Poison Dance Proofreading Epub (3 page)

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Thalia.”

They walked down a ways, past the busier streets until no one was in sight. The roads were narrow and the night was dark. The upper floors of houses on each side jutted out overhead to block the moonlight. Nevertheless, Thalia followed him without hesitation, as if they were old friends instead of a maid and an assassin.

“You’re brave. Or very trusting,” he told her.

“Just determined.” Her shoulders were hunched as she walked, her jaw set.

“And what are you determined for?”

The sound from the crowds they’d left faded away completely, and the streets were quiet. They slowed to a stop at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. Thalia clutched her elbows and faced him, angling her head up to look him in the eye.

“There’s a man. I want him dead.”

She’d said as much earlier. “Who?” he asked.

“A wallhugger.”

James laughed. The girl was either stupid or suicidal. “Not just enough to hire an assassin, is it? You want to kill a nobleman.”

She didn’t react to his derision. “Will you do it?”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“They’re men like anyone else.”

“Men with money and power, and scores of Red Shields at their beck and call. Folk who value their lives don’t meddle in wallhugger affairs. I owe you for your help, but this is too much.”

As he turned away, she called after him. “Wait!” For the first time, a hint of desperation crept into her voice. “If you won’t kill him for me, at least help me.”

So the girl wasn’t quite as cool and calm as she’d appeared. “How?” he asked.

Thalia swallowed. She was trying to compose herself again, with only partial success. “Show me how to kill him myself.”

“You?” He looked from her eyes to the rest of her body, making no effort to hide his disdain at her fragile limbs. He took her wrist in his hand, holding his hand up to show her where his fingers overlapped. He wasn’t gentle, and her eyes teared up, though she didn’t pull away.

“How strong do you need to be, really, to push a dagger home?” she whispered. “He’s not very powerful. Just a minor nobleman. And I don’t look like a killer. He won’t be expecting it from me.” There was an intensity in her eyes, either ambition or despair, he couldn’t tell.

“I can offer you more than a simple payment,” she continued. “I have connections with trade caravans. You must need money, with your guildleader gone. I can give you access to rare goods. Expensive ones. You could gain much by doing business with the traders.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I branch out into honest trade?”

“It’s not . . . entirely honest.” She spoke carefully. “But it could be lucrative. One run with them could earn you enough to outfit you comfortably for travel. And being friends with the caravans never hurts if you’re planning to take to the road.”

James wasn’t sure if he completely hid his surprise at her words. Apparently, he was no more alert to her eavesdropping than Gerred’s men. But he did need money, and if she really could deliver what she promised . . . “Are you lying to me?” he asked.

“I promise you I’m not. Give me a few weeks. See what I have to offer, and what you can teach me. Then you can be done with me.”

*
   
*
   
*

She came cautiously through the door the next afternoon, taking in his sparse room—the bed, his trunk, the window—with a few quick glances. When the blacksmith started hammering downstairs, her brow furrowed with annoyance, but she said nothing.

“You live here?” she asked.

“It in’t the Palace, but it’s got walls.”

“I grew up in a covered wagon. At least this doesn’t blow over in a storm.”

She moved as if to sit on the bed but thought better of it and crouched by the wall. James sat in the space she had just avoided and studied her. She sat with her dress bunched around her, and her hair fanned over her shoulders. Though her face was carefully blank, her fingers tapped restlessly against her knees.

“You’re serious about this?” said James. “You want to kill a nobleman.”

She nodded, studying the wall behind him as if there were an image there only she could see.

“And you want this enough to put your life in danger? Why come to me?”

She was silent for a moment, pulling at the hem of her dress. “I’ve been watching you,” she said slowly. “You think before you act. You don’t get carried away by your drink like your friend Bacchus. You look at the serving girls, but you don’t grab them. And I know you’re good at what you do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Three months ago. When the fight broke out in the Scorned Maiden.”

He vaguely remembered that fight. A merchant and his friends had taken offense to one of Bacchus’s cracks, and James had come to his defense. “I didn’t kill anyone in that fight,” he said. It was better not to, if he wanted to continue to frequent the tavern.

“But you could have. I’ve seen my share of brawls. I know a good fighter from a bad one.” She spoke with the objective tone of a seamstress picking thread.

“So who is this mysterious nobleman?”

Her expression became guarded. “You’re not killing him for me. Just showing me how to use a knife.”

He’d thought her reckless, with the way she’d followed him into the alley last night. But perhaps he’d underestimated her. “How long have you wanted him dead?”

“Two years.”

“Did something happen two years ago?”

“Yes.” She didn’t volunteer any more information.

He shrugged. “Keep your secrets for now. One wallhugger’s the same as another to me. But if you really want me to teach you right, you’ve eventually got to tell me more. I’ll need to know how close you can get to him. If he’s guarded, and how well. If he’s trained with weapons. But right now, I want to know more about your connection with the caravans.”

She relaxed a bit at this new line of questioning. “I grew up with the trade caravans and traveled with them until a few years ago,” she said. “As you know, the Palace puts limits on what can be sold. It reserves some rare goods for itself by making it illegal to sell them to others in the city. I have friends though, who could be persuaded to overlook those laws.”

There was a knock at the door, and Thalia snapped her head to the sound. “That’s Rand and Bacchus,” said James. “Will you tell them the same thing you just told me?”

“Do you trust them?”

“With my life.”

She thought for a moment, then nodded.

Bacchus winked at Thalia as he came in, and Rand nodded curtly in her direction. She ignored Bacchus and returned Rand’s nod as James filled them in.

“What kind of rare goods?” asked Bacchus when James finished.

“Spices. Tapestries,” said Thalia.

“And what would we need to do? How long to set everything up?” asked James.

“You’d have to meet them outside the city and smuggle the goods past the city gates. After that, it’s up to you. You could have a run set up in three weeks.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” said Rand. He trailed off and gave Thalia a sideways glance.

Thalia gathered her skirts. “I can leave, if you’d like to talk things over.”

“Come back tomorrow,” said James. With the girl’s knack for picking up information, kicking her out now probably wouldn’t accomplish much. But they might as well keep the illusion of secrecy.

He waited until she stepped out to the street below before he turned back to Bacchus and Rand. “What do you think?”

“We’d need buyers,” said Rand.

“For spices, it’d be rich merchants or noblemen. But they’d definitely buy,” said James.

Rand bobbed his head in acknowledgment of James’s reasoning. “Three weeks to get the goods, another few days after that to wrap things up. Gerred’ll be suspicious if he sees us doing anything unusual. ”

“We keep it from Gerred,” said James. “He’d just assume the worst. Better if he doesn’t know our plans until we’re gone. If we play nice, I don’t think he’ll do anything rash in the meantime. He’s too careful for that.”

Bacchus straightened with a slap of his thigh. “Let’s do it. But we keep our options open. Maybe we’ll decide the privy’s worth going for after all.”

James gave a tight smile. “It’s always good to have options.”

*
   
*
   
*

He handed her a stiletto the length of her hand and molded her fingers around the handle. Her hands were slender and her nails were delicately rounded, though her palms were calloused. The two of them stood in the cramped space between his bed and the window, holding the blade between them.

“You can wear this dagger under your sleeves. Then, when you get your chance . . .” James guided the knife toward his own throat. “Go for the neck—the blood vessels and the windpipe. You’ll have to be close for that. Quick.”

He lowered the stiletto until its tip grazed his neck just above his collarbone. Her eyes widened, and she looked to his face.

He smiled and tightened his hands around her wrist. “Never let your guard down. Never trust anyone, and never leave yourself vulnerable.”

“What if I’d surprised you just now? I could have been sent by someone to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

She arched her eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have killed you?”

“You wouldn’t have surprised me.” He continued. “You have to be aware. If someone is this close to you, holding a weapon, you need to be on your guard. I’m watching your eyes, your shoulders. I’m aware of how you’re standing, where your balance is. If you tighten your muscles to strike, I’ll feel it in your arm. You should be doing the same with me.”

Her eyes were cautious as she took in what he said. And he watched her look down, taking in his arms, the angle of his chest. Her gaze went inward and her lips fell slightly open as she tried to get a feel for his balance. Standing as close as they were, he could smell a light perfume on her skin.

Thalia seemed to remember herself. She disengaged her wrist and backed away.

“What makes a lass like you into a killer?” he asked.

She shot him an annoyed look, and the tension left the room. “I didn’t hire you to delve into my past.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? It changes you, you know, your first kill.”

A smile touched her lips, a hint of a challenge. “You’re quite determined to have me think this over. Do you regret
your
first kill?”

It was an interesting question, and he gave it some thought. “No,” he finally said. “I regret not having done it sooner.”

“Who was it?” She tilted her head in anticipation of a tale. “Some Red Shield?”

“My father.” He smiled when her eyes widened. “I’ll make you a deal. You can keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine.”

“Fair enough.” In another moment, she was all business again. “So if I want to cut his throat, I have to get in close to him.”

“It’s the only way. You can’t beat him in a fair fight.”

She turned away. “I know I’m not as strong as a man.”

He shrugged. “And you never will be. But I killed grown men before I came of age. If you can’t rely on strength, you rely on stealth. Surprise is your strongest asset, so make sure the first time kills.” He paused. “If you kill him while he’s alone, you might be able to escape. If there are others with him, you won’t. Either way, you’re just as likely to die from this venture as your mark. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

Her voice was level, but he thought he caught a flash of despair in her eyes. What secrets was she holding that would drive her to do this? But that was her business.

Thalia sheathed the blade and laid it across the palm of her hand, feeling its weight. “What about poison?” she asked.

“Poison? What of it?”

“Then I could make sure I kill him the first time.”

He waved her suggestion away and turned toward the window. “You’ve been listening to too many talesingers. Poisons are a thing of the past.” On the street below, a raven-haired boy pushed a cart of fruit. Strange to think that most folk might go their whole lives without plotting someone’s death. When James turned back to Thalia, she was gazing calmly up at him.

“Why?” she asked.

“Poison is cheating. A blade is all you need.”

His dismissal had no visible effect on her. “Do you really think it’s cheating, or is it because you don’t have the means? The Guild isn’t exactly what it used to be.”

She was more right than he wanted to admit. A hundred years ago, when the Guild’s influence had ranged from the slums to the Palace, assassins had used poisons to great effect. There had still been talk of venoms during James’s early days at the Guild. The older assassins had told stories—exaggerated, no doubt, but detailed enough to ring true. These days, they barely had the coin to keep their crew fed, let alone maintain the funds and connections to acquire exotic substances. James felt a surge of irritation. “Do you want my help or not? You can pursue your poisons if that’s what you wish. But don’t bother me about it.”

“What if I were to tell you that I know a trader who sells lizard skin venom?”

He froze. “You lie.”

“It would cost you of course. But it’s there.”

James wondered when the girl would stop surprising him. “Lizard skin is a blade poison. You’d still need to draw blood. If you were in the Guild, I’d tell you not to use it lest your knife skills grow weak. But in your case, it could be useful.”

T
HALIA
arranged for James to be introduced to the caravaners at their campsite. James met her at the city gates so Thalia could show him the way. Her hair was pulled back in a scarf, and she’d traded her dress for rugged trousers that accentuated the lines of her legs. Thalia traveled the forest paths with the same grace she lent to her dancing.

“These friends of yours. How well do you know them?” asked James.

“They’re not my home caravan, but I’ve known Alvie since I was small enough to sit on his knee. He’s trustworthy.”

They broke through a clearing where seven covered wagons were circled around a firepit. A handful of men and women went about their business, weaving between the wagons and occasionally ducking into them. James had seen caravaners before when they traded in the city, but he’d had little interaction with them. They were a close-knit bunch and mostly kept to themselves, though James had heard that they were protective and fiercely loyal, both to their own caravans and to others that they formed alliances with.