A Discourse in Steel (11 page)

After Nix left Veraal, he grabbed some sweetmeats from Orgul and walked to the Narascene portion of the Bazaar, a world within a world where everyone wore colored robes and veils, incense smoked the air like a spring fog, and gongs and chimes made a continuous ring. He was known there, and nodded to familiar faces.

He soon found the tent of the hunched, yellow-robed harridan from whom he routinely purchased some of his gewgaws. He never knew what she'd have for him—sometimes she had nothing—but he figured the fun was in finding out. The beaded curtain gave way to an interior filled with stacked jars of pickled creatures, bunches of dried roots, piles of crystals, and various other items of arcane significance. Most were junk for the hobs, but not all.

She must have heard him enter for she emerged from the rear of the tent, hobbling on a bad hip, smelling of incense and sweat. She cackled when she saw him, and spoke in heavily accented Narascene.

“Always you come to me when in danger.”

“And you always protect me, lovely lady,” he said, and bowed.

She cackled at that and the cackling turned to a phlegmy cough. He waited for it to subside before asking, “Do you have anything new?”

She looked at him with soft eyes—he always charmed her.

“I have something for you, small man,” she said. “Cost is twenty terns.”

He knew better than to haggle with her. He dug the coins out of his purse and placed them in her wrinkled, veiny hand. She secreted them in her robes, went to a shelf, and removed two amulets on leather lanyards. Tiny amethysts, four on each amulet, glittered in plain silver settings. When she handed them to him, the enchantments in them caused the hairs on his arms to stand on end.

“Protective,” he observed.

Up close, the pores in her nose looked like they'd been dug out with a shovel. “Your schooling not tell you from what?”

He shook his head.

“That's because you quit too soon.”

“I was expelled,” he corrected.

“If you hadn't quit,” she said, ignoring his correction, “then you'd know enchanted amethyst protects from venom, stomach gas, piles of the arse, and ugly girls.”

She cackled at her own joke.

“I've never in my life met an ugly girl, milady,” Nix said, slipping the amulets into one of the many pockets in his satchel. “And never once in this tent.”

She colored, murmured something, and turned away.

He smiled and turned to go, but her voice froze him in the bead curtain.

“Small man! What you're doing? It will end with you swimming among the dead.”

Nix knew the crone was a legitimate seer. Her words reached through his mask and crashed his false cheer. His expression fell but he rallied quickly.

“A surprising number of my days end just so, milady.”

And with that he left her. Her words troubled him though, and he sought only halfheartedly for the cloaked, vacant-eyed, sexless agent of Kerfallen the Gray. The wizard's servant maintained no tent or stall, merely walked the Bazaar, seemingly at random, vending his master's gewgaws to those in the know.

Nix spotted him or her or it, jogged to catch up, and stepped directly in front of it. It stopped, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. The androgynous, hairless face did not change expression. Nix recited the required greeting in a whisper, trying not to roll his eyes at the silliness of wizards.

“The magery of Kerfallen is without peer in the Seven Cities of the Meander. I offer coin for his boon.”

The agent held forth a hand.

Nix hefted a pouch holding a handful of terns and a few royals, placed it in the agent's palm. The creature tucked the pouch into its clothing, studied Nix's face for a time, as if reading something in his expression, then reached into its satchel and withdrew a bronze skeleton key as long as Nix's hand. The bit that hung from the end of the key's hollow blade was shaped like a tiny fanged mouth.

“I already have lots of keys,” Nix said. “Another will—”

The mouth at the end of the key spoke in a tiny voice. “Give us a bite of apple. We lock and unlock for eats. Give us some apple.”

“Burn me,” Nix said, eyeing the mouth. He looked up to tell the agent he'd take the key, but it had already moved on, continuing its wanderings through the Bazaar.

“Apple!” the key said.

“Patience,” Nix said, and tucked the key into his satchel. He quickly found a fruit seller, traded a copper for a half dozen red apples, and put one of them in his satchel with the magic key. The key munched away on the feast.

Nix lifted the satchel's flap. “You earn the next one.”

The Narascene seer's words bounced around his skull, resurrecting his melancholy. He retraced his actions of the last couple hours—evaluating his life, walking the Poor Wall, visiting the Low Bazaar, the Narascene seer, Kerfallen's agent, all of it a long good-bye.

“Should've had that smoke with Veraal, after all,” he said with a rueful smile.

On his way out of the Bazaar, he spotted a wagon full of pyrotechnics—tubes made from a special paper, small balls of clay, rods coated in some kind of metallic substance, all of them made by Vathari alchemists, the methods unknown even to the wizards of the Conclave. The short, long-haired, well-dressed Vathari merchant who vended them probably sold them most often to the various cults and philosophical movements that squatted on the Archbridge, and indeed the shaven-head cultists of some god or other milled around the wagon. For his part, Nix always figured that if pyrotechnics impressed a person's god, the person needed a better god. Nix, however, could imagine a few uses beyond impressing country hobs.

He nodded and smiled his way through the bald zealots. The Vathari took in his blades but never lost his smile, false as it was.

“You don't strike me as the religious sort, young sir.”

“I'm neither religious nor a sir. I worship good ale, which I find answers prayers about as well as any god, and have coin that spends as well as any priest's. Suffice?”

The cultists overheard him, shot him glares. He ignored them.

The man gave a slight bow. “Your faith is appealing to many and well known to me.”

“Excellent,” Nix said, taking a liking to the man already. “I'd like a few of your…gewgaws.” He smiled. It felt good to hear the word used in reference to something other than the contents of his satchel. “Not the ones for the sky, mind, but something that I can use indoors, maybe smoke up a room.”

“Indoors?” the man asked, raising his manicured eyebrows.

“An open area outside is what I meant,” Nix said. “Maybe some loud things and…I don't know, spark shooters or something? You have something like that? Whatever it is needs to travel well. I'll keep it here.” He indicated his satchel.

“Hmm,” the man said, and circled his wagon while rubbing his chin and eyeing his wares. “Hmm. How much you spending?”

Nix showed him two gold royals. “This do?”

“Hmm. Hmmm.”

Eventually the man provided Nix with several smoke balls, a few of the metal rods coated in a silver substance, and three tubes that the man called “boomsparks.” Nix put them in his satchel but in one of the side pockets, to prevent the magic key from trying to eat them.

“A question, if I could,” he said.

The man nodded for him to proceed.

Nix peeled back his lips and pointed at his eyeteeth. “Filed teeth? And tattoos of magical creatures all up and down the arms? Do you know what those mean because—?”

The man's eyes showed their whites and he backed off a step.

Nix held out his hands. “Wait, wait, I didn't mean—”

The man used a finger to draw some kind of protective sigil in the air, then waved Nix away. “You go! Go now! Now! Now!”

The man's outburst was attracting the attention of passersby, so Nix did not press. He turned and walked away, reminding himself once again that he had to figure out Gadd's story one of these days. Assuming, of course, he had more than a day remaining to him.

He headed back to the Tunnel. The guild would have eyes on it by then, and once he got back there'd be no leaving again without a tail. That suited him fine.

Shoddy Way looked as it always did in late morning—a muddy ribbon filled with pedestrians making their way to and from the Low Bazaar, a handful of wagons and carts, a few too many wolf-eyed hangers-on, a few urchins, and a few beggars. Nix had no doubt some of them were guildsmen. He deliberately kept his eyes from the rooftops. They'd have a man or two up there.

He felt eyes on him as he walked under the Tunnel's sign, swinging in the breeze. The broken door was reattached, hanging askew in the jamb, but working. Gadd had done good work.

A handful of patrons sat at the tables, nursing morning ales with day-old bread and cheese—the laborer's breakfast. The interior smelled more of Gadd's stew than it did of fire, but the blackened floor and the wall around the burned window announced the attempted arson well enough.

The Tunnel was more tavern than brothel before evening, and Nix didn't see Gadd or Tesha. The alekeep would be at the market, buying the day's supplies. Probably was Tesha tending to Rose. Egil sat alone in a corner, all three eyes on the door, his hammers close to hand, a bowl of stew before him. Nix joined him.

“How'd it go?” Egil asked.

“Veraal's in. He'll be along with his men.”

“A good man, Veraal.”

“Aye,” Nix said. He patted his satchel. “I've got my miracles. I think we're ready.”

“Eyes on this place,” Egil said. “See them?”

“I didn't make 'em, but I felt them. They're out there.”

Egil said, “We'll clear them before we head to the guildhouse.”

“You talk to Mere? Get all the details she pulled out of that guild slubber's head?”

Egil tapped his bald head. “Got 'em. As good as a map.”

“Good,” Nix said. He fiddled with his thumb ring before asking, “Sun's up. This still seem like a good idea?”

Egil regarded him across the table, his brow furrowed. “You see another option?”

Nix didn't look at him but offered Veraal's advice. “We could leave. Take the girls. Head to New Dineen. Start over.”

Egil scoffed, and that was about as Nix expected.

“You know we're going to have to leave a lot of bodies behind us, yeah?” Nix said. “Ideally not ours, but…is that going to leave a bad taste in your mouth? You've been rather priestly lately.”

Egil sniffed and leaned back in his chair. A bit too casual, Nix thought.

“Doesn't bother me with these whoresons, Nix. They tried to burn our girls. That's a question needs the right kind of answer. You don't hurt ours. You don't even try.”

“Aye,” Nix said and nothing else.

He knew that men who harmed women earned Egil's rage like little else. Nix imagined that every time Egil saw a man hurting a woman he relived the loss of his wife and daughter. Over the years countless men had paid vicariously for the death of Hulda and Asa, and countless more would, but Egil would never forgive himself, and the actual wrongdoers would never pay. Blood could only expiate so much. Egil just had to bear it.

Nix flashed on his friend walking the darkness of Blackalley, calling for his lost daughter and wife, the pain of self-blame in his voice. Nix pondered the pain Egil must live with; it made his chest feel tight. He looked away, cleared his throat.

“I'm more worried about
you,
anyway,” Egil said, leaning forward, the chair protesting the shift of his weight. “Unless you got hard-edged while you were out this morning, leaving lots of dead men in your wake isn't your way either.”

“No,” Nix said, still fiddling with his ring. “But I'm with you on this. A torch job? Civilians and women? That ain't the game. And it's just bad form. I can put steel in slubbers who'd do that and not think twice. So fak them and their tattoos and their religion.”

“As long as you're firm of purpose,” Egil said, spooning some stew into his mouth.

“The only people who get to tell me to be firm of purpose are lovely women with parted legs,” Nix said. He pushed back his chair and stood. “I'm going to go check on Rose.”

“I'll come,” Egil said.

Upstairs many of the doors in the hallway were open, the workingwomen and -men inside preparing for the day's work: splashing themselves with perfumed water, brushing hair, applying kohl. They traversed the hall and knocked on Rose's door. Tesha opened it a sliver and peeked out, circles under her dark eyes, her hair still hanging loose and unbrushed. She saw it was them, ushered them in, and closed the door behind them.

Rose was sitting up on the side of her bed, her face pale and pained, her breathing rapid. Merelda sat beside her, her tear-streaked face bunched up in concern. She looked very much a young girl.

Nix and Egil asked Tesha a question with their eyes. She shook her head and shrugged. Nix frowned, approached the bed, and kneeled before Rose. He had the urge to take her hands in his but resisted.

“Rose?” Nix said.

She looked up at him sharply, as if she'd just noticed he was in the room. Her eyes swam in their sockets, the focus coming and going.

“He's in here,” Rose said, tapping herself roughly on the side of the head. “Croaking over and over again. I can't get him out!”

“Croaking?” Nix said.

“Dying,” she said. “Dying, Nix. Going dusty.”

He knew what the word meant, but the word choice struck him as out of place for Rose.

Nix looked to Merelda. “Is there anything you can do?”

She glared at him, her tone of voice betraying the tension she bore. “If there was, I would have already done it. Don't you think I'd have already done it?”

Her raised voice aggravated Rose, who winced and moaned.

“Put a bridle on that doxy,” she muttered, then cradled her head in her hands and rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed. Mere rubbed her back, a helpless expression on her face.

“Get him out, get out! It hurts, Mere! It hurts!”

Nix stood and backed off, bumping into Egil. They stood in the center of the room, beside Tesha, the two of them useful for nothing but revenge.

“It's like I'm haunted,” Rose said, her voice muffled by her hands. “He's a ghost, but I can't get him out. I hear him, I feel him, all the things he knew…”

She shook her head and her body vibrated with sobs. Mere sobbed, too, hugged her sister.

“Maybe Gadd could get drugs to soothe her when he comes back,” Tesha offered.

As one, Nix, Egil, and Mere said, “No.”

Tesha went wide-eyed at the vehemence of their reply. Egil explained.

“Her brother used to keep her drugged. To keep her controlled. And then he…hurt her.”

“Apologies,” Tesha said, and her expression hardened. “No drugs, then. And I hope that fakker's dead.”

“Worse,” Nix said, but explained no further. He signaled to Mere with his eyes that he wanted to speak with her off to the side. Reluctantly she left Rose on the bed and met with Nix near the door for a whispered conversation. Egil and Tesha joined them.

“She seems worse,” Nix said.

Mere nodded, her eyes too drained for more tears. Egil raised a hand to put on her shoulder, hesitated, then did it anyway. She leaned into him, lost and small against his massive frame.

“Is there anything we can do?” Egil asked.

Nix almost made the offer he'd been holding in his head, but it was so desperate that he hesitated and the moment passed.

Mere shook her head. “She just has to rest. She has to clean it up herself, but she's just not able to yet. If not…”

She trailed off and Nix did not press. He could well imagine what came after the “if not.”

Egil's lost, helpless expression mirrored Nix's thinking. There was no treasure to obtain, no information to extract from some slubber, no mystery to solve. They were useless. All they could do was give payback. That'd have to be enough.

“Let us know if we can do anything,” Nix said. He cleared his throat. “Listen, we're going to be gone tonight. Some men are coming, though, men we trust and—”

Rose groaned, rolled into a ball on the bed.

“Tesha told me everything,” Merelda said. She looked at Nix, at Egil. “And she told me why. But I want you to stay here. Don't do it. I don't want either of you to die. I lost my head in the cellar and…”

Nix was shaking his head and about to speak, but Egil took Mere by the shoulders and gently turned her around to face him.

“You have a gentle heart, Mere. Despite everything, you do. But listen to me. If we don't go to them, they'll come here for Rose and for us.” He held up a hand to cut off her reply. “They think she knows their business and it looks like she might. Every other thing she says she's talking like a guildsman.”

Mere shook her head. “But she can't make sense of it all. It's a jumble. She—”

“Doesn't matter,” Egil said softly. “Not only does she know guild business, but now we left one of theirs dead and one…badly hurt.”

Mere blanched at the memory of the guildsman in the cellar. Egil continued: “This is the only way, Mere, the only thing they'll understand. And I, for one, have no intention of dying. Nix?”

Nix sniffed. “I'm too pretty to die. Everybody knows that.”

“You see?” Egil said. “We'll do what needs done, come back, and we'll all three see Rose through this.”

“Four,” Tesha said. “All four of us.”

“Four,” Egil corrected, nodding at Tesha. “Well enough?”

Mere stared into his face and nodded slowly.

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. She colored.

Nix cleared his throat, uncomfortable as always with genuine shows of emotion. “Well. Yes. Then. So. We'll be downstairs waiting for Veraal and keeping an eye on things. Our part of this little excursion starts around two bells. We'll be back in the morning, good as new. Well enough?”

Mere and Tesha nodded.

Nix asked Mere, “You told Egil everything you took out of the guildsman's head about the layout of the guild house? Everything?”

She nodded.

“Good,” Nix said. He stepped forward and gave her arm a squeeze. “That's it, then.”

Outside the room, Nix said, “You're not helping by making cow-eyes at that girl.”

Egil looked back at the door, his expression thoughtful. “As you said, she's not a girl.”

“She's seen twenty-two winters, if that,” Nix said as they started walking the hall.

Egil shrugged. “I embraced her, Nix, that's all. I'm fond of her. I think.”

As they descended the stairs, Nix brushed his fingers over Kiir's. She looked lovely in her tight black dress and he refused to let himself think about her with any other man.

“We're both getting domesticated. This ain't good. How fond?”

Egil shrugged. “I don't know yet.”

“You're…hurting right now, Egil. Don't try to stop it the wrong way. You'll hurt her in the process.”

Egil nodded, put a hand on Nix's shoulder, and steered him to the bar. Gadd put tankards before them.

“Tell me about your teeth and tattoos, Gadd,” Nix said.

Gadd grinned at him, showing the filed eyeteeth. “Teeth, yes. Sharp. You want different drink?”

Nix smiled back, but snatched Gadd's wrist as he tried to turn away. Gadd's eyes narrowed and his other hand twitched, as if he might strike Nix or draw a blade from somewhere.

“You want to keep some secrets?” Nix said. “Fair enough. Egil and I, we've got some, too.”

Egil snorted at that. Nix went on: “So you tell us if keeping your secrets ever puts this place or anyone in it at risk, yeah?”

Gadd lost his smile and lost the vacant look in his eye. The man looked downright cunning as he held Nix's gaze. “Clear.”

“I'm good to my friends, Gadd. But I'm an unforgiving fakker to anyone faks me or mine. With me?”

Gadd said nothing, merely stared.

Nix let Gadd's wrist go and the easterner went back to his tankards and plates and beer.