And though the masses delighted in gossip and innuendo, he knew that some could scratch an itch without realizing the import, while others knew exactly what the itch portended. They knew whether to scratch and curse, or head for a physiker.
Fortune had been with Bees. Information on the ship docked in the harbor from Indryalla had netted him a tidy sum. As luck would have it, another source confirmed the ship carried an important envoy offering an alliance. A foreign alliance with a country so far away hardly anyone had heard of it. No doubt the nobles would make much of it, preening and strutting about the glorious empire while everyone else scratched in the dirt to make ends meet. Bees sniffed. Useless diplomatic nonsense.
He dug a thumbnail into an orange and began to skin the fruit, dropping the peel at his feet. The pungent scent made him smile; it never failed to delight him, unlike most of his fellow city dwellers. Midmorning sun bathed him as he sat in his usual spot near an old fountain in Cabbage Town, warming his hair and giving it ‘sun smell’ as his ma used to say.
Positioned on a step in front of a closed shop with a basket of oranges at his feet, Bees could be found here a few days out of every seven, or if not him, someone in his employ. Street urchins sold him information for a coin and an orange, while housewives and servants filling various containers with water from the fountain could stop by for a chat. With any luck, a few coins might change hands if what they knew was of value to him. More often than not he sent them on their way with a shake of his head.
A shadow fell across him, and he looked up to see a cloaked figure, head covered by a hood. He squinted at the face for a moment before recognizing her.
“Ah, Elpidia. Come to check on me after all this time? I can say with no measure of doubt the unguent you provided me has worked a treat.” He popped an orange segment into his mouth and chewed. It was good, sweet and juicy.
Elpidia folded her arms across her chest, hood turning left and right as she checked to see if anyone approached. “As I knew it would,” she said at last. “A common complaint for men who visit whorehouses.” Her tone was derisive.
“Come now, you wouldn’t begrudge a single man one of the greatest pleasures in life now, would you?”
She scowled at him. “No,” she said reluctantly. “Not a single man.” She scratched her neck.
“Well, that’s cleared up. No pun intended.” He grinned at her. She remained impassive. Sensing he would have to draw out of her why she was here, he continued. “A lovely day, isn’t it? Clear skies, a warm sun, and oranges, of course. Would you care for one?” He retrieved a fruit from the basket and held it out. She hesitated then took it with a nod of thanks. A rash covered the back of her hand.
Surprisingly, she sat on the step next to him and began peeling. He popped another segment into his mouth. He let her peel her fruit and finish a couple of segments. She chewed methodically, staring out at the square and fountain.
Something was on her mind, perhaps valuable information concerning a client she was hesitant to share.
He cleared his throat. “What brings you out here on such a fine day?”
“I don’t have any information for you, and even if one of my clients said something, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“That’s disappointing. I think you’d have a lot to sell me.”
She scowled at him again. “I would never do so. But I do need a favor.”
“A favor, is it? Like we are old friends, helping each other out, is that it? Free of charge. I would never do so,” he echoed.
“Don’t be difficult. I can pay and pay well. It’s not like I’m destitute.”
Bees chewed another segment. “So,” he said through a mouthful of orange, “what can I do for you? And before you say anything, let me tell you I can’t determine a price until I know what’s involved.”
Elpidia nodded. “I need information on someone.”
“Is that all? You’ve come to the right person.”
“You won’t know who this person is, and I don’t know much about them. I can give you little to go on.”
“What do you suspect they are up to?”
“Up to? Nothing.”
“Then why do you need to know about them?”
“Let’s say I’m curious. I treated him a while ago, and he intrigued me.”
“Elpidia, if you are enamored of him there are easier ways to go about it! Perfumed letters, sweet gifts…”
The fierce look she gave him stopped his next joke. Her jaw clenched. “It’s nothing like that.”
He held up his hands. “What’s important about this man?”
She glanced at him then away towards the fountain. “As I said, I’m curious. He intrigued me.”
“I’ll need to know more about him before I can say how much it’ll cost.”
“His name’s Caldan and he’s an apprentice in the Sorcerers’ Guild.”
Bees whistled softly. “Not easy to get in there, with the sorcerers.” Though actually it was. Every organization or business needed servants and staff. And all of the guilds had apprentices from all walks of life, some of whom were willing to earn a few ducats on the sly.
“What exactly do you need to know?”
“Everything, really,” Elpidia said with a depreciating laugh. “How he is doing there; what do the masters think of him? Where he is from, who his parents were. Everything. I’d do it myself, but my…research is too important. I can’t spare the time.”
Bees sucked the juice out of another segment and considered. An easy job, and he could charge her well, except she had done right by him before. But it didn’t add up. Elpidia knew something she wasn’t saying, he could feel it, and it was obviously important to her. What was important to one person was also important to others. That was how the world worked.
“Three silver ducats to start. It’s a good offer,” he added. He finished the last segment of orange.
She removed a purse from under her cloak and counted coins into his hand.
No argument, no bargaining, thought Bees. Intriguing.
“Meet me back here in a few days,” he said. “I should have something by then.”
“He’s well-educated on a number of subjects, including alchemy. And he once spoke of lessons with monks. I would hazard a guess that means he was raised at the monastery in Eremite.”
“That would fit, from what I know. That helps as well, though if I have to send someone there to gather information it’ll be costly.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that. My funds aren’t sizeable.”
Though you handed over three silvers with no complaint. “A week, then. I’m afraid you might be scaring away business sitting there.”
Elpidia stood abruptly, the remaining orange in her hand. She looked at it then around for a refuse pile to place it in. There were none.
“Take it and enjoy,” said Bees. “You’ll be glad you did.”
She gave a thin smile and strode off, hood still covering her hair.
Bees picked up a fresh orange and raised it above his head. A few moments later, a ragged little girl stood in front of him.
“Ah, sweetling. Can you take a message for me?”
She nodded eagerly, eyes all the while on the orange out of her reach.
“Good.” He spoke to her for a few moments then handed her the fruit. She scurried off.
Wheels were in motion. There was more to this than Elpidia let on, and whatever information he ended up with needed to be examined carefully. He leaned back against the door and shielded his eyes from the sun. In the square, life went on.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Just ahead of Buuren and his two men was the residence of House Kesmon, their objective. A gray stone wall to his left, as high as a man and then some, surrounded the House Kesmon estate, punctuated ahead of them by a broad iron gate.
Always wary, Buuren glanced around, searching for signs anyone was eyeing them suspiciously or they were being watched. At this time of night, they hadn’t e
xpected many people to notice them. Nothing so far. This city had become too indolent for its own good, and corrupt. Which was why they were here.
In his mind, he ran over what he knew of the city and the district they were in, Cabbage Town. Home of the almost well-to-do, the not quites, and the might have beens. While Dockside had reeked, Cabbage Town merely exuded an odor of dung and urine from the streets, overlaid with the faint scent of plants from Parkside and Five Flowers to the west, improved with cinnamon, pepper, paprika, mustard and cardamom. For Cabbage Town district was renowned for its spice merchants and food houses, taverns, inns, street vendors and restaurants, all of whom vied to attract the hungry citizens of Anasoma. They were a fair distance from the worst of Dockside, and from what they saw as the decadence of Parkside, though all were unaware the empire they served was no better than a foul slaver.
Cabbage Town was situated east of Parkside, the nobles and wealthy merchants’ quarter, and east again of Five Flowers, home of the not-so-wealthy nobles and merchants. The streets were narrow — two wagons couldn’t pass without one pulling close to a wall and stopping while the other edged past, squeezing through the gap.
The substantial House Kesmon estate was managed by a contingent of household and garden workers: slaves, sentenced criminals or unfortunates that couldn’t pay their taxes, debtors and suchlike. Numerous guards were required to oversee such labor, though slaves hardly ever tried to escape, the penalty in law set by the emperor being hanging for such an offence. Punishments for minor offences, such as laziness or stealing, ranged from flogging to the amputation of a hand or foot. Many slaves used to be free citizens, having been forced into slavery when they couldn’t pay their taxes, or after flouting the laws of the empire.
A cold wind blew in from the sea, and a fine mist shrouded the streets. A dog barked in the distance; down deserted side streets scurried rats busy about their business.
Faint sounds of revelry from a tavern reached his ears and he could hear the conversation of the guards positioned just inside the iron gates — a debate whether they could taste any difference between white and brown-shelled chicken eggs. It sounded as if the dispute had continued for some time without any conclusion forthcoming.
At the height of a newly erupted bout of heated discussion, Buuren goaded his horse forward and his men followed. The gates were barred from the inside, and seeing this, he sidled his mount up to them and struck them three times with the pommel of his sword.
All discussion about eggs was forgotten as the clanging echoed into the night. The guards scrambled to their feet, rushing to see who or what had made such an awful din, each pausing only to grab a flaming torch on the way out.
Both guards pulled their short clubs from their belts at the sight of the three horsemen outside the gates, one with a sword resting across his thighs.
The older guard took the lead and spoke first, pointing his club at the sword. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “You better have permission to carry that or there’ll be trouble. The Quivers don’t take kindly to unlicensed swords being bandied about. Best you be handing those weapons over now.”
Buuren sniffed at the guards’ scruffy appearance. Small chance of that. They’d have to pry his sword from his dead hands. “We can’t carry swords around? How would we defend ourselves if we were waylaid?”
“The watch takes care of that. Citizens aren’t to carry clubs or swords, nor knives longer than a handspan. It’s the law. Keeps everyone safe.”
“Or keeps weapons from the populace in case of trouble.”
“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that. But you better not get caught without a permit or it’ll be off to the mines with you, or a labor gang.”
“I’ll remember that. Now, if you will be so kind…” Buuren waved at the locked gates, indicating for them to open it.
“Hang on, hang on, I ain’t finished yet. What’s to stop us taking you in now for carrying a weapon without a permit?” The guard rested his club over his shoulder. At his words, the younger guard with the torch took a step back and whispered something, only to be waved away by his senior. “See, we’re law abiding men, and we do our duty. No one can say we don’t.”
“We have come a long way to see your master, Lord Kesmon, and it would bode ill for you if we were not to see him tonight.”
The guard affected a puzzled look, unimpressed. “You have an odd look to you, I’ll grant you that. Definitely not from around here. Well, we are in a pickle now. Lord Kesmon always accepts visitors until a certain hour, and we usually have no troubles letting people in, but…” — he drew himself up — “we can’t very well ignore such a breaking of the law now.” He turned to his companion. “Can we?”
“Er, nope,” came the reply.
Buuren sighed heavily and rummaged around in a belt pouch. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a gold coin sailing between the bars of the gates to the feet of the guards, where it landed with a clink, gleaming in the flickering light.
“I trust that’ll keep you silent until we can make arrangements to leave our weapons somewhere while we are in your city?”
The older guard bent and picked the coin up and brushed dirt from it.
“Strange make, this coin. You sure it’s gold?”
“Very sure.”
The guard grunted. “Well, we think we can let you in. The poor light, you see, plays tricks on the eyes.” He motioned to his companion and they wrestled the heavy bar holding the gate closed from its brackets, then tugged one side open.
Buuren urged his mount through, closely followed by the two others. They continued towards the house at a slow pace. The guards lifted the bar back into place and retreated to the guardhouse. The guards’ faded behind them.
“A fine score for one night,” the younger remarked. “We gotta split it at the tavern after.”
“Sure, sure. Just you don’t spend it all at once. I know what you’re like with the ladies at the docks. Mark my words, one time you gonna catch something that can’t be cured with some powder or a lotion.”
“But I’ll have fun doing it!”
At the house, they dismounted and knocked on the door. A chamberlain spoke to them for a few moments, confirming their business appointment, before admitting them. A slave came to take their horses to the stables.
As his two men, Rechard and Naxel, were ushered into Lord Kesmon’s study, Buuren remained outside and positioned himself at the door. He waited patiently as they went about their sorcerous business. The thought of what they would do made him shiver, but it was a necessary evil. He heard the lock on the door click shut after closing.
Time went by as Lord Kesmon was closeted with Rechard and Naxel. The remainder of the night passed without the door opening. Outside the room down the hall, a servant waited in case their lord had need of anything, only moving to remove the dirty dishes of the supper Kesmon had consumed prior to their arrival. As another servant passed Buuren requested wine and coffee, politely but firmly, as if he had every right to be ordering Kesmon’s servants around.
The creak of floorboards and occasional raised voices were the only sounds he heard, and apart from opening briefly for him to pass the refreshments through to Naxel, the door remained closed.
Dawn came, and as the sun peeked through the windows opening onto the hall, the yawning servant was replaced by another. Slaves rushed hastily down the hall, traveling from one household task to another. One slave bore a branding over his right eye, a small circle, the mark of a tax defaulter.
Another hour passed. Long business meetings were not unknown, and this probably wasn’t the first time their lord had stayed up all night, if something big was afoot. Or so Buuren hoped.
The door cracked open and Rechard and Naxel stepped into the hall, heels clicking on the hard wooden floorboards. Naxel looked haggard, face drawn and wan, but the sorcerer gave him a nod. Success then. Time to leave.
The servant stood to attention and approached, looking nervously at the
swords all three carried and had refused to leave in the hands of the house chamberlain.
“Sirs, may I be of assistance? Will you be breaking your fast here or have need to refresh yourselves?”
“No, we’ll be leaving. Your lord will require some morning refreshments, though, and a large pitcher of coffee. See to it, will you?”
The servant nodded and bowed respectfully. “Please allow me to escort you out. I will send word to have your mounts brought to the front of the house.”
Outside a cloudless blue sky greeted them. They waited silently for their horses, breath steaming in the chill morning air, sun warming their faces, and it wouldn’t be long before the day heated up to a pleasing temperature.
As soon as their horses arrived, they mounted up and exited the house grounds, turning towards Parkside as they left the gates.
Their work was not yet done.
Inside his meeting room, Lord Kesmon sat sweating in his high-backed chair behind his ornate desk. It was carved with creeping vines bearing strange fruit, and tiny imp like faces peered out between leaves and from behind stalks. He had commissioned the desk, and it had cost a small fortune, the master craftsman cleverly adding hidden draws at his direction.
Atop his desk sat writing implements and a stack of papers, along with a mechanical clock and a promissory note with the largest bank in Anasoma, indeed the empire, for the sum of ten thousand gold ducats. Gingerly, he picked up the note and folded it, then popped open a drawer secreted in his desk. Placing the paper inside, he slid the drawer closed with a click and sat back into his chair.
Ten minutes later he was still sitting when his chamberlain, Renen, appeared bearing his breakfast on a tray covered with a linen cloth.
“My lord, how are you this morning?” asked Renen, placing the tray on the desk and removing the cloth. His repast was comprised of braised eels, toasted bread, honey and spiced coffee.
Kesmon started and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t seem to organize his thoughts this morning. They were fuzzy and indistinct; he felt it was like trying to catch smoke from a fire. And he was sure there were matters he had to attend to, many urgent matters. If only this sharp pain in his head would go away he could concentrate.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 30