Shadow's Son (20 page)

Ral turned away from the window's roseate glass panes. The morning
light, usually so soothing, gave him a headache.

"Tell me again." He pressed a hand to his temple. "How did they
escape from you and a dozen of your best men?"

Occupying the entire upper floor of the Golden Wheel, Ral's suite
was decorated in a style more fitting to a fine manor house than a gambling hall. He had chosen the furnishings himself, everything from the
brass fixtures and window treatments to the expensive carpets. The walls of the main living area were painted in terra-cotta murals. His favorite
faced him across the room, a vivid rendition of the hero Dantos
descending into the underworld to rescue his dead bride. It was an image
Ral found inspiring. Sometimes he thought of himself as a tragic figure
like Dantos, doomed to fight impossible forces to get what he justly
deserved.

Markus stood at attention before him. A white bandage peeked over
the collar of his uniform. Ral was beginning to wish Calm's blade had cut
a little deeper. The prefect was incompetent. Worse than that, Ral still
needed the man for his connections in the Sacred Brotherhood. But that
need would evaporate as soon as Caim and the earl's daughter were found.
Then, Second Prefect Arriston would meet with an unfortunate accident.
Ral smiled at the prospect.

"He came out of the night like a demon from hell," Markus said in a
raspy voice. One of his hands stole up to touch the bandage and dropped
back to his side. "I swear the man is a wizard. Half my men were down
before we even knew he was there."

"So much for the prowess of our city's vaunted defenders." But the
words lacked fire. Ral knew he had been sending lambs to the slaughter
when he instructed Markus to organize a citywide manhunt. Still, Ral had
expected better than this debacle.

"Find your backbone, Markus.
Caim is just one man. Don't tell me
the Brotherhood can't deal with a single lowborn thug. What will I tell
the archpriest?"

"One of the Brothers got off a shot as they went into the water,"
Markus said. "I think it hit him."

"You
think
?"

"It was damned dark out there."

Ral clasped his hands together to help resist the urge to bury a stiletto
in the prefect's eye socket.

"And what are you doing now to find the fugitives?"

Markus shrugged and grimaced as the gesture jostled his throat
wound. "I've got men dredging the bay, but its slow work. I need more
manpower."

"Then get more men!"

"I'll need more money for that."

"I've already paid you more than your life is worth. Find the girl,
Markus, or your men will be dredging the bay for you next."

Markus left the suite. Ral listened to the click of his boots descend the
stairs to the hall below. If Markus didn't find Caim soon, he would have
to take steps to improve the situation. He didn't like his options. Vassili
wasn't a forgiving man, and Ral had burned too many bridges over these
past few months to remain in Othir if their scheme failed. As much as it
galled him, he might have to leave the city. Ral hummed a mournful
ballad as he contemplated the mural of Dantos.

The tickle of a cool breeze on the back of his neck was his only
warning. He stood perfectly still, every nerve quivering. The window had
been shut a minute ago. He flexed the muscles of his right forearm to
loosen the throwing blade strapped under his sleeve. He shifted his
weight to his right foot in preparation for a quick spin-and-throw, but
stood very still as a sharp point pressed against his spine, right between
his kidneys.

"Sit," a voice whispered in his ear.

Ral took two slow steps and lowered himself into an antique, slatback chair. His unexpected visitor stepped to the center of the living area
in plain view. The hood of a night-black robe concealed his features. For
a moment Ral thought Caim had come for him, and an icy caress slid
down his back. But the stranger was too tall and rather thin, though
broad through the shoulders. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of
the robe, lending him the semblance of a cloistered monk.

Ral palmed the throwing blade. It would be an easy toss from this
close, and his sword leaned against the armoire if he missed. He started
the motion when his gaze rose to the shadowed depths of the stranger's
cowl. A weird sensation rolled over him as he tried to penetrate the darkness inside the hood, like looking up at the night sky, into a darkness that
went on forever and forever. The icy feeling returned. He lowered the
weapon. He had seen this man before, in the shadowed chambers of the
palace. Vassili's pet sorcerer. A cold dread washed over him.

"You work for the archpriest."

"I am Levictus."

Ral shifted in the chair and forced his lips to form a small smile. Many
men had trembled to see that smile just moments before their deaths.

"Tell your master I am doing everything I can. We'll find
Caim and
the girl. Don't wor-"

"I come on my own behalf. With an offer."

What was this? Ral sat up.

"For many years," the sorcerer continued, "I have worked tirelessly in
the archpriest's service, but in recent days I have come to discover that his
aims no longer reflect my own."

That was interesting. Yes, very interesting indeed. "You mentioned
an offer."

"I seek a new partner, one whose goals are more closely aligned with
my own."

"So what brings you to me?"

The cowl dipped slightly. "You are ambitious. You chafe under the
yoke of servitude, just as I do. Separate we are formidable, but together
... there would be nothing to stop us."

"There's Vassili and the Church. And the Sacred Brotherhood. Even
without a grand master, they aren't going to sit idle and let us take over."

Levictus drew up straighter and the room suddenly felt too small for
the both of them. Ral squeezed himself farther into the chair.

"The Church is not as unified as it appears," the sorcerer said. "The
prelate's gaze is turned across the sea. The electors are divided by their
lusts. As for the Brotherhood, you already possess the leverage you need."

"Markus."

Ral worked his tongue around his mouth to drum up some moisture.
He didn't like feeling small. He hated it, in fact, worse than anything else
he could think of. Yet there was something to this figure standing before
him, an awful power he could not deny, and one he dared not ignore.
"And His Sublime Radiance?"

"All men die, the small and the great alike."

Ral tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. Despite the theatrics,
this man meant business. The deadly serious sort. The kind of business he
enjoyed best.

"Sounds like you have it all figured out. What do you need me for?"

The sorcerer loomed closer. "The archpriest's plan was too timid. We
will eliminate the Elector Council, down to the last priest. Then, as the
only powers left in the city, we collect all the spoils."

"Is that all? Do you want me to knife the Holy Father himself while
I'm at it?"

The intruder said nothing.

"God's balls, you're serious! Listen. I didn't mind working for Vassili.
He made me certain assurances, but what's my end of this grand scheme?"

The other leaned forward. Despite his best efforts, Ral pressed back
against the chair to keep the distance between them as a sibilant whisper
issued from the dark cowl.

"I will deal with the prelate, but it is time for Nimea to regain her
soul. For that, the realm needs a strong hand on the reins. You were content to accept the scraps from Vassili's table. Would you pass up the
chance to hold this entire city in the palm of your hands? Unfettered.
Answerable to no man. For once, your own master."

Ral sucked in a deep breath. "How-?"

Levictus extended a scroll sealed with a dollop of black wax. Ral
reached for it as though it were a serpent. The parchment was stiff and
strangely textured as he unrolled it, like cowhide but much smoother.
With a start he realized it must be human skin. He held it aside so he
could watch the man while he read.

"These are your new targets. Complete this task and all that you
desire will come to pass."

Ral read through the list and appreciated the straightforwardness of
the plan. Yes, it could work. With these individuals out of the way, there
would be no one left to defy them. If this man could be trusted to do his
part. Ral wished he could see the sorcerer's eyes. This was a risky gambit,
but the rewards were beyond anything he had previously dreamed. Governorship of the greatest city in the world. He would have everything he
had ever wanted: respectability, money, prestige.

"What about funding? An operation such as this-"

The sorcerer opened his other pale hand, and a stream of coins spewed
forth like a fountain. "Do we have an accord, Lord Governor Pendarich?"

Ral gaped at the fortune in gold and silver rolling across his carpet,
and up to the sleeve from which it had come. The hairs on the back of his
neck tingled.
Lord Governor Pendarich. I can live with that.

"I accept."

Heat flared in Ral's hand and he dropped the scroll, which had erupted into sizzling flame. He coughed and waved his hands. When the
smoke cleared, the scroll and Levictus were gone.

Ral stood up. Long shadows filled the corners of the room despite the
bright sunlight that shone through the windows. Thirteen square boxes
rested on the table beside his armoire. Identical in appearance, each was
constructed of a creamy wood, beach or maybe white pine, bound with
brass fittings.

Ral went over to investigate. Fearing some trap, he abstained from
touching them at first, but then his impatience got the better of him and
he lifted one of the lids to peek inside.

He swallowed as he shut the box. An unsightly business, but necessary. He looked at his hand. A black smudge marred the smooth patch of
skin between ridged calluses. He rubbed it on his shirt, but the mark
remained. With a frown, he held it up to the light.

In the center of his palm gleamed a silhouette of an ominous black
tower.

aim awoke on his side with one hand tucked under a pillow.
Thoughts drifted through his mind like clouds through a murky
gray sky, memories of his wild days riding with Jame's band of marauders.
The brawls, the comrades, the sultry nights in Brevenna where every
woman was a beauty and the wine never stopped flowing. Sometimes he
missed those days. They were a more innocent time in his life, a time
when he'd never had to watch over his shoulder unless it was for an angry
husband or a suspicious lawman, and either could be dealt with by coin
or blade. He wondered what had happened to the fiery-tempered rogue he
had once been.

He rolled onto his back and stretched, fully believing he was home in
his cot until the shifting of the soft mattress beneath his frame made him
sit up in alarm. The piercing agony that ripped through his side drove
away the last vestiges of sleep. He groaned and settled back on the mattress. His stomach did a little flip when he opened his eyes. The pink
walls, the frilly lace canopy, tin ornaments on the shelves polished to
resemble silver. The smells of rose petals and talcum. There was only one
place he could be.

Madam Sanya's Pleasure House on Paradise Lane.

It was a bolt hole he had used a few times in the past to recover from
arduous jobs or just to clear his head. By the slant of the sunbeams filtering through the window slats, it was early morning. Sounds drifted in
from the street-people talking, bartering, and arguing over the hum of
the city. A familiar scent floated in the air. Another look around confirmed
it. He was in Kira's room, and he wasn't alone.

Josey sat in a chair beside the bed. Part of him was amazed to see her.
He would have wagered she'd come to her senses before now and taken off. Another part of him was irked. He was losing his edge if he could
sleep soundly with someone else in the room.

She had changed outfits, replacing the tattered nightgown with a
maroon off-the-shoulder kirtle. It was a decent fit, if a little tight across
the bosom. High, buttoned boots peeked from beneath the hem of the
flaring skirt. He marveled at the spoiled aristocrat's daughter, who probably spent more on shoes in a sennight than most people scraped together
in a year, sitting in a whore's bedchamber in a borrowed dress and looking
absolutely gorgeous. Though he wasn't partial to red, the color brought
out the glow in her cheeks. He couldn't look away, and didn't say a word
for fear he might lose this moment. He felt her beauty tightening around
his soul like a web of steel. Then, he thrust it away before the spell could
settle over him for good. It was harder than he expected.

His good feelings faded under her fierce glare.

"You brought me to a ... a
bordello
!"

Kit dropped from the ceiling and plopped on his bed without disturbing the covers. "Hey, look who's finally awake! You gave me a good
scare, Caim. Don't do it again."