“Good afternoon,” a voice answered Zhak. “I wonder if you might have a bottle of Seijin Kohdy’s Premium Blend?”
Yu-kwau brandy was abruptly the last thing on Ahrloh Mahkbyth’s mind.
He made himself stretch in a casual yawn without ever so much as glancing at the front of the shop. Then he shrugged, carefully wiped the nib of his pen and set it in the stand, and stepped around his standing desk to glance—casually, casually—at the customer who’d just spoken.
The man was well dressed and very tall, with gray eyes, sharply receding fair hair, and a full beard and majestic mustache. He looked up, as if he’d just realized Myllyr wasn’t alone in the store, and glanced casually at Mahkbyth over Myllyr’s shoulder, then returned his attention to the clerk.
“As a matter of fact, we do, Sir,” Myllyr was saying. “In fact, I think we’re one of the few shops here in Zion to stock it. I’m afraid it’s a little too peaty for the majority of Temple Lands connoisseurs, although I’m quite fond of it myself.”
“As am I,” Mahkbyth said. He walked forward, extending his hand to the customer. “It’s good to see you again, Master Murphai. I wasn’t aware you favored Seijin Kohdy’s?”
“Master Mahkbyth.” Murphai smiled warmly, accepting the proffered hand and clasping forearms with him. “I was recently introduced to it at a friend’s. She spoke very highly of it, and I found it … palatable. As your assistant here says, it’s a bit peaty, but it does settle well, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.” Mahkbyth glanced at Myllyr and grimaced.
“Zhak, I’ll take this one.”
“But—” Myllyr began, and Mahkbyth shook his head.
“Don’t be silly, man! It’s coming up on time for your lunch, anyway. And I’m no closer to finding that Shan-wei-damned case than I was yesterday! My eyes are crossing going over those inventory lists, and I need a break from them.”
“If you’re sure, Sir.”
“Of course I’m sure.” Mahkbyth reached into his breeches pocket, extracted a silver tenth-mark, and flipped it to the clerk. “If you’re going to feel guilty about sticking me with this incredibly difficult task, bring me back some fish and chips from Zhantry’s. With extra vinegar and at least two of those big pickles, mind!”
“Yes, Sir!” Myllyr caught the coin neatly out of the air with a grin, then nodded to Murphai and reached for his coat. “Have a good day, Master Murphai.”
“Thank you,” Murphai responded pleasantly.
Myllyr shrugged into his coat, flipped his muffler around his neck, and headed out the door. It was mild enough he scarcely needed either of them, but only a crazed optimist would assume that would remain true for more than an hour or two in a row here in Zion. The month of May had scarcely begun, and while the sun might burn down brightly at the moment, that was subject to change. In places where that bright sun reached the ground, the remnants of the most recent snowfall were thin and patchy, crusty where they’d refrozen overnight but disappearing quickly under the city’s foot traffic. In places where the sun didn’t reach, however, it still lay mid-calf deep, and the heaps where the snow removed from sidewalks and shop entrances had been piled by the removal crews were still head high. And whatever that deceitful brightness might promise, the ice on Lake Pei had only just begun to break up, and nasty weather could roll in off Temple Bay—or over the lake, when the wind was in the west—on a bit less than no notice at all.
Murphai watched Myllyr’s departure, then turned to Mahkbyth as the door closed behind him.
“It is good to see you, Seijin,” the shop owner said then in a very different tone. “Have you come from Arbalest?”
“Not directly.” Murphai’s voice was far more somber, as well. “I have been in contact with her, though. And I apologize. I wish I could’ve gotten here sooner, but Arbalest felt—and I agreed—that it would probably be best to limit contact with you until we were reasonably confident you weren’t under suspicion.”
“So you are ‘reasonably confident’ of that now, I take it?” Mahkbyth tilted his head, his smile painfully tart, and Murphai snorted softly.
“I may be a seijin, Ahrloh,” he said, using Mahkbyth’s given name rather than his Helm Cleaver codename, Barcor, “but I’m not omniscient. That said, I do have better sources than most, and none of them have seen any sign you’re being watched. And, frankly, you’re too big a fish to let you swim free in hopes you’d lead them to someone even more important. If Rayno or Wynchystair had a clue about who you really are, you’d’ve been arrested the instant you came back from that ‘business trip’ of yours. Which, I’d like to add, took one hell of a lot of guts.”
“Maybe.” Mahkbyth shrugged. “It was the only way to be sure, and it’s not like I didn’t make my peace with the Archangels the day Arbalest recruited me. Oh, I’m not quite that blasé about it,” he added as Murphai raised one eyebrow, “and I’m not in a tearing hurry to make any personal reports in Heaven, either. But I decided then it was worth risking my life, and I haven’t changed my mind since. Mind you, I’d just as soon avoid the Question or the Punishment.”
His expression wasn’t simply grim. It had turned cold and vicious with his last sentence, and he shifted his left hand slightly, catching the light on the opal-set golden ring he wore on it.
“I don’t know how the bastards got to Bracelet and Castanet before they could poison themselves, but they’ll find it a right bitch to stop me.”
“I’d just as soon it didn’t come to that, if that’s all right with you,” Murphai said. “Leaving aside the fact that Arbalest is very fond of you, we can’t really afford to lose you. Especially after the hit we’ve already taken.”
“I passed the word as soon as I heard they’d been arrested,” Mahkbyth said heavily. “I didn’t have time to see whether or not everyone got it. For that matter, if any of us were under suspicion, talking to the others wouldn’t have been the very smartest thing we could’ve done.”
“No, it wouldn’t have. And, as of last five-day, all but two of Bracelet’s cell have reached their safe houses in Tanshar. I’m pretty sure—” in fact, he knew for certain “—that those two are en route. They had farther to go, and the weather was against them.”
“Thank Langhorne,” Mahkbyth half-whispered, closing his eyes briefly, and his shoulders sagged as if someone had just lifted an enormous weight from them.
“You got them out in time, Ahrloh.” The seijin rested a hand on Mahkbyth’s shoulder.
“And Bracelet and Castanet held out long enough for me to do that.” Mahkbyth’s voice was hoarse around the edges, and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears when he opened them again. “Langhorne and Bédard grant them peace and comfort.”
“Amen,” Murphai said softly, and despite his own feelings where the “Archangels” were concerned, he was totally sincere.