They turned the corner and moved down the alley, reaching the large delivery yard behind the coffee house. They climbed up on the loading dock and then moved into the kitchen. After the time spent in the cold storm, the kitchen felt hot to them. They went to where they kept dry clothes and started to change.
As Roo finished dressing, Kurt came into the kitchen to where Roo and Jason were tying on their aprons. “Well, I had to clean up your mess, Avery. You owe me for that.”
“What?” said Roo, his expression a mix of amusement and irritation.
“You heard me. I don’t get door duty, but because of you I’m mopping up more mud than I’ve seen since I started working here.”
“I don’t have time for this,” said Roo, pushing past him.
Kurt’s hand fell on his arm. Roo turned and, using a hold taught him by Sho Pi when they were traveling across the sea in Calis’s mercenary band, he bent Kurt’s fingers back to a very uncomfortable angle, just short of causing him injury. But the pain gained him instant results. Kurt’s face drained of color and his eyes began to water as he dropped to his knees. Roo calmly said, “I told you you didn’t want to find out what would happen if you touched me again.” He caused Kurt another moment of pain, then released his fingers. “Next time I’ll break your hand, and then we’ll see how fit you are for waiting tables.”
Kurt whispered, “You’re mad!”
Roo saw fear in Kurt’s eyes. Like all bullies, he didn’t expect any resistance, and when it came from a small man like Roo, he was doubly shocked. “Very mad,” said Roo. “And capable of killing you with my bare hands. Remember that and keep your mouth shut when I’m around and we’ll get along just fine.”
Roo didn’t wait for a response or to say anything to the kitchen staff, who had turned to stare at the sight of Kurt being forced to his knees. Roo knew he now had an enemy, but he didn’t fear Kurt. He had lost all fear years before, and it would take something a great deal more frightening than a pumped-up town bully to make Roo Avery know it again.
7
Opportunity
Roo smiled.
The man had come looking for him about midmorning, and McKeller had summoned him from the kitchen, where he was learning to brew coffee to Mr. Hoen’s satisfaction. Without introducing himself, the man said, “Are you the boy who stole my wagon?”
Roo halted and studied the man. He was of middle height, only a head taller than Roo, was stocky, and had a round face. His hair was cut short, but slicked with some pomander oil in a Quegan style, with ringlets across his forehead. He wore a shirt with a collar that was ton high for him, given his thick neck, and with far too much lace down the front. With his cutaway jacket and tight trousers, he looked comic to Roo. Two less than comic bodyguards stood behind him. Each wore only a long belt knife, and otherwise were unarmed, but Roo could see instantly these were killers—exactly the sort of men Roo had served with in Calis’s company.
The man who had spoken might have dressed the part of a young city dandy, but his anger and his narrow eyes caused Roo to sense he was as potentially dangerous as the two men who served him. Roo said, “And you are . . .
“I am Timothy Jacoby.”
“Ah,” said Roo, making a display of wiping his hands on his apron before offering his right to shake. “Your drunken friend mentioned you by name. Did he ever get to your shop last night?”
Instantly anger was replaced by confusion. It was obvious to Roo that the man had expected some denial. He reluctantly took Roo’s hand and shook in a cursory fashion, then let go. “Friend? He was no friend, just a sailor who I bought some drinks, who . . . who did me a favor.”
“Well, he obviously felt that returning to sea was a better choice than telling you he almost drove your wagon into Barret’s Coffee House.”
“So I heard,” Jacoby answered. “Well, if he ran off, that explains why I had to buy information from a rumormonger. She said someone had unloaded my wagon in front of Barret’s and moved all the cargo. I thought the sailor had been overcome by robbers.”
Roo said, “No. Your goods are safe.” Reaching into his tunic, he removed the large leather wallet and handed it to Jacoby. “Here are the customs documents. The entire cargo is in that house across the way, safely dry.”
“Where’s the horse and wagon?” asked Jacoby.
“The horse died. We had to cut it out of the traces, and knackers slaughtered it and hauled it away.”
“I won’t pay a dime for the knackers!” said Jacoby. “I never authorized that. I could have sent another team and hauled it away myself!”
“No bother,” said Roo. “The wagon was ruined”—which he knew to be a lie—“so I had it hauled away. Let me have it for scrap to cover the cost of the porters and knackers, and we’ll call it even.”
Jacoby’s eyes narrowed. “Ruined, you say? How do you know?”