Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (17 page)

She was perched atop the roof of a building that gave them a view of the main street below. Clambering up on dirty, and sometimes loose, tiles had been treacherous, but once there they had managed to find a position of relative safety where two roofs met. Even with his bulk, Avigdor managed to scramble along behind her, showing a relative spryness, though he always declined to join Felice in her thrice weekly weapons training and workouts. She believed in being prepared for any circumstance, while he relied on his wits to carry a situation.

Despite the morning sun beating down, their proximity to the docks ensured a cold breeze blew over her, making the heat somewhat tolerable. Though the characteristic stench of Dockside was altogether unpleasant.

Below them, the street bustled with the morning’s business and goings-on, which had almost approached normalcy over the last few days. It was strange the way the populace had reacted to the invaders, from the initial fear and anger to resignation, and now to… what? Habitual routine? The only change for many of the people was the invaders’ patrols in the streets, replacing the Harbor Watch and emperor’s Quivers. One master replacing another, with the servants untroubled.

The Indryallans had organized efficient work gangs using the emperor’s prisoners and enforced laborers, actually paying them for their effort. The gangs made short work of cleaning up the damage caused during the fighting and burying the corpses of both sides. For days, the road up to the cemetery at Slag Hill had been busy with carts hauling bodies followed by teams spreading sand along the road to soak up any fluids.

Avigdor sniffed his runny nose then gagged, eyes watering. “Urgh, it’s like maggoty fish.”

“Stop, you’re making me hungry.”

With a snort of laughter, Avigdor resumed surveilling the street below, focusing on the frontage of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern.

“So, Izak’s inside?” asked Avigdor.

“Yes, though he was followed. Probably all the way from his house, and maybe all night.” Felice grunted. “Rebecci knows her business.”

“That’s what worries me. Izak had no idea he was being followed, and he took some precautions. A simple merchant company shouldn’t be this adept at subterfuge.”

“My dear, of course they should! It’s how I would run my business, if I had one.”

“If you had one, I’d buy a stake.”

Avigdor scratched his head. “He’s leaving,” he said abruptly.

“Keep your eyes… eye on him. Is he still being followed?”

After a few moments, Avigdor nodded. “Yes.”

“Is he heading straight to the Cemetery?”

“Seems to be. He’s walking north.”

Felice cursed. She took a deep breath, fists balled at her sides.

“We have to stop him. We can’t let him inadvertently reveal the location of our hideout.”

“Agreed, but how?”

Felice turned her back to him and began scrabbling across the roof back the way they had come, thinking furiously. “I don’t know yet, but we’d better come up with a plan soon.”

•

“What’s this?” exclaimed Izak.

A filthy urchin had stopped in front of him, hand outstretched, as if begging for ducats. Nervous as he was he almost jumped out of his skin. He narrowed his eyes and peered around him, searching for anyone suspicious. The letter of reply from Rebecci was tucked safely in his inside vest pocket. He brushed his hand against it to reassure himself it was still there.

“Take it, sir,” whispered the urchin, who was of indeterminate gender, hair hacked short to keep the lice at bay, and with a face that hadn’t been washed in who knows how long? The child took a step closer to him, hand still extended.

It was then he noticed a small, tightly folded piece of paper stuck between its fingers.

“Lady said I get a ducat to give it to you.”

“Did she now?” Izak peered around again and smoothed his goatee. “Was she, perchance, a noble woman, slender, long, braided hair, pockmarks on her cheeks?”

“Eh? Oh pockmarks, she did. Said you’d give me a ducat.”

Izak sighed, reaching into a pocket. He dropped the copper coin into the urchin’s hand and plucked out the note. The child disappeared into the crowd, gone in an instant.

Izak ducked through a gap in the crowd to the relative calmness of a street corner and stood in front of a vendor’s stall selling fresh fish. After a quick glance around to ensure he wasn’t observed, he unfolded the paper to reveal a short, unsigned note.

You are being followed. Do NOT meet us. Do NOT go home. Go to the brothel we met at previously, and we will contact you.

A shudder ran through him. He shoved the note in his pocket without thinking. Around him, everyone in the crowd seemed to take on a sinister air. He swallowed, mouth dry. His hands trembled.

“Here, are you gonna buy something or not?”

The harsh demand from the fish stall proprietor shook him out of his fugue.

“Ah…” he stammered. “No.” Clearing his throat, he winked. “When a woman orders you to a brothel, you don’t say no, and you certainly don’t delay!”

Giving the surprised man a nod, he broke into a run, turning down a side street.

•

Felice lowered the brass telescope, and with deft movements collapsed it to a small cylinder and placed it into her belt pouch.

“He ran,” she said with exasperation.

Avigdor chuckled. “No doubt he was startled. Rebecci’s people will probably keep track of him, in spite of his best efforts. Come on, let’s get that letter to the brothel owner, and she can obtain the letter from Izak for us. One of our men can deliver it.”

“I guess it can’t be helped,” said Felice, biting her lower lip. She had to give Izak some leeway, though she didn’t have to like the way he reacted. This game had much higher stakes than even she was used to, and she found she was enjoying herself, despite the danger.

It was almost noon by the time they reached their headquarters inside the Cemetery. Felice had insisted on stopping to give orders to various members of the resistance, in relation to Izak and to other matters. Their potential alliance with Rebecci and her company was only one part of their plan, and everything seemed to need constant adjustments and decisions.

They left a group of men on one of the derelict ships after consulting with them and issuing new orders. They scampered over the hulks and across planks serving as makeshift bridges between them, until they reached the wreck housing their quarters.

Rats and cockroaches scuttled out of their way over graying, worn timbers, an early warning they often joked about. So, it was without fear that they unlocked the bright metal latch they had installed and entered Felice’s rooms.

Avigdor stood to the side, while Felice fumbled around for a match and lit a lamp. The darkness receded to reveal a figure lounging in one of their armchairs. It was a woman, thin, with white hair in a tangled mess. She was dressed in plain but quality clothes: a loose black skirt along with a burgundy tunic.

Both of them froze, Avigdor in the process of locking the door, and Felice, hands still on the lamp.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t be coming. This chair isn’t the most comfortable, but I almost fell asleep.”

Rebecci, the representative of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern, stifled a yawn, hand placed delicately over her open mouth. She sat up in the chair and looked at them expectantly.

Felice was the first to move. She gently put the lamp on a ledge with a faint clank and gave the woman a short bow.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home. Would you like a glass of wine?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

With a brief glance at Avigdor, Felice walked over to the drinks cabinet and drew out three glasses, which she deposited on the table. She took out a bottle and gazed at the label, then returned it for another. After examining the second bottle, she nodded to herself and held it out to Avigdor. “Would you be so kind as to open this?”

“And how am I supposed to do that? With my teeth?”

Felice took a corkscrew from the drawer and handed it to him.

Avigdor took them from her, hands trembling ever so slightly, and started scratching away the wax seal around the cork.

Felice dragged a chair from against the wall and placed it a few feet from Rebecci, along with a second chair for Avigdor, who by now was pouring the wine, a deep, almost black, red with flecks of gold.

“Go ahead, please,” said Felice, claiming a glass, watching as Rebecci and Avigdor lifted theirs.

She tilted her glass toward Rebecci with a nod and brought it to her lips; the wine’s bouquet filled her nose with blackberry and cherries, and a hint of pepper.

“Crafted wine,” remarked Rebecci. “Expensive. Even more so, I would imagine, after recent events.”

“Something needed to make up for the decor.” Felice punctuated her statement by waving a hand at the dilapidated furnishings, all of which were chipped, scarred, patched, and worn. The only exception was a shiny brass clock, its mechanical ticking filling the silences.

“Indeed.”

Felice studied the woman. Up close, she seemed thinner than she had been told. The hand clutching the stem of her glass was gaunt, almost emaciated, the skin nearly translucent. Her presence here—after a brief contact with Izak last night, while having him watched and followed for less than a day, as far as Felice could tell—presaged a dangerous level of resources and information. Plus the fact she was here alone, and they weren’t being hauled off in chains, or dead already, indicated a certain sympathy for their cause.

She took a sip of wine, letting the liquid linger in her mouth for a few moments, then swallowed. She decided to play dumb, though knew it probably wouldn’t work. One couldn’t be too careful, especially as the make-do leader of the resistance.

“So, it’s Miss Rebecci, I believe?”

Rebecci raised an eyebrow and sat back in her chair. She looked at Felice through half-lidded eyes. “Yes,” she replied shortly.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“The… pleasure?”

“Of your company.”

Felice shifted, as if to get comfortable, using the movement to hang one leg over the arm of her chair, and dropping her left hand close to her boot, where it brushed against the knife she had concealed there. Something about the trader was off. All indications so far pointed to potential support, but if she was able to find their location so quickly, then the invaders might be able to as well. Izak hadn’t been caught, so it wasn’t him, but someone must have talked. A traitor or carelessness; in the end, the result would be the same. She shoved the disagreeable thought to the back of her mind.

“You mustn’t worry so,” said Rebecci. “You have done well, so far, since the invasion. Assisted, of course, by whoever you had take out two of their leaders. Are they close by? I would like to thank them personally, if I may?”

“No. They are… otherwise occupied.”

“Ah, a shame. I would so like to have met them. The echoes of that encounter were intriguing to many of us, to say the least.”

Felice noticed something odd about the woman, she wasn’t wearing any jewelry. But when she’d moved her hand, Felice had caught the faintest tinkle of metal on metal, as if Rebecci wore multiple bracelets. And there were pale tan lines on three of her fingers where she’d worn rings. Felice glanced toward Rebecci’s neckline, and there was a slight bulge. She’d bet her eye teeth the three rings were now hanging on a necklace under Rebecci’s shirt. And only two types of jewelry were useful when concealed:
craftings
and
trinkets
. And she’d been far too casual when talking about sorcery, as one would when exposed to it constantly.

From what Rebecci had just said, and from her concealed jewelry, Felice learned three things: that Rebecci and people she knew had sensed a sorcerous conflict from afar, which meant she and people around her were sorcerers; and that she didn’t mind letting Felice and Avigdor know.

It was a sly exchange of information. A reveal designed to gain her trust, or lower her defenses.

She flicked a glance at Avigdor, who met her gaze and shrugged.

“What have we got to lose?” he asked.

“Everything,” replied Felice quietly.

Rebecci tittered at their exchange, a strangely childish sound. “Come now,” she said. “We should be associates, at the very least. Collaborators. Accomplices. Friends, even. That would be nice. I don’t have many friends.”

Felice frowned. “I’m sorry. But you will forgive me if I don’t take your words at face value.”

“Forgiven. Can I just say that, in my perpetually humble opinion, you would be wise to listen to what I have to say.”

“Really,” drawled Felice, then stopped herself. “Go on.”

“I will speak as plainly as I am able. If I were colluding with the Indryallans, you would be either captured or dead. If any of my people were, you would be captured or dead. If they find you, and they will, soon, you will be captured or dead. And once their God-Emperor arrives, you might wish for a quick death.” She paused, wetting her lips with her wine. “My people are divided. Some have thrown their hand in with the Indryallans. Some, like me, think this is a very bad idea.” She paused again. “You can trust me.”

Felice remained silent.

“They will find you as easily as I did, and when they do, I do not think you could stand up to them.”

“Then why haven’t they?” asked Felice.

With a slight shrug, Rebecci replied. “You have not done anything yet to draw attention to yourself.”

“That will change.”

“Don’t!” exclaimed Rebecci. “You must get out of the city. As should we.”

“What good can we do then? I’d rather stay.”

“I know you need ducats and want to get people out of the city.”

“How do you…?” began Felice. “Never mind. What do you want from us?”

“This city is lost. And so will many more be, if something isn’t done. I propose we join forces. There is a lot we could accomplish together. Our plan is to leave the city and regroup down the coast. We have done as much as we can here since the invasion; others of our kind will join us.”

“Your kind? I assume you mean from the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern?”