What the hell was
he
doing here with Rambles?
I heard Rambles make a noise, maybe a laugh or a cough. “And your people have nothing to do with it, right?”
“
Her
people aren’t the problem here,” said the other man. “
Yours
are. They’re thick on the street and leaning hard. People expected Nicco to react, yes, but not like this. Ten Ways Kin are spitting when they speak his name, lad; that, or spitting on their steel as they hone it. What you’re doing, it’s too—”
“Too much like him?” said Rambles.
“Too heavy, too fast.”
“Then it’s just what he’d want,” said Rambles. “Nicco likes results, and I’m not about to put my neck on the line for your timetable. You’re the ones who stirred things up in the first place—don’t blame me if the locals aren’t playing the tune you set out. As far as
my
boss is concerned, as long as I don’t start a war, he’s happy.”
There was a pause. “You
do
know it might well come down to that?”
“What—my starting it, or a war happening?”
“Either way.”
This time I did take an involuntary breath and barely kept from choking. A Kin war in Ten Ways? The blood would flow in rivers. In most other cordons, a gang war could be kept among the Kin, leaving the Lighters out of it. The empire might notice, but, as long as we spent our time putting knives in one another, it didn’t really care.
Ten Ways, though, was a different animal. The local gangs would take a full-scale war as an excuse to settle old scores, even if they weren’t directly involved. Nor would they make as fine a distinction between Kin and Lighter; any slight, real or imagined, would be cause enough for vengeance. And it would only spiral out from there.
Too many riots had begun in Ten Ways for the empire to ignore a gang war in the cordon. At the first hint of anything larger than a turf battle, the empire would send the legions in, all Black Sashes and swinging swords. And if the legions couldn’t handle it, well, then the White Sashes would wade in, just as they had when they threw down Isidore, the Dark King.
I shuddered. No, best not to think about the Whites.
I let out my breath slowly, suppressing a cough. My mouth tasted like dust and bird droppings; dry, gritty, with acid and vinegar mixed in. I grimaced, tried to summon up enough spit to move some of it out, and failed. I wanted nothing so much as a long drink and a good coughing fit, but neither was an option—not while Rambles and his friend were talking below.
“I thought it wasn’t supposed to come to a war,” Rambles was saying. I noted he didn’t sound terribly surprised at his visitor’s announcement.
“Aye, well, there’ve been some new . . . considerations . . . brought into the mix. It’s not just a matter of playing the locals off against one another anymore.”
“You mean you aren’t the only ones trying to manipulate the Kin in Ten Ways,” said Rambles smugly. “You’re having to deal with other players now.”
“Down, lad. It’s not what you think,” said the other man. “We
wanted
some of the other Upright Men and Rufflers to take notice. Nothing against your boss, but even he’s not a big enough threat on his own to motivate a cordon like Ten Ways. We needed the Kin here to feel threatened, to have a reason to start acting like a single entity, rather than a bunch of warring gangs. But you’re going too far. Kin on the edge of Nicco’s territory are getting anxious. They’re looking for protection from other Uprights when we want them to come to you.”
“I can’t offer people protection if I don’t have a stable base, damn it! ” said Rambles. “Nicco has to have enough clout in the cordon to be seen as a refuge. That’s what I’m working on.
You’re
the ones who’ve been pushing Ten Ways from every direction, prodding gangs into turf wars and playing with local politics. If you hadn’t put the Kin here so on edge, they wouldn’t be trying to cut my damn nose off every time I stuck it out.”
I chuckled silently at the analogy, appreciating it far more than Rambles ever could. It was a mistake. The sharp movement of air in my throat started it itching. My chest convulsed once, twice. I took a slow, deep breath and held it, trying to force the cough down.
“If they’re that worked up, we may need to give them something else to think about,” said the man.
“Such as?”
There was a pause. My chest was still convulsing. I let my breath out in slow, shallow gasps, hoping to ease the pressure.
“It may be time to see just how far an Upright Man can be pushed,” said the man.
“You mean into war?” said Rambles.
“If we have—”
That was when the cough came. I clamped my mouth shut and locked my teeth together. No good. All I accomplished was to turn the cough into a snort. I quickly put a hand over my face. The listening tube shifted beneath me, tipped over. Another snort. I grabbed for the tube with my free hand and put it back over the crack.
Silence.
Then the man said, “Rats?”
“Rats don’t sneeze.”
More silence. Then I heard something fall to the floor, followed by a muttered curse.
“Shit!” said Rambles. “Screw sneaking up on him. Just go. Go!”
I jumped up and ran, ducking beneath beams and leaping over debris. Below, I heard voices and the sound of feet thudding on floorboards. I wasn’t sure where the stairs leading up from the second floor were, but I was certain they had a quick way up here. I dodged around a portion of floor that had felt weak earlier and veered toward the window.
I was just putting a leg through when the chamber began to grow brighter behind me. I was aware of feet pounding up steps, Rambles yelling, and some sort of light source being brought up. I slipped over the sill, ducked around the edge of the dormer, and scanned the roof. No one coming up over the eaves or down from the peak.
Leaving then would have been the smart move. Instead, I scrambled partway up the roof, slipped over to the dormer, and peak-walked out to the edge. Then I sat down, straddling the dormer’s ridge, and looked down at the window I had just exited. I drew my rapier.
Light shone out the window now, bright in the early-evening darkness. I blinked several times, letting my night vision settle down.
Beneath me, I heard Rambles curse again as he found the evidence of my presence left in the filth. There sounded to be at least four of them in there, maybe more.
A shadow moved across the window, and I readied my blade. I didn’t want to dust anyone so much as to persuade them not to follow me. If I were lucky, it would be Rambles sticking his head out; I had some questions for him.
A head wearing a gray flat cap came out of the window, followed by a broad pair of shoulders in a tan and gold doublet. The head turned from side to side, looking along the roof. I caught glimpses of short steely gray hair.
“Anything?” called Rambles from inside.
The head began to shake, then paused. Slowly, he twisted until he was looking up at me. He had a broad nose and a prominent jaw. No obvious scars, but I could tell it was a fighter’s face—hard, solid, not afraid to be hit. He saw my rapier poised above him and smiled slowly, showing small, even teeth.
“We won’t be catching him tonight,” he said in the deep, gravelly voice I knew from the sewers; the voice I now had a face to put to. “Not without a lot of pain and trouble, anyhow.”
“Shit!” said Rambles. “We need to know how much he heard. Who he was working for.”
The man raised an eyebrow. I pretended to study my rapier, then shook my head. He shrugged, glanced inside, and gave me a questioning look. Could he go back in?
I debated. I was in a good position, wanted answers, and might not get a better chance. However, I didn’t know whether or not Rambles had people moving toward the roof even now. Nor could I count on Rambles’s going easy on me just because we both worked for Nicco. Our mutual dislike aside, it was obvious he had a side deal going with the man below me, if not an outright partnership. Depending on how much or how little Nicco knew about it, Rambles might not be inclined to let me walk away.
No, best to get away while I could. Sticking around, no matter how tempting, could get me in far worse trouble than I cared to court.
“Name?” I said to the man.
He considered a moment. “Ironius,” he said. “You?”
I grinned and said, “Tell Rambles his favorite Nose said, ‘Bene darkmans.’ ” Then I leaned back from the edge, vanishing from his sight, and took to the roofs. I didn’t get down off them until I was safely inside Stone Arch cordon.
Chapter Twelve
I
spent half the night trying to find Nicco after that, only to learn that he had left town at sunset. He had retired to his villa outside the city with a new whore and left strict instructions not to be disturbed. I had been tempted to hike out there regardless, but the off-duty bodyguard I’d spoken to had made it clear I would be wasting my time. At best, I would end up with a pair of sore feet, at worst, a mouthful of loose teeth.
No one was getting in to see Nicco; the man took his whoring seriously.
Still, if I couldn’t get to him, neither could Rambles. Not the best solace, but it would have to do, at least until sunrise. And in the meantime, I could go see a man about a rope.
Entering the Raffa Na’Ir cordon is like walking into the Despotate of Djan, except you don’t have to sail across the Corsian Passage or brave the wastes of the southern Imperial Frontier. In the Raffa Na’Ir, there are no carved angels watching over the squares, no temples to the three incarnations of the emperor. Instead, small rectangular plaques are set in the walls at every street corner, each depicting a member of the family of wandering gods the Djanese worship. Immigrant Djanese throng the streets, buying, trading, stealing, and living much as they would in their own land, save they are even more aware of the imperial sons and daughters who walk among them. In the camp of the enemy, one must always be vigilant.
I made my way through the darkened ways of the cordon without concern. The empire was in one of its intermittent periods of peace with the Despotate of Djan, meaning resentment toward Imperials was at a low ebb. That didn’t mean I wasn’t a target for theft, confidence games, or even a simple social tap across the back of my head, but no one was likely to dust me just because of my parentage. During war, the risks went up, but, even then, the locals knew it was better to dust Imperials outside the cordon rather than in it. They were here on sufferance, after all.
I found Jelem sitting in front of the Café Lumar with four of his countrymen. Lamps hung from the wooden lattices overhead, providing a patchwork of soft light and deep shadows on the patio. Each man had a small brass cup and matching pot full of coffee at hand. Two had water pipes within easy reach as well. Even from the street, I could smell the mixture of burning herbs and ghannar—a mild narcotic favored by many of the Djanese.
They were playing
aja
, a Djanese game involving marked bone chits, dice, and a complex system of betting I’ve never been able to get the hang of. In my opinion, there are less confusing ways to lose money.
I paused at the edge of the patio to let my eyes adjust. Jelem looked up and smiled, his teeth shining white in the walnut darkness of his face. As usual, he had an air of disinterest about him, as if nothing were quite important enough to demand his full attention. He half sat, half lay in his chair, the long, dark fingers of one hand idly playing with a chit while his other hand stroked the needlework on his crimson vest. His slippered feet, just visible beneath a long cream-colored tunic, were crossed at the ankles. Even the sharp lines of his face seemed to blur and soften in the lamplight. But for all the ease and dispassion his body implied, it was his eyes that I paid attention to—two flat, dull chips of blackness, as hard as the rest of him seemed soft; calculating eyes; magician’s eyes.
“Bene darkmans, Drothe,” said Jelem. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.” The other men at the table looked at me the way they might acknowledge a cockroach that had just crawled from beneath the table.
Relations between the Kin and the
Zakur
, the Djanese underworld in Ildrecca, have always been guarded. They pay their share to us (mostly), and we leave them alone (mostly). My artifact smuggling occasionally puts me in closer dealings with the
Zakur
than most other Kin, but it doesn’t mean I have any more clout with them. They’re Djanese; I’m Imperial. It’s a basic fact neither side forgets.
Jelem is one of the few exceptions. He’ll work for anyone if the price is right.
I nodded to Jelem. “Bene darkmans,” I said. “Can you drag yourself away?”
Jelem glanced down at the unclaimed pile of coins in the middle of the table, then at the chit he had placed before him a few moments ago. “Now isn’t the best time, Drothe.”
My face remained expressionless as I reached into the bag I was carrying and drew out the rope I had retrieved from my rooms—Tamas’s rope. I tossed the coiled mass onto the table.