A Dance of Cloaks (29 page)

T
he third safehouse was the correct one. Veliana glanced around to make sure no one watched, then pushed aside a false brick in the giant wall surrounding the city. When she did, a lever snapped inward, unseen gears turned, and the dirt below her shifted as a circular sheet of metal lifted upward. Replacing the brick, Veliana climbed down a small ladder, and then returned the lid. It would be visible under close inspection for a day or two until the dust settled over it and a few walked across it.

Not that it mattered. If Gileas really had told Thren its location, they had less than an hour to get out.

In the darkness that overcame her when she replaced the lid, Veliana had to feel around to get her bearings. There was only one direction to go, a cramped tunnel leading back toward the city. She squirmed on her belly, elbows tucked tight against her sides. About twenty feet in, the tunnel started sloping upward. Another twenty feet and she bopped her head against a solid piece of wood.

“Shit,” she said as she touched her throbbing forehead. Normally when approaching the false bottoms of buildings, there’d be light sneaking through the cracks. Here, there was nothing. Feeling around blindly, she found a small lever and pulled it. Grating noises from both sides filled her ears, and then a whoosh of air above her signified the board’s removal. She climbed out.

It didn’t take long to figure out why there was no light warning her of the false bottom. She was in the basement of a rather large mansion. She’d known of the entrance to the safehouse but never been there before.

No wonder James fled here,
she thought.
This place looks to be enormous.

The basement itself was not lit, but to her right she saw light spilling down across a staircase and she worked her way toward it. She kicked a crate once, biting down on her tongue to hold in another curse. She walked more carefully after that. At the bottom of the stairs she looked up. A man was leaning against the doorframe at the top, his gaze turned inward to the room they were in.

“Make him roll again,” the man shouted. “I saw Jek shaking them bones a bit too crazy. He’s probably got a rigged pair in his pockets.”

As he finished talking, Veliana pressed the tip of her dagger against his neck, having climbed all the way up without alerting him to her presence.

“A lousy guard is a dead guard,” she told him as he jerked his head around, his whole body stiffening.

“Hey Vel,” he said, smiling nervously at her. “Glad to see you’re back and cheery as ever.”

Veliana recognized him as Jorey, a low recruit promoted most likely because of the attrition caused by the other guilds.

“Out of my way,” she said, giving him a shove. Several other men in the grays of the Ash Guild jumped from their seats around a table. Two of them grabbed daggers, while the rest just gawked.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said the man holding the dice. She presumed he was Jek.

“Hate to disappoint,” she said. “Now where is James?”

“What the fuck happened to your face?” asked one of the thieves. She ignored him and continued glaring.

“Upstairs,” said Jek.

“Alright. I want torches lit and stuck in the basement. Get two men watching it, and I mean
watching
it, not sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for a crossbow bolt. What about the front doors to the building? Who’s watching them?”

“Just Gary,” said another. “It’s been quiet here. The guilds have started leaving us alone since James agreed to Thren’s plan.”

This stopped Veliana in her tracks.

“He agreed?” she asked. “When?”

“Earlier this morning,” said Jorey. “Where have you been, Vel?”

Veliana shook her head, trying to match things up in her mind.

“No time,” she said. “I’ve got to talk to James. The rest of you, get to the doors, with at least one man patrolling the windows.”

“Why the attitude?” asked a fat man from the corner.

“Because Thren knows we’re here,” she said. “He won’t leave us be, not now, not ever.”

“But we agreed to what he wanted,” said Jek. “Surely he won’t…”

“The next person that argues with me gets a knife in the throat,” Veliana shouted.

That shut them up,
she thought as she stormed through the house, searching for a way upstairs. When she came upon a spiral staircase she grabbed the railing and used it to climb up the steps two at a time. Once on the second floor, she looked about, seeing a hallway leading either direction. She chose one, her head on a swivel. She stopped when a voice called her name.

“Veliana?”

She spun, stepped two doors down, and found James sitting on the edge of his bed, naked. Refusing to blush or even avert her eyes, she crossed her arms behind the small of her back. A young blonde lay sprawled out on the bed beside him, her slender form barely hidden by the thin blankets wrapped around her.

“Apologies for the bad timing,” she said. “I hope I arrived at the end, and not the beginning.”

James chuckled.

“We Berens like to think of no before or after, just brief interludes in between,” he said.

He stood and pulled on his trousers. His movements stirred the woman beside him. She pulled the blankets closer and then rolled the other way.

“Who is that?” Veliana asked as James stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

“One of Leon Connington’s maids. Why?”

Her jaw dropped open.

“Are you mad? She could tell him where our safehouse is!”

James laughed.

“You know how he treats them. He’ll be lucky if he even
gets
his maid back, let alone any information.”

James’s joy drained away as he truly saw her face for the first time.

“By Ashhur, what happened to you?” he asked, gently touching it with his fingertips. “Is it still tender?”

“Hurts like a bitch,” she said. “It won’t heal, either. What is this I hear about you making a deal with Thren?”

James sighed. He walked into the room opposite his own. There were no furnishings or portraits, just a single yellow curtain he pulled back so he could stare out at the city through the diamond-shaped window.

“Thren’s plan may be suicide, but there’s still a good chance of it succeeding. If we opposed him any longer, we’d never last another night. They burned us out of our last two safehouses. Did you see?”

She nodded. James shook his head, his hand curling as if he wished he had a drink to hold.

“We’ve lost so many. Our territory is almost non-existent. Even after this, we’ll still lose most of our members to other guilds unless we get lucky and hit a large haul somewhere. What would you have me do, Vel? Stand and fight him, fight the combined might of the thief guilds?”

“Other guilds must be getting nervous,” Veliana said. “Thren tried to recruit me to take your place. He feared others would abandon him if he tried to force anyone to his side.”

James laughed.

“He didn’t do any of this. He planted whispers, ideas, and let the rest of the guilds eat us alive. Those who were closest to the Spider Guild got the best territory…
our
best territory. He wanted you because it was easier. A quick coup, a few dead bodies, and then he’s got another puppet running another guild. Instead, he had to spill a bit more blood. It wasn’t hard. You know Kadish. His Hawks have wanted everything north of Iron Street for months. Now he’s got it. Five years we’ve fought that bastard’s war, five fucking years, and now because we don’t play along for once, we get thrown to the dogs.”

“And the shadows, hawks, and serpents,” Veliana said. “We have no friends. We never have.”

James gestured once more to her face.

“Who gave you that? Is that why you barged in here looking for me?”

Veliana turned away, suddenly self-conscious of the wound.

“That, no, Gileas did it, but he’s dead, I killed…James, Gileas sold information to one of Thren’s men less than two hours ago. He gloated over letting Felhorn know where we were hiding.”

“It means nothing,” insisted James. “It could be any number of things.”

“But he was so certain,” Veliana said. “He also claimed to have told the king’s men about Thren’s plans for the Kensgold.”

At this, James’ face darkened.

“Thren won’t believe you,” he said. “He’ll think we’re trying to find a new way to sabotage his plan, all while agreeing to it. Damn that little worm.”

Veliana knew she should have found that funny, but didn’t.

“We can’t go through with this,” she said. “We can’t throw our lives away with him.”

James wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “All that’s happened.”

Veliana told her tale, of being captured, left for Gileas, and her encounter with the faceless women. She hid nothing, not even her trip to Karak’s temple. When she finished, his face was the calm, angry stone she most often saw when he was contemplating death.

“So Victor betrayed you to the Spider Guild?” he said. “I knew he was gone, though I assumed he died in the ambush that had killed Walt, and presumably you. He must be laying low. We’ll find him in time and teach him the revenge of the Ash Guild.”

“What do we do?” Veliana asked. “We tried feeding the king misinformation, but Gileas fucked that up and told him the truth. Now we’re sworn to a promise that means death, yet can’t back off from it else we find death in a whole new way.”

James squeezed her shoulder.

“We’ll play along,” he said. “I plan to survive, and settle our score with Victor and Kadish. But come the Kensgold, we will not be the ones dying that night.”

“What do you mean?” Veliana asked. “Surely you don’t…”

“I do,” said James. “What night will Thren be more vulnerable? What night will his entire reputation hinge upon? The Kensgold is the key, Vel. We wreck him, and everything he’s built fractures. We’ll negotiate our own peace with the Trifect. Let the others fight the mercenaries. We’ll make ten times their coin from our whores alone.”

“I’ll trust you,” Veliana said, pulling out from his grip. “I’ll even help you, after I return to the faceless women. But first, you have to promise me something.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Leave his son, Aaron, to me.”

Not even a moment of hesitation.

“Done!”

G
erand Crold sat in his chair, feeling particularly vulnerable even though the thick stone of the castle’s walls surrounded him. He went over his conversation with Gileas repeatedly in his head.

“He knows you know about the Kensgold,” the ugly worm had said.

“How?” Gerand had asked him.

“Because I told him. He’ll come for you, tonight. He won’t change his plans. It’s all he has. So he’ll kill you before you can alert the Trifect. When he arrives, consider that proof of the words I told you. Assuming you live past tonight, of course.”

Gerand still could not understand why Gileas had told Thren of his knowledge, and then subsequently warned him about Thren knowing. It made no sense. The ugly man was playing a game, but what it was, he didn’t know.

However, if he were telling the truth, an assassin from the Spider Guild would soon make an attempt on his life. It should have been ludicrous. His quarters in the castle were small but luxurious, and more importantly, extremely safe. He was surrounded by guards and protected by sheer walls of stone and roving patrols of soldiers. Never before had he worried for his life when his door was locked and his window barred.

Yet for years he had listened to the wild tales of Thren Felhorn’s exploits. The man had killed an entire royal family, two if the rumors were true. He had stolen the family jewels from Connington’s very head without the man noticing. He had killed Ser Morak, the greatest swordsman from the nation of Ker (though whether fairly or not was under constant debate). To a man like that, what were a few walls or a door?

Gerand put down his glass and started pacing the room. He wished his wife were there, but he had sent her away, and not to their small estate, either. Deep in the southern district he owned a modest jewelry shop, and he had instructed her to hide there for the next two days. Now he wondered if that would be safe. Sure, they had some guards, enough to deter any regular thieves and cutpurses…but Thren?

“Damn it,” said Gerand, striking the top of his dresser. “He’s a man, not a ghost. Walls and doors mean the same to him as any other man.”

Strong, angry words, but they did little to calm him. Therefore, he walked over to his bed and pulled his rapier off of its wall-stand. Holding the cold hilt in his hand, he felt a little better. Perhaps he wasn’t as good as Ser Morak, but he was a fine bladesman in his own right. At least he might die fighting instead of gagging on poisoned food.

The hours crawled by. He read when he could calm himself enough to focus, his rapier spread across his legs as he turned the pages. Other times he looped the weapon through a few stances, trying to remember the last time he had sparred. It had been a year or two, he decided, and that was a year or two too many. He’d have to find a partner, and a good one too. Perhaps Antonil Copernus, the guard captain, would suffice…