Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (30 page)

“Ssst!”  Lad’s hiss brought her up short.  From
around the corner came the clatter of another guard patrol, this one larger and
moving faster than those north of the river.  She tugged on Lad’s sleeve, and
they vanished into the shadows of an alley.  A moment later, six heavily armed
constables strode by.

“Mean streets,” she whispered when they’d passed. 
“Even the guard doesn’t linger.”

“Let’s find a pub or inn where we can talk to
someone.  It’s late, but there’s got to be someplace open.”

“All right.”  Mya’s nerves still tingled with the
exhilaration of crossing the bridge, but doubt clouded her thoughts. 
What
does he expect to learn
?

They recognized a pub only by the lamplight shining
through cracked shutters, the sound of muted laughter, and a thick-shouldered
bouncer lounging at the door.  Lad stepped off the curb to cross the street,
but Mya grabbed his sleeve.

“You sure you want to go in there?  People in
neighborhoods like this don’t usually talk to strangers.”

Lad paused, obviously considering her concern.  He
was listening to her. 
Good
.

“It can’t hurt to try.”  He patted the pouch on his
belt.  It didn’t jingle, since he’d stuffed a handkerchief into it to keep the
coins silent, but she got the point.  “Maybe we can make some friends.”

“Don’t draw too much attention.”  Mya hoped he
didn’t take offence at her suggestions.  Lad was the most deadly assassin she’d
ever known, but his interpersonal skills lacked subtlety.  “Let me do the
talking.  Like I said, bluffing, lying, cajoling, and bribery are my game.”

“Fine.  You talk, I’ll pay.”  He stepped into the
light of the guttering streetlamp.

“And be careful.  If you flash too much coin, we’ll
get mugged.”  She received a scowl for her advice.

The bouncer eyed them, but made no comment as they
approached the pub.  Mya flashed a smile, but his face remained grim. 
Nothing
like a warm welcome
, she thought as they passed inside.

Twenty minutes later they left the pub, a few coins
poorer and no richer in knowledge.  Their offer of drinks had been turned down,
and Mya’s casual questions received only suspicious stares.

“I told you so,” she said.

“You did, but they can’t all be like this, and we’re
not in a hurry.  Let’s find another.”

“Fine.”

They crept through the streets, evading the sparse
patrols and a few skulking types.  They tried two more pubs and got the same
blank stares and suspicious looks.

“This isn’t working, Lad.”

“One more.”  They rounded another corner and spied a
likely pub.  The windows were barred, of course, but the shutters were open and
a cheery yellow glow spilled through the reasonably clean windows.  From the
voices, it sounded as if there was quite a crowd.  “That one looks better.”

Mya stopped to consider their location.  “How many
blocks from the waterfront do you think we are?”

“Two.”  Lad pointed down the street.  “Steepway
Stair is right over there, the shipyards just down the bluff.”

Mya cocked an eyebrow at him.  She had always taken
it for granted that he knew his way around Twailin, but even here, after only
studying maps, Lad seemed right at home. 
That makes one of us
.  She
nodded toward the pub.  “That explains the crowd.  The shipyards work ’round
the clock.  One shift must have recently come off work.”

“Good.  Maybe they’re thirsty.  Come on.”

The place was surprisingly homey.  The long wooden
bar was clean and bright, if not fancy.  Fully half of the booths and tables
were occupied.  The patrons had the look of shipyard workers, with thick,
tar-stained hands, and smelling of wood shavings and creosote.  The more
pleasant aromas of ale, wine, and well-cooked food advertised the pub’s wares
better than any menu.  Two servers bustled about, smiling good naturedly at
their customers. 

Nobody smiled at Lad and Mya, however.

The looks they received weren’t friendly, but they
weren’t as suspicious as those at their previous stops.  Still, every eye she
caught quickly looked away.  They chose a table in the middle of the room.

“Can I get something for you?”  The barmaid brushed
her skirts impatiently.

“Highland Summerbrew, if you have it.”

“Aye, we’ve a barrel tapped.”  Her eyes darted to
Mya.  “And you?”

“Some mulled wine, thank you.”

“Very good.”  The woman hurried away.

“See, I told you this looked like a friendly little
place.”  Smiling at Lad, Mya slouched back in her chair.

Lad never slouched.  Nudging his toe under the table
and cocking an eyebrow seemed to get her point across.  He smiled back and
sloped his shoulders a trifle.  “You did.  How can you drink hot wine in the
summer?”

At least he’s trying
.  Mya wondered if Lad could ever
truly relax in a crowd.  She pitched her voice just louder than normal, but not
by much.  “I like the spices, and the heat never bothers me.  You always order
Highland Summerbrew?”

“It’s only really good this time of year.  Forbish
always had it in season.  It’s my favorite.”

“Paxal always made mulled wine for me.  We’re
creatures of habit, I guess.”

The barmaid returned with their drinks.  Foam
brimmed Lad’s tankard, and clove-scented steam wafted from Mya’s.  “Sixpenny,
if you please.”

Lad fished a silver half-crown from his pouch—twice
the cost of the drinks—and handed it to the barmaid.  “I wonder if you could do
me a favor.  I’m interested in doing business in this part of town, but we’re
new here, and don’t know the…ins and outs of things.  Would you let your patrons
know that I’d be happy to stand a round to anyone who’ll give a little advice?”

His delivery had improved with practice and a little
coaching from Mya.

“I’ll ask,” she agreed grudgingly, tucking the coin
into her pocket without offering change.  Apparently, when no noble-born were
about, tips weren’t proscribed.

Lad smiled at her.  “Thank you.”

Mya kept a furtive eye on the woman as she
circulated from table to table, chatting with her customers.  Despite the hum
of voices, Mya could easily pick out the barmaid’s words.  She delivered Lad’s
message without embellishment, seemingly disinterested in whether anyone took
him up on his offer or not.  Sipping her wine, Mya avoided meeting the glances
that flicked toward them in the barmaid’s wake.

A chair screeched on the floor, and a big man
lurched up.

“Don’t, Tori.”  The man’s table companion grabbed
his arm.  “You don’t know them.”

“Don’t care.”  The big man jerked his arm free and
stumbled a step, obviously drunk.  “Not scared of nobody no more.”

His companion scowled and looked away as Tori
snatched up his tankard and drained it, slamming it back down too hard.  His
crooked path to their table drew stares from a few other patrons, and a
lingering glare from the barkeep.  Oblivious to the attention he’d drawn, the
man stopped at their table and looked down first at Lad, then at Mya.

“Name’s Tori,” he said.

Mya pushed out a chair with her foot and said, “I’m
Maci and this is Lem.  Have a seat, Tori.  What are you drinking?”

Tori looked down at the chair, then back at his own
table, where his companion steadfastly ignored him.  Sniffing, he wiped his
nose with the back of his hand and sat down.  “Mardie knows what I drink.”

Mya motioned to the barmaid, then looked Tori over. 
He appeared to be a laborer of some kind—longshoremen or shipwright
perhaps—with broad shoulders and thick, calloused hands.  The knife at his belt
was made to cut rope or wood, not flesh.  “Do you work in the shipyards?”

“Yep.  Fifteen years now, and not a pot to piss in
for my labor.  You interested in business, you best take it across the river.”

“Why?”  Mya gestured around the homey pub.  “This
place seems to be doing well.”

“Jemly’s been runnin’ this place long as I can
remember, and he ain’t gettin’ rich doin’ it.”

The barmaid arrived and smacked a mug of ale down on
the table in front of Tori.  “Twopence.”  She snatched up the silver half-crown
Lad held out, then shifted her glare to Tori.  “You be careful, Tori.”

“I don’t need to be careful.” Tori lifted his
tankard and took a long pull as she bustled off.  “Got nothin’ to lose, so
nothin’ to be careful about.”  The last he said loud enough for everyone to
hear.

“Why wouldn’t she want you to talk to us, Tori?” 
Mya sipped her wine, keeping her tone easy.  “It’s not like we’re constables or
nobles.  We’re just trying to make a living.”

“Livin’s harder than you might think south of the
river.”  Tori sipped ale, his eyes narrow over the top of his tankard.  “And we
don’t worry too much about the caps or nobles down here.  There’s other
worries, though.”  He lowered his voice.  “You ask Jemly where half his profits
go every month.”

“Oh?”  Mya raised an eyebrow and shared a look with
Lad.  That sounded suspiciously like a protection racket, though there was no
way to know what organization was running it.  She doubted whether the barkeep
even knew who he was paying.  From the corner of her eye, she noticed a man
slinking out the pub door, glancing back at them over his shoulder.  She ignored
him and turned back to Tori.  “So, businesses north of the river don’t have
that problem?”

“Don’t know.”  Tori drank and frowned.  “They got
other problems.  Up there, you got the nobles up your ass every turn, and the
caps bustin’ your head if you so much as look at one of ’em wrong.  Ain’t
no
good place to earn a livin’ here.”

“Why stay, then?” Lad asked.

“Where the hell would I go?”  Tori shrugged massive
shoulders and stared into his ale.  “Been here my whole life.  Born here, lived
here, and I’ll die here.”

“Seems like Tsing’s a hard place to do business.”

“Anyplace else easier?”  Tori looked at Mya
dubiously.  “None I heard of are.  If it’s not nobles and constables, it’s
thugs.  Same everywhere.”

“That’s enough, Tori.”  The barkeep rounded the end
of the bar, his face a mask of hard lines, and put a hand on the man’s
shoulder.  “You’ve said enough.” 

“Oh le’me alone, Jemly.  I’m not hurtin’ nobody.” 
Tori lifted his tankard, but Jemly took it from his grasp with surprising ease.

“And you’ve drunk too much.  Your mouth’s gonna get
you in trouble.”

“We’re just talking.  What’s the harm in talking?”
Lad protested.

Jemly turned his glare on Lad and Mya, but fear
lurked beneath his hard mien.  “I don’t know you.  You dress like cutthroats
and ask too many questions.  I want you outta my place
now
.”

“We’re not causing any trouble, and I don’t see
why—”

Lad’s hand closed on Mya’s arm, cutting off her
protest with a hard squeeze.  “We didn’t mean to cause any trouble.  We’ll
leave.”  Lad stood, and Mya reluctantly pushed back her chair. 

Hard gazes followed them out, the friendly pub
atmosphere stifled by a few simple questions.  Crossing the street, they
stopped to talk.

Mya let out a gusty breath.  “Well, that explains some
things.  It sounds like the nobles have a stranglehold on everything north of
the river, and the guilds and gangs have the same south of the river.  No
wonder everyone’s afraid.”

“Yes, but why does the emperor tolerate it? 
Something still doesn’t make sense.”  Lad shook his head, his brow furrowed. 
“The guild probably pays off the constables to keep their noses out of guild
business, but they can’t pay off the military.  Why doesn’t the emperor use
soldiers to clean up the Dreggars Quarter and Downwinds?”

“Why hasn’t Mir cleaned up The Sprawls?”  Mya
shrugged.  “Probably not worth it.  The wealthy use the poor as cheap labor to
make money.  The poor need somewhere cheap to live.  Clean up the neighborhood
and rent goes up.  Labor costs go up, profits go down, and with them tax
revenues.  The wealthy lose money, and the empire loses money, so where’s the
incentive?  It’s simple economics.”  Mya looked around uneasily as the hairs on
the back of her neck stood up.  “I think we should go.”

“We might ask some more questions if—”  Lad stopped
and cocked his head.  “There’s someone—”

“I think you’ve asked enough questions.”  A man
stepped out from the shadowed alley in front of them.

Shit
!  Mya had only been listening
for the obvious racket of constables, not the subtle noises of lurkers in
hiding.  Behind them, a boot scuffed stone, then another.  Whoever these people
were, they were trained in stealth.  That became even more obvious as three
more figures stepped out of the shadows ahead.

“What’s the harm in asking questions?”  Lad’s query
drew a dry chuckle from the speaker’s throat.

“Last person to ask me
that
question stopped
breathing all of the sudden.”  His hand fingered the hilt of a dagger at his
belt.  “Horrible tragedy.”