Charoth’s response was casual. “If you mean-do I know where he hides? No, but I have knowledge of a great many things in this town. There are places you can contact a man when you do not know how to find him. And when all is said and done, everyone knows where to find me.”
Soneste smiled, refraining from pursuing that point. She had a better sense of Lord Charoth now. She would recall this conversation, and the details of his home, with greater scrutiny when she was alone. Another gift of the “Great Light.”
“Thank you for your time, my lord.” Soneste paused, then stood up.
Charoth held up one gloved hand. “There is another question you wish to ask.”
Soneste stared back into the lenses of the mask, genuinely surprised. Surely he isn’t like me? she wondered. Even I can’t read minds.
“Why darkwood, you were wondering,” he said with cold satisfaction.
“No, no. I-”
“It is conducive to magical application. The eyes behind this mask are damaged. Only with magic can I look again upon the world as I remembered it.”
Charoth stared through the window and watched as the young inquisitive walked beyond his gate. In other circumstances, he might well have sought her employment. He liked the way she’d studied the world around her, focused on everything she saw. Unless he was mistaken, the Brelish inquisitive had been memorizing every detail.
“Gan,” he said.
“My lord?” the changeling answered.
Charoth turned to regard his steward. Since yesterday’s discovery, Gan’s professionalism had become superb. Good. Charoth didn’t expect he would need to chastise him again for possession of dreamlily, but one could never be too careful.
Given the importance of his work at present, Charoth considered allowing the changeling to use trace amounts of the drug to keep his focus. The very thought of such weakness in his employee enraged him.
Let him suffer.
“I must return to the factory. The next few days are critical to me. I am certain the Brelish will return, but not today. I want to know who else she talks to and where she goes before I see her again.”
“I will see to it, my lord,” Gan answered, his voice sober.
“And your men?” Charoth asked.
“They are where they need to be. They are ready.”
Chapter NINE
Mol, the 9th of Sypheros, 998 YK
Tallis hobbled to the back of the line at the ticket booth in the lightning rail station. Having seen firsthand that the guards at each of the city’s active gates had doubled, he was tempted to just purchase a ticket and test his disguise among the rail security. Even now, five White Lions prowled the wide concourse, watchful among the crowds. Looking for him.
He’d meant what he told Lenrik, though. Even if he left the city now, returning would be no easier. If the Justice Ministry was determined to find him this time, would he be any safer in Rekkenmark or Atur? What if he left Karrnath altogether?
No. He’d walk willingly into the depths of Khyber before he let the assassin drive him away from his country. He’d find that bastard and kill him-or her-himself. If he left now, he wouldn’t be able to talk to Haedrun and find out what got all of this started.
Aureon, just a few more days of your favor.…
In front of him, an oddly-dressed shifter with a curious hairstyle and an outlandish handaxe hanging from his belt was the next up. Nice weapon, Tallis thought, then stepped back out of line.
“No good, no good,” he muttered to the woman behind him, enjoying his old veteran’s persona less than he use to. “My daughter won’t want to see me, anyway,” he explained at her questioning look.
Feigning a change of heart, he walked over to stand before the message kiosk, a wide board where travelers could post or check job listings, bounties, or brief notes for one another. This was also one of several ways to contact the Midwife, a little fact known to a select and unlawful few.
Tallis scanned the kiosk. When he felt confident no one was looking, he slipped a folded piece of paper from his own pocket and tacked it to the board. Former Blademark seeking caravan work. Ask for Azzen at the 7th Wach. The Midwife’s street eyes would recognize the double letters in the given name and the spelling error of the cited establishment. Double Zs always meant Tallis.
Done with his message, he turned away-
— and found himself face to face with a grinning, disheveled dwarf in a tattered cloak. He stank of filthy clothes and too much time spent in a dockside alehouse.
“Thought that was you, Tally Boy,” he spat.
Tallis knew many of the dregs of the Low District by name. Some he ignored, others he handled personally. Drazen was one he’d never really had the time or inclination to “discipline.”
Beyond the dwarf, a squad of Lions was in view, actively scrutinizing the occupants of the station. Only the very brave or the very stupid argued with the city watch. None protested as the Lions pushed aside broadsheets to see whose face lay behind each.
“You need a bath, Drazen.” Tallis started to move away from the kiosk, slipping his only apparent arm around the dwarf’s as though requiring the assistance of a youngster to walk.
“And you need a new get-up, Tally,” the dwarf laughed, speaking a little too loud for Tallis’s comfort. His eyes darted to the guards, who were getting closer. “Been catching my marks at the rail station, didn’t you know? Recognized you straight away.”
“Now’s not a good time, Draze.”
“I’m thinking it’s not,” the dwarf agreed. “I’m also thinking even your cripple garb won’t hide you from the white kitties today, eh? Unless a certain false old man pays up and a certain dwarf keeps his jawbone clamped.”
Tallis wanted to stick the dwarf right then and there. “You’re clanless already, Drazen,” he whispered angrily. “Keep pushing it, you’ll be beardless soon too.”
“Last chance, Tally. Buy me a meal and a mug of Nightwood and we’ll have a parley, eh? Talk about what else you can do for me.”
Two White Lions were close, and Tallis saw them both looking in their direction with a modicum of interest. He couldn’t take a chance any longer. He’d left his message for the Midwife. Now it was time to go. Drazen was an unapologetic thug and would carry through with his threat especially if food was at stake. Under any other circumstances, Tallis might have been able to turn the law against him.
Well-why not?
“You’ll get yours soon,” Tallis promised, and then he drove his elbow hard into the dwarf’s stomach. As the dwarf gasped for breath, Tallis disengaged roughly and let himself fall hard to the floor.
“Guards!” he shouted, making his voice sound as gravelly as he could. “This dwarf just stole my gold!”
The White Lions turned to Drazen, whose face was twisted in rage as he labored to breathe. One of the guards pointed an axe at him as the other held his gauntleted hands out in warning. Tallis twisted around and sprang to his feet, loosing his “crippled” arm for better maneuverability.
“Hands out, dwarf!” one of the Lions commanded.
Tallis staggered away from the scene, targeting the nearest exit. As he passed a group of ticket-holders seated at a bench, he turned and pointed behind him. “Some dwarf is stabbing people!” he said with a panicked look on his face.
The travelers fumbled for their luggage and began to move quickly away in different directions. Perfect.
“No, no!” Tallis heard Drazen shouting, spittle flying from his lips. “That’s Tallis there! He’s playing you all for fools! Tallis! Of Rekkenmark!” The White Lions looked in his direction. One of them nocked an arrow.
Tallis broke into a run.
Soneste had less than an hour until her rendezvous with Jotrem. It would be tight, but she decided she could visit the Chronicle archives and still make it back in time. The more information she could find on her own, the easier this would be.