Sal smiled sadly and took hold of the locket.
Sal hated the Lowers, but it seemed the more he tried to stay away from that godforsaken district, the more he found himself dragged back. Alonzo had called his ticket, and Sal had been instructed to meet him at a Moretti safe house on Blackwynch Road.
The windowless stone building with the red door, Alonzo had told him, but as he turned onto Blackwynch Road, Sal found that there wasn’t a single building on the street that had a window. Still, it wasn’t long before he spotted the red door.
Without bothering to knock, Sal opened the door. Two men standing directly before him whipped around, drawing knives. He didn’t recognize either of the men, and he too reached for his knife as he stumbled back out onto the cobblestones, making some distance between himself and the strangers.
Just then, Alonzo appeared. He wedged his way between the other two men.
“Do come inside,” said Alonzo, a vulpine grin spreading ear to ear.
Sal tucked his pigsticker back into his boot and retraced his steps.
Alonzo had already turned and headed back within, but the other two remained just beyond the threshold, looking Sal up and down as though taking stock. The pair was nigh on identical so far as weight and build; both were built a bit like Sal, somewhat short and rather lanky. Yet, now he’d had a second look at the men he realized they differed almost comically.
The man to the left wore his flaming red hair close-cropped. His skin, pale as buttermilk and spotted with brown freckles, was as much a giveaway to the man’s Kirkundy blood as the red hair. The man on the right, olive-skinned, hook-nosed, with a head of thick curly brown hair, was doubtless of Yahdrish descent.
Sal approached with his back straight, and his head held high, as his uncle would have instructed. Act the part, and men will follow along. He nodded and muttered a greeting as he brushed between the two.
The safe house was small, dimly lit by candlelight. Valla and Alonzo sat at a small round table in the back. Sal crossed the room and took a seat beside Valla, nodding to her as he sat.
Valla returned the nod, but he doubted she would go any farther to make him feel welcome, it simply wasn’t her way.
The other two, the red-haired Kirkundan and his Yahdrish companion, joined the table shortly after Sal. They spoke in low voices but cut off their conversation the moment they took their seats. Despite the obvious differences, the movements and mannerisms of the Yahdrish and the Kirkundan were eerily similar. Each of them sat in a slouch, arms crossed, brows scrunched, heads tilted toward Alonzo.
Alonzo cleared his throat. “Before we begin today’s proceedings, I do believe introductions are in order. Brothers, this is Salvatori Lorenzo.”
“Lorenzo?” said the Yahdrish. “Not a relation to that Svoboda, Stefano Lorenzo?”
“On the contrary,” said Alonzo, “nephew of the very man.”
“Ne’er knew that black-hearted bastard had him kin,” said the red-haired man in a thick Kirkundy accent. “What’d you bring a S’oboda here for?”
“He’s not Svoboda Family, fool,” Valla snapped. “You see a mark? Salvatori is unattached.”
“Bah, fuck do I care if he’s Svoboda?” said the Yahdrish standing. “He’s an unattached, a nib, and worse, blood to that bastard Stefano Lorenzo, and that’s good enough for me.”
“Sit the fuck down,” said Valla.
Alonzo didn’t speak, but the look he fixed on the Yahdrish man sent a chill down Sal’s spine.
The Yahdrish met that look and sat without another word of complaint.
“Good to see my uncle’s reputation proceeds him in every corner of the city,” Sal said. “I, however, share little with my uncle apart from my name.”
Neither of the strangers looked convinced, but Sal thought it best to leave things there.
“Salvatori,” said Alonzo, “You, of course, know the lovely lady Vallachenka. These two ingrates across from you, are Eliso and Fergus. As I’m sure you’ve already assumed, the Yahdrish with the beak for a nose is Eliso. Which naturally makes the spotted mongrel, Fergus. Watch your back around these two, and more importantly, keep a quick hand on your purse strings.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Sal.
Eliso scoffed, and Fergus spat on the dirt floor.
Sal had expected nothing less, even had he not been the nephew to one of the most hated men in the entire Commission, someone who worked unattached could always anticipate a bit of animosity in the company of made men—if not outright hostility.
“Like three peas in a pod,” said Alonzo, grinning broadly. “Simply marvelous, how quickly you’ve all become friends. That will serve us well as we’re going to play this three-one-one.”
Fergus groaned.
“Three-one-one?” said the Yahdrish. “You’re japing, no?”
“Japing?” said Alonzo. “Why should I jape? Why else should I have assembled three snatchers?”
“You assembled two snatchers, a silver tongue, and a cat’s paw,” said the Yahdrish. “This nib ain’t no more than a neophyte. Besides, the three-one-one is played with a bruiser, not a silver tongue, if it’s played at all. Which, it isn’t, and not because bruisers are hard to find, but because you need a three snatcher team that has worked together for a lifetime.”
Alonzo’s grin broadened. “Eliso, it would seem I’ve been remiss. I’ve forgotten the level of magnitude to which your sphincter is clenched. Undoubtedly, relieving your bowls must be akin to tearing a fissure in the very earth.”
“Won’t do,” said Fergus shaking his head.
“You as well, milksop?” Alonzo said. “I’d expected the lip from the Yahdrish, but a son of the mountain? Since when did a Kirkundan quell like some lowlander?”
“Eliso’s right,” said Fergus, seemingly unprovoked by Alonzo’s jibes, “Can’t do with only two skilled snatchers. You bring in a third, we talk.”
Valla cleared her throat. “Seems a waste of time to argue over an issue that has long since been decided on.”
“Ay,” said Eliso, “but decided without our consent. We’ve been around long enough to know how things work around here. That’s more than I can say for you, woman. Who in Sacrull’s hell ever heard of a made maid any—”
Valla sprang like a cat, up and onto the table.
She moved so fast Eliso managed only to fall out of his chair before she was on him, a boot on his throat.
The Kirkundan had managed to stand and reach for his knife, but not before Valla’s knife was at his throat.
Valla snarled, her boot pinning the Yahdrish to the floorboards, the tip of her blade grazing the slowly bobbing apple of the Kirkundan’s throat.
The passage of time seemed to slow. No one moved, nor made a sound until Alonzo laughed, and shook his head.
It made for a comical scene. The Yahdrish on the ground beneath Valla’s boot. The Kirkundan leaning as far away from Valla’s blade as his chair would allow.
“Don’t kill them before we begin, or we’ll be running this one-one-one,” said Alonzo, still laughing. “Though, if the pair of you don’t stop playing contrarians, I may decide that one snatcher would be preferable. Point of fact, you would both be dead were I not here to call off my cat’s paw, and yet, I do believe in second chances—fourth chances in your case, Eliso. Valla, dearest, if you would let these skin sacks keep their balls, for the time being, I do believe they would be unduly grateful to you.”
Valla withdrew the knife but kept her boot where it was, on the throat of the Yahdrish. “This one talks too fucking much. I could make it more difficult for him.”
“Ah, what a wonderful prospect that would be. Sad to say, you might inadvertently encounter unintended consequences, the foremost being Eliso’s participation in tonight’s endeavor. Or lack thereof, as it were, assuming a crushed windpipe would leave Eliso incapacitated for a time. And if sweet Eliso were incapacitated, what then might out dear Kirkundan do? The men of the mountain are simpl
e folk, sure, but they’re a proud lot, and I do fear that if you harmed his Yahdrish companion, Fergus might have the spark of a notion to do something ill-advised.”
At that, Valla stepped off the Eliso’s throat, and the Yahdrish broke into a fit of coughing.
“Now, if you’d all return to your seats, I’d like to continue,” said Alonzo, “There is nothing simple about the layout of Francesco Barbari’s home, and I’d like to allow the proper amount of time to smooth out any nits.”
“Francesco Barbari?” Sal blurted.
By the looks on the faces around the table, Sal hadn’t been the only one taken off guard by the name. Francesco Barbari was the second hand of the Novotny Family, the most powerful family in the entire Commission.
Alonzo nodded and arched an eyebrow as though he dared anyone to question him farther. When no one did, Alonzo spent the next hour breaking down the plan and each player’s role within the greater scheme.
Sal felt good about the plan, if not so great about the pair of men he would depend on to run the three-one-one properly. The Yahdrish, Eliso, had been entirely accurate in his assessment of the challenge involved, though, Sal differed in his opinion of whether or not he was the weak link in the chain.
Francesco Barbari didn’t have an estate in the outer limits of the city, as was growing fashionable for men of auspicious wealth. Rather, he’d chosen to make his home a twelve-story building overlooking the cliff’s of the north Tamber. Stacked as the home was, it was difficult to get within because it provided so few access points that were not easily guarded. Only three rear windows that would serve as entry points, all of which required significant skill to reach, not to mention the proper counter-wards to get through.
Alonzo had told them they would need to break seventh seal wards on either side of the window sill. Seven was not the most seals Sal had ever seen in a single ward, but it was damned close.
Pavalo had once told Sal, anything more than seven seals per ward was counterproductive. By Sal’s estimation, the fact that Francesco Barbari used seventh seal wards at every door and window spoke to his paranoia as much as his prosperity. Wards were by no means cheap to install or maintain. Seventh seal security wards needed to be replaced each fortnight—supposing they were of the highest quality. Even more so, seventh seal wards spoke to the man’s competence—his competence—or his luck in hiring competent men. Seventh seal wards were efficient and effective, and it made Sal uneasy about what they were doing.
Eliso led the way. Fergus was just behind the Yahdrish, but Sal lagged a distant third. No doubt, the other snatchers thought this a testament to his incompetence.
By the time Sal reached the wall, Eliso and Fergus were already climbing. It was better that way, as it put Sal out of sight, just as he’d wanted it.
Sal reached into his pocket and grabbed hold of a cap. He crushed it in his palm, and a jolt of energy surged through him as he grabbed hold of the locket, and rode the lightning.
“It’s not right,” said the Yahdrish. “Sacrull’s balls, Alonzo, the fucking nib could have gotten us all killed.”
Fergus clapped a piece of paper on the table, snarling at Sal while he sat.
Alonzo arched an eyebrow and slowly reached for the paper.
The elation Sal had felt after the job had quickly faded when the other two snatchers had returned to the safe house shortly after he had.
Alonzo had been the first back. His role played out the moment the snatchers were safely past the gate. He had eyed Sal suspiciously when he’d returned alone, but Sal had merely shrugged, taken his seat, and waited for the others to show.
Alonzo looked at the note, his expression unreadable as he laid it down on the table.
“You were instructed to get information regarding Francesco Barbari and anything that might relate to the issue at hand.”
“You not read it?” asked Fergus.
“If you are suggesting that I feigned the action in order to continue the illusion that I am literate. I resent the allusion to any elusion, and would encourage you never to suggest that I propagate such illusions.”
“Then?” said the Yahdrish.
“Then, as you so eloquently phrased it, I reason that it is an eloquent note,” said Alonzo.
Sal perked up somewhat. It might be that someone in the group could take a jape.
Alonzo raised his hand in an exaggerated arc and placed his pointer finger on the note. “The handwriting is crisp, clean, and clear. The message efficient in its simplicity, and yet, it conveys such a precise lesson. In other words, perfect.”
Eliso and Fergus looked speechless.
Valla lifted the note and let out a laugh as she read.
Sal couldn’t help but smirk. He did his best to hold it back, but Valla’s approval had been the last straw, the smirk came on, twitching at first before it bloomed into a broad grin.
“Got to be faster. Love, Sal—the nib.” Valla read aloud. “Did he leave it in the solar?”
Fergus spat.
“And what if we’d not found it?” said the Yahdrish. “What then? You all smiles if the little fucker leaves a note for Barbari to find, are you, Alonzo?”
“I presume there was only this one?” Alonzo asked.
“Just the one,” Sal said.
“It is inevitable that Francesco will know he’s been hit. He’ll be suspicious of his household and every Don in the Commission,” said Alonzo with a shrug. “He’ll be uncertain what has been compromised and what has not, but with what Salvatori here managed to get his hands on, Francesco will have reason to suspect everyone and everything.”
Valla winked, and Sal felt his cheeks flush.
“Valla, love, you did splendidly, as always,” said Alonzo. “Fergus, Eliso, I never thought I’d see the day when a nib swept an entire house before either of you managed to climb through a bloody window. Just what in Sacrull’s hell was the pair of doing?”
Fergus looked contrite, but his Yahdrish companion seemed ready to speak until he met Alonzo’s eyes.
There was something about those eyes that men feared, truly, and deeply feared.
Eliso touched Fergus on the elbow, and they both headed for the door without another word.
Valla kissed Alonzo on the cheek, and as she headed for the door, she brushed Sal’s upper thigh with the back of a curled hand.
The contact gave him gooseflesh and made him uncomfortably stiff in places he’d prefer not to be.
Alonzo flashed Sal his typical vulpine grin.
“Kid, I am quite impressed with the performance you put in this evening. To be quite honest, I’ve never seen anything like it. Eliso and Fergus are two of the Moretti Family’s best. You care to tell me how you did it?” Sal shook his head, and Alonzo laughed. “I suppose not. Still, I’ve another task for you. This one will be much simpler than today, though, perhaps, somewhat more enjoyable.”
“What might that be?” Sal asked.
“Dinner, wear your best. If this is the best, you’ve got. Go and get something with today’s pay.”
“Is this a date?” Sal japed.
“Of a sort,” said Alonzo. “You’ll need to be on your best behavior. Your date will be Don Moretti.”
14
Seven Suits
The sprawling marketplace, known as the Agora, was unlike anywhere else in Dijvois. Not only was the district walled and guarded at nearly every entry point, but it was free of urchins and beggars, stray dogs, and alley cats, the sickly, and the deformed. It was a walled garden of paradise, available only to the aristocracy, and those slippery enough to slide through the cracks.
Sal stuck out like a sore thumb.
He clung to the shadows where he could, as he made his way down the smooth, even bricks of the Agora’s main drag, commonly known as the Jeweled Horseshoe. He could hear the muffled tones of staring passersby, but luckily, there were no steel caps patrolling, and no one made enough of a fuss to attract undue attention.
The sign above t
he little shop read: Tailors’ Tailors. Sal turned the door handle, but when he saw the place was empty, he knocked.
The shopkeeper came waddling out of the backroom. “Very sorry, sir. Very sorry, seems my ward has gone out again, I’ll need to summon a ward-smith to—” Pumphrey cut off, his beady eyes going wide as he backed up. “What do you want with me? Alonzo said I had until Sacrens. The end of the week—tell Alonzo—he said: the end of the week.”
“Easy.” Sal held his hands upturned before him. “I’m not here for that, understand?”
“Not here for—Don’t you insult me, boy, I know your face!” The little proprietor puffed up like a blowfish. “I’m old, not blind. It was you tackled me to this very floor you did. Don’t think I don’t remember.”
“Right. Well, I’d never try and deny it. That was me, and I’m sorry about that. I really never meant to frighten you. Lady’s honest truth, I didn’t know what it was we were here for until you started running.”
Pumphrey glared.
“I’d like to help,” Sal said.
“Help? Help me?” Pumphrey closed the distance to Sal, the top of his head level with Sal’s waist. The little man reached up and poked a stubby finger into Sal’s sternum. “You’ve just told me you know nothing of my situation. How is it you expect to help me?”
“I can offer you protection.”
Pumphrey laughed bitterly. “That’s what you Commission types always say.”
“I’m not Commission.”
“Not Commission, eh, and that’s supposed to make me feel better, is it? Boy, you couldn’t even protect yourself from the Commission, if it came to that. Those Five Families have hundreds of thugs at their disposal. What’s one boy going to do when they come calling on Sacrens?”
“You make a deal with me, and they won’t dare come calling.”
The little man laughed. “You might be a big one compared to me, but I know what a real big man looks like, and you’re nothing special.”
The Man in Shadow Page 14