by JM Guillen
Santiago was merciless, and so were his enemies.
None of this could be proven. No one would speak a word against him. Of course, if there was a lick of evidence, we judicars would have him in chains to be exiled to the outer bounds. No, Santiago was an exceedingly clever man. These stories were either just that—only stories—or had been covered up and were improvable.
But the streets knew. The streets remembered.
As I stood outside the Scarlet Cellar, the sky started to rain harder. I pulled my greatcloak around myself, peering into the alehouse’s windows.
It looked like a busy night.
The Scarlet Cellar wasn’t owned by Santiago or the guild, not directly. Rather it was owned by men that Santiago owned, men who were indebted to him or men that feared him. I was certain that somewhere in the city ledgers a written guarantus would prove the thought correct: a small, harmless consortium of men owned the Cellar and profited from it.
On paper, at least.
It wasn’t an official guildhouse for the Red Hand, but it was close enough. Any given night, the guild had gambling and drinks going in the Cellar, and it would go until late. It was a rough, rowdy crowd, and Santiago provided everything except flesh for sale.
As far as we knew.
We judicars almost never had to intervene in business there. There were fights, and there were drunks, to be sure. Every ale-house in the Warrens has its share of rough evenings. But when things got rough, Santiago had his men at the ready. At every door there were great, barrel chested brutes, men with muscles like corded iron and eyes like sharp flint. I had no doubt that with little more than a nod these men could make any problems vanish into the labyrinthine streets of the Warrens.
Santiago took care of business. As I watched a slender man step into the Cellar, I almost stumbled from a swift wave of nausea and dizziness. It slammed into me like a burning wind in my mind. I took a breath, trying to steady myself.
Breathe. Focus.
My pretty partner looked up at me, her black eyes shining. “Thom?”
“I’m fine.” I gave her a wan smile.
I wasn’t fine.
It had been hours since I had taken the serum she had brought, but I was still trembling. It burned and boiled like liquid fire in my veins, like molten gold. I leaned my hand against the light post and took a deep breath.
“Any moment, now. I’ll be fine.”
I blinked. It was not passing. The vision swam dizzily in my head. It was little more than a flicker in my mind, over in an instant. Yet for me, that instant stretched and time stopped, drifting.
Then, like a series of swift punches to the gut, images stormed through my mind:
I sit across from a king. He wears no crown, but somehow I know what he is. We are playing a hand of rout somewhere in a darkened room. People watch from the shadows.
“The Red Hand.” He smiles at me as he plays the card.
I squint at it. That’s not a card from a rout deck, yet I know better than to complain.
He is a dangerous man.
I look at my hand. I have no sets. There is a card with a raven on it and another with a small boy looking up from the card. I am confused. My cards are as strange as his.
I play the raven and look into the king’s smiling eyes. He looks at the card. I can tell he doesn’t like the card, but he says nothing.
“The Smiling Lady.” He plays a card with a beautiful, dark-haired woman on it.
She seems familiar somehow.
“She’s one of my favorites.” He caresses the card, smiling as he plays it.
I shrug. “I have nothing.” I lay down a Stave. As I do, a man steps behind the king, his face shrouded in twilight. A blade hangs on his hip. Deftly, the man reaches down onto the table and snatches the Smiling Lady from the table.
In the darkness, I hear the hissing of a viper. Fear stabs through me like a knife. I step back, thinking to avoid the snake, but there are strange shadows around me. Looking into them, I feel dizzy, almost drunken.
The king doesn’t notice that the man took the card. His eyes are on me. Then he glances down.
“Where did she go?” His voice is a rising panic. He is looking at his cards as if she will be there. He quickly lays down four others:
A Fox.
A Sword.
A Spider.
A Golden Coin.
One by one, the mysterious man snatches them up, right in front of the king’s face. Yet the king does not see him.
Accidentally, the stranger drops one of the cards.
“She bit me!” He seems shocked.
I glance down. The card he dropped was “The Spider.”
The stranger reaches for the card, but then stops.
“She’ll bite you too. Be careful.”
Somehow, even though I can’t see his face, I know he’s talking to me.
I see the stranger shuffle the cards into another deck. The card on top of the deck has a blade made of ice upon it. Another has an old, darkened road upon it, while yet another has a silver door.
The stranger keeps fading in and out of the shadows. If I can’t catch him, he will become the shadows and be forever beyond my reach. I sweat in the grip of unknown fear.
More than just the Smiling Lady is in danger. The blight cooks inside the floating ones. They aren’t sleeping.
I look at my hand. I only have one good card to play—the Cavalier. The stranger knows I have him, however, and I briefly worry about putting him in play.
But there is no choice.
I catch a glimpse of a tattoo on the back of the stranger’s hand. It’s a stylized key—a skeleton key, I realize.
That wasn’t there a moment ago—I am certain.
I shook my head, and took a breath. This was rare. I did not usually have the vision come on so strongly. Usually it came on once, only once, right after I took the serum. After that—
It was already happening. The images faded in my mind, like wisps of dreams. I focused, trying to hold onto the first points.
I knew they might save my life.
We are playing a hand of rout somewhere in a darkened room. People watch from the shadows.
My partner bounced up next to me. “Thom?” She looked up at me curiously, her eyes shining.
“I’m fine, Scoundrel.” I reached for her and scratched her head. As I leaned down to her, the raven jumped up onto my shoulder, steadying herself with her wings.
“Good bird. Good girl.”
I smiled at her and scratched her head again. “Yes. You are my good girl.” As I spoke, I made two rapid hand signs. Good bird. Quiet.
The molten gold in my veins was cooling. The city stopped trembling around me.
I could breathe again.
After long moments, I squared my shoulders, making certain my partner was steady. I gave her a quick glance. “Let’s go see a bad man.”
“Bad man.” I could hear reproach in her tone. “Bad. Bad.”
The serum was the only thing I had to go on just now. The visions it brought were always the same—strange, dreamlike scenes that were to lead us to some criminal perpetrator, our “Jack,” in judicar parlance. It was never easy to understand the visions, but in this case, I felt as if I had the beginnings at least.
I sit across from a king.
“The Red Hand.” He smiles at me as he plays the card.
It could only be Santiago. I had no idea what crimes he had committed, but at least I had the start of a thread. For a few days the serum would guide me, give me nudges and hints from my dreaming mind. I didn’t know where the vision would lead me or what I was supposed to do, but that didn’t matter. I was a judicar. I was the hand of the law.
I was oathed to serve.
Still, I wasn’t a fool. I had told Wil, my best friend and fellow judicar, where I was going this evening. We were at an outdoor café over near Dockward Square, sharing a quick tea and coffe.
“That’s an entire bucket of stupid.” Wil quipp
ed. At first, he had thought I might be teasing. “Lost gods, I’d say two buckets. You should let me tag along.”
“I’ll have my girl.” I had scratched Scoundrel’s head and given him a wry grin. “I’ll go in with a missive on her leg and send her if I need help. Stay where she can find you.”
“I don’t like it.” He had sipped his coffe.
“I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why we’re talking about it now.”
He gave me a long look. “Don’t think just being a judicar will keep you safe, Thom.”
“It doesn’t.” I gave him a grim smile. “I have the serum, my stave, my raven, and you, if things get tight.”
“It’s not enough.”
I had nothing to say to that. When dealing with Santiago, one couldn’t be too careful.
Wil was absolutely right.
2
“Do you have a writ?”
I smiled at the lean, crooked-toothed man. “A judicar doesn’t need a writ unless there is something to hide. Is there something to hide, Grith?” I leaned on my black ironwood stave and fixed him with my best placid stare. I tried to ignore the two hulking men behind him.
“Ya’ don’t scare me, blackbird.” He spat on the ground. “Haven’t done anything wrong, have I? We’ve only got good, upstandin’ business here.”
I fought to not laugh in his face. “Liar.”
He looked at me, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Grith’s fingers were in extortion, blackmail, mostly the buying and selling of secrets. There had been an incident about a year ago when some guild minister’s wife had been coming Warrenside for some quiet fun. The Red Hand had found out about her tastes, which were more than slightly perverse, and there had been a cost for their silence.
She had refused to pay. In fact, she had made a noisy affair of the whole thing, which had, overall, been a mistake.
The woman had been found, hanged, in a garret room by the Azure guildhouse. She had a single bloody handprint in the center of her chest.
Of course, we couldn’t pin Grith’s name to the affair, but I knew. He knew that I knew, too, and so often had a sideward smile for me. It was made all the more difficult in that selling secrets wasn’t technically a crime, not by the codices.
“Quit wasting my time.” I sighed. “I could get a writ if I wanted, Grith. I’d really rather that I not need one, not when I only want to bring Santiago some information.”
“Senír Il Ladren—”
I held up a hand. “You don’t understand, Grith. I don’t care. I don’t care what Santiago wants to be called or what you are hiding.” I fixed my eye on Scoundrel. “I can send my good girl here back to the Offices of the Just, and she’ll have me a writ in a nonce.” I smiled. “’Course, if she brings me a writ, she’ll likely bring five other judicars, and we’ll all spend our night looking for whatever it is you’re trying so hard to hide.” I nodded toward the Scarlet Cellar. “Bad for business.”
“Bad.” Scoundrel adjusted herself on my shoulder and peered at the man. He shifted nervously under her gaze.
“Alternatively, you can let me in the fecking door so I can talk to Santiago. I’ll be on my merry afterward, and you can go back to pretending to be upstanding.” I glared at him.
He glared back, begrudgingly. A long moment passed.
“Fine, Judicar, fine.” He grumbled and spat again. “Ain’t nuffing illegal anyways.”
“That’s good, Grith. Real good.” I smiled. “Just like the upstanding citizen you are.” I didn’t expect Grith would have done anything else. The man avoided conflict wherever he could. He wasn’t a coward; he just knew not to walk against the wind.
He pointed to my left. “Come ’round the taphouse. He’s in downside and that’s closer.”
“Also, I wager no one will see me on that side.” I gave him a tight smile. “Fine. Hurry over there. It’s raining, and I’m in no mood.”
He slammed the door. Not too hard, and not exactly in my face.
Still, he made his thoughts plain.
I stepped around the building, staying under the eaves and out of the rain. Scoundrel huddled on my shoulder, trying to keep dry under the rim of my hat.
To Grith’s credit, he was already at the side door by the time I got there. He leaned out, spat, and motioned me in.
I felt his eyes on my back as I walked inside.
I pretended as if I wasn’t worried.
3
“This way, Judicar.” Grith’s smile was condescending, almost mocking. I grunted at him, and he led the way.
It wasn’t always a simple thing to be pleasant while on the serum. The beginning of a headache was nagging at me as the alchemy boiled in my blood. The visions hammered at the edges of my mind.
“She’s one of my favorites.” He caresses the card, smiling as he plays it.
“Thom?” Scoundrel groomed my hair.
“Fine, pretty girl.” I gave her a smile. The headaches would fade; they were always harshest the day I took the serum.
The alehouse was old stone and wood, creaking with the character that such places have. It smelled old, like wood-wax and lantern oil. In the distance, I could hear the low roar of laughter and drunken revel. Someone was playing a violi, the tune quite frantic and mad.
“This way, Judicar.” Grith smiled at me, ingratiating and infuriating.
I nodded.
The hallway was lined with a patterned red carpet that was heavily worn in the center. Every doorway was watched over, typically by some thug with arms the size of my thighs. Grith smiled at me as he ushered me inside. It was a leering, sarcastic thing.
I ignored the smile and focused upon appearing stern.
This house was rife with secrets. The Red Hand had long been a group with plenty to hide. Over the years there had been plenty of writs filed, but actual proof—
Well, that was another thing entirely.
If a business was profitable, be it burglary, grifting, or long, intricate cons, then someone in the Hand specialized in that field. There were men in the guild that spent their lives learning to pick locks and bypass strongmen, and there were just as many who could charm a man out of his small clothes without him ever feeling a breeze.
That was only the surface.
Months ago, my cohort Wil had started gathering facts about the Red Hand and found more than he had wagered on. Santiago had a cadre of barristers on retainer, as well as friendships with guild ministers and close personal relationships with three legates. There were associations and connections that no one would have guessed at, and quite soon Wil realized he might be in a bit deep.
He decided to stop peeking around.
The only nefarious activity the Hand was not part of was selling girls on the streets or running pillow houses. That particular activity had a dark and sinister history within the Warrens, and not even Santiago had stones enough to touch that business.
“I assume, that is.” I kept my tone low as I muttered to Scoundrel.
Occasionally, we passed a door that was a touch open. More than once I saw far more flesh than a respectable young lady would be willing for a stranger to see. The men in those rooms were certainly enjoying their time, but had they paid for that privilege?
There was no way to know.
That was the problem. Santiago’s guildmen were good at what they did. We judicars couldn’t catch them at it—not often enough to make a difference.
Grith ushered me down a long, smoky hallway, nodding at various people as we passed. Scoundrel remained on my shoulder, and more than one person gave a warding sign as she passed. I nodded my head coolly at the men and women inside, doing my best to seem friendly yet distant.
“Nice partner you have there, Grith.” It was an Esperan woman, sitting in a side room. She wore a short, crimson dress and was smoking on a fuma. Her eyes smoldered, and she was all curves and shadows.
“Ain’t no friend of mine, is he?” Grith gave her a dour look. “Judicar wants
to talk with Sant—Senír Il Ladren. I’m just showing him in, aren’t I?”
She shrugged prettily, keeping her burning gaze on me. “Must be important for a judicar to visit such humble folks as ourselves.”
“’Portent.” Scoundrel squawked on my shoulder, ruffling her feathers. I had to fight not to smile. She was only mimicking, as the ravens often did, but cutting off the word “important” made it sound dire. My girl fixed her eyes on the woman.
The woman, superstitious as many citizens were about the birds, looked away from Scoundrel, keeping her eyes to the ground.
“’Portent. ’Portent.”
“Now. Be good.” I signaled Scoundrel with my left hand. Quiet.
It was a common reaction. The ravens were in fact dangerous. But the danger came from the two inch, steel combat gaffs on their legs, not in omens or dire powers. Still, many people were scared of the birds’ “magical” capabilities. After all, the serum allowed judicars to see things that we had no way of knowing. It was an easy step to assume that the sable birds somehow croaked arcane secrets to a judicar as we patrolled the city.
Some judicars took advantage of that fear. Not myself, of course. Such behavior would be impolite. Uncivil.
I tipped my hat at the woman before following Grith. I smiled.
She would not meet my gaze.
It wasn’t long before we came to a giant of a man in the hallway. Like most of the Red Hand guildmen, he had the swarthy skin tone and dark eyes of an Esperan. He was wearing a cap lined with thick black fur and had his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was like old iron. He stood in front of a large, imposing door.
Grith stopped. “I’ve got him, Latigo. He won’t be doing any harm, will he?” Grith gave me a long gaze. “Thom knows where he is. He’s being all polite-like.”