Death's Angels

Chapter Seventeen

Rik woke up as the first light of the sun leaked in through the curtains. His bladder felt like it was bursting. His head felt as if someone had used it as a drum the previous night. He looked over at the dark-haired girl on the bed and tried to remember her name. Rena, he thought.

She was very pretty and had been very skilled. He checked his purse and it clinked reassuringly, the same weight as it had been the night before. He looked inside and checked the coins. He had known girls in Sorrow who had been very good at putting pewter buttons in place of coin.

Everything was there except the money he had given her. From old habit, he considered searching the room quietly and seeing if she had anything worth stealing, but it was an impulse easily suppressed. Instead he used the chamber pot, stuck his head out of the brothel window, checked the street for people below and then tossed its contents down. There was nobody except a few beggars in range to be splattered so he shouted no warning, not wanting to disturb the girl.

She stirred languorously, stretched, opened her eyes and gave him a foxy look. He tried to remember how they had met but it was all a fragmented, alcohol-blasted blur of memory. He recalled the candlelit dance palace below, a massive chandelier overhead, lots of people jigging and the Barbarian heading off propped up by a girl on either side. Doubtless he would be waking up without his purse sometime soon. Leon had wandered off with some pretty girl. Weasel he remembered sitting in a corner playing cards with some villainous looking cutthroats, his pipe jammed in his mouth, his cap at an accidentally rakish angle on his head.

“Come back to bed,” said the girl.

“Night’s over,” he said. “I paid your Aunt for the night.”

“No charge. It’s not often I get to sleep with somebody like you.”

That’s what she always says, he thought cynically. These girls liked repeat business and flattery was as much their stock in trade as tumbling in bed.

“You look like an Exalted Lord,” she said, and she sounded serious. Maybe she’s a good actor, he thought, or maybe he was just too hung-over to judge. If truth be told, the last thing on his mind was sex. What he really wanted was a fried breakfast. There was nothing like it for settling a hangover. “And you’re not from around here, are you?”

Rik began to dress. “You don’t say much do you?” she asked.

“I’m from Sorrow,” he said.

“Shadzar, the Place of Sorrow” she said, using the old proper name. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

It was obvious she was half-expecting him to offer to take her there. She had probably received many such offers in the past. He looked at her and found some of his cynicism melting. She was just a country girl, thinking about the big city, and there was a terrible hopefulness in her eyes. He had seen that look before, on the faces of new arrivals, just before the wicked city broke them.

“It’s an awful place,” he told her. “You are better off here.”

“It’s supposed to be beautiful.” He considered that. He supposed to an outsider the glittering towers and fancy mansions must look that way. To him they had simply been reminders of all the things he could never have, places where all the people who had carelessly and accidentally ruined his life had dwelled.

He felt the old envy and bitterness well up in him, and suddenly the books came back into his mind. He felt a keenness to get out of here, to begin to look them over, to see if he could find some path towards a better future in them. No matter what evil they might contain, it could surely be no worse than what his life already held. He had to find a way to stop Weasel selling them. A chill of fear stabbed through his hangover. He had to find a way to stop Vosh selling them out too. How had things gotten so complicated, so fast?

“It is,” he told her, pulling on his boots. They were starting to come apart at the seams. He would need to see a cobbler before they went on the march. “I have to go,” he said.

“Take me to breakfast with you,” she said. “I know a good place.”

He looked at her for a moment, and considered refusing. They were strangers really, but she looked oddly young and hopeful at that moment, and he could not quite bring himself to refuse.

“Let’s go eat then,” he said. First food, he thought, then the books. He needed time to think anyway.

The stairs creaked below Rik’s feet. He could hear voices below him, low, tired and subdued. The place stank like every bar he had ever been in the morning after a big night. The scent of stale tobacco, stale booze and stale bodies hung in the air, and not even the slow breeze blowing in through the open doors could entirely disperse the stink. He studied his surroundings in a way he had not been sober enough to do the night before. They were every bit as tawdry as he had expected. It had long been his experience that places which held a certain seedy glamour by night looked far worse in the cold light of morning. There was nothing about Mama Horne’s to make him revise that opinion.

Cheap prints of famous courtesans and actresses covered the walls. They were stained and peeling. The boards of the stairs were poorly sanded and a little warped. The huge chandelier was still impressive though. It looked like it had been salvaged from the wreckage of some factor’s mansion. It was as out of place here as a Princess’s gown on a scrofulous grandmother. The starbrights had dimmed at the touch of daylight. They would glow again magically come nightfall. Right now they were just inert chunks of crystal.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he heard Weasel say. “It’s always a pleasure to take your money.”

He rounded a curve in the stairs and looking over the banister caught sight of the man himself. It was obvious the game had run on all night. Three other men were awake at the table, unshaven and red-eyed as Weasel himself. One of them was stark naked except for his hat and his pipe. Several others lay asleep on nearby couches. One or two had girls snuggled near them. One clutched a bottle under his arm and muttered something in his sleep. More empty bottles lay on nearby tables. Weasel looked around and said brightly; “Another hand?”

There was some muttering but no one looked like they wanted to take him up on it. Weasel grinned, and pushed a pile of clothing to the naked man with his feet. “You can have it, Ari. I can afford to be generous.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” said somebody else. Rik nodded and was about to walk past with Rena when Weasel called him over.

“A word, Halfbreed,” he said. “A word to the wise.”

He sounded more serious than usual, and Rik could tell from his expression that he had something more on his mind than merely cheating at cards. Perhaps he suspected that some of these men suspected him of it, and wanted back up to clear the house with his winnings. It would not have been the first time Rik had performed such a service.

“Yes?”

“There’s some stuff came up in conversation that I think you should know.” He nodded in the direction of his playing partners. They were hard-faced, hard-eyed men. If he knew Weasel they were probably something in the local gangs, not leaders but well up within the hierarchy. Probably all of them were involved in one or the other of the Quartermaster’s little schemes.

“Wait a bit till the Barbarian gets up, that way I won’t have to repeat myself,” Weasel said, his gaze shifting between Rik and Rena.

“You know what he’s like in a place like this. We might not see him again for days. We were just going to have breakfast. I am hungry.” The hangover put a whine in Rik’s voice.

“Fortunately, I had the foresight to send someone with a wakeup call.”

“He’ll never leave his bed for anything less than the building burning down, and not even then if he likes the girls.”

“We’ll see.”

A bull-like bellow from above let Rik know that the Barbarian’s wakeup call had arrived. Shortly thereafter he appeared, wearing only his britches and carrying his huge knife. He hopped down the stairs obviously having got a splinter in his foot. They creaked ominously beneath his weight. The pain was not making him any happier.

“Where is this bastard that says he can take any Northman here?” he roared. He was so angry his walrus moustaches bristled.

Rik looked at Weasel who shrugged as if to say it was the only way.

“He ran away when I told him you were coming downstairs,” said Weasel. The Barbarian looked a little mollified but glared around sullenly to see if anyone would take up the challenge. The local hard-men found other things to look at. Hard they might be, but crazy they were not. There was no profit for them in getting into a brawl with the likes of the Barbarian.

“Anyway, now you are up how about joining me and Rik for some breakfast?” Rena tugged at his arm as if to say this was not what she had in mind. Rik looked at her and said, “Wait a moment. This could be important.”

The Barbarian looked at them both and said; “You would not be having me on about anything, would you?”

“Would I do that?” said Weasel. “There is something I want to talk about though, and it is important.”

“It’s not about the books, is it?” said the Barbarian glancing at them both significantly and winking. Rik shuddered. Weasel put his hand on the Barbarian’s shoulder and said to Rena; “I promised him a book with dirty pictures in it. He can’t read but he likes to look.”

The Barbarian looked at him as if he had gone mad, then slowly realisation dawned. It was written all over his face.

Weasel gave Rena a long hard look then handed her a coin. “Go and get us all something to drink, girl. All of this playing has given me a thirst. Get yourself something as well.”

Rena could take a hint. Her fist closed around the coin like a trap and she vanished through a side door. Weasel drew them all down to a nearby table. They all slumped into the chairs.

“What is it?” Rik asked.

“Vosh was right. There are Agante tribesmen in town. A fair number too.”

“So what? They come here to trade all the time,” said the Barbarian. “All the hill-men do. Even I know that!”

“Eagle Eye Ari over there says they are looking for somebody, somebody who answers to the description of our friend Vosh.”

“That’s his problem,” said the Barbarian.

“Vosh was not the only one they were asking about,” said Weasel. “They were asking about soldiers as well, just come back from the hills. Paying good mountain silver for the information too.”

“How does Eagle Eye know?” asked Rik.

“Because it’s his business to know,” said Weasel and tapped one long finger on the side of his nose. “It’s his trade. The others back him up too, and believe me, they are the sort of men who know these things.”

“You mean he’s one of those who took the silver?” Rik said.

“Ari’s a friend; he would never do that to me. He knows better.”

From his experience in Sorrow Rik doubted that. There were few things men would not do for money if the chance arose. Women too, for that matter. The image of Sabena, blonde and so innocent looking danced through his mind.

“Wait a minute,” said the Barbarian. “You mean those hill-men might be looking for us?”

“I knew you would get there eventually,” Weasel said.

“But why?”

“Revenge for their dead kinfolk. Maybe. Just a thought.”

Revenge was something the Barbarian understood very well. It was the sort thing that happened all the time in his cold homeland. His answer did not surprise Rik.

“Bring them on,” he said.

Rik shook his head. It was bad enough being shot at when he was on duty. Now it looked like he might have some murderous hill-men after him even when he was not. “Maybe we should tell the Watch.”

“And what will they do? If the Agante give them a little silver they will probably help find us.” There was something about Weasel’s pleased expression that told Rik he was saving the worst till last.

“Why do I have a feeling you are not telling us everything?”

“Also I think I have a real lead on a buyer for our little book collection…”

Rik felt his heart sink. That he desperately wanted to hold onto them for as long as possible was not something he was going to tell Weasel.

“A buyer? Who?”

“There’s an old rich guy, a factor for the Selari, name of Bertragh, has a mansion in the merchant’s quarter.”

“I hope you did not mention anything about our books to anybody,” said Rik.

“Give old Weasel some credit. His name came up in conversation as we were playing.”

“That was convenient.”

“Seems Ari’s boys have sold him stuff in the past. He’ll buy any sorts of old books, no questions asked. Has a particular interest in mystical ones. Seems just lately he’s been looking to buy some more.”

“Sounds like he’s a prime candidate for a visit by the Inquisition,” said Rik. He was thinking this sounded like classic behaviour of one of the Dark Brotherhoods, those legendary conspiracies so-beloved of chap-book writers. Rik knew that they were more than legendary though. He had seen some strange things during his time in Shadzar.

“Not if he’s buying on behalf of his patron.” Rik saw where this was leading and did not like it one little bit, although there was not much he could do about it at the moment. It was a factor’s business to do what his master’s wanted, and if some Selari Terrarch collected old tomes, it would be his business to furnish the library. He did sound like a good candidate for a sale, unfortunately.

“Ours are not exactly the sort of book that the Exalted approve of.”

“So much the better. Apparently this guy’s patron has a particular interest in such things. Pays good coin for them. Ari claims some of his lads got extra leverage just by hinting their wares were in the Scarlet Index.”

“Ari’s boys robbing libraries, are they?”

“Some of them do high wire work just like you and Leon, Halfbreed. Sometimes when they lift from a house they find books in the treasure chests along with the gold. You know as well as I do they are always worth something.”

Rik did indeed. He thought back to some of the things he had found in strongboxes. Account books with complete lists of debtors, letters that incriminated certain wealthy, respectable and very married citizens, a collection of vintage pornography. It had all been worth something. When very young and naive he had even come across a book in one of the Dead Tongues that he knew now was a grimoire. Foolishly he had given it to the Old Witch. He supposed there just might be something to this tale.

“Assuming this Bertragh is interested, how do we contact him without giving the game away?”

“You’re getting slow in your old age, Halfbreed. I thought it would be obvious.” It was when he thought about it.

“We tell him Ari sent us…”

“Sometimes you are even quicker than the Barbarian is.”

Rik smiled. He needed to be seen to go along with just now. He needed time to work out a way to push an iron bar through the spokes of this deal. Another thought struck him like a blow.

“I reckon we should ask brother Vosh some more questions, some very hard questions.”

“Way ahead of you,” said Weasel. “I already sent Leon to fetch him. The lad’s an early riser.”

“What about finding these tribesmen ourselves,” said the Barbarian. “Get them before they get us.”

Weasel sucked his teeth and shook his head slightly. “It might take a little time.”

“Well, when you do find the bastards let me know,” said the Barbarian. “I’ll make sure they never trouble anybody ever again.”

Weasel nodded. It looked like they were finished here for the moment. He drummed his finger on his thigh, waiting for Rena to come back so they could go eat. Just then Leon came in. His face was pale and he looked more than a little sick. Rik guessed it was not because of his hangover either.

“Somebody got Vosh,” he said. “He’s deader than a dragon’s dinner.”