The Child Prince (The Artifactor) (53 page)

Curious, he tossed what remained of the pear into a nearby rubbish bin and hoisted himself up the side of the stone building. His hands slipped a bit on the smooth stone and he had a hard time at moments finding good enough purchase, but he eventually made it to the roof. Once there, he didn’t pause to see if anyone had noticed him (with market in full-swing, no one would take notice of a single man in an alleyway) and instead moved around to the back of the roofline. Baby had taught him to never walk within sight of prey, but on the opposite side, and move so that your shadow never touched the ground. With these steep roofs, that proved to be challenging, but he adapted the techniques as best he could.

The carriage, drawn by a matching pair of four bays, moved at nothing more than a walk. Then again, in that busy street, anything faster would cause fatalities. Bellomi, with his clear highway in the sky, could match this pace easily. At least, for now he could. He hadn’t the foggiest idea of what he’d do once he reached the end of this street, though. Or (heaven forbid) if the councilman turned off and took another road altogether.

His great-many-greats grandfather had chosen this spot of land to build the palace on hundreds of years ago because of a predominant hill, thereby offering a good vantage point to build a palace on. But nothing about this area could be described as
flat
. The land pitched and rolled, varying in levels every hundred feet or so. The city, perforce, also had a variety of levels to it. Different streets stood higher or lower than the rest. Right now, Bellomi had a lofty perch to travel along, but if the councilman went left, then he would abruptly come more eyelevel with the carriage. If he went right, he’d have to switch to a different side of the street altogether to follow him, and the street there sloped dramatically before rising again just as sharply, putting him again at risk of being easily spotted.

Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this in broad daylight….

The councilman took a left at the next street. Bellomi instantly went flat, putting himself as level with the roof as he could, waiting for the carriage to rumble past before daring to raise his head again. The tiles under his skin felt rough and hot, and they scraped at his bare hands as he shifted. He took a step forward, intending to follow the carriage up the road (although much more cautiously), when it abruptly stopped at a side street so narrow that he almost didn’t spot it. Now, what and why…?

Before he could properly think about it, the bodyguard that had been lounging on the back of the carriage abruptly stood up and took a half-leap for the nearest building. With the nimbleness of a cat, he climbed up on top of the roof, crouching on the edge of it and looking around in all directs at the street below.

Bellomi swore to himself under his breath. Being up on the rooftops had absolutely no advantage if someone else was also up here with him! Before he could get spotted, he swung over the top of the roof and onto the other side, thereby out of sight of the bodyguard. Before anyone on this side of the street caught him, he swung down and off, putting his feet back onto cobblestone.

Alright, what to do? He could hardly casually stroll by that carriage and try to catch what the councilman was saying to whoever he met in that side alley. The bodyguard would riddle him with holes if he tried. Walking along at a shambling pace, he looked around carefully at the terrain. The next street past this one seemed to slope a great deal…in fact…did he spy a viaduct ahead? Indeed there was, with a canal underneath it. Now that looked promising. He quickened his pace to a brisk walk, taking a better look as he got closer. Yes indeed, very promising. The canal went deep, taller than any man could stand, although why it had been built that way puzzled him as only a trickle of water flowed through the bottom of it. Perhaps this area experienced high floods during certain seasons?

Regardless, it stood empty now, and it directly connected with that alleyway. Better, it would obstruct the view of the bodyguard if he stayed close enough to the wall.

Bellomi headed straight for it, bypassing the bridge entirely and lightly leaping into the canal. He landed with a slight crunch of gravel, bending both knees to absorb the impact. As quietly as he could, he moved forward, hand along the wall and listened intently. Alleys, especially ones as narrow as those, tended to have a slight echoing effect. Faint, but if one listened hard enough….

“
—
another happening—” a man’s deep voice said intently. A slight wind carried away the next few words. “—cannot afford for this to go on.”

“Of course, my lord, but—”

“I will not hear excuses. Do whatever needs to be done. Tell them that if they’re caught, I’ll take care of it.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but that didn’t work very well last time.”

“Last time, the buffoon you sent did actual property damage. I can’t very well get him out of something if he’s openly breaking the law.”

“Yes sir,” the man sighed in resignation. “I’ll see to it personally.”

“Excellent. I must get back, but I trust you to see to it.” The sound of footsteps, then a door being shut before carriage wheels rattled off along the cobblestone.

Clasessens had left that quickly? But the man he’d been speaking with probably hadn’t. Bellomi bent and leaped, catching the edge of the canal with his fingertips and hoisting himself upwards with sheer brute strength. Upon gaining the top, he dared to poke his head up over the edge of the street level, looking into the alleyway. The man Clasessens had been meeting turned the corner as he watched, giving Bellomi nothing more than a glimpse of his face. But he’d worn a jacket of dusky red and a black hat, so he should be fairly easy to spot in the crowd. If Bellomi scrambled enough to catch up with him.

He ducked through the same alley the man had just vacated, moving at an almost dead sprint until he reached the other end, and then with a more casual saunter he stepped out into the street and started walking. Most of the people along this street moved along toward the market, heading south. He fought the tide to go up the street instead, as did the man with the black hat and red coat, so it didn’t take him much effort to find him.

The other man didn’t go far, just a few doors down before ducking into an open tavern. Bellomi, seeing that the place already had a good sized crowd to it, felt it safe enough to follow him in.

Like every other tavern in existence, the interior was dim from a lack of lighting and the musty smell of sawdust and beer. He had to pause in the doorway a split second so his eyes could adjust after leaving the brightness of the outdoors. When he could properly see again, he panned the room. Mostly day laborers here, men of all ages, sitting around tables and calling for either food or drink. One long bar along the back wall, where his prey had decided to go. Bellomi went straight back to the bar, weaving his way in and around tables, and fetched up against the aged wood so that both of his arms casually crossed on top of the pitted surface. He had a good arm’s length of distance between him and Mr. Red Coat, which should be enough to avoid tripping any of the man’s alarms, but close enough that Bellomi could still overhear despite the noisy conversations going on around him.

The bartender came along to get Red Coat’s order, then he looked at Bellomi…and looked again, a little taken aback.

Bellomi gave him a crooked smile for the reaction. He didn’t look old enough to be in here or order anything strong. But fortunately, Morgan had taught him how to deal with situations like this. “Just waiting on someone. Can I get a mulled cider?”

The bartender, clearly relieved at not having to debate on the matter of giving a minor alcohol, gave him a nod and plunked a mug of chilled cider in front of him before moving on.

Red Coat nursed his drink for several moments alone before someone else, looking rough and weather beaten, joined him. “Whazzit this time?” the man greeted, looking put out.

“South quarter,” Red Coat answered, also seeming tired. “Packet of taxes, he said.”

“Not again.”

“Aye, well…” Red Coat trailed off with a shrug. “Better us that makes sure it’s delivered than in their hands, what?”

“Can’t we just tell the city guard…” the newcomer made a face and grumbled, “No, like as not they’re in on it.”

Red Coat didn’t disagree, just shook his head in resignation. “It’s a sad state of things, my man, when it’s thief-takers that do the guard’s business for them. Aye, a sad state. But come. We’ve got hours yet until we need to go. Have a pint.”

“Aye, that I will.”

Bellomi listened on this byplay in silent confusion. The two men fell to general grumbling and good natured griping about home life and the like, nothing that Bellomi had any particular interest in. He let their words flow over him as he thought.

At first, he’d assumed that Clasessens had both hands in some kind of dirty dealing. It’d certainly sounded that way. But these two men made it seem quite the opposite—as if Clasessens was trying to
stop
backstreet dealing and theft instead. Taxes? They’d mentioned that specifically.

What by sweet mercy was going on here?

He didn’t have enough information to make any assumptions, not by a long shot. But he did have six hours before he was supposed to be back in the palace at a certain grandfather clock. He also had a whole city full of people that he could charm into talking to him.

The bartender alone would probably know half of what he needed to. Determined, he gulped down the rest of his cider and called for a refill.

With the first round of meetings finally set in place and made as secure as could be, his father had cheerfully informed him that he would be responsible for the first one. Bellomi hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, tossing and turning, and at pre-dawn he finally gave up and threw the covers back. It took a little maneuvering to get around the mountain lion taking up more than half of the bed, but he eventually got both feet on the floor. The very cold stone floor. He hissed in an aggravated breath as he danced around, trying to quickly get to his chest and put socks and shoes on before his feet became chunks of ice.

Baby watched him, slightly entertained for a moment, but when Bellomi managed to get fully dressed without tripping or doing any spectacular falls, the lion gave a yawn and snuggled back into the warm bed.

Sleep deprived, grumpy, and worried, Bellomi slouched for the kitchen. Of course, at this hour of the morning no one else had ventured out of their beds. He went about fixing himself a simple breakfast, nothing more than toast and hot cider (which he managed
without
burning anything, thankyouverymuch) but the smells of rich butter, warm bread and mulled cider didn’t do anything to alleviate his mood. Cradling a hot cup in both hands, he wandered into the research room for lack of any other plan, fetching to a stop in front of the map hanging upright along the wall. Everyone had been marking the map for their own purposes, so it had little pins of different colors all over Windamere. He’d lost track of what half the pins meant. But the red pins—those he knew all too well. According to his father’s calculations, those red pins highlighted the towns that they absolutely had to win over for their plans to work.

Even though he knew the exact number, seeing it like this made it look like an endless expanse of red, like a tidal wave halted in mid-motion.

“Bellomi.”

He leaped about a foot in the air, one hand automatically going for the sword hilt above his shoulder before he registered who stood behind him. The cider splashed in the mug, sloshing a little over onto his bare hand, and he hissed in pain.

“Oh, sorry,” Hana apologized, coming around to his side, digging a kerchief out of her pocket to dab at the spilled cider. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Not your fault,” he sighed. “I was lost in thought.”

“Apparently.” She flashed him a look through her lashes, her eyes quickly scanning and evaluating him. “Worried?”

He didn’t answer her immediately, his eyes straying back to the map. After a long moment he spoke, words husky. “In fairytales, the prince always charges in on a white stallion, sword held aloft, and goes into a glorious battle that somehow solves all problems. The story never tells of the calculations he has to do, or all of the people he has to win over first, or the money troubles he has. It’s always some grand quest, or adventure, or battle that he has to go through to win the day. Right now, I’d rather have that grand quest or battle.”

“Bellomi.” She put her arm around his waist and hugged him to her, her forehead touching his jawline. “You
can
do this.”

“Hana, I don’t even know
how
to do this,” he responded in resigned aggravation. Despite his feelings, he turned into her, letting her warmth seep into him. “I’ve been locked in a room for ten years. I haven’t done any public speaking since I was…nine, I think. Maybe eight. I don’t even remember what I said or what the event was. Ever since Sevana brought me here, I’ve had more human interaction, but I’ve never had to talk with more than two or three people at a time. Just walking through crowded streets still occasionally unnerves me. How in the world am I supposed to face a crowd of people, complete strangers, and charm them into supporting me?”