Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer (29 page)

“It is a compulsion – an enchantment. A charm was placed on you. Most likely harmless, but designed to make sure you know this song whenever you hear this music.”

“What? Why?” Jaeron stood, disturbed.

“I don’t know. But I can tell you this – such magic is not undertaken easily, or cheaply. Like the composition of this music and the mechanism in this box, a lot of money was spent making sure you could recite those words.”

~

Larsetta studied the reports. She went through the calculations again, filling in the gaps with information from her other sources.
Oh, he is being clever. The bastard actually thinks he is going to steal from me.
Gerlido had compiled a comprehensive brief on the Black Fan
g’
s operations and their prior mont
h’
s earnings, but he had not known how long she had been in the city before putting the report together.

The equine numbers lined up. The losses attributed to foal miscarriage, training accidents, and colic aligned with the shipping manifests to Mennat’s buyer. Larsetta felt her jaw clench. The man was more afraid of Mennat than he was of her.
Unacceptable.

The income from mugging and protection was too random to make a determination, but contributed little enough to Larsetta’s percentage that she disregarded those sections of the report. The sales of gindi were light, which could have a plausible explanation. But the gambling financials were mostly lies. The take was similar to prior months, but new costs were scattered throughout the report to bring the net down. Larsetta found the entries doubling the bribes to the city guard a nice touch. It was too bad for Gerlido that she knew that was false from her own recent dealings with the guard.

Larsetta pushed the papers across the desk and stood. She had known the day would come when her creation would test its bounds and try to break from its master.
Perhaps it is time for some personal attention to Gerlido’s business.
She could not decide if Gerlido’s betrayal was bad timing or not. On one hand, Larsetta knew that taking a stronger hold on Islar without the Black Fangs as backup would be more difficult. On the other hand, the Fangs were becoming a strong force in the Thieves’ Guild hierarchy and their absence would create a power vacuum she could exploit.

In the end, it won’t matter. Gerlido has no idea of the ways he is bound to me.

J
aeron laughed when Jotar’s messenger told him where the meeting was going to be held. He had imagined that the Thieves Guilds of Islar would meet in a more secretive location. Not that he had a specific place in mind, but he imagined a dark cavern under the Riordan Hills, below decks on a smuggler’s ship in the harbor, or the cellar or back room of a disreputable tavern. Instead, they simply rented one of the large business halls usually used for weddings, dinners, and other celebrations. Audacious and direct, it was yet another example of Henri’s earliest lessons. Hide in plain sight.

Jotar’s man suggested that they send only one representative to the Guild gathering. Jaeron had been the obvious choice. As the eldest son, he had the right to claim a vendetta for Henri’s death. His siblings had also given him de facto leadership of their new guild, though most decisions they weighed in on together.

As a result, Jaeron had used some of the guild funds to buy new clothes and boots. He visited a bathhouse and had his hair and new beard washed, oiled, and scented. Then he patiently waited for Vengh’s hireling to escort him to the meeting location.

When they arrived, Jotar was waiting outside the building with his lieutenant. Jaeron did not know his name but recognized him from the description Coatie had provided. He was Jotar’s accountant and the man appeared to have taken an instant dislike to him. Jaeron could not blame him for that. He was sure that the arrangement they had forced on Jotar reflected badly on the man’s ability to manage Jotar’s funds.

Jotar looked decidedly better when dressed.
The cut of his pants and long waistcoat seemed to draw in his girth and make his overall shape more normal. His bulgy eyes were impossible to disguise, however, and Jaeron wondered how far away the man had to keep from his guild activities. As unique as his looks made him, the guard would have no trouble identifying him from a description.

Jotar waived him over.

“Stay close to me. When we get inside, sit behind me, away from the table. Don’t say anything until you’re asked. And even then, only if I give you indication that it is all right.”

Jaeron nodded his understanding. Coatie had given him similar instruction and they both agreed it would be a good idea to observe as much and attract as little attention as possible. Jotar seemed to be waiting for something, so Jaeron contented himself with watching a few others that were gathering near the door.

Finally, a carriage arrived. Two men climbed out of the coach without waiting for a footman to open the door. They entered the venue without stopping or speaking. Once the coach pulled away, the others gathered began trickling inside.

Jotar tapped Jaeron and moved to the door. He followed. They made their way through an unstaffed greeting room, keeping coats, cloaks, and weapons. The oil lamps inside were turned as low as they could be without being in danger of extinguishing. Jotar led him down a left-hand hallway toward the sound of muffled conversation. At the end of the hall, they passed through a pair of open doors into an expensive dining room.

Here again, Jaeron found the atmosphere darker than seemed necessary. A polished pine table dominated the room center surrounded by thirteen chairs. Along the long walls, two more rows of chairs had been placed, enough to accommodate another twenty people. While the seats at the table filled in, the rest remained mostly empty.

Jotar took a seat halfway along the left-hand side of the table with respect to the single chair at the head. Jaeron sat down next to Jotar’s lieutenant who immediately slid a chair away leaving an empty place between them. Jaeron suppressed his urge to question the man and used the energy to commit as much about the attendees to memory as he could.

At the head of the table sat a stoic figure. His face was rugged but otherwise nondescript. He wore his hair trimmed short, in a military style, and sported a thin mustache that trailed down into a goatee. It was difficult to tell in the meager light, but Jaeron guessed the color to be chestnut with a touch of gray in his beard and at his temples. The man may have been younger than Henri, but his face had a timeless quality that could belie the assumption.

The deference shown the man and the arrangement of the seating told Jaeron that this man was Calius deSwan. Grand Master of the Thieves’ Guild of Islar. Jaeron suppressed an involuntary shiver. He recalled Henri speaking about the man once, certainly with awe and respect, but also with fear. He could not remember anything or anyone else of which his father was afraid.

In clockwise order around the table, Jaeron studied the men in the remaining seats. The first was empty. In the second sat a lean Bormeeran with long, black, oiled hair. For an instant, Jaeron thought he saw the man studying him, but it was over so fast he could not be sure. The next two men could have been brothers. The only discernible difference was their weight. The first was heavyset with a thick neck and wide face. The second was thin, almost gaunt in appearance, though Jaeron was sure that a trick of the side-by-side comparison. Both men had long, curly brown hair with long sideburns. Unlike everyone else in the room, both men were smiling.

Jaeron recognized the next man. He had been by their apartment a few times to meet with Henri, always with a delivery of tools or supplies. Jaeron thought his name was Rauman. The last seat on that side of the table was unoccupied.

On Vengh’s side of the table, the first chair held a skinny, pockmarked man with tousled blonde hair. He was twitchy and his hand kept moving to the side of his waist, whether checking his money or a weapon Jaeron could not tell. The next chair was empty and in the next sat Jotar, which left the last three positions away from the Grandmaster.

At that moment, deSwan stood and began the meeting.

“Good evening, Masters. We have no more time to waste waiting on our missing guildsmen. The first order of business tonight is the dissolution of the Spoiled Vassals. Guildmaster Ortelli has retired without passing the blade. My understanding is that his guild members have found new guilds or will be looking.”

There was an outburst of low mumbling at that. A number of the guildmasters leaned back to their lieutenants or aides for a quick conversation. Jotar sat impassively. He had either known about Ortelli’s decision or had been informed prior to the meeting.

“Needless to say,” the Grandmaster continued, “this would normally leave some of the city and a few of the normal operations unclaimed. These matters are being handled. I do not expect any infighting over the remnants of the Vassals organization.”

The room stilled. Jaeron saw that several guildmasters were unhappy to hear that. The blonde, in particular, curled his lip and again plunged his hand to his side.

“The second order of business concerns rumors you may have heard concerning an attack on an Islar silver shipment outside of city boundaries. While the silver mine and its deliveries are off limits as potential jobs in and around Islar, this was a one time incident and reparations have been made to cover guild concerns. I just wanted to make it clear to you. This will not happen again.”

Jaeron coached himself to remain still.
Did the Grandmaster already know we did that job? What reparations?

“Finally, we need to take a vote on the proposal brought last month concerning the upcoming Spring Fair. You know my thoughts on the events of last year. I will not tolerate that again. Those in favor?”

Of the nine men at the table, six raised their hands. These included the twins, Rauman, and Jotar.

“Fine. It is resolved. We will give the night to the third rungs, assuming they find a guild amongst you through which to pay appropriate taxes.”

Jaeron was confused by the entire exchange, but more so with the forlorn realization that the spring equinox was so near. The equinox brought with it a week of holy obligations at the church, which he was going to have to forego.

After the formalities, deSwan opened a frank discussion about the financial and political issues currently impacting Islar and its guilds. Much of this involved news of the current war between Bormeer and Rosunland and the positive and negative repercussions. Finally, each Guildmaster gave a financial status and declared their tax to the Grandmaster.

“If there is no other guild business?”

In the way deSwan spoke, Jaeron could tell he already knew the answer. He got the distinct impression that the Grandmaster knew everything that was going to happen before it occurred. After a moment of quiet, Jotar Vengh heaved himself out of his chair.

“Grandmaster, with the absence of several guilds, and in particular with the dissolution of the Spoiled Vassals, I am motioning for a petition to join our ranks.”

“Who is the petitioning Guildmaster?”

“The Guildmaster is Jaeron deAlto of Henri’s Hands.”

Jotar motioned for Jaeron to stand and step forward to the table. He complied, remaining quiet. Again murmurs floated around the table, but the reaction that spoke volumes came from the second chair. The long-haired man glared at Jaeron and then at Vengh before pulling his gaze away. Jaeron recognized what he saw there, an ugly hatred similar to what he had seen in deLocke.

He knew who the man was now.
Gerlido.

“Is there a second?”

“I will second the motion.” A voice came from behind the Grandmaster. A figure stepped forward out of the shadows to stand near the table. It was Victor Ortelli.

~

“I have an objection, Grandmaster,” Gerlido stood, facing Jotar and Jaeron directly. He could not stop himself.

Gerlido’s discomfort had ebbed and waned as the meeting progressed. He noted the deAlto boy’s presence prior to the meeting’s start. He came in the company of Jotar Vengh, a fat and pompous guildmaster who had at one time rivaled Gerlido for his position amongst the second rung. He could not do anything about Jaeron’s presence immediately, but the fact that he had been searching for him nearly two months and he showed up here tonight was immensely frustrating.

There were expectations on Gerlido that then took his attention from the deAlto problem. As the prominent second rung guildmaster in Ortelli’s absence, he had a role to play in the meeting’s start. He had to pay attention to the meeting’s points of order and pay deferential respect to the Grandmaster. Calius deSwan was the dark soul of the Thieves’ community of Islar for nearly twenty years, and despite Gerlido’s desire for that role himself, he still felt unprepared to make the attempt to take his place.
Not even taking into consideration the direct edict from Larsetta against doing so.

Gerlido was surprised only once during the proceedings when the Grandmaster made the announcement of Victor Ortelli’s retirement and the dissolution of the Spoiled Vassals. Ortelli was the prime rival in the city for leadership of the second rung guilds. Gerlido’s plans to remove Ortelli were no longer necessary. Normally, an announcement dissolving a guild would have been followed by a dissemination of that guild’s operations and assets amongst the remaining guildmasters. That there was no mention of that division meant that either those assignments had already taken place or the Grandmaster’s guild was taking the remains of the Vassals. Either choice irked Gerlido since he had not benefited.

“What is the nature of your objection?” deSwan asked.

Gerlido turned to address the Grandmaster. He had spoken without thinking and now he needed to explain himself.

“Henri deAlto was reformed, Grandmaster. His children have no business here.”

Gerlido kept from growling the words. He could not appear to be challenging the Grandmaster, only the petition that had been brought to the table. For a moment, deSwan seemed to consider the objection.

“An objection to petition has been raised. Discussion?”

Gerlido looked around the table. Vengh would not look his way. The rest of the guildmasters said nothing, not wanting to risk enmity with his Black Fangs.

Then Ortelli spoke, “Grandmaster, I know that my presence here is only by your invitation to close out the Vassals and consign us to history. Your rules have allowed me to second this petition, as it does fulfill the need for my guild’s replacement. But if I may comment?”

As Ortelli had addressed deSwan directly, Gerlido could not speak out of turn, as much as he wanted to. DeSwan used the Thieves’ sign, a gesture to give Ortelli permission to speak.

“Guildmaster Krosch is correct. Henri deAlto was given reform and has no business running a guild in Islar. However, Henri deAlto is dead. Whether or not he was reformed and blacklisted from our ranks means nothing anymore. In fact, I would think that the forfeiture of his life was more than payment enough for his reformation.

“His son is his own man, is he not? If he is following in his father’s line of work to the benefit of our Guilds… my pardon, your Guilds, why should he be refused?”

As Ortelli spoke, Gerlido saw deSwan nodding in agreement. He stifled the grimace from showing on his face.

Did it matter?
So the deAlto brats wanted to play a bigger game than their father did.
Why does that get under my skin?
It grated Gerlido, more than just an annoyance. He just could not figure out why.

“Ex-guildmaster Ortelli raises a valid question, Grandmaster. I withdraw my objection.”