Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (62 page)

Felice made herself smile in return. Was he different since killing Savine? Was it possible the sorcerer had affected him in some way? “I guess not. Just don’t drink too much; we’ve still some work to do.”

“As you wish.”

She left them to their low-key celebrations, scanning the crowd in the restaurant for anyone suspicious. Had that man in the red coat and hat been staring at them? She deliberately looked away while trying to observe him in her peripheral vision. A blonde woman approached the man and sat in his lap, and they laughed like good friends. No, he didn’t look like he was spying on them. Perhaps the group of women… Felice cursed at herself under her breath. She was becoming paranoid. But with good reason.

What if Rebecci couldn’t meet them? What if she didn’t even receive the message? Would Savine’s followers be able to track them as the sorcerer had? She needed contingency plans.

Felice signaled to a waiter for another jug of ale and poured Izak and the heavies a round. “Last one,” she said. “After this, we’ll head to a safe place and wait for Rebecci to arrive.”

Izak wiped foam from his goatee and leaned forward. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the Cemetery.”

Izak frowned. “Is Rebecci going to be able to find us there?”

“Oh, I’m sure she will. She’s been there before.”

“You didn’t mention this earlier.”

Felice studied his face then glanced at the heavies. Her thoughts were still buzzing with actions and consequences. She had to be careful. “You didn’t need to know. Now, finish your drink so we can go.” She coughed, covering her mouth with a hand. Her infection lingered, but she guessed she should be thankful she was still alive. Avigdor couldn’t say the same. They’ll pay for everything they’ve done, she vowed,
even
if I have to cut Kelhak’s throat myself.

She led them out of the restaurant and pushed her way down the crowded street, hardly seeing the food stalls and the people they passed. Five Flowers gave way to Cabbage Town, and the streets narrowed. Buildings to either side loomed over them. Well-lit roads turned to shadows and darkness; the only light to see by came from the moon and whatever spilled from between door cracks and windows.

Felice hurried Izak and the heavies as much as she could, claiming the risk was greatest when they were on the move, that they were exposed when traveling from place to place. But she knew this wasn’t so. You were most at risk when you were one step behind and had no idea what was about to happen. With luck, she’d be the one a step ahead this time.

She turned north until they reached the River Stock, which, when joined by the River Modder at the beginning of Dockside, turned into the River Sop before emptying into the harbor. Even at night, the stench of the contaminated water was overwhelming. Having flowed through most of the city, the river was comprised of more garbage and effluent than water. At least at night its surface wasn’t being baked by the sun, and the insects that fed and bred in it were mostly inactive. Following the river, they crossed it using a ramshackle wooden bridge, one she knew hadn’t been approved by the city’s officials.

Once, not so long ago, the bridge would have worried her. It was a sign of disorder in an otherwise orderly society. And the polluted river was just another sign of civilization, a necessary evil. Now, though… she couldn’t help but think of the Indryallans’ mantra when they’d invaded. The Mahruse Empire was corrupt, they’d announced. The wealthy profited at the expense of the weak. For that was what they’d called the poor: weak and less fortunate. In her heart, she couldn’t help but agree with them. But fixing what was wrong with the empire would have to wait. Invasion and murder wasn’t the way to initiate change for the better.

As they entered Dockside, she brushed away Izak’s attempt at conversation. She needed all her wits about her. He gave her an annoyed look but thankfully held his tongue.

They emerged onto the docks without incident and made their way north toward the Cemetery. Felice chewed a thumbnail. Her clothes were damp with sweat, and her cuts itched abominably. Healing, she presumed; better to think that than the alternative.

“Come on,” she said to the heavies. “It’s not far now.”

She led them along the waterfront until they passed the beginning of the Cemetery. From the dilapidated and rotting ships, makeshift bridges and gangplanks crossed to the street. They had been put together from whatever spare wood could be found, usually part of the ships themselves, and lashed together with old rope spliced into useable lengths.

Felice laughed, breathing in the air as they crossed one of the creaky bridges onto the deck of what looked to be an old trading vessel, shallow drafted and wide beamed. It always delighted her that one of the worst places in Anasoma to live, the Cemetery, a floating slum, had the freshest air in the whole city.

The ships hardly moved sideways in the swell, tied as they all were to at least three or four other abandoned vessels. They rose and fell gently, far easier to traverse than lone ships in the harbor or out at sea. It wasn’t long before they reached the one Felice had taken for her own hideout not so long ago.

She hissed at the rats on the deck, but they didn’t move and uncaringly watched her pass. Down into the hulk they went, and she cursed at her locked door. She didn’t have the key.

“Break it down,” she ordered the men, pushing her way through them to give them enough room. It took seven hard kicks from one of the heavies before they were through.

As they entered, she lit one of the lamps then directed Izak to light another. Her heart almost lifted as the illumination chased away the darkness and her familiar room materialized.

She found a piece of paper, ink and pen, and sat in her armchair, one leg over an armrest.

“What do we do now?” asked Izak, and the heavies looked at her expectantly.

“You make yourselves comfortable and wait. I’ve a note to write.”

She left them to their devices and dipped her pen in the ink. After a moment’s thought, she scratched her suspicions on the paper and was done. It had to be the heavy… but she was fearful she had it wrong and it was Izak after all. Blowing the ink until it dried, she sat back and sighed, bone weary. It had been a hard few days and an eventful night. And unless she missed her guess, it might not be over. She could count on one hand the times she’d been wrong.

Felice started at the knock on the door. Chairs scraped on wood as all three of the heavies stood abruptly. Izak hadn’t moved from another chair on her right, and she noted the heavies had long knives drawn.

She rubbed her eyes and coughed. Her hand felt for the note she’d folded in half then half again. Still there. Good.

“Come in,” she said, then to the heavies, “Don’t try anything; you’ll likely regret it.”

Hinges squeaked as the door opened to admit Rebecci, rail-thin, with her white hair a tangled mess. She looked straight at Felice and nodded. “Lady Felicienne.” She turned to Izak. “And Sir Izak.”

Izak rose and bowed from the waist.

Felice noted his gesture and pursed her lips, nodding. She hoped her guess was right, or likely she’d be dead soon. “Lady Rebecci, it’s—”

“Please, I’m no lady.”

“Ah… Rebecci, then.”

“I see you’ve kept my men alive. And I take it from the looks of you, you’ve a story to tell.”

The sorcerer looked nervous, Felice noted. Her eyes flicked left and right, lingering on Izak, where she licked her lips and dropped her gaze to the floor. A terrible actress, thought Felice. She’s had time to prepare, and this is the best she can do?

Rebecci’s hands were clamped together behind her back, clutching an object. A
crafting
, surmised Felice. She’d better know what she’s doing. Then again, she wouldn’t be here unless she was confident in her abilities. That’s something.

Felice approached her and held out the note she’d written earlier. When Rebecci took the paper, she stepped back. “Read that. And while you do, I’ll pour myself a drink.”

She left Rebecci unfolding the paper in front of a puzzled-looking Izak and moved behind the three heavies, locating a glass and using her shirt to wipe the inside. She uncorked a bottle and sniffed the opening, wrinkling her nose. Shrugging, she poured herself half a glass of red wine. When she turned, glass and bottle in hand, Rebecci was staring at her.

“Do you understand?” she asked the sorcerer.

Returning a curt nod, Rebecci swallowed.

“Good,” said Felice, praying her deductions were correct. She smashed the bottle into the head of the heavy in front of her—the man who’d come to Izak’s aid in the fight with Savine. The one who’d been keen to take her message to Rebecci.

Fragments of glass and red wine sprayed over her, and she flinched.

That was for Avigdor.

The heavy crumpled like an empty shirt, and his companions shouted in surprise. Izak jumped back, mouth agape.

A multicolored layer covered Rebecci, and she stepped forward, boots crunching on broken glass, muttering to herself. She was pale and trembling.

As long as she has a solution and gets the job done, thought Felice.

As the heavy groaned amid shattered glass and wine, the sorcerer revealed what she’d been clutching. A diamond the size of a chicken’s egg, encased in a thin silver cage covered with runes. Rebecci placed the
crafting
on the back of the prostrate heavy’s neck. The heavy stiffened and ceased moving. He uttered a strangled moan.

“By the ancestors!” exclaimed the leader of the heavies. “What’s going on?”

Izak closed his mouth and stuttered. “Wh… yes, Felice, what’s happening?”

“Quiet, all of you! Rebecci here is about to save our lives.”

Rebecci gave her a hasty look of gratitude, though tension filled her face. “Does he have any
crafting
s?”

“No,” replied Felice. “I made sure I took them all. No one’s touched them since.”

“Good.” Rebecci turned back to the heavy and pressed the diamond into his neck.

Flesh sizzled, and smoke drifted up from burning hair, its stench filling the cabin. Around the diamond, glowing lines appeared under the man’s skin, penetrating into his flesh. Felice watched as two extended toward the back of his head.

“I’ll ask again: what’s going on?” The leader of the heavies had drawn his knife and was pointing it at Felice.

“Hush,” she said. “This man isn’t what he seems.”

The heavy frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rebecci flashed her a warning look before returning to her task.

“I believe the sorcerer we… disposed of may have done something to him. Rebecci here will confirm whether that’s the case, and whether we are safe or not.”

The heavy looked puzzled but held his tongue. After a glance at the man on the floor with a shielded Rebecci leaning over him, he sheathed his blade.

“You’ve some explaining to do.”

Felice smiled, eyes hard. “Not likely. You’ll be paid for your services then go on your way, making no mention of what’s happened today. You didn’t hear anything, you didn’t see anything. Is that clear?”

The heavies hesitated, and then the leader nodded. Seeing him agree, the others did the same.

“In fact,” added Felice, “You may as well leave now.” She went to her desk, and from the back of a drawer withdrew a coin purse. Not the best hiding place, but the majority of her fighting funds were in a locked box sunk in the bilge. She poured the ducats into her palm, hesitated, then divided them evenly. Handing the portions to the heavies, she cautioned them. “Not a word. If we find out you’ve been talking, it’ll go hard for you.”

“As you wish, my lady. This is far more than we’re usually paid, so feel free to call us anytime you need our services.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, out.”

They looked to Rebecci for permission. She nodded and they filed out.

Once they left, Felice breathed a sigh of relief. “Izak, stop looking like you saw one of the ancestors’ spirits and find another bottle of wine. I think we’ll all need a drink after this.”

Izak skirted a wide berth around the heavy on the floor and went looking for another bottle. She left him and bent down close to Rebecci, whispering in her ear.

“What are you doing? I assume I was right?”

Rebecci wiped her sweaty brow, not taking her eyes off the diamond
crafting
, which was now glowing with a sickly green diffuse light. “Yes. Though, how you were able to guess is—”

“Something I may tell you later, if I decide to. Now, what are you doing?”

“Containing him. For the moment.”

“Savine?”

Rebecci nodded. “I… I’m reluctant to do this but…” She shook her head. “It’s for the best. I hope I’m forgiven. Usually, the First Deliverer would be the one making this decision.”

“And who’s he, when he’s around?”

“Our leader. He… saved us. All of us.” The sorcerer shifted her weight, moving closer to the heavy. She placed a hand on the top of the man’s head.

She’s reluctant to speak of him. Well, that can change. “So, you’re only able to contain Savine. Not remove him?”

“Later, perhaps.”

Rebecci’s voice held a great deal of strain, and Felice grew concerned. She had no idea what the sorcerer was doing or how much it drained her. If something went wrong… “Your people are on their way?”

“Yes,” said Rebecci with a nod. “We decided it would alert Savine if too many of us came at once. If it was just me, and he thought you had no idea what had happened, he’d be off his guard. You said it was Izak, though.”

“I thought so at first but changed my mind.”

“What gave him away?”

Felice shrugged. “It had to be him once I’d eliminated Izak from consideration. There were no other options.” His annoying quirks were too hard to mimic, and she knew him too well.

She looked up as Izak approached, another bottle in hand.

“I’m afraid there’s only spirits left.”

“Perfect. Pour a measure for the three of us. I suspect we’ll be needing a strong drink, and I for one need something for my nerves.” She gave Izak a smile, not because she was nervous, but because he was.

“Ah… yes. Good idea.” Izak found a few small glasses and poured them a drink. Felice took the offered glass, as did Rebecci.