“The problem,” I said, my voice rising, “is that I was almost dusted in my own hallway! I got shoved down the stairs, chased into the street, and all your people did was watch! If I hadn’t drawn the Blade over to that alley, Scratch would still be picking lice out of his hair and I’d be dead.”
“I was coming.”
“When?”
“It takes time to get down off a roof, Drothe.”
“And Roma?”
Fowler cocked her head, brows knitting together. “What about her?”
“To hear Scratch tell it, she was supposed to be on the alley he came out of, only she wasn’t.”
Fowler looked over her shoulder in the direction of the alley.
“You’d better check on your people, Fowler,” I said. “You might find one’s been bought out from under you.”
Fowler’s head whipped back around. “My people don’t sell out,” she snapped. “I don’t do the cross, and neither do they. That’s why you hired me, and that’s why I hire them. I’ll talk to Roma and see what happened, but I know her. She wouldn’t give you up like that.”
“You’d better do more than talk,” I said, “or I know some people who aren’t going to be happy.”
Fowler’s hands came forward to rest on her hips. “Look, Drothe, I botched it, all right? You almost died, and I’m supposed to stop that from happening, so yeah, I botched it. Be mad, but be mad at me. Scratch, Roma, Sylos, and the rest are my worry. If there’s a problem, I’ll take care of it. Don’t be threatening to put weight on my coves-I can do that myself.”
I reached out with my right hand and laid it where her shoulder and neck met. She flinched but didn’t move away.
“Listen up,” I said. “Anyone leaves my blinds open when they should be shut, I take it badly. And personally. You talk to those Eriffs you call Oaks and get things straight. But tell them this, too: Any more problems and I deal with them myself.”
Fowler’s jaw set, pushing her lower lip out. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was pouting, instead of barely keeping her hands from my throat.
“My people, Drothe,” she said. “My problem.”
“My neck takes precedence over your people,” I said. “Just remember that.”
Fowler clenched her jaw some more. “Like you’ll… Oh, to hell with this! ” Fowler gagged and took two quick steps back, waving her hand in front of her face. “I can’t argue with you when you smell like that. What did that Blade attack you with, anyhow-a chamber pot?”
I resisted the urge to look down at my clothes. “It’s a long story.”
“Then tell it to me after a long bath,” she said. “I’m going to try and figure out what went wrong before I lose my dinner. Do you need to yell at me about anything else before I go?”
“No.” I waved a hand. The adrenaline was finally starting to wear off, and I could feel the fatigue setting in. “Wait-yes.”
Fowler stopped just beyond the archway and turned back, the setting moon turning the hair at the nape of her neck into fine silver. “What?” she said.
“Send someone to find Jelem the Sly. He’ll either be in Brass Street or Quarters cordons this time of night.”
Fowler nodded. “It may take a while.” She waved up and down the street. “I have a few things to do here, first.”
“You’ll find me.”
“Damn straight I will,” she said. Then she was off, jaw set, steps fast. I didn’t envy her people the grilling they were about to receive.
I sat down on the steps. I knew Eppyris was waiting on me, but I didn’t have the energy for another argument right now. I needed five minutes-just five minutes of no motion.
I leaned back on the steps and winced as something shifted and poked into the small of my back. Oh, right.
I reached behind me and pulled out the case-or rather, its broken remains. The fall down the stairs had split its top nearly in two, and the fine hinges and clasp that held it closed were a twisted and buckled mess.
The filth from the sewers was dry now, and some of it had flaked away. I could see more of the inlay and make out hints of gold wire along with the ivory-even a few glints that might have been precious stone. It looked for all the world like the box a person would…
“Son of a bitch,” I said as I carefully lifted the broken lid. Inside the battered case, on a bed of padded velvet scented with myrrh, rested a narrow crystal tube. Gold filigree scrolled around it, forming artful flowers and intricate symbols, almost hiding the crystal itself. I didn’t need to look in the small window that had been left in the filigree to know what was inside the tube, but I did anyhow, and saw an old, faded, slightly dirty quill pen, its end feathers nearly gone.
I knew it; or rather, knew of it. It was the pen the emperor Theodoi had used to write the Second Apologia in an attempt to make amends with his other incarnations almost two centuries ago. By all accounts, he was still the most consistently sane of the three, but that hadn’t stopped him from writing far less placating tracts to his various selves in later incarnations.
I resisted the urge to bow to the quill three times, then three more, then three again. I’ve handled enough purloined relics to know my obeisance wasn’t going to make a difference to the Angels anymore-I was damned a couple times over, by that reckoning.
“Son of a bitch,” I said again as I examined the goldwrapped tube. “What the hell were you doing with my relic, Fedim?”
Chapter Ten
I sat at the bottom of the steps, trying to put things together. Nothing fit.
Athel and Fedim, Fedim and Athel-was there a direct connection between the two, or had the relic passed through more hands on the way to the Dealer’s shop in Ten Ways? And what was it doing in Ten Ways, for that matter? Imperial relics meant money and powerful interests-neither of which frequented Ten Ways, and certainly not a Dealer of Fedim’s status.
The book-somehow, I suspected, this all had to do with the book the Cutters and their employers had been looking for; a book they thought Fedim had had, and Larrios might have right now; a book I was suddenly starting to get interested in despite myself.
I pulled the slip of paper out of my ahrami pouch and ran it through my fingers. Imperial and relic, it said-but what else? If there was a connection between Athel and Fedim, the relic and the book, I was in deeper than I’d thought and against people even Degan wanted to leave alone, barring an Oath.
Shit. I needed to get my hands on Larrios and squeeze some answers out of him.
I stood up and gingerly made my way upstairs, every ache and bruise I’d gathered making itself felt along the way. My left arm still wasn’t working, so getting into my rooms was a challenge, but I managed it without setting anything off. I deposited the reliquary and Tamas’s rope underneath a loose floorboard, then made my way back down the stairs and to the front door of Eppyris’s shop.
The apothecary had a brazier glowing and was adding a pinch of something or other to a mortar when I opened the door. He didn’t look up. I shaded my eyes against the light coming from the lamp, and entered.
I took a deep breath as I waited for my eyes to adjust. As always, a riot of smells greeted me, and, as always, they seemed just a little different from the last time. There was a dark, almost roasted smell in the shop tonight, mixed with a hint of spice, riding on a wave of smoke and oil and lampblack. Nothing was brewing or steeping overnight, which left a vacancy usually filled by some sharp, caustic, or musty odor.
My vision began to adjust, and I got a better view of Eppyris seated at one of the two massive tables that played host to an assortment of bottles, mortars, cups, scales, and loose ingredients. The walls to either side were covered with row upon row of shelves, each crammed with the raw ingredients of Eppyris’s trade: jars of oils, boxes of fine powders, sheaves of dried herbs, and the occasional jug or sealed pot marked with the strange script Eppyris refused to translate for me.