The third mage… Lander still had difficulty believing that Hanibaz Nassor was a mage, let alone a Red Wizard. Hanibaz was a hefty, jovial sort who liked an evening at the Eel. His hair was thick, his only visible tattoos were on his arms like any number of sailors, and the only red about him was a wide sash over his belly. Most of Spandeliyon had no idea he was a Red Wizard and word was that Hani-baz liked it that way because he was actually a Thayan spy. He sat farthest from Brin, sprawled out in his chair with a mug of ale close to hand.
Of the three, Lander trusted him the least. As usual, he was the first one to speak when Brin finished. "I'm intrigued," he said. "The Silk would be a great curiosity if nothing else." Hooked like a fish, Lander thought. Hanibaz's words might have been casual, but his left hand was fidgeting, thumb spinning a ring* on his middle finger around and around. He only did that when he was well and truly interested in something.
"A curiosity is likely all it will be," sniffed Mosi Anu. "These legends you've been telling us are preposterous. A bunch of uneducated weavers and dyers catching the power of the sun in a piece of cloth? "
He was hooked, too. Mosi and Hanibaz were rivals. Anything Hanibaz wanted, Mosi would treat with disdain-until he was able to snatch it out from under Hanibaz.
"Thaedra?" asked Brin.
The Chessentan stretched. "Exotic, powerful, unbelievably old. Brin, you know I want it."
Her voice throbbed with power. Lander forced his eyes up to the ceiling and bit down hard on his tongue to distract himself from her. Even the Red Wizards must have felt her sway. Hanibaz broke the moment with a biting, "Exotic, powerful, unbelievably old-Thaedra, my dear, that could be your smallclothes!"
Mosi Anu frowned dourly, but Brin laughed and even Lander snickered. Thaedra turned a burning gaze on Hanibaz. "Brin," she said haughtily, "when will we be able to see this fabled silk?"
"Thaedra," said Brin with a clever smile and a glance back at Lander, "the Yellow Silk of Kuang-"
Lander winced and gave a tiny shake of his head.
Brin's smile faltered for a moment then came back strong. "-will be available for your examination shortly. While you wait, the facilities of the Eel are yours."
"How disappointing." Thaedra rose. "I don't think it's worth my time to wait. Brin, between this Yellow Silk and the beljurils, you've left me unsatisfied twice this past tenday. Next time, try to have the merchandise available before you drag me all the way down here." Brin flushed as she walked out of the room and Lander wasn't sure which he shied away from more: her aura of power or Brin's violent wrath. The halfling looked to the Red Wizards. Hanibaz shrugged.
"I don't mind waiting. Mosi?"
His rival's lips narrowed. "I want to see the look on your face when Brin unveils some Shou's handkerchief." He sat back in his chair.
A measure of satisfaction returned to Brin's face. "Very good." He hopped to his feet and bowed to each of them as he walked to the back of the room. "I'll send someone in to see to your needs." He turned his smile on Lander. "A word with you outside?"
A hard shove didn't leave any room for refusal. As soon as the blue door slammed shut behind them, Lander gasped out an explanation. "We looked everywhere, Brin! We couldn't find Tycho or Li Chien. Even Black Scratch couldn't pick up their scents."
Brin growled under his breath, but to Lander's relief, he didn't lash out. "Don't worry," he said. "I have a plan." He started toward the festhall's back door. "I'll be back. Wait here and keep an eye on things."
"Things? " Lander shot a glance at the blue door. "Brin! What am I supposed to do?"
"Anything they want, Lander." Brin turned around briefly. "This could take some time. Keep Hanibaz and Mosi happy and keep them here." His eye narrowed. "If I don't have two mages to bid on the Yellow Silk when I get back, I'm not going to be happy."
He disappeared. Lander swallowed. He drew his mouth up into a forced smile and stepped back into the Blue Room.
CHAPTER 10
Crown Alley seemed like a prosperous street, if not an especially busy one. The homes and shops that lined its twisted length were in good repair. Some of the shops even boasted signs with only words and no pictures, an indication that they expected a better class of literate clientele. Pretentious, thought Tycho. Crown Alley ended in high town, but it started in dockside.
The pretention of the street had one tremendous benefit, though. The snow had been cleared away, shoveled up in great heaps. The walking was easier than pretty much anywhere in dockside. Drier, too-the temperature had risen above freezing again and in dockside, snow was turning into wide, slushy puddles. In Crown Alley, the melt water flowed into a carefully cleared gutter and gurgled its way down to the sea.
Tycho stamped on the paving stones, knocking off the wet clumps that clung to carefully cleaned boots. His coat was clean, too, dirt and stains brushed away by Laera. His strilling had been left behind. He wore his best clothes, his dark curls had been brushed and dressed, and he had shaved again-two days in a row! All the way through middle town, young women and old had turned to watch him pass. Tycho had favored them all with a smile and the prettiest ones with a wink.
Smiles and winks covered up a case of nerves as bad as he had ever had.
He found the leatherworker's, shop. Four steps took him down into a shadowed stairwell opposite a heavy door-strangely heavy for a simple shop. There was an iron knocker set in the door's center. He lifted it and knocked sharply.
A hatch in the door opened and eyes peered out. "Yes?" asked a woman's voice pleasantly. Tycho gave his best smile.
"I've come about a saddle," he said. The eyes looked him over and disappeared as the hatch shut. A bolt was drawn and the door opened. The woman on the other side looked as tough as a piece of the leather that filled the cellar beyond her. She gestured him inside. Tycho entered, pausing just inside the door to let his eyes adjust from the brightness of the street. The woman hissed at him.
"In or out, make up your mind."
"In," Tycho replied and took another step forward. The woman shut the door behind him. A tall man appeared through an interior door as she returned to a workbench. He gave Tycho another looking over and pointed at the long, fabric-shrouded bundle the bard carried.
"That a sword?" he asked. Tycho nodded. The tall man grunted. "Leave it here."
"I can't. It's what I came about." He flipped back the cloth to reveal the hilt of Li's saber. "I understand the Hooded has an interest in exotic weapons." The tall man's eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
Tycho smiled at him. "No one," he said. "I'm just here about a saddle."
"Sweet chum right you are." The tall man held out a meaty hand. "I'll carry the sword." Tycho hesitated for a moment, folded the cloth back over the saber, and handed it to him. The tall man hefted the weapon like an expert and grunted approvingly at the weight. "This way," he said, turning back to the inner door. Tycho followed him through. He held the door wide for a moment.
"You don't often see an inside door this heavy," he commented.
The tall man paused on a flight of stairs leading up. "No, you don't. But if you're lucky, you'll see it again on the way back out. Now close it." Tycho shrugged, pulled the door shut, and stomped up the stairs after him. They would be on the main floor of the house above the leatherworker's shop now, he guessed. The stairs, however, led into a short hallway with murder slots in one wall-he wouldn't have wanted to come up the stairs unannounced. A crossbow bolt fired through one of those slots would probably put a hole right through a person. The tall man led him past the slots confidently, though, and up to an open doorway. He stood aside and let Tycho go ahead of him.
The doorway led into a large, bare room. The walls were undecorated plaster. Tycho could see the faint outlines where windows had been boarded up and plastered over. The room was lit by two lanterns that rested on its only piece of furniture: a heavy table. Seated on the other side of the table was a man in thick robes. A loose, baglike leather hood covered his face. Tycho nodded to him respectfully. "Olore, Hooded."
There were three visible holes in the hood: two narrow ovals for the eyes and an even narrower slit over the mouth. Tycho saw dark eyes flicker through the ovals. The Hooded nodded to him in return and he caught the barest murmur of a whisper.
"Olore, Tychoben Arisaenn." Standing beside the Hooded, a young woman spoke his words out loud. Just as Jacerryl had said: an interpreter. Tycho caught himself thinking of Magistrate Vanyan and his self-important aide, Dorth. Unlike Dorth, the young woman at the Hood-ed's side seemed like nothing more than a shadow. She stood perfectly still, moving only her lips and eyes. Her hair was pulled back tight, her skin was pale, and she wore clothes of exactly the same color as the Hooded's robes. She bore a striking resemblance to the leatherworker in the cellar shop. Tycho held back a shudder and focused on the Hooded.
It wasn't so strange that the gang leader knew his name. A sharp man would know the names of many people. Tycho just hoped he didn't know too much more, especially about details of the past two days. He bowed again. "Jacerryl Dantakain sent me to you, Hooded," he said carefully, testing the waters.
The Hooded made no visible reaction, but just murmured to the young woman at his side. "I know Jacerryl Dantakain," she said for him. "We've dealt together in the past."
Simple, noncommittal. No mention of the beljurils, of course. Tycho wondered if the Hooded knew how Jacerryl had come by them. "Jacerryl told me you were a connoisseur of exotic weapons. The other day, he showed me a pair of wide swords he bought from you. I have something I think might interest you. Your man "
He started to twist around, but the Hooded just shook his covered head. He raised a hand-gloved in the same leather as his hood-and gestured. The tall man came forward and set Li's saber on the table before him. The Hooded folded back the wrappings carefully. When the weapon was revealed, he nodded. "A Shou dao," he said. His young interpreter delivered the words so smoothly, it was easy to forget she was there. The Hooded ran a hand along the red leather of the scabbard, wrapped it around the brass-fitted grip, and pulled the weapon out. The blade flashed bright. Li had spent as much time in polishing the saber as Tycho had in getting dressed. The Hooded looked at it-appreciatively, Tycho thought-and glanced up at the tall man. "Get Tycho a chair."
The tall man went out through another door and came back with a simple, straight-back chair that he thumped down in front of the Hooded's table. Tycho sat as the Hooded continued to examine the saber, looking at the blade, at the fittings on the hilt, at the condition of the grip. Finally, he nodded and murmured again to his interpreter. Even seated a little closer, Tycho still couldn't quite hear what he said, but the interpreter relayed, "Well used, but well taken care of. A fine weapon-and all the way from Shou Lung unless I'm wrong." She paused, the Hooded said something else, and she added, "Fifteen Sembian gold fivestars."
Tycho's eyebrows rose. "Fifteen Sembian gold would be a fine price-if you were buying a common sword from a smith in Sembia." He leaned forward. "Thirty-five."
The Hooded muttered something his interpreter didn't repeat, but Tycho could have made a good guess at what was said. The robed man considered the saber again. "This did come from farther than Sembia," he admitted. "Twenty."
"You're robbing me," Tycho said bluntly.
The Hooded looked at him and he caught a glimpse of eyes with all the warmth of ice. "This is a warrior's weapon. A good story might increase its value. Where did you get it?"
"From a Shou warrior," Tycho said. He, Veseene, and Li had worked out the best story. Tycho had been in favor of a simple tale of acquiring the weapon in the Shou-town in Telflamm. It was quick, anonymous, and all but impossible for the Hooded to contradict. Li, however, insisted on something more. Yu Mao's butterfly swords had passed through the Hooded's hands. He wanted to know how. Tycho sat back and spun out the story-remarkably close to the truth-that Li had proposed. "He came to Spandeliyon looking for revenge on Brin."
The Hooded said nothing, but he didn't have to: Tycho caught a slight shift in his posture as he leaned forward, eager for word of some misfortune befalling his rival. Tycho stretched out the tale. "Fine figure of a warrior he was, too. All the way from Shou Lung, straight through Telflamm, onto a ship, and here to Spandeliyon. Fiery temper, you could see it in his eyes."
"When?" demanded the Hooded. His interpreter spoke the word in the same monotone in which she relayed all of his speech, but Tycho caught some of his tone. He was caught in the story.
"Only a few days ago."
"What happened?"
Tycho sighed dramatically. "He never made it to Brin. Lander-you know who Lander is? — got him first. I happened across him in his last moments. He pressed the weapon on me and begged me to see his vengeance on Brin through." He coughed. "I'm not that stupid."
"No," the Hooded said, "I can see that. Twenty-two for thedao?"
"I would consider thirty."
"Maybe. Did this angry warrior say why he wanted vengeance on Brin?"
The Hooded was fishing for information now. Tycho held back a smile and said casually, "For the death of his brother while Brin was a pirate on a ship called Sow-."
He blinked as the Hooded stiffened sharply and gloved hands tightened around Li's saber.