“Some guy knocked a hole in your ceiling,” she said. “You should be more careful who you let in this joint.”
Aurora grimaced. “The Black Swan will see you now.”
T
HE SALON WAS
dark save for a red glow from the glass window of the cast iron stove. A ceramic crock of potpourri simmered on the stove, filling the room with a cloying floral perfume and a level of humidity worse than anything out in the jungle. Despite the heat, the Black Swan had a shawl of black feathers draped across her silk dress; save for its ebony hue her gown looked like something she might have worn at her wedding. Like a bride, a lace veil concealed her face. Her hands were wrinkled claws, speckled with dark brown liver spots, her long nails painted to match her wardrobe.
In a city of outlaws who would rob their own grandmother, the rise of the Black Swan as its most powerful denizen was something of a mystery. It seemed improbable that this frail old woman commanded the respect of ogres and half-seeds, but Aurora kept her head bowed as she approached the leather couch where the Black Swan lounged and said, in a reverent hush, “Madam, Infidel has come to discuss a matter of commerce.”
“Thank you, Aurora,” said the Black Swan. Her scratchy, dry voice made me imagine that, should she cough, dust would come out.
The old woman turned her head toward Infidel, then motioned her to have a seat on the padded leather chair across from the couch. As Infidel sat down, the Black Swan said, “Aurora informs me your lover has passed away.”
“He wasn’t my lover,” said Infidel, somewhat over-emphatically, I thought.
“I see. I had assumed—”
“You assumed wrong,” Infidel snapped. “Stagger was my friend. With the life I’ve led, I needed a friend more than I ever needed a lover.”
“Ah, friendship,” said the Black Swan. “It’s a commodity I find sorely overrated. You cannot pay someone to be your friend; they may pretend to be so, but you would always know the truth. In my experience, if a thing cannot be purchased, it has no true value.”
“Or it may have the greatest value of all,” said Infidel.
“Your naiveté is charming.” The Black Swan shifted on her couch. A handful of downy black feathers drifted to the floor. “Though, perhaps I’ve underestimated your judgment if you didn’t take that old drunkard as a lover. You must have known that when the desire for alcohol gripped him, he would have gladly walked over any of his so-called friends to reach a bottle. Even you, my dear.”
If I’d still had teeth, I would have ground them.
Infidel pressed her lips together. I was surprised at how calm she seemed. She said, “I haven’t come to discuss my personal life. I’ve come to pay off Stagger’s debts.”
The Black Swan tilted her head. “This is most honorable of you.”
“Honor has nothing to do with it,” said Infidel. “I want to clear the balance sheets once and for all. I know you think of Stagger and me as a team; I don’t want the money he owed you to influence any business we may undertake.”
The Black Swan nodded. “The skull will cover Stagger’s debt, and more. I will arrange an auction. Aurora will deliver the balance of the proceeds to you.”
“Keep them,” said Infidel. “I want to open my own account to make use of your services.”
Aurora raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by this news. The Black Swan’s face showed no reaction.
“I want to hire the Three Goons,” said Infidel.
Aurora’s other eyebrow shot up.
“This is... most unusual,” said the Black Swan.
“Is it?” asked Infidel. “They’re hired muscle. People purchase their services every day.”
“Despite your many limitations, my dear, you are hardly lacking in muscle. Why would you possibly need their help?”
“I’ve got a robbery in mind. A smash-and-grab with a payoff that will make this dragon skull look like a hunk of tin. As good as I am, I’ll need backup. The Three Goons can get the job done.”
“Undoubtedly,” said the Black Swan. “Alas, I cannot give you what you ask for. Another client recently engaged the Three Goons in an open contract. I don’t know when they will be available.”
“I’ll buy out the contract,” said Infidel. “Just name the price.”
“My dear, I admire your ambition, but you cannot possibly match the resources of this client. For all practical purposes, their purse is infinitely deep.”
“Who is it?” Infidel asked. “I’ll talk to them. Make them an offer.”
“You know that is a confidential matter.”
Infidel frowned as she crossed her arms. Negotiations weren’t Infidel’s strong suit. I used to handle this sort of business.
The Black Swan said, “Perhaps there are others who could serve your needs? Commonground is thick with mercenaries. Post a bill and you’ll have a hundred men standing in line for the job within an hour.”
Which was true, but the Three Goons were worth a lot more than a hundred men. Remember No-Face? The only man who ever gave Infidel a split lip? He’s one of the Goons. And he’s not the one that most people are afraid of.
Infidel’s hands balled into fists. Aurora tensed up. Infidel’s eyes narrowed as thoughts danced in her mind. She still hadn’t given up. “You’ve tried to hire me before,” she said. “I’ll work for you for the next year. Take any job you give me. At the end of the year, you give me the Goons, no questions asked.”
The Black Swan nodded, smiling faintly. I quickly sensed this was a bittersweet smile. She wanted to accept Infidel’s offer, but couldn’t. “Tempting. Quite tempting. There are men who would pay a lifetime of wages to use you for a night.”
The color drained from Infidel’s cheeks.
“My darling, you don’t think I would waste a year of your service on fighting, do you? As you note, I already have access to the finest mercenaries on the island. I have a high priestess for my chief enforcer. Why shouldn’t I have a princess for a whore?”
Aurora scowled deeply. It took me a second to realize that she had to be the priestess. It seems I wasn’t the only one with a religious background that never got discussed. But I was even more intrigued that the Black Swan referred to Infidel as a princess. What did she mean?
Infidel jumped to her feet. Snow began to fall in the room as the temperature dropped to single digits. A sheen of ice glistened on Aurora’s clenched fists, with icicles growing down like spiky claws.
“That wasn’t what I was offering,” Infidel said, her voice trembling as she tried to control her temper. “Don’t twist my words!”
“You should be more careful with what you say, my dear,” said the Black Swan. “You’ve offered a binding contract. Alas, I cannot act upon it. My word is my bond, and my previous contract for the Three Goons is sacrosanct. Your virtue — such as it may be — is safe.”
Infidel stared at the Black Swan, then cast one more glance at Aurora, now encased in a shell of ice that resembled armor. Infidel unclenched her fists, her shoulders sagging. I could sense she wasn’t afraid of Aurora; she just knew that she wouldn’t get what she wanted by hitting anyone in this room. She turned toward the door, then glanced back. “I want the balance of the skull in diamonds.”
“Of course, my dear,” said the Black Swan. “I’ve often thought you’d look good in jewelry. This new fashion of yours is a step forward, but could benefit from a few simple adornments.”
Apparently, the Black Swan had never seen one of Infidel’s molar necklaces.
The poker players were back at their table as Infidel stalked across the main room. The hole in the ceiling already had planks laid across it. As Infidel reached the door, Aurora called out to her.
“Hey,” she said.
Infidel paused at the door, but didn’t look back.
“I... I wanted to say that the Black Swan was wrong about Stagger,” said Aurora. “He’d do a lot of things for a bottle. But he’d never sell out a friend. And everyone could tell you were much more than a friend to him.”
Infidel sighed, shaking her head.
“Not everyone,” she whispered, as she stepped outside.
CHAPTER THREE
RIPPER
I
FELT SENTIMENTAL
as Infidel climbed from the creaking gangplank onto my old boat. She grabbed at rigging and rails as she moved across the slanted deck. I’ve lived my life askew — the mud-locked boat sits at a ten-degree tilt. An objective man would describe the place as a hovel. To me, the place was the closest thing I’ve ever had to home.
If you witnessed my vagabond lifestyle, you’d never suspect that not so long ago my family was wealthy. My great-grandfather was the famous — or perhaps infamous — Ambitious Merchant. Merchant is a family name stretching back generations, and it’s common for followers of the Church of the Book to name their children after desirable virtues. Seldom has a man been more suitably monikered. Ambitious made a fortune in the slave trade, with Commonground as his base. The river-pygmies have enslaved forest-pygmies for centuries, but it was my ancestor who realized that these squat, muscular men could be sold as a commodity to the mines on the Isle of Storm. The trade goes on to this day, though my family no longer has any role in it.
The so-called pirate wars had more to do with the slave trade than with actual piracy. Many Wanderers regard slaves as just another cargo, which doesn’t seem to mesh with their claims to hold freedom as the highest virtue. A band of radical Wanderers had taken a stand against the slave trade, going so far as to raid ships and free the captives. For this, they were branded as pirates, and wound up with every navy in the world united against them. Infidel had signed on to a losing cause from the start.
While I’ve never gone so far as to take up arms to oppose the slave trade, I’ve always had a gut dislike of the practice, and have never been shy about sharing my views. The business corrupts everyone, especially the river-pygmies. They think of forest-pygmies as animals, when anyone can see they’re the same race, just of differing hues. Each of the three major pygmy tribes dye their skin with jungle berries: forest-pygmies are green, river-pygmies blue, lava-pygmies orange. Wash them off with vinegar and they’re all fish-belly white. My grandfather, Judicious Merchant, son of Ambitious, discovered that the bitter dyes were an effective mosquito repellent, which is why I remember him with dark green skin.
Judicious had been trained to take up the family business until he made the mistake of actually talking to the pygmies. They told him tales of the Vanished Kingdom, a once great nation on this island, its monuments now buried beneath roots and vines. My grandfather burned through a great deal of the family wealth with his elaborate expeditions into the jungle. Judicious bore a son by a forest-pygmy woman; this was my father, Studious Merchant. As a teen, Studious aided his father by traveling to the Monastery of the Book, home of the world’s most extensive library. He went to these archives to read everything that had ever been written about the Vanished Kingdom. But, while he was there, he grew to love the prayerful, contemplative life of the monks and joined their order. As a monk, father had his flaws. My existence is testimony to his difficulty with the vow of celibacy.
I’m told my mother was a prostitute who abandoned me on the monastery’s doorstep. I’ve never even learned her name. I was raised in an orphanage run by the monks. My father taught there, but barely acknowledged me. Every three or four years, my grandfather, Judicious, would visit and tell me stories about his jungle adventures. He said that when I was old enough, he’d take me with him. I never saw him after my tenth birthday, when he’d given me the knife. I eventually reached Commonground on my own when I was seventeen, but no one had seen my grandfather in years. The jungle had swallowed him long ago.
My grandfather had owned the sailboat Infidel now stood upon; in his day, it was quite a vessel. As years passed with my grandfather absent from Commonground, the boat had been looted. Pretty much everything that hadn’t been nailed down had been stripped, along with a fair share of stuff that had been nailed down. The husk was still anchored at the docks when I got to town, and no one protested when I moved in.
Infidel pushed aside the torn curtain that led into the small shack I’d built from cast-off lumber. She found the duffel bag of clothes she kept stashed in the rafters and tossed her sarong onto the floor. I’d never seen her naked when I was alive, but this was the second time since I’d died I’d gotten to see her full glory. Yet, her nudity didn’t provoke lust. All my ordinary desires seem muted. Since dying, I haven’t felt hungry or sleepy. Of greater interest is that I haven’t felt thirsty. Perhaps I should be relieved. My afterlife truly would be hell if I were tormented by desires I had no hope of slaking. Still, it seems wasteful to finally look at Infidel’s body and feel only dispassionate appreciation of her symmetry.
She pulled on a pair of canvas breeches, but frowned as she looked through her various blouses. Many were blood stained and torn; she always was hard on clothes. She pitched aside the duffel and picked up one of my old shirts from the back of a chair, holding it to her face to sniff it. At first, I thought she must have found the scent unpleasant; her eyes began to water. Then, she hugged the shirt to her chest as she closed her eyes tightly. After a moment, she composed herself, slipping the shirt on, rolling up the too-long sleeves and cinching up the dangling shirt tails with her thick leather belt. She dug around under the bunk and found an old pair of boots she’d left here. In the jungle, she normally went barefoot. However, the boardwalks of Commonground were littered with things no sane person would want squishing between their toes. She shoved my bone-handled knife into the boot sheath, then rooted under the bed until she produced the scabbard that held my old saber.