Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) (15 page)

“So,” he asked over the rim of his mug, “who was your friend with the table leg?”

“Hmm? Oh, that was Moread. Small time hustler. I think it was an axe handle though.”

“Ah. I didn't really notice with it swiftly approaching my skull.” He tore off another piece of bread. “You seemed awful friendly to a man who was trying to put a dent in me.” She shrugged. “If you can't outfight a two farthing card cheat trying his hand at mugging, I'll need to swap you out for a new companion. It was nice of you not to hurt him too much.”

“What inspired his new calling, you think?”

“It's not something he'd come up with on his own,” she said between bites. “He's not that ambitious. He's being set up, or ordered to make more money.”

“Seems there's a lot of that going on. Plenty of average laborers and tradesmen are coming to learn fighting. Lot's of people worrying about crime that weren't a few months back.”

“Well, crime is up, and spreading. Some merchant's wife got stabbed to death in a robbery a week ago, there've been more muggings, shops have been broken into, and a few of the homes of the high and mighty have been relieved of their burden of excess.” She paused and took a bow. “Not that I had anything to do with the muggings. Or the shops. That's small-time smash-and-grab work. Won't stoop to it.”

“I suppose a woman needs to have her standards.”

“Exactly. And word is the Baron's latest addition to his harem has run off or been kidnapped, and he has the Watch tracking her own, not trying to stamp out this latest crime wave. That's upset people. I mean, the kind of people who aren't always upset and victimized. This is new and exciting for them.”

“So he's got the Watch off chasing this missing girl?” asked Conn. “Who's collecting the bribes for them while they're busy?”

She laughed. “I expect they'll fit that in to their busy schedules.”

“I wonder,” he said grimly, “if people will be quite as happy to be shaken down, what with the attention of the city guard so diverted?”

“I'm sure things will change,” she said. “One way or another. But just take advantage of this time right now. The clouds never obscure the moon long. Strike while they do.”

“Such colorful sayings you get in the city, don't you?” he smiled. “Back home we'd say ‘make hay while the sun shines’.”

“Is that what it's good for?” she asked. “I had wondered.”

* * *

“Problem, Sarge?” the watchman asked.

Sergeant Niath stared down at the corpse formerly known as Fingers. He wasn't exactly overcome with sympathy, but he did have to admit that the man was likely dead because he'd made him talk. The note pinned to his tunic and the position of the body told him that much.

“
Slow Learner
,” read the watchman. “What's that mean. And what's that in his hand? Looks like raw meat.”

“It means old Fingers has finally learned to hold his tongue,” replied the sergeant. He looked at the other watchman, noticing how pale the man had become. “That's what we call a subtle message to the troops.”

After this, the sergeant knew his informants would suddenly forget things, or not see things. Or just go into hiding. He'd need to find some other way of getting his information.

* * *

A dozen hooded figures sat around a table in an abandoned building on the outskirts of town. A cold wind off the harbor blew in through gaps in the boarded windows and made the flames of the few dim candles flicker wildly.

As they shifted uneasily in their seats, wondering who exactly the others were, a voice from the dancing shadows called them to attention.

“Gentlemen,” said the figure, gliding to a seat at the head of the table. “it seems our plan is proceeding well.”

A portly man adjusted an oversized hood and timidly wondered, “But what next? We have the merchants upset, the common people frightened and the Watch paralyzed. What's left to do?”

“The nobility,” stated the leader. “While the Baron sends his men scurrying after this missing girl, and ignores the pleas of the guilds, the nobles still support his right to rule by blood. We need to expand our programs into their backyard.”

There was an uneasy silence as the men looked from one hooded face to another. Some of these people were nobles, a fact made obvious by their accents, if not their faces. Some were merchants, some crime bosses, and some men of influence with the ruler. The fact that none of them were supposed to know the identity of any others was a matter of security, but also of concern. Each time an attack, its order handed down through a dozen layers of insulating hierarchy, struck at a target, one could never be sure of sparing one's co-conspirators. While each man wished dearly he knew the identity of the others in the room, each feared losing his own anonymity.

“And when the nobles lose faith in the Baron?”

The figure at the head of the table leaned back, steepled gloved fingers and placed a pair of expensive boots on the table, crossed at the ankles.

“A suitable candidate will emerge from the shadows. And that candidate will understand his obligations to the guilds and the nobility…And to us.”

* * *

Sergeant Niath stalked through the streets in a cold rage. Crowds parted unnoticed before his glare.

People weren't talking to him. To
him
. He had taken years to build his network of informers, shielded them, kept them out of harm’s way, didn't hurt them any more than he had to– and much, much less than they deserved– and now they were avoiding him, clamming up around him.

He stopped as he neared the banks of the river, took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, think before plunging onward. He'd had to stop looking for his rats, for fear he'd choke the next one to death.
No, no. Can't do that. Waste a resource and poison the well for the rest.

Where else could he get the facts he needed. The facts he knew people were keeping from him? Who would be able to tease out secrets that he couldn’t get by intimidation?

He stopped in his tracks. Maybe that could work.

His lip curled in a grim smile. It would be…interesting to talk to her again.

* * *

Conn and Trilisean turned at the sound of footsteps approaching the table. Not the soft, unobtrusive glide of the waiter, come to refill their glasses, but the steady, self-assured stride of a man who didn't know if he were welcome, but didn't give a toss.

“Evening, all,” he said.

“And to you, Sergeant,” the mercenary replied, noticing the copper badge of rank. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I'd like a word with the lady.”

“How can I assist the Watch?” Trilisean asked, smiling sweetly.

“The real answer to that would be find honest work, but that's not why I've come,” said the man, hooking a chair close with his boot and sitting. “Been a while since we talked, but I imagine you're still a thief. I could use a thief.”

“Such a loaded word
thief,
” Trilisean smiled. “What does that word mean to you?”

“Means you take what doesn't belong to you, from the people who've earned it.”

“If I did that with an axe handle in an alley, I'd be a thug. If I did it with armed men at my back I'd be a brigand. If those men could march in step I'd be a warlord. If they wore matching tabards with arms blazoned on, I'd be a duke. And if I did it by flashing a badge at the powerless, I'd be a watchman.” She smiled as innocently as she knew how. “Since I do it by wits and skills I've worked years to hone, you call me a thief.” She paused for a sip of wine. “If you like, we can discuss the word ‘earned’ for a bit.”

“No need, lass,” he smiled back. “Our paths haven't crossed in a long time. No reason they should have. But we know enough of the same people, and if half what I've heard is true, and that might be generous, given the sources, then you may be able to help me solve a little problem.”

“What problem would that be?” she asked. “I must admit, I'm intrigued.”

“This city was never safe, or fair, or well run. That's the truth. But now somebody is trying to kick the whole house of cards over, and the chaos will make the squalor of this day look like midwinter’s feast.”

“And what makes you think I'd want to hold back the tide?”

“First off, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and appeal to your civic virtue. This is your city as well as mine, and whatever it is, it's better than the anarchy that will follow if what I think is going on turns out to be true.”

“And what's the rate for the job? Whatever you've heard about me, I doubt it was that I work for free.”

“Not for free, maybe, but for freedom itself? There's no treasure so precious, so I'm told.”

“And how is my freedom yours to offer?”

“You help me and I forget things I've heard. Your crimes don't mean a thing to me, as such. You haven't stolen from anyone who didn't probably deserve to lose what you've taken, but I have the authority to drag you before a magistrate and present enough evidence to see you in chains, even if I have to dangle a few witnesses over the canal until they remember things.”

Conn studied the man as he spoke. The Watch sergeant was broad shouldered, tall and so heavily muscled as to seem stocky, his head shaven to deprive a foe of a handhold. His face was scarred and his nose had been broken a few times, and set indifferently. His hands were big and calloused, the knuckles scarred and roughened.

The Aeransman had fought armed soldiers as a boy. He had fought sorcerers and champions and the avatar of an ancient god who bled liquid fire. So he wasn't afraid of the sergeant. He did, however, see something that made him pause.

In the man's eyes, behind the bantering, was a cold, hard, implacable gleam that said this was not just a hard man used to violence. This was a force of nature wrapped in mortal flesh. If the sergeant decided to come for you, he would not be stopped by bribes or threats or pain. To stop the man, you'd have to kill him, and he looked like he'd take a lot of killing.

Conn instinctively liked him.

“I'm sure you've heard how the Baron's latest concubine has vanished,” said the sergeant. “He wants no effort spared in finding her. This is on top of the recent crime wave, which is now effecting those who were previously untouchable. Confidence in the rule of the city is being eroded, among those who've never had reason to question it before. If we can't keep even the rich safe, but we can have the Watch swarming after His Lordship's lost trollop, how long until somebody decides that it's time for a change?”

Trilisean nodded behind her wineglass. “And you need me to help,
how,
exactly?”

“Whether she ran off or was taken by force, pulling a job at the palace would need a professional. Not many people could do that, or could keep it quiet. Somebody knows something. But maybe not lowlife streetrats who'll talk to a humble officer like myself. Maybe a thief who could pull that off would know some people that you know.”

She nodded again. “Maybe I'll ask around.”

“And maybe I'll forget some things,” the sergeant replied. He took a hunk of bread from the platter, swiped it through the oil and popped it in his mouth. “Not bad, for foreign grub. A pleasant evening to you both.” He stood and walked out.

“So you're thinking of working for this watchman?” Conn asked when the man had gone.

“Until I can think of a way not to,” Trilisean replied. “I'll have to keep it secret at any rate.”

“Why? Why not do the job, make him happy and lay up some favors?”

She froze, the wineglass halfway to her lips. Slowly she placed it on the table, then leaned forward, spearing him with a chilly glare. “First of all, I do not need any favors from the Watch. Amateurs who get caught need favors. Second, I have my reputation to think of.”

“Don't want to be seen working for the right side of the law?” he grinned.

“Not if I can help it. Worse than that, I don't want to be seen working for free. If people think they can threaten me instead of paying me, where does that leave me?”

“Hmm. So we need to find a way to save the city and avoid any credit for it.”

“That would be best.”

Conn thought for a moment. “How likely is it you can turn this on him?”

“Niath? He's a watchman, but there are some things he won't stoop to. If I can point him in the right direction, he'll keep his word and back off us. But if I call his bluff…” she let the sentence hang.

“You know him well?”

“Well enough,” she said. “I had an encounter with him a while back. Before I met you. He was trying to break a kidnapping ring. His investigation extended to some fences, and may have wandered into some information on targeted burglaries.”

“So he actually caught you?” Conn grinned.

“I was young and arrogant,” she said. “I was a bit too cocky in my carefree youth.”

“So what happened?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t a big target for him. He didn’t see much point in running me in. I think he figured I’d turn informant. So, he let me off with a warning not to mess up again.”