She hesitated, but decided to broach the subject that was worrying her. ‘Mock … about this raid … perhaps we should hold a few ships back.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘In case Tarel tries something. Betrays us.’
Leaning back, he waved a dismissal. ‘Why would he do that? And in the face of a successful raid … sacrifice all that loot? No.’ He opened his hands. ‘Listen, Sail dear. I’m certain he wants the riches of Cawn as much as we do.’
She couldn’t argue with that, though misgivings remained. She shook her head. ‘I still don’t like it.’
‘Don’t worry, child. We’ll keep a close eye on young King Tarel, never fear.’
She almost felt embarrassed: of course they would be keeping an eye on things! What was she thinking, imagining these experienced raiders wouldn’t be careful? She gave a nod, smiling, ‘Of course, Mock. Do you need anything? Soup?’
The admiral paled, waved a negative, gasped, ‘No, nothing. And Sail, not a word to anyone about … this. Yes?’
She took one of his hands, found it cold and shaking and slick with sweat. ‘Of course, dearest. Not a word.’
* * *
Lee was in the main room of the Golden Gyrfalcon when the man himself came down to confront their new hired knife.
It was long overdue; for more than a week the lazy ass had done nothing but slouch around, eat Geffen’s food, and take long ambling walks about town. Lee wondered why the boss had tolerated the situation for so long.
Geffen came to the table and stood there, hands on hips, glaring down at the young fellow where he sat peeling a boiled egg.
‘I’m not paying you to rest,’ he growled.
The lad continued peeling the shell from the egg – something in the way he did this with his slim fingertips made Lee feel vaguely sick.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Geffen prompted again.
The lad took a tiny bite out of the egg. ‘He’s not here on the island, is he?’ He reached for the salt.
‘Who’s not?’
‘Our man … Dancer.’
Geffen’s hands clenched to fists at his waist – perhaps to avoid grasping the knives thrust through his belt. ‘Who cares? His people are. Take them out, it’ll weaken him.’
The skinny lad frowned at his egg as if the salt hadn’t improved it. He set it down and picked up his tea. ‘There’s only one name on the contract, Geffen.’
‘I don’t fucking care, you damned prick! I hired your services—’ He stopped himself, flinching slightly as the lad surged to his feet.
Lee was impressed to note that Cowl, as he fancied himself, didn’t spill one drop from the full cup as he stood. He finished the tea and set the glass down. ‘You hired me for one kill, and one kill only. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going out for some air.’ And he ambled to the door.
Geffen stood fairly trembling with suppressed fury. With his glare he urged Lee out after the bastard; shrugging, she rose and headed to the door.
Walking after the fellow, she wondered why Gef bothered having her shadow him at all. After all, his strolls about town always brought him to the same damned place – coincidentally the one place Lee really did not want to linger. As a longtime resident of Malaz, she found it nearly as disturbing as the natives did. The local haunted house. Almost every city had something like it.
In this case an old stone house in a tangled neglected property close by the waterfront.
And so she found him here, a hand on his chin, regarding the selfsame abandoned dwelling. She made no secret of her approach; she knew he knew she’d been following him – she had to admit he was at least that good.
She leaned on the low stone wall, her head turned to him, away from the building itself, which gave her a headache whenever she looked its way. ‘Thinking of house-buying?’ she asked.
The lad actually smiled – a thin lipless slash. He raised his chin to indicate the place. ‘What do you see?’ he asked.
She refused to glance over. ‘I’d rather not.’
He nodded his understanding, crossed his arms, let out a long thoughtful breath. ‘When I arrived here and found that our man worked with a Dal Hon mage I knew I had the right target this time. He’s the one.’
Lee was surprised that the fellow was actually opening up, and so she pressed, ‘Why do you want him?’
He lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. ‘Reputation. It’s all about reputation. I’ve worked hard to establish a name as the best at what I do. But as of last year all I hear is the name Dancer.’
‘So … what’d he do?’
‘He killed King Chulalorn the Third.’
Lee couldn’t help herself – she blurted, ‘Bullshit!’ But the lad was nodding quite seriously. ‘No fucking way! He musta bin guarded by an entire army of Nightblades and fifty trained Sword-Dancers!’
The lad looked quite irritated. ‘I’m familiar with the story.’
‘Sorry. So, if that’s true, what’s he doing here? He could cash in so huge on that. I mean, any king or ruler from Quon to Gris would pay just to buy him off.’
‘Exactly. Now we get to the nub of the matter. Why here?’ The lad crossed his arms and took hold of his chin once more. ‘This is what has been bothering me all this time. Until now.’ He pointed one long pale finger to the house. ‘Now I know.’
Lee forgot herself and glanced where the finger pointed; the strangeness that assaulted her vision there made her wince and she quickly looked away. ‘Why? What’s there?’
‘You’re not a mage, are you? Have you any talent in that regard at all?’
She shook her head – she’d always secretly regretted that lack. ‘No. Nothing.’
‘Yet even you feel it. Power. There is power there and it is warning you to keep away.’
‘Okay, so there’s power there. So what?’
‘Our friend and his ancient mage sponsor are going to make a try for it. Many have, you know. Over the centuries.’
‘Many? You mean it’s been looted?’
The slim youth ran a hand through his short hair and shook his head. His frail-seeming skin was so pale Lee could see the blue tracings of his veins beneath. ‘No. All failed.’
‘What killed them?’
The youth shook his head again. ‘Oh, no. Most of them are still alive.’ He pointed to the grounds. ‘They lie imprisoned below. The structure is holding them there – perhaps using their might to defend itself.’
Lee’s flesh shivered in revulsion at the idea. Perhaps this is what she sensed, and what repelled – or terrified – everyone about the place.
‘So you’re saying it would snatch me?’
That condescending smile returned but Lee let it pass. ‘Not you. Unless you attacked it, I suppose. No. Not you. Me. It would like to get its claws on me. I can sense it now, you know … trying to reach for me…’ The youth’s voice trailed off as if he’d been struck by an idea and he nodded to himself, his brows crimping. ‘You know – it would be a kind of immortality. You wouldn’t die. It wouldn’t let you.’
Lee shivered again, but not because of the house – because of this youth standing next to her.
The lad tapped a knuckle on the top fieldstone of the enclosing wall. ‘Well. We’ll see. If he doesn’t return, then I’ll just have to catch up with him elsewhere.’ And he ambled off, whistling tunelessly to himself.
Lee remained behind for a time, still shivering, yet perhaps this time with the wet chill of the island. It now seemed to her that perhaps Gef had made a mistake in sending for this odd fellow; that they were caught up in something far beyond the usual mere scuffle of street-gangs. Something far more deadly, and rather frightful.
She decided then that Gef be damned. She’d keep her head down in the future – especially in any fight involving someone who made her skin crawl the way this one did.
* * *
Locked in his unofficial prison, Tayschrenn did not bother to keep track of the mundane passage of days. He was intent upon his meditation, and this, when he achieved total focus, was by definition timeless. And so it was something of a surprise when some strangeness drew him back to himself. He blinked, centring himself upon the here and now, and he found two of Tallow’s cult proctors standing by the open door to his cell, their staves just lowering from prodding him.