Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (7 page)

Quentin
began to stir. This was unfortunately timed with Phaelan’s use of a whetstone
against a particularly stubborn knick. I didn’t know how Quentin would react to
awakening to the sound of a sword being sharpened, but I knew what it’d do to
me.

“Phaelan?”

He
never slowed or looked up. “Yes?”

“Could
you stop that for a moment?”

“What?”

“Quentin’s
waking up. That’s not exactly a soothing noise.”

“What?
Oh.” He grinned. “You don’t want to scrape Quentin off the ceiling?”

“Not
really.”

Quentin
had stopped moving, but he hadn’t opened his eyes. He was trying to keep his
breathing regular, but I could see the pulse racing in his neck. Quentin had
been many things, and was good at some of them, but he wasn’t much of an actor.
I tried to muffle a smile, and failed. Quentin was awake, but he didn’t want to
advertise it. I would have done the same myself. When you’ve lost consciousness
in one place and find yourself waking up in another—usually the longer you can
keep that information to yourself, the better.

“Quentin,
it’s us. No one is going to kill you. And I can’t wait all night for you to
open your eyes.”

Quentin
squinted in the direction of my voice. I had to admit it was a little bright in
here. Maybe I shouldn’t have lit so many lamps. I extinguished the one closest
to the cot where Quentin lay.

He
didn’t need to look to know that he had been stripped to his shirt and
trousers. He tried to sit up, and groaned. I put a restraining hand on his
shoulder, and eased him back on the cot.

“Don’t
even think about it,” I told him. “You had two cracked ribs, and they need
another hour or so to finish setting. I’m sure the healer would appreciate it
if you didn’t ruin her work. Behave yourself, and you should be good as new by
tomorrow night.”

Quentin
lay back with a ragged breath, looking a little green around the gills. “I
don’t feel so good.”

“More
than likely leftovers from Sarad Nukpana’s work. Probably feels like the worst
hangover you’ve ever had, but the dizziness should go away within the hour.”

“Actually,
only the second worst.” His expression went from pained to puzzled. “Who’s
Sarad Nukpana?”

“The
goblin who tried to slit your throat.” I kept it simple for him. The less
Quentin knew about Nukpana, the better. I admit my reasons were selfish. I was
getting a splitting headache and I really didn’t want to listen to Quentin
scream.

He
seemed satisfied with my answer. Ignorance was a state in which Quentin was content
to exist. “What about the amulet?”

“Don’t
worry, I’ve still got it.” I made a face. “For what it’s worth.”

Quentin
made a face of his own. “It’s not worth anything now. At least not to me.”

“The
goblins seem to think it’s worth your life,” Phaelan said, resuming his
whetstone work.

Quentin’s
hand went to the bandage at his throat. “Don’t remind me.”

“They’re
not the only ones,” I pointed out. “And none of them were in the least bit shy
about being seen in uniform.”

“The
goblins didn’t mean to leave any survivors, maybe the Guardians were thinking
along the same lines,” Phaelan suggested.

We
all thought about that for a moment.

“How
could you not know who you were working for?” I asked, leaving Sarad Nukpana’s
name out of it.

“In
my old line of work, I almost never dealt directly with the person whose gold
was paying for the job,” Quentin said. “They don’t want to get their hands
dirty. Makes for a lucrative business for someone like Simon. Well,
made
for a lucrative business.”

I
pulled the silver disk out of my shirt for a closer look. It still didn’t look
like much. “Even for this?”

“Depends
on what it does,” Quentin said. “Any ideas?”

“I
knew someone had set up housekeeping in Stocken’s warehouse once you were
inside. I knew you were in trouble.”

Phaelan
put away his whetstone. “You think that was the amulet’s doing?”

“It
wasn’t anything I could do before I put the thing around my neck.”

“Is
it doing anything else? Besides making you sick?”

Quentin
looked surprised. “It makes you sick?”

“Just
when you first opened the box,” I told him. “It hasn’t bothered me that way
since.”

Phaelan
slid his rapier back in its scabbard. “Regardless of what it does, or why
anyone wants it, the problem is who wants it and what they’re willing to do to
get it. Well, cousin, what’s your next step?”

Since
I hadn’t been able to sleep, I’d had plenty of time to think about that one.
“I’ve sent a message to a client of mine who might be able to help,” I said.
“But right now, I thought I’d start by dropping in on Garadin. He’s a retired
Conclave mage, Conclave Guardians want this thing, so he might know something
about it.”

“Having
a mage for a godfather is good for something, I guess,” Phaelan said. “Need
someone to go with you?”

I
shook my head. “It’s only four blocks, and I know a shortcut. I’d rather you
stayed here with Quentin. You’ll need to move him by midmorning.”

Phaelan
grinned. “I already have a plan.”

“Your
last plan’s what put me here,” Quentin growled from his cot.

Phaelan’s
eyes narrowed. “It got you out of Stocken’s warehouse, didn’t it?”

“Well,
yes.”

“Well,
then it worked.” My cousin sat back and shrugged. “Who knew Stocken had any
more gunpowder?”

That
was news to me. “Any more? You knew Stocken dealt in gunpowder?”

“Sure.
Who didn’t?”

“I
didn’t.”

“The
lanterns were unfortunate,” Phaelan admitted.

I let
it pass. Going down that road wouldn’t do me any good.

“Did
Stocken tell you anything else about the job?” I asked Quentin. “Warn you about
anything—or anyone?”

Quentin
smiled faintly. “Other than the usual ‘Don’t get caught. And if you do, don’t
tell them about me’? Just the information I normally need. What the client
wants, where it is, and how much I’m going to be paid to get it. The rest I
found out on my own. Nigel’s schedule, who his servants were, where I could
find them when they weren’t working. Sometimes it’s best not to know who you’re
working for.”

“Or
who your competition is,” Phaelan added.

“Khrynsani
goblins weren’t on my list of possibilities,” Quentin admitted.

“Don’t
forget about the Guardians.”

“That’s
unlikely. I do attract interesting people.”

“Quentin,
people who are trying to kill you are not interesting,” I said. “Speaking of
Nigel’s servants, which one gave you the ghencharm?”

“The
what?”

“Ghencharm.
That thing that let you stroll through Nigel’s house without setting off his
wards.”

Quentin
blanched. “He had wards?”

I
just looked at him. When this was over, I was going to teach Quentin a thing or
two or three about magic whether he liked it or not.

“Yes,
he had wards. Nasty wards. Apparently they weren’t there when you were. Someone
did you a big favor. Any idea who? One of the servants you talked to?”

“None
of Nigel’s people knew a thing about me, or even suspected. Give me a little
credit here, Raine. I am a professional.”

Now
Quentin had hurt feelings to go with his cracked ribs. Great.

“I’m
not questioning your competence.” Actually I was, but there was no need to say
so out loud. “Someone had to know you’d be there. Why else deactivate every
ward in the house?”

“If
someone did know, they didn’t find out from me.”

Yet
another question that needed an answer. If no one in Nigel’s household left the
magical doors standing wide open, then who did? And if Sarad Nukpana was
Quentin’s mystery employer, why did he feel the need to send his bully boys
over to Nigel’s house? Quentin was going to steal the amulet for him. All he
had to do was sit back and wait for Quentin to do his job. Unless Sarad Nukpana
knew he wasn’t the only interested party. Was the second group of goblins more
than an opposing faction? Maybe they were competition for what I was wearing
around my neck.

Too
many questions. Too few answers.

I
knew part of why Sarad Nukpana and his Khrynsani were in Mermeia. The new
goblin king, Sathrik Mal’Salin, had arrived in the city four days ago for a
week of receptions culminating in a masked ball three nights from now. Nobles
from surrounding kingdoms had been pouring into the city for the past week for
what was being touted as the social event of the decade, and the local aristocracy
was scrambling to get invitations. In my opinion, going to a party surrounded
by Mal’Salins would only be fun in the way being locked in a room full of
snakes would be fun.

Sarad
Nukpana was King Sathrik Mal’Salin’s chief counselor. From what I’d heard of
Nukpana, he wasn’t the party type. And judging from our little encounter in
Stocken’s warehouse, he had business in town other than keeping a proprietary
eye on his new king. It looked like I was wearing the real reason for his visit
around my neck. Small world.

I
went to the corner table and poured a round of drinks. Markus saw to it that
all of his safehouses were well stocked. I guess he figured that people who
were in that much trouble would want alcohol. I couldn’t fault his logic. I
passed a brandy to both Phaelan and Quentin, and kept one for myself. I drank
half of it in one gulp. I needed it even more than Quentin. He could go to
ground to stay alive, but hiding wasn’t an option for me. My problems were just
beginning. I drained the glass.

Quentin
took a good-sized gulp himself. “Did the elven Guardian manage to kill that
Nukpana person?”

I
winced. “He might have had other things to think about.”

Phaelan
chuckled softly. “Two very important things.”

“Until
I can find out otherwise, let’s just operate under the assumption that the
Nukpana person got away,” I told Quentin.

Quentin
was instantly alert. “Operate? I don’t like the sound of that.”

That
made two of us.

Quentin
looked around at the plain walls. “A safehouse, right?”

I
nodded. Markus’s idea of a safehouse looked like a cross between a barracks and
a prison. My sometime client had exquisite decorating taste, but in his
practicality, saw little reason to extend those talents to his safehouses.

“You
said I can leave by midmorning?”

“I
wouldn’t be so eager if I were you,” Phaelan told him. “By now those goblins
probably have your name on the lips of every assassin in Mermeia. By daybreak
you’ll have a hefty price on your head.”

Quentin
wouldn’t be the only one gracing a wanted poster. Phaelan didn’t mention me. I
was grateful. I also contemplated pouring myself another drink. Better not. I
had the feeling I’d need all the quick reflexes I could get.

“I’ve
had a price on my head before,” Quentin said. “No one’s managed to cash in yet.
Though tonight they came close.”

“Khrynsani
aren’t known for being a soft touch,” I told him. “One Khrynsani I’ve heard of
would throw everything he had against a human or elf just to see what would hit
the far wall. The shamans on Nigel’s balcony were good, but not the best they
could field. And Sarad Nukpana wasn’t expecting the Guardians in Stocken’s
warehouse. We were lucky twice tonight. It won’t happen again.”

Quentin
succeeded in sitting up. “I’ve had Khrynsani try to vaporize me, feed me to the
bog beetles, and slit my throat. I just want to find a nice, deep hole and
crawl in for a few days until things calm down.” He looked around the room.
“You sure I can’t stay here?”

“Sorry.
If necessary, I can have the people here put you into deep hiding, but I’d
rather you be where we can keep an eye on you.” I turned to Phaelan. “Know
where we can find a nice, deep hole on short notice?”

The
smile that spread slowly across my cousin’s tanned face was well known for
promising bad things. If I didn’t know him well, it would have made my skin
crawl. I answered with a grin of my own. We’re a sick family that way.

“I
know just the place,” he said.

“I
can manage just fine on my own,” Quentin protested. “I wouldn’t want you two to
go to any more trouble. I’ve been enough trouble already.”

“It’s
no trouble at all,” Phaelan assured him. “Our pleasure. You don’t get seasick,
do you?”

Quentin
blanched. “Yes, I do. And there’s no way you’re getting me onboard the
Fortune
.”

“Who
said anything about the
Fortune
? If anyone recognized me tonight, that’s
the first place they’d look. No, I have another of my fine vessels in mind. And
she’ll be docked, so you should be able to hold down solid food after a day or
so.”