City of Bones (22 page)

He bowed. “Honored, I am at your service. What do you wish?”

Radu might not have the appearance of a showman, but he had the smooth polished voice of a man who made his living catering to upper-tier whims.

Elen smiled up at him in perfect confidence and said, “The benefit of your spiritual guidance, of course. And to make a request.”

Radu came further into the room. “The guidance, of course, is yours. The best my poor skill can offer. But the request?”

“I have heard from … certain agents in the marketplace …” She hesitated delicately, as if debating whether or not to reveal the origin of her information. Khat couldn’t have thought of a better way to plant the idea in Radu’s mind that she also bought from the Silent Market. She continued, “… that you are a collector of relics and treasures of the Ancients, as I am, and I wondered if there might be any in your collection you were willing to part with.”

Radu took a seat at the low alabaster table opposite her. “Ah. You sent a servant earlier?”

“A dealer in the trade of relics. This man’s partner.”

Radu followed her gesture, and his critical gaze came to Khat. His black eyes were hard to read, even though Khat had learned years ago to interpret emotions from eyes that never altered color unless by a trick of the light. He saw the man’s brows lift as he realized the lower-tier relic dealer his Patrician client had brought with her was kris, saw his eyes turn sly as he looked back to Elen and came to the obvious conclusion. Khat almost smiled; the suspicion that she was a Warder or Trade Inspector in disguise would never enter Radu’s mind now.

Apparently oblivious, Elen finished, “He said I would have to come to see you myself.”

The impressive servant reappeared with a tray of wine cups and honey date cakes, and served Elen. Khat looked away and willed his stomach not to growl.

“I see.” Radu began to take out the implements for augury from under the table: copper plates charted with diagrams for interpreting the ash patterns after the bones were burnt, something only the more expensive brand of fortune-teller bothered with, and a shallow metal bowl. The servant brought over a brazier filled with coals, set it on a wicker pad to protect the table, and withdrew again. A low mutter rose and fell from the draped cage hanging above the fortune-teller’s head. Giving no indication he was aware of it, Radu asked, “And are you interested in any particular piece?”

Remembering how eager for Caster’s news Elen had been in the Arcade, Khat tensed, waiting for her to fall into that trap. But she was wary now, and said only, “No. My own collection is not extensive, though I flatter myself that I have bought wisely. But there is one thing… I wondered if your collection might contain …”

Radu watched her attentively, betraying nothing, and she leaned forward, lowering her voice earnestly. “… some relics rumored to possess … arcane powers?”

Radu didn’t do anything so blatant as to nod to himself in satisfaction, but Khat sensed that he was smiling under the veil. “Yes,” Radu said, his voice grave. “It does help one of my craft to own relics of the Ancients, particularly mystic ones. But before we continue …”

He lifted a hand, and the drape was swept away from the suspended cage. Not by magic; the impressive servant was in the corner, pulling on a dark-colored rope that was almost invisible against the indigo ceiling tile.

The cage was round, of ornate ironwork, and the oracle crouched in the bottom, peering down through the bars. Some of the filth-matted hair seemed to be on its face, so it was presumably male. Clad in rags, with burning mad eyes, it glared down at Radu and snarled inarticulately. It was small, but it was impossible to tell if it was young or old.

The fortune-teller said, “Perhaps my oracle will prophesy for you, lady. Did you have any type of relic in particular in mind? Something large, something small?”

He’s trying to rattle her
, Khat thought. He felt a little rattled himself. Elen managed to tear her eyes away from the cage, her hands playing nervously with the silk fringe on her mantle; Elen, who was as fluttery as a rock when nervous. Smiling uncertainly, she said, “Something small—I wish to carry it with me.”

“I have many small pieces of great beauty, and some of mystic import.”

The oracle shrieked suddenly, and Elen winced, probably the first genuine reaction she had betrayed so far. She said, “Another foreseer told me that winged images are symbolic of my soul.”

Khat rubbed the bridge of his nose to hide any reaction he might have had, thinking,
Careful, careful
. Now that the drape was removed the source of the stench that the incense was meant to mask was obvious.

But Radu didn’t seem suspicious. “A winged image? Not a bird? The lady has seen the drawings of birds from the Last Sea cities, of course?”

“Of course. But this foreseer was very particular. A winged image.”

“Relics with winged figures are very rare, very …” Radu hesitated. Khat suspected he was veering away from the word “expensive.” “Very dear. I reluctantly parted with the only one I had.”

“Oh. Could you tell me who has it now?”

Khat held his breath, and not because of the stench.

Maybe Elen was reading Radu’s thoughts, or else she was a genius at reading faces, even veiled ones. She added brightly, “After I look over your collection and make my other choices, of course.”

Radu bowed his head, playing the grateful servant, but she had him now. “Of course. But first I will burn the bones for you.”

Khat felt weak with relief. He let his attention wander as Radu got on with the fortune-telling business. Maybe Elen would be able to buy the thing outright, fulfilling the first part of their commission without a single trade law being broken, though that thought would be more comforting if he didn’t think the second part of their commission was hopeless.

The oracle was quiet in its cage, all its mad attention focused on its master. A slight movement drew Khat’s eye to yet another heavily draped door, and a flicker of candlelight revealed half a shadowed face peering out: the impressive servant, watching from another room. Not liking to betray too much intelligent interest in his surroundings, Khat looked back to Radu’s performance.

The fortune-teller had taken out a silk bag that gleamed in the light, and now carefully shook out a bare handful of bone fragments. All the while Elen kept up a lively babble about arcane relics, mixing together so much truth, half-truth, rumor, and outright fabrication that Radu grew more and more complacent, and was probably already counting the coins he was going to have off her. Khat thought of the kris embassy up on the First Tier and found himself wondering if Radu was wealthy enough to afford the best in foreseeing materials, or if he used lizard bones like the street fortune-tellers.

Elen paused for breath, and Radu held up a hand, saying, “Now concentrate, Honored, while I look into the shadows of time.”

Elen was obediently silent, watching him attentively. Yellowed bone fragments trickled from Radu’s pale hands into the coals. The wisps of smoke rose up, but the fortune-teller started back, suddenly on his feet, knocking over the heavy alabaster stool.

Elen stared up at him in blank surprise. Khat half uncoiled from the floor, almost going for his knife before sense caught up to him. Gandin thrust the curtain aside from the entrance hall, glaring around the shadowed room suspiciously.

Radu was looking from Elen to Khat, his eyes wide with fear. Elen gasped, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The oracle started to screech, rocking back and forth, slamming itself against the bars of its cage. Its shrieks turned to gasping cries. Its voice became human suddenly, and remarkably like a young man’s. “Hear the voices,” it choked out, as if every word ripped its throat. “They failed, and died, the great work left undone. Death is the path. The voices…” The last word turned into a raw screech, and it was an animal again, grinding its filthy head against the bars.

In the stunned silence, Radu bowed choppily. “Forgive me, Honored, I have … You will have to leave.”

Elen opened her mouth, but nothing glib came out. To play for time, Khat interrupted, “I came here to value relics, not watch a future-telling. Is somebody going to pay me for my time?”

Radu didn’t deign to notice the distraction. “Forgive me, Honored,” he said again. “You must come back another time.” He bowed to her again and almost bolted for the inner doorway.

The impressive servant appeared, embarrassed and almost as flustered as his master, to show Elen out. She glanced at Khat, who shook his head, as puzzled as she was.

In moments they were outside in the court. Sunset streaked the sky red, and it was nearly dark. Two red pot lamps had been lit in Radu’s courtyard, but the bearers looked uncommonly happy to see Elen, leaping to their feet to ready the litter.

“That’s that, apparently,” Elen said, frustrated. She handed Khat a honey cake she had palmed from the tray and hidden in her sleeve.

Gandin shrugged helplessly. “I could hear you from the entrance hall. It sounded as if it was going well.”

Elen ignored him. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked Khat. “Was that a performance just to get rid of me?”

He shook his head. “No. No, it was almost as if he …” He couldn’t quite make himself say it.

Elen said it for him. “Saw something when he burned the bones. You said he was a charlatan.”

“I said he was probably a charlatan. And what do I know about it?”

“I wouldn’t have thought he had true sight. Anyone who would keep an oracle …” She hugged herself, as if feeling a chill despite the ever-present heat. “Poor demented thing.”

The bearers were almost bouncing with impatience to be out of the area before full night. Gandin said, “We’d better go. He might be watching.”

He moved away, and Elen reluctantly turned to follow.

Khat made his decision on impulse. He caught the sleeve of her mantle, remembering at the last moment not to touch her arm, and whispered, “Meet me on the Odeon’s steps, second night hour.”

She nodded without hesitation, then went to climb obediently into the litter like a good Patrician lady.

The Odeon’s palisade was lit by torches and blood lights and crowded with milling theater patrons, idlers, and those whose business it was to profit from them. A pair of tumblers threw each other into the air as if they were weightless, the light sparking off their dark, sweat-slick skin. A fire-eater drew a larger circle, but one that was careful to keep a respectful distance around her. Gamblers had staked out small territories for dice or tables, and a storyteller had taken a place at the base of the furthest pillar on the steps, an island of quiet amid all the noise and laughter.

At this time of night the crowd was mostly lower-tier, except for the few Patricians who lingered to be shocked at the tumblers’ display of so much bare skin. Khat leaned against one of the pillars out of the way of the open double doors, watching everything with a cynical eye.

He hadn’t been there long when Ivan Sata materialized out of the shadows and stood grinning up at him, as if he thought his presence would be welcome. Sata pretended to be a relic dealer, but so much of his trade was with the Silent Market that the Academia had banned him. The fact that he hadn’t been executed by the Trade Inspectors yet caused many to speculate that Sata informed for them. Khat had offered to throw him off the Sixth Tier wall several times himself, but this probably happened so often to Sata that he didn’t see it as a deterrent. “Lushan’s looking for you,” he said helpfully. Most of his teeth were missing, and he looked as if he belonged under an Eighth Tier sewer outlet.

Sata was short, even for a lower-tier city dweller, so Khat continued to survey the crowd over his head. “Is he,” he said, without much interest.

“He’s not happy, either. You must have made him very angry,” Sata persisted.

Khat shrugged. “I’m competition.”

Sata chuckled. “Competition, hah. With the ladies, maybe. Now I’m wondering what he thinks …”

“Do you want something?” Irritated into looking directly down at the much smaller man, Khat leaned forward, and Sata backpedaled.

“Just giving you a friendly word,” he said, grinning nervously as he melded back into the crowd.

Watching him go, Khat caught sight of Akai going up the steps into the Odeon, probably to meet with Lushan. Akai was gaunt, his dust-colored robes hanging limply on his lean frame. He was a knife-fighter too, and would be whipcord strong, and dangerous. Really too dangerous for Lushan to waste his talents giving out beatings to boys like Ris, but Khat had always known Lushan to be wasteful by nature. He also thought he would probably have to kill Akai.

Elen appeared at the edge of the crowd around the fire-eater. Khat pushed away from the pillar and went down the steps toward her.

She had had time to get rid of her jewelry and smudge dust on her cheeks in place of the cosmetic powders, and she wore a cheap dark-colored kaftan and cap—a lower-tier street urchin.

He stood beside her for several moments to give her time to notice him, then started away down the street. She followed and caught up to him after they were through the First Forum and past much of the crowd.

“We’re going back to Radu’s house?” she asked. In this quieter area the lamps were farther apart and passersby walked with more haste.

“He never answered your last question,” Khat said. “Very impolite of him.”

“Fatally impolite?”

He stopped abruptly and turned to stare down at her. “What?”

“I was just asking,” she said, looking up at him defensively. “I just want to know what we’re doing.”

“We’re going to poke around the outside of the house, see if we can look through any windows on the upper floor.” This was something of an understatement, but he wanted to make a point. “And try to find out where he sold off our relic. ‘Fatally impolite.’ ” Khat shook his head, disgusted. “You listen to too many stories, Elen.”

“We’re going to do this by looking in the windows?” she asked, skeptical.

“Do you want to help, or do you want to hear about it in the morning?”

“I want to help, of course.”

He started down the street again, and she hurried to catch up.

Khat took the turn down into the ghostcallers’ quarter. It was not any more attractive at night than it had been in the long shadows of late afternoon. A few lamps glowed behind shuttered windows, and there were no reassuring blood lights or neighbors taking advantage of the less suffocating night air to sit outside and gossip.

In the first lighted court they passed, a ghostcaller was performing. Khat skirted the silent circle of rapt watchers, stopping at a gap where he could see what was happening.

Elen, who had apparently been craning her neck to see too, bumped into him from behind and muttered, “Sorry.”

The ghostcaller was bare of anything but dabs of white and blue paint and smeared blood from the self-inflicted wounds in his fingers. His face and body were a young man’s, but his long mane of hair was gray; ghostcallers tended to age before their time. He had made a circle of blood drops in the dust of the street, and now stood at its center, head flung back, swaying and crooning nonsense words to the cloudless night sky.

The circle of blood was supposed to confine the ghosts, keep them from attacking any spectators, but Khat wouldn’t have bet his life on it. The ghostcallers who performed in the open-air forums were mostly fakes: crowds paid to see skin and a great deal of gratuitous thrashing about, and to feel a thrill of danger without ever actually experiencing any. This performance in the ghostcaller’s home court put on for a few of the faithful could too easily be real.

“Come on,” Khat said softly, and Elen willingly followed him out of the dimly lit court.

The moon was in quarter, limning the crumbling edges of walls and disused balconies with silvery light. With no lamps to night-blind you it was almost enough to see by, Khat decided. The rock-cut houses looming overhead cut off any wayward sound of revelry or trade traffic from the rest of the tier. They might have been in a city of the dead.

They reached the court behind Radu’s, which was small and ramshackle. Only two of the narrow houses had the tightly closed shutters that betrayed possible occupation; the rest had windows that gaped open into empty blackness. Khat could just see the darker shape of Radu’s house where it towered in rock-cut splendor over its less wealthy mud-brick neighbors.

Elen stopped suddenly, whispering, “There’s somebody up there.” She was looking up at the roof of the fortune-teller’s house, three stories above the court and lost in shadow.

“Where?”

“Up on the roof. Someone crouching over.”

That he hadn’t expected. Khat ducked inside the empty house that leaned against the back wall of the fortune-teller’s home. Something fled across the floor, skittering, at their approach—more confirmation the place was deserted. It was nearly blind dark except for the moonlight coming through the windows, but the house was so small it scarcely mattered, just two boxlike rooms one atop the other. Khat took the narrow, crumbling steps three at a time, Elen scrambling after him.

The trapdoor to the roof was missing, and Khat peeked out cautiously before risking more of his head. The roof was a flat landscape, featureless in the moonlight. Radu’s house towered about six feet above it, the smaller dwelling swaying drunkenly into the larger.

Khat drew himself up onto the roof, keeping to a crouch. The other rooftops made an angular sea around them, cut through by the pitch-dark chasms of alleys, empty and silent until it reached the lighted boundaries of the more ordinary quarters. Elen climbed out of the trapdoor and sat on the edge, fishing under her robes. Before he could ask, she pulled out a painrod and attached it to the loop at her belt, murmuring, “Just in case.”

Khat stood, caught the edge of the higher roof, and pulled himself up onto it. Radu’s house had four wind towers and several piles of broken brick rubble decorating the open expanse of its flat roof: more than adequate cover for any number of intruders. He waited for Elen to find toeholds in the wall below, watching carefully for movement. Nothing stirred, but remembering that her Warder eyes were considerably better in the dark than his, he didn’t find himself much inclined to doubt her.

Elen hauled herself up next to him, and he asked her in a low whisper, “See anything?”

She shook her head.

He gestured for her to circle around to the left, and took the right side himself, drawing his knife. If these were local thieves who had unluckily decided to turn Radu’s house tonight, they would far rather run like hell than risk confrontation. At least, when Khat had turned houses on the Third Tier, that’s what he had always done. He reached the first wind tower and found no one crouching behind it, moved silently on to the next.

If they were thieves.

Just before he reached the second wind tower something exploded from behind it. He had half expected that whoever it was would try to rush Elen, who was obviously the smaller opponent, and be unpleasantly surprised by a painrod in the hands of a trained in-fighter and trapped until Khat could get to them across the roof. It was the best tactic someone in this situation could adopt, but this person obviously cared nothing for tactics.

He had time for one knife thrust, but the point hit his attacker’s collarbone, and the weapon was jolted out of his hand. Suddenly he was locked in a struggle with someone his height and almost too quick. Then one of his feet was hooked out from under him, and he was on his back on the warm stone of the roof, trying to keep a pain-rod away from his head. The weight on top of him was heavy, but definitely female. He was holding her forearm, trying to keep her from bringing it down on his throat, and the texture of her skin was like silk over solid rock. He twisted her wrist, and she dropped the painrod but smashed her elbow down on his chin with enough force to shock him into losing his grip.

She surged to her feet, hood torn away, and the dim moonlight showed him a profile and glittered off loose, colorless hair.
I know who this is
, he thought, confused. He couldn’t see if she was bleeding from the knife wound or not. It hadn’t seemed to slow her down at all. Then two other dark figures bolted from cover, leaping down to the next roof, and as she grabbed up her painrod and turned to follow them he kicked her in the back of the knee, knocking her flat.

She hit the roof hard, but rolled to her feet again as if the fall and the blow had been negligible.

She hesitated, but as he struggled to stand she bolted after her companions, easily making the leap to the roof below.

Elen was beside him suddenly. The fight had only taken moments. “Did you see who that was? Shiskan son Karadon. We saw her at the palace. It means Constans is here.”

“Was here. I don’t know if you noticed, but they were in a hurry to leave.” Khat rubbed his sore jaw, remembering the Judge’s daughter who was Constans’s disciple, looking up as the Heir spoke her name from a window that was obviously too far away for the sound to carry. He hadn’t seen her very clearly tonight either, but that had little effect on his reaction to her.

He got to his feet, and after a moment’s search found his knife where it had fallen and thoughtfully ran his fingers along the blade’s flat. They came away darkened by Shiskan son Karadon’s blood. He had gotten her, all right, but she had simply ignored it, the way Constans had ignored the blow from Elen’s painrod in the Waste.

“They must have followed us the first time we came here.” Elen pounded her knee with her fist in frustration. “If they found out where Radu sold the relic …”

“Can’t hurt to look, anyway.” Maybe it would keep his mind off what it would be like to make love with the woman who had just tried to kill him. “Come on.”

Set into the roof was a light copper hatch reinforced by iron bars at some point in its past. This hadn’t helped it when the lock had been smashed off.

Inside, a narrow flight of steps led down to a small shaft with two doorways, one that opened into a disused pantry and the other curtained with heavy cotton. Khat lifted the curtain and saw it led directly into Radu’s fortune-telling room. This was the door from which the impressive servant had watched them this afternoon.

Most of the candles had guttered, and the clockwork that drove the fans had wound down, making the large chamber silent, still, and dark as a cave. Something like a robed body lay on the alabaster table; a step forward and Khat saw that it was actually the cover of the oracle’s cage.

He looked up and saw the cage was empty, its door torn open and hanging on broken hinges. He hesitated, listening hard, but the room felt empty. There was no noise, no sign of life from Radu or his servants, but Khat hadn’t expected any after a visit from Constans or one of his minions. The entire house felt empty.

But no use taking chances. “Elen.” He pointed up at the cage. “Be careful.”

She glanced up at the empty cage and made a face. “Oh, how lovely. But if I was that thing I’d run right out of here and keep running until I got to the edge of the tier.” She looked around the room, biting her lip thoughtfully. “He had some drawers, or compartments or something, under that table.”

“You check those, and I’ll do the rest of the rooms down here.”

There seemed to be nothing on the ground floor. No sign of the impressive servant, though Khat found the cubby where he probably slept, off the room where the water, oil, and grain were stored. The open court in the center was bare of anything except an unadorned fountain that served the pantry and a domed bread oven. The windows of the upstairs rooms that looked down into it were bricked up to hamper thieves; only sensible in this half-deserted quarter. If Radu kept anything valuable, it would be upstairs.

Khat stopped to scoop a handful of water from the fountain for a drink. At least the bricked-up windows couldn’t stare down at him accusingly.
Radu’s dead in this house somewhere
, he thought. The odd thing was that there was no reason he and Elen shouldn’t be dead up on the roof now.
I should have made a better deal with Riathen
. Relic dealing wasn’t the safest business in the world, but it wasn’t normally this dangerous, either.