Aftermath- - Thieves World 10 (4 page)

thick heavy brows, the impossibly black hair. His eyes. They were black, black like Terrel's, but ...

She reached out and grabbed the goblet. His eyes, they were like weapons, spearing her, attacking everything they focused on, jabbing about, terrifying. She put the goblet down in front of her. It was bent, imprinted

by his fingers when he had crushed it, unknowing. But Sarah did not see that. All she could see were those two black eyes.

Several days later Cade sat on a stone bench in the small courtyard behind Terrel's house sharpening his sword. With one hand he steadied the blade while with the other he held the whetstone, slowly smoothing out the minor imperfections in the razor-sharp edge. The sunlight danced across the blade, hurting Cade's eyes, but he ignored the discomfort. The

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slow, grating scrape of the whetstone on the blade punctuated his thoughts.

Things were a lot more complicated than they had appeared on the surface.

Scrape.

Terrel must have been much more involved in the PFLS than Sarah thought.

Scrape.

He had been killed, tortured because of this.

Scrape.

Somehow, Terrel had crossed someone in a major way.

Scrape.

Damn them all!

Cade threw the whetstone across the courtyard, against the far wall. Damn. Why hadn't he come to me?

And that was what kept eating at him, demanding an answer. Why hadn't Terrel asked Cade for help? He knew what his younger brother was, what he did. Cade had always protected Terrel, but this time Terrel had chosen to do it on his own. And he'd paid the price. Whom had he crossed and how?

Cade ran over the information he'd uncovered so far-Terrel had stayed late at his pottery shop, remaining after his workers had left. He had done that for three months before his death. Why?

Then there were the shop accounts—confusing. During the worst period of chaos in the history of a town always on the edge of collapse, Terrel had shown a profit. By selling pottery? It made no sense. Why did he stay late? What had he been doing? Cade reached into his tunic, pulling out several receipts. There was something else that bothered him about them. All the buyers had come to pick up their pottery at the shop, no deliveries. Fine. The orders had increased last fall. Terrel

naturally ordered more clay. Everything had been paid on time, all for the proper price. Damn, it was here somewhere, he knew it; it had to be. Why had he been staying so late?

Cade mulled over the receipts for another half hour, getting more exasperated by the minute. He knew the answer was here, not on the streets. Targ had covered Sanctuary up and down, Cade had followed in the last five days retracing all the likely leads-All had led nowhere. Terrel

was liked, respected, not known by anyone who shouldn't know him. His work was good. People were satisfied. None of it made any sense. Even with Terrel giving money to the PFLS, he hadn't given enough to make a real difference. Half the town had been contributing to one faction or another at that time, although not always voluntarily. So why pick on

Terrel? An example? Not likely; a bigger target would have served better.

Besides, the murder had hardly been public. No, something else . . . Why had he been staying late? How had he been making a profit? How much money could he have given? Money. Late. Money. Late. That's it. Terrel had been working to make more money. No. Some-thing else. If it was to increase profits, why had he let the workers leave?

Why not have them work with him? What had he been doing that he didn't want the others to know about?

Cade rifled through the receipts again, singling out the purchases.

"You fool," he said aloud, but whether he meant himself by it, or Terrel, even he didn't know. It was all right there. TerreFs orders for clay

had increased, but some of the clay was cheaper, much cheaper than that he usually used. And Cade was sure that when he checked on it, he would find the new clay totally inappropriate for making good pottery. Something not made to last, something made to break easily, something made for one purpose only: to conceal . . .

What was it, Terrel? he thought. What was it you were hiding for your zealots? Weapons? Money? Drugs? All three? What went through your head, brother, staying in that little shop, everyone gone/the light fading,

the wheel spinning, your deformed hands forming the cheap clay, changing it. What was it you made—false bottoms, sides? Probably bottoms. You little fool, did you think you were going to change things? Bring about a new Sanctuary, a new world? Make things better? Depose the Rankans you always despised so much? Ah, Terrel, don't you know, revolutions always fail in hell. Cade stood up, sheathing his sword. He had the scent now. All he and Targ had to do was ask a few discreet questions, drop a few coins into sweaty palms. This trail would lead them to the truth, to the reason behind Terrel's horrid end. This would lead them to his brother's murderer. Cade smiled. He had them now.

Sarah sat on the same bench Cade had used earlier that day. She watched the shadows sliding down the wall as the sun set and Sanctuary began its nightly ritual of madness. It was time to go inside, bolt the doors, lock the shutters. But why bother? That hadn't saved Terrel. In Sanctuary death followed you wherever you tried to hide. If it weren't for

the children - . .

Toth was a good boy; he tried. He understood what had happened and tried to help. Little Dru had no idea what was going on. She was always asking where Da was, and no matter how many times Sarah had explained to her that her father wasn't coming back, she refused to under26 AFTERMATH

stand. And now, with Cade in the house, they were that much more confused. He had turned their lives upside down. Sarah couldn't decide whether she hated or feared Cade or if it was both.

He ordered everyone around like he owned them. Sarah still shook with anger when she recalled catching him teaching the children to fight with a knife.

Gods, they were still her babies.

Cade had accused her of coddling and smothering them. He had called her a fool and said that fighting was the only way to stay alive in a cesspool like Sanctuary.

But how could she explain it to him? Terrel was his brother—surely Cade knew about his brother's crippled hands. How could Cade forget?

How could he continue to embrace violence? She and Terrel had consciously rejected it, and rejected it for their children. She wasn't stupid, though. She knew he continued to teach Toth whenever she wasn't around. The bastard. Toth worshiped Cade. For him, his uncle was a great warrior from one of the tales he'd once heard Hakiem tell in the Bazaar. But Sarah knew better. She had an idea now what Terrel had meant when he'd said Cade wasn't really a warrior. The man was a killer as sure as the sea is blue.

It was all so confusing. As much as Cade scared her, still he was kind in his own way, but not as Terrel had been. It wasn't gentleness; he was always grim. But he seemed so sad. Last night Dru had cried in her sleep calling for her Da; and when Sarah had gone to check on her she found Cade there soothing the child. He had held her, cooing soft words, unintelligible, but they calmed the child. She fell asleep in Cade's scarridden arms.

The door behind Sarah burst open and Toth ran into the courtyard.

*'Ma, Marissa's here," he gasped out. Sarah looked at him for a moment. He wasn't tall, but his shoulders were beginning to broaden out. He had the Ilsigi hair and eyes of his father's family, but it was her nose

and chin that denned his features. The boy shook the hair away from his eyes and beamed at his mother. She smiled back faintly. This last week he

actually seemed happier; Cade at least seemed good for the children, for some strange reason.

"Tell her to come out here," Sarah answered.

"Out here? But it's dark. Cade says—"

"Never mind what Cade says," she interrupted. "Tell the Lady Marissa to come out here."

He shrugged and did as he was told.

Marissa came out moments later, holding a lantern and a goblet of wine. She handed Sarah the drink.

"I thought you could use it," Marissa said in her soft voice. Sarah smiled. Marissa was so thoughtful. At first Sarah had been put off by the

other's title and light, Rankan good looks. Now she wondered if she could have made it this far without her friend.

"Thank you, Marissa. I think you're right." She took a sip of wine, letting the liquid numb her mouth, enjoying the sensation of it sliding down her throat.

"Cade's really getting to you, huh?" Marissa said with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, that man. I don't understand him." Sarah's voice dropped to a whisper. "He frightens me."

Marissa laughed. "He frightens everyone," she answered, "even Targ."

"I can't believe that." Sarah considered the notion that anyone or anything could frighten Marissa's strange mercenary and found it ludicrous. As ludicrous as, well, as thinking anything scared Cade.

*'0h, it's true," Marissa said. "Targ snorts and struts around every time Cade walks into a room." She smiled though Sarah thought it looked a little strained. "I swear his hair stands orTend." Sarah laughed

at that. Targ's excessive hairiness had been a running'joke between the two for some time. The thought of all that red hair standing up straight was amusing. "Just like a little porcupine," she said, and the two laughed

again.

"Marissa," Sarah said, her voice losing all trace of amusement, "why have you hired more mercenaries?" Marissa was quiet. She hated this. She liked Sarah and longed to tell her the truth, all of it. The lies between

the two of them kept them apart, but she owed people and she had always paid her debts.

"Well, I'll tell you, Sarah," she said. "This town, it is so dangerous, I

just feel safer-Gods know I have the money to spare."

"How many did you hire?"

"Three, not counting Targ, of course." Marissa bit her lip. "I'll tell you

a secret." She looked around-"I've told them to keep an eye out on your house, too. So that . . ." She left the rest unfinished. Sarah looked away,

but her hand patted her friend's knee briefly.

"Thank you, Marissa." She turned back. "But I don't think anyone is going to bother us with Cade around." She took a large swallow of wine.

"You know why Cade is here, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. Again Sarah was struck by Marissa's odd unease at her words. Marissa was hiding something, but Sarah did not intend to pry, respect-ing the other's private pain.

"Yes," Marissa said, "yes, he's here to find Terrel's, uh, murderer."

"He is going to kill whoever is responsible, Marissa." 28

"Well, Terrel was his brother."

"I know, but it all seems"—Sarah shrugged—"so dramatic." Marissa laughed. "Oh, really, Sarah, that sounds so silly."

"No, I'm serious." Sarah turned to her friend. "Six months ago I was the wife of a potter. I had"—she swept her arm in an arc behind her—"a nice house, nice things, two wonderful children, and a man I loved dearly," Marissa laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. "And now - . ." Sarah shook her head. "Now I don't know.

"My husband has been murdered, tortured to death in that same house, while my children and I slept. Why? I don't even know. Then this man shows up. This strange man. My husband's brother, but the two are not anything alike. My mysterious brother-in-law shows up. With his words and his armor, his dark looks, and dark ways. Suddenly, suddenly I find myself in the middle of a conspiracy, a piper's tale of murder and

revenge." Sarah drank deeply again from the wine cup. "I don't understand anything anymore, Marissa, and I'm tired of being afraid." Marissa had no answer for her. No words of comfort to offer. She knew all too well what it was like to fear, what it was like to have the world change overnight; to go from a warm, safe place to a world of sudden threats and shadows. What could she say to this woman? What comfort could she give, she who had no comfort in her own life?

"Sarah," she said aloud, "Sarah. I don't know what anyone can say or do to help. But I'll tell you one thing." She almost flinched when Sarah turned to face her with those dark, sad eyes. "I think there is more of Terrel in Cade than you think. No matter what happens, he will do everything he can to help you and I don't think it's only because his brother would have wanted him to."

It was cold comfort, but in this new world it was often the only hope Sarah was allowed.

It took two more days for Targ and Cade to put the rest of the pieces together. That Terrel had been running something for the PFLS was definite; what he had been running was another thing. Why was still a mystery. But Cade now had the most important answer. The contact was in Downwind. Downwind—the one place in Sanctuary Cade had avoided, though in his heart he had known, from the beginning, that it would be his destination.

But first he must talk to Sarah again. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation. The woman was half terrified, half fascinated by him. He was afraid he would have to reveal too much to her. There were things he might have to say, show, things he could never take back. But he had to find out what she knew. Accordingly, after dinner he ordered the chilCADE 29

dren to bed. This earned him a dark look from the woman, but he ignored it. He faced his brother's wife across a table still covered with the

remnants of the meal.

"Sarah, we must talk."

"Indeed we must." Her voice was firm. "You can't order my children around like that. You have to—"

Cade interrupted. "No, Sarah, not now. We have to talk about Terrel." She grew quiet at that. "Sarah, Terrel was involved much more deeply with the PFLS than you thought."

"What do you mean?"

"He was running contraband for them."

"I know he gave them some money, but everybody was supporting one group or another."

"He was doing more than contributing a few spare coins." Cade sighed, his hand drumming against the table edge. "When Terrel stayed late, he was making pots, special pots."