“It was? When? I was just there yesterday.”
“Today. I went by there to pick up something to eat, and it was shut down. The whole market. Carts gone, tarps over the stalls, everything.”
“Why? Did you hear a reason?”
“Just gossip.”
“I love gossip.”
“Well, they say someone threatened to beat anyone who opened up.”
“Someone? And you say it doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on?”
“This is some local thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are, you know, gangs here, that like to collect from the merchants, and when the merchants don’t pay—”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of the Jhereg operating like that.”
“What, you think the Jhereg wouldn’t muscle in on merchants?”
“Not on this scale, no. And they wouldn’t be so clumsy about it. Making a whole market shut down and drawing attention to themselves.”
“You know something about the Jhereg.”
“A little. A few years ago I was a runner myself for a while. That’s how I know so many runners.”
“I see. Yeah, you know almost enough to get in the way of finding out anything useful.”
“Eh?”
“But not quite.”
I passed him five more imperials.
“What’s that for?”
“Useful information.”
“Well, okay. I’ll look for more.”
“Don’t look so hard you become some.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Just be careful.”
He nodded, finished his wine, and walked out.
“Hey, Loiosh. I think we’re in business.”
“Is that good? It sounds like it should be good.”
“Yeah, I just got a big piece of the puzzle.”
“Oh?”
“Oh.”
“How big?”
“Big enough that I have an idea of what to do next.”
“Does that mean you’re going to need rescuing in the next hour?”
“Not until tomorrow, I think.”
“Oh, good. I can rest up.”
I had, of course, overstated things to Loiosh—nothing was yet certain. But I was pretty well convinced, and, more important, I knew how to make sure.
My next appointment was a quarter of a mile away, and I was early. The guy was named Claude, and he was big and hulking and bowlegged, with an extraordinarily large head. He was about two sentences into his report when I said, “You know the Ristall Market?”
He stopped in mid-sentence and said, “Sure. Just follow Cut-back Lane to—”
“I know where it is. You know anyone who has a shop there, or a stall, or anything? That is, you know a name, and maybe an address?”
He considered, then said, “Yeah. There’s a guy named Francis, uh, Francis Down-something. He has a fruit stand. I don’t know exactly where he lives, but it’s within a few steps of the market, I know that.”
“Good. Anyone else?”
“Well, I know a couple of them by first name. You know, like, ‘Good morning, Petrov. How is your bread today?’ and like that.”
“Okay, never mind the others. That’s good enough.” I paid him and sent him on his way. I sat there for a while and thought about things. I had that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach—a good feeling, the feeling of, it’s happening. I hadn’t had that feeling in some time; I gave myself a moment to relish it.
It took a little bit of work to find Francis Donover, but not too much. As promised, he lived right at the market, above the shop of a cobbler who made a little extra renting out rooms because he wasn’t as good as Jakoub.
If Francis Donover had been a Dragaeran, he’d have been a Teckla. I mean, I was being Sandor, who is about as harmless in aspect as it is possible to be, but Francis was still terrified of him. He opened his door just the barest crack, and seemed ready to slam it again.
“My name is Sandor, and I mean you no harm. Might I trouble you for a few minutes’ conversation? It may be to your advantage.”
The “no” that was forming on his face changed abruptly at the last word. Did I say Teckla? Maybe Orca.
“What is it?” he said.
“May I come in? I assure you, I mean you no harm.”
He hesitated, looking at me carefully. Either he could see through my disguise that I wasn’t as harmless as I looked, or else he was scared of his own shadow.
Yeah, Teckla.
I showed him my almost-empty hands, as a demonstration of harmlessness. Almost empty, because there was a bright gold imperial in one of them. He let me in.
His place was small and packed with more furniture—mismatched chairs and small tables—than wanted to fit into it easily. All those chairs, and he didn’t offer me one. “What is it,” he said, his eye on the hand that held the coin. I handed it to him.
“I’d like you to answer some questions for me. I have another one of these for you when you’re done.”
“What do you want to know?”
“You’ve shut down your stall. The whole market is shut down.”
“Yes, well, there have been problems.”
“Yes. I have a pretty good idea of what the problems are. There’s someone—no, you needn’t tell me who—who is trying to pry money out of all of you.”
He hesitated a long time, then said, “Maybe.”
“Do you want that imperial, or not?”
“Okay, yes. Someone—”
“Good. What I want to know is, who had the idea to shut down the whole market?”
He turned slightly pale. “Why do you—”
“No, no. You don’t get to ask questions. I can tell you that I have no plans to hurt whoever it is. I have no plans to hurt anyone. I’ve never hurt anyone. I just get paid to collect information. My principal—that means the fellow who is paying me–doesn’t plan to hurt whoever it is, either.”
“It isn’t that. It’s—”
“Oh. You mean, can we protect you from him?”
He nodded.
“He’ll never know you told me.”
He still looked hesitant.
“But,” I said, “if it’s someone who scares you, I’ll make it two imperials.” I gave him Sandor’s friendliest smile, which is even friendlier than my friendliest smile.
He hesitated again, then said, “It was one of, you know, of them.”
“A Dragaeran?”
He nodded.
“Male or female?”
“It was a man. A male.”
“How was he dressed?”
He frowned. “I didn’t really pay much attention.”
“Think. This is important. Try to remember the colors of his clothing.”
“I don’t know. Nondescript. Gray, I think.”
Go figure.
“And what did he say?”
“He said that he had heard about our problems and he wanted to help.”
“I see.”
“He said they couldn’t do anything if we all just shut down.”
“How could you afford that?”
“He gave us money to survive on.”
“I see. How much money?”
He looked worried again, but said, “Enough to get by.” I nodded.
“Have you seen him again, or just that once?”
“Twice. Once, about three days ago, when he suggested the idea, and then yesterday when he showed up with the money. He went around and saw everyone.”
“Three days ago was when he first suggested it?”
“Yes.”
“And when did you first hear from the guy who was muscling you?”
“Pardon?”
“Whoever wanted you to pay up, and threatened terrible things if you didn’t.”
“Oh. Uh, I guess that was a week ago.”
I nodded. “One last thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
Sir? When had Sandor become a “sir”? I suppose when he started flashing gold imperials. I said, “I’d like to speak to a couple of your colleagues.”
“My ...”
“Others who work that market.”
“Oh.”