Goran Kell could see how organically it was growing around that hill. It was solid at heart, but with new buildings spored outwards, like a moss thriving on the sunward side of a rock. It was spreading just the way that all of God's creations did when they prospered. It was beautiful.
Larger, more impressive, buildings flowered here and there nearer the cliffs. Kell hurried through the streets in search of a particular set of rooms, where pastries and small beer were sold cheaply to tired workers. He ducked under a low archway between two ship owners' offices and along into a dark tavern. The smells of hot food, spiced drinks and small beer drifted out.
Two rough-looking men with swords at their belts rose from a small table next to the door as he entered.
"It's raining blood out there," Kell said. "Sandor Feyn is expecting me."
The men fell in beside him and showed him through to a small dining room. Only one table was in it and a small window overlooked the shipyards. Cold air poured in through the window, meeting the heat from the fire in the grate.
There were two chairs at the table. A large man in a well-cut leather tabard was already sat at one of them, munching on a hunk of meat. He had a dark red beard, neatly trimmed with a longer plait on each side.
"Well, Goran Kell, as I live and breathe." He indicated the chair opposite. "Sit down and help yourself. I hear it's been a… well, not just a long journey but a necessarily careful one." He pushed a goblet across the table. "Drink this, it should clear the cobwebs."
Kell sat down, with thanks. "I had to come. Something very strange has happened." He sniffed at the wine. "Clear the cobwebs? Poison the spiders more like." He drank it anyway.
Feyn's expression darkened. "Strange? I don't like strange, Kell. Strange brings the Swords to my door."
Kell waved the concern away dismissively. "The Swords are busy up in Kalten and doubtless taking names and cracking heads as usual. There was a man I hired: Lukas Bertram. I hired him to make a… political statement up there."
"That name rings a bell," Sandor Feyn said. He shoved his plate aside and massaged his temples for a moment. "It was a couple of weeks ago… Someone reported — Ah! He's dead."
Kell smiled thinly. "I worked that one out already, thank you." He shrugged. "The man knew he was most likely on a one-way — "
Feyn shook his head. "That's not what I meant. A fisherman scooped his body out of the bay a fortnight ago."
Kell blinked, and looked for any sign of joking in Feyn's expression. "A fortnight? That's impossible!"
Feyn shrugged. "People get killed all the time. And, as if the big bad world isn't dangerous enough, the profession of an assassin is an inherently risky one, as I think you'll agree. Now, what was strange?"
"But the attack went ahead, if not exactly as planned!"
"Not exactly?" Feyn echoed. He shook his head. "Come on Goran, 'not exactly' doesn't cut it. What was so exact about it?"
Kell grimaced. "The shot at an Eminence was made early; at the presentation of the happy couple instead of at the afternoon feast."
"And yet the shot was made, the target hit."
Kell paced around the small room. "Yes, yes… But it wasn't exactly the plan. and at the time Lukas was already dead." Something clenched in Kell's guts and he shivered.
"An unpleasant thought," Feyn said.
"Unpleasant? It's… I don't even know what the word is! If our man died a week before the event, then who the hell took the shot?"
"You and Scarra recruited him, Goran. Did he have an associate whom he might have confided in, who might have fulfilled the contract in the event of — "
"Not that I know of, but we never actually met. Everything was arranged through intermediaries." Kell paled. "Which can only mean one of them has made some kind of arrangement of his own, with God knows who."
"It's a strange matter."
"You're telling me," Kell agreed.
"What do you think happened?"
"It seems to me that there are two basic possibilities. One: that fat fool Scarra got it wrong. Two: someone's playing us, and if that's the case it's better to keep our distance from Scarra. He's always been unstable and trying to bounce back and forth in somebody's game will send him off his head."
"And then he'll get caught?"
"Assuming he hasn't been already. And I'd rather he couldn't point the way to me when he does get caught."
"What about Freedom? How much does he know about that?"
Kell gave a short laugh. "Sod all, my friend, sod all. It's not that I don't trust Scarra, but… I know how his mouth hates to sit still. If the Confessors don't give him something to chew on every five minutes, he'd give them something."
"Wouldn't it have been more sensible to silence him? Just in case? Chaga has never been shy about doing what's necessary."
Kell's lips twisted, as if he'd tasted something bitter and unpleasant. "It would have made more sense to never have had anything to do with him in the first place," Kell sighed. "But without his money and business contacts, we might never had the wagons we needed, or made the payoffs to the guilds…"
"All right, let's assume someone knew your plan."
"Someone must have."
"Then who? Faith Confessors have spies everywhere, but…"
"But they would have stopped the attack." Kell paced around the room, shaking his head like a dog with a rat in his jaws. "Who would have hired another assassin? The one who actually carried out the attack."
Feyn closed his eyes for a moment. "There's a man I know, who might be able to find out a few answers for you. He's worked for me before."
"Who?"
"His name doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
Feyn gave an amused grunt. "It does to him too. He wouldn't be happy if I spread it around. I'll get in touch with him, and tell him you require his services. I'll let him know how to contact you."
"Tell him the matter is rather urgent."
Feyn nodded. "Of course. Now, I presume you're not staying long in these parts?"
"I'll be returning to Fayence soon and then on to Freedom."
"The Faith will be expecting you to make for Fayence."
"I imagine they'll consider the possibility, but logic suggests they'll expect me to make for Freiport."
Feyn laughed. "Run the gauntlet of the Anclas Territories with a price on your head and every unemployed mercenary band looking for a quick profit?"
"It wasn't what I had mind." Kell rose. "I'll you send a message through the Huntress when I reach Fayence. I shall expect some information by way of reply."
"I'm sure things will be in motion by then," Feyn promised.
CHAPTER 7
Kell walked out of Sandor Feyn's inn, deep in thought, but not too lost in it to stop being alert. Outside, Chaga and two other men were waiting, their eyes alert and searching every face.
"One thing we must make sure of is that there are no tracks back to me. It's time to start tying off loose ends."
"Any particular ends in mind?" Chaga asked as they began walking through the streets of Turnitia.
"Lukas Bertam had several men hired to run interference for him during his escape. He's dead and someone else made the assassination attempt. Whoever did take the shot at Rhodon also had men running interference for his escape, and since he used the same route, perhaps he used the same men."