“I believe you,” she said. “We will talk of this further when the time comes”
From her manner it was clear he was dismissed.
Rik entered the courtyard and saw Sergeant Hef was waiting for him. “I trust her Ladyship had no special duties for you to perform this fine day?”
“None,” said Rik. Was the Sergeant giving him a disapproving look? It was hard to tell.
“Good, then you are rotated onto sentry duty. Take your turn at the gate. If her Ladyship needs your services I will see you are informed.”
Rik moved quickly to obey. Normally he found sentry duty too tedious for words, but today he had a lot to think about and this would ensure his thoughts were not disturbed.
He took up his position facing the Barbarian and studied the street with a wary eye for a minute or two. There were no obvious threats he could see. Just some children playing pitch and toss for coppers in the gutters, and a few food vendors selling sausages and sweetmeats. A couple of hopeful whores who had heard of the soldiers within loitered hopefully nearby, making their presence known so that assignations might be made later.
He was not so much amazed by the fact that Asea had judged him to be an assassin at heart, as by the fact that she had judged him so well. He had killed men before, in the heat of combat, on battlefields and in the back alleys of Sorrow. He had killed men when his own life was at stake as it had been back in Bertragh’s warehouse in Redtower. He had never simply killed strangers in cold blood for reward but he felt certain that he could do so if the need arose.
Now Asea was asking him to kill Terrarchs. The part of him that had been brought up to revere the Elder Race was appalled. A more rebellious part of him felt a sick thrill. He might actually be called upon to kill the masters of the world, the ones who had oppressed him and made his life miserable for so long. The same breed as his father…
That thought brought him face to face with a thought he did not particularly like. What if this whole business was just another test, carried out by Asea to see if her theory about his background was correct. He would not put it past her to do such a thing. He shook his head- it made perfect sense that she really did want Jaderac and Tamara dead.
He felt as if a wide abyss yawned in the paving stones at his feet. He had been sucked into the secret intrigues of the Terrarchs, into their conspiracies and quiet killings. He was in a sense an insider now, and that too was oddly thrilling to a boy who had spent his whole life on the outside of things. It was strange to think that to passers-by he was just a young soldier on sentry duty, but soon he might be called upon to stalk and kill some of the highest nobles in the land.
Get a grip, he told himself. This was not one of the cheap storybooks he liked to read, this was his life. He was not some secret agent bent on desperate duties in the Queen’s service. He was being asked to murder powerful people in cold blood for payment. He was not entirely sure what the fee would be; there was not even any certainty that Asea would keep her side of the bargain. Perhaps he would be sent to kill Jaderac and Tamara, and she would then denounce him as a madman. Such assassinations had happened in the past. No one would take his word against hers. He could be a one shot weapon, like a cheap pistol, used and then discarded.
But if what Asea said was true, he was too valuable. A killer who could bypass any ward undetected would be too useful to just throw away. Unless, of course, she was telling him these things to egg him on, to motivate him, to make him think he was invincible when in fact he would be caught and killed after the attempt.
His whole world had changed during the course of their conversation. He had found out something about himself that he had only half-suspected before, a hidden depth that horrified and frightened him. The Temple Preachers who had lectured him as a child would have had their every suspicion confirmed if they could have looked inside his head right now. They had always claimed he was naturally wicked and would come to a bad end. Before he died all of Master Pternius’s worst predictions might well be fulfilled.
Let them be. He did not care.
“Fancy a stroll round the city then?” said Weasel.
Guard duty was over. The relief was already at the gate. Rik was tired but not that tired. It would soon be night and he was in a strange town and that fed the restlessness that had been growing in him all day.
“Why not?” Rik said.
“Why not indeed,” said the Barbarian.
“Let’s not forget we’ve got some chores for the Quartermaster. I asked around today, seems the likeliest place is a tavern called The Snake’s Head. It’s down along the waterfront, near where we were yesterday.”
“Bad time of the night for that part of town,” said Rik. “What with people going missing and all.”
“You’re not saying you’re scared, are you, Halfbreed?” said the Barbarian.
“I’m just saying we should make sure our pistols are loaded and our knives are close at hand.”
The Barbarian said; “Mine usually are. It’s not my fault if you can’t keep your powder dry since you started hanging around with the Great Lady. I’m surprised you are not heading up there tonight. Or does she call the shots?”
“You want to go to the Snake’s Head or not?”
“I’m in,” said Weasel.
“Me too,” said the Barbarian.
“Then let’s get our stuff and go.”
The Snake’s Head was everything Rik had expected it to be and a little bit less. The ceiling was low. The clientele were rough as a thirsty dog’s tongue. The smoke of pipeweed, dreamweed and a dozen other narcotics filled the place. The lowest sort of bargirls, faces splashed with rouge and whitened with powder to cover their pox marks, stared at them when they came in. The Barbarian rubbed his hands together and chuckled with glee.
“My kind of place,” he said. “Time to get the beers in.”
He shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring the glares of the hard-looking men he pushed aside. Most of them merely stared. The Barbarian was the tallest man in the room by a head, and massive with it; not the sort of person anybody wanted trouble with.
Rik and Weasel took a table in an alcove and Rik studied the place carefully. It was a classic thieves dive if ever he had seen one. Furtive men with covered packages came in, said something to the barman and then headed into the back. Doubtless there was a fence through there. Sometimes he caught sight of a man as big as the Barbarian, when the curtains were swept aside.
The Barbarian returned with three beers and tumblers full of a strong-smelling spirit. Rik shook his head and indicated the Barbarian should take the spirit. Now was not the time for getting drunk. “Looks like your informant was right, I would say. What you want to do about it?”
“I think I’ll go have a word with the man in the back room,” Weasel said.
“Want us to come with you?” Rik asked.
“No, don’t want to scare him off with the sight of your ugly faces. Stay here, and come running if I whistle. You’ll know if there’s trouble.”
“Right-o,” said the Barbarian, downing the spirit in one.
Rik wondered at this. Was it possible that Weasel did not want them to hear what he had to say to the local thieves? Or was it that he just did not want to make the locals nervous? He could play it any way he wanted as far as Rik was concerned.
A slim youth entered. He was garbed in a black tunic, with a slouch hat pulled across his eyes. He had a long knife on his hip and a pistol thrust into his belt and he walked with the strutting confidence of a city-bred bravo. Rik felt a strange flicker of recognition, and then something like an electric shock when their gazes met. He knew this person, although at first he was not certain from where. Then slowly the impossibility of what he was seeing settled on his mind.
“You look like you just saw a ghost, Halfbreed?” said the Barbarian. There was faint mockery in his voice. “That strutting cockerel there scare you?”