She rounded on Nicos, who, his courage notwithstanding, saw something in her manner that made him blanch. She jumped him, found the proper pressure point, and paralyzed him as she had the beggar boy.
When Aeron slipped through the door of the cramped little shop, Daelric Heldeion was at his desk, whittling a chop from a piece of pine. The paunchy scribe was primarily in the business of writing and reading documents, but he'd made a profitable sideline of providing his illiterate clientele with a means of signing their names, or in the case of the budget-minded, their initials, to a piece of parchment.
Daelric looked up, realized who'd come to call on him, and his gray eyes opened wide. In light of recent events, that was all Aeron needed to see. He whipped out a throwing knife, cocked his arm, and Daelric froze.
"Are the Red Axes watching this place?" Aeron asked. "Are you supposed to give a signal?"
"No!" Daelric said. "But Kesk's ruffians have been around hunting you. The Gray Blades, too, though they don't know who they're looking for. Why in the Binder's name are you still in town?"
"I can dodge the folk who wish me ill. I always have before."
"If you say so. I wish you'd put the knife down."
Aeron returned the weapon to its sheath and said, "You'll see it again up close if you try anything foolish."
"What would I try? I'm a scribe, not one of you cutthroats," Daelric replied. He produced a linen handkerchief and blotted the sweat on his round, pink face. "What's that muck on your tunic? I can smell the stink from over here."
"Demon gore."
Aeron advanced to the desk, its surface littered with quills, inkwells, penknives, pine shavings, a stack of parchment, and lancets for those who insisted on contracts and promissory notes signed in blood. He cleared a space, brought the black book out from under his cloak, and set it down. Daelric goggled at it.
"This is the prize everyone wants so badly?" the scribe asked.
"Yes, and I need you to read enough of it to tell me why."
The scribe rubbed his thumb and fingertips together.
Aeron sighed. He set the rest of his coin atop the desk. Daelric regarded the copper and silver pieces without enthusiasm.
"Is that all you have?" said the scribe. "If the Red Axes find out I helped you, it could mean my life."
"I'll give you more-lots more-once I sell the book. Or, if that's not good enough, I'll find somebody else to read it, and not only will you miss out on the coin, you'll never know what all the fuss was about."
Aeron knew from past dealings that the clerk possessed a healthy streak of curiosity.
"Oh, all right." Daelric ran his finger under the embossed words on the cover. "The title is The Black Bouquet..Does that mean anything to you?"
"No."
"Nor to me," Daelric said.
He opened the volume, and sweet fragrances wafted up, combined with the smell of crumbling paper. He started to read. Aeron waited for a couple minutes, until impatience got the better of him.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well," Daelric replied, "it's old."
"I could tell that much."
"The point is, languages, and our way of writing them, change over time."
Aeron frowned and said, "That sounds strange. Why would they?"
"They just do, and as a result, old books are more difficult to read than new ones. I'm having a slow time of it, but I think this one is a formulary."
"A formulary?"
"A recipe book," the scribe explained. "For making perfumes."
"That would explain all the flowery scents clinging to the pages. But… magical perfumes?"
"It doesn't seem like it."
"Then what makes it so cursed special?" Aeron asked.
"I may need to read it cover to cover to determine that."
"How long will that take?"
"A couple days, perhaps."
"Thanks anyway." Maybe Daelric was more trustworthy than Burgell-it would be nice to think so-but Aeron couldn't linger that long, nor was he such a fool as to let the book out of his possession. "I'll figure it out some other way. By the way, you haven't seen me."
"I understand," the scribe said.
"For your own sake, I hope so."
Aeron tucked the formulary back under his cloak, opened the door, checked the street for lurking cutthroats and patrolling Gray Blades, then prowled on his way.
Concerned that someone might spot him moving through the open spaces comprising Laskalar's Square, he swung wide around it and reached his own tower a few minutes later. As he climbed the rickety stairs, he was looking forward to telling his father about his adventures. Maybe Nicos had heard of The Black Bouquet.
One glimpse of the open door at the top of the steps turned eagerness to anxiety. The old man would never have left it that way. Aeron started to run, realized someone might be lying in wait inside the garret, and forced himself to proceed warily instead. It was as hard as anything he'd ever done in his life.
No one was waiting for him, Nicos included. Intruders had plainly ransacked the apartment and smashed it up as well, and scrawled a crimson battle-axe sign on the wall so he'd know who to blame.
Aeron felt stunned. He hadn't anticipated Kesk's finding his home. No enemy had ever sought it out before, even though a few friends and tradesmen knew where it was. Even if he'd expected it, he wouldn't have thought the Red Axes would hurt Nicos. The old man had done nothing to offend them, and he had in his time been a respected member of the outlaw fraternity. In the Dance, the Door, and the Hungry Haunting, the bards still told tales of his most daring thefts.
Aeron realized that up until then, his rogue's life, though perilous, had always seemed to abide by certain rules. His rivals and the law would try to interfere with him, but only up to a point. Maybe it was just luck, and his own folly, that made it feel that way, or maybe, by stealing The Black Bouquet and defying Kesk, he'd spurred his adversaries to new heights of energy and ruthlessness. But either way, he was playing a new game, one where every hand was raised against him, and no tactic was out of bounds.
Everyone was right, he thought. I should have run away when I had the chance.
Unfortunately, it was too late. He couldn't flee and leave Nicos in danger.
He noticed the empty space where the balcony had been. It was hard to imagine that the Red Axes, maliciously destructive as they'd been, had taken the trouble to break the platform loose from its anchors. It had probably fallen on its own, and Nicos had loved to lounge out there and watch the river. What if Kesk's outlaws hadn't kidnapped him after all? What if-Aeron didn't want to finish the thought. He just scrambled to the brink and peered down.
Two stories below, a Rainspan connected the tower to the roof of a small building. The balcony had smashed down on the bridge and shattered. Most of the planks had plummeted to the ground far below, but a few, along with a motionless human figure, littered the elevated pathway.
Aeron raced out of the garret and down the steps. He found the door to the Rainspan and plunged out onto the end. The bridge creaked and shifted under his weight. He couldn't remember a time when it had truly felt secure, but the impact from above had clearly weakened it.
His eyes widened in surprise. The bloody body sprawled on the Rainspan wasn't his father. It was the female ranger from whom he'd stolen the saddlebag. Her broadsword stuck up out of the walkway, so close to her head that it might have sheared a lock of her close-cropped hair. Maybe she'd had it in her hand when the balcony collapsed, and she lost her grip on it. At any rate, he could picture it tumbling on its own and striking the bridge point first a second after her, nearly piercing her face in the process.