“The agent we provided had spoken one of the Greater Names. The demon she hosted should have been a match for anything Vhalnich could do.” The pontifex sounded annoyed, though Orlanko was never certain how much faith to place in communication by this strange channel. “The fact that she has not returned means that he discovered something in Khandar of considerable power.”
“So you’ve said,” Orlanko said. Privately, he thought that the pontifex placed too much faith in his precious Ignahta. Magic or not, anyone could be killed, or even suborned. “Do you have any idea what it was?”
“A demon, of course. A powerful one. The question is whether he called it himself or trusted it to some ally. And what else he may have found.”
“My agents have already told us a great deal. When the Colonials land, they will provide a full report. They should have ample opportunity to gather information during the crossing.”
“Good. We have worked too long for this to risk it at this stage. How fares the king?”
“Poorly. Doctor-Professor Indergast says it is a matter of weeks, at best.”
“Then proceed as planned. And find out what Vhalnich is up to, and what his connection is with the princess.”
“It could be a coincidence,” said Orlanko.
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” said the pontifex.
There was another moment of gulping silence, and then the girl said, “He’s gone, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.” The duke picked up the lantern. “Please inform Brother Nikolai if you require anything, and we will provide it.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, but I am content.”
Brother Nikolai closed the cell door and the grate behind him as he left, heavy iron bolts clacking home in their brackets. Orlanko’s mind was otherwise occupied. In spite of what he’d said, he didn’t believe in coincidence, either. Something had happened in Khandar, something supernatural, and Vhalnich’s return mere weeks before Raesinia’s coronation had to be deliberate. The mysterious colonel was planning something, and the princess was part of it.
Somewhere there was a weak link, a loose thread that would tell him what Vhalnich was up to. Sooner or later, Andreas or one of the others would find it.
And then, Orlanko thought, I’ll make Vhalnich regret the trouble he’s caused me.
CHAPTER SIX
WINTER
“The thing you hafta understand about the Docks,” Jane said, “is that the people here don’t want t’ fight.”
Winter smiled to herself. She’d listened to Jane’s accent shift as they came down out of the apartment tower, thickening into a good approximation of the dockworkers’ dialect. Even her gait was different, widening into the rolling swagger affected by boatmen and those around them. Winter wondered if Jane was even aware of the changes. She always had a talent for fitting in, when she cared to.
“’Cept for a few fucking loonies,” Jane went on, “everybody just wants to do their thing in peace and quiet, make enough to eat, maybe get drunk now an’ then. But none of ’em want to get fucked over, not by each other and not by the fucking tax farmers. So they work themselves up to a brawl now and then, but they don’t really mean it. Not like those bastards from Oldtown, who only do a bit of work when they can’t find something to steal.”
Jane’s band of young women lived in a dilapidated four-story building, which had once been the offices of a defunct shipping company. Jane had claimed it, according to Abby, by driving out the gangs of squatters and vagrants who had been living there previously. Abby had given Winter a little tour, and Winter had been surprised both by how orderly the whole thing was and by how many people were living there. There had to be several hundred girls at least, ranging in age from Jane and herself down to children of ten or twelve. Winter, amazed, had asked where they had all come from, but Abby had been evasive.
Now they were out on what Jane called her “rounds.” Winter had been allowed to descend without a bag over her head, which she supposed meant that she was now at least an honorary member of the gang. So far, so good, at least as far as her mission from Janus was concerned.
Janus. Winter gritted her teeth at the thought. He had to know. He had to. This whole project, sending Winter to infiltrate a gang of women dockworkers, made no sense unless he’d known. Janus was a good enough judge of talent to know that Winter was no spy-witness the way she’d made a hash of things. Sending her here was futile, unless Janus already knew that Jane was at the heart of these Leatherbacks.
And if he knew, why didn’t he tell me? She couldn’t decide if it had been a shrewd move on his part, given her probable reaction, or else had been the colonel’s twisted idea of a joke. Janus did have a decidedly odd sense of humor at times. Either way, I owe him a solid kick in the arse. She glanced at Jane. Or else my abject gratitude. One or the other. Maybe both.
It was still a little hard for Winter to believe that Jane was here, that the girl who had figured so prominently in her dreams for three years was actually standing beside her. With her long hair gone, dressed in trousers and dockworkers’ homespun, it sometimes felt like this profanity-spewing young woman was someone else entirely. Then something would catch Winter’s eye-her face in profile, that wicked smile, a certain cast of the eyes-and her heart would give a sickening lurch, and she’d be ready to break down in tears all over again.
Jane’s rounds, it turned out, consisted of walking an irregular circuit of the streets around her base. This took considerably longer than it might have, since everyone they met on the street seemed to know her, and every third person stopped her to exchange a few words. Jane introduced Winter whenever she had the chance, but to Winter the dockmen and their names quickly became a blur. They had a certain sameness about them-big, weathered men, tan and wiry from years of heavy work in the sun. They had names like Bentback Jim, Reggie’s Teeth, Bob the Swine, and Walnut.
This last was a true giant of a man, bigger even than Winter’s Corporal Folsom, with wrinkled skin tanned dark as leather and a grin that showed shockingly white teeth. He was called Walnut, Jane explained, because he liked to eat the nuts, and, more important, because he could crush them in his fists. Walnut, hearing this, laughed delightedly and demonstrated with a couple of nuts from a nearby bowl. He tightened his grip until they broke, with a crack like a pistol shot.
“’Ave you seen Crooked Sal this morning?” Walnut said, picking the meat from the bits of shell in his palm with surprising delicacy.
“Not yet,” Jane said. “Why?”
“He was gettin’ pretty hot last night,” Walnut said. “Something about his daughter and George the Gut.”
“Fuckin’-” Jane loosed a string of profanity that Winter couldn’t follow, which made even Walnut raise an eyebrow. “Is he still going on about that?”
“Said he was going to go over there and slit George open to see what his gut was made of,” Walnut said. “Course, he was sopping drunk at the time. But it sounded like he meant it.”
“I’ll sort him out.” Jane turned on her heel and stalked away, and Winter had to hurry to keep up.
“Fucking Sal and his fucking daughter,” Jane muttered.
“I take it you know them?” Winter said. “You seem to know everybody.”
“Sal’s an ass. And his daughter’s a little idiot who likes to make trouble. I mean, why else would she move in with George the Gut? It’s not like he’s anything to look at.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Find Sal and talk some sense into him. His girl’s seventeen already. If she wants to spend her time fucking ugly eel fishers, that’s her own business.” Jane paused. “You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. Sal’s not really dangerous, but if he’s started working himself up to something, he may be half-drunk already.” She glanced at Winter and looked away, almost bashful. “All this. . fighting and so on. You’re not-”