by Gregory Ashe
Chapter Thirty-five
“You’re Bonacore Coi,” Joaquim said, the tip of his short sword dropping in amazement. “What in Bel’s name are you doing here?” Bonacore Coi, one of the Six Fathers. One of the richest men in the city, and also one of the most powerful. If Joaquim remembered correctly, the man was a shipping magnate, like so many of the great merchant-princes in Apsia, but this man was different. He had a stranglehold on the imports of Jaecan blue amber, among other things.
To see him now, though, one would think he was just one more among the rich who had fallen on hard times, wearing their worn finery until it fell to pieces. The filthy man straightened, one hand moving to brush the fringe of gray hair before the chain caught him. The wary look on his face faded at Joaquim’s words, and uncertainty diluted the fear in his voice. “I’ve been kidnapped,” he said. “I can give you money if you free me—gold, good Apsian coin. If you know me, you know that’s true. Who are you? Where am I?” He sounded a good deal more composed than Joaquim would have been in his situation, but Joaquim attributed a large portion of the man’s composure to posturing; after watching the man’s sudden shift in attitude, Joaquim lost any doubt that Bonacore was a born politician.
“I’m Joaquim. Let’s see those chains.”
He set the sword down near the door, where Bonacore would not be able to reach it, and then stepped closer to the man. A flicker of disappointment in the captive man’s eyes told Joaquim he had been right; the man was likely half-mad from his imprisonment, and Joaquim had learned from his own experience what mad people—or even the half-mad—could do.
Ready to jump back at the first sign of an attack, Joaquim knelt next to Bonacore and examined the locks at the man’s wrists. They looked fairly simple, and Joaquim flipped through Sipir’s keys, testing each in turn. Bonacore trembled, faintly, but enough that Joaquim wondered if the man were sick or merely terrified. His arms looked unusually thin, the skin loose, as though he had lost weight during his imprisonment. A key on the ring opened the locks. Sipir again, Joaquim thought as he stepped back, giving Bonacore space for the moment. Bel take the man, what was he involved in?
“Thank you,” Bonacore said. “Now, if you’ll escort me to my manor, I’ll make sure you’re paid.” One eyelid fluttered uncontrollably as he spoke
Joaquim retrieved his sword and sheathed it. Leaning in the doorway to block Bonacore’s passage, Joaquim said, “Really? I think before we take you home, I’d like some answers. And some sort of guarantee that you don’t hand me over to the watch, or, with the Night Sister’s wink, your own guards. I’ve seen how the Six Fathers repay favors before; I don’t want to be on hand if you decide you need to make an example of someone for your kidnapping.”
“Now listen here, you ignorant piece of—” Bonacore said, voice shaking with sudden anger. Bonacore took a step toward him and stumbled. He slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his temple.
“You all right?” Joaquim asked, straightening. No point in letting him catch me off my guard. The man certainly acts disturbed. “What’s going on?”
In a calmer voice, Bonacore said, “I haven’t eaten in a few days. Water either, except for that wine you gave me.”
Joaquim shook his head. Sipir’s a bloody monster, he thought. It might take one to know one, in this case, but at least there’s one less of us now. Strangely, though, he could still feel that insane hatred for Sipir lurking in the back of his mind—so clear, so disconnected from everything Joaquim himself had experienced, that he wondered again if he was mad. “Hold on,” he said.
Grabbing the second glass, Joaquim poured more wine. He brought the bottle and the glass to Bonacore and set them down within the other man’s reach.
Still slumped against the wall, Bonacore slid to the ground and drank the wine. “Bloody Bel that’s good,” he said with a faint gasp. “And strong. I’m not going to be able to walk if I keep up with this, and the Sister take me if I’m going to stay in this nightmare of a room any longer than I have to. Tell me what you want, and then help me out of here. Please.”
The man’s spirit seemed broken, but Joaquim had already thought that once and been proved wrong. Joaquim stayed near the doorway, keeping a good distance between himself and the other man. “Tell me who took you,” Joaquim said. “And what they wanted.”
Bonacore laughed and said, “What do I bloody look like? An oracle? They took me in the middle of the night, killed my wife in our bed. I saw her, there, before they put the bag over my head, and then everything went black. When I woke up, I was here. Whoever it was that brought me food for the first few days made sure it was pitch black in here when he opened the door. I never saw him.”
“He never said anything?” Joaquim said.
“No,” the man shook his head. “Nothing.”
Joaquim thought. Why capture one of the Six Bel-taken Fathers and then not doing anything with him? What do you get out of that? He forced himself to think like his father. Assets, he told himself. What does this man have? Ships, and lots of them, but so do a dozen other merchants in the city. As well as the other Six Fathers. So why this one? A potential answer struck him. Jaegal. Something to do with the empire.
“Who’s your heir if you die?” Joaquim asked. “Or who would handle everything if you went missing?”
“My son, for the first one,” Bonacore replied. He poured himself another glass of wine and sipped it. “The head of my offices here, for the other. At least, I imagine Sammeen would take over until my son was old enough to handle things. Bel take me, he might take over for good, but he was loyal as far as I could tell.”
“Sammeen, huh?” Joaquim asked. “That a Jaecan name?”
“Yes,” Bonacore said. “He’s the one who helped me get the contract for that Jaecan amber. One of his relatives up north, in what used to be Greve Sindal, owns some of the richest mines. I pay Sammeen real, real well to keep his relative happy with us. It doesn’t hurt that Sammeen’s also got a bloody good head for business.”
“I’ll bet he does,” Joaquim said. And I’ll bet he doesn’t have a relative up there at all, but Bel take me, what do I know? Sipir sends us to bring in something real special, so special we can’t even know what it is, and then everyone ends up dead—including a bunch of Jaecan. It would be bloody convenient if I could remember how that happened. Still, Jaegal is the thread running through all this. Time to give it a tug.
“Where would I find your good friend Sammeen?” Joaquim asked. “I think I want to ask him a few questions as well.”
“I’ve got offices down on the harbor, the central stretch, right on the waterfront,” Bonacore said. “But if you’ll help me home, I’ll just send a man running for him.”
“I think you’re in for an unpleasant surprise when you get home,” Joaquim said. “Let’s get you something to eat first, and then we’ll make our way up there. I don’t want you passing out half-way up the hill.”
Bonacore protested and whined, but Joaquim ignored him. He did not intend on returning the man home, not without obtaining some kind of guarantee of his safety. Considering the condition that Bonacore was in, Joaquim doubted he could provide anything satisfactory. Best bet, then, is to leave him somewhere near his home, and get out of there fast. The first matter was food, though, for both of them.
“Let’s go,” Joaquim said. “You can walk? At least as far as a tavern?”
Bonacore nodded. He regained his feet and staggered after Joaquim. Joaquim led him down the stairs, keeping one hand on his dagger. He didn’t trust Bonacore not to try something, especially this close to freedom. Joaquim might have freed the man, but he had no illusions about Bonacore trusting him. For all he knows, I’m the same bastard that caught him, and now I’m playing him from another angle. There were enough stories about sequesterings and kidnappings in Apsia’s history, each with its own particular brand of betrayal or duplicity, that Joaquim did not put anything past the captured nobleman. Lucky for me the man is so weak from malnutrition he ca
n barely walk—unless it’s all an act. Lies within lies. Apsian politics.
“Day Sister bless me,” Bonacore said as they reached Sipir’s body. “Is he . . . is he dead?”
“He better be,” Joaquim said, trying to ignore the screaming madman that still thirsted for Sipir’s blood. He’s dead, Joaquim wanted to shout to that voice, he’s dead and gone. The murderous hate, though, was seared into him, as deeply as the memories of killing Viane. “That’s the man who kidnapped you.”
“A Jaecan?” Bonacore sounded surprised. “Why would a Jaecan have anything against me?” Too surprised. Trying too hard. So that means what? He’s not surprised at all the Jaecans are after him? Jaecans again, Joaquim thought. What’s this bloody fool hiding?
“He might have been born Jaecan,” Joaquim said, “but he ran one of the smuggling gangs on the harbor, so he was as Apsian as you or I. You have enough dealings with Jaegal, though, that I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of them wanted to cut you open as well.”
Bonacore began a blustery defense of his business practice—a defense, from what Joaquim heard, based largely on his patriotism. Joaquim shut the man’s voice out of his head. There was one more door, the ground floor set of chambers. He did not hesitate, but found the key and unlocked the door. As he opened it, Joaquim wondered what he would find. The last one had one of the bloody Six Fathers held prisoner, he thought. What about this one? The high priest of the Three being tortured? The Emperor of Jaegal himself?
The layout of the rooms was identical to the two floors above, but the furnishings here were hidden under dustsheets, and the windows were barred as well as papered. “Stay in the stairwell,” Joaquim told Bonacore. The older man nodded, apparently unwilling to argue, or perhaps planning to escape.
Overlapping footprints cut through the dust, leading from the door to the room on the opposite side. Joaquim ignored the trail and examined the two rooms first, but found them uninhabited, the furniture covered and undisturbed. Before opening the last door, where the tracks led, Joaquim glanced over his shoulder. Bonacore sat against the far wall of the stairwell, pinching his nose shut with one hand against the smell from Sipir’s corpse. A little affected, Joaquim thought, after what his cell smelled like, but I suppose he was used to it.
Drawing his dagger, Joaquim opened the center door. This room had been cleaned and swept; fine furniture, these pieces done in reddish-brown yew and with elaborate gold caps and feet, was uncovered; the rumpled coverlet on the bed showed it had been used frequently. Joaquim pried open the armoire at the back without a care for the splintering wood and rummaged the clothing. He recognized many of the pieces; this was Sipir’s room, or at least one of the places he stayed.
Underneath the bed, Joaquim found a small, heavy box banded with steel. One of the keys fit this chest. Bloody man had keys for everything, Joaquim thought. Too bad that string of good luck is about over. The chest opened easily.
Neat stacks of gold deng stared back at him, the Jaecan coins stamped with the same ‘x’ that marked the Jaecan flag. Joaquim picked one up and flipped it over. The Empress Intitha, with her famed nose. Bel burn me, Joaquim thought. This is enough to buy a title and enough ships to match. Sitting under Sipir’s bed. Shock hit him, then anger. The Night Sister take his soul, he got paid for that job. Somehow, even though no one made it back.
It didn’t make any sense. Had the client paid Sipir beforehand, and then Sipir had sent them to their deaths? Or had Sipir actually shown up and completed the job?
Joaquim cursed the fog of memories from that night. He could hear that insane voice in his head again, he could barely make out the words. Only one, send one, only one. Meaningless. But clearly about Sipir.
He pocketed two of the coins and locked the box and slid it back under the bed. No point sharing with Bonacore; he’s doing well enough. Joaquim returned to the stairwell and locked the door behind him. “All right, let’s see if we can’t get something to eat and then get you home.” And maybe get some answers out of this man, Joaquim thought. Such as, why his Jaecan supporters suddenly turned on him?
Keeping his distance from Bonacore, Joaquim unlocked the door to the street and pulled it open. Fresh air, perfumed with the odor of rotting garbage and excrement ubiquitous to the Gut, tinged with salt and sea, washed over them. Bonacore went first, and Joaquim followed him into the dark streets. The sun had set; the sky was dark, no stars showed, no moon, meaning there were big clouds up there. A storm must have moved in while I was inside, Joaquim thought. That’ll make it easier to get this traitor home without being seen.
Laughter filled the street. A few blocks down, Joaquim could make out the door to a tavern bracketed by torches. The door was open, and two women, dresses cut almost to the navel, lounged in front, fanning themselves in spite of the cool evening air. They broke their laughter with calls to passersby, some offers so raunchy that Joaquim felt himself coloring, even hidden in the darkness.
“Oh,” one of the women let out a half-moan as she addressed someone further up the street. “Well, here are some big boys, finally. I bet none of you have seaweed dangling between your legs, not like half the sailors that come through here.”
Joaquim led Bonacore into the shadowed street, grateful for once that the inhabitants of the Gut did not make any effort to alleviate the darkness. He froze just a few steps from the building, though, when he heard a familiar voice.
“We’re looking for a young man,” Etio said. Joaquim could make his face out now, from the reddish light of the torches in front of the tavern.
“Oh, you’ve come to the wrong place,” one of the women said, running a finger down the slit in her dress. “But if you’re looking for a woman, my lovely man of the Order, then I think we can help you.”
Etio ignored her response, his tan, round face as serious as Joaquim had ever seen it. “You’ve probably seen him down here; he might go by a different name, but sometimes he calls himself Joaquim. He’s about my height, thinner. A woman too, might go by Viane, thick lips and a sharp nose.”
“The Order,” Bonacore said. “This is our way out of here. All I have to do is tell them who I am, and they’ll make sure we get home safely.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Joaquim said. “I’m a member of the Order myself. Some of those men are so crooked they could even run you some competition, Bonacore. If you don’t have coin, they might hang you out to dry, or they might lock you up for a while themselves, see how much ransom money they can get for you.” Joaquim spoke the truth, but his words were motivated as much by self-interest as out of any generosity toward the traitorous merchant with him.
They’re looking for me and Viane, Joaquim thought. Makes sense; Etio knew where we were, more or less, and knows about the reward. Bel take me, he might even really be worried, but I won’t put any coin on that idea right now. As much as he trusted Etio once, the last few days had made Joaquim question everything. Either way, though, if he finds me, the first thing he’ll do is start asking questions that I don’t want to answer.
“Come on,” Joaquim said, plucking at the sleeve of Bonacore’s soiled shirt. “Let’s get out of here before they move on. The pace we move, they’ll catch us up without even trying.”
Bonacore nodded and turned. Joaquim took two steps away from the Order men. Before Joaquim could look back, Bonacore turned and ran with a speed surprising for his malnourished state.
“Help,” Bonacore screamed, his voice ragged. “Help.”
Etio drew sword and dagger and ran toward his voice.