Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm (25 page)

Astryd hesitated, torn between urgency and the need to take the time to gain Mat-hilde’s trust. The thought of taking advantage of Mat-hilde’s vulnerability repulsed Astryd, but she saw no other way. “Why do you stay with Harriman if he treats you so badly?”

Mat-hilde looked up sharply. Tears clung to her lashes, but she squinted in suspicion. “Who are you?”

Caught off-guard by Mat-hilde’s sudden change in manner, Astryd stammered. “I—I’m a friend of Shylar’s.”

The creases in Mat-hilde’s rounded face deepened. She studied Astryd with the same intensity as Harriman had used downstairs.

Knowing that any simple question would reveal her lie, Astryd amended in the only way that occurred to her. “I’m the friend of a friend, really. I’ve never actually met Shylar, but we’re going to free her.” Astryd held her breath, aware all chance of success now depended on Taziar being right about the prostitutes retaining loyalty to Shylar.
And Mat-hilde’s use of the madam’s name when Harriman confronted her suggests the probability.

Mat-hilde continued to stare. The hem of her dress had balled up so it now revealed the edges of a gauzy undergarment, but she made no move to straighten it. “You’re with Taz Medakan, aren’t you?”

Startled by the directness of the question, Astryd answered too quickly. “Who?” She tried to sound confused, but managed only to appear nervous.

“Honey.” Mat-hilde brushed moisture from her eyes, revealing irises the color of oak. “If you’re not going to trust me, how can you expect me to trust you?”

Aware she was outclassed in affairs of subterfuge, Astryd dropped all pretenses and relied on her instincts. Mat-hilde seemed kindly and forthright. “Yes, I’m with Shadow ... I mean, Taz.” She tensed, waiting for a shout or an attack. When none came, curiosity overcame apprehension. “But how could you possibly know that?”

Mat-hilde smiled. “You live among the underground, you learn to pay attention. Taz came back here and got a greeting he didn’t expect.” The grin vanished, and she cringed in remembrance. “We all know he escaped the baron’s guards by crossing the Kattegat. Then a Norse woman shows up here asking for work at a time when most girls would rather take their chances on the street. When you claimed to be a friend of Shylar’s friend, it seemed the only answer.”

Astryd frowned, displeased by the ease with which Mat-hilde had targeted her. “I just hope Harriman doesn’t put the clues together.”

“Men are stupid,” Mat-hilde said in a voice that implied she used the phrase with such frequency it had become habit.

“Some,” Astryd agreed. “But I can’t count on my enemies being the feebleminded ones.” Astryd pulled her knees to her chest, watching lantern light flicker through the misty-gray remnants of her life aura. “Don’t you believe Taziar is a traitor? No one else we’ve met seems to have the slightest doubt.”

Mat-hilde snorted. “Taziar Medakan a traitor?” She snorted again. “Men are stupid,” she repeated in the same tone as before. “Taz has got more morality in him than any ten people together. The men in the underground get so used to constructing evidence and changing circumstance that they fall prey to it if someone does it better than they can. I think it’s pride.” Mat-hilde straightened, finally tugging her dress back into its proper position. “Besides, men say things and show sides of themselves to women they wouldn’t ever let anyone else see. And they brag.” Mat-hilde rolled her eyes. “When we girls put enough stories together, we learn a lot. Sure, the evidence against Taz is overwhelming, but there’s other things besides evidence to consider. Instead of ten percent, Taz used to donate fifty, sometimes ninety percent of his paid heists to Shylar. Then he’d go out on the streets and hand most of the remainder to street orphans and beggars. Does that sound like the kind of person who would turn traitor?”

“Of course not.” Astryd savored her rising excitement.
I’ve found a friend.
“But I’m biased.”

Mat-hilde gave Astryd a knowing look that implied she guessed more than Astryd had revealed. “I don’t think you came to listen to me ramble on about men. What do you need?”

“Mostly information. First, you never told me why you’re still working for Harriman. Second, I need to know which people are loyal to Harriman and which ones would forsake him if the old leaders returned.”

All sadness seemed to have left Mat-hilde’s face. Only a fading red mark on her cheek remained as a reminder of the ordeal. “We stayed because Shylar told us to follow Harriman just before they arrested her. We assumed it would be temporary. Shylar’s got a lot of connections. As for loyalty ...” Mat-hilde considered. “Harriman brought those two ugly, blond monsters with him. They follow his every command, and they’re always at his side.”

“Always?” Astryd prodded.

Mat-hilde loosed a short laugh. “Always,” she confirmed. “They eat with him. They sleep in his room. When he goes off to relieve himself ...” She trailed off.

Astryd crinkled her mouth in disgust. “They go off with him?”

“Always,” Mat-hilde confirmed.

Astryd made a mild noise of revulsion.
So much for an easy opportunity to kill Harriman and escape.
“What about the rest of the underground?”

“Harriman pulled in some of the ‘fringe guard.’ Shylar kept in contact with a few strong-arm men she called on when some rare circumstance required violence. Harriman brought those men to the forefront of the underground. They’ve got more power and money than they used to, so they’ll probably remain loyal to Harriman.” Mat-hilde traced a floorboard with her cloth shoe. “There’s twelve or fourteen of them. Taz should know who they are. As for the others, they’d be thrilled to abandon Harriman for Shylar and the imprisoned leaders. Careful, though,” Mat-hilde warned. “I have no doubt they’ll welcome Shylar back, but they still believe Taz informed on her. If they see him, they’ll turn him over to Harriman or kill him. And, honey, it’s possible even Shylar believes Taziar is the traitor.”

Relief flooded Astryd, despite the fact that she wasn’t out of danger yet.
I’ve got the information I came for, and it was easier than I expected.
“Thanks, Mat-hilde, for your trust and the facts. We’ll do all we can to free Shylar and the others, I promise.”

“I’m not certain it’s possible,” Mat-hilde admitted. “Then again, Taz had done a number of things I didn’t think possible.” She took Astryd’s hand and squeezed encouragingly.

Astryd felt the warm flush of jealousy. Surprised by her own reaction, she tried to override emotion with rationalization.
She knew Shadow for years before I met him. She’s a friend; she’s not trying to take him from me. We’re on the same side.
Astryd returned the handclasp.

Mat-hilde released Astryd. “When do you expect to try this prison break?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“More specifically?” Mat-hilde pressed.

“I don’t know.” Interest replaced rivalry. “Why?”

Mat-hilde shook back a mane of dark hair. “Because, if I’m careful, I should be able to send information about the escape to the right people and have them here to help depose Harriman. But he’ll get suspicious if I have a large group of people sitting around all day.”

Though short a significant amount of life energy, exhilaration lent Astryd a second wind.
Information and allies. What more could we ask for?
“I need to take what I know back to Taziar and try to find out a time for you.”
That means I need the freedom to come and go from here as I please, hopefully without having to resort to magic each time.

“Go,” Mat-hilde encouraged. “Tell Harriman I sent you out for combs and food. He’ll believe that, and I’ll back it up.”

A sudden knock on the door startled Astryd. A muffled female shout followed. “Mat-hilde?”

“Go on.” Mat-hilde indicated the door. “Let them in on your way out. I’ll take care of things.”

Astryd rose. She pulled the panel open, and was immediately confronted by five prostitutes with worried faces. They stared as she slipped past, then entered the room in response to some gesture from Mat-hilde that Astryd did not see. As she reached the top of the stairwell, the sorceress heard the door snap closed behind her.

Astryd took the steps two at a time. Her mission had turned out more successfully than she’d ever expected. Though dingy and partially spent, her life aura remained strong enough for a few spells at least, more than enough for an emergency transport escape. Still, a sense of foreboding tempered Astryd’s joy. In spite of greater numbers, the peaceful members of the underground might not hold out against Harriman and his warriors. The prison break would require a skill even Taziar might not possess, despite the help of a garnet-rank sorceress. And when it was all over, they might still have to face Harriman’s master.

Engrossed in thought, Astryd nearly collided with Skereye at the base of the stairs. Startled, she skittered sideways and stumbled over the last step. A hand seized her forearm, steadying her. She glanced up at her benefactor, recognized Harriman’s placid features, and a shiver racked her. A burst of surprise nearly caused her to trigger the transport escape, but Astryd held her magics. A spell cast in panic always cost more energy, and the need to break Harriman’s grip would have increased the toll on her life force.
Besides, using sorcery now would certainly reveal me and destroy any chance of returning.
Instead, Astryd showed Harriman a weak smile. “Forgive my clumsiness.” She tossed a glance around the conference room, noticed six large men with callused hands and scarred faces, and felt even more certain of her decision not to depart with magic.
Something’s going on. I think I’d better know what.

Attentive to the gathered warriors, Astryd missed the nonverbal exchange between Harriman and a stout, greasy man who stood before the door to the entry hall. Harriman’s grip tightened, and Astryd twisted back to face him. “What’s your name, Missy?”

“Linnea,” Astryd replied, choosing the name of one of her sisters for convenience. She trained her gaze on Harriman’s hand on her sleeve as an obvious suggestion that he remove his grasp.

To Astryd’s surprise, Harriman released her. “Well, Linnea. This is Saerle.” He beckoned to the man by the door who trotted forward. “Take him upstairs and do
anything
he asks.”

Dread tightened Astryd’s throat. She knew better than to protest; that could only earn her Harriman’s wrath.
Casting an escape before one man must be safer and less conspicuous than in a crowd.
She maintained her composure.
I may even have enough life energy to evade Saerle and still listen in on Harriman’s meeting. So long as I keep enough for a transport, I’m in no danger.

Astryd studied Saerle. His round face sported a day’s growth of beard. A receding semicircle of sand-colored hair revealed a moist forehead, and his green-gray eyes regressed into sockets deep as a skull’s. Three bottles of wine swung from between his fingers, the color of the vintage obscured by the thickness of the glass. “Come on,” Astryd said. Though revolted by the thought of touching Saerle, she caught his wrist and pattered up the staircase.

Plans swirled through Astryd’s mind as they ascended the steps. A natural ability to conjure dragons had biased her repertoire toward summonings. Most of her other spells were basic shields, wards, and defenses against magic, none of which would serve in this situation. But as Saerle and Astryd crested the landing, a distant memory drifted into focus. She recalled her early years as a glass-rank sorceress when she and her peers had spent half the day fashioning wards for the outer walls of the Dragonrank school. Then, boredom had driven her to seek entertainment. By shorting the Dragonrank defenses a few spells each day, she retained enough energy at night to pull pranks on the glass-rank mages who shared her quarters. She recalled a friend sputtering over ale laced with salt and another awakening in the middle of the night, tripping and stumbling over furniture silently rearranged with magic. The remembrance made her smile.
This might prove the most amusing challenge I’ve ever faced.
The idea made her laugh aloud.
Amusing challenge? Thor’s hammer, now I’m starting to
think
like Shadow.

Apparently believing Astryd’s pleasure was directed at him, Saerle shuffled all three bottles into his opposite hand. He ran his fingers up her arm, caressing her shoulder briefly before dropping to her breast.

The touch made Astryd’s skin crawl. She shivered free, then, realizing her mistake, covered neatly. “Not so eager, handsome. We have all night.” It required strength of will not to follow the words with a grunt of abhorrence. She selected an open bedchamber at random and gestured him through the portal.

The room contained a cot with a straw mattress softened with coverlets and fluffed pillows. A tall chair framed of wood stood in the farther corner, pulled away from the wall. Dark green linen stuffed with down stretched over its seat and back. A sturdy end table sat at the opposite side of the bed. Above it, a lantern hung from a ring in the ceiling, its flame flapping light through the windowless confines.

Saerle set the wine bottles on the table. Stepping around the bed to face Astryd, he poised to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Astryd closed the door. She whirled suddenly, causing her skirt to flip partially up her thigh. Having captured Saerle’s attention, she invoked her life energy for a spell. Silently, the bed swung around so its side was flush with the wall. “Sit,” Astryd purred.

Eyes locked on Astryd, Saerle sat where the bed had stood a moment before. He crashed to the floor, sprawling beside the mattress.

Astryd ran to his side, suppressing a snicker behind an expression of concern. It lacked the sincerity she intended to convey, but Saerle seemed too shocked to notice. His head flicked from side to side as the new location of the bed registered and he tried to figure out what had happened. Catching his forearm, Astryd helped him to his feet. “I know you’re eager, handsome, but let’s do this on the bed, shall we?”

Saerle nodded absently. Seizing on his confusion, Astryd unobtrusively used her magic to slide the wine-laden table out of sight behind the chair.