s bedside table. Given the unusual circumstances, Cyriana would not berate Jenian for disobeying her stipulation to avoid entering the upstairs bedchambers. She might even have proved beneficial in a true crisis.

  Thorkell scratched his scalp through askew hair and pivoted. “Where’s Eloran at? Couldn’t be bothered to investigate the danger?”

  “Slumbering peacefully,” answered Baskaran. “The noise didn’t wake him.”

  “It woke the rest of the damn inn, including the ones snoozing downstairs. Comforting to know the man might sleep through us being murdered.”

  “Means we can do whatever we fancy to him while he’s in a blissful dream,” Maylene said, waving the others toward the door. “I’m all for shaving the faint hairs left on his head tomorrow night.”

  “Only if we can replace the hairs with a tattoo. I’m thinking a flowery design.”

  Zalla watched them depart and climbed into a seated position leaning against the wooden headboard. She glanced at Cyriana and touched a finger to her own cheek. “Your face. Did I do that to you?”

  “Aye. That you were asleep at the time is the only reason I haven’t wrung your neck.” Cyriana noted the dismay in the young girl’s eyes and offered a wry grin. “Only a joke. My poor attempt at some levity after your episode.”

  Zalla drew both legs close to her chest and wrapped arms around scuffed knees. Ragged breaths escaped lips moistened by tears.

  “Is there something you’re keen to chat about?” inquired Cyriana.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t claim to know much about dreams, but it’s a damned certainty you weren’t being tormented by bears or some such. Might’ve wakened in a cold sweat, but that would be the end of it. This is worse, and
I can see that plain. There’s a dark trouble in your mind that doesn’t want to leave you be. All I mean to say is talking about it might help. If not with me, then someone else. No need to be alone, lass. Not if you don’t want.”

  She wiped one cheek with a finger and sniffled. “Thank you, Cyriana.”

  “Been on your own a long time, have you?”

  A weak nod answered her query.

  “Can’t say my life has gone any different,” Cyriana claimed. “We rely on ourselves to get by and don’t want others meddling or looking to give directions. Take it from me though. Some days it’s better to have another person watching out for you. I’m a jaded, irritable thief and even I have friends sprinkled throughout Encrin. You’re the more likeable one between us two, I figure. Probably among everyone here on this job. You shouldn’t ever need to be on your own.”

  “It’s nice not being alone right now.”

  “Care to reconsider telling me what’s on your mind?”

  Zalla sighed, pulling both knees even tighter to her chest. “I come from Lashon Hara originally. When I was twelve a ruthless murderer stalked the streets for three weeks. People were too terrified to leave their homes. The city watch seemed powerless to end the killings, so my parents forbid us children from setting foot outside. I had two older brothers and a younger sister, and we were all confined to the house. One night I woke up hearing strange noises and left the bedroom I shared with my sister. Beds in the other rooms were all empty, and I couldn’t find anyone until I came downstairs.

  “One lone man crouched over the bodies of my mother and brothers, with a knife in each hand. I stood there, unable to move and screaming as he killed my crying sister. My father was still barely alive, propped against a cabinet and forced to watch. I wanted desperately to reach his side and be with him in those last moments, but my legs didn’t move. I don’t know if it was fear or cowardice, but I stayed where I was. The man knelt over my father, moving with almost tender slowness. My father looked into my eyes the moment he died. I could see the terror in his face. Not for his own life, but for mine. I’m sure he died believing I was next, that not one person he loved was going to survive. The pain must have torn him to pieces more than any wound.