In the Shadow of Lightning

12

It was Montego who picked up Thessa’s trail, following scant rumors of a young woman walking north out of Grent alone. He explained his method and findings in brief, and though Demir couldn’t be entirely confident that they had the right person, he knew all he could do was follow that thread until it either broke or proved fruitful.

Within four hours of Montego’s report, Demir stared across the café table at a diminutive woman sitting across from him. She wore a demure gray coat over her tunic, embroidered richly but not ostentatiously. She had light Purnian skin, an easy smile, and an affected calm manner that made her, at times, infuriating to deal with. Her name was Duala Jaass, and she was one of the thousands of independent brokers who made their living setting up deals between guild-families.

It was just after dark in the Assembly District, a humid chill seizing the night air and cutting through Demir’s light jacket. The café courtyard was lit by gas lamps, casting shadows across Duala’s face.

“I think it’s your girl,” Duala said.

“Thessa Foleer?” Demir confirmed, leaning back in his chair, trying not to look too eager. Duala had served as his spymaster while he was governor all those years ago. She might be a broker now, but she was damned good at moving around information. He’d been half tempted to send her after his mother’s killers, but violence was where she ended her services. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be with the trail Montego was following,” Duala said, spreading her hands. “A woman matching Thessa’s description was filed into the Ivory Forest Glassworks this afternoon at three o’clock.”

Demir checked his pocket watch. It wasn’t that far after six. “How the piss did you find out already?”

“Because the Ivory Forest Glassworks is a labor camp for siliceers and the Foreign Legion has a standing order to send any Grent siliceers they capture directly there.” She gave him a tight, self-satisfied smile. “Thessa gave them a fake name – calling herself Teala – but I cross-checked with the records I had on hand and there was no Teala at the Grent Royal Glassworks. It’s either your girl, or a damned big coincidence.”

Demir let out a relieved sigh. So he’d located her. That was step one. Step two …

“Does the labor camp know who they have?”

“I doubt it. Ivory Forest is not a prestigious position, and it’s not run by clever people. All they care about is turning a profit off the back of prisoners of the state.”

“So how do I get her out before they realize they’ve got a genuine talent on their hands?”

“That’s more complicated,” Duala replied. “The Ivory Forest Glassworks is a government contract. It has exclusive rights for siliceer prisoners within the Empire, her provinces, and overseas colonies. They have very strict rules for how the prisoners are treated and how ransoms and prison sentences are dealt with. They are not going to let Thessa out of there until the war is over.”

“Then I need to gain access. Who owns it?”

“The Magna.”

“Will they sell any shares?”

“Absolutely not. Supi Magna likes to keep it completely within the family.”

Demir drummed his fingers on the table next to his teacup saucer, considering his options. The easiest way to retrieve Thessa would be to buy up shares in the glassworks, get access to their books, and figure out the right people to bribe on both the Magna and the government sides of things. But that didn’t seem to be an option. So how else could he gain access? “Do you have a list of names of the people who oversee the glassworks?”

Duala’s self-satisfied smile faded. “That’s harder to get with the Magna owners. They keep a pretty tight lid on things. I have the names of a few government secretaries involved, but that’s it.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and slid it across to him. Demir ran his eyes across the names, feeling irritated and glum, worried he’d hit another dead end, when his eyes fell on the name at the bottom of the page. It was a name he knew well. “All right,” he told her, “I think that’ll give me a good start.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more with that,” Duala said. “Is there anything else?”

“The Stavri deal is going through?” Demir asked, switching over from spy work to Duala’s basic brokerage services.

“Yes. That lumber mill is yours.”

“And the Prosotsi steelworks?”

“Also yours.”

“Good.” Demir mentally filed through the dozens of deals he’d made in the forty-eight hours since returning to Ossa, putting the cash he’d made fixing fights in the provinces into tangible, moneymaking ventures that would enrich the Grappo. His new investments avoided glassworks – the whole industry was about to fall apart, after all.

Making all these deals made him realize something that he’d never really stopped to take stock of out in the provinces: He was rich. Not just as a guild-family patriarch, but independently wealthy in a way that few people unsupported by dynastic wealth could claim. He’d gone out into the provinces with a handful of coins and a few cheap pieces of godglass, and he’d turned it into a fortune over nine years. Even with everything else, he could be proud of that, and he could use it in the trials to come.

He mulled over this thought for a moment before moving on. “I have a strange question: Are the major guild-families acting … out of character in their silic dealings?”

The cool look that Duala returned was almost answer enough. It was not, it seemed, a strange question at all. She leaned across the table. “There are rumors.”

“What kind?”

“That all the major players are conducting a secret silic war. Nothing formal, mind you, but serious. They’re buying up cindersand, tripling their espionage efforts, even sabotage – though none that can be proved. They’re trying to be the first to develop something, but what it is only the silic masters and the guild-family heads know.”

They were all trying to make a phoenix channel. It was the only logical leap that Demir could make. Those masters and matriarchs and patriarchs would have access to the same sorts of information that Kastora and Demir’s mother had. They knew the cindersand was running out, and they were scrambling to come up with a solution. Demir clicked his tongue and pulled out a few banknotes, weighing them down with his teacup. “Fine. Let me know if anything changes. See if you can dig up something else on the Ivory Forest Glassworks. Quietly.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Duala. I’ll be in touch.”

“My pleasure,” she answered. Before he could stand up, she reached across the table and touched the back of his hand. “It’s good to work with you again, Demir.”

“Is it?”

“You always pay on time and you’re never boring. I have few clients who can claim both of those things.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Demir told her. “Say hello to your adorable husband for me. The three of us should have dinner soon.” He got up, kissing her on the forehead as he left.

He walked out into the middle of the street, where he could see up and down the well-lit avenues of the Assembly District. The streets were packed with dinnertime traffic: businessmen making last-minute deals before the year’s end; Assembly members chatting quietly about their next votes; young guild-family scions flaunting their wealth at respectable establishments.

Despite the deals he had put in motion to secure the future of his tiny guild-family, he couldn’t help but feel as if it would all be for nothing unless he could rescue Thessa from the Ivory Forest Glassworks. He needed the schematics she was carrying and her expertise. If he got those, and if she was able to re-create the phoenix channel before anyone else finished theirs … well, the Grappo wouldn’t be a tiny guild-family anymore. He could save the Empire and get mind-blowingly rich at the same time. There were a lot of ifs in there, and that made him nervous.

He still had to figure out how his mother’s murder connected to all of this. Was it really the Grent? Was it a conspiracy? Did it have to do with the phoenix channel, or her reforms, or some deal gone bad? So many questions. With any luck, Kizzie would start answering them. In the meantime, he needed to be careful that no one got wind of Kastora’s phoenix channel. The moment they did, the Hyacinth would be crawling with guild-families’ spies, saboteurs, and assassins. Montego’s presence might keep them at bay for a while, but not indefinitely.

Demir reached into his pocket for the list of secretaries Duala had given him, then raised his hand for a hackney cab.

The Slag was often said to be the largest slum in all the world. Demir had seen bigger, but he’d never seen more miserable. Just downriver and downwind of Glasstown, he could taste the smoke from the glassworks on his tongue as he exited his cab. He’d gone less than two miles from the Assembly District but the world had changed completely: the streets here were trenches of mud, haunted by gangs, the darkness deep and impenetrable without those neat rows of gas lanterns. Beggars wallowed in the mud or fought over the few slices of dry sidewalk, and every surface was covered in a thick, tar-like film.

“You make a wrong turn?” a voice asked as Demir gathered his bearings. It belonged to a rough young man, leaning against a wall with three others about his age, crimson painted across the middles of their faces in a gang marking that Demir did not recognize.

Demir glanced sidelong at them, his senses finding the closest glass window by pure instinct, and laid his left hand flat against his chest to display the glassdancer sigil there. The young man who spoke gave out a slight gasp, his face turning an amusing shade of green.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quickly, tripping over his own words. The other three took a long step back, as if to disassociate themselves from their friend. “I just meant to offer you directions.”

“Sure you did.” Demir did not let him linger. “Where’s Harlen’s place? The cab dropped me off too early.”

After a whispered conference, the four all pointed down the street in unison. Demir fished around in his pocket, found a piece of low-resonance forgeglass, and tossed it to their leader. He could hear them fighting over it as he headed down the street, striding through the mud, pasting a look on his face that he hoped would discourage any more interruptions.

He found Harlen’s two blocks down on the left, tucked between a pair of factories. It was a small door at the end of an alley, lit by a single gas lantern, the name of the establishment written in chalk across the alley wall.

Demir stepped through the open door into one large, low-ceilinged room that reeked of cigarette and cigar smoke. It was poorly lit but comfortable in a low-class sort of way. Demir flashed his guild-family sigil to the hulking enforcers standing just inside the door. They let him pass without comment. A handful of men and women lounged on cushions in the middle of the room, enjoying the mind-numbing effects of the little maroon pieces of dazeglass in their earlobes.

Demir found a short, fat goblin of a man wearing expensive clothes and with a tooth capped by low-resonance sightglass. He grinned at Demir, throwing his arms wide. “Demir!”

“Harlen. Been a long time.”

“I got your note yesterday. Placed all those bets for you.” A thick wad of banknotes appeared in his hand as if by magic, and he tossed it to Demir. “You keep winning like that and people will get mad.”

“Ah, it was just a lucky day,” Demir replied, grinning back at Harlen. They’d known each other since Demir placed his first bet at the age of eleven. Harlen might not be upper-class material, but he never got greedy over the percentage Demir paid him. He did, Demir noticed, eyeball his glassdancer tattoo with some trepidation. Demir fought down his annoyance. An old business associate should know better, but he supposed that was the price of being a glassdancer. One more person just a little too nervous to be around him. “I need a favor,” he told Harlen.

“Anything for my friend.”

“Does Lechauri Pergos still place his bets with you?”

“Of course.”

“Does he still lose way more than he wins?”

Harlen smirked.

Excellent. “How much does he owe?”

“A hundred and fifty-three thousand.”

Demir swore under his breath. Glassdamn, Lechauri. That gambling habit had gotten bad. “Good. Call in the debt.”

“Oh?” Harlen said, raising his eyebrows. “Right now?”

“At this very moment.” Demir could see in Harlen’s eyes that he was curious about this little development, but the bookie knew better than to ask too many questions. As much as Demir resented his status as a glassdancer, it did come in handy.

“I can do that. Oi! Jeely! Grab a piece of forgeglass and run this note to the Assembly offices right damned quick.” As he spoke, Harlen scrawled out a note, which he then handed to one of his thuggish young guards. The woman took off, and Demir listened to her sprint down the muddy alley. He borrowed a piece of low-resonance dazeglass from Harlen and threw himself onto one of the dirty cushions in the corner, enjoying the way the sorcery made him feel pleasant and tingly.

He was there for less than half an hour when the thug returned, and ten minutes after her a familiar face rushed through the door. Lechauri Pergos was a tall, thin man with the striking combination of olive skin and long, fire-red hair. He wore the colorful robes of an Assembly clerk and his pinkie nails were painted crimson to show his allegiance to the Magna. He was shouting as he entered. “Harlen! I still have two weeks, damn it! I have my receipt right here! What kind of a business do you think you’re running? Two. More. Weeks.”

Harlen turned to face him with the long-suffering expression of someone used to such tirades. “I’m running my business. Debts get called in all the time, and I’m calling in yours.”

Demir removed his dazeglass, immediately missing the pleasant feeling that came with it, and sauntered toward the pair. He leaned against a support column and removed the wad of banknotes from his pocket, holding it conspicuously in one hand.

Lechauri continued to rail at Harlen. “You can’t call in my debts two weeks early. This is criminal! This is…” He trailed off, slowly turning his head toward Demir as if finally registering his presence.

“Hi Lech,” Demir said with a grin.

Lechauri stared at Demir for several moments, his face pale, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “Demir? I heard you were back in town.”

“Fancy us meeting in a place like this.” Demir tossed the roll of banknotes into the air and caught it. “Having trouble with something?”

Lechauri’s eyes followed the roll of banknotes. He licked his lips, and Demir could see the thoughts turning behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Crazy meeting here.” His eyes narrowed. “You son of a bitch. You called in my debts, didn’t you?”

“I would never. But it sounds like you need some cash. I thought maybe we could help each other.”

Lechauri eyed Demir’s banknotes greedily. “And what do you want?”

“Step into my office,” Demir said, gesturing for Lechauri to follow him into the alley. Once they were alone, Demir slapped Lechauri on the shoulder. “How are you? I heard you married a Magna and got a cushy job as an Assembly clerk.”

“Yeah,” Lechauri answered flatly.

Demir searched his old friend’s face, looking for all the telltale signs of a down-on-his-luck gambler: the worry lines, the exhaustion, the shifty eyes. Of course, Demir knew just how much Lechauri owed to Harlen, and if Lechauri’s Magna in-laws found out about his gambling problem things wouldn’t go well for him.

“Remember that play we wrote?” Demir asked, allowing himself a moment of nostalgia. “We were what, thirteen? Visited every whorehouse on Glory Street trying to get actresses. They didn’t take our genius seriously.”

“Those were good days,” Lechauri agreed half-heartedly. “What do you want, Demir?”

Demir feigned a surprised look. “Well, now that you mention it…”

“Just get it out,” Lechauri said impatiently.

“I understand that one of your duties includes clerical oversight work for the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”

“And how did you find that out?”

“That’s not important. Is it true?”

Lechauri kicked at a clod of mud underfoot. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“I need information,” Demir said. “Lots of it. Every little scrap you can get me on the Ivory Forest Glassworks and, piss, let’s say the entire Magna guild-family. I want bank records, prison records, enforcer rosters, family member dossiers.”

Lechauri scoffed. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not even slightly.”

“I can’t do that. If Supi found out, shit even if my wife finds out, I’m a dead man. They’ll never find the body.”

“Is that preferable to the pieces left behind by Harlen’s goons? You’re not going to pay off a hundred and fifty thousand ozzo tonight, are you?”

“You can’t know that,” Lechauri said defensively. Demir just stared at him until he began to fidget and said, “Okay, so maybe I won’t. I still have two weeks left. Harlen has to give me that much time. It’s in our agreement.”

“Can you get that much money in two weeks?”

“… No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Demir threw the roll of banknotes into the air and caught it again. “Get me everything I just asked for, delivered to my hotel before breakfast tomorrow morning, and I’ll pay off sixty grand.”

Lechauri’s eyes bugged out. “How the piss do you have access to that kind of cash?”

Demir held up the banknotes. “There’s fifty right here.” The money meant nothing to him. It never really had. Greed had never been his vice, a fact that had separated him from the rest of the guild-family scions at an early age.

“Glassdamn,” Lechauri muttered. He eyeballed those banknotes greedily. Demir almost had him, but he could see the hesitance in his eyes. “I can’t make copies of anything that quick. I’d have to give you originals.”

“I don’t care about the details. Do we have a deal or not?”

Lechauri’s face contorted in faux pain. “I … I just can’t. I’d still owe Harlen a lot of money and…”

“Seventy grand,” Demir offered, cutting him off, “and I’ll ask Harlen to extend you a courtesy of four months on the rest of your debt.”

“… and I suppose no one will notice a few records going missing. The Magna family is huge, after all.”

Demir grinned at Lechauri. “It’s so good to see you, Lech.”

Lechauri made a noncommittal noise, which turned upward into a squeak as Demir tossed him the roll of banknotes. He juggled the roll, finally got it in his grasp, and made it disappear into his pocket as deftly as a street magician. He was bought and paid for now. With any luck he’d be able to get Demir the information he needed to mount a proper rescue attempt.

Demir said, “I’ll pay the other twenty – and get you that extension – the moment I get those files. I’ll be waiting at my hotel.”