The Silk Map (41 page)

Katta threw me over his shoulders.

“An odd overcoat, that,” mused Ozan.

“It has proven a good friend. Farewell. I look forward to being not-here again someday.”

“I will count the days to the non-event. Be careful, Surgun.”

“Be well, Ozan.”

Katta walked the way I had lately taken. When we returned to the caravanserai we found that the others had turned in and were all quietly in their rooms. And by this silence I knew Gaunt and Bone to indeed be thieves at heart.

“The
Chart of Tomorrows
,” Gaunt whispered, reading by candlelight from the title page of the book that had mysteriously appeared in their room.

“A little light reading,” said Bone.

“This is an infamous book,” Gaunt said.

“I know. And we did not even have to risk dismemberment to get it.”

Gaunt frowned. “Who would conceive such a maneuver? Books left beside a pillow. Are they assassins turned librarians?”

“That sounds plausible to me.”

“Who could have done this, really?”

“At a guess—and it is simply a guess—Flint and Quilldrake are still active and are perhaps helping us with a clue.”

“Yet they did not alert us.”

“Perhaps there was no opportunity.”

Gaunt fingered the book, flipped it open to reveal pages of intricate island maps with crabbed notes beside. “I won't discount your theory—indeed, I like it, for it means our companions yet live—but it does not feel right. For one thing, this lost book describes pathways through time that exist far to the West, in the Bladed Isles. We have no means of employing it, even if we wanted to. Indeed, I suspect that's why it was taken to the East.” She stopped flipping pages, frowning at the image of a hand marked with a rune resembling three lengths of chain intertwined. She was shaky with the language of the Northmen, but she could make out the note
The Mark of the Runethane
.

“Let's keep this to ourselves,” Bone was saying. “If someone's brought us this so discreetly, let's remain discreet.”

“Agreed.” She shut the book so that her mind wouldn't wander new labyrinths. She sighed. “It's good to talk again in this way, Imago. To consider mysterious books and strange cities and upcoming capers. After the desert, and the storm, and the business with the dragon horses . . .” She added, more quietly, “And blood on my hands . . .”

“Let's let dragon horses lie for now. Remember whom we do this for.”

“I remember.”

The night, even at this altitude, felt warm, and Bone wanted to take her in his arms. But their truce was fragile still, and as he watched her take up
Lamentations of the Great Historian
, he could see that her passion was elsewhere just now.

Bone slept, for one of them had to. Gaunt stayed awake, because no force in the universe could prevent her from reading just then. Yet it was companionable.

At last he dreamed he sailed a misty sea. Ahead were three islands, one bearing their son, one a group of weavers, one a statue of a monkey. He was in a panic, unsure which to steer for, when a strong wind capsized him and he plunged through a realm of clouds toward a death upon a landscape that contained fields, farms, rivers, lakes, and towers, but that all somehow resembled silk.

“Our target, if you choose to accept my thinking,” Mad Katta said, “is a Nightkindler priest called Ildus of the Tower, or Ildus the Scolding, by many who work with him.” Katta clasped his hands together. “He is Keeper of the Keys, an officer not much inferior to the pyrarch. He is a strict rule-minder—not of the sort who loves law and justice but of the kind who loves catching others out in error. He will do this with scripture, pouncing on anyone who misquotes the Fire Saint, and with procedure, disdaining all dust and all improperly clad clerks. As such, he is little loved.”

“And he carries the key we need?” Bone asked, his curiosity fully engaged.

“He does! Getting to him is a matter of some difficulty, as he dwells in the Palace of Larks, and works in the Tower of the Crake, and hardly ever mingles with such common folk, let alone disreputables such as we.”

“You said ‘hardly ever,'” Gaunt put in, rubbing her eyes. “What is the exception?”

“He has one vice, if you want to call it that. Once a week in the late afternoon he visits the House of Spiraling Veils.”

Snow Pine snorted. “A place of fine art, no doubt.”

“Indeed. It is a spot where gentlemen sit and drink and discuss whichever matters of business, philosophy, or governance stir their fancy. All while watching diverting dances performed by fancifully garbed women.”

“Ah,” Gaunt said, shaking her head, “that sort of place.”

“You may misunderstand, Persimmon Gaunt. Most folk of Qushkent do indeed consider this sort of dancing an art, although admittedly many are uncomfortable with the idea of professional performances. Both genders may dance, but this particular establishment focuses on women, and men being men, there is a large male audience. But I do not speak of a place of prostitution. There are such establishments elsewhere, though they are
not
considered places of art. There is no trade for greater favors at the House of Spiraling Veils.”

“No doubt a disappointment to you,” Snow Pine said.

“The dancers are the wrong gender to disappoint,” Katta said with a smile. “Are you having trouble with that melon juice, Imago Bone?”

“Quite all right,” coughed Bone.

“Indeed?” Gaunt said.

“Could none of you kids tell?” Zheng said. “Ah, the younger generation. So straight-laced.”

“In any event,” said Katta, “my romantic life is not our trouble. Indeed, it is no one's trouble! No, the trouble is that key.”

“Now,” Gaunt said, “how are we going to get close to a man who frequents a dance hall? Whom might we know who has an acrobatic flair and an escapade outfit?”

Bone choked on his melon juice again. “You cannot be serious.”

“I haven't worn that outfit in a performance since I recited poems from
Crypt Lyrics
back in Palmary,” Gaunt said. “It will have nostalgia value.”

“You must be careful,” Bone said.

“That is a strange sentiment,” Gaunt said, “coming from you. But yes, I will.”

The bad news, Gaunt reflected after she and Snow Pine were hired by one Kelebek, mistress of the House of Spiraling Veils, was that Ildus was coming that very day. After a heated discussion on the matter, the band chose to observe and strike in a week. So the good news was, they would have several days to hone their plan.

Ildus was a stern-visaged, white-bearded, bronze-skinned man who would not only arrogantly display the keys in his gray robe's pocket but would sometimes finger them absently as he watched the dancers. Gaunt, Snow Pine, Bone, and Katta all got a good look. (Zheng had gone off to scrape up materials for her scrolls. She said, “Unlike you I have no time for play.”) Deadfall remained in the caravanserai, dreaming whatever dreams a carpet might have.

The four of them dispersed so as not to seem parts of a group—Gaunt and Snow Pine applying for jobs, Bone and Katta becoming customers.

The escapade outfit did its work, as did the heavy coating of makeup that hid the tattoo on Gaunt's face. She wore her dark-haired wig so at least reports of an exotic redhead would not reach the Karvaks. She did not wish to be parted from Crypttongue in such a situation, so she presented herself as a sword-dancer. The gems upon the pommel she covered with a veil.

Snow Pine had no outfit appropriate for this art and had scoffed at the idea of such employment, but Gaunt had pleaded for the support. Mistress Kelebek was impressed by Snow Pine and fronted the money to buy costuming. Snow Pine seemed shocked.

When they rendezvoused at the caravanserai, Bone commenced sketching the keys, and Gaunt said, “I can help you locate a dress, Snow Pine.”

“I can't believe she hired me,” Snow Pine said. “I am not a dainty little flower.”

“No, you are a ferocious tiger,” Mad Katta said. “That does not mean you are not beautiful.”

“I don't like this discussion,” Snow Pine said. “I will wear the foolish clothes and distract the foolish men, but I don't like it.”

“You do not have to,” Gaunt said. “I will act alone if need be. You can stay with Bone and be ready to fight.”

“No,” Snow Pine said. “This is the way to ensure one of us gets close to this Ildus, and two are safer than one. But, all of you, stop pretending that every woman likes this sort of display.”

“I am sorry,” Gaunt said.

“And I,” said Katta.

“Bone?” Gaunt said.

He looked up from his rapid sketching. “I didn't say anything!”

“You didn't have to,” Gaunt said.

The day of the caper, all was in readiness, when fate dealt them a pair of unexpected cards.

The two missing Karvak balloons drifted over the city.

“Well, this is interesting,” Bone said that morning, craning his head out a window.

“Bone, get in here,” Gaunt said. “It's a safe bet they have spyglasses.”

The balloons anchored beside their companion over the Palace of Larks.

“This complicates matters,” Katta said, “but I think we must proceed. We've heard nothing of Karvaks approaching the Tower of the Beak, so I suspect they have been waiting to see if their expeditions into the valley would succeed.”

“What if they did?” Zheng said.

Katta sighed. “Then they may have already secured their Iron Moth larvae. But I suspect if the two balloons managed a landing, then they will try again with all three. If we see all three depart soon, then our own efforts may be complicated.”

“Complicated!” Zheng said. “These are Karvaks. If they find the Iron Moths they will take everything they can get, leaving nothing for us.”

“I agree it's possible,” Snow Pine said. “But we must continue. Now is our best chance.”

And so Gaunt and Snow Pine made their way to the House of Spiraling Veils by different paths, for they were not supposed to have known of each other before their hiring. Gaunt kept to the sides of streets and moved quickly when in the open, so as to stay out of view of anybody aboard those balloons. As she passed by one of the parrots upon its pillars, she heard it say, “Pale woman! Dragon horses! Mummies!”