The Inquisitives [1] Bound by Iron (30 page)

“But the dragonmarked houses are all nobles, are they not?” asked Four.

“There were also a lot of smaller families that tried to pull
themselves to a higher station,” said Minrah. “People who provided weapons, redirected supply trains, or transported goods that were in high demand.”

“Arms runners, embezzlers, bandits, and smugglers, in other words,” said Cimozjen. “Vagabonds, the lot of them.”

“Hoy there, no need to sound so vindictive,” said Minrah.

Cimozjen turned his head from the window and looked at her, one questioning eyebrow raised above a piercing gaze.

Minrah dropped her gaze. “Yes, that’s how I grew up,” she said. “My parents were merchants of Khorvaire, as they put it. They believed in the Galifar kings and the unified kingdom—for that matter, they had lived in it—and so they ignored the borders that the War had drawn.” She looked back up, but Cimozjen still had the accusatory gleam in his eye.

“We never sold weapons or anything like that. That wasn’t the way Dadda worked. But with the War, sometimes certain commodities could be hard to find, especially the rare and the refined—Zil silk, Karrn paper, Aundairian jewelry and sculpture, Brelish magic, even simple things like black pepper and fragrant oils. There was a lot of money to be made by circumventing the warlords and their so-called borders.” She laughed once, a bitter sound tasting of the ashes of Arcadian memories. “I think I’ve been over most of the continent. Those were good times. Dadda taught me how to read the land, read the weather, and most importantly, read the people.

“And some of the people we dealt with, they were pretty scary. They weren’t wandering merchants like us. They were like great spiders in the cities, with a web of spies and hooligans. They were the ones that actually evaded the city watch and the church and the royalty … assuming they weren’t selling our goods to the royals outright. I never wanted to be one of those carrion crawlers.”

She shook her head. “But it’s true that some people like that made a lot of money on the War, and if they were of a mind to spend it, they’d be plenty happy to see folks like Four be taken
from their cages and made to fight. All the better if it happens in a safe location with Ghallanda food and drink.”

Cimozjen looked at the floor and scuffed it with his boot. “House Ghallanda. I’m not sure how we can handle this,” he said.

“Look on the bright side,” said Minrah. “At least it’ll make me a great story.”

Brash
Zol, the 24th day of Sypheros, 998

C
imozjen breathed deeply and evenly. The faint sound reminded Minrah of the sound of distant surf. She rose from her feigned meditation and went over to kneel next to Four, who sat in a chair in the corner. He held his battle-axe upright, with its hilt resting on the floor.

“Listen, Four,” she whispered. “I’ve been thinking about things, about Jolieni’s ‘revenge’ and all, and I have an idea I want to follow up on. You stay here and watch over Cimmer, will you?”

“You do not wish for me to come with you?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’m a little worried about him, though. Even though he says he sleeps lightly, I’d be afraid of what may happen if someone from the other night were to sneak in here …”

“I would kill them,” said Four. “That is what I do.”

“And that’s just what I need you to keep doing, right?” She smiled. “I’ll knock when I get back, so you don’t get all excited. Don’t forget.”

She crept over to their piled belongings and rifled through them until she found a large pouch. It clinked slightly as she picked it up
and opened it. She checked its contents, nodded happily, and closed and folded the pouch. She slipped it beneath the waistband of her skirt and quietly left the room.

Huddled within her cloak against the dripping rain, she walked swiftly to the Dragon’s Flagons.

It was still open when she arrived, although at that late hour the clientele had thinned to a bare handful. She was relieved to see that Jolieni was still there, burying her hateful demeanor beneath a layer of alcohol.

Minrah ordered a mead and made a point to look at Jolieni whenever the veteran warrior’s attention was engaged elsewhere. As soon as Jolieni returned her gaze, Minrah averted her eyes, then waited to begin the cycle again. It only took a few repetitions of the gambit to induce Jolieni to rise from her seat and stalk over to the bar.

“What’s your issue?” she demanded.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Minrah said, not looking up from her mead. She drew another swig and waited until Jolieni was just starting to speak again. “I just wanted to see if you were actually as tough as you claim to be. And I think you’re probably pretty tough.”

Jolieni leaned over, her mouth open but silent as she fought for the right word. She finally squeezed it out. “Probably?”

“I think so, yes,” said Minrah nodding.

“That’s daring talk from such a little waif of an elf,” said Jolieni.

Minrah turned to look at her, eyes surprised. “Is it? I do apologize. That was not my intent. Just trying to be accurate, find out the truth of things. That’s all.”

Jolieni rested her arms on the bar and leaned closer, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. Minrah felt the breath from Jolieni’s truncated nose brush her cheek.

“And you think I’m ‘probably’ tough.” Jolieni drew a dagger, long and thin and very sharp, and began cleaning her fingernails. “I think, little one, that you must be quite the fool not to be afraid of me.”

“Me?” said Minrah. She laughed. “Of course I’m afraid of you,” She tapped her hand intimately on Jolieni’s arm. “That is, I would be if I didn’t have my friend looking after me.”

Jolieni drew back. “You mean that old carthorse you drink with?”

Minrah nodded as she took another drink from her mead. “S’right.”

Jolieni laughed, stood, and started to turn away.

Minrah set down her cup, clanking it with just a bit of extra force to ensure Jolieni continued to listen. “He’s old all right,” she said brightly, “but—pfft!—he was fighting while you were still figuring out the drawstring of the local bumpkin.”

Jolieni stiffened then turned her head haughtily back to sneer down at Minrah. “I’ve killed men half his age and twice his skill,” she said.

“I’m sure you have,” said Minrah. “Crossbows are like that.”

“Crossbows?” flustered Jolieni. “I—”

“Don’t fret about it,” said Minrah, holding up her hands. “It’s not like it matters anyway. The War’s over, so if you want to think you could beat him, fine. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“ ’Tis fine to boast so proud and tall / When cow’ring ’hind the ringing wall,” said Jolieni.

“
The Saga of Valiant and Vigilant
, isn’t that?” said Minrah.

“Well, if your friend hasn’t the string to stand by your words …”

“You mean a challenge?” asked Minrah. She giggled. “Easy coin.” She pulled out Cimozjen’s coin pouch, but then tucked it onto her lap again. “But isn’t a melee in public proscribed by law here?” She rose and tucked the coin away. “Thank you, no. I’m not going to let you trick me into getting us arrested and pilloried. Won’t hear of it.”

“We won’t,” said Jolieni. “There’s—”

Minrah covered her ears and began to leave the Flagons. “No, I’m not listening. I don’t want to be arrested for this.”

“Coward,” called Jolieni as Minrah reached the door.

The young elf stiffened, then took a moment to ensure that the smile was completely erased from her face before she turned back around. “Pardon me?”

Jolieni pointed to a stool. “You sit there,” she said. “I’ll be back within the bell, and we’ll see if your carthorse truly has the courage you claim for him.” So saying, she swept past Minrah into the night.

Cimozjen stirred as the morning light coaxed him from his sleep. “What’s that smell?” he murmured, then he bolted upright. “Fire? Is there a—” He cast about, and his eyes finally settled on Minrah, curled up cross-legged in one of the chairs.

“Since when do you smoke a pipe?” he asked, unnerved.

Minrah giggled. She took a deep draw, then let the smoke out in a series of tiny Os that floated across the room until fading from existence.

“It’s a habit I picked up from Dadda. I always smoke a bowl whenever I win.”

Cimozjen rubbed his eyes, and coughed. “Win?”

“I have us a trail to the answer to our mystery, and our key into the secret workings of House Ghallanda,” she said triumphantly. She pulled a tightly curled piece of parchment from her sleeve. “Take a look at this.” She waggled it between her fingers.

Cimozjen grumbled something unintelligible and dragged himself out of bed, wrapping the blanket around him. He waddled over to Minrah, took the parchment, and unrolled it as best he could.

“ ‘Eighth bell, Corner of Stockade and Braided, gray door in the alley,’ ” he read.

“It’s an invitation,” she said with a grin as wide as her ears were long. “All our answers are there.”

Cimozjen raised his eyebrows. “I see. And what will we find there?”

“I really haven’t a clue.” Minrah winked. “My guess is that
we’ll get to see what the fights are really like, and hopefully figure out who’s behind it, then leave as quickly and quietly as possible. Though you’d likely be best served by bringing your sword and mail, ’cause we’re dancing a dangerous line here, and things could get difficult if I’m wrong.”

It was well past dark as Cimozjen, Minrah, and Four searched through the fringes of the neighborhood known as the Newall quarter, looking for the address scrawled on their invitation. The rain had eased to a dull drizzle, and both Minrah and Cimozjen huddled in their rain gear. Four remained unfazed by the weather, and carried his battle-axe at the ready.

They finally found their destination—a nondescript door built into the rear of an elegant stone building, an edifice so large that a dozen or more wealthy houses could likely fit inside. A single oil lamp with a reflective dome on top cast light in a circle around the doorway. Heavy drips fell from the building’s eaves, splatting in the rain puddles and banging the lamp’s protection like a tiny ill-tuned gong.

“Hoy, this is exciting,” said Minrah. “And kind of scary.”

Cimozjen gave her a quizzical look. “You truly know not what lies in here?”

“Know for a fact? No, I don’t. I’m not even completely sure the prisoner fights are held in there, but I think so. I have other suspicions, but they’re nothing more than wild flights of fancy. Let’s just see what we get into, all right?”

Cimozjen eyed her, then tossed his head in resignation. “And I thought you were merely holding out to be a tease.”

She sidled closer as enticingly as she could whilst covered with a rain-drenched cloak. “I may tease the others, Cimmer, but you’re the one holding out on me.”

Cimozjen ignored the comment, drew a breath, and knocked firmly on the door.

After a few moments a view slit banged open. Two suspicious eyes glared out, darting back and forth between the three. The business end of a crossbow made an appearance as well. It was not pointed directly at them, but it conveyed a threat nonetheless. “What’s yer business?” snarled the guard, his voice somewhat muffled by the wooden door.

Cimozjen handed over the paper that Jolieni had given Minrah.

The eyes glanced at the paper, then back at the trio. Then they glared at Four.

“What’s that doing here?”

“It’s Four,” said Cimozjen.

“What?”

“This is Four.”

“I don’t care what it’s for,” said the guard. “Get it out of here.”

“That’s his name,” said Cimozjen. “Four.”

“I don’t care what you named it for,” said the guard. Then he added, in a tone that said the concept should be painfully obvious to all, “We don’t allow their kind in here. You leave it outside. And away from the door. Makes the other folk nervous.”

“I’m sorry, Four,” said Minrah.

“Sorry for what?” asked the warforged.

“Sorry that you can’t come in.”

“I was trying to be funny,” said Four. “Is that not what the doorman was doing?”

Minrah sighed. “Sadly, no. And maybe Four isn’t such a good name for you after all. But regardless, they won’t let you in. You can wait out here, say in that alley across the way there, or you can meet us back at our rooms.”