“Of course.”
“Does he still lose way more than he wins?”
Harlen smirked.
Excellent. “How much does he owe?”
“A hundred and fifty-three thousand.”
Demir swore under his breath. Glassdamn, Lechauri. That gambling habit had gotten bad. “Good. Call in the debt.”
“Oh?” Harlen said, raising his eyebrows. “Right now?”
“At this very moment.” Demir could see in Harlen’s eyes that he was curious about this little development, but the bookie knew better than to ask too many questions. As much as Demir resented his status as a glassdancer, it did come in handy.
“I can do that. Oi! Jeely! Grab a piece of forgeglass and run this note to the Assembly offices right damned quick.” As he spoke, Harlen scrawled out a note, which he then handed to one of his thuggish young guards. The woman took off, and Demir listened to her sprint down the muddy alley. He borrowed a piece of low-resonance dazeglass from Harlen and threw himself onto one of the dirty cushions in the corner, enjoying the way the sorcery made him feel pleasant and tingly.
He was there for less than half an hour when the thug returned, and ten minutes after her a familiar face rushed through the door. Lechauri Pergos was a tall, thin man with the striking combination of olive skin and long, fire-red hair. He wore the colorful robes of an Assembly clerk and his pinkie nails were painted crimson to show his allegiance to the Magna. He was shouting as he entered. “Harlen! I still have two weeks, damn it! I have my receipt right here! What kind of a business do you think you’re running? Two. More. Weeks.”
Harlen turned to face him with the long-suffering expression of someone used to such tirades. “I’m running my business. Debts get called in all the time, and I’m calling in yours.”
Demir removed his dazeglass, immediately missing the pleasant feeling that came with it, and sauntered toward the pair. He leaned against a support column and removed the wad of banknotes from his pocket, holding it conspicuously in one hand.
Lechauri continued to rail at Harlen. “You can’t call in my debts two weeks early. This is criminal! This is…” He trailed off, slowly turning his head toward Demir as if finally registering his presence.
“Hi Lech,” Demir said with a grin.
Lechauri stared at Demir for several moments, his face pale, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “Demir? I heard you were back in town.”
“Fancy us meeting in a place like this.” Demir tossed the roll of banknotes into the air and caught it. “Having trouble with something?”
Lechauri’s eyes followed the roll of banknotes. He licked his lips, and Demir could see the thoughts turning behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Crazy meeting here.” His eyes narrowed. “You son of a bitch. You called in my debts, didn’t you?”
“I would never. But it sounds like you need some cash. I thought maybe we could help each other.”
Lechauri eyed Demir’s banknotes greedily. “And what do you want?”
“Step into my office,” Demir said, gesturing for Lechauri to follow him into the alley. Once they were alone, Demir slapped Lechauri on the shoulder. “How are you? I heard you married a Magna and got a cushy job as an Assembly clerk.”
“Yeah,” Lechauri answered flatly.
Demir searched his old friend’s face, looking for all the telltale signs of a down-on-his-luck gambler: the worry lines, the exhaustion, the shifty eyes. Of course, Demir knew just how much Lechauri owed to Harlen, and if Lechauri’s Magna in-laws found out about his gambling problem things wouldn’t go well for him.
“Remember that play we wrote?” Demir asked, allowing himself a moment of nostalgia. “We were what, thirteen? Visited every whorehouse on Glory Street trying to get actresses. They didn’t take our genius seriously.”
“Those were good days,” Lechauri agreed half-heartedly. “What do you want, Demir?”
Demir feigned a surprised look. “Well, now that you mention it…”
“Just get it out,” Lechauri said impatiently.
“I understand that one of your duties includes clerical oversight work for the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”
“And how did you find that out?”
“That’s not important. Is it true?”
Lechauri kicked at a clod of mud underfoot. “Yeah, it’s true.”
“I need information,” Demir said. “Lots of it. Every little scrap you can get me on the Ivory Forest Glassworks and, piss, let’s say the entire Magna guild-family. I want bank records, prison records, enforcer rosters, family member dossiers.”
Lechauri scoffed. “You’re joking, right?”
“Not even slightly.”
“I can’t do that. If Supi found out, shit even if my wife finds out, I’m a dead man. They’ll never find the body.”
“Is that preferable to the pieces left behind by Harlen’s goons? You’re not going to pay off a hundred and fifty thousand ozzo tonight, are you?”
“You can’t know that,” Lechauri said defensively. Demir just stared at him until he began to fidget and said, “Okay, so maybe I won’t. I still have two weeks left. Harlen has to give me that much time. It’s in our agreement.”
“Can you get that much money in two weeks?”
“… No.”
“Didn’t think so.” Demir threw the roll of banknotes into the air and caught it again. “Get me everything I just asked for, delivered to my hotel before breakfast tomorrow morning, and I’ll pay off sixty grand.”
Lechauri’s eyes bugged out. “How the piss do you have access to that kind of cash?”
Demir held up the banknotes. “There’s fifty right here.” The money meant nothing to him. It never really had. Greed had never been his vice, a fact that had separated him from the rest of the guild-family scions at an early age.
“Glassdamn,” Lechauri muttered. He eyeballed those banknotes greedily. Demir almost had him, but he could see the hesitance in his eyes. “I can’t make copies of anything that quick. I’d have to give you originals.”
“I don’t care about the details. Do we have a deal or not?”
Lechauri’s face contorted in faux pain. “I … I just can’t. I’d still owe Harlen a lot of money and…”
“Seventy grand,” Demir offered, cutting him off, “and I’ll ask Harlen to extend you a courtesy of four months on the rest of your debt.”
“… and I suppose no one will notice a few records going missing. The Magna family is huge, after all.”
Demir grinned at Lechauri. “It’s so good to see you, Lech.”
Lechauri made a noncommittal noise, which turned upward into a squeak as Demir tossed him the roll of banknotes. He juggled the roll, finally got it in his grasp, and made it disappear into his pocket as deftly as a street magician. He was bought and paid for now. With any luck he’d be able to get Demir the information he needed to mount a proper rescue attempt.
Demir said, “I’ll pay the other twenty – and get you that extension – the moment I get those files. I’ll be waiting at my hotel.”
13
Kizzie had never met Churian Dorlani, but she’d seen him from a distance on several occasions. As a first cousin in the Dorlani guild-family he’d fallen into an overseer’s job at a large lumber mill just outside of Ossa, where he collected an immense salary letting his more competent underlings do the entirety of his job for him. He was not smart enough to truly excel, not dumb enough to truly fail. He was, Kizzie reflected, a man who had gone far in life by being entirely average.
It was a common story among the Ossan elite. Kizzie tried not to think of the injustice of it all.
It cost her two hours and a pittance of Demir’s money to find out everything she could possibly need to know about Churian – his hobbies, lovers, social groups. Kizzie then spent the rest of her evening waiting down the street from his Fulgurist Society on Glory Street. Glory Street was a tiny little borough between the Assembly District and the Slag, dividing the richest of the rich from the poorest of the poor and giving them a place to meet. Kizzie watched the second-rate Ossan elite come and go, entertaining herself with fantasies of one day joining their lazy, hedonistic lifestyle.