Sal sighed. “I guess we could—”
Suddenly the door swung open.
Sal jumped to his feet as Lilliana Bastian stumbled into his room.
She staggered through the doorway, her hands and arms red to the elbows with blood.
Sal ran to her, catching her before she fell. She clung to him, sobbing, her face pressed against his chest.
“I didn’t—I don’t know where to go—they—they killed him,” Lilliana said.
“Hush now,” Sal said, holding her close as she sobbed.
“I’ll fetch some water,” said Aurie, moving for the door.
“I’ll help,” said Vinny following her out.
Odie had backed up against the wall. He looked at Lilliana as though she were some sort of demon summoned up from Sacrull’s realm.
“And they grabbed me and—and I ran,” Lilliana said through the sobs, her words muffled by Sal’s clothes. “And I never—I never thought he could be—they killed him,” Lilliana shuddered, the sobbing growing all the louder.
“It’s all right,” Sal assured her. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
They sat like that for a time—no one daring to move as Lilliana wept.
Suddenly, Lilliana pulled back, her head shaking. She blinked and stared at her hands, red and sticky with blood. “Damor—Damor Nev. They—they killed him.”
“Killed him—Damor Nev?” Sal said in surprise.
“It happened so fast. They—they took Daddy, and they would have taken me, but Daddy fought them, and—and I ran, I didn’t stop until—” She was still shaking as she leaned back into him and pressed her face into his chest, her tears soaking through Sal’s shirt.
Sal had nearly forgotten what Valla had told him about the Bastian estate. Still, he’d done all he could, hadn’t he? He’d tried to warn them.
But somehow, he found little comfort in the thought.
“Did you see any of them?” Sal asked. “The men who took your father.”
She looked up at Sal, her eyes wet with tears. “The man who grabbed me—he had a sickle tattooed upon his arm. Like—like the reaper’s sickle.”
Damor Nev, Sal shook his head. How could that be?
Odie backed up even farther into the corner of the room as though he hoped to disappear into the walls.
Lilliana shuddered and whipped at her nose with a sniff.
“The Reaper’s sickle, that’s got to be Scarvini?” Sal asked the big man.
Odie shrugged. “Suppose it would be.”
“Any idea where they would have taken Lord Hugo?”
Odie frowned. “Scarvini has joints all over town. Suppose it depends on what he means to do with the little lord.”
Lilliana’s sobs grew louder, and the big man took another step back.
Aurie came back into the room. She had a cup in each hand. “Here you are, dear. This one is water and this one’s wine. I recommend you go ahead and start on them both.”
Vinny followed, carrying a tankard. He took a drink glancing at Sal as he did so and shrugging when Sal shook his head.
Sal wasted no time bringing them up to speed on the situation.
Vinny stared blankly at him, taking another drink from the tankard, while Aurie blushed and looked away.
The big man shifted his weight from foot to foot, rocking as though he were nervous.
Sal shook his head, and then it hit him. “Look, Valla warned me to stay away from the Bastian estate. Might be she knows something about all of this.”
Vinny scoffed. “Might be, she does know something, but that isn’t going to help us much. We don’t know where she is.”
Sal looked to Aurie, but she refused even to meet his eyes.
“Odie?” Sal asked.
Odie frowned, brow knitted. There was clearly something bothering the big man. Was he acting so strangely because of what had happened to Dominik? Surely delivering the man’s head to Don Scarvini had been no worse than the horrors Sal had been forced to witness.
Eventually, the big man shrugged. “Even if I did, she’s as like deep in her cups. If she wanted to see you little fishes, she’d have just shown up here.”
Sal sighed, resigned for a moment that it was a lost cause. And then it hit him, of late, there was only one place Valla drank. “I think I know where to find her.”
“I can stay here, with her ladyship,” Aurie said, gently laying a hand on Lilliana’s back.
The big man sighed. “Suppose I’d best go along and make sure the wench don’t gut you.”
Vinny took a drink from his ale and wordlessly made for the door.
Sal pushed through the double doors leading into the taproom of the Rusted Anchor. He knew the big man had a point. If Valla had wanted to see them, she would have shown up to the Hog Snout as they had agreed. But there was no time to waste. The risks be damned.
He was driven by a need to correct the mistakes he’d made. After all, if he’d simply managed to kill Don Scarvini when he’d set out to, none of this would have happened. Hell, if he’d simply managed to warn Damor Nev, the man might still be alive.
And now, the only one who might be able to help had just finished betraying the crew—or so Sal had suspected.
Who but Valla would have turned Dominik over to the Moretti Family? Why else would she not show her face the next day? She’d never much seemed to like the man and had even voiced how he might serve as a scapegoat to the rest of them. The traitor had to be Valla.
Odie and Vinny followed a step behind. Sal could feel their presence, like two Norsic bulls in his wake. The two biggest shadows Sal would ever cast.
Valla sat alone at her usual booth in the back. She had her feet up, muddy boots on the table beside her mug of ale. Her nose wrinkled as she spotted the three of them making their approach.
“You cocksuckers want something?” Valla asked as Sal pulled out the chair across from her.
“You never showed,” Sal said. “Something happen?”
Valla shrugging. “I answer to you now, do I?”
The booth creaked threateningly, as the big man took a seat. “Should have said something, lass. The little fishes were worried.”
“Lonzo called me in,” Valla said. “Seems Don Scarvini was satisfied with that bald head we sent him.”
Odie shifted uneasily. He looked sickly as he wiped sweat from his brow.
“We’re clear then?” Vinny asked. “No one is going to come looking for us?”
“You going to go looking for anyone?” Valla asked, her tone brusque, her arms folded.Sal and Vinny shared a look.
“Val, the other night,” Sal said, “you told me to stay away from the Bastian estate. What do you know about Lord Hugo Bastian?”
Valla picked up her mug and took a long drink, then looked at Sal with narrowed eyes. “You go near as you’d like to the Bastian estate. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like you’re avoiding the question.”
The shift in Valla’s posture frightened Sal a touch, but he refused to break his eyes away as Valla glared.
“The best thing for everyone to do right now would be to leave off,” Valla said. “Get yourselves some drinks, and consider the matter settled.”
“Look, Val, I can’t leave this one be. I need to know. Where did they take Lord Hugo?”
Valla shrugged. “Not really my concern.”
Sal considered taking hold of the locket and frying Valla right there and then. Instead, he attempted a more subtle tactic.
“Ten percent of everything I earn for the next year,” Sal said.
A smile formed at the corner of Valla’s mouth. “Make it fifty percent and two years.”
Sal winced inwardly, but now was not a time for negotiation. He held out his hand.
Valla accepted it with a smirk. “My guess, they took him to the Palace.”
“Scarvini Palace?” Sal asked.
“Best I can come up with,” said Valla.
“But Lilliana’s father is there?” Sal said.
“They took him to Scarvini Palace?”
Valla shrugged. “That’s my best guess.”
“But you don’t know?” Sal asked.
“Look, it don’t really matter, does it?” said Odie. “Scarvini’s got the fat little lord now, lad, and it ain’t no skin off our backs where he’s got him. You got the girl. With her da’ out the way, there’s no one going to stop you. Let’s leave this one be.”
“See, now there’s the spirit,” Valla said. “Go and get yourself a drink, big man.”
“You’re not coming?” Sal asked, eyeing Odie.
“Don’t see any fucking reason we should,” Valla said.
“I’m with the lass,” said Odie. “No reason we should be interfering now Don Scarvini has been satisfied. We should stay far clear of the whole business.”
Sal turned to Vinny.
“I’m always with you, mate—you know that,” Vinny said. “But I think we ought to listen to Val and the big man on this one. I mean, if it were one of the crew they had, that’d be a different story, but, mate, we don’t have to risk our necks for Lord Cheese. We’ve got what we wanted from this, bad as it was what happened to Dominik and all.”
“What happened to Dominik,” Sal said through gritted teeth. “What happened to Dominik is we betrayed him to save our own skins.” He turned a withering glare on Valla, hoping to make her squirm.
But it seemed she was made of harder stuff than that.
“Odie?” Sal asked.
The big man shook his head.
“So, it’s just me, then?”
Only Valla was willing to meet his eyes. Odie and Vinny simply stared at their feet.
Sal nodded and stood.
“The fuck you think you’re going, Lorenzo?”
Sal unflinchingly met Valla’s glare.
“I’m going to get Lord Hugo back.”
“Did you not fucking hear me?” Valla said, her voice cracking like a whip. “We’re going to stay clear of the Scarvini Family, and we are going to put this whole business behind us.”
Sal shook his head.
“Best listen to the lass,” the big man said placatingly.
“I’ll not abandon Lord Hugo.”
“The fuck is he to you?” Valla snapped, lunging to her feet, her hands going to her sides. “Now, I’m right sick of measuring dicks. You’re not going anywhere, and that’s fucking that.”
“I don’t have a choice, Val. It’s done.”
Valla pulled a knife. “Not done yet, it’s not. I don’t care if it costs me coin, Lorenzo, you go for that door, and I’ll stick you.”
Sal extended his arm, palm facing out.
Valla’s eyes went wide, the veneer of her steely glare showing cracks.
Vinny nearly fell over backward in his chair, and even Odie held on to the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip.
Valla snarled. “You think you’d get me before I opened you up and spilled your insides to the rushes?”
“You want to find out?” Sal said.
His legs felt weak—his knees like to buckle at any moment. If Valla went for him, gods knew Sal was a dead man. But would she take the risk?
Odie stood and put a hand on Valla’s shoulder.
“Don’t go, lad. The little lord is like as dead already. No reason you should join him.”
Sal shook his head and turned to leave.
“Don’t turn your fucking back on me, Lorenzo—Salvatori!”
Valla shouted at his back, but Sal didn’t deign to look. He would make for Scarvini Palace—alone.
Sal slipped the cap free of his pocket. It had been easy enough to find—it seemed every alley pusher was moving the stuff these days. As Sal grabbed hold of the locket, a surge of energy coursed through him, and a voice like honey-wine, whispered in his ear, faint as the wind. The locket was warm. Welcoming, as though it knew the time was nearly upon them.
Sal entered into the sitting room of Scarvini Palace. He recalled the perfumed smell, the dim lighting, and the mismatched furniture.
There was a man sprawled out on a green couch, a whore seated on his lap.
A pair of whores cuddled on a divan. One of them was sleeping, her blouse hanging off one shoulder.
“Hi, honey. Why the long face?” said the other girl, as she reached up to caress the other’s exposed nipple. The whore ran the tip of her tongue across her top lip and batted her long eyelashes.
Sal passed her by without paying the display much mind. He had his sights set on another woman, the matron of the pillow-house.
The hen-mother seemed to sense Sal’s agitation. She came out from behind the desk, and, not seeming to recognize Sal, approached him warily. “What’s your pleasure, dear?”
“Bastian,” Sal said. “Lord Hugo Bastian. I want to know where he is.”
“I’m quite sorry. If you desire a man, it could be arranged—”
“I’m not looking for a whore. I want Lord Hugo Bastian.”
The hen-mother stared blankly, as though deciding on her next move.
“How about this,” Sal said. “Is your boss in?”
“I’m the matron of this establishment.”
“I mean the real boss,” Sal said coldly. “Don Scarvini, is he in?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know who—”
“You know damn well who. This place is named for the bastard. Or are you going to try and tell me you don’t know that either?”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said the hen-mother, standing up straight.
“I’m not going bloody anywhere without Lord Hugo,” Sal said. “Simple as that. Now you can make this easy and hand him over, or I can tear this place to the ground and search for him in the wreckage. It’s up to you.”
Suddenly two men with cudgels appeared from behind the back curtain, and without another word, the hen-mother scuttled back behind her counter.
The thugs approached slowly, one to either side of Sal.
As Sal shifted his focus between the two advancing men, a third appeared from behind the curtain, a crossbow in hand.
“It doesn’t need to be this way,” Sal said. “Take me to Lord Hugo, and nobody needs get—”
The man on Sal’s right burst into a run and swung the cudgel.
Sal dropped as the cudgel whizzed overhead. He squeezed the locket tight and focused his will, unleashing a bolt of lightning at the man.
There was a crack of thunder, and a wet squelching pop, as bits of the man exploded about the sitting room.
The whores screamed and scrambled to their feet, running for the door.
The crossbowman fired.
Sal heard the quarrel as it whizzed past. He turned on the crossbowman and unleashed his will. Thunder boomed as a bolt of lightning surged from his palm and struck the wall beside the curtains.
Sal felt weak, sapped of energy from his use of the magic.
He roared in defiance and willed forth another bolt of lightning at the crossbowman—when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the third man closing in, his cudgel raised.
Sal stuck out his arm to ward off the blow.
A sickening crack of wood on bone, as the cudgel smashed into his forearm.
Sal screamed. He knew instantly that the arm was broken, but clenched his jaw and focused his will a fourth time.
Thunder cracked, and the bolt struck his attacker square in the chest, opening him up as his corpse slammed into an armchair.
As the sitting room cleared out, the whores running and screaming in hysteria. Sal continued, his broken arm throbbing in pain. He pushed through the curtain, limped up the staircase, and began to search the rooms.
The first two rooms were empty. When he opened the third door, he came face to face with a shirtless man.
“The fuck are you?” asked the man
Sal could see a woman in the bed, just over the man’s shoulder. He closed the door in the man’s face, then moved on down the hall.
He checked each of
the rooms in turn, to a cavalcade of irritated shouts and curses as Sal barged in, one room after another. But Lord Hugo wasn’t in any of the bedrooms on the second level.
At the end of the hall was a spiral stairwell. As he descended, the smell of sweet perfumes was replaced with the damp, musty smells of a cellar.
If they were going to keep a prisoner anywhere in this pillow-house, surely this was the place.
Sal opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell to reveal a large chamber, the walls lined with barrels and bottle racks.
Three men were within, sitting about a table drinking and laughing. The talking cut short as all three men turned and stared at Sal.
“Who the fuck are you?” one of the thugs asked, the Scarvini sickle visibly tattooed on his neck.
“I’m the man they sent to retrieve Lord Hugo,” Sal said. “You can hand him over, unscathed, and unharmed, or the three of you can die like the rest of them.”
Sal meant what he said, but feared he might not have it in him to follow through with his threat.
The tattooed man pulled a knife as he stood.
Sal took hold of the locket and focused his will when he heard the sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs. He spun around and saw the cudgel—just before it cracked into his skull.
29
The Pit
Sal blinked. His surroundings were dim. The throbbing pain in his forearm was enough to make him sick. He was seated, bound to a chair, heavy shackles on his wrists. He looked down to see his legs had been tied, just loose enough that he was able to rub his ankles together, but tight enough that his feet had gone numb. His head throbbed. There was a sharp pain where he’d been struck with the cudgel. His whole body ached, but nothing hurt so much as his arm.
Sal looked about, the mere act of focusing his eyes made his head spin. The light was scarce. He could hardly make out the floor beneath his feet. He could smell straw, and the subtle odors of animal scents, and could only presume he was in a barn or stable of some sort.
He tried to move, but pain shot up his arm, and he cried out with a pathetic whimper.“Ah, awake, are we?” came a voice from directly behind Sal.
Sal’s hackles shot up. He would have jumped in surprise if he was not bound to the chair.
The Man in Shadow Page 27