The Harpers had decided that they would draw far less attention if they posed as servants and bodyguards to a finely dressed lady. For Myrmeen, her companions’ expressions at her emergence as a woman of wealth and privilege made it worth slipping out of her battle-worn leathers, mails, and thigh-high boots. Her only mistake in choosing this outfit had been her sandals, which revealed her calloused feet. Cardoc nodded at her approvingly, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long.
The group left the stable and walked for several blocks. They were surprised as they turned a corner and were suddenly swallowed up by a torrent of citizens. The people rushed blindly forward, heads down, their gazes carefully set to take in any obstacles at a glance without making eye contact with anyone. As Myrmeen had imagined, the passersby were dressed in the finest, most brightly colored gowns and business wear that the city’s markets had to offer. Many people had entourages similar to Myrmeen’s, and her group drew little attention, except for the occasional stare inspired by Myrmeen’s hypnotic beauty. They had not traveled far before Myrmeen realized that Lucius had vanished into the crowd.
The buildings lining the financial district’s long, central street had been designed with the care and expense usually devoted to fine palaces or halls of study. Myrmeen had seen it all before. The merchants were so touched by petty rivalry that each had attempted to make his or her establishment more spectacular to gaze upon than all the others. Their childish infighting, something that would not have been allowed in Arabel, had led to impressive spurts of towering architecture; several buildings had bridges suspended twenty feet above the ground, linking them with covered walkways. Others had statues of fierce lions or creatures of myth built into their walls. A few of the designers had opted for simple but elegant spires and ornately decorated, concave walls.
Cardoc had been told to look for “the house of the griffon” and to “regard kindly the temple of the sun.” Myrmeen found the trading house situated between a building guarded by a pair of stone griffons and a church made of glass. She and her party went inside the establishment and proceeded to the currency exchange bureau, where they found a tall man with slicked-back hair tied in a ponytail. He busily marked entries on a scroll and did not look up until Myrmeen set her gloved hands on either side of his parchment and leaned forward to whisper, “Martyn Johannas?”
He looked up, stunned. “Yes,” he said.
Myrmeen smiled. She had seen the expression before. At that moment, she was certain that he would have agreed to anything she proposed. Her entourage kept its distance, allowing her to delicately take a seat before the man, her gown parting slightly to reveal her firm, lightly tanned legs, which she crossed to add to the effect.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” she said in a haughty, teasing voice.
“I don’t think that will change the answer,” he said as he scratched his neck, “but ask away.”
Myrmeen looked around, making a show of it. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s more private?”
Johannas angled his gaze toward her companions. “That depends on whether or not they come along.”
A throaty laugh escaped Myrmeen. She had softened him up enough, she decided. “I wish to trade some currency,” she said. “I seem to have a surplus of pearls from Amn.”
The man shook his head, his expression slowly becoming serious. “And how many Roldons do you have to exchange?”
“More than a thousand,” she said. “This trip, anyway. You see now why my personal assistants follow my every move.”
He breathed out heavily. “Yes. That is a healthy sum.” Glancing at some papers on his desk, he rattled off the rate of exchange as of that morning. “Naturally there will be a short period of waiting while the coins are authenticated—merely a formality, you understand.”
She shrugged. There was a slight rustle of cloth as she shifted in her chair. She had to get him away from the exchange in a manner that would make the accompaniment of her guards seem reasonable. Her only reason for playing the seductress was to unnerve him, and hopefully shake his otherwise stolid sense of judgment.
“Is there nothing that can be done to speed up the process?” she asked. “Perhaps we could go where you could authenticate the coins personally and hurry the exchange.”
The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Am I to assume that these coins are fresh from the vats and have not yet cooled?”
“That would a reasonable assumption,” she said, and gave the name of Lucius’s contact who had said that Johannas was experienced in such transactions. Stolen coinage from Amn would have engraved numbers that could be traced.
“You understand that I can only pay half the going rate? The coins will have to be melted and recast—”
“Of course,” she whispered, absently wetting her lips. “Now it’s my turn to say yes to whatever you desire.”
He rose from behind the desk. “Wait a few moments, then follow me into the alley at the rear of this building.”
She nodded and watched him leave. The man had been a thorough professional the moment he realized that he was about to make a personal profit. She turned to her fellows, who had been unobtrusively following his movements. Burke nodded, and she casually walked through the crowded establishment, the Harpers directly behind her.
Within moments they were in the alley. Johannas was already waiting. Two men stood beside him, each carrying a large black bag. Before Myrmeen could give her companions the command to take all three men, Burke, Reisz, and Varina had sprung at them, shoving them against the next building’s wall as they placed their blades at the men’s throats. The pair of bags dropped in unison. Notably absent was the clink of shifting coinage as the bags struck the ground.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Johannas said without emotion. “I have a reputation in this city. Steal from me and you will be hunted down for what you have taken. Kill me and prepare to die in return.”
“All I want is information,” Myrmeen said. “You can keep your money.”
“I see,” Johannas said as he glanced toward the blade held tightly at his throat. He shifted his gaze to Myrmeen as he raised a single eyebrow. “This is not necessary.”
“Let him breathe, but stand ready to cut him if he tries to run or call for help,” Myrmeen commanded.
Burke eased off with his knife but kept his grip on the man’s velvet topcoat. Ord stood to the back of the group, beside the door, ready to deal with anyone who made the mistake of entering the alley from the trading house. He suddenly became acutely aware of the deepening shadows in the alley, though the sky above had not changed to a discernable extent. The alley ran the length of the trading house, which had been deeper than the glass temple or the house of the griffon. Buildings blocked the alley at either end, but there was a narrow passage that appeared to lead back to the street they had traveled or forward to the next street. The alley formed an H and they stood at its vulnerable apex. Burke wondered if Cardoc was with them as he watched the shadows lengthen and again looked up to see a bright, perfect sky.
A rustling from the shadows made Ord start. “Burke,” he called, “there’s something you should look at!”
Burke shook his head. He was not about to give Johannas the opportunity to escape. “Quiet, Ord.”
Myrmeen licked her lips, which had suddenly become quite dry, and said, “You handle the financial end of a lucrative business run by a man named Kracauer. He sold children for a living. You handled the money. Ivan Nehlridge took care of the freight, the human cargo. Now Kracauer and Nehlridge are dead. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the children that were sold to the Night Parade fourteen years ago, during the great storm. My daughter was one of those children. I want to find her. You will help me contact the Night Parade and together we will find my child. If you do not cooperate, there won’t be enough left of you to fit into those sacks your men brought with them.”