City of Light & Shadow (20 page)

  "Why not just take them outside?" Kat wanted to know.

  The guard shrugged.

  The educational element made perfect sense to Tom. Why else would you have artificial flowers puffing out exaggerated concentrates of perfume in such extravagant fashion? Kat had now triggered so many that the place was starting to smell like the sweetest apothaker's shop in the world. Tom could just imagine some aged sage instructing a group of attentive children on the colours and perfumes of the various blooms. Of course, if the kids in the Heights were even remotely like those in the under-City, the "attentive" part was never going to happen, but it still conjured up a comfortable image.

  One patch in particular drew Tom's interest: long spindly stems growing taller than he stood, bedecked with broad, flat, serrated leaves which resembled opened hands. Why this apparently innocuous bush should appeal to him so strongly he wasn't sure, but there was something in the way the leaves gently danced, as if marking time by shifting from one delicate tip to another, and the burnished redwood stems bent grudgingly forward and back, that he found enchanting. He stepped forward, straining his neck and pushing his face in among the insubstantial stems as if seeking a whiff of elusive perfume.

  "Snap out of it," a voice said; the goddess.

  Tom ignored her, irritated at the interruption.

  "It's a trap, can't you feel it?"

  What was the old crone going on about? Then he remembered the meadow of flowers in the mountains above the Jeeraiy. He'd had no notion that his actions were being influenced then, could something similar be happening now? Once alerted, he found the intrusion, sensed the presence seeping into his thoughts. The hypnotic plant, he realised; somehow this invasive presence was leaching out of the projection and into his mind.

  "Well, now that you've finally woken up, do something about it," the goddess said.

  He did. He flexed his power, destroying the insidious tendrils of attempted control before following them to their source, to the very systems that generated the virtual elements of the park.

  A dark form appeared at his shoulder, towering over him. A black lance shot out, punching through the illusory plant, through the floor and into whatever circuits lay beneath. There was an arc of energy, the acrid smell of burning and a wisp of smoke. The willowy plant disappeared as did the presence which had attempted to invade Tom's mind. In fact, all the projections flickered out across the entire park, which suddenly seemed reduced and less magical as a result. The lance withdrew to reveal blackened and broken circuits. The Blade turned and walked away without saying a word.

  Tom stared at the hole in the floor. It opened into the guts of the very systems that ran the city.

  Thaiburley itself was turning against him.

  It had been a trap, just as the goddess claimed. One not triggered by the Blade or by Kat or the Council Guard, but only by him. The realisation shook Tom. Up until now there had only been the Rust Warriors to contend with, but it was obvious their enemy was adapting, that it could utilise other tools when needed, and that they couldn't relax for an instant.

 

The broken park was now behind them and they continued through the bland, bright, and eerily empty corridors of the Row. It had been a while since they'd seen any bodies, and Tom wondered whether the citizens of this section at least had received enough warning to evacuate.

  Tom's brief use of his talent in the park had done nothing to assuage it. The power still sizzled just below the surface, as if anxious for release.

  It didn't have long to wait. A force of Rust Warriors appeared in the corridor ahead, half a dozen or more. Three of the Blade quickened pace and moved forward to meet them. Glad of this now familiar enemy, Tom didn't hesitate. He reached toward the Warriors with his mind and struck with bludgeoning force. The first two imploded in a shower of russet petals, and those behind followed in quick succession. By the time the Blade were able to engage the enemy, only a single Rust Warrior opposed them, and the trio made short work of that one.

  Beside him, Kat was whooping and laughing. "That was amazing. Nothing's gonna stop you reaching the core now, Tom, you're invincible!"

  He was almost willing to believe as much himself and laughed along with her, though he did so more in relief than anything else. The close call in the park had shaken him, and he worried what else might lie in wait for them.

 
 

 
 
 

Deliia hadn't changed much in the time Dewar had been away. That was both a comfort and a concern. There were people here who knew him and places he felt obliged to avoid as a result. Given the size of the reward that had apparently been posted on his head, even his own mother would have been tempted to turn him in were she still alive.

  There were a few things working in his favour. The scent of war was in the air – even more prominent than the smells from the pickling factory and the fish smokeries that normally vied for a visitor's attention. With the spectre of conflict looming large, people had more immediate concerns than looking out for a man who had risen to prominence years ago, even if that man was the "King Slayer" – the assassin who had come so close to killing the ruler of their near neighbour and ally the Misted Isles.

  If his intention had been to merely pass through the town, Dewar would have felt fully confident of doing so without being noticed. Unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury. There were things he needed to acquire; very particular items which were liable to raise awkward questions if requested in the wrong place or in the wrong way. Far better that he should assemble what was required here before travelling to the Misted Isles themselves. That community was too close-knit. It would be all but impossible to get what he needed there without drawing unwanted attention. Not that the process was all that simple in Deliia, complicated as it was by the need to avoid his former contacts and rely on less familiar sources.

  He was already reconciled to not replacing the one thing he missed the most: the kairuken. His had been lost during the desperate battle in the Jeeraiy against another former member of the Twelve, and its absence had weighed heavily on him ever since; but the weapon was so much his trademark that any attempt to replace it would be asking for trouble.

  As long as he was careful, it ought to be comparatively simple to go about his business quietly, assembling the various items he wanted and slipping across the channel without anyone being the wiser. All the activity helped, of course. With so many new faces in town, one more recent arrival was all the less noteworthy.

  It would take a stroke of spectacularly bad luck to betray him. Of course, ever since the day that Inzierto III had so fortuitously escaped death at the expense of one of his courtiers, Dewar had been forced to admit that luck wasn't always the most reliable of companions, so he wasn't about to take anything for granted.

  It all went smoothly at first. He was used to improvising and little of what he wanted was likely to arouse suspicion, particularly in the prevailing climate when weapons were far from a novelty. There was only one truly exotic item. He thought long and hard about alternatives but in the end decided it was worth the risk of raising an eyebrow or two. Discrete enquiry identified an herbalist who might just carry what he was after.

  Now all that remained was to decide on the best approach. The herbalist in question was one Molivat Kraisch, said to specialise in the unusual and the outlandish, to possess a keen intelligence, and to be "odd". That last was the word that cropped up universally whenever Kraisch's name was mentioned. Evidently there was something about the herbalist that made folk uneasy.

  This was enough to make Dewar feel the same, so he decided to make his approach as circumspectly as possible. To do so, he would need a proxy, an accomplice. It took him more than half the day to find her and, once he had, he would have been hard pressed to explain exactly why he settled on this girl in particular. Except that she was young, pretty in a waif-like way, and had about her an air of desperation. Also, she looked like a girl who might well have a much-loved but ailing mother.

  He encountered her soon after midday at a coffee house not far from the town centre. It wasn't a place he was familiar with – one of many that had sprung up subsequent to his exile – and it proved to serve an excellent brew. The girl served him, and there was something about her appearance, her demeanour, that clicked instantly into place. He lingered for a second cup and then a third – strong, dark, lightly spiced but not enough to detract from the flavour, just enough to blunt the bitterness. Whoever blended this had an excellent palate. Three cups were no hardship at all.

  Dewar was at his most charming, engaging the girl in banter, and discovering her name was Seffy.

  He tipped her heavily. "Tell me, Seffy," he said after refusing a fourth cup as she cleared away the empty third. "Would you be interested in making a little extra money?"

  Her smile dissolved into a look of wary calculation. "I'm not that sort of girl, sir," though she said it in a manner that suggested she might be but only if the price was right.

  "And I'm not that sort of a man," he assured her;
at least, not today.

  She stared at him, clearly puzzled and waiting for him to continue. She appeared to be around twenty years old, with long, straight brown hair, big doe eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her high cheekbones, a thin figure which was untroubled by curves and hinted at a lack of proper nutrition. Yes, she was perfect.

  "I'm in need of a very particular kind of medicine. Don't worry, I don't have a disease," he added quickly as she recoiled slightly. "My condition isn't infectious. It's just that a part of my body no longer works as it should and requires a special supplement. The most effective supplement is extremely hard to find. Only one herbalist in all of Deliia is likely to have it. The trouble is that this man and I have some history and there's a lot of bad blood between us. He would never sell the medicine to me; in fact he'd delight in refusing to do so if he knew I was involved. So I need somebody with whom I have no obvious links to go and buy the medicine on my behalf, and for that I'm willing to pay, and pay well."

  "How much?" she said instantly, suggesting he'd been right about her being desperate.

  He named a figure, which he calculated to be higher than she was ever likely to earn in any given month of waitressing, even allowing for tips. He saw her eyes widen and knew that she was hooked. Now all he had to do was reel her in.

  She then proved that she wasn't entirely stupid by asking one more question. "Why me?"

  Dewar was ready for that one. "Because I like you, and if I'm going to hand over a lot of money to a virtual stranger, it might as well be to someone I like." He smiled, with what he hoped was enough warmth to allay any further doubts. "Besides, how could anyone resist a pretty face like yours, eh?"

  No hint of a blush but she returned the smile and he knew then that they were in business.

 

Seffy finished her shift late that afternoon. Dewar met her a little way down the street – she didn't want to set tongues wagging among her work colleagues by walking out of the shop with a random man. The efficiency with which she spelt out the arrangement made him suspect this wasn't the first time she'd met a customer after hours.

  "Where to?" she asked, which came as a pleasant surprise. He would have expected her first concern to be the money.

  "This way."

  The herbalist's shop wasn't far. As they walked, the assassin coached the girl in what he wanted her to say. She proved a pleasingly fast learner, and he congratulated himself on the decision to approach her. By the time they stopped, just around the corner from Kraisch's place, she had learnt her lines and could deliver them convincingly.

  "What's your name?" he demanded.

  "Kathy Wicks, sir."

  "And why are you here, Kathy?"

  "It's me mum, sir. She's in a bad way, and the doctor says that the only thing could help her is something called… zyvan berries?" It was actually zyvan berry juice, but too much accuracy might in itself be suspicious. Dewar nodded and she continued. "He said he knows how to prepare the medicine but not where to get the berries from. I've come to you because I've always heard you can get hold of anything. Is that right, sir? Can you, please? For me mum's sake."

  He asked her several questions, such as the name of the doctor who'd tended her mother and where exactly she'd first heard of the herbalist's establishment. She responded clearly and without hesitation, thinking on her feet and delivering lie upon smooth lie with the face of purest innocence.

  Dewar nodded his approval. "You should have been an actress."

  She smoothed back her long hair. "Reckon I am, as it happens. I spend me life smiling at strangers every minute of every working day. What else would you call it?"

  Ah, Dewar reckoned this was perhaps the first wholly unguarded thing she'd said to him since they met. She was beginning to trust him, whether she realised it or not.

  Satisfied, he held out some money – not the amount he'd promised her but more than enough to pay for a few drops of zyvan berry juice. But when she took it, he didn't let go.

  "Where did you get the money from?" he asked sharply.

  "Saved it, sir," she replied without pause. "I work as a waitress, see, been puttin' aside what I could, for medicine."

  He grinned and released his hold on the coins. "Good girl."

  He peered around the corner, watching as the girl crossed the road and entered the herbalist's shop. Once she had, he stepped back out of sight, leant casually against the wall and waited. He was nonchalant, relaxed, glancing up at the sky one minute and down the street the next; a man waiting for his girl to finish her shift or perhaps for his mates, ready to go for a swift ale or two down the tavern after work. No one worth paying attention to, that was for sure.