The Alabaster Staff Page 13

  “Thank you,” said Kehrsyn. “Since you’re giving me my coin back, I guess I can return your dagger.”

  Demok’s hand flew to his hip and found his scabbard empty.

  “Impressive,” he said, though his tone was one of displeasure.

  “Thank you,” Kehrsyn said again as she grinned and held out his dagger, concealed behind her left forearm. Her voice grew dim and her eyes dropped as she added, “That’s how I’ve lived for the last seven years, doing tricks like that. I never hurt anybody, and I’ve never broken that vow. Until yesterday. I had a new life, but now it’s gone.”

  She looked up at Demok, her eyes narrowed with anger and sadness.

  “I’m going back to undo a theft that they made me do,” she said. “They stole a staff from Massedar, and they stole my vow from me. And here Massedar treats me really good, he’s a sweet man, and I’ve never met such a powerful guy who was so nice.

  “So yeah, maybe that’s a longer answer than you want, but I know what I’m doing. I’m going to hurt the people who robbed me of my new life.”

  Demok nodded and chewed on the corner of his mouth.

  By silent consent, they began walking again. Kehrsyn scuffed along for a few moments, kicking at higher lumps of slush.

  “Sorry,” she said finally. “I didn’t mean to drop all that on you. It’s fine if you didn’t want to listen to all that.”

  “Your father?” Demok asked.

  Kehrsyn smiled to herself. He had listened. She was starting to wonder if anything escaped his notice.

  She said, “I’d rather not talk about it just now.”

  Demok remained silent for some time as the two of them walked through the streets of Messemprar.

  “Know where you’re going?” he asked.

  Kehrsyn stopped and said, “No, I guess I don’t, but I know the name of the street, so I can find it.”

  “Ask me.”

  Kehrsyn laughed, and asked, “Do you know where Right Street is?”

  “There isn’t one,” Demok said.

  “There isn’t? Maybe Right Avenue? Boulevard?

  “No.”

  “But I know that’s what Ei—what I heard him say,” she said.

  Demok rolled his eyes skyward and thought.

  “Wheelwright’s Lane,” he said. “Near the north wall. Chariot Memorial. Try there.”

  He turned and started to walk away.

  “Hey, thanks,” Kehrsyn called after him.

  She saw him wave in acknowledgment, a simple, efficient gesture as he moved off into the crowds.

  Kehrsyn moved through Messemprar, the heat of her long, languid bath sticking with her as she walked the chilly, slush-filled streets. The slight tang of winter’s snow still lingered despite the best efforts of the city’s other smells, and Kehrsyn couldn’t help but smile. She was warm, well fed, and out for revenge on those who’d wronged her. Best of all, she held the secrets over her so-called employers, and they were none the wiser.

  Her brisk, confident gait, billowing cloak, and open sword parted the crowds before her, and she relished the sensation. Her entire life, she had been relegated to skulking in shadows, deferring to others, moving aside when persons of import passed by. She had gone from being the one to bow her head to the one walking down the center of the street.

  She owed it all to Massedar, and in her heart, she thanked him for it. It wasn’t just that she felt appreciated for a change. True, he’d spoken courteously, looked her in the eyes, indulged her, even promised her payment for services rendered—far more mercy than a thief could expect in Messemprar—but more so, he had set her upon a path of justice, with stakes far higher than the wedges and coppers and egorae she’d performed for.

  Most of all Massedar had power and he had extended the aura of his power to her, his chosen agent. He had given a street waif like her a portion of his great stature. She’d never experienced anything like it.

  She tried to think of the task ahead, but his piercing sky-blue eyes held her mind’s gaze until she saw the unimaginatively named Chariot Memorial looming ahead of her.

  The crowds were thick and noisy around the memorial, which suited Kehrsyn fine until she saw the source of the commotion. Some Zhent merchants had set themselves up at the foot of the great statue and were hawking advanced purchases of their forthcoming food shipment. The activity had generated quite a crowd, and Zhent guards and the city watch alike had posted themselves throughout the crowd.

  Kehrsyn slid along the edge of the crowd, confident in her anonymity but nonetheless preferring to keep a safe distance.

  After a few more tenbreaths’ search, she found the building Eileph had inadvertently mentioned. Number sixteen Wheelwright was a two-story building wedged between two convergent streets that intersected some thirty yards away from the plaza of the Chariot Memorial. The building was shaped like a narrow wedge of flatbread, which, Kehrsyn mused, must have made life interesting for the architect.

  It was on the verge of becoming dilapidated. The windows on the ground floor had all been securely, if inexpertly, boarded over. Heavy curtains filled the windows on the upper floor. The vertex of the narrow building was blunt, and into the end the main door had been set. In the years since the building had been created, however, it had sunk (or else extra dirt had raised the level of the plaza and surrounding streets), for the outward-opening front door was inoperable and had been boarded over as well. Instead, a ladder of questionable integrity led to a makeshift door roughly cut into the second floor. A sign dangled from one rung, proclaiming “NO ROOM.”

  Kehrsyn stuck out her lower lip appreciatively. The building looked poor and uncomfortable, declined the interest of the casual passerby, and yet was eminently defensible. In all likelihood, there’d be a hatch to the rear of the roof or a tunnel dug beneath the streets for a quick exit. Maybe both. It looked like a good setup.

  Kehrsyn decided that the best tactic would be a straightforward, confident approach. It had worked through the city streets, and it just might work there. Kehrsyn ran her right hand up and down along the edge of her burn. Certainly her experience with the sorceress showed that timidity was asking for trouble.

  Without further ado, lest her courage give out, Kehrsyn vaulted up the ladder, keeping a solid grip on the handrails in case one of the rungs should give. She used her dagger to depress the latch of the door and push it open, standing slightly to one side in case the occupants had a crossbow aimed at the entry. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, for whatever her images of a thieves’ guild had been, the interior of the building failed to live up to them.

  The only light in the room spilled in from the door, the curtained windows, and two other doors that stood slightly ajar on the far side of the vestibule. A variety of packs, large satchels, bags, and water skins hung on pegs along one wall, alongside the cloaks that Kehrsyn had expected to see. The other wall held an assortment of camping gear, ranging from clean frying pans to coils of rope to oiled-canvas rain tarps. At her feet, an old hunting dog lay on a ragged blanket. He opened his eyes and raised his muzzle a bit but declined to raise an alarm in favor of curling up a little tighter. He whined at the sudden influx of light and cold air, so Kehrsyn kneeled down and pulled a corner of the blanket over his haunches.

  Kehrsyn heard voices chatting behind one of the doors. Given the ambient noise from the crowds in the street, it was likely that they were unaware someone had entered the building. Kehrsyn put her bag right by the door, paused to think of a suitably casual line of entry, and, when she’d found one, she walked easily across the room, pushed the door open, and leaned against the jamb with her dagger in her right hand, concealed within her folded arms.

  “Has Eileph made his delivery yet?” she asked.

  “Yeah, this morning,” said one of the occupants, his back to Kehrsyn. “He’s got it downstairs,” he added, gesturing toward an old man seated opposite him.

  The others in the room stopped their conversation, the old one holdi
ng up his hand to silence his unaware companion.

  “And who are you?” he asked Kehrsyn.

  “I came to join.”

  At this, the man who’d answered her turned around. His eyebrows shot up when he saw her, which was the most dramatic reaction any of them had given. He turned back to face his companions.

  “Given she found us,” he said, bobbing his head, “I for one am inclined to sign her up.”

  “Well, I guess that settles it,” said Kehrsyn. “Will someone kindly fill me in on the bylaws?”

  “Gilgeam’s gallbladder!” came a female, if not particularly feminine, voice from deeper within the building. “Do I hear the whimpering words of my wayward waif?” Everyone turned to look as the sorceress stormed into the room, her face a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and shock. “Well, I’ll be a horse’s hindquarters! You got a whole bushel of stupid rocks in your head, coming here like this,” she said. She pointed at Kehrsyn, adding, “Grab her quick, and kill her!”

  One of the men shot out a hand and grabbed Kehrsyn’s left wrist, but she twisted her arm against the man’s thumb and plied her wrist free. She stepped back and drew her rapier with her left hand, subtly concealing her dagger behind her thigh.

  She started edging to the front door and said, “I’ll scream.”

  “Like anyone’s going to hear you outside, hon?” answered her nemesis. “All they care about are their empty stomachs.”

  The truth of the statement brought renewed fear to Kehrsyn, and she edged for the door more quickly.

  “Stop right there!” came another voice, and Kehrsyn glanced at the other door.

  Two figures had entered: a graybeard dwarf with a massive crossbow kneeling in front of a human female with a longbow. Both had arrows pointed directly at Kehrsyn’s heart. Kehrsyn stood maybe fifteen feet away. There was no way she’d be able to duck or dodge in time, and neither archer’s aim wavered in the slightest.

  “Good job, kids,” yelled the sorceress. “Now plug the little urchin!”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” ordered the older man, entering the vestibule from the kitchen. “Unless she moves,” he added, glaring at Kehrsyn with one murderous eye.

  He was on the short side but powerfully built, a man who had clearly lived most of his life fighting and a man for whom command came naturally. Hands on hips, jaw clenched, he looked first at Kehrsyn, then at his followers. He turned on the sorceress, walking up until his nose all but touched hers.

  “You know this gal,” he said, clenching his fist. “How does she know about Eileph and us? Have you been wagging your tongue over beers? If you have, I swear I’ll—”

  “No, I ain’t, honest, Tharrad,” said the sorceress. “Yeah, sure, I got her to steal the staff for us, and I sent her to Eileph, sure, but I have no idea how she found us!”

  Kehrsyn saw an opening and took it. “Like you’re so hard to track. Pfft!”

  Tharrad glowered at Kehrsyn, then at the sorceress again. “She—over there, her—you got her to steal the staff for us, something we’d been trying to plot for over a tenday, and now you want to just up and kill her?” he asked, his voice raised in spite of the fact that he was standing in her face.

  “She knows too much,” said the sorceress, standing her ground. “No tongue, no risk, no leak!”

  At that, Tharrad lost his composure. He seized the sorceress’s collar with both hands and hoisted her off the ground.

  “I see only one person responsible for leading this woman to our hideout,” he bellowed. “You are a risk. Thank the gods she wants to join. For that reason and that reason only, I leave you your tongue and your life.”

  The sorceress gulped. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  “Thank me after you heal,” he said, setting her down. He turned to the others and jerked his thumb at the sorceress. “Brand her tongue,” he ordered. “Maybe then she won’t spill our plans outside the group.”

  Kehrsyn gasped as several of the sorceress’s companions seized her and led her away, deeper into the building. To Kehrsyn’s surprise, she offered them no resistance. However, as they left the room, she called back over her shoulder, “She doesn’t even know who we are!”

  Tharrad turned to Kehrsyn. “Is that true?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Kehrsyn sheathed her rapier and snorted. She hoped it sounded more confident than it felt. “She lies. The only thing I’ve heard her say that’s accurate is that I stole the staff, and I’ll bet she didn’t even tell you that until just now, did she? I didn’t think so. She’s afraid I’ll upstage her. But yeah, I know who you are, and I have no problems living outside the law and doing what needs to be done.”

  Tharrad looked at Kehrsyn again, then nodded.

  “I’m Tharrad,” he said, extending his hand.

  Kehrsyn flipped her concealed dagger into the air and caught it with her left hand as she shook Tharrad’s with her right.

  “Glad to meet you,” she said. “I’m Kehrsyn.”

  Tharrad paused, unnerved at the sudden graceful appearance of a dagger. He watched as Kehrsyn slipped it into her boot.

  “Well, this isn’t the way I like to do things,” he said, “but Ruzzara leaves me with little choice, eh?

  “Follow me,” he added, gesturing. He walked deeper into the building, to a staircase that descended to the first floor. “So when did you decide you wanted to join up with Furifax?” he asked as he descended the stairs.

  Kehrsyn’s eyelids fluttered, as did her heart. She was thankful that Tharrad wasn’t looking at her at that moment. She’d thought she was joining a simple thieves’ guild, not the group of rebels that had plagued the land for nigh on two dozen years. For as long as she could remember, Furifax and his followers had first fought against Gilgeam and his church, then had worked to take the reins of power in Unther.

  The Untheric Army, the Northern Wizards, several temples, and many rich merchants had all put generous bounties on the head of Furifax. Even his followers had bounties on them, so it quite surprised Kehrsyn to discover that they were operating in the heart of Messemprar.

  “What’s the matter, missy?” asked Tharrad. “I didn’t brand your tongue, did I?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m … just a little dazzled to finally be here,” said Kehrsyn. “You asked something?”

  “Are you eager to join?” he asked.

  He stepped off the last stair and opened one of the doors on the first level. He ushered Kehrsyn into what looked like a cross between a trader’s office and a general’s war room.

  “Absolutely,” said Kehrsyn. “Something has to be done about this whole situation, and no one else seems to be able to get anything accomplished,” she added, hoping Tharrad would read into her vagueness whatever he wanted to hear.

  “Quite true,” he answered.

  Tharrad gestured her to a chair beside a table. She undid her rapier’s scabbard, leaned it against the wall, and took a seat. He sat opposite her, leaned back, and crossed his feet on the table.

  “Life as a rebel and an outlaw isn’t nearly so romantic as the balladeers would have us believe,” he said. “It’s tough, it’s dangerous, and it’s full of ugly but necessary actions. Why should we allow you to join?”

  “I think I’ve proven that I have skills, and I’d rather align myself with someone I can follow. And, frankly, if I were going to turn you all in, I would already have done so,” embellished Kehrsyn. “I could have gotten mintweight to lead a regiment of soldiers to your doorstep. Instead, I’ll add my head to the bounty rolls.”

  “I can’t argue with that logic,” said Tharrad. “You’ll understand, however, if we refrain from telling you anything of our organization beyond our little group here until you’ve spent some more time proving your worth and we’ve gotten to know you better. Our own exposure is no worse off with you present, but infiltration is a grave danger these days and I can’t risk the rest of the organization.”

  “That’s fine,” said Kehrsyn. “It’s just go
od to know I’m part of something larger. Speaking of infiltration, I understand we have an agent planted inside Wing’s Reach?” she asked, deliberately including herself in the pronoun.

  “That Ruzzara,” Tharrad snorted, shaking his head. “No, we don’t, but we have an ally who has a spy planted. More exactly, we have an informant in that group who has given us evidence that we can no longer trust our ally, not really a big surprise, so we’ve made our own move. We got the map from said informant, in exchange for certain considerations.”

  “Well, be sure to thank whoever it is for that map of the building; it was really useful.”

  Tharrad nodded as he unrolled a map of Messemprar.

  “Forgive me,” he said, “I’m still trying to transfer all of the credit for the heist from Ruzzara to you. Tell you what, tonight I’ll pour some brandy and you can tell me how you did it.

  “In the meantime, you’ve given us a good tool, once we figure out exactly how to use it. You’ll be doing a lot more of that, because it’s far better for us to steal something than it is to kill its owner and take it from them. Makes the targets wonder if they have a turncoat. We can also use you to plant evidence or leave threats that’ll make people knuckle under, but we still have quite a puzzle to solve before we can take control of Messemprar and the rest of Unther. The challenge lies in figuring out who can be bought, who can be browbeaten, and who must be fought. Unfortunately, with the pharaoh’s army roving just across the river, we find ourselves having to rely on people and factions whom we would not trust, were the times less perilous.”

  “Believe me,” said Kehrsyn, “I understand.”

  A heavy fist knocked at the door, interrupting Kehrsyn’s discussion with Tharrad, much to her dismay. She had found out much more of Messemprar’s history and chaotic political situation than she had expected.

  “Come in,” said Tharrad.

  The dwarf archer stuck his head in the door and said, “Someone to see you. The Tiamatans, by the look of them.”