A Dance of Death (10 page)

Was he the same? Was that the carnage he unleashed, all to the cheers of the populace as he left corpses in their gutters so they might pretend to safety and justice? Once he’d thought himself a monster, the monster his city needed. But as a ruthless peace had settled, he’d allowed himself to believe he’d become something more. The King’s Watcher. Such a joke. The hood he wore, the man upon the gallows had worn the same. The King’s Executioner. That should be his name.

“No,” he whispered as the elves vanished around the corner, out of sight because of the mob. “I am not the same. I cannot be. I escaped that fate.”

Hollow words that did nothing to ease his troubled mind. But what did give him relief was the thought that, come the night, he’d pay Lord Ingram a visit, and show him how dangerous a monster the Watcher could truly be.

U
lrich drank a glass of whiskey to chase away the lingering effects of the Violet. He’d taken half a leaf in the morning, more than the quarter he usually allocated. Supplies were incredibly limited, but if everything went well over the next few weeks, he’d be buried in the rare leaf. When he left his mansion, he found his brother waiting for him outside the gate.

“About time you’re ready,” Stern said.

“Who are you now, our mother?”

“Mother rests in a deep grave. I have no intention of being her for a very long time.”

Ulrich laughed, then caught his brother staring at his eyes.

“I’m no fool,” Stern said when pressed. “I can see the yellow in your veins. You’re addicted to the Violet.”

“Nonsense,” Ulrich said, brushing his brother aside. “Keep your damn opinions to yourself. What I do on my time is my own business, not yours, and you’re a fool for thinking I’d be weak enough to become slave to a plant.”

“As you wish,” Stern said, but Ulrich could hear the condescension in his voice, and it irritated him to no end.

They walked down the street, passing unquestioned through one of the interior city gates. When they came to the docks, they entered an unremarkable building titled ‘Port and Loan’. Inside led to a small entryway, guarded by two men in chainmail.

“The rest are waiting for you, my lords,” said one.

Stern nodded, then glanced over at Ulrich.

“If the room’s dark, they shouldn’t notice,” he said, once again referring to his eyes.

“I know you’re still upset about Julie,” Ulrich said, biting down his initial retort. “But keep your head up high. We Blackwaters never show weakness. They might press hard to change your mind if they think you’re still grieving.”

“As you so eloquently put it, keep your damn opinions to yourself.”

Stern pushed open the door, and Ulrich followed.

Inside was a single room, grand and oval. A map of the known world was painted across the walls, the seas finely detailed and interlaced with many monsters and fish, both real and fantastical. In the center of the room was a circular table, and despite its size, it had only six chairs all equidistant from each other. The Blackwater brothers took their seats and greeted the other four Merchant Lords.

Their eldest, and official leader of gatherings, was Warrick Sun, a salty old man who had spent half his life on the ocean. The later half he’d spent indoors, reaping the bounty of his impressive fleets carrying the Sun banner. His white beard was braided tight and decorated with beads of gold and silver. Warrick stood in greeting, and the others followed suit. Beside him, looking young and out of place, was Flint Amour, the firstborn son of the deceased William. Recently entering his twenties, his box beard was thin and unimpressive, but he sported a healthy tan from his many hours upon the boats. Ulrich was glad to see him as William’s successor. Flint was rumored to be the toughest of the lot, and that was exactly what they wanted among their ranks.

“Glad for you to finally join us,” Arren Goldsail said, flashing them an earnest smile that only years of experience had taught Ulrich just how fake it was. “I’d thought you’d chosen to stay among more feminine company instead of attending your own meeting.”

Arren was thin and pale, having never once sailed across open waters. He was an excellent barterer, though, and had a way of making a man agree to twice what he intended, yet simultaneously feel he had the better deal.

“It takes time to please that many ladies,” Ulrich said, accepting a drink from one of the many servants lingering near the walls. “Isn’t that right, Durgo?”

The last of them, Durgo Flynn, rolled his eyes. He was a giant of a man, dark-skinned, yet spoke with a soft voice. For several years, Ulrich had carefully spread rumors the man preferred the company of little boys to grown women. He had no clue if it were true or not, but it amused him, and pissed off Durgo immensely.

Together, the six were the Merchant Lords of Angelport. Their landholdings were few, not worthy of an official lord title, but they owned nearly every fleet that sailed the great blue, and that made them powerful beyond measure. With power derived from their wealth and ships, not position or birth, Ulrich knew every single one sported a chip on their shoulder and a desire to prove their influence. He himself was no exception. Every meeting of the Merchant Lords was a great clash of egos. For someone like Ulrich, it was also great fun.

“Things have changed since our last meeting,” Warrick said, always one to keep things on task. “First and foremost, we welcome a new man to our table. Listen well, Flint, and ask questions if you must. We do not know how much your father told you of our dealings, and would prefer you to make wise decisions instead of rash, unfounded ones just to hide your ignorance.”

“Thank you,” Flint said, bowing his head respectfully. “I will do my best to be a boon to this council.”

“Keep the cum cleaned out of your ears, and you’ll be a better man than your father,” Durgo said. Ulrich hid his laugh with his palm. Flint flushed red and said nothing. William had been considered one of the more slow-minded merchants, and poorly received by the other five. His death was no great loss.

“Let us not show disrespect to the dead,” Stern said, his harsh tone startling the rest. “Besides, his death is why we’re here. Twice now this man known as the Wraith has struck at us, first my daughter, and now William. What are we to do about it?”

“What can we do about it?” asked Arren, picking at one of his smooth fingernails. “The Keenans have already put out a tremendous bounty, and his mercenaries have scoured every corner of every street. If he’s not been found yet, there’s little we can do to help matters.”

“We are masters of places in Angelport the Trifect doesn’t even know exist,” Durgo said. “I say we put up our own bounty, as well as some of our men. I won’t be losing my head next.”

“We’re ignoring the larger question,” Warrick said, and he squinted in the candlelight. “Why has he targeted us at all? I thought the Trifect perhaps hired him, but then why kill Laurie’s son?”

“What about Ingram?” Flint asked. The others sighed or rolled their eyes, with only Warrick remaining patient.

“Lord Murband’s rule on Angelport is tenuous at best,” the old man explained. “He would not dare make enemies of both us and the Trifect. With just temporary cooperation, we could cast him out with nary a bead of sweat on our brows.”

“Then what of the elves?” Ulrich asked. “Perhaps they wish to weaken our resolve?”

“Perhaps,” Arren said. “But then why kill their ambassador, and maim another outside the city?”

Ulrich shrugged.

“Elves are liars. We have little proof that events transpired as they claim.”

Warrick shook his head, and lifted his hand so the others would pause for him to speak.

“No,” he said. “I fear we have a murderer who owes allegiance to none. He kills elves, Trifect, and merchants alike. In this, he is a greater threat than any other we have faced. He has made no demands, offered no ransoms, and left us guessing his motives. We must have him hunted down and killed. I call for the hiring of skilled men to end this threat. Do any object?”

None did, for despite their bickering, Ulrich knew that a threat against one was a threat against all. It couldn’t be allowed. Warrick called over a servant with a ream of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. He carefully recorded Warrick’s orders, then faded back into the shadows among the walls. As the discussion stalled, Ulrich called for more wine. For some reason, he found himself incredibly thirsty, and the strawberry flavor tasted divine on his tongue.

“Putting aside this Wraith,” Warrick said, “we have another test of our influence. Our men scour the Quellan Forest for Violet, but our casualties increase daily, and the amount brought back is too little for real exportation. We stand at a crossroads. Either we receive significant concessions from the elves, reach an acceptable trade agreement, or abandon the project altogether. Tomorrow we meet with Ingram, the Trifect, and the new elven representative. Come then, we must decide our most profitable fate.”

“Ingram is easily manipulated,” Arren said. “I have no fears there.”

“What of the Trifect?” Durgo asked, looking to the two Blackwater brothers.

“Laurie’s shaken up by the loss of his son,” Ulrich said, stealing a glance at Stern. “I think he’ll side with whatever ends this nonsense the quickest. As for Alyssa…that girl is lightning with tits. There’s no predicting her.”

“And the elves?” asked Warrick.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stern said, looking as if he were forcing himself out of a daze. “Long as we keep the right lords in our pocket, Ingram will never cease encroaching upon the elven lands, sending demands, and putting our people at the brink of war. The elves will eventually appease us, or risk extermination in a long, bloody conflict.”

“And what if they choose war?” Flint asked.

“A good question,” said Arren. “Surely a middle ground would be easier for the elves to accept. We need not grow the Violet ourselves if the elves give it willingly.”

Ulrich shook his head.

“Already we are slaves to the Trifect and their control of the crimleaf,” he said. “We cannot place ourselves in the same position, not if we can help it. Besides, you exaggerate the effect wars would have on our pocketbooks. We’d profit from it, like we profit from everything. Now if you’ll forgive my audacity, I request the right to represent us tomorrow at the meeting.”

“You?” Warrick asked, lifting his bushy eyebrows. “Why is that?”

Ulrich thought of Zusa, and how she would most likely be with Alyssa, or at least nearby.

“Because we need someone who won’t put up with shit from anyone,” he said. “You all know I’m the one for that.”

“Perhaps I would be better for so delicate a matter,” Arren said.

“Shut it, Goldsail,” said Ulrich. “This isn’t a barter, not anymore. It’s time we make demands, and make them realize
we
control this city. I want my Violet. Once we have it, everything else crumbles at our feet. Ingram, the Trifect, the elves…I won’t risk losing a single scrap of that victory. Put it to a vote, now.”

Warrick shrugged his bony shoulders.

“All who favor Ulrich Blackwater speaking for the Merchant Lords, lift your hand.”

Flint was first, immediately endearing the kid to Ulrich, who of course voted for himself. Two more, he thought, glancing about the table. Arren refused to meet his eyes, which was answer enough. Warrick stayed back, to vote last as he always did. Durgo crossed his arms, not looking pleased at all. Stern finally lifted his hand, and Ulrich tried to hold back his anger at such a delay. How could his own brother not trust him so?

“Will there be any others?” Warrick asked. “Then so be it. I cast my vote for you as well, Ulrich, though I do so with a heavy heart. It is one thing to chase gold, another to be blinded by it. The Violet may bring us wealth unimaginable, but it also may lead us to our doom. Acknowledge that threat.”

“Of course,” Ulrich said, all smiles.

The major issues decided, they closed a few more minor points of contention, then ended the meeting. As Ulrich was heading out, last to arrive and first to leave as always, Flint hurried to catch up with him.

“I’m not scared of war,” Flint said, earning him a raised eyebrow.

“Is that so?” Ulrich asked, a little puzzled.

“I just, I asked back there only because I’m still trying to learn. But I’m not my father. I am not afraid of the elves. No matter what they say, I know they killed my…I have no intention of making deals with those backstabbing monsters. Whatever you need, know the Amours are behind you.”

Ulrich smiled, and he clapped the young man on the back.

“How solid is your rule over your family’s estate?” he asked.

Flint’s cheeks flushed.

“I have many brothers,” he said.

“If anyone gives you too much trouble, you come to me. Consider that a favor for your help.”

Flint nodded, looking relieved.

“I will,” he said, and he smiled. Such an eager kid, thought Ulrich. Good thing he got to him before Arren did.

“Come on,” he said, glancing back to see Stern discussing matters with Warrick in a far corner of the room. He frowned, but then hurried to hide it. “We should go find ourselves a place to drink the night away in celebration of your new position.”