Prisoner of Fate (24 page)

‘
Y
ou have no idea how worried I was. I sent people out searching for you. I thought you’d been murdered or lost somewhere in the tunnels. I was so scared.’

Crystal eased out of Lin’s embrace and kissed her on the nose affectionately before she moved away. ‘I was nearly murdered,’ she announced, reaching for a crystal decanter on a sideboard.

‘Oh,’ Lin gasped. ‘In Jarudha’s name—when?’

‘At the end of the tunnel. Lucky Hunter was with me.’

‘Do you know who sent them?’

‘I have no idea,’ Crystal replied. She opened a small gum wood cabinet and withdrew two glasses. ‘Drink?’

‘Yes,’ Lin answered.

As Crystal poured, she said, ‘What I can’t work out is how the assassins knew where I was. Only four people knew where I was going. The thief, Hunter, you and I.’

‘The thief double-crossed you!’

‘That’s the logical conclusion,’ Crystal agreed, passing a glass to Lin, ‘except that he also saved us. And that isn’t logical.’ She sipped her port wine.

‘Unless he’s trying to make you trust him,’ Lin suggested. ‘Perhaps he’s planning to infiltrate your business—you know, become a trusted confidant. Then he can give whoever’s employing him information about what we do and you won’t suspect him.’

‘I thought of that.’ Crystal crossed to the lounge and sat on an arm, where she started stroking the smoky grey cat curled on the seat. The animal mewed and stretched to show its pleasure at the soft caress. ‘But he hasn’t asked to work for me. In fact, he didn’t ask for anything. I even had to make him accept payment for helping me to retrieve my grandfather’s secret items.’

‘You mean you’ve got the things he said would be in the tunnel?’

‘I’m not sure. The assassins took a jewel box and we came back with a canvas bag.’

‘What’s in the bag?’

‘I don’t know. We can’t open it. It’s a strange bag. Hunter tried to cut the canvas and he couldn’t get through it.’

‘Where’s the bag?’

‘I’ve locked it away. Apparently it’s meant to go to Prince Inheritor.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s what my grandfather requested, according to the thief.’

‘Where is the thief now?’ Lin asked.

‘Gone back to wherever he lives in the slums. He took the payment, thanked me and left.’

Lin smiled as if she knew what the thief was doing. ‘Too smooth. He’s clever, far too clever for a common thief. If I was you, I’d have him followed and eliminated.’

Crystal stared at Lin. ‘The scary fact is I trust him. I don’t believe he’s anything more than what he says he is, or appears to be.’

‘But the assassins?’

‘I’m convinced they had nothing to do with him, not directly. Perhaps he inadvertently told his sister or a friend in the brothel and they passed on the information to one of my enemies. I don’t really know. I can’t think of any other explanation. He certainly didn’t set me up.’

‘You can’t be sure about that,’ Lin warned.

‘No. I can’t. But then I can’t be sure about any of it. All I know is that someone knew where I was and tried to murder me. I have to find out who before they try again.’ Crystal swallowed her drink and eased into the lounge, dislodging the cat. Miffed by the inconsiderate human invasion, the cat jumped onto the red rug and curled up again. ‘So tell me what happened with the business deal?’

‘Well,’ Lin said, taking a seat beside her on the lounge, ‘I should begin by telling you that King Hawkeye is dead.’

Crystal put down her glass. ‘When?’

‘The day you went into the tunnel.’

Crystal stood. ‘So Inheritor will be crowned,’ she said. ‘That changes matters.’

‘There’s been no announcement from the palace yet. The funeral is scheduled in three days,’ Lin explained.

‘And the deal?’ Crystal asked.

Lin approached her, holding out a hand, as she said, ‘There’s been a terrible accident.’

‘You failed me.’ The prince’s condemnation hung over Hordemaster Fist because the assassins he procured were meant to be professionals, but their quarry was alive and safe inside her protected mansion and Prince Shadow was infuriated. He risked looking at the prince and saw him pacing across the floor, hands clasped behind his back. ‘If she connects the incident with the bad luck concerning her precious cargo ships, she might
work out what’s going on and implicate me. I can’t afford that.’ Shadow stopped pacing and turned his attention on Fist. ‘For the time being, we need an interim plan, something to either distract her curiosity or to eliminate her without fuss. What’s happened to the individual to whom you entrusted Shortear’s fate?’

‘Warlord Roughcut has identified her, Your Highness,’ Fist explained. ‘He questioned me on the matter, but I denied any knowledge of such a person except as a matter of routine investigation.’

‘Good. Give her another task. She can deal with the Joker.’ Shadow hesitated, staring up at Fist’s impassive face. ‘This assassin—she can’t possibly make any connections between the tasks and our royal self?’ he queried.

‘Your Highness,’ Fist replied, ‘I take every precaution to ensure that people employed to conduct unpleasant duties on your behalf neither know the source of their orders nor can acquire evidence to trace back to the source. I’m efficient.’

‘I’m sure you are, Fist,’ Shadow said, ‘which is why I keep you.’ He laughed as he strolled across the marble floor of the empty throne room, and pirouetted in the centre. ‘Have this associate take care of the Joker and arrange for some less savoury individuals to visit her new friend—this thief that I’ve been told is in her employ.’

‘A thief, Your Highness?’

Shadow stared at Fist, and said, ‘I have it on good authority that a young man from the Foundry Quarter is claiming to know her grandfather. You and I both know that her grandfather died in an unfortunate manner in the Bog Pit, so from where this whelp has arisen is a mystery, but my source tells me he is having a significant influence on the Joker. It would be expedient for him to also embrace his destiny. Can you see to that, Fist?’

‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Fist obediently replied. ‘Does this young man have a name?’

‘Chase Goodenough,’ Shadow replied. ‘The rest you’ll have to ferret out for yourself.’

Alone in her bedroom, Crystal stared over the bay, where sharp wind gusts whipped the grey waves into angry white foam and rain lashed the coast. The changing weather matched her violent mood. From Lin she had learned that two of her three ships mysteriously foundered returning from the Fallen Star islands, vanishing with crew and cargo. Consequently, she had failed to deliver the precious euphoria shipment to Prince Shadow and the prince was angry with her. Lin’s account was that the prince, learning that the business deal was unfulfilled, threatened to take his business elsewhere. Crystal had to prevent that. Losing the prince’s goodwill guaranteed that she would lose the supply to the Seers and her monopoly on the city’s drug trade, and that would jeopardise her business equity. She had invested a considerable portion of her family fortune in the plantations on Storm and Dolphin islands in the Fallen Star islands and needed the prince’s deal to be concluded to recoup the major share of her investment. She sighed and sat on a chair.

The shipping tragedy was part of a bigger threat. Someone in the city, perhaps an old foe, had upped the ante in the game to kill her. The assassins left no clue as to her latest enemy’s identity, and the thief, Chase, was an enigma. Monopolising the drug trade was always going to make her a target, but she was going to have to be far more careful than she had been of late. Her flirtation with trusting the unknown thief, resulting in the subsequent assassination attempt, was undoubtedly a timely reminder that she was still a significant target for potential and actual competitors.

She rose and reached under her bed to retrieve the heavy canvas bag. ‘Your grandfather insisted that it be delivered into the hands of the king or the princes,’ Chase reminded her on the homeward journey. ‘But not to Prince Shadow. He’s the one the Seers are going to put into power because he’s sympathetic to their religious cause. You have to give it to King Hawkeye, or Prince Inheritor.’

‘And then what?’ Crystal had asked.

‘I don’t know. Your grandfather told me they would know what to do.’

His strange tale detailing the intentions of the Seers to summon the Demon Horsemen was by far the least credible part. She knew there was a fundamentalist movement among the Seers, one based on a very narrow reading of the Book of Jarudha—everyone knew that—but the fundamentalists were curtailed in their ambitions. Strict laws created and enforced by King Ironfist the First, and then by Hawkeye, forbade the practice of religion as a means of government.
But now Hawkeye is dead
, she considered.
Who will be the new king
?

Lightning flashed and thunder chased the light across the bay. Crystal flinched.
There is no real harm in passing the bag on to the princes
, she considered, except if it turned out to be as worthless as it appeared—in which case her professional reputation might be tarnished. It might be wiser to get it into the princes’ possession by a circumspect method. If the thief, Chase, was telling the truth, then the princes would know the bag’s value. If he wasn’t, then the item would be disregarded as a strange, fruitless gift from an unknown donor.

The small adventure had exhausted her. She slipped out of her clothes and crawled into her bed, enjoying the sensual texture of the sheets against her bare skin. The rain beating on the roof soothed her mind into sleep.

‘If you offer your services to another, the best you can expect is to be well used, and only for as long as you are useful.’

A
BUSINESSMAN’S MAXIM, WRITTEN ABOVE THE BAR OF
P
LUG
L
AGER’S TAVERN, THE
F
AT
W
OMBAT

‘
T
here’s been a lad asking for you,’ said the burly taverner as he sat beside Swift. ‘Seems to know who you are.’

‘I think I know why,’ Swift replied. ‘How long ago?’

‘Yesterday. Said he’d come back again today.’ The taverner scratched his unshaven chin. ‘I’m surprised to see you around,’ he said. ‘Everyone knows it was you that did the prince.’

‘Apparently,’ Swift said, flinching from the gale of garlic that Plug Lager exhaled. ‘Can I get a drink?’

The taverner’s face broke into a grin. ‘Of course,’ he chuckled. ‘What do you want?’

‘Got any good malt?’

Plug clicked his fingers and a boy trotted up to the table. ‘Fetch the best whiskey, Hop.’

The boy headed for the bar and returned with a large pot and two glasses, which the taverner took and set to uncorking the pot and pouring a measure of whiskey in each glass. ‘This one’s on the house,’ he declared, raising his glass. ‘Anyone who rids this city of a rich Kerwyn bastard drinks for free in my place. Anyone who gets rid of a royal rich Kerwyn bastard drinks the best for free!’

Swift drank several glasses with the owner of the Fat Wombat tavern, until Plug announced that he had business and left. The whiskey was melting Swift’s thoughts, so she settled into the afternoon, satisfied that there was nothing pressing, and glad to be out of the rain that had settled over the city, and waited for the youth that Plug had mentioned to return. She guessed that he was coming to give her another job, which surprised her because, to all intents and purposes, no one should have known that she was back in the city.
But then
, she reasoned,
perhaps they didn’t know that I’d left either. Who was next, then
? Then her heart skipped a beat. Perhaps the lad was her son, and not someone sent to give her a new job. Finding Runner was paramount. It would be good if he came to her.

Late in the afternoon when the rain stopped, the tavern filled with patrons, and a dark-haired youth entered. From his uncertain gait, she knew that he was looking for someone, and when his searching eyes set on her he hesitated, before finally approaching her table. ‘Are you Swift?’ he asked nervously.

‘Who wants to know?’ she asked.

‘If you’re her, I have a message from someone for you.’

‘And if I’m not, but I say I am, what will you do then?’

The youth looked at her, a measure of uncertainty in his face. ‘I don’t know,’ he reluctantly admitted.

‘Do you know what I do?’ she asked. The youth nodded. Swift studied him and saw a lad unused to heavy labour, his fresh complexion unsullied by factory work in the Foundry Quarter. He was more likely the son of a shopkeeper. ‘What’s your message?’ she asked.

‘I was asked to say, “If your skills extend so far, the accidental passing of a person considered a gift in the palace will be applauded and rewarded.” Oh, and I was
to say, “A source of wealth will be found in the reeds by the old second bridge if your skills prove true.”’

Swift continued to stare at the youth, the whiskey haze softly sliding across her vision, until he asked, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Do you know what your message means?’ she asked.

‘Not really,’ he replied.

‘Who sent you?’

‘I don’t know. I was ordered by a soldier to go to the Forlorn Maiden’s inn across the bridge in the Northern Quarter. When I was waiting in the inn, someone jumped me and I was blindfolded and taken to a place where a man with a deep voice told me I had to remember those words. Then I was taken to another place where I was told that I would find you at the Fat Wombat tavern, or that the man who owns the tavern would let you know I was looking for you. Then they sat me down in another place and left me there, until I got brave enough to take off the blindfold and found I was back in the Forlorn Maiden’s inn.’

‘You didn’t recognise any voices?’

‘No. But they sounded like they’d learned from books.’

‘Want a drink?’ The youth’s eyes lit up. Swift beckoned to the serving boy and ordered two malts. Then she turned back to the youth and asked his name and age.

‘Cabbage is my name. I’m fourteen.’

‘Do you know many other boys?’

‘A few.’

‘Do you know a boy named Runner? He’s about your age and looks a lot like you.’

Cabbage shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Why?’

‘I know him, that’s all,’ Swift said. ‘If you do run into him, tell him I’m looking for him.’

‘Are you going to kill him?’

A faint smile graced Swift’s lips. ‘No. I just want to see him.’

The waiter boy, Hop, put two whiskeys on the table and Swift reached for her money pouch. ‘No, miss,’ Hop said. ‘Mister Lager says they’re still on the house,’ and he withdrew.

‘Enjoy a free drink,’ Swift said to Cabbage. ‘There won’t be many of those in your life.’ As she sipped at her whiskey, Swift leaned back in her chair. The tavern was more than half full and she was self-conscious that she was still the only woman in the room because men were leering at her. Some patrons had to be workers from the foundries and factories, but she knew most of Plug’s customers were people who survived by the illegal Guild skills—thieving, deceiving, bashing and murdering. She looked for familiar faces, but there were none. Professional assassins, like herself, seldom knew each other, even though they were trained by the same mentors, because an assassin’s identity was most effective when it was unknown and trainee assassins were never allowed to meet.

‘Once you’re known, your career is over,’ Dagger had warned, during her training. ‘You need to be a shadow, a twinge of fear, a rumour. Reputations are best when you’re known only by your work. If anyone ever attaches you to what you do, you’re as good as dead.’ Killing Shortear had ended her anonymity. Cabbage found her by name and where she was known to frequent. People knew who she was. Her career was all but finished.

A commotion near the bar drew her attention. Four men, carrying their pots of ale, pushed through the crowd, abusing individuals who stood in their way, and as they passed her table one man’s foot caught the leg of Cabbage’s chair and he stumbled, spilling his ale. When
he regained his balance, he kicked Cabbage’s chair from under the boy, spilling him onto the floor and yelling, ‘Get out of my fucken way!’ One of his companions kicked Cabbage in the ribs. Swift heard the crack and Cabbage yelped. ‘What are you looking at, bitch?’ the rakish man asked, meeting her glare. When she didn’t answer, he came closer. ‘I asked you a question,’ he snarled, and his companions closed in.

‘You gentlemen would be best minding your own business,’ a gravel voice warned from behind Swift. Plug Lager’s imposing frame pushed past two patrons and he stood beside Swift’s chair, facing the ruffians.

‘Boss doesn’t like being disrespected,’ whined one of the men.

‘Everyone who steps through my door is my guest,’ Plug said in a calm but strong tone. ‘Anyone who disturbs my guests is no longer a guest in my house.’

‘Are you kicking us out?’ the rakish figure, the man named Boss, asked.

‘Make any more trouble in my house and I’ll throw you out with my own hands,’ Plug replied, and he cracked the knuckles on his fists to emphasise his intent.

Boss hesitated, measuring the brawny taverner. Then he tipped his pot of ale over Swift’s head. Swift went to leap out of her chair, but Plug’s meaty hands clamped on her shoulders and held her in place. ‘Leave, or I let her kill you,’ Plug said, still calm, but he held Boss’s gaze as if his hands were clamped on his eyes instead of on Swift’s protesting shoulders.

Boss saw the smouldering fire in the taverner’s stare and for a moment he was tempted to ignite the fight, his expression fierce, but then he snorted contemptuously. ‘No, mate, I wouldn’t want you to let the bitch off her chain. She looks like she’d bite her way through a man’s hand if she got the chance. Your ale is shit anyway,’ he declared. He nodded to the other three. ‘Let’s get out of
this shithole. There’s a hundred places better than this.’ He looked down at Swift who was glaring at him with murder in her eyes. ‘Lucky for you your restrainer was here, eh? But there’ll be another time. You’ve got a face so butt-ugly it’ll be easy to remember. Next time then, eh?’

Swift twisted against Plug’s grip, but the taverner held her firm, saying, ‘No Swift, not worth it, not here.’ He looked back at Boss and said, ‘You were leaving.’

Boss laughed and dropped his empty pot on the floor as he walked towards the door, watched by the astounded patrons. His three companions all sculled their ales and dropped their empty pots on Cabbage as they stepped over him and followed Boss. Plug released Swift and she rose angrily, turning on him to snarl, ‘Don’t ever do that to me again.’ Then she went to Cabbage and helped him to his feet. He winced with every movement.

‘Broken rib,’ Plug said. ‘Take him down to the surgeon in Lumber Lane. Tell him I sent you. He won’t charge.’

‘Who were they?’ Swift asked.

‘Professional scum,’ Plug replied. ‘The one who calls himself Boss is Fingerbone Fromriver. He makes his mark doing standover jobs and killings for little businessmen. Some say he’s also paid by higher-up folk to do rough jobs that require no brains. He’s been in and out of the Bog Pit, and brags about it too much.’

‘He’s a dead man,’ Swift said.

‘Whoever did that would be ridding the city of another sewer rat,’ Plug told her, ‘but he’s not worth your time, Swift. You’re lucky he didn’t know who you were or he’d have tried to get the reward.’

‘There’s a reward for me?’

‘You killed an important person. The princes will pay handsomely for your head or your capture. If one’s not already issued, one soon will be. And sewer rats like Boss
will be out looking for you. You’re no longer just an unknown but good assassin. You’re far more dangerous.’

Swift straightened and grinned. ‘Good. Let’s keep it that way.’

‘Yes. Let’s keep it that way indeed. On second thought, I’ll get someone to take this lad down to the surgeon. You need to leave less obviously and a little later.’

‘Are the drinks still on the house?’

Plug glared at her. ‘No. Just water. You need a clear head.’

A feminine figure in a dark-blue cloak entered the little portico gate at the side of the temple and walked briskly to the prayer space, closely watched by two guards who were holding torches. She kneeled in the dull candle light and bowed her head as if in prayer. A Jarudhan acolyte, yellow robe lit by the candlelight, appeared from a recess carrying a small phial of amber liquid and offered it to the supplicant, but when she silently refused the acolyte withdrew. A moment later, Seer Word, his blue hood up to hide his features, emerged from the recess and kneeled beside the praying woman. ‘Welcome to Jarudha’s house,’ he said quietly.

‘I have some news,’ she replied.

Word was silent, before asking, ‘And what is the news?’

‘She has the item.’

He sucked in his breath. ‘Are you sure?’

‘She brought it back from the northern tunnel.’

‘Have you seen it?’

‘No.’

‘Who else knows about this?’

The woman replied, ‘A thief who led her to it. He was in the Bog Pit with your colleague. That’s how he knew where it was.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Her bodyguard.’

‘What do you know about this thief?’

‘Is it safe?’ she whispered.

Word lowered his hood. ‘Yes.’

The woman warily lowered her hood, her blonde hair falling loose and glowing as it caught flashes of the candlelight. ‘The thief’s name is Chase Goodenough. I asked about him in the Foundry Quarter. He’s no one important—a petty thief.’

‘He’s dangerous nevertheless,’ said Word. ‘He knows what no one must know.’

‘So what will you do?’

‘I will organise other matters, but you will make arrangements for this thief to be silenced,’ said Word, ignoring the import of her question. ‘Some unsavoury creatures have been released from the Bog Pit as a reward for their faith and you will direct them to the task of punishing certain nonbelievers.’

‘When will this happen?’

‘Within a day,’ Word replied. ‘You must excuse me, my lady, but I have matters of prayer to conduct.’ He rose and withdrew into the temple recess. Lin waited a few discreet moments before pulling up her hood. She made the sacred circle sign and rose to leave, devoted to her new mission in the name of Jarudha.