She pulled backwards, releasing him, and he fell to his side, dead. She stood regarding his corpse for a time, then limped from the chamber, leaving a path of bright wet footprints behind.
Cowl whispered into Lee’s ear: ‘Still think you could’ve taken her?’
Lee grated through clenched teeth, ‘No.’
‘That’s right,’ Cowl affirmed, so damned smugly, his warm lips touching her ear, ‘and yet she works for my boy Dancer. Think on that, darling.’ And he drew away from her, chuckling. She spun, but he was already gone.
Fucking mages. She lifted the crossbow, checked to make certain of the quarrel, and headed for the stairs. In the main hall she paused for an instant, considering for a moment whether to follow the woman, but decided against it; even wounded, that was an opponent she didn’t want. She headed down. Now I have to find a way to pay off half these parasites without turning them against me.
At the top of the wide main staircase she set her fingers to her lips and let go a shriek of a whistle. All the gabbling halted below.
‘Geffen’s dead,’ she announced. ‘Mock left behind some hidden guards and they did for him.’
After a stunned silence, some smartass called back, ‘How do we know that?’
‘Go check for yourself,’ she invited. ‘He’s on the fourth floor.’
The fellow answered, ‘How do we know you didn’t do him?’
Lee hefted the crossbow and thought about skewering the fellow right then and there, but refrained. After all, there was a chance she might miss, and that would be it for her. She sighed, openly showing how little she really cared. ‘Well … I guess you don’t. We’re pulling out.’
Two-ton’s thick brows rose comically. ‘Pullin’ out? But we own the place.’
She cut a hand through the air. ‘No! Mock still owns this place. And even if he dies out at sea his captains will fight among themselves to claim it. There’s no way they’ll put up with us squatting in their way. So pack up.’
Two-ton peered round. ‘Pack up? Pack up what?’
She showed them all a big grin. ‘Everything not nailed down.’
*
Nedurian was sitting at his usual table in the dark, low-ceilinged bar that was Coop’s Hanged Man inn – something of a local hangout for ex-pats, refugees, and those otherwise wanting a low profile – when in came two of the Napan crew from Smiley’s and sat down in an empty booth. One was the giant hulking fellow, and he was supporting the other bar’s serving-woman, who was wrapped in a rain-darkened cloak.
Nedurian had been keeping a close eye on Smiley’s for some time now. He’d narrowed down the epicentre of the bizarre turbulence among the Warrens to its location and believed that the mage who’d bought the place was their practitioner of Meanas. He’d even managed to question old Durard on the sale of the Twisted before he’d left town and the fellow’s description of the encounter meshed well with earlier accounts of this Dal Hon mage, especially the wild and disturbing tales out of Li Heng.
There was also the sale of the Twisted itself. Not a particularly impressive ship; quite the opposite, in fact. Yet known throughout the southern seas. And certainly not for its prowess in battle; for the dark name of its curse. Ill-luck, deaths of crew and prior owners, capture, ransom, plague, storm, and lack of any prizes at all made it a pariah to sailors in all ports.
Then there were the tales of its current haunting.
Only someone insane would buy that vessel. Or someone who believed that everyone made their own luck. Someone daring enough, or insane enough, to try his luck with Meanas.
So he’d been watching Smiley’s – even becoming something of a regular – and knew that the woman, Surly, was much more than a mere servitor. He also knew what was transpiring this very night, now that Mock had gone away.
He picked up his mug and crossed to the booth, sitting down uninvited. The big fellow glared murder at that, his massive hands clenching, but the woman sent him a sharp look and he eased back in the bench seat, which creaked and groaned beneath him.
Nedurian noted that more than rain darkened the cloak wrapping the Napan woman, who appeared greyer than usual, and sheathed in sweat. So he made a cast hoping for a bite, saying, ‘Did you get him?’
The woman eyed him warily – he knew she recognized him from Smiley’s. ‘And you are?’ she answered, her voice tight and clenched.
He shrugged. ‘A retired mage. Geffen was no friend of mine. So I ask again – did you get him?’
‘No idea what you’re talking about.’
Fat Coop came over to the table, rubbing his hands in his apron. ‘What can I get you?’ he asked.
‘Wine,’ said the woman weakly.
‘Beer,’ said the fellow – Urko, Nedurian believed his name to be.
Coop gave Nedurian a nod, saying, ‘Good to see you. I’ll get you your usual.’
Once Coop had left the table, Nedurian shrugged again. ‘Fine. Be that way. But I’m sympathetic. I’ve been watching you, and I think that what you need is a mage cadre.’
The big fellow pulled a hand down his face to wipe away the rain. ‘A what?’
The woman took a sharp breath, sagging into the booth. ‘He means mages who are integrated with squads or crews, like in the old days among the imperial Talian legions.’
Nedurian gave her a nod. ‘Showing a lot of book-learning for a servitor.’
The woman’s smile was brittle with pain as she sat holding her side. ‘I’ve just heard all the old stories, of course.’
His answering smile was equally sincere. ‘Of course.’
‘So?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’
He opened his arms. ‘Employment, naturally.’
She shook her head. ‘We don’t need another mage.’
Coop passed by and set down a tumbler of brandy before Nedurian. He turned it in his hands. ‘Oh, yes. You have two. One is of Ruse. Excellent at sea, but limited on land. The other is … well, of questionable usefulness.’
Now her eyes narrowed and the front of disinterest hardened into a mask. ‘I’m not hiring right now.’
The front door opened, sending the candle and lamp flames flickering. It was another of the Napan crew, a tall, mast-thin fellow whom Nedurian knew to be named Tocaras.
This one crossed to the table and bent to whisper in Surly’s ear. She nodded and moved to rise, carefully. ‘Thanks for your offer,’ she told Nedurian by way of dismissal. Together, the three exited.
He gave them a while, then rose and headed for the door. A cleared throat behind brought him up short. It was Coop at the table, who motioned to the glasses. ‘On me,’ Nedurian told him.