The Fall of Ventaris (30 page)

He sat gaping, his mouth opening and closing, looking like a fish that had jumped out of the harbor and flopped all the way up the hill. “He said...”

His grip had left a red mark on her wrist, which she rubbed. “Julius, can you guess what I’m thinking?” He shook his head, wordless, and she went on with relish. “I’m thinking I could probably earn a dozen marks
fruning
this one about. A radiant — the preceptor himself, no less — who wears the cloak has been hiring thugs to ambush women in the Deeps. I can just
imagine
what Minette will say.” Julius paled and she knew she had him. No doubt
someone
had seen him meeting with Amabilis, and sooner or later that person would hear her tale and confirm it. That would carry the story to every ear in the Shallows...and, with some creative
fruning
, up the hill as well. The preceptor, she was sure, would take that indiscretion very ill. “But don’t worry, Julius. We have an understanding, you and I.”

He blinked in animal fear. “We do?”

She laughed. “Of course. We’re reasonable people. Not the kind who spread careless rumors. I know
I
wouldn’t appreciate them spread about me. So unless I hear any more nasty talk about what happened between you and I at the dice game, I think this conversation can stay between the two of us.” She smiled.

One of the smiths at the next table stood. “He bothering you, miss?”

“Not at all,” she said, never taking her eyes from Julius. “In fact, I believe he was just leaving.”

Julius gazed at her for a long moment, eyes alight with thwarted anger, looking as if he wanted to throw his ale in her face. Instead, he settled for rising stiffly, as if he’d injured his back...or his pride. He stalked away, still carrying his mug, and she shook her head and sighed. Perhaps it would have been better if Antony had simply stabbed the man. Then she bought a round for the smith and his companion. That kind of kindness was rare and worthy of reward.

She was mulling over radiants and the Grey when she heard Lysander enter, as usual hailing half the room on his way to her table. “I passed Julius on the way in,” he said, by way of greeting, “and he looked ready to spit blood. I’m guessing you’re the reason.” He sat and neatly stole the last of her ale, grinning.

“Why is it every time someone gets angry it’s my fault?” She signaled for another mug, frowning. “Julius started all this by cheating his customers.”

Lysander laughed. “As I recall you did a bit of cheating yourself that night, Madame One-Shoe.”

“Anyway, that’s over. I’m more concerned with what Julius just told me.” She accepted a new mug of ale from the barmaid while she filled him in on what had happened, and his smile faded like morning fog. “So now I have a radiant against me, and I don’t know why.”

Lysander shook his head. “How does a radiant get on the Grey?” he asked, keeping his voice prudently low.

“Tyford once told me it’s rare, but not unheard of, for the Grey to take high-hill folk into their ranks, and Amabilis must be one of those. Or maybe he joined when he was younger, before he even became a radiant, and just never gave it up. Either way, he’s an enemy.”

“Are you sure he’s
your
enemy?” Lysander asked abruptly. She looked at him curiously and he sat forward. “The Brutes were after the looms, right? Isn’t it possible he’s after Jana?” Duchess toyed with her ale, considering. She had blithely, and perhaps arrogantly, assumed she herself was the target of the attack, but in earning licensure from the guild Jana had surely made herself some foes.
 

“I can’t see why Amabilis would want to ruin Jana, although he could be working with someone who
does
.”

Lysander shrugged. “Gloria Tremaine? She can’t have been happy about the way you forced her to accept a Domae into the guild. Maybe this is her way of striking back.”

Duchess shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. If Tremaine wanted to ruin Jana, the time to do it was before she admitted her to the guild and not after. Besides,” she said, warming to the speculation, “now that Jana is a guildsman, Tremaine has every reason to see that she succeeds. Anything less would call her judgment into question...”

“...which might be just what someone wants,” Lysander concluded. He shook his head admiringly. “Not bad. You’re getting as sharp as Minette.” She glowed at the praise. “But Tremaine probably has a load of enemies, any one of whom could be behind this. Or it could be someone who really
was
out to get you. You have a good bit of
fruning
ahead of you.”

She sighed. “That’s the problem. Amabilis has to have been on the Grey a good deal longer than I have. Most likely he’s the better
fruner
and his marks are worth more. If I ask after him he’ll know, and then I’ve lost any chance of taking him by surprise.”
 

“That
is
a problem,” Lysander allowed, finishing the ale. “Funny...you have all the resources of the Grey, and you can’t use a single one of them. You need someone who knows the Grey inside and out but doesn’t wear the cloak. Good luck with
that
.”

She sat upright, nearly spilling her ale. “Lysander, you are a
genius
. A real genius.” She tossed down a handful of sou, and kissed him on the lips. “The next round’s on me.” Then she was up and moving towards the door.

“And where in all of Mayu’s hells are you headed now?” he called after her, already signaling a barmaid in preparation of spending her sou.

She turned in the doorway and shouted back. “I have a lesson to attend.”

*
 
*
 
*

She didn’t even want to
think
what this would cost her.
 

She was hunched over his scarred wooden table, working with the lengths of rope he’d provided while she practiced her knots. She’d come to learn there were as many types of knots as there were thieves to tie them, and each one, Tyford insisted, was important to know. While she worked, he peppered her with questions.

“Say you want a lasso. Which knot do you make?”

“Bow-string knot,” she replied, without looking up from her work. An easy answer, as that was the very knot she was forming at the moment, making a loose overhand before tying off the important knot that acted as the stopper. Simple, to be sure, but one Tyford insisted was vital for a thief to know. Lassoes could easily be thrown up around almost any outcropping for a quick climb.

Tyford nodded. “Now you need a loop in the center of a rope.”

She thought a moment. “Butterfly knot and, uh...bowline on a bight.” Some of these knots had strange names, but Tyford insisted she know them all. “I don’t understand why I need to know the names as long as I know how to tie the knot,” she complained, finishing her lasso and holding it out to him. “Unless you want me to write a book on thievery.”

“I pity the thief who’d learn from a book you wrote.” He leaned forward to inspect her work and grunted approval. “Now how would you tie a knot at the end of a rope?”

She closed her eyes, remembering. “You can use a bowline for that as well, and also a slippery eight loop. Oh, and a figure eight.”
 

He nodded. “Now let’s see you make the slippery eight.” She grimaced; it was her weakest knot, no doubt why he was pressing her to make one. She took up a piece of rope and got started, and while he poured himself wine she considered her approach.
 

“Tyford, how’d you like to make some money?” she asked, without taking her eyes from the rope. She made an
8
at the end, making sure to leave enough extra line for the loop.
 

“The last time you asked me this I ended up as your landlord. Do you need
another
building?”

“Not so much.” She fed the extra line through both ends of the
8
and pulled it tight, creating a loop whose size she could adjust by pulling one side or the other. “I was hoping for a little information,” she said, tossing him the knot she was sure she’d gotten right.
 

“A
little
, she says.” He examined the knot critically, then nodded and tossed back the rope. “Well, out with it, girl.”
 

She met his gaze squarely. “What do you know about a man named Amabilis?”

He had just taken a drink of wine, but he paused a long moment before swallowing, perhaps to avoid choking. “Why ask me? Do I look like I live in Temple?”

“No, but the fact that you know he
does
tells me you’ve heard of him. Perhaps back when he joined the Grey?”

He shook his head. “Godsdammit, girl, but sometimes you’re too sharp for your own good.” He lapsed into silence, staring into his wine cup. She had just decided he was going to ignore her question when he said, “What’s a good temporary knot?”

“Mooring hitch,” she answered at once. It had been the first knot she’d mastered.

“Good. Now make one around the leg of the table.” She held her tongue and went to it, sensing this was not the time to push him. Her patience was soon rewarded. “I remember him from the old days, when I still wore the cloak. He was a craftsman’s son, as I recall, from Market. His father made barrels or some such, and how the boy got on the Grey I never knew. He used his color to run a number of his father’s competitors out of business, as I remember, so his family eventually had a tidy bit of coin laid by. Never did the work himself, if he could help it. That one was always careful to never get his hands dirty.” He chuckled dryly. “Then something happened to him, some sort of religious experience. I was never clear on the
why
, but one day he just up and joins the radiants, neat as you please.” He drained his cup. “I suspect the cloak helped him rise — no other way the get of a guildsman becomes preceptor. This was before the War of the Quills, you understand. By that time I’d put aside my own cloak, so I don’t know much after that.” He glanced at her, a gleam in his eye. “Except...”

“Yes?” she pressed.

“Well, Tyford hears a few bits of gossip from time to time, and as luck would have it just the other day I came across a juicy one.” He paused dramatically. “What’s it worth for you to hear about it?”

“I suppose a mark wouldn’t convince you, would it?” He laughed. “Fine...how about five sou?”

He snorted. “Fuck your sou. I’ll take a florin.”

“A
florin
?” Duchess had a good deal of gold set by, but much of that had gone to finance her new business venture, one she was still not entirely certain would turn a profit. She began to protest, but one look at the old thief convinced her it was either pay his price or take his silence. She fumed quietly for a long moment, going over her options. She did not know much about Amabilis or why he would strike at her, and she had no way of knowing if he might strike again, perhaps this time using an intermediary more clever than Julius. The longer she engaged in fruitless searches, the more time the radiant had to hatch another scheme.

She couldn’t take the chance. “Fine,” she said tightly, digging into her purse. She clicked the coin on the table and turned back to the rope. “I’ll work on this knot while you share your tidbit. And it had better be worth it, for a florin.”

He smiled broadly and picked up the gold piece. “Oh, you won’t have any complaints, girlie. This story should be near and dear to your heart, because it involves that lovely dagger you’re so famous for stealing.” She paused in her tying to look at him. “Remember how it vanished again? Well, it seems that not long after it reappeared in the Shallows.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “In the hands of one Adam Whitehall.”

The half-made knot dissolved between her fingers and slithered to the floor. “Adam Whitehall,” she repeated, to ensure she’d understood. “Lord Whitehall’s son? The
radiant?
”

“Do you know another one?” He poured more wine.

Her mind reeled. Whitehall was a ward of the preceptor, and if he had stolen the baron’s dagger Amabilis had to have known about it, or perhaps even ordered it. But how would Adam Whitehall have managed such a theft? A year ago he was a pampered noble’s son. Of course, a year ago she had been a bread girl, and that hadn’t stopped
her
from lifting the artifact from House Eusbius, but still. “What was he doing with it?”

Tyford shrugged. “That I didn’t hear.” He drank. “Still, I’d say that’s worth a florin, wouldn’t you?”

Duchess looked at the rope lying on the floor while her mind raced. Even while he was moving against her and Jana, Amabilis was playing a game all his own, and using Adam Whitehall as one of the pieces. If she could get a line on that game, she might gain a lever to use against the good preceptor. As much as she hated to admit it, this news might well be worth the extortionate price she’d paid.
 

And, she reflected as she gathered up the rope, she’d gotten two for one. Tyford had just given himself away.

Chapter Eighteen: Not in the cards

Duchess knew a setup when she saw one.

She and Jana had been busy, spending most of the day shopping for untreated wool, the dyes to color them, and the dye pots in which to introduce the former to the latter. Jana’s old dye pots would not serve, not for the demand Duchess anticipated, as she told Jana when they’d set out. “But this is much money,” the weaver had pointed out.

Duchess had simply shrugged. “Noam always said you have to spend money to make money. Besides, since I haven’t learned to weave worth a damn, I’d better at least know something about dyeing.” After the previous night’s meeting with Tyford, Duchess felt less adrift but no more reassured. The enmity of a radiant as powerful as Amabilis was not to be underestimated, and she still wasn’t sure of her next steps. The shopping trip with Jana was as good a way as any to distract herself for a few hours. She had not burdened her new business partner with any of this, of course, and did not intend to; bad enough Duchess herself was losing sleep over it.

Jana nodded. “Very well, but afterward we must celebrate the work we are about to begin.” Duchess opened her mouth to protest but Jana’s frown silenced her. “If I must spend this evening alone I will be cross, and when I am cross my wool is wrong. So, like shopping, this is business.” Outmaneuvered, Duchess had no choice but to agree.