by Ian Whates
The broken park was now behind them and they continued through the bland, bright, and eerily empty corridors of the Row. It had been a while since they'd seen any bodies, and Tom wondered whether the citizens of this section at least had received enough warning to evacuate.
Tom's brief use of his talent in the park had done nothing to assuage it. The power still sizzled just below the surface, as if anxious for release.
It didn't have long to wait. A force of Rust Warriors appeared in the corridor ahead, half a dozen or more. Three of the Blade quickened pace and moved forward to meet them. Glad of this now familiar enemy, Tom didn't hesitate. He reached toward the Warriors with his mind and struck with bludgeoning force. The first two imploded in a shower of russet petals, and those behind followed in quick succession. By the time the Blade were able to engage the enemy, only a single Rust Warrior opposed them, and the trio made short work of that one.
Beside him, Kat was whooping and laughing. "That was amazing. Nothing's gonna stop you reaching the core now, Tom, you're invincible!"
He was almost willing to believe as much himself and laughed along with her, though he did so more in relief than anything else. The close call in the park had shaken him, and he worried what else might lie in wait for them.
TEN
Deliia hadn't changed much in the time Dewar had been away. That was both a comfort and a concern. There were people here who knew him and places he felt obliged to avoid as a result. Given the size of the reward that had apparently been posted on his head, even his own mother would have been tempted to turn him in were she still alive.
There were a few things working in his favour. The scent of war was in the air – even more prominent than the smells from the pickling factory and the fish smokeries that normally vied for a visitor's attention. With the spectre of conflict looming large, people had more immediate concerns than looking out for a man who had risen to prominence years ago, even if that man was the "King Slayer" – the assassin who had come so close to killing the ruler of their near neighbour and ally the Misted Isles.
If his intention had been to merely pass through the town, Dewar would have felt fully confident of doing so without being noticed. Unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury. There were things he needed to acquire; very particular items which were liable to raise awkward questions if requested in the wrong place or in the wrong way. Far better that he should assemble what was required here before travelling to the Misted Isles themselves. That community was too close-knit. It would be all but impossible to get what he needed there without drawing unwanted attention. Not that the process was all that simple in Deliia, complicated as it was by the need to avoid his former contacts and rely on less familiar sources.
He was already reconciled to not replacing the one thing he missed the most: the kairuken. His had been lost during the desperate battle in the Jeeraiy against another former member of the Twelve, and its absence had weighed heavily on him ever since; but the weapon was so much his trademark that any attempt to replace it would be asking for trouble.
As long as he was careful, it ought to be comparatively simple to go about his business quietly, assembling the various items he wanted and slipping across the channel without anyone being the wiser. All the activity helped, of course. With so many new faces in town, one more recent arrival was all the less noteworthy.
It would take a stroke of spectacularly bad luck to betray him. Of course, ever since the day that Inzierto III had so fortuitously escaped death at the expense of one of his courtiers, Dewar had been forced to admit that luck wasn't always the most reliable of companions, so he wasn't about to take anything for granted.
It all went smoothly at first. He was used to improvising and little of what he wanted was likely to arouse suspicion, particularly in the prevailing climate when weapons were far from a novelty. There was only one truly exotic item. He thought long and hard about alternatives but in the end decided it was worth the risk of raising an eyebrow or two. Discrete enquiry identified an herbalist who might just carry what he was after.
Now all that remained was to decide on the best approach. The herbalist in question was one Molivat Kraisch, said to specialise in the unusual and the outlandish, to possess a keen intelligence, and to be "odd". That last was the word that cropped up universally whenever Kraisch's name was mentioned. Evidently there was something about the herbalist that made folk uneasy.
This was enough to make Dewar feel the same, so he decided to make his approach as circumspectly as possible. To do so, he would need a proxy, an accomplice. It took him more than half the day to find her and, once he had, he would have been hard pressed to explain exactly why he settled on this girl in particular. Except that she was young, pretty in a waif-like way, and had about her an air of desperation. Also, she looked like a girl who might well have a much-loved but ailing mother.
He encountered her soon after midday at a coffee house not far from the town centre. It wasn't a place he was familiar with – one of many that had sprung up subsequent to his exile – and it proved to serve an excellent brew. The girl served him, and there was something about her appearance, her demeanour, that clicked instantly into place. He lingered for a second cup and then a third – strong, dark, lightly spiced but not enough to detract from the flavour, just enough to blunt the bitterness. Whoever blended this had an excellent palate. Three cups were no hardship at all.
Dewar was at his most charming, engaging the girl in banter, and discovering her name was Seffy.
He tipped her heavily. "Tell me, Seffy," he said after refusing a fourth cup as she cleared away the empty third. "Would you be interested in making a little extra money?"
Her smile dissolved into a look of wary calculation. "I'm not that sort of girl, sir," though she said it in a manner that suggested she might be but only if the price was right.
"And I'm not that sort of a man," he assured her; at least, not today.
She stared at him, clearly puzzled and waiting for him to continue. She appeared to be around twenty years old, with long, straight brown hair, big doe eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her high cheekbones, a thin figure which was untroubled by curves and hinted at a lack of proper nutrition. Yes, she was perfect.
"I'm in need of a very particular kind of medicine. Don't worry, I don't have a disease," he added quickly as she recoiled slightly. "My condition isn't infectious. It's just that a part of my body no longer works as it should and requires a special supplement. The most effective supplement is extremely hard to find. Only one herbalist in all of Deliia is likely to have it. The trouble is that this man and I have some history and there's a lot of bad blood between us. He would never sell the medicine to me; in fact he'd delight in refusing to do so if he knew I was involved. So I need somebody with whom I have no obvious links to go and buy the medicine on my behalf, and for that I'm willing to pay, and pay well."
"How much?" she said instantly, suggesting he'd been right about her being desperate.
He named a figure, which he calculated to be higher than she was ever likely to earn in any given month of waitressing, even allowing for tips. He saw her eyes widen and knew that she was hooked. Now all he had to do was reel her in.
She then proved that she wasn't entirely stupid by asking one more question. "Why me?"
Dewar was ready for that one. "Because I like you, and if I'm going to hand over a lot of money to a virtual stranger, it might as well be to someone I like." He smiled, with what he hoped was enough warmth to allay any further doubts. "Besides, how could anyone resist a pretty face like yours, eh?"
No hint of a blush but she returned the smile and he knew then that they were in business.
Seffy finished her shift late that afternoon. Dewar met her a little way down the street – she didn't want to set tongues wagging among her work colleagues by walking out of the shop with a random man. The efficiency with which she spelt out the arrangement made him suspect this wasn't the first time she'd met a customer after hour
s.
"Where to?" she asked, which came as a pleasant surprise. He would have expected her first concern to be the money.
"This way."
The herbalist's shop wasn't far. As they walked, the assassin coached the girl in what he wanted her to say. She proved a pleasingly fast learner, and he congratulated himself on the decision to approach her. By the time they stopped, just around the corner from Kraisch's place, she had learnt her lines and could deliver them convincingly.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Kathy Wicks, sir."
"And why are you here, Kathy?"
"It's me mum, sir. She's in a bad way, and the doctor says that the only thing could help her is something called… zyvan berries?" It was actually zyvan berry juice, but too much accuracy might in itself be suspicious. Dewar nodded and she continued. "He said he knows how to prepare the medicine but not where to get the berries from. I've come to you because I've always heard you can get hold of anything. Is that right, sir? Can you, please? For me mum's sake."
He asked her several questions, such as the name of the doctor who'd tended her mother and where exactly she'd first heard of the herbalist's establishment. She responded clearly and without hesitation, thinking on her feet and delivering lie upon smooth lie with the face of purest innocence.
Dewar nodded his approval. "You should have been an actress."
She smoothed back her long hair. "Reckon I am, as it happens. I spend me life smiling at strangers every minute of every working day. What else would you call it?"
Ah, Dewar reckoned this was perhaps the first wholly unguarded thing she'd said to him since they met. She was beginning to trust him, whether she realised it or not.
Satisfied, he held out some money – not the amount he'd promised her but more than enough to pay for a few drops of zyvan berry juice. But when she took it, he didn't let go.
"Where did you get the money from?" he asked sharply.
"Saved it, sir," she replied without pause. "I work as a waitress, see, been puttin' aside what I could, for medicine."
He grinned and released his hold on the coins. "Good girl."
He peered around the corner, watching as the girl crossed the road and entered the herbalist's shop. Once she had, he stepped back out of sight, leant casually against the wall and waited. He was nonchalant, relaxed, glancing up at the sky one minute and down the street the next; a man waiting for his girl to finish her shift or perhaps for his mates, ready to go for a swift ale or two down the tavern after work. No one worth paying attention to, that was for sure.
There was a risk in what he was doing, though fortunately Seffy was taking most of it. What he hadn't told her was that zyvan berries, also known as death kiss berries, had no real medicinal benefit for any known ailment, though they were one of the gentlest and most pain-free methods of killing somebody. Their toxin also benefited from being virtually undetectable. That latter made them of interest to him and a favoured tool for many an assassin. Kraisch would doubtless know this. He would also know that the berries were once popular with medics for putting terminally ill patients out of their misery. Dewar was counting on the latter to allay any suspicions. It was perfectly reasonable that a kindly physician of a certain generation might seek death kiss berries to ease the passing of a favourite patient, and of course he wouldn't trust the patient's daughter with his real intent, not when he was relying on her to find the berries.
Yes, a risk, but a calculated one.
He had to wait longer than anticipated, and it was just reaching the point where he would have to go for a short walk before his lingering became suspicious, when the girl hurried around the corner.
"Did all go well?" he asked.
"Yes…" she said.
Her tone, though, prompted him to ask, "But?"
"He asked a lot of questions."
Kraisch was suspicious then, damn! Dewar gripped her arm and hurried her away from the corner and the shop. "Such as?"
"Oh, all sorts, like what was the doctor's name, what was my mother's name, what illness did she have, stuff like that."
"And you answered him each time?"
"Course I did; convincing as you like."
"Good. You have the berry juice, then."
"Well, not exactly."
"How inexact are we talking here?" He stopped walking, which meant that she had to, as well since he was still holding her arm.
"He says he can get some but that he doesn't have any at the shop. Wants me to go back an hour after dark and he'll have the berries for me then."
Three hours away. And where else would a herbalist keep his stock apart from on the premises? Either Kraisch was extremely suspicious, or he had designs on Seffy that had nothing to do with zyvan berry juice. "He took the money, I suppose?"
She shook her head. "Wanted to, but I wouldn't let him."
"Good girl." Three hours. Enough time for Seffy to consider the risks in going back to the herbalist. Enough, perhaps, for her to decide to take the money intended for the berry juice and not come back, cutting her losses.
"So what now?" she asked.
"You go to his shop an hour after nightfall, as instructed."
"Oh, I do, do I? I'm not so sure about that. I mean, it isn't what we agreed on, is it? You never said nothing about two trips, nor about skulking around in the dark."
"True." His smile was a thin one, "which is why I shall of course be paying you double the sum agreed, once you deliver the zyvan berry juice."
She stared at him for a moment, as if mulling over the new terms. "All right, I'll do it, then. Double, mind."
"Double," he assured her.
"And where will you be?"
"Close by throughout. I'll meet you on the corner where I waited for you just now, and will give you back the money for the berry juice just before you go into the shop." He held out his hand. "I'll take care of it for now, though, just in case you lose it."
She stared at him, her nostrils flaring, but obviously thought better of arguing, settling on a smile instead. "Fair enough." She handed across what was, after all, his money, and said, "Later, then." With that, she flounced off.
"Yes," Dewar said quietly, watching her go. "Later…"
A man was staring at him, trying not to be obvious and failing miserably. Damn! That herbalist was one suspicious brecker. He must have had Seffy followed from the shop. Not that Dewar could blame anyone other than himself; he should have been more careful.
Best to get this sorted out now, see what damage had been done and then adjust plans accordingly. He strolled off in the same direction the girl had taken but walking far more slowly. The man followed. Dewar took a side road Seffy hadn't and his shadow did the same. Two shadows now; the first had been joined by a friend. Neither looked to be the intellectual type, though the newcomer was a great deal bigger, broader, and meaner-looking than the original.
Now that support had arrived his pursuer grew bolder. The pair hurried to catch up with Dewar, who was happy to let them, anxious to let events play out. They reached him, one on either side, and bundled him into an alleyway, where they backed him against a wall.
The smaller, stubble-chinned fellow – his original stalker – took the lead, standing directly in front of him and glowering.
Dewar flinched before an onslaught of fetid breath as the man said, "Hand it over."
"Hand what over?"
"Don't come the innocent with me. The money that tart gave you. I watched it. Bold as brass you were. Well listen, and listen good. Gunnell Street is my manor. If any girl earns so much as a farthing on that stretch it comes straight to me. Not to you, not to anyone else, to me! Got it?"
It was all Dewar could do not to laugh. These two weren't connected to Kraisch at all. This was just a pimp and his muscle trying to protect their territory. He relaxed and, given that there were no implications to his mission, determined to let off a bit of steam and enjoy himself.
A man walked across the mouth of
the alley, glanced in, looked immediately away and kept walking. Thank Thaiss; the last thing Dewar needed was a well-meaning passer-by getting in the way.
"Now, hand the money over nicely and I'll just have Mitch here give you a few gentle slaps to see you on your way. Of course, if you'd rather be awkward about it, I'll let him really go to town and you'll find yourself waking up in the infirmary. So, what's it to be?"
"No, please, I won't argue." Dewar lifted his hands in apparent surrender, palms open, clearly empty. In doing so, he moved his thumb, tensing the flexor muscles of his right forearm in a specific way, simultaneously twisting the arm slightly at the elbow. He'd been hoping for a chance to try out the new spring-loaded arm holster before crossing to the Misted Isles, and here was the perfect opportunity.
The knife shot forward into his hand. He clasped the warm hilt automatically as it landed and followed the weapon's momentum, plunging the blade into the pimp's neck. He struck from the side, so that any blood spurt wouldn't come straight at him, and was already sliding his body in the opposite direction as he pulled the blade free. He took a few steps backwards, going deeper into the alley and away from Mitch, who, predictably, was coming for him. The enforcer had to side-step the collapsing form of his dying employer as it slithered down the wall, but, judging by the murderous expression, that wasn't going to stop him wreaking revenge.