Shadow's Son (7 page)

Tomorrow night
Caim, Low Town's favorite son, would die.

it showed up while
Caim stalked down a narrow lane between
two dark rows of houses. One moment he was strolling by himself, eyes darting back and forth in search of hidden threats, and the next
she was walking beside him. Or rather, she levitated beside him; her
dainty feet never touched the cobbles.

"Welcome back, Kit. Off gallivanting again?"

"I don't gallivant, darling. I might flit about sometimes, or stop to
watch a caterpillar weave its cocoon. Did you know they could do that?
It's amazing! But I never, ever gallivant. As it happens, I was looking after
your interests."

Kit flipped over so she was hovering upside down in front of him. In
defiance of gravity, her long silver hair stayed curled around her slim
shoulders. Her violet eyes twinkled mischievously as she regarded him,
and it was all he could do not to chuckle.

Those eyes were his first memory, peeking over the side of his cradle
when he was a babe. She claimed to have been searching for a little
brother and stopped when she found him, but with Kit the truth was
often difficult to ascertain. Whether real or imaginary, she was without
a doubt the most interesting person he'd ever met. She'd been everywhere, it seemed, and seen everything there was to see. She could fly so
high into the sky he lost sight of her, or dive into the earth and return
with tales of the secret lives of voles and worms. After he'd lost his parents, Kit had become his family. She was all he had left. If there were
times, such as during his turbulent adolescence, when he tried to drive
everyone else away, Kit always did as she chose. No one could sway her
once her mind was made up. In that they were much alike, to his constant chagrin.

"Forgive me." He turned onto one of Low Town's many crooked,
unnamed streets. "What interests are those, dear lady?"

A pair of drunken merchant marines passed him in the gathering
dusk. If they thought him odd for talking to himself, they said nothing,
but murmured behind his back once they were past. Caim chewed on the
inside of his cheek and ignored the itch in his palms.

"Hubert's on his way to the Vine," Kit announced.

He touched the heavy lump of the purse inside his shirt. "Good.
That's where I'm headed now."

"And he's not alone."

"Is that right?"

"He's got a whole gang of roughnecks with him. Most of them look
like vagrants, but a couple might be able to handle themselves. One is the
disinherited son of a former pimp."

Caim smiled to himself. Ever since he had taken up his current
lifestyle, Kit had endeavored to be useful to him. He had to admit she was
an exemplary judge of people's capabilities. She could look at someone
and spy out what they hid from others. That ability had saved his ass too
many times to count. The trouble was that Kit couldn't be relied upon to
always be where he needed her. She had a disturbing penchant for leaving
him for days at a time and, even more unnerving, showing up with
knowledge of things she shouldn't know, things no one could know.

"Should I be worried?"

Kit shrugged, turning around to stand right side up again. "He seems
in a good mood. I'd say he was scheming something, but not against you."

"Then I have nothing to worry about."

The faded sign of the Blue Vine appeared around the next corner. One
of the oldest wineshops in Othir, it had been owned by innumerable men
and women over the centuries, passed down through families and sold off
dozens of times. The current owner was Mistress Clarice Henninger, but
everyone called her Mother.

She spotted Caim as soon as he pushed through the rickety door.
"Caim!"

He held open his arms as she waddled across the common room to
wrap him in a fierce embrace. A thick-waisted woman on the hoary side
of fifty, she was every bit as saucy as a wench half her size and a third her age. The money purse tucked in his shirt ground against her massive
breasts.

"Happy to see me, sweetling?"

Kit giggled while
Caim disentangled himself as politely as he could
manage. The Vine's taproom was dim, its windows tightly shuttered. The
only light came from small oil lamps suspended from the ceiling and two
stone-lined hearths. Thick shadows clung to the brick-and-niter walls. It
was crowded this night. Most of the Vine's patrons were teamsters and
porters, large men who made their living by the sweat of their brows and
the strength of their backs. A few nodded his way. He returned the gestures with a slight dip of his chin.

"Want your usual table?" she asked.

Mother led him to a dim corner, swaying her wide hips with every
step. Caim took off his cloak and slid around the table to sit with his back
to the walls. From here he could see the front entrance as well as the door
to the back room where the wine casks were stored.

"A cup of Golden Swan?"

Caim started to nod, but stopped himself. "No, I'll have the Asper
tonight. In a clean cup, please."

She laughed, grasping her breasts with both hands. "Of course, sweetling. All Mother's cups are clean!"

A pair of oldsters in shabby coats cackled over their stones game as
she waddled back to the bar to fetch his order. Kit perched on the table
and regarded Caim. Her large eyes glowed like purple jewels in the dim
lighting.

"So you took another job?"

He flipped a penny to the wench who delivered his wine. She flashed
him a welcoming smile, but he returned only a curt nod and leaned back
into the shadows.

As the girl flounced off, he said, "You were eavesdropping?"

Kit twirled a wisp of silver hair in her fingers. "Mathias talks so loud
I could hear him half the world away. I thought you were going to take a
break."

Caim took a sip and sighed as the cool wine trickled down his throat.
"I was, but sometimes people need killing. That's what I do."

"It didn't sound like you were too eager to take it."

"Well, I couldn't stand to see Mathias beg."

"You never say no to him."

"He's a friend."

Kit reclined on an elbow, staring up at him. "A friend wouldn't put
you in danger for a few pieces of gilt."

Before he could think of an answer, the door opened and a young man
entered. The newcomer's colorless eyes swept around the room as the door
closed behind him. He was alone.

"Hubert's here," Caim said. "Why don't you go keep an eye on his
roughnecks?"

Kit hopped off the table with a spin. "It doesn't sound like you need
my help. Maybe I'll go watch fireflies instead."

"As you like."

As Kit vanished through a wall, Caim focused on the youth crossing
the wineshop. Hubert Claudius Vassili looked every inch the foppish
noble's son he was, from the floppy, wide-brimmed hat cocked roguishly
on his head, complete with a ridiculous sky blue feather, to his fine cavalry boots, polished to a high shine. A slender rapier hung on his left hip,
more of a showpiece than a real weapon.

Hubert stopped in front of Calm's table with a hand on his sharp,
smooth-shaven chin as if considering where to sit, and said, "The blue
falcon hunts at midnight."

Caim kicked out a chair. "Sit down before you draw more attention to
us than you already have."

Hubert dropped his hat on the table and called for a cup of the house
best before he settled into the seat. "Ah, Caim. It's good to see you again,
but you don't have to worry. Every man in here is an ardent supporter of
the Azure Hawks. They've pledged not to give up the fight until the
theocrats are dragged down from their gilded thrones."

Caim glanced around the taproom. "Gathering quite the little army,
aren't you? I thought I saw a few tinmen shaking in their armor tonight."

Hubert spread his hands as if delivering a benediction. "The people
clamor for freedom, Caim. I am but a humble servant of the public
welfare."

Caim tossed the purse onto the table. "And regular infusions of my
money don't hurt either, do they?"

Hubert covered the purse with his hat and pulled it into his lap. "Not
at all. The Hawks are very grateful for your generosity. It's donors such as
yourself that fuel the engines of our progress."

Caim couldn't resist. "You've had progress?"

Hubert didn't notice the jibe. "Naturally. Our forces are marshalling.
Plans are being laid. One day we will free the people from the Council's
tyranny. One day very soon!"

He glanced around as if expecting a chorus to support his claim. A
few tired drinkers nodded in his direction, but most simply stared into
the depths of their cups.

"Well." Hubert turned back to Caim. "It will happen. And we'll have
you to thank."

"So why did you feel the need to bring a gang of strong-arms to our
meeting?"

"How-?" Hubert gave him a weak smile. "I should have known.
They are merely waiting outside for my protection. The streets are dangerous these days. I would never dream of insulting a man of your
talents."

"Good. I wouldn't want any misunderstandings, Hubert. I respect
what you do, misguided though it may be at times. However, this will be
my last donation for a time."

"But we need your support now more than ever. Things are heating
up. We're staging demonstrations nearly every day."

"I understand, but I've got my own problems."

"But-"

"Look, Hubert. I'm taking some time away from the contract game."

"How long?"

"I'm not sure. A couple months, maybe more."

Hubert leaned across the table. "Then come join us. We could use a
man like you."

Caim pushed his empty cup away. "No offense, but I'm not interested. Your little enterprise has been interesting, and anything that keeps
the bigwigs off balance is good for business, but you don't need my help
to burn down storefronts and break into warehouses. You've got plenty of
supporters now, right?"

"Sure, I can assemble disgruntled clerks and teamsters by the hun dredhead, but I need fighters,
Caim. Sooner or later we're going to have
to face the Reds head-on. We'll need you."

Caim sat back deeper in the shadows. He knew what Hubert wanted:
another pawn to push around in his game of politics. But Caim wasn't
interested. He had his own battles to fight. Giving to the Hawks had
seemed like a good idea, a way of giving back some of the blood money
he earned to help a worthy cause. Now he could see it had been a mistake.

"No, Hubert. I agree things in Othir are getting worse, but I'm not
a revolutionary. I work alone."

Hubert put his hat back on as he stood up. "The offer's always open
if you change your mind."

"I won't."

Hubert started to say something when Kit phased through his body.
He didn't notice, of course, but the look on Calm's face must have been
unexpected, because he stopped talking in midsyllable.

"Caim!" Kit blurted. "You've got comp-"

The front door crashed open. Conversations stopped as a crowd of City
Watchmen filed into the common room. Without preamble they pulled
patrons out of their chairs and pushed them against the walls. A stout
man with an oily beard made a break for it. He got to the threshold of the
front door before a soldier cracked open the back of his head with a baton.
Everyone jumped to their feet. Even the old codgers stood up and shook
their bony fists, but by then the watchmen were circulating through the
room, seizing anyone who made a commotion.

"Your men couldn't bother to give us a warning?"
Caim hissed.

"Some of them are new." Hubert inched away from the table. "And
others may have outstanding warrants on their heads."

"Wonderful."

Caim surveyed the room, measuring distances in his head. "Go for the
back room. There's a delivery entrance that leads into the alley."

"Good idea."

Hubert headed in that direction, but not fast enough. Most of the soldiers were patting down patrons, but a pair and their commander moved
to intercept Hubert. Their mail armor rattled as the tinmen ran to catch
the young noble.

Caim rose from his seat and reached behind his back. If he drew his knives, men would die. That would draw unneeded attention to himself
and the Vine, but he didn't want to see Hubert apprehended either. True,
he was a rabble-rouser and a hypocritical demagogue, but his heart was in
the right place. Most of the time.

Caim let his hands fall to his sides and closed his eyes.

He only meant to release a tiny bit of his powers, just enough to conceal Hubert's escape behind a curtain of darkness, but the taproom's
shadows swarmed around him like moths to a flame. The Vine was
drenched in an impenetrable gloom so thick Caim couldn't see more than
a few feet in front of him, which was fine by him, but there was more. As
he slid along the wall, a cool sensation prickled at the nape of his neck.

The hairs on his arms stood on end and his mouth went bone dry as
something
entered the taproom. He couldn't see it. Whatever it was, it
blended perfectly into the darkness. But he felt it moving through the
room like a monstrous beast.