The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (24 page)

“They will … they will send someone else. And another.”
And they will all be punished
, her words seemed to hint.

He bit back a curse. “If they do, I will ask for you. If you want me to, of course,” he added. “We will talk. Tell each other about ourselves and our countries, or something. I don’t see how I’m going to learn about Sachaka otherwise, shut up in the Guild House – and I’d really like to know more about your people. And yourself. How does that sound? Will it work?”

She paused, then nodded. Relieved, he took in a deep breath and let it out again. “So tell me something about yourself, then. Where were you born?”

Even as she began to describe the breeding house where she had been raised, he felt the horror of her story eased by something inexplicable. She was
talking
to him. Finally a Sachakan was actually communicating with him beyond orders and answers. It had never occurred to him that he might be lonely in Sachaka. Listening to her, he realised she suddenly seemed much more human – something he might come to regret later. But for now he relaxed and listened to the beautiful, hypnotic voice of this slave woman, and savoured every word.

The roof of the pawnshop was surprisingly well constructed. Cery and Gol had crawled out on it a few hours ago, when the full darkness of night had set in. They’d separated the tiles they’d sent a street urchin up to loosen for them earlier that day, and now were looking through cracks between them down at the room where Makkin the Buyer kept his safebox.

Inside that safebox were Makkin’s most valuable books, including a new volume about Healing magic. After visiting the shop, pretending to view the book for the first time and making sure Makkin didn’t sell it before Cery could return with the money for it, Cery had visited a few of the drinking establishments they patronised to boast about the special volume he’d be buying just as soon as someone paid their debt to him – which would probably be tomorrow.

It could be a long night
, Cery thought, carefully stretching the stiffness out of one leg.
But if all goes to plan we won’t have to lie out here in the night air for more than one. We just have to hope the Thief Hunter
is
a magician … and has the hunger for knowledge we assume he has … and has heard about my boasting today … and hasn’t got something more important to do tonight.

Cery had to admit he was acting on only rumour and guesses. He could easily be wrong about a great number of things. The magician that had opened the locks in Cery’s hideout might not be the Thief Hunter. He might have been in the employ of the Thief Hunter, or someone else. He might not be a customer of Makkin’s.

But this is not so wild an idea that it’s not worth trying. And it’s the only lead we have.

Shifting his weight, he stretched the other leg. At times like this he was all too aware that he was getting older. He could not climb up the sides of buildings using only a few handholds or a rope, or leap the gaps between them so fearlessly. His muscles stiffened up quickly in the cold air, and took longer to recover from exertion.

And I don’t have a beautiful Sachakan woman nearby to catch me with her magic if the roof collapses.

Old, pleasant memories flashed through his mind.
Savara.
Mysterious. Seductive. Dangerous. A skilled fighter. The practice bouts he’d had with her had been challenging and exciting, and he’d picked up more than a few new tricks. She’d known too much about the deal he’d made with High Lord Akkarin to kill off the freed Sachakan slaves that the Ichani had sent to Imardin as spies, and to expose the Guild’s weaknesses. But he’d also sensed that he’d not easily get rid of her. That it was better to keep her occupied thinking she was helping him, without letting her get too close to the truth.

She’d worked that one out pretty fast.
And then there was that night when they’d watched Sonea and Akkarin fight and kill an Ichani woman. The battle had caused the roof to collapse under them, but Savara had stopped him falling with magic. And then things had become much more personal …

After the Ichani Invasion she’d left, returning to the people she worked for. He’d never seen her again, though he’d often wondered where she was and if she was alive and safe. She would most likely have ventured into dangerous situations again and again for the sake of her people, so it was easily possible one had led to her death.

I was never in love with her
, he reminded himself.
Nor was she in love with me. I admired her, for both her body and mind. She found me a useful and entertaining ally and distraction. If she’d stayed we wouldn’t have …

A sound below drew his attention back to the present. Peering through the crack between the roof tiles again, Cery saw two people climb the stairs into the small room below. One he recognised instantly: Makkin, carrying a lamp. The other was a dark-skinned woman.

“Is that it?” she asked. Her voice was strangely accented and had the hoarseness of age, but she moved with the vitality of a younger person.
The Thief Hunter is a woman?
Cery thought.
That’s … interesting. It seems I’m doomed to know or be the target of very powerful and dangerous women.

“Yes,” Makkin replied. “That’s it. They’re in there. But—”

“Open it!” the woman ordered.

“I can’t! They took the key. Said that way I couldn’t sell it to anyone else before they came back with the money.”

“What? You’re lying!”

“No! Nonononono!” The pawnshop owner threw up his arms and cringed away from her. His behaviour was a little extreme for someone a head taller than the woman stalking toward him.
As if he knows she is more dangerous than she looks.

The woman waved her arms. “Get out,” she ordered. “Leave the lamp, get out of this shop and don’t come back until tomorrow.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

“OUT!”

He tore back down the stairs as if a wild beast were in pursuit. The woman waited, listening to Makkin’s footsteps. The sound of the shop door slamming echoed up to Cery’s ears.

The woman turned to look at the safebox, then her shoulders straightened. She approached it slowly, then squatted before it and went still. Cery could not see her face, but he saw her shoulders rise and fall as she breathed deeply.

A moment later the lock clicked open.

Gol let out a quiet gasp. Cery smiled grimly.
Locks don’t just open of their own will. She must have used magic. I have the proof I need that we have a rogue in the city.
It wasn’t proof that she was the Thief Hunter, though, but what if she was? He felt a chill run up his spine at the thought. Was the woman below really the murderer who had killed so many Thieves?

She was examining the books within the safebox now. He recognised the one on magic. Opening it, the woman flicked through the pages, then muttered something and tossed it aside. Picking up another book, she examined it as well. When she had looked at all of the tomes she slowly stood up. Her fists clenched and she uttered a strange word.

What did she say?
He frowned.
Wait a moment. That was a different language. She’s foreign.
But she hadn’t said enough for him to recognise the language or even her accent.
If only she would speak again. A whole sentence, not only a curse word.

But the woman remained silent. She rose and turned her back on the safebox and its contents, now strewn about the room. Walking away, she reached the stairs and disappeared into the darkness of the shop below. The door slammed again. Faint footsteps faded in the street beyond.

Cery remained still and silent, waiting until they were sure that if anyone had heard the woman shouting they would have lost interest and stopped watching the shop. He considered his plan.
We have the information we need. The only surprise is that the magician is a woman and a foreigner. That doesn’t make her any less dangerous, whether she is the Thief Hunter or not. And if foreign magicians are taking up residence in Imardin, Sonea will definitely want to know about it.

And Skellin. Should he tell the other Thief?

I don’t have proof that she is the Thief Hunter. I only have proof that she is the Rogue. I’d rather Skellin didn’t know that Sonea and I still communicate. If the Guild captures this woman they’ll read her mind and find out once and for all if she is the killer. If she isn’t, then there’s nothing to tell Skellin.

And if she was … well, once the Guild found and dealt with the Rogue there’d be no Thief Hunter to worry about any more.

So who am I meeting tonight?” Dannyl asked Ashaki Achati as the carriage set out from the Guild House.

The Sachakan magician smiled. “Your ploy of not nagging to see the king has worked. He has invited you to the palace.”

Dannyl blinked in surprise, then considered all that Lord Maron had told him about the Sachakan king and protocol. The former Ambassador had said that the king refused an audience as often as he granted one, and that there was no point Dannyl seeking one unless he had something to discuss. “I wasn’t aware that I should have been nagging. Should I apologise for that?”

Achati chuckled. “Only if you feel you must. As I am the liaison between the Guild House and the king, it is up to me to advise you how and when to seek an audience with him. I would have told you to wait until he invites you. Since you weren’t making any mistakes, there was little reason to raise the subject.”

“So it wasn’t a mistake to
not
ask to see him.”

“No. Though showing no interest might have caused offence eventually.”

Dannyl nodded. “When I was the Second Guild Ambassador in Elyne I was required to present myself to the king once, which was arranged for me by the First Guild Ambassador. After that it was only to be for important matters, most of which the First Ambassador took care of.”

“That is interesting. You have two Ambassadors in Elyne, then?”

“Yes. There is too much work for one person. Somehow we wound up with as much work that didn’t relate to the Guild and magic as work that did.”

“Your work here is even less related to magic and magicians,” Achati pointed out. “You are not assessing new recruits or keeping track of graduated magicians. You’re mostly dealing with issues of trade.”

Dannyl nodded. “It is entirely different, yet so far it has been very pleasant. I expect once I have met all of the important people I will no longer be treated to nightly meals and conversations.”

Achati’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you may find yourself even more in demand once I am no longer required to escort you. Entertaining another Sachakan can be an exhausting and politically perilous exercise. You are both exotic and not too easily offended, so an easy guest to entertain.” He gestured to the carriage window. “Look outside as we turn the corner.”

The vehicle slowed and the wall beside them ended. A wide road came into sight. Long beds of flowers appeared, sheltered by enormous trees. Where these gardens ended, a large building stood. White walls curved out from a central archway like carefully draped curtains. Shallow domes rose above them, glittering in the sunlight. Dannyl felt his heart lift at the sight.

“That’s the palace? It’s beautiful,” he said, leaning forward to keep the building in view as the carriage turned into the road. But soon he could only see the white walls of the mansions to the side. He turned back to Ashaki Achati to see the man smiling in approval.

“It is over a thousand years old,” the Sachakan said, with pride. “Parts had to be rebuilt over the years, of course. The walls are doubled so that defenders can hide within and strike at invaders through holes and hatches.” He shrugged. “Not that they have ever been used for that purpose. When Kyralia’s army arrived here ours had already been defeated, and the last emperor surrendered without resistance.”

Dannyl nodded. He had learned as much from basic history classes during his University years, and his research had confirmed it.

“The third king had the domes plated with gold,” Achati continued. He shook his head. “A frivolous indulgence in what was a time of starvation, but they are so beautiful that nobody has ever removed them, and from time to time a king will see that they are cleaned and mended.”

The carriage began to slow and turn, and Dannyl watched eagerly as the palace came in sight again. Once he and Achati had alighted, they stopped to gaze up at the building in admiration for a moment before starting toward the central archway.

Guards at either side of the entrance remained frozen, their gaze set on the distance. They weren’t slaves, Dannyl remembered, but were recruited from the lowest ranks of the Sachakan families.
I suppose having your palace guarded by slaves wouldn’t be particularly effective. Guards who throw themselves on the ground whenever someone important walks by are hardly going to react quickly to defend anything or anyone.

They passed through two open doors, then followed a wide corridor with no side entrances. At the end of this was a large room filled with columns. The floor and walls were polished stone. Their footsteps echoed as they walked. Toward the back of this room was a large stone chair, and in it sat an old man wearing the most elaborately decorated clothes Dannyl had seen on any Sachakan since he’d arrived.

He doesn’t look comfortable
, he noted.
And he looks like he’d like to get off that throne at the first opportunity, too.

Men stood about the room, alone or in twos and threes. They watched silently as Dannyl and Ashaki Achati approached. About twenty paces from the king, Achati stopped and glanced at Dannyl.

The glance was a signal. Achati bowed deeply. Dannyl dropped to one knee.

Lord Maron had explained that Sachakans felt that nothing less than the gesture considered most respectful by an individual – especially a foreigner – was what their king deserved. So the traditional Kyralian and Elyne obeisance to a king was the most appropriate, despite the fact that Sachakans did not kneel before their own king.