Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (57 page)

She laughed all over.  “Men always enjoy jumping to
conclusions.  I never said we would provide him with any of our services.  I
said you could leave him at the Spell.  Mother loves a good conversation better
than a good man in her sheets.”  Marik
knew
his hair would catch fire
any moment.  “She’ll keep him up all night talking and having tea and being
concerned about the attack.  You’ll be back before he realizes its nearly
morning.”

Before Dietrik could make his feelings known, Marik
hurriedly said, “Then I guess that’s the best bet.  Uh…thanks…Ilona.”  She
studied him with her sharp-edged amusement.  He increased the pace so he walked
ahead where she could not see him.

After they returned to the Spell, he shucked out of
the uncomfortable robe. 
For the last time,
he fervently hoped.  Dietrik
remained in the foyer, striving to be cute for Rosa, whom he seemed to find
attractive.  Marik hardly noticed the heavy perfume in the hallways any
longer.  He was strapping his sword to his back when Ilona entered, stripping
off the thief’s shirt.  His fingers went clumsy on the buckle while he watched
her back arch as she let the sleeves slip down her arms.

Only the cloth strip winding around her bosom covered
her torso.  She dug through a pile of feminine clothing on the floor as he
stood frozen for several moments, lost in the graceful perfection of her
movements.  But she had faced the mirror, he realized, and further realized she
must be glancing at him in it, staring at her like a witless fool.  He finished
securing the long sheath in a clumsy rush.

“You’ll bring your noble by at nightfall?”  She turned
with a long dress draped in her hands.

“Yes.”  Marik wanted to sound casual.

“I’ll tell mother to expect him, then.”  Ilona faced
the mirror, adjusting a lace on the dress’ bodice.  Marik drank in one last
look before heading for the door.  The shop was found, so her part in it had
ended.  It depressed him mightily.  Tonight would be the last time he would
probably see her.

“Marik.”  He glanced over his shoulder to see she had
not moved.  She watched him from the corner of her mirror with the cold
calculation most familiar to him of all her moods.  Then, as sudden as an
unseen punch, and driving the wind from his lungs in much the same manner, her
mouth twisted into the faintest hint of a wily grin.  “After you finish this
business of yours…”

“Yes?”  He held his breath.

“Come by and tell me about it.”  A pause.  “I’m
curious how it will finish.”

Marik nodded.  “I’ll do that.”

He collected Dietrik and, walking with him, worked
very hard to avoid acting as foolish as his old friend Chatham.

*        *        *        *        *

Kerwin sauntered closer to where Marik stood watch by
the entrance.  Marik shifted from studying the dark street outside through the
slightly cracked shop door.  Wheezing and muted words drifted from behind the
curtain dividing the back room from the public area.

“I’m surprised that fellow has lasted this long as a
shady shopkeeper in the city,” the gambler opened with.  “He cracked at the
first tap of the shell.”

Marik grimaced.  “How hard did you tap?”

“Oh, hardly a flick of the fingernail.  Dietrik’s
sitting on his fat belly, and that sad sack is so out of shape he’s having
trouble catching his breath.  Add in Landon’s hard-bitten mercenary act, and
he’s trembling with eyes wide.  Looks like a drunk who just realized he lost
his drinking coin on a sure bet.”

“At least we didn’t need to get…well, worse than
that.  Still, I wonder why he collapsed so fast.”

“I can hazard a guess on that matter.  He’s a front
man for Thoenar’s dark guilds.  The local thugs know enough not to cross him,
or else his backers will visit the troublemakers in the night.  As long as
Jenni works for them, they look after his back.  No one has ever held a knife
to his throat before.”

“So he is in with the dark guilds then.  He told you
that?”

“After Landon started drumming his fingers along his
dagger hilt, yeah.”

Marik nodded in satisfaction.  “Good.  So we were
right after all.”

“Well…”  Kerwin scratched a fingernail against his
jaw.  “Yes and no.  This is one of those cases where we only profited because
we were lucky as all hells.  Seven out of thirteen, with snake’s eyes all
around.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We decided to look into the shady alchemy shops
because of the phosphorus we found on that killer’s clothing, right?  We
thought the thieves might be connected to one of those, right?”

“Yeah.  And so?”

“And so we find out where all the nasty shops are and
begin looking.  That bracelet of yours also added fuel to that particular blaze
of our thinking.”

“So what, Kerwin?  We found what we wanted.”

“So,” the gambler continued, “we were wrong.”

That startled Marik greatly.  “What?”

“Here’s what our fat friend told us.  An eightday or
so before we arrived in Thoenar, the local thugs brought over a group of
outsiders from Spirratta to his shop.  These foreigners were in town to take
care of a little business.”

“Hilliard,” Marik stated.

“We know that, but Jenni says he didn’t know the
particulars.  The Spirrattans needed a place to stay hidden while in the city,
and the regular safe havens the local guilds used were all compromised due to a
sweep by the cityguard.  Bad timing and all that, because the guard was
sweeping as many rats out of the city as they could to make it safer for the
tournament.  So they dumped the group on Jenni with orders to put them up.”

“I bet he didn’t like that.  But the phosphorus they
picked up in the shop brought us to them in the end.”

Kerwin shook his head.  “No, that’s where our
assumptions dead end against the wall.  What happened is that Jenni became
extremely nervous.  The cityguard already keeps their eye on his shop, and
having a gang of killers upstairs made him jump like fat on a hot pan.  He
wanted them out of his shop, so arranged with one of his stock suppliers to
house them.”

Marik blinked.  Kerwin continued as he analyzed this
new information, looking for the sense.

“Turns out there are plenty of businesses on the
city’s outskirts, doing work that’s too unpleasant to do in the heart of the
population.  Renderers and slaughterers and the like.  Out there is a setup
that refines all sorts of chemicals and components for shops like this.  One of
their biggest products is phosphorus.  That’s where our first assassin friend
picked up the white powder on his clothing.”

“So Jenni…”

Kerwin shrugged.  “After they had been settled with
his supplier for some time, they suddenly came back to his shop.  They didn’t
say much, only wanted to see everything he had that might be useful for an
assassination.  Best guess is that was right after the attack on the chapter
house.  They must have known they needed a new plan and wanted to study their
available resources.  Jenni gave them the bracelet and hasn’t seen them since.”

“Gave it to them, huh?  Didn’t sell it to them?”

“That’s what he said.  Why?”

“Nothing.  He’s not quite as dumb as he looks.”

“You see what happened though, don’t you?  The
phosphorus alone wouldn’t have led us to them through Jenni.  It’s only the
fact that they came back and got their bracelet from him that formed the
connection we stumbled on.”

“Yeah, I see.  So we were completely wrong on the
matter of the phosphorus, but following the alchemy shops brought us through in
the end anyway.”

“An impressive stretch of luck,” Kerwin agreed.

Dietrik passed through the curtain into the darkened
shop.  “I think we’ve drained this blighter of anything useful he might say. 
Any thoughts on what the next step might be?”

“You know where this phosphorus refinery is?”

“Indeed,” Dietrik replied.  “It lies across the
river.  On foot, it would take us near on two candlemarks once we exit the city
proper.”

Kerwin added, “And I don’t feature attacking an
unknown enemy stronghold in the dark until I get a good look at it in the
daylight.”

“Attack?  We don’t know how many enemies there are out
there.”

“Our friend says only half a dozen thieves from
Spirratta arrived in his shop,” Dietrik mentioned with a thumb gesturing over
his shoulder.  “I imagine most of the local ruffians prefer to stay in the
city.  Since the woman assassin is assuredly one of the Spirrattans, and we
must have taken down one or two others during the ruckus in the alleys, then
we’re likely looking at an even match.”

“I don’t know,” Marik wavered.  “Let’s see what Landon
thinks.”

In the back room he found Jenni still sprawled on the
floor in the night robe he had worn to bed before they interrupted his sleep. 
He still huffed like a horse fresh off Tourney Town’s racing track, his massive
flesh billowing in great heaves of inhalation.

Landon leaned against a wall, keeping an eye on the
slug.  When asked, he offered the opinion, “I believe the last course of action
they will expect from us would be frontal assault.  If we catch them off guard,
we may be able to put an end to this affair.”

“Then,” Marik decided, glad the experienced veteran
was there to guide him, “I guess we go tomorrow.  Tonight’s no good.  But what
about him?”  He pointed at Jenni.

Landon smiled grimily at the fat man huffing on the
floor.  “Oh, he and I have reached a meeting of minds.  He will keep his
silence.”

With little left to accomplish at Jenni’s shop, they
departed to return to the Standing Spell, all the while Marik wondering how
Landon had convinced the man to stay away from the dark guilds.

He also felt a mild weight leave his shoulders, a
burden he had not consciously been aware of until he felt its departure. 
Though loath to admit so, a faint worry about Ilona had crept over his heart. 
Marik had shrugged off her choice of disguise as a thief, despite it clearly
striking Dietrik as portentous.  Prudence on her part, that was all, and the
fact that professional thieves were at the heart of their troubles proved
nothing except that coincidences happened all the time.

But then she took an unnatural interest in his mage
powers.  That avid expression he glimpsed during those displays had begun to
make him worry over what lay at the heart of her interest.  Did she study him
to see how powerful his magic might be, so as to better assess the challenge of
killing Hilliard Garroway?

Foolish thoughts, he knew, yet insidious and
persistent.  With Jenni proving once and for all that the Spell had no connection
to the assassination attempt, Marik felt the shadow of doubt evaporate from his
being.

At the Standing Spell they entered to find Hilliard in
full swing.  Marik, having expected to find the youth in any possible number of
situations other than this, discovered that worms of jealously could be born on
the instant.

In a side parlor furnished with low couches, stuffed
chairs and tea tables, the future baron of Stonescape held court.  Vashti sat
regally in a long emerald-green dress that accented her olive skin tone, as
striking as any of the ladies Marik had seen in the palace gardens.  She held a
steaming teacup while watching the young man with genuine interest, as opposed
to courteous attention accorded for politeness’ sake.  Ilona claimed the next chair
over, dressed in the captivating ensemble she had worn to the Sestion mansion,
also taking interest in the proceedings, but she was amused more by the other
women in the room than by Hilliard.

Marik recognized each woman present.  He knew none of
their names other than Rosa and Corissa.  Only three others had joined the
madam in entertaining the young noble, making for a total of seven beautiful
ladies bending their attention on Hilliard.  The four women who worked as
entertainers of the gentry had chosen sultry, sensual garb, where the three who
ran the business were reserved.  Corissa in particular lounged as languidly as
a cat, full length across a fuzzy couch, artfully situated so that as much of
her bosoms escaped the low neckline as possible without actually falling free.

Of which Hilliard appeared completely oblivious. 
Marik instantly recognized the topic he discoursed on as he stood within the
ring of feminine onlookers.  Not the tournament, as might have been expected,
or his value as a member of the nobility.  His passionate delivery centered on
Duke Tilus of Spirratta, and on how true men never wavered from their ideals.

That he could speak coherently within the wash of
sweetly perfumed fragrance and beautiful visions annoyed Marik severely.  He
watched the youth continue for a moment,
his
brain apparently never
hitching for an instant while he spoke in Ilona’s presence.  Marik knew his
irritation must have flashed across his face because Ilona’s half-amused smirk
intensified.

Hilliard noticed their arrival by the shift in the
women’s gazes.  He turned to meet them, and Marik observed how smoothly his
movements were executed.  Irritation unlike any he had ever felt toward the
younger man swelled within Marik, making him comment in a waspish tone, “I see
you’ve spent a pleasant evening while we skulked through the shadows.”