“I don’t know anything. Just heard from the rumor mill that—that Pavalo had been done.”
“Funny, I heard the same rumor.”
“Funny how?” Sal blurted before thinking.
“Funny because I go looking for a rat, and next day a man involved in our operation drops dead.” Luca smirked. “Might be it’s only coincidence. Whatever it is, it is rather droll.”
Sal’s head was pounding harder than ever. He reached for the jug of wine and poured himself another cup.
“Anyone behaving oddly?” Luca asked. “Anybody thrown around any extra coin since the last job?”
“That the reason you summoned me?” It must have been the wine that had given him the courage, but once the words were out, they couldn’t be put back in. “I don’t know anything about the rat. If there was a rat at all, he wasn’t one of us that were at the High Keep. I can guarantee that much.”
To Sal’s surprise, Luca smiled. “That’s what I like about you, Salvatori, you’re not afraid to speak your mind. You’d be surprised at the men who hold their tongues when speaking to me.”
Sal doubted he would be too surprised .
“Look, Luca, I just wondered what you wanted me for. You know, the tracer and all. It put me on guard.”
“You’ve got balls, kid, and I was impressed with the way you handled yourself on the High Keep job. You kept your head. If it weren’t for that Yahdrish pup, you might have finished the job. Still, so far as the scouting went, you were everything Antonio promised. I want you for the next job.”
Sal realized that as Luca spoke, he wasn’t asking, but telling. It was as though he had already assumed Sal’s compliance. Still, Sal had no intention of accepting the job offer. Nabu was right. He had been mad to take the job with Luca Vrana the first time, and it was a mistake he would not be repeating.
“Heard anything about Anton?” Sal asked.
“I didn’t call you all the way up here to talk about Antonio Russo, I called you to hear about a job,” said Luca with a touch of irritation. “The job’s simple, and it pays well. It’s nothing you haven’t done for me before, only there are a few specifics I want you to watch for. The estate is large but heavily guarded. I need to know a point of entry or any weaknesses in the guard rotation. Most importantly the daughter. I need to know her comings and goings. Memorize her schedule. I want to know her every habit. That is of the utmost importance to our employer. Every tick of the girl’s every day should be recorded. She will have a man with her, an armed guard. A big bloody Bauden bastard. He too is quite important to our plans. I need to know if there are ever times she is without him.”
“Right. Well, listen, Luca, I don’t know that I’m right for—”
“I want you to start tonight, evenfall.”
“Tonight? I—”
Luca slid a folded piece of parchment across the table. “You can go now. Here’s information on the man and where to find his estate. I know you’ll do well, as always.”
Sal was losing ground quickly. He needed to put a stop to it there and then. “Luca, listen, I can’t pick up any work just now.”
“You have other work?” Luca asked, sitting up straight, his nose twitching. “With who? ”
“No, nobody, I just—well, I can’t start tonight.”
“What, you’ve not dipped your wick yet? Light’s name, kid, you’ve had all day.”
“It’s not that. I only—I really shouldn’t.”
“Look, I need it done tonight, and you’re the man I need for the job. Don’t let me down.” It seemed Luca had his mind set; he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Who’s the mark?” Sal asked, relenting at least that much.
“Fourth Seat of the High Council, Lord Hugo Bastian,” said Luca proudly.
The High Council! Sal wanted to shout. He should have expected no less of Luca Vrana. First the High Keep, now Lord Hugo. Whatever else they said of Luca, the man was ambitious. “What sort of job are we talking here?”
“Scouting. If there’s anything else, I’ll see you’re told.”
“He do something, this Lord Hugo?” Sal asked.
“Seems he’s been stepping on some toes of late—connected toes, mind you. Making trouble for some of the trader vessels that bring in Commission supply. Worse, he hasn’t stopped there. As of last night, he’s proposed a ducal edict restricting all imports, along with higher tariffs, namely on goods coming out of Shiikal and anywhere else out of Naidia.”
“I imagine that pissed off the Commission,” Sal said.
“You can see why this needs to be done, right? I need a good man on it, someone I can trust.”
Sal knew better than to turn Luca down a third time. Unless he wanted find himself lying facedown in the bay, he’d best take the job. “I could, mayhap, start on the morrow—”
“Tonight,” Luca said.
“Uh, right,” Sal said as he stood, shoulders hunched, head down. “Sure thing. I’m on it.”
Luca stabbed the parchment with two fingers, once, twice.
Sal picked up the folded piece of parchment and tucked it into his jerkin pocket beside the flasher, and Luca dismissed him with a hand. Just as he had when he’d entered the Crown, Sal felt the eyes of everyone watching as he passed .
Sal unfolded the parchment and read the directions. As he was already on High Hill, it didn’t take him long to get where he was going. He simply scaled a stone wall, using the gaps in the mortar for handholds, and made his way along the rooftops. On a crowded night such as End, the roofs were far faster than the streets.
The rooftops in High Town weren’t as close together as they were in Low Town. This made them more difficult to navigate than elsewhere in the city. Still, there was no shortage of strong, reliable walls in High Town which Sal could use to bridge the gaps in the rooftops.
Far worse than the distance between rooftops, and deadlier by half, were the clay-shingled roofs, something never found in Low Town due to their cost. Clay shingles had become quite popular about High Town, not only because they were fashionable of late but also because they were deadly to thieves doing second-story work. Sal had made the mistake of trying to cross a clay-shingled roof only once, and ever since had been wary of the things.
From what Sal knew of Lord Hugo Bastian’s home, the estate somewhat mirrored the master of the house: a gaudy mansion, as decadent as it was bloated.
Sal watched from a rooftop, near enough to the Bastian estate that he could see anyone who came and went. Seated next to a chimney in the false-light before dawn there was no chance of him being spotted.
Two guards stood at the front gate, two more pairs at the front and back doors, and another one at the east entrance. Sal assumed there were more men-at-arms inside, so he doubled his count for safe measure. Fourteen men. Lord Hugo’s security payroll must have been as atrociously swollen as his home.
There was only a little light coming through the windows of the estate. Silhouettes of patrolling guards passed by the glass every so often, but otherwise there was little happening within. If Lord Hugo was home, perhaps the man was sleeping.
However, much of the gentry preferred to enjoy the festivities of End with lavish parties at their estates. As Bastian did not seem to be entertaining, it only stood to reason that the lord was out. Mayhap he’d been invited to the party at the High Keep. Sal had always wondered what that would be like. Someday he meant to attend and see for himself.
Sal leaned back against the roof and nestled tight to the brick chimney. As he waited, his mind wandered back to the locket. He slipped a hand into his jerkin pocket and clasped the small gold piece. Currents of electric energy snaked up his arm and circulated through his body.
Holding the locket by his thumb and forefinger, Sal scrutinized it, wondering what it was about the thing that had terrified Nabu so much. The locket contained a power of some sort. How that power was unleashed was something Sal would need to figure out for himself.
As
far as jewelry went, the locket was rather plain. Gold, yes, but old gold, a tarnished, lusterless yellow, unadorned with gems or other precious metals. There was a marking on the face. The unfamiliar rune, three vertical slashes parallel to one another.
He lay on his back, examining the locket for a full turn before a carriage arrived at the black iron gate of the estate grounds. The armed guards let the carriage through. As the small yet ornate two-horse affair rolled down the drive, light flickered behind the windows of the mansion.
The guards at the front door drew to attention when the carriage came to a stop. A short, fat man rushed excitedly from the front door, while simultaneously a tall, muscular Bauden stepped from the carriage. The Bauden sported a thick mustache and was undoubtedly a man-at-arms. He wore a bastard sword strapped to his back, and a stiletto as long as a man’s forearm sheathed at his hip. Oddly enough, something about him rang of familiarity.
The fat, balding man was a head shorter than the man-at-arms and easily twenty years his senior. He was finely dressed, a good eighty gold krom in his sable cloak and ermine-cuffed gloves alone. There was no telling what the entire outfit had set the little man back, but Sal could imagine it cost a pretty penny or two. Judging by his age and dress, Sal surmised the short man was Lord Hugo Bastian .
Behind the man-at-arms, a woman exited the carriage. By then the dumpy Lord Hugo had waddled his way to the carriage and raised a hand to help the woman down. Lord Hugo embraced the woman, and she affectionately reciprocated.
The woman was beautiful, and somehow strangely familiar. It was then Sal realized why he had recognized the big Bauden wearing the bastard sword. He was the same man that had knocked Sal down on the Bridge of the Lady and threatened to chop off his hand. The woman was the one wearing the blue dress and the sapphire earrings. She was the woman that had slapped him twice on the ear.
The realization made Sal sick to his stomach. He wanted to be off the roof. He wanted to be done watching. He was exhausted, his head hurt, his body ached, and now nausea was setting in. Luca couldn’t say Sal hadn’t done all he could that night. He wasn’t going to risk getting any closer to the estate at that hour. It was too conspicuous. He’d made first contact, and that was all that could be expected of him.
Sal made his way to the edge of the roof on his hands and knees, crawling like a badly deformed crab. He lay on his stomach and slowly lowered himself over the side until he was hanging by his fingertips. Sal let go and dropped to the next level of the rooftop. He repeated the process until he was again hanging by his fingertips. This time when he let go, he dropped to the cobblestones of the alley.
The landing sent a shockwave through his legs, and although he bent his knees to absorb most of the impact, the shock traveled up his legs and into his back.
He winced in pain. The drop had been farther than he’d expected. He closed his eyes to center himself and scrounge together whatever reserves of energy he had left. When he opened his eyes, he saw two men standing at the mouth of the alley.
Not merely men, but a pair of steel caps.
“You there!” said one of the steel caps.
The other lowered his poleaxe until the steel spike was level with Sal’s chest .
“What is your business here?” said the first steel cap, as the other began moving forward.
Sal’s head was spinning. Panic made it impossible to think of a course of action. He was like a boar with one leg caught in a snare.
“Your business, boy. What do you think you’re doing here?”
The other steel cap closed slowly, though he kept his poleaxe leveled as though he meant to run Sal through.
“I, uh, listen, I’m only trying to find his lordship’s place of residence.”
The one who’d spoken yelled something, then caught up with his partner and together they closed the distance to Sal. The speaker looked him up and down, frowning as though he didn’t like what he saw.
“And what business might you have with his lordship?”
Before Sal could answer, a trio of steel caps rounded the corner and spilled into the alley at a run. They slowed, presumably when they saw their comrades had the situation under control.
Where there had been two, Sal now faced five steel caps. One of the newcomers stepped ahead of the other four. He was neither tall nor thickly muscled, yet he carried himself with the swagger that comes with authority. His coarse black tangle of a beard did little to hide the burn scarring on the left half of his face.
The scarred steel cap wore a gold band about his right bicep, signifying his rank of lieutenant within the City Watch.
“Got a name?” the lieutenant asked.
Sal said the first name that came to mind. “Oliver Flint.”
The lieutenant cocked an eyebrow, then turned and spoke in a whisper to the other steel caps. When he turned back, there was a smile on his ugly burned face.
“You look a bit young. Or do you claim to be the son?”
Sal cursed inwardly. It was just his luck the Flint family were known gentry.
“His nephew,” Sal said.
“Oliver Flint, nephew to the Oliver Flint,” the lieutenant said doubtfully.
“You know, Lieutenant, the kid might be telling the truth,” said one of the steel caps. “I’ve had dealings with the Flint family in the past. The kid has the look.”
“The kid has the look of the royal family,” said the lieutenant. “Would you claim he is the long-lost heir of our duke? Should we give him the ducal treatment?”
“I was only trying to help, sir.”
“You’ll be more help with your mouth shut and your sword arm at the ready. Should I for some unholy reason need your input at any point I’ll not hesitate to ask for it.” The lieutenant turned back to Sal. “And what of you? What are you doing prowling the High Hill at this hour?”
“Beg pardon, but there was no prowling from me, sir.”
“Aye, well, I say you were prowling. So don’t bother with correcting me, just answer the fucking question. Where were you going and why?”
“I was on my way to his lordship’s estate. Only I got a bit turned around.”
“Turned around, you say? So turned around that you found yourself skulking on rooftops instead of the city streets?”
“By the gods, no.”
“No? You look the part, young and lean, ripe for second-story work. If you weren’t out here prowling for open windows, what is it you’re doing on the Hill?”
“As I tried to tell you, sir. I was on my way to his lordship’s—”
“Aye, off to his lordship’s as you said, yet you’ve neglected to tell me why. To what ends would his lordship summon you at this hour?”
“I don’t know the reason for his summons. I’ll grant, it is a strange request, but I would never dare question his lordship. I serve and obey.”
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursed.
“Who might this lord of yours be?”
“Lord Hugo,” Sal said, again blurting the first name that came to mind.
“Lord Hugo Bastian? ”
Sal nodded, feigning hesitancy. “Unless there is another Lord Hugo in the city.”
The lieutenant’s features softened. “Right, then, I must say this story of yours sounds quite credible. You’re free to go.”
Sal was more than a little confounded. His story had been shaky at best, his performance even less impressive, and yet it seemed the ruse had worked. The lieutenant was going to let him go.
The lieutenant turned to his four comrades. “Young Oliver Flint is free to go. Although seeing as he was lost, what do you say we escort this citizen to his lordship’s estate?” The lieutenant turned back to Sal, a wicked smile twisting his features. “After all, Lord Hugo’s estate is right around the corner.”
The other steel caps took the lieutenant’s meaning and snapped into action. Two of them circled behind Sal to block his escape, while the other two grabbed him by either arm.
&nbs
p; “Right this way,” the lieutenant said, taking the lead.
As the Bastian estate was just around the corner, they reached the black iron gate long before Sal was ready. He had a hazy sketch of a plan in mind, but the more thought he gave it, the more he realized his likelihood of survival was not high.
Two armed men stood guard outside the gate. They wore iron half-helms with nasal guards and chain mail coifs beneath. They were garbed in chain mail hauberks, lobstered gauntlets, steel greaves, and iron-shod boots. Over their chain mail they wore the livery of Lord Hugo Bastian, tabards bearing a black bull on a field of forest green. Each guard was armed with polearms, and a short sword at the hip.
Except for the shield slung over the back of the guard on the left, the two were nearly impossible for Sal to tell apart, beneath the helms and the challenging grimaces they sported as Sal and his escort of steel caps approached.
When the lieutenant was but an arm’s reach from the gate, the guards crossed their polearms to block his path.
“Open the gate,” said the lieutenant imperiously. “I have business with your lord.”
The guards didn’t budge. Instead, they looked at the lieutenant as though he were a bug to be squashed underfoot.
Since the initiation of the City Watch by King Bethelwold the Great, household guards throughout the city had seemed to cultivate a mutual enmity with the steel caps. The City Watch had the authority of the magistrate to back them, and the magistrate’s authority derived directly from the duke. The knowledge that the City Watch held a sort of unchecked authority seemed to make household guards cagey and obstinate around the steel caps. So, rather than work together, household guards and steel caps often fell into petty arguments and minor squabbles.
Sal hoped he might witness something of that nature at present. Mayhap it would offer him an opportunity for escape, or at the least more time to hatch a proper plan.
“What business do you have with his lordship?” asked the guard on the left.
For a heartbeat it seemed the lieutenant might not deign to answer, but to Sal’s disappointment the steel cap relented.
The Hand That Takes Page 8