“On my mother’s grave, Sham. I don’t know why he decided that the Reeve had to accompany you. The word of your current whereabouts is not on the street, and none of my people has been asked about you. The wizard approached one of my associates yesterday. The Whisper occasionally uses the mage; we questioned him several times about the Chen Laut, but he claimed ignorance. Now, he wants to meet you this afternoon in his workshop in Purgatory ... with the Reeve.”
Sham shook her head. “How did he expect us to get the Reeve into Purgatory in that chair without attracting every would-be thief and ransom taker for a hundred leagues? Does he want an audience of several hundred thieves? Even if we make it in and out without getting killed in the process, every man in the city will wonder what the Reeve was doing traveling to Purgatory.”
The Shark’s lips quirked at her attack. “I haven’t talked to the man to ask him what he was thinking. I suppose that part of it will be up to you. I can only guarantee that the Whisper will not pass it in the winds.”
“I can ride,” Kerim pointed out mildly. Sham had almost forgotten him in the heated exchange. “Since the feeling is back in my legs and the muscle cramps have abated I should be able to stay in the saddle. Once we’re there, Dickon can assist me into the wizard’s dwelling.”
Sham aimed an assessing glance at him. “The risk is too great. You might as well have a target painted on your back as ride through Purgatory on a Castle-bred horse.”
“This demon of yours killed my brother,” Kerim reminded her. “If my presence will help to catch it or figure out what to do with it when we have it, by all means let us travel on to Purgatory. There are cart horses here, as well as the highbred animals. I am sure that we can find mounts to suit.”
Sham turned to the Shark. “What time this afternoon?”
“Now.”
“I’ll get Dickon.”
The two men waited until she was hidden by the Castle walls before speaking.
“So—” commented the Shark, rocking back on his heels, “—she found another one.”
Kerim waited politely, well used to the fighting of many kinds of battles.
“Another puppy to mother,” clarified the Shark with a casualness that roused Kerim’s mistrust. “I wondered how long it would be after the sorcerer died before she found someone else to coddle.”
“I don’t see any milk teeth, here,” replied Kerim, baring his own in a white flash. “As for whom is taking care of whom, I think that the honors are about even so far.”
The Shark turned away, watching the shadows gather in the corner of the barn. “Be careful what you do, Cat-lover. Those of us who live in Purgatory are good haters and we eat our foes, Sham no less than I.”
“Whom does she hate?” Kerim said softly.
“Ah, my Sham hates many people, but she channels and controls it. She follows rules, picking and choosing her victims. Those rules keep her sane, while the rest of us rot in our own well of haired and despair.” When the Shark turned back to Kerim, old anger robbed his eyes of the blandness that created the illusion of stupidity. “But I owe her my protection—and there are no rules to my hatred. If you hurt her, I will find you.” Kerim noticed that the thick accent had disappeared as well and the Shark’s Cybellian speech was as refined as any at court.
Kerim nodded his head wisely. “Your protection includes suggesting her to us, knowing—I assume—that this investigation would lead her to confront a demon?”
The Shark shrugged, resuming his don’t-ask-me-I’m-an-idiot expression. “She asked me to help her find the demon. Since it appeared the creature was tied to the Court in some way—it seemed the best way to fulfill both of your requests.”
The wizard kept his workroom in a remote part of Purgatory where only the most miserably poor people lived. The land was littered with the cardhouse remnants of warehouses that a generation of the salt sea air had rotted virtually to the ground. Here and there, a few boards had been scavenged and erected into crude shelters.
A heavy sea mist hung in the air, clinging to the low places and robbing any hint of color from the area. It was a mist thick with despair and untold tragedy; Sham had never seen this place without it.
She shivered and wrapped the ragged cloak she’d borrowed from the stables more tightly around her. This area was controlled by one of the most ruthless ganglords of Purgatory and she knew that in a few days his gang would sweep through here and knock the shelters down, taking the few possessions the occupants still had. On the ground, a human femur lay forsaken, a mute warning for those who cared to heed it.
It was odd, she thought, with a touch of bitterness, that people could create horrors greater than any presented by demons or ghouls. The Old Man had said that the same atmosphere prevailed in old battlegrounds even after centuries had passed. Places that absorbed too much violence had a propensity for collecting ghosts. When she let herself listen, she could hear the dead moaning in the winds. The horse she was riding tucked its head and scooted closer to the other animals from the Reeve’s stable, as if it, too, could hear the echo of misery in this place.
They were a strange-looking band, but they blended nicely with the few ragged souls who scurried in the shadows. The Shark’s brilliantly colored velvets were as much a warning as clothes. Only a fool or a very dangerous man wore clothing like that here, and a fool would never have made it this far. Sham spared a thought to wonder where he’d learned to ride; as far as she knew he lacked the benefit being the offspring of the Captain of the Guard.
Kerim rode easily, looking every inch a warrior. The comfortable way his hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword would not escape someone looking for an easy mark. Most surprising to Sham was the ease with which Dickon had shed his civilized mannerisms with his civilized clothing; he looked as dangerous as either of the others. With a faint breath of amusement, she realized that she was the least imposing member of the party.
As they rode on, the buildings began to rise again, built of reclaimed lumber and brick and stuck together with slabs of mud, bits of rope, and a few rusty nails. A whore gazed at them with dull eyes, knowing that such a well-dressed party would wait until nightfall before indulging in the product she sold.
The Shark stopped the horse he rode in front of a hastily cobbled building with blankets draping the windows and a few of the larger holes. Sham felt a momentary twinge of surprise that no one had stolen the blankets before she noticed the magical warding that surrounded the building.
As the Shark swung out of the saddle, a small group of urchins broke from the safety of the shadows to hold the horses. They weren’t as skinny as the rest of the children in this area, so Shamera felt it safe to assume the Shark had imported them. If he had thought that far ahead, he probably had other, more lethal minions in hidden nearby. Feeling more optimistic of their chances to make it back to the Castle without incident, Shamera dismounted.
Getting the Reeve off the horse was easier than getting him on had been. Watching his face, Sham thought that he would pay for the unaccustomed riding. With Dickon on one side and the Shark on the other, the Reeve managed the trip from the horse to the building supporting much of his own weight.
Once inside they found themselves in an earth-floored room, empty except for two chairs and a clear crystal globe that hovered waist-high in the center of the room without visible support. Shamera frowned momentarily at the chairs; she had expected nothing more than a bench—chairs were for nobles who could afford the woodcrafter’s high prices and lived where such things wouldn’t be stolen.
The Reeve settled comfortably in one of the chairs, and Dickon and the Shark stood next to him. The other chair faced the Reeve’s and was obviously meant for the wizard. Shamera took a step back to lean against the wall, but before she got to it, the back of her head hit something with an audible crack.