There were Dynize books on the nightstand, and uniforms and extra clothes in the closet that looked about Forgula’s size. There were several notepads, and it only took a moment to compare the writing on them with the writing in Forgula’s address book to confirm their likeness.
Once he’d done that, he checked each room with a steady, thoughtful eye. He looked for hidden nooks and crannies, disrupted dust, mismatched wallpaper—anything that would indicate a hiding spot for Forgula’s valuables. He checked under shelves and sought gaps in the floorboards. Nothing seemed out of order, so he moved on to the more mundane: the bed, the wardrobe, and Forgula’s sea chest.
He was careful to handle everything as little as possible. He memorized the locations of every item before moving something, then putting it back exactly as it was found. The goal was to be as thorough as possible without letting Forgula know that he’d been here at all.
The search took him less than half an hour, and it revealed almost nothing useful—though he did learn a great deal about Forgula. Letters from her father and little sister had come with her from Dynize, as well as tokens of affection and a stack of unsigned love notes that looked to be a few years old. Michel always struggled with this part of his job. Looking through the private parts of a person’s life often revealed a more human side that he had to coldly ignore.
Only one item caught Michel’s interest. It was a list of addresses filed away with a bundle of other papers in a hidden compartment of Forgula’s sea chest. The addresses were most definitely in Landfall, and the paper looked fairly new. A brief check against the addresses in her booklet told him that this was not her standard list of contacts.
Michel returned the bundle of papers to the sea chest—sans the list of addresses—and made sure everything was in its proper place. One more quick search of the house, and he locked the back doors and slipped out through a window, closing it carefully behind him.
He couldn’t help but be mildly disappointed as he left the Industrial Quarter on foot and climbed up the switchbacks to head back to the Merryweather Hotel. The list of addresses in his pocket might turn up something interesting, but it seemed that there would be no easy answers for Forgula’s meetings with Marhoush. He couldn’t help but decide that she was attempting to turn him—perhaps to get her own pet Blackhat and curry favor with her master, Sedial. If there was nothing sinister going on, he’d angered Forgula for very little reason.
He was getting near the Hadshaw Gorge when he got the sense that he was being followed.
Michel switched directions, heading down a couple of side streets before reaching the main avenue that ran alongside the gorge. He was careful not to look directly behind him—only stopping from time to time to check his pocket watch or look in a store window, trying to get some kind of look at whoever might be on his tail. If anyone was there, they managed to elude him.
His mood went from curious to uneasy, and he wondered if perhaps one of the Sedial Household or even Forgula herself had spotted him leaving Forgula’s house. He’d wanted to spend the afternoon catching up with a few old contacts—the type of people Tenik would disapprove of him meeting—but he couldn’t risk leading any Dynize to anyone who would raise suspicions. Perhaps he should head straight back to the hotel.
If Forgula had spotted him, though, Michel couldn’t hole himself up with other Dynize. He took a sudden turn into an alley off the busy street and stepped up against the wall, waiting for anyone he recognized to pass him by. He slipped both hands into his pockets and fingers into his knuckle-dusters.
He waited for five minutes, then ten. He was just beginning to think his paranoia had gotten the best of him when he heard the sound of a pistol cocking behind him.
Slowly, Michel turned to look back into the alley. Hendres stood about fifteen feet away, pistol raised, her face expressionless. How she had managed to sneak up on him, he had no idea, but he tried to put together a quick explanation for his actions—anything that might let him talk himself out of this. “Hendres,” he said.
“Michel.” She breathed his name like a swear word.
“You don’t want to fire that here,” Michel said quietly. “You’ll have soldiers down on top of you in a moment. Lower the pistol and we can talk. I’m not what you think I am.” Slowly, so as not to risk a rash action on her part, he slipped his fingers out of his knuckle-dusters and raised his hands. “We should talk.”
“No,” Hendres said, “we shouldn’t.”
Michel saw the gun jump only a split second before something slammed into his chest. He jerked backward and slumped against the alley wall, where he stayed for a few seconds while Hendres watched him through the powder smoke. She turned and ran.
Michel frowned at the lack of pain. Had she missed? Had a misfire caused the bullet to bounce off him? He touched a hand to his chest, a few inches below his heart. His fingers came back crimson. There was a burning sensation, like having a hot coal against his skin, and it took Michel’s suddenly foggy mind several moments to come to terms with the fact that he’d been shot.
And that he would probably be dead within a few moments.
He stumbled to the next street, walking along with a wall on his right, his fingers leaving crimson prints against the plaster as he tried to propel himself on. Each step felt like a thousand miles, but he barely managed to go two blocks before he fell into the rubbish beside a doorway, his eyesight cloudy and his mind confused. He thought he heard a voice somewhere behind him and wondered if Hendres had returned to finish the job.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER 32
Before heading down the main avenue of Bellport, Styke approached Ka-poel and let her horse nuzzle his hand. “Why are you following me?” he asked. “Don’t you have sorcery to do somewhere?”
She rolled her eyes and went through a series of hand motions.
“She says that she’s following you because you’re her protector,” Celine said, joining them with Amrec in tow.
Styke eyed Celine. “You picked that shit right up, didn’t you?”
She learns very quickly, Celine translated for Ka-poel.
“What do you mean I’m your protector? The whole of the Mad Lancers is your bodyguard. You’re safer out there.”
Ka-poel pursed her lips and signed. It took several repetitions before Celine was able to translate a coherent sentence: A bone-eye needs a protector. I am not incapable of defending myself, but I am far more dangerous if I don’t have to worry about physical danger.
“So go back with the lancers,” Styke said, getting frustrated.
I haven’t anointed the lancers. I have anointed you. Besides, Taniel has trusted you with me. Neither of us wants to betray that trust.
Styke noted the fond way she smiled when she signed Taniel’s name. He spat in the dust. “What the pit do you mean by ‘anointing’? Have you done any of that blood magic shit on me?” He thought of that moment in the town outside of Landfall just before the invasion.
Ka-poel regarded him coolly, but did not answer. This was not, Styke decided, the place to press the point. He didn’t want to take her to task in public, and he definitely didn’t want his men to witness him being stonewalled by a hundred-pound Palo woman. Besides, if she had put some kind of her magic on him, he would have smelled it. Wouldn’t he have?
“We’ll talk about this again. I have a man to kill. Are you two coming?” He climbed into Amrec’s saddle and lifted Celine up after him.
“Are you going to let me watch you kill him?” Celine asked as they began to ride.