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over and covered again by the large linen cloth, but when it was as protected as it was going to be, he said, “Now untie the rest of the tie-downs.”
The other porters hurried to obey, and when the job was done, he said, “Wrap this canvas around the bundle.”
Two porters jumped into the wagon and did as instructed, while Roo jumped down and started across the street. “Bring it here!” he shouted to the porters, urging them to move as quickly as possible.
He reached the door of the abandoned building and saw that there was a small, decorative lock on the door. He inspected and then rattled it. With no idea how to pick such a lock, he sighed, raised his boot, and kicked as hard as he could. The lock remained intact, but the small hasp’s four screws pulled from the wood as the door swung inward.
Roo stepped inside the abandoned house. The faded grandeur of the entrance was nothing short of spectacular to Roo. A large staircase wound up from the hallway to a railed landing on the second floor, and from the vaulted ceiling of the entranceway a large crystal chandelier hung, dust dimming whatever sparkle the faint afternoon light might have imparted.
The sound of the porters coming up behind him caused Roo to forgo exploring the upper hall for a moment as he crossed the entranceway and opened a large sliding door. A formal sitting room, devoid of furnishings, lay below the balcony. But it was dry, as both large windows on the opposite wall were intact.
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one of them. Salvaging this silk would be worth something to him only if he kept it undamaged. The porters put the bundle of cloth down and Roo said, “Get the rest of the cargo and haul it over here.”
It took the eight men less than a half hour to unload the wagon. Roo had opened the wallet and found the inventory list, as he had expected, but with one significant difference: there was no bill of lading for the bolts of silk. Each of the boxes bore a customs stamp and had a corresponding paper also bearing a stamp and signature. But as far as the Royal Customs were concerned, that silk did not exist.
Roo considered this, and after the last load was brought into the building, he had the workers pick up the silk again and move it to another room, a small storage closet under the stairs, next to an old metal pail and dried-out mop.
He led the men back outside and secured the door by pushing the hasp screws back into the stripped-out holes in the wood. There was no security in it, but any casual passerby might think the lock still intact.
By then Jason had returned with a sausage maker and a half-dozen apprentices and workers, as unsa-vory a band as Roo had seen this side of the war in Novindus. Leading the porters over to where Jason stood, now as drenched as Roo was, he said,’
‘Remember to tell me where you got this crew so I never buy sausage there.”
Jason made a face. “One step inside his shop would do it.” He watched in revulsion as they set to the horse with large knives. “I may never eat a sausage again, even if it’s from the King’s own table.”
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spectacle of the sausage makers cutting up the horse did little but cause a few passersby to look twice, but it would have been a major embarrassment for Barret’s to have its customers have to move around a dead animal to enter or exit. Over his shoulder, the sausage maker shouted, “Do you want the hooves, skin, and bones?”
“Take it all,” said Roo as the lead porter came up to tap him on the shoulder.
“You owe us eight sovereigns,” said the porter.
Roo knew better than to argue price. The guild official working behind the desk might try to net a little extra gold out of him, but this worker would be quoting guild rates and no merchant in the Kingdom would get the guild to come down a copper piece from those rates.
Roo said, “Not quite yet.”
He motioned for the porters to follow him back to the wagon. “Pull this out and get it to that courtyard behind the building where we put the cargo.”
“We’re porters, not bloody horses!” said the lead porter.
Roo turned and gave the man a dark look. “I’m cold, wet, and in no humor to argue. You can pick it up and carry it like porters for all I care, but move it over there!” he shouted.
Something in this little man’s manner impressed the porter, for he didn’t argue and signaled his men to form up. Four took the ruined traces, while the other four moved to the rear of the wagon. They raised the tailgate and two got ready to push while the other two moved to turn the rear wheels by hand.
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from the mud and was half rolled, half dragged through the mud across the street and down the little alley that led to the rear courtyard of the abandoned building.
“How did you know there was a courtyard behind that house?” asked Jason.
Roo grinned. “I told a friend I might buy that place someday, so I got curious and looked around.
There’s a little alley that leads around it, and two windows that look out of the sitting room over it.
Might be a nice place for a lady’s flower garden.”
“Going to marry a fine lady?” said Jason in only slightly mocking tones.
“I don’t know,” said Roo. “I might marry that Sylvia Estherbrook you speak so highly of.”
Soon the sausage maker and his half-dozen apprentices and workers were finished with their bloody work, and they carried off the horse, leaving some scraps of skin and entrails behind. Roo said,
“The rain will clean things up quick enough.”
He led Jason back toward the entrance as the porters returned. “Here, now!” shouted the senior-most porter. “About our pay . . . ?”
Roo motioned for them to follow and led them across to the portal to find McKeller still there. “Sir, these men need to be paid.”
“Paid?” said the headwaiter. It was obvious to Roo that the old man hadn’t given a thought to cost when Roo had gone to get the porters.
“These are guild porters, sir.”
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odds with the guilds of the city. “Very well. How much?”
Before the head porter could answer, Roo said,
“Ten gold sovereigns, sir.”
“Ten!” said McKeller. That was more than a skilled craftsman might expect to earn in a week.
“There are eight of them, sir, and it is raining.”
McKeller said nothing as he removed a large purse from his belt and counted out the coins, handing them to Roo.
Roo went to where the porters stood and gave the head porter nine. The man frowned. “You told the old coot—”
In low tones, Roo said, “I know what I told him.
You take the nine and give eight to your guild scribe, and he gives you back your share. He doesn’t complain about the ninth coin he doesn’t know about and you don’t complain about the tenth.”
The man didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t look that unhappy either. The extra few silver royals each man would get were a proper bonus. He slipped the money into his tunic and said, “I get you. We’ll hoist a drink to you this evening.”
Roo turned away and moved back to the entrance, where Jason was toweling hi
mself dry. Roo stepped into the area and saw it was now filthy with mud and rain. The wind was picking up, and McKeller said,
“We’d better close the shutters and then we’ll clean up this mess.” He signaled for Kurt and another waiter. “Clean up this area.” To Roo and Jason he said,
“Go around back and come into the kitchen from the alleyway. I don’t want you tracking mud across the floor. Change into clean clothing and get back to work.”
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Roo tossed his dirty, wet towel back into the metal pan and saw Kurt glowering at him, as if this extra work was Roo’s fault and not the result of the weather. Roo grinned at him, which deepened Kurt’s irritation.
As he started to leave, McKeller said, “Avery?”
Roo turned. “Sir.”
“You thought and acted quickly. You did well.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Roo as he and Jason stepped back into the storm.
As they headed for the alley behind the coffee house, Jason said, “That’s rare.”
“What?”
“You don’t often hear McKeller compliment one of us. Sometimes he calmly tells us how we’re lashing things up, but most of the time he says nothing.
He expects us to do the right thing. You’ve impressed him.”
Roo rubbed his nose. “I’ll remember that when I’m dying of a cold tonight.”
They turned the corner and moved down the alley, reaching the large delivery yard behind the coffee house. They climbed up on the loading dock and then moved into the kitchen. After the time spent in the cold storm, the kitchen felt hot to them. They went to where they kept dry clothes and started to change.
As Roo finished dressing, Kurt came into the kitchen to where Roo and Jason were tying on their aprons. “Well, I had to clean up your mess, Avery.
You owe me for that.”
“What?” said Roo, his expression a mix of amusement and irritation.
“You heard me. I don’t get door duty, but because of you I’m mopping up more mud than I’ve seen since prince.qxd 9/4/02 10:37 AM Page 174
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I started working here.”
“I don’t have time for this,” said Roo, pushing past him.
Kurt’s hand fell on his arm. Roo turned and, using a hold taught him by Sho Pi when they were traveling across the sea in Calis’s mercenary band, he bent Kurt’s fingers back to a very uncomfortable angle, just short of causing him injury. But the pain gained him instant results. Kurt’s face drained of color and his eyes began to water as he dropped to his knees. Roo calmly said,
“I told you you didn’t want to find out what would happen if you touched me again.” He caused Kurt another moment of pain, then released his fingers. “Next time I’ll break your hand, and then we’ll see how fit you are for waiting tables.”
Kurt whispered, “You’re mad!”
Roo saw fear in Kurt’s eyes. Like all bullies, he didn’t expect any resistance, and when it came from a small man like Roo, he was doubly shocked. “Very mad,” said Roo. “And capable of killing you with my bare hands. Remember that and keep your mouth shut when I’m around and we’ll get along just fine.”
Roo didn’t wait for a response or to say anything to the kitchen staff, who had turned to stare at the sight of Kurt being forced to his knees. Roo knew he now had an enemy, but he didn’t fear Kurt. He had lost all fear years before, and it would take something a great deal more frightening than a pumped-up town bully to make Roo Avery know it again.
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Opportunity
Roo smiled.
The man had come looking for him about midmorning, and McKeller had summoned him from the kitchen, where he was learning to brew coffee to Mr.
Hoen’s satisfaction. Without introducing himself, the man said, “Are you the boy who stole my wagon?”
Roo halted and studied the man. He was of middle height, only a head taller than Roo, was stocky, and had a round face. His hair was cut short, but slicked with some pomander oil in a Quegan style, with ringlets across his forehead. He wore a shirt with a collar that was ton high for him, given his thick neck, and with far too much lace down the front. With his cutaway jacket and tight trousers, he looked comic to Roo. Two less than comic body-guards stood behind him. Each wore only a long belt knife, and otherwise were unarmed, but Roo could see instantly these were killers—exactly the sort of men Roo had served with in Calis’s company.
The man who had spoken might have dressed the part of a young city dandy, but his anger and his nar-175
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row eyes caused Roo to sense he was as potentially dangerous as the two men who served him. Roo said,
“And you are . . .
“I am Timothy Jacoby.”
“Ah,” said Roo, making a display of wiping his hands on his apron before offering his right to shake.
“Your drunken friend mentioned you by name. Did he ever get to your shop last night?”
Instantly anger was replaced by confusion. It was obvious to Roo that the man had expected some denial. He reluctantly took Roo’s hand and shook in a cursory fashion, then let go. “Friend? He was no friend, just a sailor who I bought some drinks, who .
. . who did me a favor.”
“Well, he obviously felt that returning to sea was a better choice than telling you he almost drove your wagon into Barret’s Coffee House.”
“So I heard,” Jacoby answered. “Well, if he ran off, that explains why I had to buy information from a rumormonger. She said someone had unloaded my wagon in front of Barret’s and moved all the cargo. I thought the sailor had been overcome by robbers.”
Roo said, “No. Your goods are safe.” Reaching into his tunic, he removed the large leather wallet and handed it to Jacoby. “Here are the customs documents. The entire cargo is in that house across the way, safely dry.”
“Where’s the horse and wagon?” asked Jacoby.
“The horse died. We had to cut it out of the traces, and knackers slaughtered it and hauled it away.”
“I won’t pay a dime for the knackers!” said Jacoby. “I never authorized that. I could have sent another team and hauled it away myself!”
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ruined”— which he knew to be a lie— “so I had it hauled away. Let me have it for scrap to cover the cost of the porters and knackers, and we’ll call it even.”
Jacoby’s eyes narrowed. “Ruined, you say? How do you know?”
“My father was a teamster,” said Roo, “and I’ve driven enough to know yours wasn’t serviced regularly”—which he knew to be the truth—“and with the traces all cut up, there’s not a lot but four wheels and a flatbed”—which was also true.
Jacoby was silent a minute, his dark eyes studying Roo while he thought. “How many porters?”
“Eight,” said Roo, knowing Jacoby could check with the Porters’ Guild easily enough.
Jacoby said, “Show me my goods.”
Roo looked back to where McKeller stood. The old man nodded and Roo moved across the street.
The storm had halted late the night before, but the streets were still deep in mud. Jacoby had arrived by carriage, and Roo took silent delight as the fancy boots and the lower half of his trouser legs were fouled by the thick muck.
Reaching the door, Jacoby looked at the heavy lock. “How’d you get the key?”
“I didn’t,” said Roo, easily pulling the hasp away.
The screws came out and one fell to the porch. Roo picked it up and stuck it back in the hole. “The owner obviously thought no one was likely to steal his house.”
He pushed open the door and led
Jacoby to where his cargo was hidden. Jacoby did a quick inventory, then said, “Where’s the rest?”
“Rest?” said Roo innocently.
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“There was more than this,” said Jacoby, anger barely held in check.
Roo then knew for certain what the plan had been. The silk had been smuggled in from Kesh to the Krondorian docks. From there it had to get to the trader’s office, with the sailor duped into driving the wagon for some quick gold. If Royal Customs arrested the sailor, Jacoby could claim that he knew nothing of the silk and that the sailor was smuggling it in Jacoby’s wagon without his knowledge. Any guild teamster, or even an independent such as his father had been, would have checked the cargo against the manifest, to ensure that he was not accused of stealing something never loaded. But a drunken sailor who was lying about his ability to drive a single horse-drawn wagon was likely not even to think about what was in the back.
Roo looked at the man and calmly said, “Well, if you’d like to go to the constable’s office and swear out a complaint, I’ll be more than happy to accompany you. I’m sure he will be almost as interested as the Royal Customs office to know why you’re concerned with something not accounted for on this bill of lading.”
Jacoby fixed Roo with a dark stare, but after a moment it was clear he could do nothing. Both men knew what was going on, but at this point Jacoby had only two options left open to him, and he took the obvious choice.
Jacoby nodded once to the man on his right. From within his jacket he produced a dagger as Jacoby said, “Tell me what you did with the silk or I’ll have him cut your heart out.”
Roo moved to the center of the room, giving him-
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