Mountain of Daggers (6 page)

You will be paid upon my receipt of the letter.

A cool smile crept along Ahren’s lips. His extortionist had made one deadly mistake: a name. The first letter was going to someone outside the city. But if the ship was arriving with the letter, the recipient could be a resident. He closed his window and returned to bed as a plan began to formulate.

#

A ship’s bell rang across the harbor district as a vessel readied for launch. Sailors and docksmen scuttled around. Clucking hens fluttered uncomfortably inside their small stacked cages, oblivious to their inevitable fate at sea.

Confidently, Ahren strolled down the street, his brass-tipped cane tapping against the cobbles with every stride. His face felt naked without his goatee and moustache, and the fine velvet doublet hugged him tighter than he was accustomed. He suppressed his amusement at how the crowd seemed to part before him at the sight of his rich clothes.

A two-story building came into view and Ahren headed for it, stopping at its entrance to gaze up at the wide sign stretching below the eaves.
Khamleir’s
it read in deep letters. He adjusted his collar and strode through the door.

A thin-faced clerk looked up from his desk. “May I help you?” The room smelled of cedar and old smoke.

“Yes,” Ahren said in a pretentious tone. “I wish to speak with Miss Khamleir.”

The clerk closed his ink pot. “Is she expecting you?”

Ahren shook his head. “Tell her the Count of Eichefurt is here to see her.”

“Wait here.” The clerk stood and headed through a door near the back of the room.

Ahren tapped his cane on the tile floor as his eyes surveyed the room. The quellen shopkeep Whazzik had told him that Khamleir’s had been operating in the city for over thirty years. The rich furniture and sturdy building only verified that business had been profitable.

The door opened and the clerk reentered, followed by a beautiful young woman. Golden ringlets of hair cascaded down her shoulders toward her ample breasts, held firmly behind an emerald bodice.

“I am Viveka. How may I help you, Count Eichefurt?” she asked in a delicate, yet strong voice.

Ahren blinked, momentarily taken aback by her youth. “Miss Khamleir? I have a matter of business I wish to discuss. A…friend recommended you, and I feel that we could come to a…mutually advantageous arrangement.”

She smiled. “I see. Are you looking to ship goods? Or produce?”

“It is a bit more complicated than that, and I would prefer to discuss such business in private, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded and motioned to the door behind her. “Then let us go up to my office, Count.”

#

Ahren followed her billowing silk skirt up the stairs to a richly decorated room. A thick burgundy and azure rug covered the oaken floor before a dark polished desk. Behind it, through an open window, the harbor glistened in the sunlight.

“Would you care for a drink?” She motioned a delicate hand toward a padded chair across from her desk.

“Most certainly.” Ahren sat and watched the young woman pour two goblets of wine from a gilded bottle.

She handed him his drink, then lowered herself onto the high-backed seat across from him. “So tell me, Count Eichefurt. What is the nature of your business?”

Ahren sipped the smooth wine. “Very good. I do admit, you are much younger than I would have thought. And far lovelier.”

“Thank you.” She smiled warmly, yet her blue eyes studied him. “This was my father’s business. I inherited it after his death two months ago.”

“My condolences. It must be hard to be a woman such as yourself and in charge of such a complex operation.”

“I grew up here.” She took a sip of wine, then regarded Ahren over the rim of her glass. “I took over when my father first became ill. My captains all know and trust me.” The tone of her voice took on a slight chill. “My only challenge is clients who deem me unfit to handle their interests. That, and potential suitors who only want my business.”

Ahren grinned. “Any man who only sees you for your money is a blind fool. Fortunately, I am neither.”

Her hard gaze softened momentarily. “I’m sure the count has not come all this way to flatter me.”

“True.” Ahren set the goblet on the desk and leaned back against the leather cushions. “It has come to my attention that you may have an enemy. Someone who could profit by eliminating the captains of your ships.”

Anger flashed across Viveka’s face. “What do you want?” she asked coldly, her eyes narrowing.

Ahren held his hand up to calm her. “To help you. Several nights ago, someone murdered the captain of one of your vessels in exchange for a small fortune. The killer stole the captain’s ring, as well as a letter sent to a Mister Gren Schmied.”

Viveka’s thin hands balled into tight fists and her penetrating glare could have stopped a charging horse.

“The same individual is also planning to murder the captain of the
Goldener Aal
when it makes berth tomorrow. I believe there is a second letter involved.”

“What are you after?” Viveka growled. Her flushing cheeks made her even more beautiful.

“To find out who wishes to do you harm. Tell me, who is Mister Schmied? A lover?”

“My uncle. I ask his advice on certain matters.”

“Ah. Is there anyone who would be willing to kill in order to keep you from receiving his advice?”

The young woman’s creamy breasts rose against her bodice as she drew a deep breath and sighed. “How do you know this? What’s in it for you?”

Ahren’s lips pulled into a half-smile. “Let’s just say that I have many connections with…less than reputable people. People who wish to know the identity of our…mutual enemy.”

She traced her finger along the goblet rim until it rang with a crystal tone. “And what will happen when you find this conspirator?” She gazed at him under a veil of thick lashes as she took another sip of her wine.

“Such a fate a young lady shouldn’t wish to know.” Ahren’s tone was flat, but his eyes glittered with anger.

Viveka’s eyes sparkled with the sinister mischief of a cat spying an unwary meal. “I’m no lady.” She set her glass down firmly on the table. “And you, whoever you are, are not a nobleman.” She ran a long finger over her chin, sizing him up in a way that made the hairs arch along the back of his neck. “I’ll pay your assassin’s fee if the problem is taken care of permanently.”

Aroused by the young woman's ruthlessness, Ahren adjusted his position in his seat to relieve his tightening pants. “You’re right, on both accounts. Keep your pay. Consider it an apology for the accidental death of one of your captains.”

A devious smile answered him.

“Now.” He slid his hand slowly up his cane. “Who would wish ill to a woman as beautiful as yourself?”

#

Konrad Amkire leaned over his desk, reading the manifest for the next shipment, when his office door cracked open. Bayard leaned his head inside. “There is someone here to see you, sir.”

“Who is it?” Konrad didn’t look up, busy as he was filling in the spaces for his latest customer’s inventory. A week ago the ship had been empty. Now, finding enough room for the cargo was the problem.

The old clerk shifted uneasily. “A Count Eichefurt, sir. He says he has important business to discuss.”

Konrad paused his scribbling and stared vacantly at the open book as he tried to recall the name Eichefurt. His business demanded he be aware of any potential clients, and an unknown name troubled him. He closed the manifest. “Send him in.”

Bayard gave a short nod and vanished behind the door. Konrad rose from his leather chair and approached the small table near the back wall. He brushed his fingers along the sparse hairs covering his head and buttoned his doublet. Footsteps echoed up the stairs and he hurried back to his seat just as the door opened.

“The Count of Eichefurt,” Bayard announced, stepping away from the door and revealing a young man dressed in rich velvet the color of parchment.

Konrad stood and extended his hand. “Welcome, Count. I am Konrad Amkire, owner of Sudwinde Shipping.”

“Good day.” The count grasped the offered hand and shook it firmly. “Your company comes highly recommended.”

“Please.” Konrad gestured toward a chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.” He seated himself, propped his elbows on his desk, and laced his fingers into a single, loose fist. “How can I help you today?”

The count sat and fidgeted with his brass-knobbed cane. “I am in need of a vessel to carry a shipment of wool and other goods from here to Rhomanny. Frobinsky, in fact. Depending on how my business fares, I will be in need of more vessels and would want a long-term relationship with my shippers.”

“I understand. When would this cargo be ready?” Unable to hold back his excitement at a permanent client, Konrad stood. “Would you like a drink, Count?”

The count stiffened and a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I need to ship as soon as possible. I was ready last week, but one of the captains of the shipping company was murdered aboard his ship. A second captain almost met the same fate, though I am informed that the killer was apprehended.” He dismissed the situation with an impatient wave of his hand. “Regardless, I can’t afford to do business with a company so prone to losing ship’s executive personnel and thus losing my shipment.” He grasped the cane firmly, walking his hand idly up it as he made a visible effort to calm down. “I apologize, I get carried away.” He inhaled deeply, released it and gave Konrad a thin smile. “I would love a drink.”

Konrad stared at the young noble in shock. “They caught…”

The count nodded with a half-shrug. “Late last night. Miss Khamleir assured me the threat was over, but I cannot afford to take any chances.”

Konrad dabbed his forehead with a small cloth and stood. “Let me fetch your drink.” He crossed the room to the small table. His hands shook slightly as he unstoppered the bottle and filled two glasses with amber rum. “I’m sure Miss Khamleir was devastated by the loss of one of her captains,” he said, watching the count’s reflection in the mirror. “Rumor is that many of his crew left after the murder. I’m afraid many more will leave now.”

“Perhaps.” The count’s hands twisted his cane knob. “But hopefully that will cease to be a problem once they’ve finished questioning the assassin.”

“He was captured alive?”

“He was. Or so I’m told.” The count turned a probing gaze on Konrad.

“Good.” Konrad set a glass down in front of the count. “Miss Khamleir and I may be competitors, but she is a good woman from a good family. And sailors gossip. If this continued, her men and mine may all decide to find a different line of work.” He settled back against his chair and placed his glass before him on the desk.

The count nodded, sipping his drink. “That makes sense. But back to my offer…”

Konrad chewed his lip. “I’m sure we can do business. However.” He knocked his drink back. “I need to see about fitting your cargo onto the next voyage. If you can give me size and number, I can have a date and price ready for you by the morning.”

The count finished his drink, his pale eyes sparkling. “I understand.” He flashed Konrad a smile as he removed a folded parchment from his doublet. “The warehouse cost in this city is damn near criminal. I need these shipped before I have to pay another week’s fee.”

Konrad glanced over the paper and scribbled down the information in his ledger. “I have several warehouses that you can use any time you need.” He handed the parchment back to the count.

“I would be very grateful for that.”

“I’ll have everything ready for you by tomorrow morning.” Konrad stood. “Let me escort you to the door.”

Konrad stood in the doorway until the nobleman was out of sight before sending Bayard home and locking the door. The shipper paused for a moment staring at the inside of the door, his heart thudding painfully, then set his jaw and left his office on an errand of utmost importance.

#

The evening breeze chilled as sunlight waned. By the Old Kaisers’ light, Konrad briskly walked down the Lunnisburg streets past vendors closing for the night. A creeping tingle slithered up the back of his neck. He looked sharply over his shoulder, scanning the streets behind him, but no one paid him any attention. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips and his pace quickened until he reached The Tiger’s Coat, one of the city’s finer inns.

The smell of warm food greeted him as he stepped inside, and the talk of men enjoying a drink after a hard day’s work filled the air, but Konrad barely noticed. He crossed the bar, dashed up to the third floor and hurried down a narrow hall to a white door. “Helmuth,” he called, pounding his fist into the door.

It creaked open and one of Helmuth’s green eyes peered out. “What are you doing here?” His sour breath reeked of wine.

“We need to talk.” Konrad glanced over his shoulder. “Let me in.”

The door squeaked open. Helmuth towered before him, his blonde hair tangled and silk clothes disheveled. He held a thin-bladed sword at his side. “Out,” he snapped at a young, red-haired wench clutching the bed sheets over her ample bosom.