Chapter Twenty-seven
I closed the door and limped my way across the room toward the bar. I heard a small gasp as I did so, didn’t realize why until I remembered that I had Degan’s sword across my back, until I remembered he hadn’t known it was here until now.
Well, that made it one surprise for each of us, then, didn’t it?
“You two are getting as thick as thieves,” I said as I settled gingerly on one of the stools. “Pardon the saying.”
“Given the present company,” said Degan, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Take it however the hell you like.” I undid the sack holding Heron’s box from around my waist and set it on the bar. Back in the depths of the inn, I could hear the clatter and bang of the kitchen working on the company’s breakfast. “I thought you had other business,” I said to Degan. “That you didn’t want to be here, near us, because it would be . . . how did you put it? Oh, yes, it would be ‘too hard.’”
“Drothe,” said Fowler quickly. “He didn’t come here. I went and—”
Degan held up a hand. “No, it’s all right,” he said. “No one made me come, Jess, and I wasn’t exactly charitable toward Drothe last time I was here. He has the right of it.”
I sniffed and pulled the box out of the sack. It was a little smaller than a man’s head and made of polished mahogany, the beaten copped bands that held it closed complementing the red of the wood nicely. Leave it to someone at court to spend more on a box than on what it held.
“Do you mind if I ask how you came by my . . . by the sword?” he said as I swung the lid back on the box.
“Took it off a Gray Prince,” I said. “He’s dead now. Long story.”
“They usually are with you.”
“Don’t suppose I can convince you to take it off me?” I said.
Degan shook his head. “We went over that the other night. It’s not mine to carry anymore.”
“I’ll hold on to it, then.”
“Sentimental value?”
“Something like that.”
There were six cloth bags inside the box. I picked one, drew out a seed, and put it in my mouth. After the night I’d had, the ahrami should have been ambrosia; instead, it just sat under my tongue, tasting bitter.
I turned my attention to Fowler. “How’d you know where to find him?” I asked.
“Followed him. The night he came to see you.”
I raised an eyebrow at Degan. He shrugged. “I was watching for you. She keeps a different line.”
Fowler sat up a bit in her chair, clearly pleased with herself.
“Fowler says you’re having some problems with the Zakur,” said Degan.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Fowler snorted. I ignored her. “Me, I’d rather talk about your brother—”
“Former brother.”
“Former brother, then. Silver.”
Degan picked up his cup, swirled the contents about, and took a sip. “I told you, he has an overly high opinion of himself.”
“He also seems to have a fairly high opinion of Ivory Degan as well.”
Degan looked up sharply. “You told him?”
“No, you did. Silver was sitting in my room when we spoke the other night in the hallway. He heard everything.”
Degan gave Fowler a sharp look, which she ignored. Good for her.
“And you knew this?” he said to me.
“Hell, no. If I had, I would’ve dragged him out, or you in, and finished this damn thing there and then.”
“And what did my former brother have to say?”
“Turns out you’re not the only one interested in Ivory’s papers.”
“He told you he wants them as well?”
“Yes.”
“To use as leverage against me?”
“That’s his story.”
“And you believe him?”
I shrugged. “I believe he has plans for you, and now for the papers as well. I don’t know if your coming down here was an excuse or a happy accident, but he definitely sees you as a means to laying hands on them.”
Degan frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he assume I’d be able to find them?”
“Maybe he didn’t,” said Fowler.
We both looked at her.
“Maybe he didn’t expect a former degan to find them,” she said. She turned to me. “Maybe he expected a former Nose to do it instead.”
“Me?” I said. “Why the hell would he think I could come down here and find anything, let alone that?”
“No,” said Degan, giving Fowler an approving look. “Maybe she’s right. Silver’s not stupid: If he knew I was looking for something, and he knew he could get you to help by having you come after me, then it makes sense.”
“But how would he know what you were looking for? I didn’t even know until I got down here and talked to you. Hell, he didn’t know you were in Djan until I told him.”
Degan cleared his throat. “He, ah, might have heard something through other circles.”
I sat up on my stool. “What other circles?”
Degan looked off into the darkness. “You weren’t the first person I told what I was looking for.”
I was about to say it didn’t matter who he’d asked in el-Qaddice when I realized he wasn’t talking about that. That he was talking about Ildrecca, back before he’d vanished.
Oh, hell. “You asked other degans about Ivory, didn’t you?” I said.
“One or two.”
“And they told Silver?”
“Possibly. More likely, he figured it out without them knowing they were telling him. Like I said, he’s not stupid.”
I reached up and rubbed my temples. It didn’t help. “Remind me: Weren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, on the run from them? Something about the Order wanting your head because you dusted another degan and threw your sword away?”
“It’s complicated,” said Degan.
“I’ll just bet it is.” I folded my arms and leaned back against the bar. “Talk. And don’t even try to tell me it’s some sort of degan-only secret: You’re out of the Order, and I’m in this up to my neck.”
Degan blew out his cheeks and sat back in his chair. “Let’s just say there’s what the Order is supposed to do, and there’s what some of the members choose to do. I chose to talk to two of my fellows, and they chose not to kill me. It was just after Iron’s death, and things were still uncertain. Besides, it wasn’t as if I could walk in and check the records in the Barracks Hall after what had happened.”
“And your two brothers were all right with this?”
“A brother and a sister, actually,” said Degan. “Jade and Brass. They didn’t approve of what I did, but they understood how it happened. More important, they sympathized with what I want to do.” He took a last gulp from his cup and set it aside. A sad smile spread across his face. “They were weeks sneaking records in and out for me, with Brass and me going over them for any hint of what might have happened to Ivory Degan after he left Ildrecca.”
“But not Jade?” I said.
“He drew the line at helping me look. He said he could bring the information out and back, but he couldn’t countenance taking a more direct hand in something he felt could just as easily break the Order as mend it.”
“Was he right?”
“Everyone has to follow where their conscience leads; who am I to say he was right or wrong to stop where he did?”
“But you still found something that pointed you down here.”
“Brass did,” said Degan. “She came across a reference in one of the old journals—the members still kept journals as a rule back then—about Bone Degan saying she’d thought she caught a glimpse of Ivory in el-Qaddice. This was almost three decades after he’d left the Order, but Bone didn’t go after him to find out for certain.”
“Why not?” said Fowler.
“Something about her being busy holding off five of the despot’s men while her charge made an escape out a palace window, I suspect.”
“Ah,” said Fowler. She glared at me.
“What?” I said.
“Just noticing the similarities.”
“I haven’t had to jump out of a window since we got here. Not even a palace’s.” I slipped another seed into my mouth, then added, “Yet.”
“Yet?” said Degan and Fowler together.
I shrugged. “There’s a library that’s showing some promise on the Ivory front.”
“‘The Ivory front’?” said Degan. He sat up in his seat. “I thought I told you I didn’t want your help.”
“Tell it to the degan who has my people over a barrel. What you want isn’t necessarily what you’re going to get.”
“I could say the same for you.”
I shifted my weight on the stool, wincing slightly in the process. “Is that a threat?”
“A threat?” Degan rocked his head back in disbelief. “Drothe, you have one Zakur crime lord putting a price on your head even as another is trying to blackmail you into killing the first. Me threatening you at this point would be like kicking a dying horse: It might hasten things along, but it sure as hell wouldn’t make a difference in the end.”
I got up and walked over to their table. Outside, I could hear Tobin raising his voice, yelling at someone to be careful with a crate. Probably covering for Yekeb and the flour.
“So does that mean you’re here to help?” I asked, stopping before Degan.
He shook his head. “I can’t risk drawing attention to myself.”
“Then why come?”
“Because I wanted to say good-bye.”
“You going someplace?”
Degan glanced past me, toward the door and the yard beyond. “You are.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Excuse me?” This from Fowler.
“They may be leaving,” I said, jerking a thumb over my shoulder, “but I still have things to do here.” I looked at Degan. “Just like you.”
“No, not like me,” said Degan. “I’m here because of a promise I made long ago—a promise I have to try to keep, even if it means failure. You don’t have that burden. You can walk away.”
“The hell I can. I came down here to preserve my organization and protect my people. If I try to walk away—”
“If you walk away,” snapped Degan, “you end up back where you started: in Ildrecca, with people at your back and a problem to solve. Do you realize how lucky you are? How fortunate that is? You can walk out of el-Qaddice and not have to worry about what you’re leaving undone behind you. Silver threatened you? So what? Threaten him back, or better yet, make it so he can’t hurt you.”
“He’s a degan, dammit. I can’t just tell him to go f*ck himself.”
“Why not? You did it to me. You did it to a pair of Gray Princes, and killed one of them when he back came after you. Hell, you even sidestepped the emperor. So don’t tell me you can’t get a single swordsman off your back if you want to.”
“I came down here because it was the best way to get him off my back.”
“Bullshit.” The word was heavy with venom as it left Fowler’s lips.
My eyes snapped over to meet hers. “What?”
“You heard me. The organization was just an excuse, and you know it. You’re not here for your people back in Ildrecca or your position as a Gray Prince. Hell, you’re not even here for him.” Fowler jerked a thumb at Degan. “You’re here for you.”
“For me?” I said. “In case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly been a string of festival days since we arrived. If I wanted to do something for myself, it sure as hell wouldn’t involve coming to Djan so I could get pissed on by the Despotate and the Zakur.”
“Get pissed on?” Fowler was out of her chair and in my face in an instant. “You’ve been eating this up! You came to Djan so you wouldn’t have to play the Gray Prince anymore. By chasing after him, you got to leave everything else behind: the planning, juggling the Uprights and Rufflers and Princes, having to weigh politics and build connections. All you have to do here is be a Nose and run the streets, which is exactly what you want to do.
“Well, let me tell you something: It doesn’t work that way. You can’t leave it behind. You’re not just a Nose anymore—not even down here. I know that. Fat Chair knows that. Mama Left Hand knows that. Hell, even Tobin and his people know that. The only one who doesn’t seem to understand it is you. And maybe him.” She jerked her chin at Degan, who lifted an eyebrow in response. “But here’s the thing: I’m done watching you play at being the Nose. Denying it is just going to get you dusted, and I didn’t come back to watch you talk yourself into a winding sheet. Like it or not, you’re a Gray Prince of the Kin—start f*cking acting like one.”
I was still opening my mouth the reply when Fowler pushed past me and stormed up the stairs. I watched her go without moving.
“It’s good to see she hasn’t changed,” said Degan.
“F*ck you.”
“She does have a point, though.”
I looked over at him. “Not you, too?”
Degan regarded me for a long moment. “Let me ask you something: Would Kells have come down here if he’d found himself in your position? Would Solitude? Shadow?”
“It’s not the same. They have, or had, stable organizations.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“If Fowler’s right, then it won’t matter whether I return with you or not, because the problem will still be there.” He pushed himself away from the table and stood. “You might end up feeling better about yourself, but it won’t solve the dilemma that drove you here in the first place.”
“And if she’s wrong?” I said. “If I really did come down here because of you?”
“Then you’re going to be a very disappointed man, because I’m not going back to Ildrecca.”
“But I think I found a lead. There’s this secretary named—”
“I’ve already said no twice, Drothe. Don’t make me say it a third time.”
He began to turn away. I reached out to stop him.
“Dammit, Degan, I’m trying to tell you that if I can—”
I’m still not sure if my fingers made it to his sleeve or not—all I know is that one moment I was reaching for him, and the next I was bent over the table, its edge forcing the air from my gut, my face pressed against the stained top. Fowler’s empty mug wobbled inches from my nose.
“Go home, Drothe,” said Degan from the other end of the arm bar. His voice was tight, but also tired. “Walk away from me and the Despotate and the Zakur. Go home before you get hurt.”
He held me like that a moment more, then let go. By the time I was able to suck in enough air to roll over and look for him, the common room was empty.
I collapsed into Degan’s chair and took a deep, shaky breath. My shoulder hurt.
Well, that had gone well.
Was Fowler right? Had I told myself I was trying to save my organization, trying to help Degan, just so I could get back on the street? Had I walked away from Ildrecca not because it was the best option, but because it was the easiest one? The one I wanted most?
I shook my head. I hadn’t asked for this, that was true enough. Hadn’t asked for Crook Eye or Rambles, for Wolf or Fat Chair. For actors and organizations and Kin to be looking at me for answers. Hadn’t asked to be made a Gray Prince, let alone sought it out.
And yet here I was: a street-level Kin standing at the top of the criminal heap. King of my own little hill, worried about all the other coves planning to push me off. Afraid the fall might be harder than the climb, which, when you thought about it, was a given. Fighting to keep something I hadn’t even wanted in the first place.
But that was the nature of being a member of the Kin, wasn’t it? To want what wasn’t yours—to want it so badly that you took it from someone else. Power, money, luxury, smoke, glimmer, the thing itself didn’t matter so much as the getting of it. And the keeping, of course. There was no worse, more vengeful, more spiteful victim of theft than the professional thief. Oh, we might happily lose a month’s worth of gains in a single night at bones, but that was on our terms. Woe indeed to the cove who was caught cutting another Cutter’s purse.
And that’s what I was doing now: holding tight to my swag, lest anyone else take it from me. Clutching my princedom as if it were something I’d gotten after months of planning and slouching and spying, as if I’d cracked a ken and stolen it away by the skin of my teeth. I was acting as if I’d gotten my status on the dark and dirty rather than admitting the truth, which was that it had all but fallen in my lap. I wasn’t about to let anyone take my bit of glitter, dammit.
Only . . . why the hell not?
I was still turning that question over in my head when a shadow fell across the inn’s door. I looked up, hoping against hope to see Degan; instead, I saw Raaz slipping inside.
“Ah, Master Drothe,” he said, his arms wide as he came across the floor. “I’m pleased to find you still here.”
I grunted and picked up the mug in front of me, not remembering until it was too late that it was empty. I set it back down in disgust.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You heard about the troupe packing up and wanted to make sure you caught me before they—and I—left with your precious package.”
“You’ve found me out,” he said, lowering himself into the chair across from me with enviable ease. He was clean, trimmed, and had probably gotten a full night’s sleep recently. I hated him. “And while we hate to see you go, we’d hate it even more if you took the other half of Jelem’s pages with you when you left.”
“I’ll just bet you would,” I said. “But there’s no need to worry on either count. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”
“Oh?” Raaz glanced back toward the door. “I’d assumed you’d be heading out with your . . . people.” He spared a forlorn look at the empty bar, then turned back to me. “Would it be forward of me to ask who will be acting as your patron once the padishah rescinds his favor?”
It was a question I’d been kicking around in my own head ever since walking into the courtyard. A question I’d only been able to come up with one answer to so far.
“About that . . . ,” I began.
“Oh no,” said Raaz, quickly reading my intentions. “Absolutely not. We can’t act as your patrons.”
I leaned forward. “Need I remind you that you still owe me?” I said, wiggling the fingers of my left hand meaning-fully. “You and your master both?”
“I haven’t forgotten what you did,” said Raaz. “Nor has he. But neither are we in a position to offer patronage to . . . someone such as yourself.”
“You mean a member of the Kin?”
“I mean an Imperial. My tal already stands in disgrace. If we were to openly take responsibility for you and your actions . . . ?” He shook his head. “We mean to honor our agreement, my friend, but I’m afraid in this matter what you ask is beyond our grasp. We can’t act as your patron.”
It was an answer I’d more than half expected but had been hoping not to hear. Without a token of patronage, I was a marked man on the streets—and that was even before considering the price Fat Chair was offering for me, let alone the likely consequences of failing to keep my bargain with Mama Left Hand. Between the three, the thought of trying to find Ivory’s papers and bring Degan around, let alone simply function in el-Qaddice, went from daunting to nearly impossible.
“Then I guess I’ll have to do it the hard way,” I said. “But that isn’t your problem, is it?” I stood up and took off my doublet. “You’re here for your delivery, and I can’t rightly hold it back any longer, especially considering what the next several days might be like.”
I pulled out my boot knife and began working at the relevant seams.
Raaz’s eyes went wide. “You . . . you mean you’ve been carrying it on you this whole time?”
“I’m an Imperial living in an inn with a bunch of actors in the middle of Djan—where the hell else would you hide it to keep it safe?”
“I had just thought . . .” Raaz shook his head and chuckled. “No, never mind what I thought. You’re right: It’s best you hand it over now, especially if you’re going to be without a token. Not having a patron is bad enough, but if you were caught with those papers? Even a merchant sheikh wouldn’t be able to worm his way out of that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m no merchant sheikh. Hell, I’m barely a criminal one back home, let alone down here. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if . . .” I stopped midcut, my knife poised, and looked up at Raaz. I grinned.
He inched back slightly in his chair. “What?”
I set my blade down and turned toward the stairs. “Fowler!”
Raaz started. “If I could ask—”
“Fowler!”
“Is there anything—?”
“What the f*ck do you want?” Fowler’s voice came flying down the stairs, followed hotly by the woman herself.
I pointed at the courtyard. “Get out there and tell Tobin and his people to stop packing. In fact, get them to start unpacking. Now.”
“Unpacking?” said Fowler. “Why?”
“Because they have an audition to practice for.”
“I thought the audition was fixed.”
“There’s fixed,” I said, “and then there’s fixed.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Just get out there and stop them. I’ll explain later.”
Fowler glared and grumbled, but she headed out the door.
Raaz cleared his throat. “This is all very dramatic,” he said, leaning forward ever so slightly, his hand reaching for my doublet, “but if I could just get Jelem’s papers . . . ?”
I ripped open the rest of the seam and pulled out the remainder of the packet. “You said even a merchant sheikh couldn’t shake these off if the despot’s people found them on him, right?”
“Ye-es.”
“So, then, what do you think would happen if they found them on a prince of the Zakur?”
Raaz’s eyes filled with understanding, followed quickly by dread.
“No,” he said, standing “No, I can’t—”
“Sit,” I said, doing the same myself. “Calm yourself. And let me tell you a little story about an ambush and a group of neyajin and a conversation in the dark. . . .”