The Telastrian Song (17 page)

‘
T
his is
a list of a few groups of bravos around the city. I’ve not worked with any of them, but they’re all reliable and come recommended.’ Giura slid the list across the table to Soren.

Soren took the note and scanned it. There were a half dozen names and addresses that would take a day or so to investigate. They were sitting in the coffee house, but as on the previous occasion, no one took any notice of them. ‘Any particular preference?’

‘None. I’m sure they’re all much the same. They don’t need to be able to win a fight, just start one and cause a distraction. I included a few extra in case any of them aren’t available.’

In times of peace, and in times of criminal prosperity, there tended to be large numbers of out of work soldiers, thugs and even bannerets who weren’t able to find work elsewhere. They usually congregated and loitered in taverns, where they were available for hire; to pad out an aristocrat’s retinue for a specific engagement, to deal with the dirty work they didn’t want their own men to be involved with.

‘What do I tell them?’ Soren said.

‘Anything you like, but this might work. There’s a dressmaker’s shop on the ground floor of the building next door. Tell them you work for the dressmaker; that Amero’s bodyguards are thugs extorting the shop. Say you want them cleared off and given a bloody nose.’

Soren nodded. ‘Could work.’

‘So long as they don’t know they’re helping assassinate the Duke, I doubt any one of them’ll give a damn about believing the story you spin them, so long as the money’s good.’

A
s Giura had said
, one bunch of bravos was very much the same as another. He arranged them in order of convenience and set out from his inn, hopeful that the first group he called on would fit the bill. The first carried with them an interesting name, which was the main reason they were at the top of Soren’s list; The Pepper Canister Lane Bravos. The tavern they patronised was on the lane of the same name in Docks, which was so called due to it once having been home to the largest pepper importer in the city. The warehouse referred to as the ‘Pepper Canister’ was long gone, but the name remained.

Soren went into the tavern and straight to the bar.

‘I’m looking for Captain Alvery.’

The bartender looked at Soren suspiciously before he nodded to a table surrounded by exactly the type of men Soren was looking for. Soren walked over. ‘Captain Alvery?’

One of the men looked up from his mug of ale. ‘Who’s asking?’

He had the look of a banneret about him, but one who had seen better days.

‘I am,’ Soren said.

‘What d’you want him for?’

‘I’ll tell him that,’ Soren said.

The man looked Soren up and down. ‘Captain Alvery, and the Pepper Canister Lane Bravos, at your service.’ He stood and made a gesture around the table. ‘What can we do for you?’

‘I need to hire some men.’

‘Well, you’ve found some. What do you need us for?’

‘My employer has a bit of a problem.’

‘You look like the type of man more than well equipped to deal with problems,’ Alvery said. ‘Why would you need us?’

‘Well, there’s four of them. Too many for me on my own.’

‘So you’ll be with us then?’

‘After a fashion. I’ll deal with their boss. The one extorting my employer. I just want you to keep his thugs off my back while I do.’

‘Well then, assuming the price is right, you have your bravos. We can’t abide by an employer who won’t get his hands dirty. Can we, lads?’

There was a rousing agreement from the others at the table. It seemed they had little else to do than drink and were well in their cups. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case on the day they were needed. Still, even drunk they could provide the distraction Soren needed. They would be the ones to suffer.

A price was agreed, and they would wait at the tavern for Soren’s call.

A
fter sending
Soren out to hire some bravos, Giura returned to the Grey Tower to check if any new information on his mage problem had turned up. Ordinarily he preferred to be responsible for his own intelligence gathering, but he was at a complete dead end and would be grateful for any hints that anyone else picked up.

His office was at the end of a long corridor in the Grey Tower, along which the offices of all the Intelligenciers involved in mage taking were located. At the entrance to the corridor, a clerk sat at a desk keeping an eye on everyone who went in and out. It could never be described as a hive of activity, but there was usually something going on; some signs of life.

‘Quiet in here today, isn’t it?’ Giura said.

‘Four over-dues,’ the clerk said, without looking up from his desk.

He didn’t sound concerned. He didn’t sound like he gave a damn one way or the other, but it was unusual. Not for someone to be late reporting in, but for so many to be late at the same time. Every Intelligencier had to report in at regular intervals. The nature of their work could place them in danger so the Tower liked to keep track of everyone. Giura nodded and continued on to his office. Every few days, each Intelligencier added whatever new information from his own files that they felt was relevant to a communal dossier. That was where he was hoping to find something that might be of use.

He sat at his desk for a few minutes and realised that he had nothing to add to his own files. All his efforts for the past few days had been directed toward his private goals, and he knew putting off his other problem for such a long time had been a bad idea. The already cool trail would now have grown colder. With nothing else to do, he went to check the dossier. It hadn’t been updated in several days, which set Giura to thinking.

He went back out to the clerk.

‘When will the next mage taker fall overdue?’

The clerk looked at his register. ‘Three more will be overdue if they haven’t checked in by the end of the day.’

Giura raised his eyebrows. ‘Three more?’

‘Yes,’ the clerk said, double-checking his register.

Four was noteworthy, seven was alarming. What in hells was going on?

‘Has the Commandant been notified?’

‘Protocol doesn’t require that until tomorrow,’ the clerk said, a hint of boredom in his voice.

There was no reason for him to be alarmed; he was not privy to any of the investigations or the outbreak of magery.

‘Tell the Commandant immediately,’ Giura said.

‘Problem?’

‘Possibly. Just do it.’ He went back to his office and sat, seeking the solitude to marshal his thoughts. A trip to the coffee house seemed likely. He had a bad feeling. Something told him that the over-due Intelligenciers were not going to show up. Something told him that the mage he had killed, and the mysterious eastern grimoire were involved. Perhaps he should put his plot against Amero on hold for a few weeks until he had gotten to the bottom of things.

Amero was a pox, but magery was a plague. Whatever was going on needed to be stopped fast, while there were still enough mage hunters left to do it.

B
yarsham watched
the Intelligencier walk out of the Grey Tower, something he was doing nearly every day, occasionally more than once a day, and dropped in a few paces behind him; just far enough away not to be noticed. The street was busy so Byarsham would have to bide his time before making his move. Killing the Intelligencier would have to wait until it could be done more discreetly.

The Intelligencier continued to walk briskly until he turned abruptly and walked into a coffee house. It was not ideal, but it might provide the opportunity that he was looking for. Byarsham followed him and quickly surveyed his surroundings. A half dozen people sat around the room, none of them paying any attention to anything that did not concern them. Possibilities were running through his mind when the Intelligencier called Vallis Giura turned from the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand.

His eyes fixed on Byarsham for a moment, and Byarsham’s heart leaped into his throat. This was the only mage taker left, the only one who could have killed his apprentice, the only one who could have his grimoire. Could he know who Byarsham was? Could he be looking for him? A violent confrontation in a coffee house would ruin everything.

Giura nodded politely and took a seat at one of the vacant tables, turning his back to Byarsham. Byarsham breathed a sigh of relief, and made his way to the counter as inconspicuously as he could. To remain without doing as the others were would seem odd. As Byarsham ordered a mug of coffee, something he had never tried before, he realised how perfect the situation was. He could sit, enjoy the foreign delicacy, pull the life from the Intelligencier’s body as he sat and be streets away before anyone realised that the man sitting by a mug of cold coffee was dead. The grimoire could then be collected from his possessions at Byarsham’s convenience.

He turned from the counter and looked at Giura, who was oblivious to his being there. Byarsham sat where he could keep an eye on him without being noticed. He took a sip of the coffee. It was interesting but not something he would miss when he was finally able to return home.

The desire for cultural experience satisfied, it was time to turn his thoughts to less pleasant matters. He focussed his thoughts on Giura and clenched his fist. Another man walked into the coffee house and sat down next to Giura. Byarsham released his fist and let his breath out with a frustrated hiss.

S
oren sat
next to Giura without getting himself a coffee. He noticed a strange looking man sitting a few tables over, but tried not to stare. ‘The bravos are awaiting my word,’ Soren said.

‘Which ones did you go for,’ Giura said.

‘Pepper Canister Lane.’

‘They’re up to the job?’

‘I think so. Does it matter?’ Soren said.

‘No, I suppose not. Will they be ready tomorrow?’

‘I expect so. They don’t seem to have much else to do.’

‘Fine. Tomorrow then,’ Giura said.