The Barrow (9 page)

Stjepan and Harvald sat on their horses and said nothing, and neither did she. They were all wrapped in an extra layer over their travel clothes to ward off the spring morning chill, Stjepan with a rough wool blanket drawn about him and an oiled leather hat with broad brims that curled up on the sides, Harvald with a brown hooded cloak, and her with an old sleeveless fur-lined half-coat.
A right band of ragamuffins, we are
, she thought.

A small sally port opened off to one side of the gate barbican and one of the Watch wardens appeared. He wore the colors of the High King, a gold wyvern embroidered on a red surcoat, and he started walking up the lines. “Two lines. Two lines!” he called out. “Wares on the left, simple travelers on the right. Two lines, two lines. Anyone headed to market or with something to sell, on the left!” They were already in the right line, having done this before. Their long weapons were already wrapped and stored with their saddlebags, even Harvald's; he might have been from a noble family, but he wasn't knighted, and so didn't have the privilege of carrying a sword openly within the city. The gates finally opened and the lines began to move forward.

Theirs was the faster line, as the guards were largely just counting heads and collecting the three-penny entry tolls. They'd pay an extra penny for their horses, and an extra penny for their swords and bows. She hadn't thought the three-penny toll worth bothering with—many other towns and cities would charge six pennies for entry—until she'd brought it up with Stjepan once when they'd been waiting in line.

“Well, three pennies might not seem like much to you or to most of us, though there's plenty for whom that's a hardship, but you have to look at the big picture when it comes to a city the size of Therapoli and how it generates tolls and taxes for the High King,” Stjepan had said. “At least a few thousand people come into the city on a slow day from the surrounding countryside and from across the Middle Kingdoms and the Known World, or reenter having left. Each one of them pays three pennies, or more if they have a horse or are carrying a formal weapon of some kind, even if they can't legally use it in the city. If they're bringing goods for sale, then an extra penny for each wheel of a wagon or cart, pack animal, and teamster animal, and an extra penny for each animal for sale.”

He had pointed down to the docks. “Each ship docking pays a fee to the dock masters, ten shillings a mast, as well as a fee for the weight and content of the cargo that it's delivering. So just from the coming and going of men and animals, the city probably generates, oh I don't know, I'd say maybe thirty thousand pennies on a slow day, many times that during one of the festivals. And that doesn't begin to account for the flow of money from tenant rents, business licenses, usage fees, and poll taxes that fill the city's coffers throughout the year.”

She'd felt dizzy when she'd thought about it.
That much each day, and just from the gates and docks of this one city; no wonder the High King is the wealthiest man in the Middle Kingdoms
, she'd thought.
Though he's also got a lot of expenses
.

“Further, the fact that the toll is cheaper than other towns and cities acts as an encouragement for people to come here with their goods for sale rather than another market,” Stjepan had added. “Plus, since the toll is only three pennies, the High King can raise it for a month or two and people will still think it's reasonably fair. He's done that six times in the last decade when he's needed to raise some extra funds quickly, though everyone starts to grumble after a bit.”

They paid their pennies dutifully when they got to the head of the line, and received the usual warning about weapons in the city. “Swords may only be borne in the city by knights and the high nobility, unless by dispensation of the City Watch,” said the bored guardsman. “But then you lot know that, eh, Black-Heart?”

“Aye, we know that,” grunted Stjepan.

The gate captain appeared on a stone landing just inside the gates and called out to them, waving them over to the side. “Ho, Black-Heart!” said the man, a tall, balding Aurian with pockmarked skin. He wore an infantry half-harness and the High King's colors, with a mail skirt, cuisses and poleyns, and light leather boots that laced in the front, his brace of sword and dagger hanging on his left. The landing was high enough that he had to lean over a wooden rail to shake Stjepan's hand, even with Stjepan mounted. “Welcome home.”

“Sir Owen Lirewed, good to see you,” said Stjepan. “You remember Harvald and young Erim?” Harvald barely looked over at him, his eyes intent on the city street before them, but Erim gave Owen a courteous half-bow from the saddle.

“Aye, that I do,” grinned the gate captain. “Is your return to the city official?”

“I think perhaps it might be best if I were still somewhere afield,” said Stjepan, casually slipping some coins into Owen's hand.

“I'll leave your names off the official reports, then,” Sir Owen said. “Best of luck with the unofficial ones.”

“Yeah, well, nothing we can do about that, really,” said Stjepan sourly.

“I suppose not,” laughed Sir Owen. “The city missed you, Black-Heart.”

“You're a liar, Sir Owen. I'm sure it didn't notice I was gone at all,” Stjepan said with a light touch of his fingers to the brim of his hat, and then they urged their horses forward into the growing morning traffic of the street ahead of them as the gate captain laughed at their receding backs, jangling the coins in his hand.

The West Gate opened up onto the start of the High Promenade, which ran straight out in front of them to the main plaza of the Market Quarter in the outer city, through the Gate of Eldyr, up to the great University of Therapoli and its Quarter, to High Plaza, and then angled down through High Quarter to the foot of the High King's Hall. The other great avenue that bisected the city, the Grand Promenade, stretched from the South Gate of the city to the lower plaza of the Foreign Quarter in the outer city, through the Gate of Erginus, split around both sides of the Forum, and then went all the way to the Plaza of Ergist abutting the High Quarter to meet the High Promenade where it descended in front of the High King's Hall, and then angled around the Hall to the East Gate. The two broad avenues cut across the entire city, largely paralleling each other and the shore of the bay until the High Promenade curved down to meet the Grand Promenade.

Despite the early hour, with the sun barely up, the street was already bustling as merchants and shopkeepers began to unlock their doors and windows, and the market plaza's stands and kiosks were being occupied and opened. The quarter's Market Court was already open, the hall's great double doors already filled with merchants and sellers lining up their carts and wagons to have their goods weighed and measured for sale in the plaza or at auction. The trio paused by the side of the Promenade, the traffic flowing around them.

Erim noticed that Harvald had his hood pulled over his head, shielding his face. “Think you can escape notice?” she asked.

“One can only try,” he said with a smile, but his eyes were nervous again, scanning the street traffic.

“There's no way to enter this city without being seen,” Stjepan said quietly. “One of the guardsmen in Owen's command is in the pay of the Painted Prince, Owen knows that for certain. And another reports to Lord Rohan, which Owen may not know at all.” He met Erim's gaze, and raised an eyebrow with a half-smile.

Ah, our little game
, she thought.
Spot the thief, spot the spy
. They both turned and started looking discreetly about. “There's one of the Gilded Lady's rats,” Erim said casually after a moment, nodding at a young street urchin begging at the nearest corner of the market plaza. “And that lot over there is with Jon Dhee's crew, and they'll be looking to cut a purse or two,” she said, indicating another group of urchins scampering about at the entrance to an alleyway.

“Mm, there's a couple of others that report to Dhee here, this is his corner of the city. He'll sell what they see to the Guild Princes, and to Liam White-Eye, and to Petterwin Grim,” Stjepan said. “And then Liam and Petterwin will sell to the Squire of Mud Street, Mardin Green down by the docks, Mina the Dagger, and Mother Silva. Though Petterwin Grim and the Fat Prince will have their own lookouts here somewhere.” He squinted down the street. “And I'm going to guess the drunks in front of the Spiked Maul are Lord Hugh's men,” he said. “They're a little too polished for this hour of the morning; the Inquisition never gets that right.”

“Ah, the old broad over there,” said Erim, indicating with her chin a muttering old woman in drabs pushing a cart into the market plaza. “That's the Fat Prince's chief lookout near this gate. There's another lot of urchins that she uses as runners. They'll be nearby somewhere.”

“And the bravos up on that balcony over there, with a perfect view of the gatehouse; I've used that balcony myself,” Stjepan said, indicating three slim, rough-looking men in tight black leathers with head scarves tied over their long blond hair and short swords and daggers on their sword belts, casually eating from a bread basket as they observed the passing traffic. “From the Bastards of Baker Street, but I'd lay odds they're on hire to another crew to be in this part of the city, and looking for someone in particular. Hopefully it's not us.” One of the men caught that Stjepan was eyeing them, and they gave each other a slight nod; but the bravo went back to scanning the travelers entering the gates. “Nope, not us.”

Erim scanned the rooftops. “Lots of birds,” she said with a bit of apprehension. Sparrows, pigeons, and doves perched on the rooftops, occasionally diving into the street after some morsel. More waddled past them; gulls and terns circled lazily in the air up from the docks and the shore of the bay.

Stjepan glanced up, his eyes narrowing. Erim could hear him whispering under his breath. “Aye, some of them are rune-marked, and have the hint of a binding enchantment about them. Probably eyes and ears for the Brass Coven, and for Naeras Braewode, and the Sisters of the Scales,” he said after a moment. “And so news of our arrival will be spread far and wide through the underground of the city amongst those that trade knowledge for coin, if any should happen to care about it.”

“It's funny that someone will make a bit of coin or earn a bit of bread just to tell someone else that we're back in the city,” said Erim. “I mean, I'd be happy to tell them myself if they paid us. That'd be a fine play, to walk up to Jon Dhee and say ‘Hi, I'm back, now give me a penny.'”

“Do you think . . . do you think the Nameless Cults will have someone here looking for us?” Harvald asked, licking his lips, his voice a low whisper. “I mean we did just raid a temple of the
Rahabi
.”

Erim hadn't thought of that, and she looked around with a bit more concern.

“Maybe,” Stjepan said with a shrug. “Even if they don't have a lookout here, one of this lot will sell to them, maybe without even knowing it. Some of this lot could even be from the Nameless themselves, serving two masters at once. The eyes and ears of the Hell-Prince of Intrigue are everywhere, and Amaymon the Spider takes many guises as he spies for the rest of the Forbidden.” All three of them spat to the side at the mention of the name of one of the Forbidden.

“And on that note, I guess it's time to split up,” Stjepan said cheerfully. “If you get followed, run.”

Erim barked a laugh. “Fuck you, Black-Heart,” she said.

“We'll meet at Gilgwyr's tonight. Be there by midnight. Leigh should be there by then, assuming he manages to get into the city,” said Harvald.

“Ah, Leigh doesn't need to walk through the gates,” said Stjepan with a cold laugh. “And if he does, he won't look like himself. He'll be there.”

“And we'll translate the map then, yes, once Leigh's here. I think it's important that he be there,” Harvald said to Stjepan, his voice straining.

“It's fine, I already told you that I would wait,” Stjepan said, holding up his hands, much to Erim's relief. “I'm even letting you hold onto the map, just so I don't get tempted.” It had been the only real source of tension on the journey back to Therapoli; Stjepan had wanted to begin translating the map while they were still on the road, but Harvald warned they should only do so in the relative safety of the city, with its resources at their disposal, and with some exiled magus named Leigh that Erim had never met present to aid them in the deed. She'd seen a real fear in Harvald while she watched them argue, and so had Stjepan, who had finally relented with a puzzled look on his face.

So they split up, Harvald heading due east up the High Promenade, intent upon the city house of his father, while Stjepan and Erim headed south down toward the Foreign Quarter. Stjepan let rooms over near the University Quarter, but he always stopped at the baths of the Foreign Quarter upon returning to the city.