It was Heden’s turn to stare at the river, his eyes unblinking.
“You’d never accept any man having that power over you, except maybe Richard.”
For a moment, Heden felt like he was going to topple over and fall into the water.
“You’re right,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, surprised at what Heden was willing to admit.
“Most people don’t have that problem,” she went on. “Most people earn a living offering a service, think nothing of it. Not you. You’re so…you. You won’t compromise, you won’t ever give anyone any speck of control over any part of you.”
“This isn’t about me,” Heden attempted.
“Uh-huh,” she said.
Heden kept thinking.
“I’m going to give them the choice.”
She nodded.
“That’s it. No pressure. Every girl there gets the chance to earn a living, fair wage, for running the inn. Might have to open my own butchers shop. Maybe start buying stuff direct from the pier. Doesn’t matter. The girls will have the chance. They can make the choice; I won’t make it for them.”
“Some of them won’t make the right choice.”
“Nothing I can do about that.”
“Some of them, you’ll never know what the right choice was.”
“Now you’re just stating the obvious," he said. "I never know what the right choice is.”
“Just making sure,” she said with a smile.
Heden stared out over the river. Elowen watched him.
She stood up on her toes, and kissed his cheek. He let her.
"Goodbye Heden," she said. "Treat the girls well. They're nice. They'll take good care of you. Maybe they're just what you need."
He didn't say anything.
"When you kill the count," she said, taking a step back. "Do it slowly."
He turned to her and smiled. She smiled back. Then her smile turned into a wry smirk, she sighed, and turned, and walked across the bridge.
Heden stood on the bridge alone. For some reason, relieving himself of all his Capital holdings felt good. Liberating. He wished he could wait a few years, and visit Elowen there. She was going to love it.
He looked across the bridge, the direction she'd left, and wondered at what his money had bought him. Her happiness? Maybe. Worth the burning of the Rose Petal if.... A thought struck him.
He realized he'd just bought a brothel. Complete with experienced staff.
Chapter Forty-seven
Daryn opened the door, dressed in a frilly black lace skirt little more than a belt, heels, and nothing else. Her great smile muted when she saw there was no one on the bed.
She looked around. Her clotpole was supposed to be here. The chair was empty, the bed was undisturbed. This was her usual room.
“Hello?” she called out tentatively.
“Hello,” a sarcastic voice announced right behind her. She jumped.
There was a girl hiding behind her door. Tall, red curly hair. But not one of Mr. Padgham’s girls.
The redhead closed the door behind Daryn.
“Who are you?” Daryn asked, a little alarmed, mostly confused.
The redhead opened a velvet purse. She was older than Daryn. Nineteen maybe? That seemed old to her. She didn’t look like a nice person.
“What’s your rate?” the redhead asked.
“What?” Daryn asked, as she walked backwards to her bureau and started getting dressed. She wondered if she should call someone.
“How much do you charge?” the redhead asked, raising her eyebrows and speaking slowly.
“Oh, um…,” it didn’t occur to Daryn to lie. She still hadn’t worked out what was going on, but she didn’t feel like this was a dangerous situation. “Ten silver.”
“There,” the girl said, tossing a tensilver on the bed. “That’s your hour and this won’t take five minutes.”
Daryn kicked off the hated heels and walked barefoot to the bed. Scooped up the tensilver piece and sat down.
“Look,” she said, looking up at the taller girl, “you have to tell me your name or something.”
Martlyn put one hand on her hip and looked at the younger girl.
“Martlyn,” she said, one corner of her lips twisting in a half-smile.
“What’s this for?” Daryn asked holding up the coin. “You want to spend an hour with a girl you don’t have to….”
“What’s your name?” Martlyn asked.
“What?” Daryn frowned.
“Your name sweetheart,” Martlyn asked with no affection. “That’s what the tensilver is for.”
“Daryn,” the girl said.
“Uh huh,” Martlyn said, pulling a plush chair over and sitting across from Daryn. Sitting made them almost the same height.
“Now,” she said, taking Daryn’s hand and trying to act like a nice person. “What’s your real name?”
“My real…”
“…name, yes. The coin is real, I want your real name.”
Daryn shook her head as though trying to dislodge a thought. She was trying to remember her real name.
“Lisbeth,” she said finally, relieved. It felt very strange, that moment where she knew Daryn wasn’t her name, but couldn’t summon the real thing.
“Good,” Martlyn asked, smiling. Now she seemed happy. Nice. Daryn smiled.
“And your last name?” Martlyn asked.
Daryn frowned. Why did she want to know that?
“Tam,” she said. “Lisbeth Tam.”
Martlyn, now smiling hugely like she’d just met her best friend, leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs.
“Your da’s name is Roderick, right?”
Daryn nodded.
“The girls say you visit him every fortnight,” Martlyn said. “Is that right?” Martlyn was surprised at how accurate the information she and Caerys had been getting from the other girls was. It looked like the network of trulls was a very efficient way to learn almost anyone about almost anyone. Anyone male, at least.
Daryn nodded again.
Martlyn sighed. “Not a lot of girls have fathers they’d like to see again.”
Daryn shrugged. “I do,” she said simply.
Normally talking about any of this would make her very uncomfortable. Talking about relatives at all was something no one ever did with outsiders. But this was another girl asking, and obviously another working girl. It didn’t occur to Daryn to lie.
“You’re going to see him again this Disdane, right?”
Daryn shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. “Is that alright?”
“Sure,” Martlyn said. “Where do you normally meet?”
Daryn told her. Unaware she was giving away a secret.
Martlyn shook her head, astonished. She was done. It hadn’t even been five minutes.
“She said it’d be easy,” Martlyn said as she stood up.
Daryn had no idea who she meant.
Chapter Forty-eight
The shop was permanently closed now, had been for over a year. Even in the dark, in the middle of the night, a layer of dust was visible in the starlight pouring in through the windows.
Glass shone dully. Tubes and flasks, sitting dry for months.
The air and silence were both disturbed by a door opening. Fresh air and bright starlight poured in.
A silhouette entered the room, disappeared once the door was closed again.
Nothing in the room moved, no sound. Then the rough noise of a table being moved out of the way. The tinkle of one piece of glass hitting another.
"Lisbeth?" a voice called out hesitantly.
A lantern flared to life, illuminating Roderick Tam standing just inside the door. He covered his eyes and looked into the light, at the figure who lit the lantern, looking like a shade haunting the room.
"Hello Roderick," the pale shade said.
"Who are you?" the alchemist said, pointing and backing up.
"Give it some time," the voice said. "It'll
come back to you. I know you were expecting your daughter. Sorry to have to surprise you like this."
Roderick stopped retreating. Stood up.
“Heden?!”
Heden picked up the lantern and walked forward.
"Do you know where Lisbeth is right now?" he asked.
"What are you doing here?" Tam asked, looking furtively around the room. For what? For his daughter, or for agents of the count? Heden couldn't tell.
"She's at the Spinning Wheel," Heden continued. He set the lantern down now that he was standing only a few paces from Tam. Now that there was nowhere for Roderick Tam to go.
"I...she's supposed to...," Tam started.
"Why is Lisbeth on the game, Tam?" Heden pressed, his voice louder, threatening violence.
“I was trying to protect her!”
"Protect her?"
"I sent her to the Wheel so the count wouldn't find her," Tam explained.
Heden stared at him. He looked back, pleading.
"She's all I have," he said.
Heden was not interested in Tam's contrition.
"You belong to the count now," he said.
Roderick Tam nodded.
"You make the night dust for him."
Tam kept nodding. He was crying now.
"You used to be a good man, Roderick. Someone we could trust."
"I know," he said, sobbing. He was curled up on the floor, one hand held up trying to ward Heden away. "I know."
"Where does he get it, Tam?" Heden asked.
"I don't...," he didn't try to lie, or avoid the question. He looked at Heden. He was still smart, as far as that went. "I don't know. He never showed me the source. But I can...," he was desperate. "I can take you to where it's made. His new headquarters."
"You're going to do more than that," Heden said.
"I'll do whatever you want, just please don't tell Lisbeth what's happened to me."
Heden was momentarily taken aback by a father's desperate desire that his daughter not know the truth, about what a failure her father was. But those thoughts just made Heden more angry at the man he once knew and trusted.
He reached down and picked Tam up. Slammed him against the door.
“You’re done Tam," Heden growled. "I am going to drag you to the ragman and he’s going to wring it all out of you and then I’m going to the count and I’m going to pull his entire operation down around him.”
“You can’t!" Tam cried out. He’d stopped crying. Heden watched the warm lantern light reflecting off the tears running down Roderick Tam's cheeks. "Garth is with him now," Tam warned. "Garth can take you!”
“I know,” Heden said.
“He could take on your whole team!”
“I know!” Heden shouted at the man. “You were afraid of the wrong men, Tam. You were worried about them, you should have been afraid of me!”
Tam shrunk. "I’m not afraid of them," he said, exhausted. "They don't need me anymore."
Tam's words brought Heden back to the moment. "Why not?" he asked, pressing the issue. There was a sense of urgency here he couldn't identify.
"He's got so much," Tam said, shaking his head. "I've already given him all he needs."
"How much," Heden urged. "How many Deathless can the count create because of you, Tam?" Heden's hands were balled into fists. He wanted very badly to hit this man, but held his temper.
Tam looked at Heden, tears in his eyes. "Thousands," he said. "Thousands. And now he'll kill me," he said.
Heden thought about what this meant. Thousands of deathless in the city. An army. Enough to take over.
"You son of a bitch," Heden said mildly. "Do you have any idea? Any idea how many people are going to die because of you?"
He released Tam. The alchemist slumped against the door.
"You'll see Lisbeth again, Tam," Heden assured him coldly. "I'll make sure she visits you in the citadel."
Roderick frowned, looked around, confused. "How did you...," he started. Then his eyes went wide with surprise.
Heden watched as two hands appeared from behind Tam, through the door. Two black clad hands grabbed the alchemist and yanked him backward. Tam reached out, tried to grab Heden, but it was too late. He was pulled through the door. As though the door were not there. As though the door were an illusion, he just disappeared into it.
Heden's was just as surprised as Tam. It took him only a second to realize what had happened. He bolted to the door, pushed it open, and ran outside, into the night.
It was too late.
Chapter Forty-nine
Roderick Tam lay dead on the street. Heden had moments to get to him, to bring him back.
But there was an obstacle. A man in black leather stood over Tam, wiping a rapier clean. Though illuminated by starlight, Heden didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Garth.
He saluted Heden with his rapier, and then stepped into the shadows cast by the buildings on the far side of the street.
“No you don’t,” Heden said, and prayed to Lynwen, placing one hand over her talisman where it hung over his heart.
The other hand he raised, and sunlight poured out of it, illuminating the entire street like broad daylight.
Garth was gone. In his place were five other men in leather armor.
It was the Black. Five scarves from the Guild of Blackened Silk. Probably black scarves. Maybe brown, but the difference wasn’t meaningful.
Heden wasn’t ready. He had come to Tam's old shop wearing only his leather chestpiece over wool, no other armor. He took a step back, but the battle had already begun.
The five scarves flooded toward him like advancing fog. He tried to get back into the alchemist’s shop, but one step was all he had time for. Then they were on him.
A short sword cut his throat. Poison. A dagger in his ribs, another in his back. He went down on his knees. He was already poisoned and wounded, but he needed room to maneuver. He spoke a prayer.
His skin flashed from a man's to a dwarf's. The thieves' blades struck and sparked against it.
With the strength of earth and stone, he lunged to his feet, managed to surprise one of the scarves, grabbing him by the throat.
They don’t know, he thought. They had come for Tam, they hadn't known Heden would be there. Didn't know they were fighting a priest.
One thief gripped by his supernatural strength, he spoke another prayer. A gust of wind exploded outward from him, knocking the other thieves away, throwing them in the air and on their ass, while Heden lifted the one he'd caught off his feet.
The thief couldn’t escape Heden’s grasp by force, so he wrapped his body around Heden’s arm and torso, used his legs to try and crush Heden’s chest.
Heden bent the thief backward, down. Until he had to grasp Heden’s arm to stop from falling. He didn’t cry out, he tried to pry Heden’s fingers away with one hand, while stabbing Heden with his dagger. Heden’s leather armor offered no resistance, but his skin was like stone.
“Didn’t Garth tell you I was a priest?” he sneered at the thief. “You’re going to need more than poisons and blades….”
At that last, Heden heard something metallic hit the ground. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw the thief’s dagger. The thief had dropped it to reach into his vest.
Time seemed to slow. Heden was well-familiar with the tactics of thieves. And now that they understood what they were fighting, if not exactly who, they would change tactics too.
Heden released his grip on the thief just as he heard something snap. A twig, an eggshell, it didn’t matter. The thief’s body flashed into shadow before it could hit the ground.
He could appear anywhere. But he would not appear anywhere, he would press the attack. He was not trying to escape, merely reposition himself for advantage.
Heden’s instincts had already taken over. He spun and drew his sword, flinging it out behind him. A blind attack.
The thief’s body materialized directly behind Heden. The n
ameless assassin was fast enough to produce a snaking whip-line of cord that glittered in the starlight. Diamond, Heden thought. The cord snapped tight between the thief’s hands. A diamond garrote. Possibly sorcerous. Possibly powerful enough to cut through his wards and his skin, even with his prayer.
But the thief would never find out. Heden’s entirely mundane blade sliced through the air, anticipating the thief’s reappearance and location, and chopped through his neck, cutting the man’s arteries and windpipe. The thief dropped the garrote and clutched his throat with one hand, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood and air.
As he collapsed, he pulled a hilt-less throwing knife out with his free hand. Crystal. And made a feeble attempt to throw it before he fell to the ground, dead.
That was a black scarf, Heden thought. Incredibly well-trained. Relentless. They knew no fear, thought of nothing but the objective, cloak and vest stuffed with enough weapons to take down an army, and lightning fast reflexes.
One thief dead, Heden turned to face the other four. They had recovered from his attempt to separate them, and watched as he dispatched one of them. Judging his strength, seeking weakness.
Heden saw the one on the far left’s eyes shift to look at his nearest teammate before looking back at Heden. A brown scarf, Heden thought. No black scarf would waste time worrying about the disposition of his teammates.
“This is going to be a long night,” Heden said to them.
One of them, one of the two on his right, he couldn’t tell which, said, “Not for us,” and there was a *pok* sound, like a tiny piece of glass being broken. Then another. Then another. Heden couldn’t count them all.
Each thief was hurling black glass marbles at the ground. Each marble hit, broke, and released its deadly, grasping, shadow.
Heden spoke another prayer, and starlight immediately reflected off him. He was coated in golden plate mail, the same mail he once warded Squire Aderyn with.
The thieves were done summoning death, and retreated into the shadow to watch the results. A dozen shadows rose from the street and drifted toward him.
A shade poured into Tam’s corpse, through his open mouth, through his nostrils. And Heden despaired at ever bringing him back. It was probably already too late. Spirits forgot their bodies quickly, in Heden’s experience.
Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) Page 22