Rise of a Merchant Prince (14 page)

She paused and looked around. The streets were completely deserted as far as she could tell, but there was an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach that made her suddenly wish she hadn't been so curious. Fatigue was again threatening to overwhelm her, and she was due to report to the Daymaster in less than two hours. She feared going to sleep, for if she did she was certain she wouldn't awake in time. Missing one day's picking pockets in the market wouldn't usually earn her more than a harsh word or a cuffing around, but not the morning after Tannerson's murder. She must do nothing to call undue attention to herself.

Tannerson had been a brute and a man of few friends, but he'd had many allies and had established
himself as something of a minor power among that faction of the Mockers known as bashers, those given to strong-arm tactics—armed robbery, extortion, and protection, as opposed to the beggars and those who used more subtle forms of larceny. The Sagacious Man and his lieutenants, the Daymaster and the Nightmaster, had been reluctant to curb Tannerson and others like him who produced, and say what you might about the swine, he had produced. His small-scale reign of terror over the merchants near the docks and Poor Quarter had more than doubled the protection money coming into the guild over the previous year.

But if she could show up with an account of men moving through the streets to the palace, she might divert any suspicion from herself and ensure that the Sagacious Man was more concerned with the actions of the Prince's secret police than with those of a single girl pickpocket. She might even plant the idea that it was the Prince's men who had cut Tannerson's throat.

The girl's reverie, half from exhaustion, half from emotions spent in killing her sister's murderer, had dulled her wits. She was barely aware someone else was nearby when she turned and tried to flee.

A man's hand seized her wrist and held her in a grip like iron as she drew her dagger to defend herself. Another hand froze her movement as she looked up into the man's blue eyes. He was the strongest man she had ever encountered, for no matter how she squirmed she was unable to free herself. And he was quick; when she tried to kick him in the groin, he turned enough that her kicks fell harmlessly on thighs that were as hard as oaks.

Other men approached, and in the early morning gloom the girl could make out a ring of dangerous-looking men closing around her. A short, unattractive man with a balding head looked her up and down and said, “What do we have here?” He pried the dagger from her immobile hand.

Another man, whose features she couldn't make out, said, “This is the one who was following us.”

Robert de Loungville said, “Who are you, girl?”

The large man who held her said, “I think there's blood on her hands.”

A shuttered lantern was uncovered and suddenly the girl could make out the faces of the men who surrounded her. The one who held her was little more than a boy himself, roughly the same age as she. He might have arms on him as big as her thighs, but his face was still soft and boyish, though there was something in his eyes that made her wary.

The short man, who seemed to be in charge, looked down and said, “Sharp eyes, Erik. She tried to wipe them off, but didn't have water to bathe.” Turning to a man in the outer rank of those who surrounded her, he said, “Return to Sabella's and check the rooftops and alleys around there; I think you'll find the weapon and whatever she was wearing when she killed Tannerson. She couldn't have dumped them into the harbor and had time to catch up with us.”

Another man, even shorter than the leader, young like the powerful youth but thin, even scrawny, pushed forward and thrust his face an inch from the girl's.

“What have you done with my gold!” demanded Roo.

The girl spit in his face for an answer, and de
Loungville had to hold him back from striking her in reply. “It's getting light and this is too public a place,” said the sergeant, his voice held to a harsh whisper. “Bring her along to the palace, Erik. We'll question her there.”

The girl decided it was time to cease being passive and screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping to startle the powerful youth into releasing his grip enough so she could yank free. All that happened was a meaty hand clamped down over her mouth and the short leader said, “Open your yap again, girl, and I'll have him club you to silence. I have no need to be tender with you.”

She knew he was not making an idle threat. But as a shutter opened in a room above and as two street boys peeked out of a nearby alley, the girl knew she had achieved her goal. Before she reached the palace, word would reach the Daymaster that the thief called Kitty had been picked up by agents of the Prince, and at least she would have an acceptable excuse for not reporting to muster at Mother's this morning. She'd have a most reasonable excuse for the Daymaster when she got back to Mother's.

As the young man called Erik half carried, half led her through the predawn streets, the girl amended her last thought: if she ever got back to Mother's to explain.

When they reached the palace, the mood among the men who escorted the prisoner lightened, except for Roo, who had demanded to know about his gold. He fumed and kept a suspicious eye upon the girl.

They entered the palace through a small gate, moving past two alert guards who said nothing.
Down a long hallway, illuminated by torches in sconces, they continued in silence until they reached a large stairway leading down into the lower portion of the palace. Several of the men moved away, leaving the girl in the custody of de Loungville, Erik, Roo, Duncan, and Jadow.

Half pushing, half throwing her, Erik released the girl's arm as they entered an interrogation cell. Shackles hung from the wall, and if the girl had taken the time to inspect them she would have seen them rusty from disuse. But she turned like a trapped animal and crouched, as if awaiting an attack.

“Tough one, isn't she?” asked de Loungville.

“What about my gold?” demanded Roo.

“What gold?” said the girl.

De Loungville stepped forward. “Enough!” Looking at the girl thief, he asked, “What do we call you?”

“Anything you want,” she snapped. “What's the difference?”

De Loungville said, “You've caused us a great deal of difficulty, girl.” He motioned and Jadow brought over a small wooden stool, upon which de Loungville sat. “I'm tired. This has been a very long night and there are things about it I don't like much. The thing I like the least is finding you have killed the man I was going to hang tomorrow. I don't know what your cause with Tannerson was, child, but I needed him for a public hanging.” Glancing at the other men, who now leaned against the walls of the cell, he said, “We need someone to hang.”

Jadow said, “If we dress her up a bit in a man's clothing, and cut her hair, maybe.”

If the threat reached the girl, it didn't show in her
reaction. She merely glared at the men, one at a time, as if silently marking their features for some future revenge. Finally she said, “He killed my sister.”

“Who was your sister?” asked de Loungville.

“She was a bar girl . . . a whore over at the Seven Flowers. Her name was Betsy.”

Roo blushed. Suddenly he could see the resemblance, though this girl was far prettier than her sister had been. But Roo had been intimate with Betsy and his reaction to this revelation was surprising. He felt embarrassed and didn't want to let this girl know he had been the man her sister had been with when she had been killed.

“What's your name?” de Loungville asked again.

“Katherine,” said a voice behind them, and Roo turned to see Lord James standing in the door to the cell. “Pickpocket.” He walked around de Loungville and studied the girl's face. “They call you Kitty, don't they?”

The girl nodded. She had been frightened by the others, for they were hard men, but they were commonly dressed. This man, however, was dressed like a noble and spoke as if he expected to be obeyed. He studied her face, then said, “I knew your grandmother.”

Kitty looked confused for a minute, then her eyes widened and she turned pale. “Gods and demons, you're the bleeding Duke, ain't you?”

James nodded and said to de Loungville, “How did you catch this little fish?”

De Loungville explained that one of his rear guard had spotted her coming down a drainpipe and had signaled they were being followed, and how the trap for her had been laid. “I just dropped Erik off in the shadows so he could grab her when she walked
past him,” he finished. He stood and indicated the duke should take the stool.

James sat and calmly said, “You'd best tell me exactly what happened, girl.”

She told of discovering that Tannerson and his bashers had killed her sister, and of how she had arranged to lure him to a room. She had turned down the lamp and rested on the bed, and when Tannerson had entered he saw a pretty young girl and it wasn't until he leaned over her and found her dagger entering his throat he suspected anything.

She had ducked out from under him as he had fallen on the bed, and she had tried to get as much blood off her body and hands as possible before she fled out the window.

Roo interrupted and said, “Did you take any gold from him?”

“He didn't have a purse,” she said. “At least, I don't think so; I didn't stop to look.”

Roo swore. “Someone heard you leave, looked in, saw the blood, and took the gold.”

“What about the locked door?” asked de Loungville.

It was Duke James who said, “It's a common thing to find that those latches aren't as secure as you think if you know where to find the hidden trip. Probably one of the employees at the inn has your gold, Roo. They knew how to set the latch so it fell into place when they closed the door. If you'd been there five minutes earlier, you might have caught the thief in the act. Now we could tie the thief to a spit and roast him slowly, and we won't find the gold.”

Roo swore again.

James sat back. “You're something of a problem,
Kitty. I had reached an accommodation with the Sagacious Man over the disposition of Tannerson and his companions, and you've managed to completely foul that up.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, your career with the Mockers is at an end.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice made faint by fear.

“Give you a job,” he said, rising. To de Loungville he said. “We need female agents, Bobby. But keep her on a short leash for a while. If she proves untrustworthy, we can always kill her.”

He left the room and de Loungville motioned for the others to follow him. Coming up to Kitty, he reached out and took her chin in his hand. “You're pretty enough under all that grime,” he said.

“Looking for some sport, then, are you?” she asked, a glint of defiance in her eyes.

“What if I am?” he responded, his voice harsh and low. He pulled her face forward and gave her a quick kiss, but his eyes remained open and he watched her face carefully.

She pushed herself away. “Well, you wouldn't be the first rough man to put hands on me,” she said without emotion. “I was taken young and it's all the same to me. Getting poked by one man is much like getting poked by another.” She stepped back and removed her vest. Then she unbuttoned her tunic and removed it along with her boots and trousers.

De Loungville turned to the door where Erik and Roo waited and motioned for them to move away. He studied the girl a moment. She had a lithe body, small breasts, and slender hips, but there was a nice balance to her. She had a long neck and large eyes, and he said, “Yes, you're pretty enough.” Turning
away, he told her, “Now, get dressed and I'll have some food sent to you. Rest awhile and we'll talk some more later in the day. And think on this: you now work for me, and if I need to, I'll as happily cut your throat as take you to my bed.”

He didn't look back as he left the cell, closed the door behind him, and locked it. He then moved to where the others were waiting for him. To Erik and Jadow he said, “Go back to your quarters and get some sleep. I'll need you alert in a couple of hours. With the Sagacious Man fleeing and this Tannerson murdered, we may find things getting lively in the city soon.”

As they left, he turned to Duncan and Roo. “What about you two?”

Roo looked at Duncan, who shrugged. “I guess we also need to find jobs,” said Roo.

De Loungville said, “You can still work for me.”

“Thanks, but if I let this one setback stop me, what sort of merchant would I be?”

“True,” said Robert. “Well, you can find your own way out. If you want to, grab a bite at the commons before you do; have a hot meal on the Prince with my compliments.”

He walked away and as he left, he said, “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Duncan waited until de Loungville was out of earshot and said, “Just what are we going to do?”

Roo sighed, long and loud. “I have no idea.” He walked toward the soldiers' commons. “But if we're going to be out looking for work, we at least can do it on a full stomach.”

Roo jumped.

The waiters coming out the door swerved expertly to avoid Roo as he came into the kitchen at Barret's Coffee House, and Roo put down his tray as he called out his order. The chaos in the kitchen stood in direct contrast to the calm evidenced in the common room and the private areas on the second floor of Barret's. The large oak double doors kept the sound away from those merchants and traders negotiating in hushed voices throughout the coffee house.

Roo had sought employment for almost a week before he thought of Barret's. Several merchant concerns had looked upon the poorly dressed former soldier with little civility, and no one seemed interested in taking on even the most junior of partners without receiving a large sum of capital as an incentive. Promises of hard work, diligence, perspicacity, and loyalty were less important than gold to these men.

Most merchants either had sons or apprentices, and any work available save as guards or menials.
Roo felt close to defeat before he remembered the young waiter at Barret's named Jason who had directed Erik and Roo to the horse trader by the city gate.

Roo had returned to Barret's, found the man in charge of the waiters, mentioned Jason by name, and after a short consultation with Sebastian Lender, the manager of Barret's—a man named Hoen—offered Roo a tryout as a waiter.

Roo quickly learned his way around the floor, with Jason acting as his tutor. Roo had come to like Jason, the youngest son of a merchant in another part of town. McKeller, the headwaiter, had told Jason to “show the new boy the ropes.” Roo disliked being referred to as a “boy,” but given McKeller's age, he supposed it was reasonable. Duke James would appear a boy next to McKeller.

Jason had proven an easygoing teacher, one who didn't presume Roo was stupid because he didn't know his way around the coffee house. Roo's years of growing up around Erik's family at the Inn of the Pintail helped, as he wasn't completely ignorant of what went on in a kitchen or in a common room.

Still, there was much about Barret's that was unusual to Roo. First of all, he had been required to swear an oath, on a relic from the temple of Sung, the Goddess of Purity, promising he would never reveal to anyone what he might overhear while waiting tables. He was next fitted for the standard uniform of tunic, trousers, apron, and boots—his own were considered too worn—and was informed the price of his clothing would be deducted from his pay. Then he was taken into the kitchen and introduced to the vast variety of coffees and teas, baked goods, and breakfast,
lunch, and dinner items offered to the clientele of Barret's.

A quick study, Roo memorized as much as he could, confident he would learn the rest as he needed. The organized chaos of the coffee house at its busiest reminded Roo of a battle in many respects. The orders came in from each waiter, who was expected to remember everything a customer requested and who would also remember which table to return to and which gentleman or nobleman received which item. Mostly it was coffee, or an occasional sweet roll, but often it was a complete breaking of fast or a noontime meal. Rarely did anyone eat an evening meal at Barret's, as most businessmen preferred to eat at home with their families, but sometimes the late afternoon business ran long, and waiters and cooks could be working until two or three hours after sunset before the last customer left and the doors were locked. That was the custom at Barret's, that the doors remained open so long as one customer remained, and a few times over the years, at the height of financial crisis in the Kingdom, the coffee house
had remained open around the clock, with the wait staff expected to remain alert, neatly dressed, and ready to answer the call of the frantic businessmen and nobles crowding the floor of the common room.

The conk said, “Your order's ready.”

Roo grabbed his tray from off the counter, double-checked the order, and moved toward the door. He paused a beat to ensure the slight swing of the door was the result of the last waiter moving through it and not because some fool had forgotten which door to pass through—always keep to the right, he
had been told. Jason had told him the biggest problem was caused by customers, who occasionally would mistake the kitchen door as an entrance to the jakes or a back way out, and the resulting collision was usually both loud and messy.

Just before reaching the door, Roo turned and backed through, as if he had been doing this for years, and moved with a fluid grace into the commons. Only his battle-trained reflexes prevented a collision with a customer who turned and moved across the aisle down which Roo moved. “Excuse me, sir,” Roo intoned, when what he wanted to say was “Watch where you're going, fish brain!” He forced a smile.

Jason had impressed upon him that while his salary from Barret's was modest by any measure, the true source of income for the waiters was the gratuity. Quick, efficient, polite, and cheerful service could earn a waiter a week's wages in a day if business was particularly good. Occasionally a single table would provide enough income for a waiter to invest in one of the common undertakings.

For which reason, Roo, as the newest member of the staff, had the poorest section of the common room. He glanced longingly up to the galleries where the business associations, brokers, and partnerships gathered. Among their number were several bright young men who had begun their business lives as waiters at Barret's. It might not be as quick a rise as seeking treasure in far lands, but it could be as dramatic as that in results.

Roo placed his order expertly in front of each businessman, as he had been instructed, and they all but ignored him as they continued their discussion.
He heard enough to realize they were discussing the extramarital adventures of an associate's wife rather than matters of business, and he ignored them. A single copper piece more than the price of the coffee and rolls was placed upon his tray and Roo nodded once and backed away.

He moved through his area, inquiring politely if anyone needed anything, and when he had made his way around his area and had received no new orders, he stationed himself quietly in plain sight, ready to answer the call of any customer who needed him.

For a few minutes he had time to himself and he again looked around the room, memorizing faces and names, certain that someday such information might be useful. From across the room a figure waved at him. Roo recognized him as another waiter, Kurt, a tall, nasty-tempered bully who had most of the younger waiters cowed. He was also a suck-up and had both Hoen and McKeller convinced he was a competent and pleasant waiter, while he was neither. He managed to get the younger waiters to do as much dirty work as possible while avoiding work at every turn. Roo wondered how such a lout had come to such a senior position at Barret's.

Roo ignored the wave, and at last Kurt came across the room toward him. As he approached, Kurt forced a smile for the benefit of the patrons. He would have been a handsome young man, Roo judged, had he not had such a mean turn to his smile and such narrow eyes.

“I was signaling you,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

“I noticed,” Roo answered without looking at him. He kept his eyes on the customers in his section.

“Why didn't you come?” asked Kurt in what he must have assumed was a threatening tone of voice.

“Last time I looked, you weren't paying my salary,” answered Roo, moving to the elbow of the customer who had just tipped him a single copper coin. He nimbly filled the man's half-empty cup without being asked and the two businessmen at the table barely noticed him doing his job.

Kurt put his hand on Roo's arm as he turned. Roo glanced at the hand and said, “I would advise you not to touch me again.”

Kurt almost snarled as he quietly said, “And what if I do?”

“You don't want to find out,” Roo answered calmly.

Kurt said, “I've eaten bigger men than you for breakfast.”

Roo said, “I have no doubt. But I'm not interested in your love life.” He dropped his voice. “Now get your hand off my arm.

Kurt withdrew it and said, “You're not worth a scene at work. But don't think I've forgotten you.”

“I'll be here every day to remind you in case you do,” said Roo. “Now, what did you want me to come over for in the first place?”

“Shift change. You're on the door.”

Roo glanced at the large fancy timepiece that was hanging from the ceiling. A water clock fashioned in Kesh, it displayed the hour and the minute by a rising column of blue water that dripped into a transparent tube marked with the hours at a controlled rate. One of his jobs, as juniormost waiter, was to be in the common room at dawn to quickly flip the valve that caused the strange device to pump water
back to the tank above, while the second tank began dripping, so that the time was always accurate. Roo had been uncertain why it was so critical for these businessmen always to know what time it was, but he was fascinated by the device and the fact that he could see what time of day it was with a glance to the center of the room.

“Why the change?” he asked as he headed for the kitchen, Kurt a step behind him. “We're not due for a shift change for another hour.”

“It's raining,” answered Kurt with a smug grin as he brushed his black hair away from his forehead and took up his own tray. “New boy always gets to wipe up the mud.”

Roo said, “Fair enough, I guess.” He didn't think it was fair at all, but he was damned if he was going to give Kurt the satisfaction of seeing him distressed by the news. He left his own tray and cleaning cloth on a shelf designated as his, and moved quickly through the large kitchen door and crossed the commons to the front door.

Jason was waiting for him, and Roo looked out to see that a tropical storm up from Kesh had swept across the Bitter Sea and was now dumping massive amounts of warm rain on the Prince's City.

Already a pile of damp rags were tossed into the corner and Jason said, “We try to keep the floor as clean as possible before the rail so we don't have to mop down the floor completely throughout the coffee house.”

Roo nodded. Jason tossed him a rag and knelt and began to clean up the mud that was splashing in from the force of the rain, along the edge of the doorway on his side. Roo duplicated his actions at his own
door and knew it was going to be a long, frustrating morning.

After the fourth cleaning of the portal, a large carriage turned the corner at high speed, just a few feet from the doorway to Barret's. The splash of mud through the door barely missed Roo's boots. He quickly knelt and used a rag to get as much of it off the wood as possible. The rain continued its steady tattoo, and little splatters of dirty water continued to edge the wooden floor with grime, but the majority of the entrance hall to the coffee shop was still clean.

Jason tossed Roo a fresh rag. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” answered Roo, catching it. “This seems a bit pointless,” he added, nodding through the open door to where the rain was picking up in intensity. It was a typical fall storm off the Bitter Sea and it could mean days of unrelenting rain. The streets were becoming rivers of mud, and each new arrival at Barret's tracked increasing quantities of the dark brown ooze onto the wooden floor of the entranceway.

“Think how it would look by now if we didn't keep at it,” suggested Jason.

“What else do we do besides fight mud?” asked Roo.

Jason said, “Well, we help customers out of coaches. If one pulls up on your side, first see if it's driven by a coachman alone, or if there's a footman riding on the back. If there's no footman, open the carriage door. If the coach has one of the new fold-down steps, lower it for whoever's inside. If there's no step, get that box over there and carry it to the coach.” He pointed to a small wooden box kept in the corner of the entrance for such use. It sat next to
some dirty towels in a larger metal pan.

A coach pulled up, and Roo glanced at Jason, who nodded; there was no footman, as this was a hired coach, and Roo could see there was nothing like the fancy swing-down step in evidence. He grabbed up the box and, ignoring the rain, placed the box below the door, then pulled down on the handle as instructed. Swinging the door open, he waited. An elderly gentleman climbed quickly down from the coach and took the two steps into the relative shelter of the entranceway.

Roo grabbed the box and was barely a stride away as the coach moved on. He reached the entrance in time to hear McKeller greet the newly arrived patron: “Good morning to you, Mr. Estherbrook.”

Jason was already cleaning the mud from Mr. Estherbrook's boots as Roo replaced the box in the metal pan designed to confine water and mud. He then took up a rag, and by the time he had it in hand, the client had moved into the inner sanctum of Barret's.

“That's Jacob Estherbrook?” asked Roo.

Jason nodded. “You know him?”

“I know his coaches. They'd come through Ravensburg all the time.”

“He's one of Krondor's richest men,” confided Jason as they finished cleaning up the floor. “He's got an amazing daughter, too.”

“Amazing how?” said Roo, putting away the muddy rag. Jason was a young man of middle height, a lightly freckled, fair complexion, and brown hair, one who Roo judged unremarkable in appearance, but his expression became close to transfixed as he answered, “What can I say? She's the most beautiful
girl I've ever seen.”

Roo grinned. “And you're in love?”

Jason blushed, which amused Roo, though he kept any jibe to himself. “No. I mean, if I could find a woman who looked like that who would give me a second glance, I'd tithe to Ruthia”—the Goddess of Luck—“for the rest of my life. She's going to marry some very rich man or a noble, I'm certain. It just that . . .”

“She's someone to daydream about,” supplied Roo.

Jason shrugged as he put away his cleaning rag. He then glanced at Roo's feet and said, “Boots.”