Shadow's Son (22 page)

Caim kept his head down as he shuffled through the door to the Blue
Vine. A grimy, rust-colored robe covered his leathers, compliments of
Madam Sanya, who had closets full of clothes left behind by old clients.
The robe's deep hood concealed his face. A cane, gnarled and fireblackened, completed the ensemble.

Step, clack, slide.

He winced as he stepped into the wineshop's cool interior. His side
pained him, but by leaning on the cane and dragging his right foot he
could get around reasonably well, and the limp made his mendicant act
all the more convincing. He just hoped he wouldn't have to leave in a
hurry like last time.

The disguise had been his idea, but in truth he'd had little choice in
the matter. Kit and Josey both agreed he shouldn't leave the brothel room
without one. They argued that he wasn't up for fighting if it came to that,
and he didn't disagree. Of course, his knives rested against his back under
the heavy robe just in case.

His disguise, while serving admirably in the streets, was severely out
of place in the Vine. As soon as Mistress Henninger noticed him, she
rushed over with a look of alarm.

"Out you! There'll be no begging in here. Come round back later on
and Cook will see if we have any scraps for you."

Caim winked from under the hood. "Relax, Mother. It's me."

She sucked in a deep breath, which threatened to burst her bodice.
Thankfully, she kept her voice down. "Caim? You in trouble, sweetling?"

"Nothing I can't handle. Got a table for an old friend?"

"An old friend, eh? Of course."

Caim looked around as he followed the wine mistress. Nothing had
changed in the Vine. He had half expected to see the place in shambles
after his last visit, but whatever he released from the shadows hadn't
caused as much damage as he feared. Except for some new holes in the
grimy wattle, the place looked the same as ever.

Then he noticed the empty tables. It was past midday, a time when
the Vine would normally be filling up. Yet there were only a handful of
patrons scattered through the common room. Caim hid a grimace of discomfort as he slid into a hard wooden chair.

"Some wine?" Mother asked. "I got a good Calamian in stock this
week."

"Just a small beer. And Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Don't hassle the chit in the red dress."

"What?"

Caim nodded in the direction of the front door, where Josey stood.
With shutters over the windows and smoky hanging lamps, the Vine was
kept dim. Everyone who entered paused for a moment on the stoop to let
their eyes adjust. It was an effective way to size up newcomers, which was
one of the reasons Caim liked the place. That, and Mother never watered
down the drinks.

As he'd said at Madam Sanya's, the dress hadn't been enough of a disguise, but now even her own father, had he been alive, wouldn't recognize
her. Her jet black locks had been dyed with henna and chamomile. The
resulting hue was a peculiar shade of reddish gold that was actually rather
fetching. The whole coiffure had been pulled up into a gravity-defying
design that drew eyes away from her face, the only change to which was a
sassy beauty mark nestled in her left dimple.

"As you say, sweetling," Mother said as she eyed Josey. "I'll just go
fetch your beer."

While Mistress Henninger waddled off to the bar, Caim watched
Josey survey the room. Kira and Madam Sanya had tried to give her some
pointers on how to act like a lady of the streets, which Caim observed with
much amusement until they booted him from the room. When Josey
emerged an hour later, all dolled up like a courtesan, he was genuinely surprised. She strutted ahead of him on the way to the wineshop and
looked every bit the part.

Of course, Kit had been furious. She argued every step of the way, rattling off the many reasons Caim should cut his losses now while his head
was still attached to his neck and flee the city for greener pastures.

"Don't let that pretty face fool you," Kit said. "And don't think I
haven't noticed the way you've been watching her! She's just using you.
She'll leave you high and dry the first good chance she gets."

He listened to her tirade all the way to the Merchant Quarter before
he lost his temper and muttered some very pointed things about meddling spirits and the ugly head of jealousy.

"Fine!" she said. "I guess you've made up your mind."

With that, she left in a puff of sparkling silver dust and he hadn't seen
her since. Now he regretted his words. He didn't have enough friends that
he could afford to lose one, but Kit would be back once her temper cooled.
Sooner, he hoped, rather than later.

As he watched Josey saunter around the room, lingering at the occupied tables, Caim began to think she was enjoying the charade. That is,
until she turned in his direction and transfixed him with a venomous
glare. Thankfully, Mother arrived in time to save him. While he handed
her twice the price of the drink, plus a sizable tip for the inconvenience,
Caim caught Josey's gaze and jerked his head to a nearby table.

She stalked across the taproom and alighted gracefully into a chair.
She started to sit up like a proper lady until she saw his expression and
slouched, hips thrust forward and legs dangling askew, the perfect picture
of a bored streetwalker taking her ease. Mother avoided looking in her
direction, but every other eye in the place was plastered to her every move.
That was exactly what he wanted. If they salivated over the lusty whore,
they wouldn't notice the noblewoman behind the act.

The sound of the door swinging drew Calm's gaze back to the
entrance. He breathed a little easier at the sight of Hubert. After the way
they had been forced to flee the last time they'd met, Caim had feared the
young man wouldn't show. He signaled.

Hubert came over. He grinned as he took in the disguise. "Going
back to your roots, Caim?" He helped himself to a seat at the table. "Or
shouldn't I be using your real name?"

Caim set down his half-empty cup. "It's safe enough here, but I'm
trying to cover my tracks."

"I was a little surprised to get your message. I thought you were done
with us. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mathias is dead."

Hubert's smile vanished. "What happened?"

"Someone dealt me a poisoned job, and then went back to make sure
I couldn't get more details from Mat. Now they're after me. And my
friend."

"Friend?"

Caim gave a slight nod in Josey's direction. Her seat was close enough
to overhear their conversation without appearing obvious. She looked
Hubert up and down before turning away with a bored yawn.

"Hubert," Caim said, "meet Josephine."

"She's lovely." Hubert's eyebrows rose. "A friend or a
friend
?"

Josey's smile curled up into a feral smirk as she pretended to examine
her nails.

"Careful," Caim said. "She bites."

Hubert tipped his hat in a way that included Josey, or perhaps he
saluted the entire room. "Charmed, milady. Hubert Vassili."

Josey frowned. Out of the side of her mouth, she whispered, "Vassili?"

Hubert nodded. "No doubt you've heard of my father, the archpriest."

Josey inhaled sharply. Caim glanced around the taproom. Few in
Othir dared to talk openly of the Elector Council these days. People had
been known to disappear for voicing opposition to their edicts.

"Do not be alarmed, milady." Hubert touched the blue feather in his
hat. "Despite my father's office, I am a sworn enemy of the theocracy that
holds our fair city in bondage."

He called for a drink as he turned back to Caim. "Say, are you behind
those funerals up in High Town?"

Caim gave the young man his best deadpan face. "No."

"Ah, just as well. So I gather you've got a problem that you need my
help to solve. Let me guess. The lady has a jealous husband?"

"Not exactly."

"A jealous pimp?"

Josey's smile became a strained grimace as a patron approached her with a lecherous smile and a cocky swagger. Caim slipped a hand behind
his back, but Josey rejected the fellow with a dismissive flick of her fingers. Not precisely in character, but it worked. The man turned around
and went back to his table with a glum frown. Mother shot Caim a frown
of her own as she hustled over to soothe the jilted lover with a fresh flagon
of ale. Message received. She didn't want any more trouble in her place.
He needed to hurry this up.

"I'm trying to find someone. A city official, maybe high up." Caim
gave a brief description of the man Josey had seen in her father's study,
complete with the sigil stitched into his clothing.

"Crossed keys?" Hubert asked as a decanter of wine arrived with a
semiclean glass. "That would mean a minister of the Church treasury.
From what you've told me, I'd guess you're talking about Ozmond
Parmian. He's the assistant to the keeper of the Holy Coffers."

Caim digested that for a moment. "Any idea why he would be
meeting with a retired exarch just hours before that respected man should
be killed?"

Hubert tasted his wine and made an unpleasant face. "You're talking
about Earl Frenig."

Calm's nod was so slight as to be almost imperceptible.

"Oh ho! Caim, you've gotten yourself into a real wasps' nest, haven't
you? Old Frenig had his hand in all sorts of interesting business."

Josey spun around on her chair. "If you're insinuating he had anything
to do with underhanded dealings, you're severely mistaken, sir! He was
a-

Caim held up a hand. "Josey, I'll handle this. You're drawing
attention."

Hubert looked between them. "Josey ... Josephine." His eyes
widened. "As in Lady Josephine of House Frenig?"

"One and the same," Caim said. "Now you see my problem."

Hubert sat back in his chair and scratched his forehead. "Maybe better
than you do. You're frogged seven ways to Sun Day, my friend."

"Tell me something I don't know. Like this Parmian guy. Was the earl
dealing with the prelacy?"

Josey stiffened in her seat, but Caim ignored her. He didn't have time
for niceties. They could be found out at any moment. He had no illusions about what would happen if they were caught. He'd never make it to
Castle DiVecci's infamous dungeons. A convenient accident would silence
his involvement in this matter for good, and Josey might not survive
much longer.

"That's the thing," Hubert said. "Frenig was well known to be an
active opponent to the Church, one of the last loyalists to the old
imperium. That's why he was recalled back to Othir."

"He retired!" Josey hissed under her breath, loud enough to make
Mother jump as she passed by with a tray of drinks.

Hubert shook his head. "I beg your pardon, milady, but that's not
how I heard it. The Reds didn't like some of the things he was saying and
so they cancelled his commission. His choices were return to Othir where
they could keep an eye on him or be branded an enemy of the people."

"It doesn't make any sense. Parmian is a bright star in the prelate's
administration, but he wouldn't treat with someone like Frenig. It would
be a death sentence if he was ever found out."

Calm's gaze wandered around the room. The place was filling up as
people got off from their day's labors and sought solace in a wine cup. "We
have to get hold of this guy. He knows something about the earl's death."

"I can help with that," Hubert said. "Let me contact a few friends and
we'll set up a meeting."

"Is Mr. Parmian going to know about this meeting?"

Hubert tipped back the last of his wine and stood up with a flourish
of his silk-lined cloak. "Not until it's too late."

"Good. You can send word to me at Madam Sanya's."

Caim nodded to Josey as he got up and shuffled toward the door. She
followed him outside, where a crowd had gathered. People holding lit
candles and sticks of burning incense marched down the street. Then, he
saw the coffins: six boxes of raw pinewood.

Caim pulled down the hood of his shabby outfit and led Josey down
a side street, away from the procession. His side ached something fierce.
It put him in a foul mood. His palms itched for the handles of his knives.
He almost wished to see a squadron of red uniforms converging on him.

The sky was clear, its cerulean perfection marred only by the smoke
of the city's chimneys, but he could feel a storm coming. He searched
every passing face and glanced down every alley in expectation of an ambush. Only the soft patter of Josey's boots at his back kept him from
melting away into the dim recesses of the city. He continued his tottering,
stumbling gait while the anxiety grew inside him.

By the time he sighted the gauzy festoons of the pleasure house, his
nerves were scoured raw. And he had to admit, even though she annoyed
him to distraction, he missed Kit. Wherever she was, he hoped she was
all right.

He went around to the brothel's back entrance. As he made his way
around puddles of mud and offal, Caim tugged his hood down a bit farther. The sun was dipping in the west. Suddenly the night didn't feel so
friendly.

Step, clack, slide.

aim rubbed his hands together in the dark alleyway and tried to
'ignore the cold. A frigid southerly had blown in from the bay,
sending the inhabitants of the city's better neighborhoods home early for
the evening. The windows of High Town's homes glowed cherry red
around the edges of their lowered shades as families gathered indoors.
Caim cursed them one and all for their comfort and wished he'd thought
to bring a flask of something warm.