Wild Card (2 page)

Rather than send a servant to request an appointment with me, Lady Kaharit had come to the instrument shop yesterday afternoon and spoken with Willa, the owner, who acted as my receptionist when I wasn’t in the office. Whatever was bothering my potential client was serious and sensitive enough for her to come herself. That was the first item of interest. The second? Lady Kaharit was a goblin. Goblins didn’t come to elves for help. Period. And since a goblin was about to do just that, flavored ices were about to be served in the Lower Hells. That was worth missing coffee and sugar knots for.

Goblins and elves had what you might call a history. Every hundred years or so, the two races had themselves a war that accomplished nothing except to lay the groundwork for the next one—that is, if you’d call that an accomplishment. I didn’t.

Though elves might have had a wee bit more reason to be paranoid around goblins, and I didn’t think that because I was an elf myself. About every other war involved the goblins enslaving elves to work in their mines. That was the sort of thing a race tended to take personally—and made them hold on to the resulting grudge with an iron grip that never let go. 

Goblins were just as uncomfortable being around elves. However, not all of that discomfort came from racial animosity. The two races simply weren’t awake and out and about at the same times. Elves loved sunshine. Goblins were mainly nocturnal, by preference bordering on necessity. They could be out during the day if they had to, but their dark eyes were painfully sensitive to sunlight. Shops and businesses in the Goblin District opened at twilight, then remained open throughout the night and into the first few daylight hours. The early evening and early morning hours were for those of other races who preferred not to be in the Goblin District at night. If goblins had to go out during the day, they usually went hooded and wearing dark-lensed spectacles.

In my opinion, dig down deep and the cause of
all
racial distrust and hatred in the seven kingdoms throughout history boiled down to one thing.   

They
are not like
us
.

Movement down in the street outside my window caught my attention. There was a lot of movement any time of any day on the street in front of my office; it was only the unusual that caught my eye.

It was midmorning, but it was already hot and muggy. Two people crossed the street in front of my office wearing cloaks with full hoods. I was betting that one of them was my appointment. And she’d brought an armed retainer. The tip of a sword scabbard protruded from beneath the cloak’s hem, the broad shoulders indicated a male, and the fact that he was walking two steps behind and to the right of the smaller figure indicated that he was a servant.

My door was still open from Ocnus’s exit, and I’d left it that way. Cloaked or not, anyone who had passed Lady Kaharit and her guard knew they were goblins, and cloaked or not, I imagined they’d been subjected more than once to comments no one should have directed at them. I wanted to make sure they felt welcome at my door.

I heard the outer door open and close, but no footsteps on the stairs.

I stood. Time to put out the welcome mat.

I stepped out onto the landing, clasping my hands loosely in front of me, careful to be as nonthreatening as possible considering the amount of steel I was wearing. I had to admit it wasn’t exactly what most people expected from their friendly neighborhood seeker.

“Be welcome in my house,” I said in formal Goblin. Technically my office wasn't my house, though I’d had to sleep here on more than one occasion, but the Goblin language didn’t have a word for office, at least not one that I knew. Better to make the sincere effort to speak faulty, though acceptable, Goblin.

The slighter figure raised gloved hands to push back her hood, and I detected a small smile.

Yep, I’d used the wrong word, but Her Ladyship didn't seem to mind.

“Your welcome honors me.” Lady Kaharit held out her arm and her escort took it. To help
him
up the stairs.

His hood fell back, revealing an elderly goblin somewhere between eighty and ancient. If his body was as frail as his face looked, I was surprised that sword hadn’t tipped him over.

I hurried down the stairs. “Sir, can I—”

He raised the hand not holding Lady Kaharit’s arm, and his lips twitched in a smile. “I'm not as far gone as I appear, Mistress Benares.”

I figured the best way I could help was to simply stay out of the way. I went back to the landing and waited for them to get there.

It didn’t take that long, but I was glad I kept ale and brandy for clients who might need refreshing—or reviving.

I offered drinks, even though it was a little early in the morning, at least for an elf. For a goblin, it could be a nightcap. Lady Kaharit declined, her companion accepted brandy, and considering the way my day had gone so far, I poured one for myself.

“How can I be of assistance, Lady Kaharit?” I asked in Goblin.

“I speak the common kingdom language, Mistress Benares.”

Of course, she did. I felt embarrassed and mildly stupid.

“Though your effort is much appreciated,” she added.

“Good.” I leaned against my desk since Ocnus had broken my chair. “Because my vocabulary is limited.” At least my polite vocabulary was. If you needed to do any quality swearing, Goblin was the way to go. I could cuss a blue streak. 

“I need your help retrieving a piece of jewelry that has been taken from me. A ring belonging to my grandmother.”

Lady Kaharit was direct and to the point. Good.

“Do you have any idea who may have taken it?” I asked.

Her expression hardened. “I know precisely who stole it. The same individual who has stolen all of my finer pieces. My husband.”

And the awkwardness just kept coming.

“Uh, I don't handle domestic disputes, Lady Kaharit.”

“That is all well and good, as I do not require assistance handling my domestic situation. I will be resolving that issue myself. Very soon.”

It sounded like she had a permanent solution in mind. Goblins were nice enough people, but if they married and got on each other’s bad sides. . . well, divorce was rare, but death—suspicious and otherwise—was all too common. Black was a good color for goblins. She was already beautiful, so I had no doubt that Lady Kaharit would make a stunning widow.

“My husband has a gambling problem,” she continued. “When we were first married, I thought it more of a harmless dalliance. I recently discovered that jewelry which I brought with me when I married had been altered. The gems have been removed and replaced with counterfeits.”

I gave a silent whistle. Oh yeah, this guy was about to be pushing up daisies.

Her dark eyes glittered. “Two nights ago, he stole my grandmother’s ring.” 

Cancel the daisies. His Lordship would be bog-beetle food in the Daith Swamp before the week was out.

“The ring has more sentimental than monetary value. The stone is not of the highest quality, which tells me that my husband has become increasingly desperate in funding his addiction. A fact proven by the unsavory individuals who have been seen near our home. I believe my husband has gotten in over his head.” She paused. “There have been threats.”

“Against you?”

Her eyes flicked over to the elderly man, one who was obviously fond of and close to his mistress. “And my servants.”

That crossed all of my lines. You didn’t threaten old people or children, and you sure as hell better not hurt them.

“Sir, don’t take this the wrong way,” I began as diplomatically as I could. “I’m sure you’re capable with that blade you’re carrying.”
Or at least you were forty years ago
, I left unsaid. “But I’ve seen the handiwork of the local debt collectors. Honor’s not a concept they’re familiar with—and dirty’s the only way they know how to fight.”

That last part also applied to me, but when most of the opponents I encountered were taller and bigger than I was, I tossed any notion of fair play right out the nearest window. Strike first, strike hard, and make it count. If I’d done it the way I’d been taught, they wouldn’t be getting back up. And I didn’t know if what I had was called honor, but it pissed me off when innocent people were threatened. More than once it had me sticking my nose or fists into other people’s business, but some things I simply refused to tolerate.

“Do you have any children?” I asked Lady Kaharit.

“Fortunately, no. Sethis and I have been married only a year and a half.”

The name didn’t ring a bell. “Sethis Kaharit isn’t a name I’ve heard. Maybe he—”

“Kaharit is my family name. I was afraid you’d refuse to see me if I gave you my married name.” Her dark eyes went flat and hard. “And after the thefts, it is the name I will be using from now on. My husband is Sethis Mortsani.”

I briefly considered going for a second hit on the brandy.

“
That
name I’ve heard.”

The goblin gave me a small, apologetic smile. “I thought you might have. The marriage was arranged when we were children, the dowry was accepted. . .”

Meaning she’d been bought and paid for. Sheesh. Made me glad I wasn’t a blue blood. He had the name and rank; she had the money. Well, at least she
used
to have the money.

The goblin lady drew herself up proudly. “I sense your hesitation. I will understand if my husband’s reputation makes you reconsider.”

It wasn’t his reputation as much as the ickyness factor. Okay, maybe it was at least half due to his reputation.

Sethis Mortsani was a nachtmagus. Anyone who worked with dead people made the skin of most living people crawl. Undertakers worked with dead people, but their intent wasn’t to bring them back to life, or undeadness, or whatever the end result qualified as.

Many who called themselves nachtmagi limited their work to communicating with the dead. Other nachtmagi assisted the dying to the other side, to prevent their souls from getting lost and being trapped here or somewhere in between.

Sethis Mortsani wasn’t either kind of nachtmagus.

A cottage industry had sprung up around the contesting of wills. If you were an heir who’d been written out of one, the death of the will’s signer didn’t mean the end of your chances to cash in. Rather than simply contest the existing will, it helped your case if you could produce one written and signed at a later date. When it came to wills, all the power was in the signature. Literally.

All wills were written on specially bespelled parchment. If someone other than the legal owner of the will tried to sign the document, the parchment would reject the ink. Getting your hands on bespelled parchment had gotten to be easy. Forging a signature on it was impossible.

That was where unscrupulous nachtmagi like Sethis Mortsani came in. Their job was to resurrect the dearly departed and get that signature. Spirits that got pulled back into their bodies were confused and easily manipulated by a talented nachtmagus. All the body physically needed was enough muscle left on the bone to hold a pen and sign their name. Apparently the parchment didn’t care if the signer was alive or dead. I didn’t even begin to understand how
that
worked. In return for their services, the nachtmagus was offered a cut of the inheritance. 

Lord Mortsani’s wife was a brave woman. Even if she succeeded in putting a permanent stop to his pilfering—and his life—well, I’d heard of nachtmagi coming back more than once from the great beyond.

Lady Kaharit took a leather pouch from beneath her cloak and dropped it on the desk between us.  It landed with a thud—an impressive thud.

A hundred half kugarats. Goblin imperial gold.

Yeah, I knew exactly how much was in that bag. My regular fee, times ten. It was a family talent. Certain traits had bred into the Benares line. Knowing what and how much was in a purse when it was handed over was one of those traits. When you were a thief, pirate, highwayman, or any criminal variation thereof, you rarely had time to stand around and count your ill-gotten booty.

“That’s way more than my usual fee,” I told her. “I can’t take any more of your money that what I’m due for—”

The goblin smiled fully. “He stole my jewels; I stole his winnings.”

I returned her smile and reached out and took the purse. With Sethis Mortsani as my target, I’d be earning every bit of it. Heck, this might even cover my hazard pay.

I tossed the purse in my hand. “So, where does His Lordship like to gamble?”

*

When mages retired, regardless of their age, they wanted to enjoy themselves. As a result, Mermeia had evolved over the past couple hundred years from a handful of soggy islands on the edge of a swamp to the gambling and entertainment capital of the seven kingdoms.

When you’ve faced down one demon too many and felt Lady Luck was about to give you the ultimate cold shoulder, plenty of mages figured it was time to stop gambling with their lives and pick up a pair of dice. Risk was an addiction they didn’t want to kick, and now that their lives weren’t on the line, their money was.

More than one mage had made a tidy fortune at the gaming tables. Yes, the casinos employed mages of their own to detect patrons using magic to favor their wagers. Mages survived out in the world by being smarter and more resourceful than who or whatever they were being paid to go up against. For men and women like these, coming up with new ways to cheat the system was so easy even an apprentice could do it.

Seeing that part of my job was finding stolen goods, the city’s pawnshops and casinos were the first places I looked. Yes, seeking involved magic, but a lot of the time, it was talking to people and legwork that got the job done and the property returned.

After my meeting with Lady Kaharit, I started with the pawnshops that dealt in high-end jewelry. The ones that bought and sold stones like those Lord Sethis Mortsani had stolen from his wife didn’t have storefronts. Being a Benares helped me know where to look, but earning the trust of the proprietors got me the truth—or at least their version of it. Over the years, I’d become adept at reading between the lines. Most fences wouldn’t touch blazing-hot goods. They didn’t want trouble; they just wanted to make a living, albeit a mostly dishonest one. They trusted me not to rat them out to the city watch; I trusted them to be upfront with me. Most of my clients could afford to pay to have their goods returned, and the majority of the time, the reward they offered was more than the fence had paid the thief. My clients got their valuables back, and the fence made some money. Everybody was happy.