by A K Fedeau
“Are you kidding? That’s how I know I’m doing my job.” Marcus snickered as he let some of the steam out of his pie. “I just hope I didn’t keep you up later.”
“You did.”
“I did?”
“Of course you did.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? I was worried about you all night.” Livia nudged the juice pitcher toward Marcus to offer him some more. “I’ve never heard you talk about your service that way before. How long has this been going on?”
“I was just in a bad mood. It’ll pass.” Marcus pulled his napkin out of his lap and dabbed at his mouth. “Anyway, I’m sorry I’m late. I ran into Lady Camilla on the way.”
“Oh, good. Let’s gossip about her.” Livia tore off some of her ham. “What did she say about me this time?”
“It wasn’t worth repeating.”
“Camilla’s always worth repeating to me.”
“In which case…” Marcus returned his napkin to his lap - “how was it she put it? She said she ‘thought I would’ve been tired of coming home to that by now.’”
“Ooh, that’s a good one. She managed to insult us both at once.” Livia watched Marcus carve off a too-big piece of his pie crust. “The last time Lady Camilla and I had a moment to ourselves, she said you only liked me because I looked like one of your troops.”
Marcus coughed and sputtered.
Livia played innocent. “What?”
Marcus beat his fist against his chest and loudly cleared his throat. “Listen, there are some very nice young women in my regiments…”
“She’s just making fun of me for having short hair.”
“I know!”
“Anyway, I don’t trust any of her opinions about relationships.” Livia shrugged. “She picked Hector. We already know all her taste is in her mouth.”
“You think it’s bad taste?” Marcus refilled his juice. “I figured she liked being that close to the throne.”
“You’re a better judge of character than you give yourself credit for.”
The conversation trailed off for a minute as they ate, until Marcus grumbled and put the juice pitcher back down.
“‘Only took you to bed because you look like one of my troops,’” he said. “Of all the…”
“Marcus, please. I’m not insulted.”
“I don’t know how you stand it here sometimes.”
“You don’t know how I stand it?” Livia finished the piece of ham she’d started before. “Just last night you told me how good it was to be home.”
“Well, it’s easy for me. I just have to look good in uniform.” Marcus cut off another bite of his pie, smaller this time. “People in your circle ruin each other without lifting a pen. I’ve seen you nearly stare a man to death.”
“What are you talking about? You stare people to death all the time.” Livia plucked off a grape, then chewed and swallowed it before she spoke again. “No, it’s easier than it looks. All you need is for them to be afraid of you. If you have that and enough mystique, the little ones leave you alone.” She picked another grape off the bunch. “Once you find a way to blackmail people, the rest falls into place. A couple of nobles who know you could expose them?” She twisted the grape stem until it snapped. “Works just fine for me.”
Marcus’ eyebrows hiked up his forehead, and he cracked a small, intimidated smile.
“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” Livia asked.
“Have been since the day I met you.”
“Good.”
They went back to work on their breakfast in comfortable silence, and a bird cooed on the clay roof tiles as footsteps echoed down a distant hall. At first, Livia thought Marcus’ long trips would mean she’d never get sick of him. But the more years passed, the more she missed him. The more she clutched at the meetings they could get. Between their baths, their chess games, their quiet mornings and long nights in bed, they never had enough time for everything. The war whisked him away as soon as he’d come.
“Listen.” Livia broke the silence. “Before I forget, there was something I meant to ask you.”
Marcus looked up from his plate. “What’s that?”
“Shh.” Livia’s eyes darted over her left shoulder - then her right - and she leaned in, bowed her head, and cupped her hand to her mouth. “It’s about a name.”
“I’m listening,” Marcus murmured.
Livia whispered, “Artemisia.”
Marcus frowned. “What about it?”
“Do you know anyone with that name?”
Marcus’ frown deepened. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Really?”
“Very.” Marcus stroked the cleft in his chin. “I know an Agrippina. That’s General Ligari’s name. But no Artemisia.”
“Shh!” Livia swatted at him. “Be quiet.”
Marcus drew back a little. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t let anyone hear that I know that name.”
“Why not?”
“It’s for a job.”
Marcus paused, then gave her a suspicious look. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know. But I think it’s time to reach out to an old friend.”
•••
After sunset, Livia dragged a trunk out from under her bed, unlocked the heavy padlock, and unpacked her old work clothes.
She unwrapped them from their layers of linen and smoothed the creases out, and her old routine came back to her as she dressed herself. A turtleneck. Leggings. A thick, dark tunic like the ones Marcus wore. A black leather jerkin. A dagger belt. A pair of leather gloves. Two sturdy boots, two shoulder pads, and finally, her favorite red wool cloak - that somehow, no matter where she took it, always smelled faintly of wood smoke.
She bent down and checked the trunk to see if she needed anything else, and found a silver crescent belt buckle on top of a tattered scarf. Livia sighed a wistful sigh, closed the trunk, and locked it up, then kicked it under the bed, slipped out of her room, and set off down the hall.
Livia hot-footed it down a winding flight of narrow, dark back stairs, and edged her way through the crowded kitchen and waved to the cook on her way out. She always made a point to befriend the cooks and stable boys, charwomen and dressing maids. They knew everything, they saw everything, and if they didn’t, they could find out. Soon she crept into a shadowy alcove and heaved open the door, and emerged in the yard near the service entrance, where no courtiers thought to go.
She glanced left. She glanced right. She glanced over her shoulder. No one around. Just a cobblestone path and some manicured shrubs. So she pulled her hood over her head and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark, and with silent, easy footsteps, she ventured out into the night.
•••
Outside the Pig and Apple Inn, men huddled together and spat on the ground, and Livia slipped past them and pushed open the heavy door.
As soon as she entered, she breathed in a mix of garlic, beer, and meat, and every flavor of Histria’s underworld crowded the tables and along the walls. Merchants counted money. Sailors drank. Thieves threw dice and dealt cards. Smugglers talked over a crude map and a pile of gold. A trio of pirates argued with a woman in a hitched-up skirt, and a man in a long green tunic sat with a satchel by his foot. Livia elbowed through them as the fireplace crackled and glass smashed on the floor, and sidled up to a rough-looking man behind the rough-looking bar.
Livia waited a moment. Then another. The bartender didn’t turn around. She rapped on the bar two times, and when he still didn’t respond, she put her hand on her hip and eavesdropped on the card players behind her back.
“D’you see that man who just went upstairs?” One asked.
“No. Which one?”
“That tall Juban one.”
“With the dark eyes?”
“How many other tall Jubans are around?”
Livia peeked over her shoulder, then
turned back to the bar, but kept her ear tilted toward the table so she could still listen in.
“What about him?” The card player with the gaudy gold earring asked.
“I think it’s Hamid.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No it’s not.”
“Hamid’s a brigand’s folktale.”
“I swear, it’s him.” The thug with the eyepatch dealt his card into the center pile. “He’s got the crescent moon on his belt. I saw it. That’s the Syndicate symbol.”
“I know what the Syndicate symbol is, you idiot.”
“But do you know what that means?” Eyepatch drew another card. “How many tall Jubans have you seen with crescent moons on their belt? It has to be him. I bet in a few days, someone’s going to turn up dead.”
Livia tapped on the bar again, a little harder this time.
“Mira’s tits.” A third, scarred thug cut in. “What if it’s one of us?”
“Hamid doesn’t kill thugs like us,” Eyepatch said. “We’re not important enough.”
“How do you know that?” Scar asked.
“I can’t tell you. I just do, all right?”
“Will you stop?” Earring implored him. “I said he doesn’t even exist.”
“Look, Hamid’s real. I just saw him. I wouldn’t shit you about something like that.” Eyepatch counted his cards, then had to stop and recount. “I was laying low in Carpathia when he hit the Beauregard house. All those paintings gone. One night. He didn’t even leave footprints.”
Livia banged on the bar a third time, and finally, the bartender whirled around.
“What?”
“Are you what passes for a bartender in this place now?” Livia asked.
“What do you want?”
“I’m here to see Hamid.”
The bartender squinted at her. “Who?”
“Hamid. He’s a friend of mine.”
The bartender scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” Livia’s face hardened. “Tall. Juban. Crescent moon buckle on his belt.”
“What kind of fool do you take me for?” The bartender crossed his arms. “I don’t know you. If I knew Hamid, I wouldn’t let you up to see him.”
“So you do know who Hamid is.”
“Maybe.”
“You do.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“You’re a poor liar.”
“And you’re a pain in my ass.” The bartender set his cleaning cloth down with an angry thunk. “Now go on. I’ve got a business to run. Order something to drink, or get out.”
“Or what?” Livia smirked. “You’ll call the prefects?”
“Maybe.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Why not?”
“Because the man in that green tunic has a bag full of opium.”
The bartender paused.
“You’re acting like you don’t know him, but the two of you are best friends, because you work for one of the last safe drop points between here and Jormunthal.” Livia spied a copper coin on the stool next to her, and took it in her thumb and forefinger and planted her arm back on the bar. “The owner lets him peddle here. He makes a living from your guests. He pays you a nice cut for the pleasure, and you never call the prefects.”
The bartender fumbled for the stained cloth, but didn’t pick it up.
“You get enough misadventure in this dump to call for them every night. But if they ever came around, you might have to answer some awkward questions.” Livia rubbed the coin back and forth and kept rattling on. “Who you serve to. Why you have that trickle of coin you don’t report. And if they press you hard enough, you might even confess that you rent rooms to the Syndicate…” she raised her eyebrows - “because one of your card players just saw Hamid go upstairs.”
The bartender blanched all the way to the collar of his turtleneck. He didn’t speak. He didn’t react. He barely even blinked. Livia stared into his eyes and waited for him to make the next move - until he nodded to the staircase and indignantly snatched the cloth.
•••
The upstairs floorboards creaked as Livia crept to the end of the hall, where she knocked on the door three times, then whistled a soft down-up-down tone.
She waited for a moment, then another with bated breath, and when the tall man inside answered, she recognized him at once. The dark skin. The smooth head. The brown eyes and wide, handsome nose. The wine-red tunic. The sleek black armor and straps on his belt - and in the middle, the crescent buckle, like the one in her trunk.
The man blinked at her. “Livia?”
Livia threw her arms around his neck. “Hamid!”
Hamid squeezed her to his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. What else?”
“Come in.” Hamid let the hug dissolve. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”
“You know me.” Livia slipped through the doorway. “I can’t stay out of the field for long.”
Hamid shut the door as Livia lowered her hood, and she sized up the room. A trunk. A coat rack. A rickety table and chairs. A bed with a battered headboard, and a faded patchwork quilt. For an inn like the Pig and Apple, not bad. Compared to the palace, deplorable.
“Let me guess,” Hamid said. “You have a job.”
“Sort of.” Livia unfastened her cloak. “It’s complicated. I have no idea what I’m dealing with.”
“Sit down, then. Let me get you something.” Hamid gestured to the table and chairs. “You look healthy. I’m glad to see Marcus is still treating you well.”
Livia hung her cloak up. “You know how he is.”
“No, I don’t. I’ve never met him.”
“He’s like an old hound.” Livia grinned to herself. “Feed him, and he’s yours for life.”
“Good.” Hamid locked the door. “Because if he weren’t, he’d already be dead.”
“You say that like I wouldn’t get to him first.”
Hamid snorted. “That’s the Livia I know.”
Hamid reached for the lit oil lamp in the middle of the table, and lifted it up and lit the other one to shed some more light on the room. As Livia sank into a chair, he paced to the dresser under the mirror, where he’d left a notebook and dagger beside a bottle of wine.
“Now.” Hamid picked up the bottle and pulled out the cork. “Something tells me you’re here for more than a drink with your old mentor.”
“Honestly, I wish I had the time.”
“Of course. The job.” Hamid picked up the wine and raised his eyebrows to ask Livia if she wanted some. “Who killed whom at the palace?”
“No one.” Livia nodded to the bottle. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t even know if someone’s dead?” Hamid filled the two tarnished goblets. “You must really be in trouble.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Livia slouched in the chair. “It’s why I’m worried you might not be able to help.”
“Try me.” Hamid handed Livia her drink. “I like a challenge.”
Livia hesitated and searched for where to begin.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“All right.”
“Except I have no idea who she is.”
“‘Find the woman.’ Classic.”
“Maybe. That’s the only other thing I know.” Livia took a careful sip of her wine. Cheap. Oh, well, she thought. Not Hamid’s fault. “They wouldn’t say anything other than ‘Find the girl with that name, and guard her with your life.’ So far, I’ve only told two other people. Marcus, and you.”
Hamid sat in the chair beside her and folded his arm across his lap. “This is too easy. There’s a catch somewhere.”
“There are catches everywhere I look.” Livia took another sip to be polite, then swilled the wine back and forth. “The name is all I have to go on. I’m not supposed to know it in the first place. And even if I find this gir
l, I wouldn’t know what to do next. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if her name is a code for something else.”
“Who’s the client?”
“Delphinia.”
“And the name?”
“Artemisia.”
A strange, sudden shadow passed over Hamid’s face - and as the table lamp flickered, he stiffened his back against his chair.
“I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
Livia’s stomach hit the floor. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you anything.”
“Be straight with me. You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I can’t.”
“Come on, Hamid. I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t want it.” Hamid shook his head. “I don’t know anything. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Livia snarled. “Why not?”
“Because.” Hamid turned in toward her. “Listen closely. I’m only going to say this once.”
Livia turned in, too, and glanced at the locked door.
“About eight years ago, one of my lieutenants heard that name. I don’t know where, but it consumed him. He had to find out who it was.” Hamid’s eyes blinked back and forth between Livia and the doorknob. “He started talking about Hector, and how we could all be rich. And then suddenly, he vanished.” He made a poof with his fingers, then lowered his hand. “Over the next few years, everyone he spoke to about it - gone. Killed - disappeared - I don’t know. I never saw them again.”
As Livia listened, an unease began to stew in her gut.
“Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe not. None of us ever found out. All I can say is, I didn’t go looking, and I’m the only one who survived.” Slowly but surely, Hamid pulled away from her. “Something about that name is bad business. And I know what a good agent you are. But don’t assume you can outrun this.”
Livia gawked at him. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m telling you this because I respect you, and I want you to be safe.”
“I can’t just walk away from it,” Livia pleaded. “Delphinia’s eighty-nine. This might be her last request. I owe her at least that much.”
“No. You owe it to yourself to survive.”
Livia fumed at him, and out of sheer frustration, she bit her lip.
“This province has thousands of unsolved mysteries. You only have one life.” Hamid lowered his voice. “Go home. And forget that name… before it gets you killed.”