Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (56 page)

The patrol unit captain knew well Jide’s legend,
though the two had never met previously.   Knowing what he did, or thinking he
knew, the man had been eager to tell everything, including facts he spun from
whole cloth in all likelihood.  Jide thought the captain a festering boil, a
sycophantic rat always looking for the quick score or an easy coin.

But that was the very reason Jide had chosen this unit
of all those previously stationed at Durrac.  He grinned with a knowing smirk
whenever The Boil related information he believed was a secret.  He studied The
Boil with the calculating one-eyed gaze that always made others wonder what
transpired in his mind.  He asked The Boil questions designed to make the man
spend the next month wondering if he had overlooked an opportunity.

Because these types thought of little else, Jide
knew.  They lusted for power over others, or wealth, or both.  ‘Never miss an
opportunity’ was usually their credo.  And to every one, Jide was the idolized
role model they aspired to be.

His reputation among the army sleazes had always been
well known, and the fact that it
was
well known made him even more
notorious. 
Everyone
knew Jide was a thief, a blackmailer, a back-alley
cutthroat, a supply bandit, a classified information broker and an all-around
power magnate.  The top officers were aware of his activities, yet Jide always
slipped through their fingers.  Other payroll skimmers or weapon scalpers were
tried and hung.  Jide outlasted them all.  He was eternal.

Everyone knew him for a prince among thieves. 
Everyone knew he would never be caught.

What none of them knew was the truth.  All those other
rotten apples in the army barrel had not fallen by the wayside because they
lacked his exquisite skill.  They had fallen because they made the mistake of
trusting him.

Adrian had been in the army for five years when Jide
first met him.  Jide had only been in his second year but already his criminal
activities had netted him fat pouches filled with silver.  The future general
caught him while smuggling a crate of blades from a warehouse.

Back then, Adrian had been too junior in rank to hang
him outright.  Instead he dragged him to a cell to face an inquiry later on.

Jide, frightened and terrified, threw every story he
could conceive on Adrian.  In the cell that night, Adrian had questioned him. 
The interrogation gradually evolved into a conversation, and Jide discovered a
man blessed with charisma and ideals.

That night changed him in ways he never would have
believed, in ways he still laughed at himself for.  Adrian could sweep a man
away with nothing except the force of his words when he chose to.  He could
make the other
feel
about matters the way he did.  The crusade they
would eventually embark upon had not yet begun, but both felt its seeds within
the corrupted army around them.

Though full of ideals, Adrian was always a practical
man.  He had known that light could never fully banish the darkness, and that
there were corners only other shadows would ever reach.  The filthiest among
the corrupt officers would never trust anyone.  Never, unless the other proved
as filthy as they.

That type of man possessed a sixth sense for their
own.  They could smell an imposter before he finished crossing the threshold. 
Jide, already dirty, would be an ideal stalking horse.

He and Adrian spent the next thirty years cleaning
house.  They were careful never to act on Jide’s information until sufficient
time had passed.  If too many fell immediately after confiding in Jide, the
rest would smell him out.

Riding with the festering boil of a captain, Jide
found it amusing to ponder what the other must be thinking.  Jide had reached a
high position in the ranks, so why come all the way out to a wasteland of a town
in person?  The Boil spent the entire ride hoping to foster a kinship with
Jide.  This type, as he well knew, always wanted to attach like leeches to
those with greater power.

After two days wandering the blackened ground, he sent
the patrol back alone.  It was almost funny, the disappointment on The Boil’s
face when he realized he would not discover whatever secret had brought the
super-scalper.  Jide maintained his demeanor.  Once alone, he began a thorough
study of the countryside.

He discovered nothing, not from the terrain and not
from his questioning of The Boil.  He’d expected nothing else.  Adrian wanted
proof that Mendell had killed an entire town because he enjoyed wielding the
power his rank afforded him.  Proof of that sort would never be found here.

Mendell claimed to have uncovered a conspiracy that
encompassed the entire town.  He offered no proof, yet no contrary evidence
proved him false either.  Nothing in the surrounding countryside indicated
ulterior motives.  No gold mines or rich deposits of precious minerals that
might have sparked a greed to harvest the riches for his own gain.

A complete waste of time, as Jide had known it would
be.  The other unit captains from Durrac would tell the same story, he knew,
and what physical proof could he uncover to prove Mendell for a bloodthirsty
maniac?  A written diary filled with confessions the colonel had carelessly
dropped in the ashes?  Jide nearly laughed.

He spurred his horse toward Kallied.  Adrian would
never find the kind of proof he could take to an army tribunal to have Mendell
expelled, if not jailed.  Except for Mendell’s connections to Xenos, Adrian
could forego dancing these ridiculous steps.  The general of the Arronathian
army could simply remove him on the spot for no reason whatsoever, if he chose.

Jide rode, working out how he could convince Adrian
that harder steps were going to be needed.  He could set up Mendell for a fall,
but that would mean going behind Adrian’s back.  That was a step he would never
take without desperate need.

Except left unchecked, Mendell could undo the hells
own work they had put in over the past few decades.  He rode north, rubbing his
eye patch, lost in thought.

After a half-mark spent gaining the fat man’s trust,
Marik began to feel a tingle.  Exactly what he could not say, it being unlike
his mage talent sensing foreign magics, yet a flickering awareness tugged at
his mind.

“An item…a friend of his made?”  The sweating fat man
gazed blankly at Marik.  He returned his gaze to Ilona.  “I assume, well…I
could ask you and you would say you understand, though the truth is you
probably don’t.  But I’ll ask it anyway.  I assume that you are aware
how…delicate…carrying any sort of…item…like that would be for a business man?”

Ilona nodded.  “Delicate.  Very delicate.  I assure
you I am aware.”

The fat man nodded behind his counter.  Oceanic
perspiration patches stained the armpits of his tent-sized shirt.  Marik could
smell, familiar after so many winter months in a crowded barracks, the sour reek
of crotch sweat gone gummy due to the fat man’s bulging thighs rubbing together
the entire morning.  “I knew you would say that.  But why is this a problem for
you?  If a friend of yours,” he directed his gaze at Marik, “crafted an item
you need, why don’t you ask him to make you a new one?  And why can’t you get
him to tell you where to find it?”

This question had come up several times before. 
“Because he is closer to a rival than a friend, precisely.  Looking around your
shop,” Marik added, studying the laden shelves that carried far more stock
aimed at magicians than the previous stores, “I imagine you are familiar with
us.  All of us have our strengths.”

The rest went unsaid.  He could see the assumptions
sprouting in the fat man’s head.  Most magicians sought power, and refusing to
aid other magicians who wanted what only they could accomplish was a form of
power.  Whichever magician had crafted the item they sought, he had refused to
supply them with what they wanted.

Ilona furthered the fiction.  “We’ve traced the item
we asked his…rival…about as far as Thoenar.”  She paused before adding, “Reed
was our best bet, but he didn’t pan out.  He sent us to you instead.”

The fat shop owner jerked his head around,
interested.  “Reed?  That filthy bandit has never sent me so much as leftover
stalk of stink grass before.”

“He learned not to double-deal us.  After we educated
him on that, he suggested we give your shop a try.”  It impressed Marik how
smoothly Ilona delivered the lie.

“Hah!  That sounds like him!  I hope you did more than
ruffle his feathers.  I was wondering, you see, about how you found your way to
my shop.”

“Through a very winding path.”  She leaned seductively
over his counter again.  Marik found the way the fat man’s eyes roamed her body
annoying and disgusting.

“I’ve never doublecrossed a customer, you can trust
Jenni on that.”  He paused to load his tone with implication.  “Or a supplier,
for that matter.  In my business, I can’t afford to.”

Ilona brought the discussion to the point.  “Do you
have anything like that?”

“It would help if you told me what you’ve been
chasing.”

She allowed her eyes to dart around, a habit of
untrustworthy people checking for strangers within listening distance.  A habit
she had been careful to imitate.  “My friend’s friend can make wondrously
interesting devices.  The one I want looks like bracelet.  That’s what he told
us before he kicked us out.  He says it can make things very small so you can
hide them easily.  In my line of work, it would greatly increase my profits
from an…expedition, if I could easily carry unwieldy treasures.”

As she talked, Marik saw a light of recognition in the
fat man’s eyes.  Marik flexed his hand slightly, a habit of his own.  His hand
ached for the feel of his hilt.  They had just found the shop they spent days
searching for, had probably found their enemy’s den, and his most useful weapon
was miles away.

He’s the one who supplied the lady assassin with the
bracelet,
Marik thought with
satisfaction. 
He’ll tell us he never saw such a thing before of course, or
else he’ll say that he already sold the item we were hoping to buy, but it was
him!  And he can probably tell us where to find the other assassins.  I doubt
they stumbled in off the street looking for a handy tool.  They have connections.

“And your...uh…friend wouldn’t make you one?”

“Oh, he offered.  He only wanted to charge us
five-hundred gold coins for it.”

The fat shopkeeper laughed.  “It would take a great
many expeditions to recover the cost of such an expensive tool.”

She nodded.  “I decided to track down the bracelet he
already made.  As you know, crafting an item with magical properties is very
difficult.  We both looked for another who could make us what we wanted, but no
one else knows how.”

 “A’yup,” he chirped, a single nod to emphasize the
point.  “Magicians I know who can actually craft a lasting item can only make
two or three different ones.”  Jenni continued letting his eyes grope Ilona’s
bound yet bulging breasts, then sighed audibly, a decision having been reached. 
“There’s no point in carrying risky stock if you don’t risk making any sales. 
Hold on for a moment, dear.”

With many puffs, the fat man rose from the tall stool
he perched atop.  Out front, beside the shop’s door, hung a small wooden plaque
with the word
open
carved on it.  Jenni pulled the door open and
switched the sign with the
closed
plaque hanging from a hook inside the
entryway.  After locking the door, he shuffled behind the counter.

“Come back here, dear.  Both of you.”  He held up the
hinged countertop so they could pass under.

The counter, shaped like an L, barred off the shop’s
back corner.  Once they were inside the forbidden zone, Jenni led them through
a hanging curtain.  In the back storeroom he carefully arranged the curtain so
it completely covered the doorway.

Marik found the storeroom filled with crates, sacks,
barrels, boxes, leather pouches, bottles and tied packages.  Jenni maneuvered
his bulk through the narrow aisles, bringing them to an enormous, oversized
barrel lying on its side.  It could easily hold a hundred gallons of wine.

“Move further back,” he instructed when they halted
before the massive cask.  Jenni pulled a clawed hammer off a wall hook.  Using
the claw, he pried at a nail stuck into the inside rim an inch above the wagon
wheel lid.

Looking closer, Marik saw that three nails held the
giant round circle in place.  None were pounded far in.  It would be impossible
for this cask to actually hold any liquid.

It required little work on Jenni’s part to pry the
nails out.  They had only been there to prevent the lid from falling over. 
“Now,” he said while he tucked the nails into his pocket.  “For something like
this, a shopkeeper takes a risk.  The price needs to match the punishment I’d
receive if it was ever discovered by the cityguard.”

Ilona nodded again.  “I did not expect this to be
cheap.”

Jenni poked at the lid until it tilted into his hand. 
He did not pull it out.  Instead, he spun it enough that he could reach into
the dark interior.  It prevented Marik from seeing what else might be inside,
as the fat man obviously intended.

When he retracted his hand, he held an item wrapped in
old cloth.  He pushed the lid back against the barrel with his bulk to hold it
in place.

Both Marik and Ilona leaned forward while Jenni
unwound the cloth.  A glint of gold flashed in the dimness.  The man held it
up, balanced on his pudgy palm.

It was exactly the same, except this one held no
charms.  Every line was identical to the one Marik had taken from the
unconscious assassin.  He caught his breath as he gazed on the golden circle.

Until then, Marik had believed the only possible road
that might yield answers had been to find the shop that sold the assassin’s
bracelet in the first place and trace it to whoever purchased it, on the prayer
that such a shop existed at all.  Never had it entered his thoughts that there
might be more than one of the artifacts.  Elation raced through him.  Not only
had their assumptions proven correct, but this was undeniable proof they could
present to the world.

“It works like this,” Jenni said, enjoying their
hungry gaze.  The fat man took the hammer and passed the golden bracelet over
its shaft.  With a familiar
pop
, the hammer disappeared.  A golden charm
in a hammer’s shape bounced from Jenni’s grasping fingers to the floor.

Marik retrieved it since the fat man continued using
his back to prop his hiding hole closed.  He examined the charm.  “Yes,” Marik
whispered lightly.  “That’s what my friend said would happen.”  Bouncing the
charm on his palm, he added, “And it weighs next to nothing.  This will help
you with those bulkier treasures you’ve had to leave behind before.”

Ilona took the charm from Marik.  Her face wore that
peculiar expression familiar to him.  The same look that always appeared,
however briefly, when she succeeded in forcing a demonstration of his magic. 
Was she forcing herself to remain calm in the face of such unnaturalness?

“Yes.  This will be most useful.  I could carry away
most of the house in a single night.”

“There are limits to it,” Jenni warned, recapturing
their attention.  “You can only reduce a few items at a time.  After three or
four, you’ll wear the magic out.  It takes several candlemarks to refresh, and
the same goes for returning the charms to their normal states.  And it won’t
work on anything living.”  He passed the golden hammer through the bracelet. 
This time he caught the handle before it tumbled away.

“Still it is useful,” Ilona replied.  She hesitated,
than asked, “And how much would you be asking for it?”

Jenni shrugged.  “I had a second one.  It sold for
forty-two golds.”

Marik choked as even Ilona looked startled.  “That
much?”  She sounded outraged.  “That’s a king’s ransom, that is!  I could buy
your shop five times over for that!”

The fat man merely shrugged.  “This is a one-of-a-kind
item.”

“It’s hardly one-of-a-kind,” Marik retorted, “if
you’ve already sold another!”

Jenni raised his eyebrows.  He refrained from a
response.

Ilona haggled.  “How many customers will walk past
your door with ten golds to their name, let alone forty?”

“Forty-two is the going price.  Take it or leave it. 
Sooner or later somebody will pay it.”  The fat man wrapped the bracelet back
in its cloth.

“Do you expect me to carry around that kind of
wealth?”

Jenni replaced the magical item inside the wine cask. 
“I expect that if you want it as bad as all that, that you will find a way to
come up with the coin.  And don’t think about stealing it.  My shop is
protected.”  He pounded the nails back in without explaining exactly what he meant
by that.

Continued outraged protests fell on Jenni’s deaf
ears.  In the end they promised the man they would return.  Marik felt as happy
to go.  The reek of the fat man’s sweat gradually lightened his head in the
enclosed space.  Out on the street, Dietrik rejoined them the moment they
exited.

He kept them from wasting their breaths when he read
it on their faces.  “You struck gold.”

“Yeah,” Marik replied.  “A vein the size of this
street.  This is the place!”

It was still early.  This had been the second shop of
the morning.  They worked their way back to the Inner Circle while Dietrik
asked questions.  In the end, he asked, “Tonight, then?”

“I think so,” Marik told him.  “I’m amazed there’s two
of those bracelets, but I can’t imagine multiple shops are selling them.  Jenni
will be able to tell us about whoever bought the first one.”

Dietrik agreed.  “What shall we do with Hilliard?  The
lad can’t be left alone, and Landon and Kerwin will insist on coming.”

Marik toyed with the idea of leaving him with Walsh’s
regulars, who would buy the young noble a steady round of drinks all night to
keep Hilliard recounting the harrowing tales of the tournament events.  He
discounted that as too risky when Ilona offered, “Why don’t you leave him at
the Spell?”

Before Marik could respond, Dietrik faced her.  “Not
to be rude, lass, but I do not think you will add anything to the efforts
tonight.”

“Who said I was going along with you?  I’ve got what I
need.  I’ll tell the cityguard tomorrow all about that fat bag of guts and his
wine cask.  That should clear the Standing Spell of all suspicion of
involvement.”

“Then why offer to involve yourself in our affairs?”

Fresh surprise colored her lovely features before she
tossed her wavy hair back.  “Involve?”  She laughed.  “In case you’ve
forgotten, mercenary, the Standing Spell is a place for a gentleman with extra
time on his hands.”

Marik entered the fray.  He felt his skin reddening. 
“Uh, well Ilona…while I suppose that might be the last place an assassin would
think he would hide, I don’t see how I could convince Janus that the coin spent
at a br…um, gentleman’s establishment was a necessary expense.”  His face
flamed.