The Thief Who Spat In Luck's Good Eye (2 page)

“
Flattery, Holgren? You must be desperate.” I pulled my hands from his and walked away from him.

“
It isn’t flattery if it’s true. Remember when you broke into Lord Morno’s wine cellar and stole an entire crate of Gol Shen thirty-seven? He certainly does.”

“
That was a lark. It’s not like there were armed guards at the door. Now be quiet and let me think.” I had to smile. I sent Morno an empty bottle every Midsummer’s Eve. The bounty for the person or persons responsible had risen to five hundred marks over the years.

I contemplated the murky, filthy Ose as it slid its way to the sea. It was idiocy, but how could I refuse Holgren? He was my friend and partner; how could I not at least try to help?

“
I never said I wouldn’t go,” I finally said. “I just said it was pointless. Where do we start?”

Holgren started at the beginning. He identified certain texts we would need and I acquired them; the Bosk texts, notes from Mumtaz El Rathi’s expedition to the west, a copy of General Velkaar’s campaign memoirs, many more. Maps, histories, legends, travelers’ accounts of the west, tomes of magic theory, ancient military texts—there was no rhyme or reason in what he wanted. It was all rare, hideously expensive, and generally difficult to lay hands on. I spent nearly a month tracking down, buying, or stealing what he said he needed. One particular scroll, done up in a sort of picture language I’d never encountered before, explored the lives of the Twin Gods in graphic detail. Apparently they’d been quite a bit more than siblings, if the scroll was to be believed. And the sister at least had some unwholesome appetites. I suppose gods see most things differently. Who’s going to tell them they’re wrong?

Holgren spent the time holed up in his sanctum, a moldering hovel hard by the charnel grounds. What he did there he did not discuss, nor did I pry. I knew where it was, but I rarely went there. I have little interest in the arcane, except what can kill me. Occasionally he would prepare the odd amulet or fetish to aid me in whatever task I undertook. While I had little understanding of how they worked, I took it on faith that they did.

Holgren, on the other hand, always seemed fascinated by the most mundane aspects of my craft. Once I’d left a set of lock picks out, and some hours later I found him squatting in front of an old sea chest I used for a table, methodically trying each pick in various positions, then making notes in the margins of a book he’d been reading. When I’d told him the tumblers of the lock were rusted solid, he’d looked crushed.

It was a wet, miserable day when I returned from my latest foray for research materials. Spring had not fully sprung after all. Almost no one was stirring in the Foreigners’ Quarter as I returned the spavined excuse for a horse I’d rented from Alain the wainwright. I trudged my weary way home, keeping dry the fragile map I’d acquired. As I climbed the narrow stairs to my den, I wanted nothing more than hot food, a hot bath, and a warm bed.

Holgren was pacing the rooms I let above Burrisses’ Tailors. The Burrisses were a family of immigrants from the Nine Cities who didn’t care if I was a woman living on my own so long as I paid my rent.

“
Amra,” he shouted, and grabbed me by the waist. “Pfaugh! You’re ripe.”

“
That’s what three days in the saddle will do.”

“
Never mind. I’ve found it!”

“
You found the city?” I pushed him away from me and sat down on the hall bench. Every bone ached from the ride. Wearily I started unlacing my boots. “So you don’t need this map I just stole from a nice widow in Coroune?”

“
No. Oh, it will help prove I’m right, no doubt. I’m dead certain I have the location of the city itself.”

“
That’s nice,” I said with mock brightness. “Now get out so I can boil water for a bath, bolt some food, and go to sleep.”

He looked at me quizzically for a second, then had the grace to blush a little. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been killing yourself gathering all these odds and ends. I truly appreciate it. It’s just that I’ve finally located it—”

“
I know, I know. Tomorrow I’ll be suitably excited. Right now I’m just too tired.”

“
Why don’t you relax? I’ll find you something to eat.”

“
Thanks.” I made my way into the main room and stretched out on the floor, on the silk Elamner pillows I used for furniture. I just closed my eyes for a second, honest.

I woke the next morning. Holgren had left a tray of nuts and a bowl of blood oranges next to me, and a note in spidery silver letters in the air above my head:

See you here, midday

The letters faded as I read them. I dug up fresh clothing and headed for the baths.

The morning was hot and bright, and the streets steamed as they dried under the indecisive spring sun. Time was passing too quickly. I knew of at least three expeditions that had already set out for the lost city. There was no telling if they were headed in the right direction, but our delays had begun to worry me. If it did exist, I didn’t want to get there only to find it plundered.

At the baths I paid my penny and soaked for an hour, ignoring the comments muttered behind milk-white hands about my scarred hide. It was a little knitting circle of five women. Whenever I looked at them directly, their eyes would slide away, and the whispering would die down, for a time. Then it would slowly pick back up again.

“
. . . figure like a boy.”

“
Such short hair, and all those scars. Perhaps she’s just come from prison.”

I was very good. What did they know of the world beyond their familial villas or their fathers’ shops, beyond spinning, weaving, and making babies? I knew as little of their life as they knew of mine—I understood that. It’s just that I didn’t think their difference gave me a right to talk about them, whereas they obviously did. But of course it’s always that way when you have the numbers. Men don’t hold exclusive rights to bullying.

The idea of being physically ejected from the public baths for brawling wasn’t appealing, so I decided to settle for flattening their purses when I left.

I put a washcloth over my eyes and turned my thoughts to Thagoth, and whether Holgren had actually located it.

Holgren arrived a few minutes late, a bundle of parchments and scrolls under one arm and a look of grim determination on his face. He cleared off the delicate Helstrum-made table I used for dining and spread out a map he had sketched and inked himself.

“
Here we are,” he said, stabbing the east coast of Lucernia with a forefinger. “Thagoth is almost certainly here.” He moved his finger a huge distance west—about two feet on the map, which worked out to roughly two thousand miles.

“
Well, that’s it,” I said. “We can’t go after it, not if it truly is that far. If you’re wrong about the location or if there’s nothing left of it, we’ll have wasted almost a year, maybe more, getting there and back. Be reasonable, Holgren.”

“
I am. I agree, the distance is daunting. Which is why I am going to attempt to gate us there.”

“
What?”

“
According to the Bosk texts you acquired for me, Thagoth was built at the nexus of several powerful ley lines. I will transport us to that nexus. The process should be instantaneous.”

“
Whenever you say things like ‘attempt’ and ‘should be,’ my blood runs cold.”

“
Your worries are baseless. If I fail, the magics will dissipate and the gate will not open. There is no possibility of you suffering any ill effects, I’ll make certain of that.”

“
And what about you?”

“
I’ll be fine.”

“
Spoken like a true liar. Tell me.”

“
Honestly? I don’t know. There’s a chance nothing will happen. There’s also a chance for a whole range of effects, from the merely uncomfortable to the wholly unpleasant.”

“
The worst of which would be . . . ?”

“
The worst of which would be my being blasted to cinders. It’s a very outside chance.”

“
Wouldn’t that sort of be missing the point of trying to find immortality?”

“
Amra, if I spent my entire life avoiding danger, I would have no life at all. If I risk nothing, death and retribution will still come. Given the choice, I would rather die trying to alter my situation. I assure you, I have taken and will take every precaution I can think of to ensure my safety and your own.”

I sighed and shook my head. “When do we go?”

“
We could leave tomorrow, but I think I might better do a bit more research. There are indications from what I’ve read so far that the city is . . . contained, I suppose, is the best word.”

“
Eh?”

He leaned back, spread his hands. “When Thagoth fell, it was to a powerful sorcerer-king, perhaps the most powerful mortal the world has ever seen. He laid death magic on the environs around the city. According to the accounts of Mumtaz El Rathi, that magic was still potent a century ago when he lead an expedition there.”

I began to pace. “Describe these death lands. Place-names with the word ‘death’ in them tend to make me very wary.”

“
In practical application, everything of the death lands will attempt to destroy anything not of the death lands that enter them. Grasses will reach out to bind you while more mobile creatures finish you off. Everything has some ability to kill, be it quick or slow. Or so wrote El Rathi.”

“
Lovely. You’re sure we won’t have to deal with this? Why hasn’t the city been swallowed up?”

“
I can only assume the residual power of the Twin Gods keep it at bay. The city had not been overtaken at the time of El Rathi’s expedition a century ago. He records seeing the golden domes of what he calls ‘the Tabernacle’ and other structures from the ridge above the valley itself. The death lands seem to border the remains of the city in a precise circle, with the Tabernacle at the center of that circle. Could you stop pacing? It makes me nervous.”

“
No. This nexus you’re going to magic us to, tell me about it.”

“
It should be well within the city, and completely safe if I manage to raise the gate.”

“
I hope you’re right, Holgren.”

He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulder slightly. “I’ve made my calculations with the best data available. We should be fine.”

“
Let’s leave that for the moment. What do we do once we’re in the city?”

“
Well, that’s really more your end of things, isn’t it?”

I stopped pacing, tilted my head. “I spent a month getting you research material. There was nothing in all of that to indicate what you’re looking for?”

He sighed. “Amra, how often are you handed maps that say VALUABLE OBJECT LOCATED HERE?”

“
I know a sailor down on the docks that could sell you one for every day of the month.”

“
My point precisely. I imagine the best place to search would be in the Tabernacle that El Rathi mentions, since there appears to be some power there holding the death lands at bay. But I will know it when I find it, not before. I am quite certain it will be a difficult, possibly deadly task to locate and retrieve it. I need your skills. I know no one better at what you do.”

“
Not who’s willing to help you with this, at any rate. No . . . I’m sorry, that was mean-spirited and uncalled for. I apologize.”

He shook his head. “No apology necessary. You’re right. No one else would be willing to attempt this. I need to keep that in mind and show my appreciation more.”

“
You can start by feeding me.”

After an elaborate midday meal at Fraud’s we took a walk down the Promenade, the wide, straight avenue of brick that ran from the Ministry buildings to Harad’s Square. It was lined on both sides by the marble-fronted, slim-columned manses owned by minor nobility and powerful merchants. I had promised myself the first day I’d arrived in Lucernis that I’d own one of them, someday. I’d stumbled down the Promenade—penniless, starving and sick, and bitterly envying those who lived in such luxury. I must have stared at those great houses with real glass in their windows for an hour before the watch had moved me along. Then I went and stole a half a loaf of bread. That had been a long time ago. I didn’t have to steal bread anymore. I didn’t own one of those manses, either.

The Promenade was wide enough to accommodate four carriages abreast, although no hoof traffic was allowed on it. Wealthy merchants and their wives, government functionaries, and minor nobility took to it to socialize and be seen. Much subtle business was also conducted on the Promenade—important decisions were made here, between principals, and finalized elsewhere. I’d done a fair amount of business in this fashion myself.

The Promenade was also well policed. Lord Morno, governor of Lucernis, liked to drill his troops here. A small contingent of arquebusiers in fine new crimson uniforms was being marched around by a grizzled sergeant as Holgren and I strolled. The old campaigner kept trying to rest his hand on a nonexistent sword pommel as he barked commands.

“
You see those weapons?” asked Holgren. “They are the future of warfare.”

I laughed. “Those are toys. The only way to kill someone with an arquebus is to beat them with it. A good bowman could kill five times over in the time it takes just to load one.”

“
Ah, but how long does it take to become that good with a bow? Five years? Ten? One can become proficient with firearms in a matter of weeks. Someday they will be perfected; their rate of fire, range, and accuracy will be improved. People will die by the thousands without ever seeing their foe.” He put a friendly arm around my shoulder. “Inventions such as these will be what drives the world, Amra, not magic.” He stopped and looked at me with those piercing eyes of his.