Uneasy alliances - Thieves World 11 (4 page)

". . . You won't care one whit because you'll already be at sea with your profits," Saliman finished loftily. "Spare me your efforts to wheedle

a higher price. Remember, I'm not some landowner who only buys one slave a year. I'm too familiar with the trade to be convinced of the worth

of a slaver's word."

"But—"

"I'll give you fifty in gold for him. If that isn't sufficient I'll just have to

review the rest of your stock again. I was trying to be considerate of your

schedule, but if you prefer to spend time haggling I have nothing else to

do before midday."

Faced with logic, an ebbing tide, and a more than generous offer, the slaver surrendered ... as Saliman had known he would. Still, by the time the money had changed hands and the slaves hauled out of the hold and offloaded onto the wharf, the sun had already begun its slow climb into the heavens.

A wagon was waiting there, and the slaves were put in the load and covered with a tarp, the thief still secured in his sack. Saliman had a

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healthy respect for the youth's talents, and did not wish to return to Jubal with one slave and a tale of escape. The one called Shadowspawn would have to wait until they were in more secure quarters before his bonds were loosened . . . quarters safe not only from escape, but from prying eyes as well.

Despite his offhand manner with the slaver, Saliman kept a careful watch until his cargo was covered from sight. The fishermen had already left for their day's task so the wharf was deserted, but that could only serve to focus attention on his own activities. Though he had had no specific instructions for secrecy, he could see no advantage to letting it be

known that the two slaves were still in Sanctuary, and countless disadvantages. The driver clucked to his team and departed without a wave or a backward glance, leaving Saliman to find his way to the rendezvous on his own. Again, this was as planned. While it would have been easier to ride in the wagon, there were too many in town who recognized him on sight and knew him for Jubal's lieutenant. Shopping and hauling were not among his normal duties, and his presence on the wagon would have drawn unwanted attention to the cargo and its destination. He was not normally awake, much less about at such an early hour, and as he trudged through the streets Saliman peered about him curiously as the shops and stalls of Sanctuary came to life, preparing for the

day's business. There seemed to be more people in town now, a lot of strange faces what with the work being done on the walls. Work meant money in the pockets of the laborers, money which was quickly transferred to the coffers of shopkeepers, tavern owners and whores. The old hopelessness of Sanctuary and the more recent fears during the street wars and magic upheavals seemed to have disappeared in the light of the new prosperity. There was even a light, mischievous tone to the street haggling over prices which had never been there during the old days of desperation.

As he walked and listened. Saliman allowed himself a rare, leisurely moment of envy. It seemed so simple to earn your living that way . - . stock and customers, straightforward transactions where the biggest worry was price-setting and the rent.

How many years had he worked for Jubal now? Did any of these people appreciate or even suspect the amount of work necessary to maintain the crime lord's illusion of omnipresence?

Take this morning's exercise for example. His instructions had been simple enough: Two slaves of a given description, or rather one of a given

description and the other a specific, known individual, were to be purchased from a ship where they were being held before that ship set sail.

There had been no explanation as to how Jubal knew of their captivity or reason given for their rescue, just the instruction to effect their release

and to deliver them to Jubal with a minimum of disruption or attention. It would have been a simple enough matter, if it weren't for the short deadline for his work. First, there had been a matter of arranging for operating capital at an hour when no goldsmith or moneylender was functioning. Then someone had to be sent to fetch a wagon and driver to meet him at the ship while he prepared for the visit by learning all he could about the slaver he was to deal with. Though in this case it had proved unnecessary, the information that the slaver had a favorite mistress in town could have proved invaluable if he had proved to be difficult

to negotiate with. A timely kidnapping would have given Saliman all the leverage he would need to effect the rescue . . . and of course, that contingency had had to be arranged as well. The men standing by near the mistress's dwelling would have to be paid for their time as well as their skills, even though the latter had not been called on. Fortunately Saliman's records on the night shift of the city guard were up to date, though the recent reorganization had thrown everything into a cocked hat for a while. He knew who was on duty, what their patrol patterns were, who was lax and who was bribable, so the return journey from the wharf could be routed to best avoid interference or questions. It

might seem a minor thing, but the recent rash of slaver kidnappings had set the watch on edge, and Saliman had no desire to purchase the two men only to be accused of kidnapping them himself.

Yes, it would be nice to be able to do business openly and simply. Boring perhaps, but nice. Saliman smiled at the thought, then dismissed it. The truth was, he enjoyed his work. If anything, his administrative duties had doubled when Jubal moved his organization underground, and the challenge and excitement generated by the simplest of tasks, like

the release of two slaves, was payment in itself . . , though his actual salary was nothing to be ashamed of. Being close to the crime lord meant not only having an overview of everything that happened in town, but actually having a hand in shaping events as well. It was a fascinating job.

One Saliman wouldn't give up for the world.

His thoughts amused and occupied him all the way to his destination

... the delivery entrance of The House of Whips and Chains. This brothel was perhaps the most dubious member of Sanctuary's Street of Red Lanterns, catering to the most bizarre and jaded tastes of a notoriously tasteless town. Even so, it would be strange to have an open wagon pull up to the front door, and as such the use of the delivery door was a

must. Even here, or, perhaps, especially here, the streets had eyes and it

did not pay to relax one's vigilance.

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The thief had been released from his sack and was being held, still bound and gagged, between two retainers. Saliman noticed that the youth's eyes were alert and wary, and assumed that whether it was drugs or seasickness which had caused the earlier dullness, it had since worn off. There was no sign of the brothel's women; caution or the hour confined them to their rooms. Also, there was no sign of the second slave, which he assumed meant that Jubal was currently occupied with the interview. This last assumption, however, turned out to be incorrect.

"He wants you upstairs, third door," one of the retainers greeted him flatly. "You're to take this one with you." So Jubal had finished with the other slave already and was waiting

. . . impatiently from the sounds of it.

Saliman fought back the urge to grimace and simply nodded as he motioned for the thief to precede him up the stairs. Any indication of difficulty or disunity within Jubal's forces had to be hidden from outsiders. He had worked too hard teaching new recruits the necessity of maintaining that illusion to shatter it himself. His charge paused in front of the indicated door, and he reached past to rap sharply on the door with a knuckle. The particular rhythm he used signaled that he wasn't alone, but when several moments passed without a call to wait, he opened the door and ushered the thief inside. The room was dark, one of the windowless, possibly soundproof chambers of the house. The only light came from a small brazier filled with glowing embers from which protruded the handle of a branding iron. There were shackles on the wall, and a low sofa where one could recline comfortably while watching the branding process.

"Close the door."

JubaTs voice came from one of the comers the light didn't reach. Saliman obeyed, smiling at his employer's invariable flair for the dramatic.

"Remove his bonds.'*

Again Saliman moved to comply, this time twirling a blade from its hiding place in his sleeve. He made the move deliberately showy. The thief had a reputation for knives. It wouldn't hurt him to know there were others in Sanctuary who prided themselves on their blade-handling ability. As he reached for the gag, however, the youth beat him to it, ungagging himself with hands that were somehow free from the ropes that had secured them.

Though Saliman showed no reaction, he knew the thief had won this particular round of showing off. So did Shadowspawn, who shot him a mocking glance as he tossed the gag and ropes aside. It seemed doubtful the two would become fast friends.

"Hanse . . . sometimes called Shadowspawn," Jubal said, moving into the light of the brazier. "Do you know who I am, thief?" The youth folded his arms across his chest, his stance arrogant and rebellious.

"We've never met, but it's easy to figure who you are. You're Jubal, right? You're older than I thought."

Saliman winced at the thief's brazen mockery of Jubal's spell-aged body, but the crime lord seemed to take no offense.

"True, we've never met. In fact, you're one of the few of the local talent who never approached me for work, or at least to sell information.

I was always curious as to why."

"I work alone," Hanse shrugged. "Besides, I'm choosy about my friends."

"Not too choosy, if your friends include the likes of Tempus Thales," Jubal retorted, his voice hardening. "And as for being your own man . . ."

He lifted the iron from the brazier.

"... I fear that came to a halt when the slavers took you. You're mine now. Bought and paid for."

Saliman expected Hanse to flinch, but the thief was uncowed. Though his eyes followed the iron, his voice was firm and confident.

"You aren't going to brand me," he said, more as a statement than a defiant challenge.

"I'm not?"

"You don't have to untie me to brand me," Hanse pointed out. "If anything, the process would be easier if I were still tied. That means you

want to talk. All right. Quit waving that iron around and let's talk. What

is it you want?"

Jubal stared at the thief for long moments before returning the iron to the brazier. Saliman could understand why. There was nothing in their record to indicate Hanse possessed the intelligence he was now displaying. He wondered if this would mean a change in Jubal's plans.

"You've changed, thief," the crime lord said at last. "What happened while you were gone to change you?"

For the first time since removing his bonds, Shadowspawn seemed to falter.

"I ... I'd rather not talk about it."

"Very well," Jubal nodded. "Shall we get down to business?" Interesting, Saliman thought. The thief doesn't fear the branding iron, but his recent past makes him uncomfortable. Though Jubal did not look his way or give any other indication, he knew he was expected to make 234 UNEASY ALLIANCES

note of Shadowspawn's apparent vulnerability and investigate it as soon as possible.

"How did you know where I was?" Hanse said suddenly.

"I have many sources of information." Jubal waved deprecatingly.

"That particular piece of news came to me from the S'danzo."

"The S'danzo?" the thief frowned. "I didn't know you had any friends among the S'danzo."

"I don't," the crime lord acknowledged without rancor. "But now at least a few of them owe me a favor for arranging your freedom. No, the information came from one of your friends."

"My friends?"

"Two of them, actually," Jubal added, apparently relishing the thief's surprise. "One of them, the older, sensed your danger and went to the younger, the blacksmith's wife, to divine your specific location. Hers was

the added price of freeing the other slave as well . . . a favor to another

client, I believe. Anyway, realizing time was short, they passed word to me, asking for my intervention in your behalf."

Saliman was listening attentively. This was the first he knew of the source of this morning's exercise. Learning it now, he realized why Jubal

had been so eager to have this mission completed, and completed efficiently. He knew a moment's pride that the crime lord had turned to him as his first choice for crucial work, then returned to his analysis. The S'danzo were tight-knit and mutually supportive. Jubal had been trying for years to find a chink in their armor, and now their desperation

over the welfare of a thief had delivered opportunity into his hands. Saliman wondered briefly of the price exacted for his work. Had Juba!

demanded guarantees and assurances, or had he risked it all on performing this favor gratis, preferring to leave the repayment unspecified and therefore open. Probably the latter. Jubal had gained much of his power from Just such favors owed in return for his help at key moments.

"Then I'm free to go?" Hanse said uncertainly, glancing again at Saliman.

"I didn't say that." Jubal smiled.

"But you said the S'danzo paid for you to have me freed."

"What I said was, they asked me to free you from the slavers. That's been done. However nothing was said about freeing you from me ... and I happen to have need of your services myself."

"Since when did you need help to steal something," Shadowspawn sneered, his old arrogance back.

"I don't, thief. At least, not from the likes of you," Jubal replied coldly. "There is, however, a task you can perform for me in return for your complete freedom . . . one involving someone who trusts you."

"I'm a thief, not an assassin," the youth snapped proudly. The crime lord raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise.