The Hidden City (36 page)

It was also not necessary.

“He asked me to convey a message,” Andrei said, nodding agreeably. “Understand that, given the time constraints, he could not write it out himself, and he did not choose to dictate it; I am therefore quoting from memory, and memory, as you know, is often . . . unreliable.

“You asked about a Patris AMatie, a man who has been involved with the Merchant Authority in minerals and pearl trading. He is known to the Patris, albeit not well; they do not overlap much in their business interests. Because they do not, information about Patris AMatie was more difficult to obtain than it might otherwise have been.” He smiled, and took a small stone out of his pocket.

This, he set upon the table between their glasses. He spoke a soft word, and passing his hand over it, he met Rath's gaze. Nothing about his expression changed, but his eyes grew colder.

Rath was impressed in spite of himself. The stone must have cost a small fortune. Hectore, of course, could spend a small fortune without noticing its loss, but he seldom chose to do it among the Magi. To the eye, it seemed a magelight; it had the right shape, the right color, and the right activation key.

But many things could be activated by word and gesture. This one? Silence, of a sort.

“What are we now speaking about?” Rath asked, with just the hint of a smile.

“Hectore's family,” Andrei replied. “His troublesome sister and her unmarriageable daughter, his troublesome nephew and the possible difficulty his brother might be experiencing.”

Not just silence, then. Rath shook his head.

“Yes,” Andrei said, “it was costly. The more so because he did not have it to hand; it had to be crafted, and in speed. This may return to haunt us,” the man added, with a small, sharp frown. “But I am known to serve your godfather, and the discussion would not be out of place among the merchant class. If we are overheard, we are overheard.”

“And if someone is looking for magic?”

Andrei's brow rose a fraction. “They will find it,” he said with a shrug. “It is stronger than the average magelight, but not by much, and not if the person searching is not looking directly at the stone.”

“You think of everything.”

Andrei shrugged. “I have to,” he said softly. “And, of course, I have a few questions of my own, Ararath.”

“As long as they don't involve Handernesse, I'll endeavor to answer them.”

“I doubt that. I doubt that highly.”

Rath smiled. His expression was not that different from the one Andrei wore. “Why did my godfather send you?”

“Because our investigations were . . . unsuccessful.”

“Which means you can tell me nothing about the Patris.”

“We can tell you that he appears to be sponsored by Patris Cordufar.”

Rath whistled. “That's an old House.” Not rival to The Ten in size or power, as some of the merchant houses had grown to be, but lineage, in the Empire, counted for much. “Is Cordufar still associated with The Darias?”

“Yes. House Darias has found that association profitable, and Patris Cordufar is not hurt by the association. He has not sought to better his standing with a more powerful House, but there is always risk in that.

“AMatie was brought in about ten years ago. From where, it is not clear. And I doubt that clarity will ever come of the investigation.”

Rath frowned. “What else?”

“Very few men were willing to speak of Patris AMatie at all.”

“Not unusual.”

“But it is. He does not appear to be married; he does not appear to be otherwise involved. He keeps to himself, although he has a fine house upon the Isle. He has five servants; they are all men of roughly my age. They arrived with him when he arrived in Averalaan.”

“You didn't try to speak with any of them.”

“No more would anyone try to speak to
me
of the affairs of Patris Hectore. I did not see wisdom in making the attempt, however.”

Which said much.

“He does have money. He uses it in odd pursuits. He is known to the Order of Knowledge as a hobbyist scholar.”

“Everyone who is not a member of the Order is known that way,” Rath said, with just a trace of annoyance.

“Indeed.”

“His areas of expertise?”

“Ah, now that is interesting. It appears that he has some interest in knowledge of Ancient Weston.”

Which was disappointing. “That much, I knew.”

“Then I will add to your knowledge. You knew Member Haberas?”

Rath frowned. It had been months since he'd seen Haberas, but he knew the old man well. Truculent and wheedling by turns, he was the foremost authority in Ancient Weston writing in the Empire. “I know him.”

“You knew him.”

Rath's frown froze. “When?” he asked softly.

“Two months and seven days ago.”

“How?”

“That
is
the question. He was found dead. He is an old man. Had he died of age, there would be no difficulty. Indeed, it was assumed that he
had
.”

“But?”

“One of the Magi—Member APhaniel or perhaps Member Mellifas—has an investigation pending on the circumstances of that death. The magisterial guard has not been called,” he added.

Rath did not ask how he knew about an internal investigation ordered by First Circle mages of the Order of Knowledge, not because he wasn't interested—he was—but rather because he had known Andrei for far too many years to expect more than a frown for an answer. Instead, he waited.

“Patris AMatie is a man of almost negligible needs. His food is the same, day in and day out, and it is sparse. Only when he entertains—which he does seldom—does it differ.”

“Who does he entertain?”

“Merchants of the Guild.”

“No other—”

“None whatsoever. If he has a private life—and I concede the possibility—it is conducted entirely off his grounds, and there is no trace of it that could be found on short notice.” Andrei leaned back, lifting the wineglass that he would not actually drink from. He frowned, however, as its scent wafted beneath his nose; he was a very picky man, and his expression clearly said,
I have no intention of paying for this
.

Rath had no intention of causing a scene, however, and grimaced.

“Hectore believes that you have encountered AMatie in professional dealings in the Common.” The neutrality of the statement bordered on the absurd. Rath, however, did not laugh.

“Given the deadline—”

“It was a
request,
Andrei, no more.”

“Given the deadline that you imposed upon the gathering of information, it is not beyond belief that you intend to have similar dealings with him again. It is, of course, why I am here.”

“Not to ask questions about the details of those dealings.”

“That is beneath you, Ararath. Your godfather is fond of you, and has always been fond of you. I personally think that you hold on to too much, and for far too long, but my opinion is neither wanted nor relevant. He is concerned for you, however, given the death of Member Haberas. Is there cause for concern?”

Rath nodded quietly.

“Good. I hate to waste my time.”

“So do I.” Rath looked out the windows. He had grown so used to his dwelling that he had almost forgotten how much he liked sunlight. “The meeting is not for some few hours yet.”

“And where will it take place?”

“Radell's.”

Andrei raised a brow. Rath cleared his throat. “Avram's Society of Avealaan Historians.”

Andrei nodded, although half of his attention had already wandered. “Will it not, at that time, be closed for business?”

“Radell is never closed for business when vast sums of money are involved. He is
always
willing to accommodate any customer who has spent thousands of crowns in his establishment.”

“And you have something to sell?”

“Of course. Antiquities,” he answered, before Andrei could ask. “Two bowls that were, I believe, used for household offerings. No, I'm not certain to which god. But I believe them to be genuine, and I will offer them to the Patris for his inspection this eve.”

“Good. If things go well, we will not meet this eve.”

“And if they do not?”

Andrei's smile was marked and cool. His gaze grazed Rath's daggers, and he added no words to his meaning. There was no need.

Had Rath been a prouder man, he would have refused Andrei's oblique offer. But pride he had left behind, when he had left Handernesse, and in truth, Andrei was more competent than most of the men Rath had met, or fought beside, in his life.

“I'll see to the bill,” he said, rising.

“I wouldn't advise you to pay it,” Andrei said, lip curling as he plonked the glass down on the table. “This is almost sour.”

“I'm not of a mind to have a loud argument with the establishment's owner on this particular day,” Rath replied. “Had I been alone, it would be different.”

Andrei's smile was unexpected. “You've grown cautious, Ararath, if not wise. Good.” He rose. “I will make my report to your godfather, if I have no cause to meet with you again.” Andrei retrieved the stone he had placed on the table. “There are things at work here,” he said softly, just before he pocketed the stone, “that I do not fully understand. Be wary.”

Rath nodded and watched Andrei depart. With him went what little Rath retained from his life in Handernesse, and for a brief moment, he missed it. But brevity in such longing was always wise, and he shunted it forcefully to one side. He would sit here alone for another hour before he once again made his round of the Common.

He knew Andrei would already be out in the street, watching. Suspected that Andrei could identify all five of the men who served the Patris AMatie; if they were present, Andrei would know.

If they were dangerous? He would know that as well.

Rath almost regretted Jewel's absence. Her sight was so skewed and so unreliable he could not direct it or force it—but when it came upon her, when she had what she called her feeling, he learned much.

Jewel,
he thought,
be ready. Be careful
.

 

“But where
are
you going?” Lefty stood in the frame of her door. Arann was on his feet, but he didn't look exactly comfortable; the doctor had said he would be in pain for some time, and he was to do no heavy lifting or work.

“Out,” she said curtly. Which was not entirely true, but
in
had connotations which she was unwilling to share with anyone.

“Jay.” Arann's voice. Arann, who had abandoned his bedroll, and who walked, slowly, to stand behind Lefty. Who, in fact, gently shoved Lefty to one side. Lefty threw him a mutinous glance, but held his peace. She had seriously misjudged Lefty, and was coming to understand how much only now. He had slowly accepted her presence, which she expected; he had started to meet her eyes, and there were whole hours that went by in which he now forgot to stick his three-fingered right hand in his left armpit.

But with this slowly growing trust came a sharpness of tongue which she would have bet money was beyond him. Given that it was her own money, she was just as glad she hadn't. Rath, the sonofabitch, would have taken the money anyway.

If she could ignore Lefty—and that was arguable—it was impossible to ignore Arann. When they were out together, Arann did all their talking, but Arann actually spoke very little.

“I can't talk about it,” she said. Which was true. “Rath will kill me.” Which was less true, although she had her suspicions.

“Your nightmare,” Arann said. He, too, could surprise her. He was big, yes, and because he was often silent, because he was honest whenever he
could
be, it was easy to think of him as stupid. Well, okay, not
stupid,
but not perceptive.

She shrugged. “I'm sorry. It was just a nightmare. I have them all the time.”

His brow rose. Gods, she was
such
a bad liar.

“This ‘out' that you're going to,” Arann continued, when she lost even the will to try to maintain a lie, “has something to do with that girl? Finch?”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, stalling. She had some time to kill. Not a lot, but some. She and Rath had gone to Taverson's every day, and had eaten there. Rath had introduced her to everyone, and they had taken note of her. She was to eat there, a late meal, and alone. Alone in Taverson's at night was not the place Jewel wanted to be—but Rath said she'd be safe enough there
because
they now felt as if they knew her.

“Sky's clear,” Arann replied.

She frowned.

“You said the sky was wrong, that you could see the moon.”

“Did I?” She honestly didn't remember. The nightmares did that to her. Then again, Arann had hardly been
awake
; it was unfair that he remembered more than she did.

“Jay.”

“You can't go with me. Not where I'm going.”

He met her gaze and held it. “You took your daggers,” he said softly.

She changed tactics, a Rath word for fighting. “I want to keep you both here,” she said, voice low and as intense as she could make it. “Do you understand? I want you both to live here. With me. With us.

“You try to follow me, and I can't even guarantee that
I'll
be able to stay when Rath finds out. And he will.”

“I don't think Rath's as bad as you think he is,” Lefty told her, meeting and holding her gaze.