There was defiance in this studied blankness. I looked at Temar who was holding tight to the leather bag and then to the trapdoor. That had been open. The scoundrel had only cried out when he realised Temar wasn’t whom he expected. So who was he expecting, and how soon?
I punched him at the base of the breastbone, a practised blow that stops the breath and causes agony out of all proportion to the damage it does. We may not beat up malefactors with the relish of some less honourable cohorts, but D’Olbriot’s men are all taught how to use our fists. He gasped, tears starting from his eyes, falling on to his grey breeched knees as he hunched over. I grabbed a handful of matted hair and pulled him upright.
He tried to spit at me again so I shook him like a terrier with a rat, slapping him fore- and backhanded. “Who put you up to this?”
He tried to twist his head out of my hand, determined defiance still nailing his mouth closed. This bastard had some hope to cling to, which meant beating the information out of him would take three times as long and we didn’t have that time to spare. Perhaps we could wait to see who was coming to take the artefacts, but only from a safe vantage point.
I let go and patted the thief gently on the cheek, taking a pace backwards. “So you’ve more backbone than Drosel.”
He opened scornful eyes. “You can forget that bluff, bought man. Drosel wouldn’t talk, and anyway, he doesn’t even know this place.”
“He said enough,” I shrugged. “How do you think we found you? Still, my congratulations; you’re holding up well for a man hip deep in horseshit.”
“Save it for someone who cares, bought man,” he sneered. “Turning friendly won’t help you.”
I laced my fingers together and stretched them thoughtfully. “How about ducking you in that a few times?” I nodded at the noisome chamber pot.
“I would not do so. He might pick out a knife with his teeth, he is so brave a man.” It wasn’t Temar’s mockery that made uncertainty fleet across the thief’s eyes. What was it?
I looked at the thief. “So, I can’t be bothered to waste my time beating it out of you, and I don’t fancy dabbling my fingers in your piss. All right, what’s it worth?”
Surprise flared in the man’s eyes. “What are you offering?”
I pretended to consider the question. “What about Drosel?”
“Don’t make me laugh.” The thief recovered a little self-possession. “Dro knew the risks. He wouldn’t lift a finger to save me if the runes had rolled the other way.”
“And if we traded him to you, you’d only have to split the gold you’re hoping to get for that little lot.” I sighed. “If his life’s of no value, what about your own? Do you want to share a ferry ride with him and argue over who pays Poldrion for the privilege?”
“My life won’t be worth shoe buckles if I talk to you. They’ll kill me, and where’s my profit then?” He wasn’t joking.
“You could flee the city,” suggested Temar, walking round to face the man, the bag secure on his hip. “Perhaps with a fat purse for your trouble?”
The thief looked nervously down at the floor when I’d have expected the offer of coin to give him pause for thought.
“The Esquire has coffers as handsome as his linen.” I gestured at Temar’s elegant lace collar. “He’d have paid a bounty for those treasures in any case.”
“Tell us who put you up to this, to whom they answer, if you may, and you can be well rewarded.” Temar offered with honest sincerity.
The thief’s tongue poked at the oozing split in his lip but fear was still tarnishing the greed in his eyes. There was something about Temar that really unnerved him, I realised. I knew something else as well. This was taking too long. I had one ear cocked for any sound below and wouldn’t have bet a Lescari Mark on the silence lasting much longer. I studied the thief’s face; he wasn’t just looking warily at Temar, his glance kept sliding to the leather bag and not because it held his spoils. “You’ll be glad to see the back of those things, whoever takes them, won’t you?”
It was drawing a bow at a venture but the thief’s sharp intake of breath and involuntary hunch of his shoulders told us both I’d hit between the joints of his harness.
“How well did you sleep, with all this under your bed?” Temar balanced a battered silver goblet on his outstretched palm, hand steady as a rock. “Did you dream? Did you feel the imprisoned crying out for release? Did you feel their confusion, their pain?”
I was impressed. Temar was striking a resonant balance between sounding scarily archaic and speaking clearly enough to be understood by latterday ears. It was just a shame this bluff was so threadbare. But as I thought that I saw a new determination light in Temar’s cold blue eyes. He reached into the leather bag, and what came next nearly made me cry out loud, never mind the thief.
“Milar far eladris, surar nen jidralis.” Temar slid into a rhythmical chant, eyes glazing. As he did so, a face coalesced above the black-streaked silver. Faint at first, like early streaks of mist lurking in hollows in the road, the image thickened like fog. It was pale as mist, a washed-out greyness to the skin, lips bloodless, unseeing eyes all but transparent. I couldn’t tell if it were man or woman, old or young, indistinct, with hair no more than a wispy suggestion.
“Shall I send you to join these shades?” Temar stopped his incantation and the shape shivered in the air. “Or shall I call them forth, to pursue you to the very borders of the Otherworld? If I do that, you can only be safe when you slit your own throat and Saedrin locks his door behind you.”
It was a good thing Temar was able to do all the talking because my throat had closed tighter than an oyster’s arse. I moistened dry lips and saw the thief staring at Temar as if the young Esquire had revealed himself as one of Poldrion’s own demons. A new stink added to the general stench in the room as the man soiled himself.
“His name’s Queal, Fenn Queal.” He stumbled over the name. “He works out of the Copper Casket, over near the limekilns on the bay.”
“What did he tell you?” demanded Temar. “What did he promise?”
The door on the ground floor below rattled. Our luck had just run out. “Hush, both of you.” I put my sword to the man’s throat to ensure his silence.
“Jacot? Jacot, you putrid pig?” An indignant voice yelled up the stairs. “You left the door unlocked, shit for brains!”
“Are you up there?” A second voice sounded faintly suspicious.
“Answer him.” I prodded the thief. “Say sorry.”
Jacot managed a hoarse shout. “Right, sorry about that.”
I cursed under my breath as I heard heavy boots on the stairs. “You’ll be more than sorry if anything’s been lifted, dungface,” a halfway drunken voice threatened.
There was no time to untie Jacot, and anyway, if it came to a fight I didn’t want him free. Whoever was wanting to pick an argument threw back the trapdoor and the indignation died on his lips as he realised Temar was standing there, naked blade ready to top his skull like an egg.
“We’ve no quarrel with you, pal,” I said with pleasant menace. “We’re just about done with Jacot here and then we’ll be leaving.”
The newcomer was a tall man with a weeping sore on his cheek that looked suspiciously like the scald to me. He was cleaner than Jacot, from what I could see of his shoulders, wearing a dun broadcloth jerkin over a plain shirt. All the better to go unnoticed about his thievery, doubtless. His dark eyes were red-rimmed and crusted but alert enough as they scanned the room; first the bed, the bound Jacot, myself and finally Temar, who smiled nastily at him.
“Whatever you say, you’re the man with the sword.” He looked unconcerned at Jacot’s reddened and bleeding face. “Never was good for his rent, anyway.”
I’d been half wondering about taking the thief with us to give Messire a matched pair for the gallows, but bilked for his rent or not I couldn’t see this bully letting us take Jacot with us. No matter. We had the Kellarin artefacts back and I’d wager gold against copper that Jacot would get his neck stretched soon enough.