He stood for a time in the quiet of the meadow, surrounded by the trampled flat grasses, the stars gleaming overhead, and he allowed himself one deep breath. The night air chilled his back where his shirt clung to him.
Feeling a faint wind brushing through nearby branches, he cocked his head, thinking, and it occurred to him that, indeed, it had been a long time since he’d actually had to try.
*
Lee – whose given name was Leeopo Mulliner, though she’d die before ever revealing that – had a good thing going running Geffen’s street toughs. For five years now she’d worked organizing and managing operations all across this damned dreary island of Malaz.
It had been a sweet arrangement. These stupid sailors went off risking drowning in an accident (something she’d never put herself in the way of) or death in a raid (something else she saw no percentage in), only to bring loot back to Malaz that they exchanged for coin (of which Geffen got his cut) in order to spend it in Geffen’s taverns, brothels, and flop-houses until they found themselves destitute once more and eyeing the sea for yet another raid, whereupon the whole milking operation began again.
A lucrative system for him and for her. Until they showed up. The damned Napans and their cut-throat employer – the one with the old madman in tow. Why in all creation was someone like him wasting his time in the back of beyond on this island when he could be taking fat contracts in Unta or Cawn? It just wasn’t the way things were supposed to be done.
It wasn’t damned fair, that’s what it was.
So now she was standing on the public pier with Gef, waiting for some major player killer from the mainland. A knifer all Gef’s contacts swore by. A hireling whose price would damn well nearly clean them out.
Again, it wasn’t damned fair. But they’d driven them to it. Left them no choice. Whatever would come, it was their damned fault.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, unhappy with the errand, and rubbed her right silver earring. These were the one extravagance she allowed herself: Falari silver crafted into the shape of birds – hummingbirds, in point of fact.
She noted Geffen eyeing her fidgeting, and he gave her a scowl of his own impatience. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘This guy’s top talent. Worked all over – even Genabackis. You heard a’ Genabackis?’
‘No.’
‘Well. Word is he’s also an Adept of Dark. Rashan. So you watch your attitude. Okay?’
She looked away, rolling her eyes to the sky. Whatever. Probably just a fucking waste of time and money.
The tramp two-master nudged the pier. Hands threw lines, and a gangway was wrangled into place. Passengers began disembarking. Lee crossed her arms and let out a long breath. It wasn’t a large crowd this eve, workers and petty merchants mostly. Carrying their bundles and bags, they parted round Gef and her until it seemed that no one was left.
She cast a questioning look to Gef and when she glanced back there he was right before them, making her start slightly, despite her scepticism. Small and skinny he was, almost painfully so; short midnight-black hair standing in all directions; and wearing the typical black trousers and black cotton shirt that were so clichéd they almost made her laugh – until she caught his expression and the sneer in her throat turned to a swallow.
Unnerving, his eyes. Like a reptile’s, watchful yet somehow dead. And a knowing smile, predatory, that seemed to take great pleasure from the shiver that his gaze scraped up her spine. She cleared her throat.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, motioning up the pier.
Geffen looked him up and down, his own scepticism obvious. ‘This is all you got?’
The lad raised a bag he carried in one hand. It was slim, not even long enough to carry a sword. ‘This is all I need.’
Geffen invited him onward. Lee walked alongside.
‘Kinda young to have acquired such a reputation,’ Gef said.
‘Are you reconsidering?’ the lad asked, and his unnerving smile widened as he asked. ‘Because it would upset me to have come all this way for nothing.’
‘No, no. Just … wondering.’
‘Let’s say I earned it.’
‘Sure, sure.’
‘Where?’ Lee asked.
The lazy-lidded eyes shifted to her, looked her up and down with an undisguised contempt that made her clench her fists. ‘Elsewhere.’
‘No kidding. Where elsewhere?’
The smile grew, pulling back from tiny, sharp, white teeth. ‘The Falaran peninsula most recently. I tracked down a fellow there who claimed a very important kill that wasn’t his.’
‘What kill?’
‘A king.’
‘So you killed him because he lied about the kill?’
‘No, I killed him because he lied about who he was.’
They reached the base of the pier and here Geffen halted and set his fists on his hips. He stood blocking the way of an old bearded fellow in worn trousers and jacket, carrying a fishing rod. After a moment Lee recognized the oldster as the mage who had refused to work for them.
‘What’re you doing here?’ Geffen demanded.
The old guy hefted the rod, but his gaze was fixed upon the newcomer. ‘Fishing,’ he said.
‘Kinda late in the day.’
‘You never know.’
Geffen waved him away. He passed them, yet still couldn’t keep his eyes from the lad. For his part, the lad simply smiled back – the smile seeming to hint at some darkly amusing secret known only to the two of them.
They started up the cobbled way to Geffen’s gambling house and tavern. Her steps, she noticed, had sounded from the pier’s planks and now against the stone cobbles – but this lad’s soft dark leather shoes appeared to make no sound at all.
‘Your communication contained the name “Dancer”,’ the fellow said suddenly. ‘I want to know – is that right?’
‘Yeah, that’s the name,’ Geffen told him. ‘Why?’
‘Good.’
Lee showed an arched brow to the crime boss. Fine, be that way.
Geffen cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. ‘You can room at my place. Is that, ah, acceptable?’
‘Certainly,’ the fellow answered, all magnanimous, as if doing them a favour.
Lee clenched her teeth till they ached. ‘So, what d’we call you?’ she asked, rather brusquely.
‘Cowl,’ he said, smiling again. ‘You can call me Cowl.’
Lee let out a snort and looked to the roiling overcast sky. Oh, please! Is that supposed to be scary or something? What a fucking joke.
Chapter 10
The Twisted slid down its greased track of logs with a shriek of wood on wood that made Cartheron want to cringe. It crashed into the harbour raising a spray that misted high enough for him to have to brush droplets from his face. Even so, he couldn’t keep a satisfied smile from his lips – until he gasped as a hard elbow dug into his side.
He sent a glare to his brother, who was grinning and pointing. ‘See that? Ain’t she the prettiest thing?’
‘Pretty? You said she was the ugliest wreck you’d ever seen.’
‘What? I ain’t never said no such thing!’ Urko motioned again to the rocking, black-tarred hulk. ‘Put the fear o’ Hood into everyone, she will.’