by JM Guillen
“I have a delivery for you, Mister Gould,” he stated with a smug grin on his face.
Killian looked at the envelope in Jakob’s outstretched hand then up at his face.
“Is it from…?” He trailed off.
“Open it, and you’ll know who it’s from, won’t you?” Jakob strode over and shoved the envelope at Killian’s chest.
Killian pressed it to himself and went over to the counter. He set the envelope on the wooden surface and picked up a small, ornamental dagger. With exaggerated care he slit open the envelope. He diligently replaced the dagger in its ornate holder and then slid out a few sheets of paper. He unfolded them slowly and held the first up to the light. His lips twitched as he read, but Bryana couldn’t make out the words.
Keeping his eyes on the first sheet, Killian picked up the second and continued to read. When he reached the end of the message, he re-folded the sheets and slipped them back in the envelope.
His hands were trembling.
Killian tucked the envelope into his jacket and withdrew a small tin. He opened it, took a small pinch and sniffed at it, once for each nostril. He replaced the blue-labeled lid, and the tin rejoined the envelope in his jacket.
“Da?” Bryana couldn’t help but ask.
Killian dropped his head and shuddered, resting his hand on the counter. His head came up, and he smiled wanly at his daughter, but his face was still pale.
“Fine. I’m fine,” he declared.
Bryana frowned.
“I’ll be back in two days.” Jakob knocked twice on the desk as he said it, smiling that same smug grin. “Be ready when I get here.” He smiled at Bryana, a feral baring of his teeth. “Ta.” He pivoted, making his coattails whirl, and sailed out the door.
The little bell tinkled.
“Da?” Bryana asked again.
Killian said nothing, merely smiled again and wandered back to the rear of the shop. When Bryana followed, she found him reading over the papers again.
“Da, I—am I wrong in thinking that was sort of odd? The Fox didn’t seem much like himself, did he?”
“Mm?” Killian looked up from the papers. “Oh.” He folded them and replaced them in his pocket as before.
“He’s normally much friendlier. I was afraid the Fox was a-gonna bite my hand!” she prompted.
Killian said nothing, merely shrugging one shoulder before returning to sorting out the stock.
Bryana gave a small, frustrated sigh and returned to the front desk.
Two days later, Bryana made certain she was in the shop all day. When Jakob walked in, he looked even worse than before. His vest needed a wash, and it looked as if his shirt hadn’t seen the good side of an iron in weeks. Both hung off his thinning form.
Killian was puttering around, rearranging the displays, dusting off every speck that wasn’t there.
“You ready to go?” Jakob’s voice held the gravelly tones of a man who had not slept in days. There was an odd scent on him too, a peppery one Bryana could not identify. It made her eyes water, and her nose snarl up.
Her father was wearing his crooked smile, the one he wore when lying to a customer. He looked at her. “Bryana, I need you to have the store.”
“Of course, Da.” She looked up from the store records.
He tried seeming reassuring. “I’m going with my friend here, and I may be a little time. I trust you can handle things till I get back.”
She found herself looking at that crooked smile, the one that was so like her own. Bryana knew better than to trust that smile.
“Of course, Da.” She smiled back, but not her crooked smile. He would know that one as well as she did and would see through it. She used the smile that she had practiced, the bright, empty flash of teeth that was meant to convey innocent trust.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured into her hair as he hugged her.
It was a hug she would remember for the rest of her life.
Then he was out the door.
Jakob still stood there, scratching his cheek absently. Bryana looked at him.
“Ta.” He tilted his head at her and gave that wolf’s grin. Then he spun around to follow Killian.
Bryana slipped out the door behind him. Killian stood across the street, waiting for the Fox. Bryana waved to her father once and then went back in the shop.
Inside, Martin, her father’s book-loving apprentice, rounded the corner from the back room.
Bryana smiled. “Good timing,” she murmured to herself. She cleared her throat and approached the desk, speaking in a clear, commanding tone. “Martin, I need you to mind the front a bit. I… have an errand that needs seeing to.”
Martin ducked his head in agreement and shuffled behind the front desk, setting the sales records in his lap.
Bryana nodded once and slipped outside, letting the door ring its familiar, faint tinkling bell.
She followed her father into the streets.
When Bryana was a child, her father had taught her to always be aware of her surroundings. He would make a game of it, jumping out at her from random places, quoting back private conversations she’d had with her toys at dinner. It had made her giggle, but these games had a serious purpose.
Any person could be a threat, he’d always told her. Anyone could be watching over their shoulder, trying to listen for secret snippets of conversation. In her father’s words, “Sometimes conversation is worth more than corn.” He was always aware of his surroundings, always watching over his shoulder.
Now Bryana was following the man who had taught her such arts.
When she stepped into the street, she thought he had already vanished. He’d only had about ten steps head start on her, but she would not have been surprised to find him gone completely. Her father owned loyalty from almost every business along this street. They weren’t his businesses—they were businesses that he had paid for, businesses that their owners were still in debt over.
Her father rarely owned businesses. He owned debt.
He owned men.
So no, she would not have been surprised if the Fox and her father had turned off the road. Maybe they stepped into the small glazier shop at the end of the street to nod to Mister Norton before walking out his back stoop. From there, they could catch a horse and four and they would be…
Gone. Just gone.
Her breath started to catch in her throat as she looked up and down Poppy Street. Finally, after a long, heart-stopping moment, she saw him. He was down the other side of the block where Poppy crossed Baker. There was a small hill there, and he was just on the other side of it.
A nonce later, and he would have been completely out of sight.
She ran to catch up, brushing aside a girl selling matches and almost bowling over an old ragwoman and her cart. Bryana pounded cobbles until she got almost to the top of the small hill, then she slowed down. For all she knew, her da and the Fox might have paused just on the other side.
She crested the hill walking steadily, her head away to the side as if she’d seen something she didn’t want to step in. She risked a glance up and breathed out a shaky sigh. They were still walking.
Bryana trailed slowly behind, watching the way her father walked and noting the Fox animatedly waving his hands as he spoke. He was excited about something, but her father was reserved. Cautious.
Bryana could read his concern from almost an entire pole behind him.
Killian had spent years teaching her the notions of stance, motion, and the ten thousand small things a man might do that would reveal his secret character. Bryana had learned many such arts from simply watching him too. She knew her father as no other person in all the world. Even from down and across a busy street, she could read his tentative stance, the concerned cant of his head.
Fear?
Bryana paused.
Quickly she shook her head and hurried on, a small frown still sitting on her face. She watched as Jakob stopped in the street to speak directly to Killian.
; Bryana sidestepped to a small pushcart and gave a half-hearted attempt at looking over the pasties for sale while keeping an eye on the two men she was tailing.
The Fox was speaking, keeping his tone quiet, but he was calmly, intensely urgent. He put a finger in the middle of her father’s chest, something that Bryana never would have thought he’d have the stones to do.
Bryana tried to read his lips, but gave it up after a nonce. He was standing too far away, facing her father rather than standing head-on to her. Still she tried. She thought she caught a few words: ‘later,’ ‘you,’ and ‘spider.’
Spider?
Bryana growled softly. “Quite informative, thank you,” she muttered to no one.
The two men started walking again.
After about a quarter bell, they fetched up at a small outdoor cafe that she knew well, Llorde’s Coffe House. Bryana had been about to pass them under cover of a large, loud group of revel seekers that had been moving through. Quickly, she slipped to the other side of the street to find a suitable look out.
Llorde’s Coffe House was an outdoor cafe on the corner of Mooning Street and Poppy. The food was fairly passable, the coffe better, but it was rare that people met there for the nibbles.
Llorde’s was a place for secrets.
While the cafe was in the light of day, the outdoor tables were also quite widely spaced. In point of fact, they were far enough apart that between the bustle of the street, the three fountains that the cafe had burbling nearby, and a discrete wait staff, one could have a remarkably private conversation right in the middle of the city in broad daylight.
The strangest thing about the meeting was that the location was not owned by Santiago, but by another guild, a guild that could be said to be Santiago’s fiercest rivals.
The Twilight Blades.
Llorde’s Coffe House should have been the last place that these particular folk would choose to sit and speak together. Yet… here they were.
Bryana was stunned, almost as if physically slapped. What could the Blades have to do with this? How could her father even sit in that courtyard without constant paranoia?
Her answer was betrayed by her father’s posture, his stiffness.
He couldn’t.
When Killian was slightly in his cups and feeling particularly generous, he would occasionally tell his daughter a story or two of city intrigues. These were stories that always kept her wide-eyed and gasping. It thrilled her to learn of the hidden war happening in the streets around her. Like an actual war, there were casualties. Sometimes it was resources within the city that fell and passed into the hands of another guild. Businesses changed hands, loyalties shifted, but above all, most importantly, different kinds of debts were incurred.
Sometimes, people were killed.
Once, Killian had successfully funded the Clokwerk Guild to buy a warehouse over by the Er’meander River. This was a matter of difficulty, as the structure was treasured by the Crystalline Vitrifyers, a guild which publically spoke against the Red Hand. They valued the structure’s location primarily because of the ferrous engines that the guild had constructed on site. The engines were quite complex and old, not to mention enormous. Moving them would be both costly and of great difficulty. Yet they were of great value to the Vitrifyers, processing raw ore for quartz and liquid necrorus—both of which were vital to their work.
Important though the location was, the Vitrifyers continually struggled to pay the taxes on the building. After months, the city placed a lien upon it, offering ownership to whoever could pay the vast costs.
Which Killian could. Not directly of course, that would be too strong a show for the Red Hand. But some money lent to the Clokwerks, with a business plan in place, and a fat percentage attached on the back end…
That night, Killian poured a young Bryana her first cup of wine. The Red Marquis had been most pleased at the transaction, and her father’s star had risen.
Moving the machines had been more than costly—many of the intricate parts had not survived disassembly. In one fell swoop, a guild that spoke against the Red Hand either had to pay a small fortune to salvage their equipment or set back their research by decades.
The Hand had won the battle but not the war.
Two weeks later, Santiago’s father was brutally tortured and murdered. His body was found in a cellar, but his assassin was never identified. A note was nailed to the flesh of the man’s face.
“Here is the wrath that the Coin has purchased.”
Killian wept with rage.
It wasn’t over however. The Vitrifyers had strong guild ties with the Twilight Blades, a guild much like the Red Hand but smaller. This entire sequence of events had set the Blades against the Hand, and the past several years had been a fierce, secret game of rout, played in the alleys and streets of the Warrens.
This was the shape of Santiago’s relationship with Sebaste, the owner of Llorde’s Coffe House and leader of the Twilight Blades. The two men had tussled for years, fighting over territory, power, and influence. Sometimes, these battles drew blood. Sometimes, they took lives.
The fact that Killian ‘Golden Coin’ Gould and Jakob the Fox were choosing to meet at a place sponsored by the Twilight Blades should have started a minor riot and ended with a body in the streets.
Yet, the world still turned. People strode around the city as if nothing were amiss. None of the servers even looked twice.
How strange.
For some time, the two men talked. Then they were joined by one more. He was a man that Bryana recognized from the pawnshop, but she had never heard his name. He wore rougher clothing than his companions. His sweat-stained work trousers and well-worn boots jarred with the black gloves, which he quickly tugged on after slinging a dusty greatcoat over one of the chairs. He glared at the surrounding tables. Other patrons started to glare back at the rude man, only to have table mates pull them back to their drinks and nibbles, gesturing to the bright tattoos covering the big man’s arms.
The images were odd. Bryana had to squint to make them out.
Scarlet blood slid in ribbons from tattoos of Gijonian long knives all along his skin. The scarlet ribbons formed a sensual woman’s long hair on one arm. Bryana couldn’t see his left with any detail, but it appeared much the same.
Jakob ordered a round of drinks and howled with laughter. Bryana had never heard him cackle like that before. He grinned, his mouth seeming to stretch wider than his face could hold, and handed the newcomer a dusty greatcoat. The man took it with ill grace and slid it over his arms, hiding the marks.
Bryana watched the men surrounding her father and shuddered.
Something was wrong. The men drank, behaving as if they were not sitting in the lap of their foes. When nibbles were brought, the men ate without any seeming concern.
Then came the woman.
She was all dark hair and lithe cunning. From across the small court, Bryana could feel her intensity.
“I’m here on your gentleman’s business.” Bryana could clearly read her lips. “I believe you are expecting me.” She leaned close. “The Hand seeks.”
“Certainly.” Even Jakob seemed a touch off. He lifted a hand, and a chair was brought.
Bryana watched as her father stood and held the chair for the woman.
“Gentles, this charming woman has a great many faces. Of names, however, only one is remembered.” He smiled. Bryana knew he was being theatrical. “Let us make welcome a woman who needs no introduction—the Warren’s Spider.” He indicated the chair. The woman sat a small smile on her face.
“Coin,” she replied.
3
It was like she had dropped an anvil in my lap.
“No.” I could hear the incredulity in my voice. “Just… no.”
“That’s what I saw. He said ‘Warren’s Spider.’”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Bryana might as well have claimed that the Leatherman was working for Santiago or that he had knackers and hobbes for dirkm
en.
“The Warren’s Spider.” My words were laced with disbelief. “She’s not real. Just some bogey that the Guilemen and other assassins use to hang their deeds upon.”
Bryana stared at me in much the same way as an offended cat. For my part, I couldn’t quite believe she was going to stand on this one.
I chuckled. “Look, Bryana. If you’re going to weave some fanciful tale about your father and a non-existent assassin, then I’m going to have to step along. I don’t have time to waste on boggert tales.” I rose from my seat and gestured to my good girl.
“Thom?” Scoundrel hopped close. I saw she had some small shiny bit in her talon.
“We’re on, pretty.”
“Don’t you think I’d make up a more believable story if that were my aim?”
The weary frustration in her voice stopped me as I turned to leave the room. I turned back to face her.
Her eyes were hard. “That’s what I saw.” Her jaw was set at a belligerent angle.
I sighed. “You really believe that. You really believe he met the Warren’s Spider.” I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my mouth at the idea.
“I know my father. He’s not a man to mistake an identity, especially not then. If he were wrong, he’d have offended the woman, and if you’d seen her, you’d know he would do anything he could not to cross her.”
I nodded sagely as every fight scene from every Warren’s Spider story I knew flashed in front of my eyes.
Impossible. Still, perhaps there was something to be gleaned from this. It seemed as if Bryana didn’t think she was dealing me false coin.
“My apologies. Please continue. Tell me more about the ‘Warren’s Spider.’” I gestured gallantly.
She frowned. “I’m not asking you to believe that it was her. But I am asking you to believe that’s what he said.”
Tainted night.
Slowly, I sat. I leaned in and rested my arms on the desk. I looked into her eyes and spoke. “I sincerely apologize, Miss Gould. You understand, every petty street crook and two-penny pilcher I’ve run down has tried blaming his misdeeds on the Warren’s Spider. I’ve tales enough on her to fill this room, yet no one can even agree on what she looks like. So whenever she’s mentioned…” I let my voice trail off, raising an eyebrow.