Liar's Island: A Novel (13 page)

Rodrick nodded. Something was bothering him, and in a rare burst of candor, he decided to simply ask. “If you're so talented, why, precisely, are you so
poor
?”

Kaleb sighed. “In Absalom I could make a nice living, it's true. But here? Throw a stone and you'll likely hit a wizard. Though I don't recommend performing the experiment—wizards don't like being hit by stones. The well-established locals, the famous names of ancient standing, get all the worthy work on the island, leaving me to pick up what I can here and there. Moreover, I came here to
learn
, to discover magics that are all but unknown in the lands around the Inner Sea, and good teachers cost money. I came here with a chest of gold. A few months back, I was reduced to selling the chest for food.”

“I see.” Rodrick liked dealing with people who were desperate for money—their rates were so reasonable, and they seldom asked awkward questions. “I've seen your skill with fire. How are you with ice?”

Kaleb frowned. “What did you have in mind?”

“I'd like to make a replica of Hrym here. Can you enchant a sword to make it into an exact copy of him?”

“Not
exact
—it wouldn't have your sword's ability to ruin my cup of tea. But I could make a sword look like it—him—and maybe generate a bit of cold, too, to make the copy more convincing. I could even make it capable of uttering a few simple phrases, though nothing you could have a conversation with. More like talking to one of those parrots you see sometimes.”

“That would be fine. Hrym's conversation tends toward the non sequitur anyway.”

“I never liked the look of walruses much, I must admit,” Hrym said, as if by way of demonstration.

“Okay.” Kaleb dug into his robes and pulled out a well-chewed nub of pencil and a scrap of parchment. “Here. Write down a few examples of the sort of things he'd say.”

Rodrick did so, then handed the paper back.

“I'll need to buy a longsword to use as a base,” Kaleb said, “and some other components, so there will be expenses—”

“Take them out of the ruby.” Rodrick flicked the jewel across the table, and Kaleb scrambled to scoop it up. “I'll give you another when it's done. I need the sword by tomorrow morning. Oh, and while you're at it, work up an illusion to make Hrym here look like an ordinary longsword. Nothing too fancy, something good but practical.”

“And you want this by
tomorrow
? I'd have to work through the night!”

“You'd better order some strong black tea, then, to help you stay awake. Good. That's settled. Don't think of running off with the advance payment, or I'll have Hrym freeze your blood the way he did that tea. And if you fight him off with fire, well, I can always hit you with that chair we talked about.”

“I do what I say I'll do.” Kaleb was all haughtiness now that he had a ruby in his pocket.

“Excellent. I do as well. Don't tell anyone about this commission—it's a surprise for a friend. Now show me where you're staying, so I know where to pick up your work in the morning.”

The conjurer led them down through the steep streets, out of the High-Holy District. Rodrick wasn't convinced that Niswan had any “bad” neighborhoods, considering how richly even the slaves were dressed here, but this was the closest he'd seen—the gilt on the buildings was chipped, bits of paper and rubbish occasionally marred the red stone walks without being swept up by djinn or eunuchs, and there were a lot more non-Vudrani faces than usual.

“The foreigners' quarter,” Kaleb said, making a face. “In the worst part of the Harbor District. We are, of course, welcome to take rooms wherever they're available—but they only seem to be available right around here. I think the Vudrani like to keep us where they can find us. They still talk about how ‘mainlanders' will try to move into a place that doesn't belong to them if it's left unattended for a moment, as if the occupation by the Arclords happened just last week. On the other hand, there are a couple of places here where you can get decent food and wine like they have back home, and hear people speak familiar languages.” He stopped at a narrow building three stories tall and opened the front door with a key. “I'm on the top floor. I should get to work if you're really coming back tomorrow morning.”

Since the man's key had opened the door, Rodrick felt fairly comfortable that this was actually his real home, and not a trick. It was always possible he'd take the ruby and flee without doing the work, which would be inconvenient, but Rodrick thought the man really did want to finance his studies further. Life was full of risks and chances, but this one didn't strike Rodrick as too big a gamble.

Rodrick strolled around the foreigners' quarter, pausing at a couple of cafes and wine shops that had outdoor tables, but they were populated by scholarly types talking animatedly about ancient history or scribbling notes. A couple of discreet inquiries about where a man might find a dice game eventually led him to a staircase that disappeared belowground. “Sorry, Hrym, it's in the scabbard with you. The sight of you would distract the honest, simple souls down there.”

“I bet the rajah wouldn't shove me in a scabbard.”

Hrym unfroze himself from the outside of the leather scabbard, and Rodrick slid him inside the golden sheath. He wished for a mirror—he needed to look just right, rich yet not entirely reputable—but you couldn't have everything.

The steps were cracked and unswept, and the basement room at the bottom—calling it a filthy rum-pit would be giving it too much credit—had the combination of darkness and muttering sullen occupants he'd hoped for.

There were Vudrani here among paler faces from the north side of the Inner Sea, but their clothes were less rich than those he'd seen elsewhere, their eyes more narrowed, or else their smiles were too wide and their jewelry too flashy. Every city had places where unsavory types gathered, and Rodrick always felt at home in those. He sidled up to the bar and asked for an ale—“Something that tastes like it was made on my side of the Obari Ocean, if possible”—and the bartender slid him a tankard. Rodrick laid a thick gold coin on the bar. “Drinks for anyone else who wants them until this runs out, too.”

The bartender, a woman who looked like she had a touch of orc in her ancestry, raised one eyebrow and said, “That starts with me, then.” She poured herself a shot of something from a bottle she took down from a very high shelf. Some of the others overheard his offer and crowded around, muttering thanks and looking at him frankly or sidelong depending on their natures.

“You're new here,” a Vudrani man with an oiled beard said, ordering a glass of some bright-red cordial on Rodrick's coin.

“I am,” Rodrick said. “I heard of the wonders of Jalmeray and thought I'd come see them for myself. I must admit, the place is nice enough. I might pick up a few souvenirs to take back home, if I can find the right ship to carry me back.”

“What kind of ship might that be?”

“One where the captain doesn't inquire too closely about who I am, or what I'm carrying with me. Only because I value my privacy, you see.”

The fellow stroked his beard. “A man like me might know a man who has a ship like that.”

“There could be coin in it for someone who points me toward a helpful captain.” He sipped his ale, which was terrible, but it was always terrible in places like this, in every country Rodrick had ever visited. “Of course, someone who thought to take advantage of my good nature might not get gold, or silver, or even copper. They might get paid in steel instead.” The man frowned, and Rodrick sighed. “What I'm saying is, if you try to cheat me or lure me somewhere to steal my purse, I'll put a sword through your neck.”

The man's expression smoothed out. “Ah, of course. That's just good business sense. I could … make a few inquiries. Though that takes time, and effort…”

“I'm not showing you the color of my coin on a promise,” Rodrick said. “Order another drink on me and call that your advance, all right?”

The man nodded slowly. “Meet me back here this time tomorrow?”

“That works. If you have a friend with the kind of discreet ship we talked about, bring him. We might have things to talk about, and I'll pay for his time, and a finder's fee for you.”

The man bowed and slid away, disappearing up the stairs. More risks. Maybe the man was an informant working for the thakur, but if so, Rodrick would just claim it was a misunderstanding—he was only trying to arrange passage home to avoid infringing further on the thakur's hospitality, he had no idea he was talking to a criminal, let alone a man who knew
smugglers
—and hope his charm would see him through. It had done so often enough before. He wasn't entirely sure he'd need a smuggler's help getting off the island, but he wanted to have access to transportation that wasn't arranged by the thakur's people, just in case. Better to have the contingency in place. Such plans had saved him more than once.

He finished his drink and went back upstairs, continuing to saunter through the streets, getting a feel for the city, and coincidentally figuring out the most efficient route to get from the vicinity of the palace down to the docks. When Hrym complained, Rodrick drew the blade and froze him to the outside of the scabbard on his back. After a few minutes, Hrym said, “Someone's following us.”

Without breaking stride, Rodrick said, “Dangerous thug? Sneaky agent of the palace? Terrifying djinn armed with scimitars? Street urchin with aspirations to purse-snatching?”

“Woman dressed in leather,” Hrym said.

“Ooh,” Rodrick said. “That sounds promising.”

11

Collector

Rodrick was walking in a residential district, all beautiful homes of stone and jewel-toned glass surrounded by low ornamental fences, with front yards decorated with statues and fountains and shrubs grown in fanciful shapes. After Hrym told him they were being followed, Rodrick continued on, taking a couple of right-hand turnings into narrower streets, then hurrying up a set of stairs to a small courtyard with a few stone benches and a statue of a man sitting on a bull playing a flute (the man was playing the flute, not the bull). He leaned against a wall, Hrym in his hand, and when a woman dressed all in black leather with short blonde hair reached the top of the stairs, he said, “Hello. You've followed me all this way, so I assume you want something?”

She narrowed her eyes, looked around—including upward, as if on the lookout for lurking djinn, which was a bit pointless since they could become invisible—and moved to put a bench between herself and him. Reasonable behavior when facing a man with a sword. “I saw you go into that tavern, but I wanted to speak to you somewhere more private. I was just … waiting for the right moment to approach you.”

She wasn't pretty, exactly, though that could have been a side effect of her permanent scowl and the short hair, which wasn't particularly flattering on her. She was at least a head shorter than Rodrick, maybe a year or three older, and she looked like the kind of person who'd stick a knife in anyone who tried to steal a kiss; people who dressed mostly in black leather were generally trying to cultivate an air of unapproachability and menace, in his experience.

“Why do you look familiar to me?” he said. In truth, he'd remembered her instantly. He hadn't seen so many black-clad blonde women on this island that he couldn't keep them straight. She was the one who'd been watching him in the streets, when Nagesh was taking him to the palace, but there was no reason to let her know how observant he was. Rodrick made a point of letting people assume he was lazy and unobservant, when he was really only lazy, and even then only about certain things.

“I can't imagine.” She met his eyes and lied with a straight face. He could respect that.

“Mmm, a strange woman, so captivated by the sight of me that she stalks me through the streets. It's understandable. I'm very compelling.”

She stepped over the bench and sat down. “We might be able to help one another.”

He didn't sit, but he did put Hrym away. “I can be very helpful, with the proper incentives. What did you have in mind?”

“You're staying in the palace, an invited guest of the thakur. He's even met with you personally, I understand. That grants you access to places that not many foreigners can reach.”

Aha. He was on the inside, and someone wanted his help with an inside job. He wasn't opposed, in theory, but there were some suspicions he needed to voice first.

“By that accent you're trying so hard to disguise, you come from Nex,” Rodrick said, and was gratified when the woman's eyes widened. Possibly a misstep, but he couldn't help showing off a little, and maybe it would keep her off balance. He'd met a few people from Nex in Absalom, and knew the flavor of their voices. “I understand some powerful factions in Nex have … disagreements with the rulers of Jalmeray.” Let the woman think he had a complete and complex understanding of the political situation, rather than just the brief history sketched out for him by a biased priest on the passage across the sea. “If you see me as an opportunity to hire a killer inside the palace, I'm afraid I have to decline. For one thing, I never take on work that is certain to end in my own execution, and for another, I'm not an assassin at any price.”

The woman looked around again. “I am well aware of your limitations.” She raised one eyebrow and regarded him coolly. “You aren't the only one who knows things, Rodrick. I made inquiries with some friends of mine back home, and learned all about you.”

“Not all, surely. I'm a complex man.”

“He's not that complex,” Hrym said.

The woman ignored the sword. “You're a thief, and a confidence trickster. The fact that you aren't more notorious speaks well of your abilities—most people think you're an adventurer, notable only for the sword you carry. Speaking of, just how many times
have
you sold that wondrous blade of yours?”