Morticai's Luck (8 page)

“I know,” Tagger replied.

“One more thing,” Morticai said. Tagger, who’d already started getting up, sighed and sat back down. “Do y’know what they call me in the Northmarch?”

“Yeah. Uh … Morticai, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. When you see me with strangers, you use that name instead of Dyluth—all right?”

Tagger looked confused. “They don’t know yer Dyluth?”

“Some of them do. But some of them don’t, and I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

Tagger nodded knowingly. “All right. An’ I’ll tell that t’ the others, too.”

“Good. Now, be off with ya’.”

Tagger grinned and ran down the alley. Shaking his head, Morticai climbed back onto the coach.

The coachman eyed him suspiciously.

“Anythin’?” Morticai asked him.

The coachman shook his head. “Not yet, mate.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Ellenwood’s simple but elegant coach emerged from Aldwin’s estate and traveled the few blocks to Dynolva Way. As the coach turned east onto the main thoroughfare, Morticai’s hired coach pulled out of the alley. Wheeled traffic was light, but there were enough coaches in the street that Morticai’s hired coach wasn’t too obvious. They stayed at a comfortable distance, following the glow of the lamps on Ellenwood’s coach.

“I think he’s goin’ t’ the docks, mate.”

“Then I guess we will too,” Morticai said.

The hack threw him another suspicious glance, but he continued driving. Morticai hoped the coachman would keep his tongue still after tonight. Of course, the remaining royal he had in his pocket should help. The coach turned northwest onto Shipwright’s Road.

“Ah … mate,” the hack said, “y’ didn’ say anythin’ ’bout us travelin’ t’ the nor’east side o’ town. Y’know, many a man has got his throat slit up that way.”

“Well,” Morticai said, pulling out the royal, “would this maybe make it worth the risk?”

The hack looked at Morticai in surprise. “You’re a might’ bit serious ’bout this, aren’t ya?”

“’Fraid so.”

“This mus’ be pretty important, eh?”

“Is to me.”

“A’right, mate. You’re on.”

They had just reached the turn. As they made it, Ellenwood’s coach turned off the main road.

“Did you see him?” Morticai said. “He turned north!”

“Wha’? Where? I was busy with m’ team.”

“Slow down. I think it was …
here
. This is it! See him?”

“Aye. Let’s take it easy here.” The hack slowed his team to a lazy walk and turned to Morticai. “If you’re truly serious, mate, I sugges’ y’blow our lamps.” He gestured to their own burning coach lamps. “Can ya get ’em while we’re moving?”

Morticai smiled and scrambled over the topside of the coach. He returned quickly. The hack picked up their speed and turned down the darkened street.

“Didn’ think you’d find that a problem,” the hack said. “We’ll still need t’ be careful, though, or he’ll hear us.”

“We shouldn’t need to get that close as long as we can see when he stops.”

“You’re the one with the corryn eyes, mate. That’ll be yer job.” After a couple of miles, the driver pulled his team to a halt. “Y’see where he’s headin’?”

Morticai sighed. He could see very well where Ellenwood was heading—straight for the Snake Pit. For a third time, Ellenwood was leading him into the worst section of the city. The infamous area had once been the palace district, but the palace had been relocated centuries ago, after a hurricane had ravaged the area. The shipping companies had built warehouses in the cleared area, then abandoned them when the new south docks opened. The city’s poor had moved in and had rebuilt the area countless times, breaking up the decrepit remains of the old warehouses into a trackless, tangled maze of shacks and warrens, snaking alleys and narrow streets.

Nowadays, even the poor didn’t want to live there. The gangs ruled, each gang fiercely defending its tiny fiefdoms. The Watch rarely entered the Pit, even by daylight, and then only in force.

Morticai dug along the top of his boot and produced another royal.

“Would this be enough?”

The hack considered it. “Y’know m’coach can’t travel those narrow streets—if I was crazy ’nough t’ want t’ travel ’em.”

“I’m not asking you to—his coach can’t either.”

“Ahh … a’right, mate.” The hack cautiously accepted the coin and continued on. Finally, Ellenwood’s coach stopped.

“That’s it!” Morticai said. “He’s stopped.”

“What now, mate?”

Morticai shrugged. “Well, I guess we part company.”

“Are y’daft, man? Y’don’t really want me t’ let y’off here, do ya?”

“Well, actually I’d like you to wait. But I don’t think I have enough left in my purse to make it worth your while.”

The hack strained to look at him in the darkness. “Y’seem like a nice ’nough chap, for a corryn. Can’t figure what you’re doin’ followin’ this noble. Course, I can’t figure what a nobleman’s doin’ on this side o’ town. Tell y’what, I’ll wait for ya—but not too long. If I think trouble is headed m’ way, I’ll leave. But, if things stay quiet like they are now, I’ll stay as long as I can. Can ya handle that thing?” He pointed to Morticai’s rapier.

“Had plenty of practice.”

“Somehow that don’t surprise me. Don’t forget how.”

Morticai grinned and quickly climbed to the ground. “Thanks.” He grabbed his old cloak from inside the coach and raced towards Ellenwood’s coach.

Two blocks from his quarry, Morticai turned into an alley, took his first right, and then cut back to the street the coaches had parked on. As he’d expected, Ellenwood had disembarked from his coach and was now on foot, once again wearing his tatty cloak for disguise.

Morticai cautiously followed. A scrawny cat purred and followed him, briefly, before it decided that he had no food to offer. Further on, a rat—nearly as large as the cat—sauntered leisurely out of his path. As a boy, he’d made a game of using such rats for knife practice. Once, one had run off with his best throwing knife embedded in it.

He traveled another block north before Ellenwood turned left.

“Pssst.”

Morticai jumped and swung leftward, dagger ready, his hand to his sword hilt.

“Gettin’ jumpy in your old age, Dyluth?” The question was spoken in corryn.

Morticai relaxed.

“That’s a good way to get cut, Calsen,” he replied, also speaking in corryn.

The man standing in the doorway laughed softly. A human would have seen only a shadowy form standing in the darkness, but Morticai’s eyes could still make out most of Calsen’s features. Calsen’s shoulder-length black hair was pulled back, but the shadow cast by his tattered, wide-brimmed black hat effectively hid his corryn ears.

“Come on,” Morticai said as he re-sheathed his dagger and ran down the street to catch Ellenwood. Calsen followed. Another stray cat dashed madly out of their way.

“What’cha doin’ here? I haven’t seen you on this side of town in years.”

“I’m following someone.”

“No wonder you’re in a hurry. Anyone I know?”

“I doubt it. He’s a nobleman.”

“What? A nob,
here?
”

“Yep.”

“Good gods, is he insane?”

“Shhh! There he is—slow down.”

Ellenwood had already passed several side alleys, but he continued to follow the ‘main’ alley as it bent rightward. A figure ducked back into a nearby doorway and was gone by the time the two corryn passed the same door.

“I followed him to the Cobblesend one night,” Morticai said. “He doesn’t seem to have any problems. Have you seen him before?”

“No. Decent disguise. He ought to change his shoes, though”

Morticai laughed. “You’re not the first to make that observation.”

“No one bothers him? That’s odd. But he certainly seems to know where he’s going.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Ellenwood had turned off into a side passage and was negotiating a series of jogs in the tangled web of alleys.

“Someone hire you to follow him?”

“Yeah, his last mistress,” Morticai lied.

“Good money in that?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

“Nice t’see you haven’t changed,” Calsen said, chuckling. “You still in the Northmarch?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I’ve been workin’ the docks kinda regular, here of late.”

“Really? That’s good to hear.”

“You still tryin’ to talk all your old friends into honest jobs, uh?”

“No, I gave up. Of course, a lot of them have died.”

The faint sound of singing drifted toward them, but the echoes from the old stone walls made it impossible to tell where it came from. The cobblestones became scarce as the deteriorating pavement quickly turned into dirt.

“Yeah, I know,” Calsen admitted. “That’s why I’m workin’ the docks now. It’s safer. How come you never come around anymore?”

“Most of the time the Northmarch has me. I get off three days out of ten. As you’ve mentioned, this isn’t the safest side of town. After seven days of duty I’d rather have three days when I don’t have to worry about whether my sword is in reach.”

“Like now,” Calsen said with a smirk. “You ever see Heather?”

“Oh, yeah. She still gets me invitations to some of the better parties.”

“She still Lord Ullock’s mistress?”

“No, she’s with Lord Jendall now.”

Calsen studied Morticai closely. “That’s too bad. I always thought, y’know, you two would maybe get matched.”

Morticai shrugged. His long running, on-again-off-again affair with the silver-tressed corryn courtesan had become an item of common gossip among his old friends. He’d long tired of their meddling attempts to keep them together.

“I don’t know that we were ever meant to match,” he answered slowly. “It’s true that in some ways we match, but in those ways … we’re almost too much alike. And in other ways, we’re too different. Besides, all that matching stuff is for the upper class and merchants—I don’t know that it means anything for us.”

They lapsed into silence as Ellenwood turned yet another corner. They were still within a couple of miles of his coach, despite several minutes of walking. They turned the corner. Ellenwood had vanished. They jumped back and quickly moved back to back. Calsen had produced two long, narrow knives, while Morticai held both his sword and dagger at the ready.

“He wasn’t that far from us,” Calsen whispered.

“I know. He could have seen us.”

“I don’t think so. We both kept to the shadows.”

“Talked too much.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Backtrack, or go forward?”

“Let’s go forward.”

Morticai carefully moved forward. Calsen stayed at his back. They turned the corner to once again face the deserted alley. There were no doorways for Ellenwood to have entered. As they edged down the alley, Morticai chided himself for letting himself be drawn into idle chatter with Calsen. Maybe Coryden was right, maybe he would get himself killed this time—the Gods knew, he’d deserve it if he kept making mistakes like this.

They reached the next intersection. There was no sign of Ellenwood—nor of anyone else, for that matter.

Morticai lowered his sword. “Well, that’s that! Damn! This is the second time in three days I’ve lost him!”

“Hidden door?”

“Back there? I wouldn’t think so—would you?”

“I don’t know. They’re gettin’ better at it.”

The two corryn went back and began checking the alley’s walls for inconsistencies.

Morticai observed, “You know how dumb we must look?”

“Who cares?”

“I had a coach waiting for me outside the Pit. He’s probably gone by now.”

“Hoy! Travelin’ in style now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, and costing a fortune! I hired it to keep up with the noble’s coach.”

“Dyluth,” Calsen stopped and lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were still speaking in corryn.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this about? You wouldn’t waste your time followin’ a nobleman for an ex-mistress.”

Morticai sighed and turned to his old friend. “Dangerous stuff, I’m afraid. I’ve found a Droken cell.”

“Good gods, Dyluth! And you think
I’m
crazy to keep livin’ in the Pit?”

“Look, Calsen, have you seen anything suspicious here lately—anything at all?”

Calsen pondered Morticai’s question for some time before answering. “Well, since you’re talkin’ Droken, I can think of one rumor I’ve heard that might fit their style. Remember the old Burnaby Manor?”

“How could I ever forget? Gods, we had some good times there!”

“Yeah, we did, didn’t we?” Calsen chuckled. “Well, if you remember, it’s just a few blocks from here. There’s been some rumors lately that it’s haunted.”

“Oh, come on, Calsen! We both know what that means. Some gang of thieves or smugglers has decided to use it as a cache.”

“Yeah, I know. But there’s been some odd things goin’ on there. I haven’t heard that much, myself. You ever talk to Fenton, the spice merchant?”

“I know him, but it’s been a few years since I’ve seen him.”

“I’ve heard that Fenton knows somethin’ about what’s goin’ on at the manor,” Calsen continued, “but I haven’t bothered to talk with him about it.”

“Hmm. I may have to arrange a meeting with Fenton. Does he still work out of the Lower Bazaar?”

“Last I heard.”

“Well, it’s obvious I’m going to have to try something other than this.” Morticai gestured to the deserted alley.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re doin’ this type of work, Dyluth. There’s not much future in it, y’know.”

“I know. Well, I guess I’d better get back to my coach, if it’s still waiting. If the other coach is still there, maybe I can pick up the trail again.”

“You want me to walk back with you?”

“Don’t be silly. I haven’t forgotten how to walk these alleys. Besides, it seems pretty quiet tonight.”

“Yeah … sometimes, it is. Well, take care, Dyluth.”

* * *

They parted company, and Morticai began backtracking his way to the coach. Despite his disappointment at losing Ellenwood, he found his thoughts drifting back to his conversation with Calsen. It pleased him to know that his old friend was still alive—it had been too long since he’d lifted a mug with him. He did find it puzzling that Calsen still lived in the Pit. If he was working the docks, he should be making pretty fair wages—unless he wasn’t working regularly. He could see that in Calsen, who had always been a carefree sort.