“Good,” I said. “I think I have it.”
She nodded. “I believe you do. Remember that the Skin needs to be convincing, and to a degree the Runner; the rest just have to go through the motions.”
“Understood,” I said, and got to my feet.
She smiled at me. “Good luck,” she said.
I got back to the office and Sticks was waiting. “They teleported,” he said.
“Damn.”
“But I have a friend who’s a sorcerer, and I thought you might want to know where they teleported to.”
“And he got there in time?”
“She. And yeah. Imperial Palace, Dragon Wing.”
“I imagine you think you deserve a bonus for that.”
“You have a good imagination, Boss.”
“Melestav, give him seven. Thanks, Sticks. Good work.”
“Always a pleasure,” he said.
“Dragon Wing, Boss?”
“It was either there or Whitecrest Manor.”
“Why?”
“I told you, I recognized him.”
I spent the rest of the day supplying the wants and needs of the good citizens of Adrilankha.
I saw Cawti that night. She liked the candle a lot, and in the warm afterglow of our first hello, I told her about the Blue Fox, Ibronka, and the difficulty in staying ahead of law enforcement. She listened with her whole attention, as she always did, her dark hair shining on the white pillow, her large black eyes fixed on mine so intently I felt like I could fall into them. It took a while to get the story out, because her eyes kept distracting me.
When I was done, she laughed, which made my stomach do funny things.
“Can I help?”
“Um.”
“What?”
“It isn’t exactly, I don’t know the word. You know, the thing about keeping one’s beloved out of danger and all that?”
“Vladimir Taltos, if you aren’t kidding I’m going to bite you somewhere painful.”
“I thought it was romantic.”
“Romantic would be asking for a lock of my hair or something.”
“Okay, can I have a lock of your hair? And yes, I’m kidding.”
“Then I can help?”
“Sure. As long as you keep saying my name.”
“Hmmm?”
“I like it when you say my name.”
She smiled. I wondered if she knew just what she could get me to do with that smile.
I returned it, and she sat up suddenly. “All right, then! What’s the first step?”
“Hmm?”
“Hey. I’m up here.”
“Oh, sorry. The first step. Yes. Wait for the mysterious bag of gold.”
“There must be some set-up before that happens.”
“Well, yes. There’s some information gathering, but I’ll get Kragar to do that.”
“Why does he get to have all the fun?”
“You think that’s fun?”
“Not really, I suppose.”
“Okay, then.”
“What else?”
“Deciding on the Anvil, and opening the Hamper.”
“Oh, perfect! I’m especially trained for those things.”
“I thought so. You have no idea what they mean, right?”
“Right. But I wanted you to get full pleasure from being opaque.”
“And I did. Thank you, m’lady.”
“You’re welcome, m’lord. Now, what’s the Anvil?”
“That’s the person who gets hit by the operation.”
“The target?”
“Right. Also called the Bucket, the Lame, and the Narrow.”
“I didn’t know you knew about those sorts of scams.”
“Oh, I’ve known all about them since yesterday.”
“I see. What’s the Hamper?”
“In this case, something that will hold a bag of tagged coins.”
“Does opening it have some special meaning?”
“That means to set the Anvil up.”
“How do we do that?”
“First step is to pick him.”
“What are you looking for? Stop kissing me and answer the question. No, skip that, keep kissing me. All right, now answer the question.”
“What—?”
“What are you looking for?”
“Love, respect, friendship, loyalty, sensuality, beauty, skill in cutting vegetab—”
“In the Anvil.”
“Oh, right. First of all, someone with the authority—or the clout—to stop the evil and immoral practice of sorcerously marking coins.”
“How many people like that do you think there are?”
“Well, the Empress.”
“Scratch her.”
“And Lord Khaavren, but he’d be a bad choice for this. Um, I’d guess about eight or ten.”
“Let’s make a list.”
So we did, and talked about them for the rest of the day, at the end of which time we’d settled on a Dragonlord named Feorae, because he was perfectly placed within the Imperial hierarchy and because I felt he had too many vowels in his name. I closed my eyes, concentrated, and eventually got hold of Kragar. I set him to learning what he could of the poor bastard, in between learning what he could about Blue-guy. He had a lot to say about it, but eventually agreed.
“What else do you need?” Cawti wanted to know.
“First thing we’ll need is the Skin, because he has to make contact with the Anvil right away.”
“What makes a good Skin?”
Let those who judge goodness or evil in a man note that I let that line pass, and just said, “Charm, warmth, and aristocratic bearing.”
“You’d be perfect.”
“And being Dragaeran.”
“Oh.”
“But thank you.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Not yet.”
“What about your friend Morrolan?”
“I doubt I could convince him to do anything so disloyal.”
“Same with Aliera?”
“She’d probably kill me for asking. What about Norathar—no, forget I mentioned it. Let’s forget about true aristocrats and look for someone who can act the part.”
“Do you know many actors?”
“A few. I don’t think I know any I’d trust, though.”
“What about one of your tags?” said Cawti.
I considered. “Yes, that could work. There’s certainly acting involved in the job, and some of them play roles for the nums.”
“Maybe someone from the Long Carpet, or the Couches? They’re fairly high-class.”
“How did you—oh, right. I keep forgetting.” She’d learned a lot about me, of course, while she and her partner were preparing to kill me. The memory made for an uncomfortable moment, but she squeezed my hand and it passed.
We decided that was enough work, and turned our minds to other things.
The next day I was up early and beat Kragar into the office. I told Melestav to bring me klava and to get hold of a certain Lord Heral-Nocaldi, or H’noc as he was called, who managed the Couches, and let him know I’d be dropping by.
“Should I tell him why?”
“No, let him sweat.”
I let him sweat for about an hour before heading over there. Not for any special reason except that I didn’t like him—we’d had an unpleasant altercation when I’d first started running the area. It was especially unpleasant for him, so I imagine he didn’t like me, either.
I made the walk with no protection this time. Lower Kieron Road was hot and there was an unusual amount of dust. A bird yelled at me as I approached the place, the kind that goes, “kwa-AKA, kwa-AKA.” I don’t know what kind that is, but Loiosh says they taste good.