Master of Plagues: A Nicolas Lenoir Novel (11 page)

No, there was nothing for it. Nash was going to have to get his hands dirty. And he was going to have to do it tonight.

Z
ach lifted the corner of his card and peered underneath, the way Brick had taught him. He had to be careful—his hands were a lot smaller than Brick’s, and he was pretty sure the bloke to his left was trying to cop a look—but Zach reckoned it was worth the risk. It showed that he knew what he was doing, and that was half the battle in this game. Brick’s First Law of Crowns:
always look like you’re winning, even when you’re losing.
Zach adopted a confident expression.

The tip of a sword peeked out from under the card. He lifted a little higher, and saw another sword, and another after that—just as he’d seen thirty seconds ago, when last he looked. Zach had a good memory, but this hand was taking
forever
, and he was getting bored. Sailors, it turned out, could talk the ear off a donkey.

“She was
big
, mind you,” the man across the table was saying, cupping his chest to demonstrate. “And a mouth to match!”

“So long as she puts it to good use,” said the red-haired man, the one who was supposed to be Zach’s partner. His name was Hairy—at least that’s what it sounded like—and the name suited him. He had more fur on his arms than Zach had on his head, all of it rust
colored.
“From spilling so much blood,”
he’d said. Zach knew bluster when he heard it (and he’d heard plenty of it today), but he reckoned there was some truth in it too. Hairy looked like the kind who’d spill blood just for the fun of it.

“Enough about whores,” said Gerd. “Play the game!” The Sevarran rapped a knuckle against the table for emphasis.

“Patience, patience.” Hairy played his card, a bushel of wheat with ten pips.

Durian’s balls,
Zach cursed inwardly. Ten was a high card, but wheat? That was a peasant card. Plus, he couldn’t follow suit.
Just my luck. I finally get a mittful of swords, and my partner plays sodding
wheat.

“Better hope the boy has gold, Hairy, or you’re buggered,” the first man said, playing shields.

“He won’t let me down, will you Short Shank?” Hairy winked, but there was just enough malice in his eyes to make Zach swallow hard. Would Hairy kill a kid over a game of cards? Zach couldn’t be sure. That was the thing about the docks—you just never knew.

Gerd tapped his fingers against the table, eyeing each of the players in turn, as though he could read their minds if he stared hard enough. He was peasants this time around, and he didn’t have much to go on.
He should hold out for another round,
Zach thought. Brick’s Second Law of Crowns:
don’t commit until you’re sure, and that goes double if you’re peasants
.
Nobody had played a sword yet, so it was anybody’s guess who would go on the attack first. Gold could mean anything. And as for sodding
wheat . . .
Zach puffed out a breath, but otherwise managed to keep his expression blank.

“Pass,” Gerd said, though he didn’t sound happy about it.

Zach didn’t really have to think about his move. All he had was swords, and there was no point in wasting a high one, since he would be breaking suit. But he had to
at least make it look like a tough decision, or he’d give away the rest of his hand.
Good time to get the conversation flowing,
he decided as he slid a thumb under his cards. “You all come in on the
Serendipity
?” he asked. “She’s a handsome one.”

“She’s a bucket of piss,” Hairy said, “but she’s home. To Bevin and Gerd and me, at any rate. As for this one”—he inclined his chin at the man to Zach’s left, a brooding Lerian named Augaud—“met him only this morning.”

“Been anywhere good lately?” Zach asked, pretending to reorganize his cards.

“Play, kid,” Gerd growled.

Zach shrugged, his eyes still on his cards. “I can talk and play at the same time. I’m clever like that.”

Bevin snorted appreciatively. “Clever mouth, anyway.”

“Come on,” Zach said, putting just enough childish whine in his voice. “I’m stuck here all day, nothing to do. You must have
some
good stories.”

“Tell you what,” Hairy said, “you put down a nice tenner of gold, and I’ll tell you all about my evening with Dockside Daisy.”

Zach made a face. Suddenly, his lack of gold didn’t seem like such a bad thing. He tossed a sword onto the pile, shooting a look at his partner that said,
Get it?

Hairy shot him a look right back. He got it, sure enough, and he didn’t like it. Zach squirmed in his chair.

Bevin barked out a laugh. “Bless my balls, kid, that’s beautiful! Breaks suit and wastes a sword besides. Beautiful!” His partner, meanwhile, didn’t even hesitate—he threw a big fat shield on the pile and grinned.

We’re getting walloped,
Zach thought ruefully,
and I’m getting nowhere.
He didn’t fancy having to tell the inspector that he’d failed. Informants shouldn’t fail, especially if they were hoping to become hounds one day.

Bevin was still sniggering about Zach’s play. “All right, kid, just for that, I’ll tell you a story. About Hairy here,
and how he nearly got his manhood snipped by a pirate in Inataar.” He elbowed his companion in the ribs. Hairy glared at Zach even harder, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

Zach sighed. At least there were pirates.

They went round again, and it was even worse this time. Hairy threw a torch, which made no sense at all, and Bevin played a heap of gold. At this point, Gerd could safely declare a side, which he did, giving Bevin and Augaud a huge advantage. With the peasants as allies, they didn’t even need any swords; they could just sit back and let Gerd do all the work. At least Zach could follow suit now. He used a fiver of swords to knock out some of the shields, but of course they still had their gold, and their peasants, and all Zach’s side had was sodding
wheat.
And then Augaud broke out a real big torch, and they didn’t even have that.

“So there he is, hopping from tavern to tavern, trying to win enough coin to hire some sellswords to protect him.” Bevin was laughing so hard that he couldn’t keep his ale in his flagon; it sloshed over the sides and spattered the table in little foaming puddles. “Except you can see what a cardplayer he is, so now he’s broke
and
hiding, and not just from the brother and the rest of the pirates, but from the blokes he owes money! Now, Hairy owing money is nothing new—owes me about a year’s wages—but these fellows are serious business, connected to half the criminal underworld in Darry, and they’re out for blood. Suddenly, the brother and his pirate friends don’t seem half bad.”

Even Gerd was warming to the story now. He threw down a hammer, adding double to his allies’ shields. “Then word comes in it’s to be a duel at sundown.”

“A duel?” Augaud frowned. “What does it mean,
duel
?” His accent was similar to Lenoir’s, but harsher.
Peasant Arrènais,
Lenoir called it, though Zach doubted he would say so to a Lerian’s face. Especially not this one. Augaud had a big knife at his hip, the kind fur traders carried, and
fur traders were not known for their social graces. They
were
known for their skill with big knives, and that meant it was best to stay on their good sides.

“A duel is when two men fight for honor,” Zach explained.

“Except in this case, the honor would be having your balls cut off if you lost,” Bevin said.

Zach had to admit it was a good story, but it wasn’t giving him any useful information. It wasn’t helping his game, either; he still had two swords, both big ones. He really only had one choice if he wanted to earn his money back. But if he did it . . . Brick’s Third Law of Crowns:
never betray your partner.
Zach licked his lips nervously. “So what happened?” he asked, stalling for time.

“Nothing,” Hairy said. “Not a damned thing. Now play your card, boy.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Hairy,” Bevin laughed. “Not the kid’s fault. Can’t you see he’s got nothing but swords?” He took a long, loud swig of ale. “Anyway, Hairy’s right, more or less, even though he’s about as gifted a storyteller as he is a cardplayer. The brother never showed. Came down with the plague, if you can believe it. His mates too—most of ’em, anyway. I heard that whole ship got wiped out, and half the town besides.”

Zach sat forward a little, his dilemma temporarily forgotten. “The plague, huh?” Hadn’t the inspector said he was especially interested in reports of disease?
Keep your cool, Zach. This is your chance.
If he got what the inspector needed, he’d be sure of another job, another step on the path.
He forced himself to slide down a little lower in his chair, trying to look casual. “What kind of plague?”

“Who knows?” Bevin upended his flagon, belched, and waved for the barmaid. “Some kind of bleeding disease, like the one they got in the Camp.”

“Sort of like that, or exactly like that?”

“Can’t say I’ve thought about it much. Guess it could be the same.”

“How long ago was this?”

Bevin had swiveled in his chair to watch the barmaid, but he turned back around now, eyes narrowing.

Zach could have cuffed himself. He’d overplayed it. He could have found a subtler way of asking, shifted the conversation back to the pirates first.

“Four, five years ago,” Bevin said warily. “What’s it to you?”

Zach shrugged as indifferently as he could manage. “Just wondering if maybe one of these ships brought the plague here, that’s all.”

Hairy wasn’t interested in plagues or pirates. He leaned forward and stabbed a finger at the table. “Boy, I’m not gonna tell you again. Play. Your. Card.”

There was nothing for it. Zach snapped his card down, the biggest sword in his hand. Then, with a deep breath, he flipped his crown over, the blue one that matched Hairy’s on the other side of the table.

Bevin, Augaud, and Gerd all whooped at this unexpected drama. “He’s going it alone!” Gerd cried. “I don’t believe it!”

“Abandoning your partner in the second-last round!” Bevin laughed, raising his empty flagon in salute. “You’ve got stones
,
boy!”

Hairy took it badly.

“You little—” Whatever came next was drowned out as Hairy upended the table, scattering cards and coins. The barmaid shrieked and leapt back, spilling ale down the front of her frock. Hairy shoved her out of his way. “I’ll wring your neck for you!” He started around the table, his eyes fixed murderously on Zach.

Bevin grabbed his arm. “Take it easy, mate. It’s just a game of cards. Not even much coin in it.”

“And he is only a child,” Augaud added. He gave Zach’s shoulder a friendly thump, fueled with the strength of one too many ales. Zach tottered on his feet.

A soft
chink
drew everyone’s eyes to the floor.
Augaud had knocked a coin purse out of the inside pocket of Zach’s waistcoat. A blue-and-white one, with the Lerian rose stitched damningly on the side.
Isn’t that just like a Lerian,
Zach thought ruefully.
So proud.

Augaud looked up, his eyes widening as they met Zach’s. “You were leaned in so close,” Zach said helplessly. “I thought you were looking at my cards . . .”

“Why you little—” The Lerian went for his knife.

Zach bolted, leaping over an upended chair and diving for the entrance in a perfect demonstration of Brick’s Fourth Law of Crowns:

Always sit nearest to the door.

*   *   *

“Interesting,” said Lenoir.

Zach eyed the inspector doubtfully. As much as he wanted to believe he’d turned up something important, he didn’t see how he could have. He reckoned Lenoir was just trying to make him feel better, not letting on how disappointed he was. He did that sometimes—pretended not to be disappointed. Zach always saw through it, and it was always a blow. This time was especially bad, because it was so important. People were dying.

At least he could show the inspector that he was smart enough to see where he’d come up short. “It’s not even a sure thing they were talking about the same disease,” he said, sawing off another forkful of steak. He dragged it through the juices, the way Lenoir always did. “Plus, he said it was years ago.”

“True.”

Zach talked around his meat. “And even if it was the same disease, and it did come over on the
Serendipity
,
I don’t see why they would spread it around in the Camp. What would they get out of it?”

Lenoir gave him a funny little smile. “That’s good, Zach. You are thinking like an inspector.”

Zach squirmed in his chair, trying not to look pleased.

“Motive is the most important element to work out,”
Lenoir said. “Once you understand why a crime has been committed, who stands to gain, you are much closer to solving it.” He sighed and took a sip of his wine. “Which is why you are right to be skeptical. It is indeed hard to imagine what a few ordinary sailors could possibly gain from murdering thousands in the Camp.”

“Maybe they’ve got something against the slums?”

“They probably live in the slums themselves when they are not abroad. No, I think it very unlikely they are involved. Still, I will question them, just to be sure.”

Zach winced. “Could you do it without mentioning me?”

Lenoir gave him a knowing look. “Pinch a few purses, did we?”

“He was looking at my cards!”

“Honestly, Zach, how do you expect to do your job if half the sailors in town are baying for your blood?”

“It’s not
that
bad. Anyway, I don’t have to do this for much longer, do I?”

“I thought you liked the docks.”

“That was before I spent five days straight listening to sailors talk about whores.”

Lenoir laughed into his wine cup. “Surely that is not the only thing they discuss.”

Near enough,
thought Zach, and in enough detail to leave little to the imagination. Not that Zach had any imagination. He didn’t spend a lot of time around girls, and the ones he did encounter were pretty much the same as boys, as far as he could tell. Maybe they’d have been more . . .
girlish
 . . . if they were born into different circumstances, but where Zach came from, there were no crisp frocks, no ribbons in your hair. Life on the streets wore you down. It was like those rocks in the river: whatever form God had originally given them, after a few years of being beaten down by the currents, they all became the same.