Wings of Omen - Thieves World 06 (10 page)

"I'll buy the drinks; you tell me something about those three in the comer." His thin lips parted in a brief smile. "You must be new around here," he said.

"The price of information is more than a drink or two in this town." She drew a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye. "I've got a lot mpre to offer."

He appeared to think about it. "My table, then?" He made a mock bow. The buzz of conversations had resumed. No one gave her or her young bravo a glance as he pulled out a chair and made a show of wiping the seat. A good table, she decided, positioned to give a view of the entire tavern and its entrance. She set her mug down, draped her cloak on the chair. They sat side by side.

"What's your name?" she asked quietly, leaning over her beer. He began playing with a small pair of dice that had lain by his own mug.

"Hanse," he answered simply. "I never liked that loud-mouthed braggart." He nodded toward the man she'd beaten; the barkeep had him under the arms and was dragging his limp form toward the door.

Chenaya took another drink. "No one else seemed impressed." Hanse shrugged. The dice skittered over the table; he gathered them up again.

"You're Lowan Vigeles's daughter, aren't you?" He rolled the dice between his palms.

She sat back, hiding her surprise. "How did you know?" He tossed the dice: snake eyes. "Word travels fast in Sanctuary. That's your first lesson."

"Is there a second?" she said, feigning nonchalance. A barely perceptible nod toward the 3rd Commandos. "People to avoid in Sanctuary." He changed the subject. "Is it true you fought in the Rankan arenas?"

She leaned close so that her shoulder touched his. "When the purse was large enough to interest me." She batted her lashes playfully. "Why should I avoid those dung-balls?"

The dice clattered on the rough surface. "They've got comrades. Lots of comrades."

The barkeep passed them, bearing drinks for another table. Chenaya waited. "How many?" she asked finally.

"Lots. They rode into town some days ago. Already act like they own it, too, though I wager the Fish-Eyes might dispute their claim." He looked up as the barkeep passed again. "One-Thumb, two more beers here. She's buying." He smiled at her and drained his mug. "They always go about in twos and threes. You tangle with one, you tangle with them all."

She tilted back until her head rested on the wall, and cursed silently. It couldn't be coincidence that the 3rd Commandos were here. They must be plotting against the Prince. Of course, that meant danger for her father and herself, too. And Molin. Theron had spared no energy hunting any who might claim the crown.

Hanse tapped her arm, and she started. "He wants to be paid," he told her. One Thumb loomed over her, looking surly. Two new mugs had appeared on the table. Hanse's eyes followed her hand as it dipped into the purse about her neck and extracted a coin. "You must do well in the Games," he said.

"Well enough," she answered, dismissing One-Thumb. "I'm still alive."

"To being alive," he whispered, raising his beer in a toast. A bit of froth snowed his black mustache. "And if you want to stay that way, leam to carry a thinner purse and a plainer sword." He glanced up at her brow. "There are men here who would slit your throat for that trinket alone and only afterward worry if the gold was real."

She inclined her chin into one palm and met his gaze. She liked his eyes, so black and deep. "Since word travels so fast in Sanctuary, Hanse, you'd best spread this one. It's a new lesson to leam: don't play with Chenaya. The stakes are too high."

He regarded her over the rim of his mug. "What's that supposed to mean?" She put on that sweet smile again. "It means I never lose, Hanse. Not at anything." She indicated the dice as he set his beer down. "How do you play those?"

He picked them up, shook them in a closed fist. "High number wins," he explained simply. He cast them: six and four.

She picked them up, dropped them without looking. A frown creased his forehead.

"Two sixes," he muttered and gathered them to throw again. She caught his hand. "Do you have a taste for Vuksibah?" His eyes widened. "That's an expensive taste." She produced two more coins, solid gold stamped with the seal of the imperial mint. She slid them toward Hanse. "I'll bet you can buy anything in this dump. See if old Sour-Face has a couple of bottles stashed away. Do you live nearby?" He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, cocked an eyebrow. His head bobbed slowly. She made a wry face. "The stench in here is overpowering." Her face moved close to his. "I'll bet there are lots of lessons we could teach each other." Her hand slipped under the table, fell to his thigh, encountering quite a surprise. He caught her look and shrugged. "Another knife," he explained. Chenaya grinned. "If you say so."

"Really," he insisted, collecting her coins, pushing back his chair. His toe caught the table leg as he rose, sloshing beer from her mug. "Sony," he mumbled. He shoved through the crowd to the bar, began an urgent conversation with One Thumb.

Chenaya looked back at the dice, picked them up, dropped them. Two sixes. She cast them again: two sixes. Once more she collected them, then with a sigh she dropped them in the beer.

The night, her seventh in the city, was still. Chenaya paced around her apartment, stared out each of the windows over the broad expanse of her land to the silvery ribbon that was the Red Foal River. It ran to the sea, that river. She could almost hear the sound of it.

She paced and debated if it was worthwhile going into the streets again tonight. All the officers and officials she had bribed the past few days, all the little men she had threatened, all her questioning and seeking had proven fruit less. If there was a plot against the Prince, no word of it had leaked carelessly. Yet Savankala himself had come to her, told her it would happen when the splintered moon lies in the dust. But what did that mean? Thinking that a splintered moon was, perhaps, some astrological reference, she had approached Molin and wound up in a terrible argument. She left her uncle with a string of curses and no more understanding.

She kicked at a stool and threw herself across her bed. Her nails dug into the sheets. When her god was granting wishes, why. hadn't she asked for brains?

She rolled over on her side and let go a sigh. Despite her mood a small grin stole over her features as her gaze fell on a table across the room. On it stood a bottle of Vuksibah.

There was a gamble she certainly hadn't lost, she smiled to herself. That handsome little thief taught her a lot, and only a little of it about Sanctuary. After the first bottle of Vuksibah anything he said was merest accompaniment to what he did. Fortunately, she woke with a clear head able to recall every word. She doubted he could claim the same. She took the remaining bottle, reclaimed her circlet which he had slipped from her brow and secreted beneath a pillow, and left him asleep.

It would be good to see Hanse again, she thought. Why not? Not even her workouts with Dayme had been able to turn her mind from the danger to her cousin. Yet it served no purpose to continually worry. Perhaps Hanse could find a way to divert her.

She rose, slipped off her gown, and pulled on new leather garments from the chest at the foot of her bed. There, also, were her weapons. She strapped on her fancy sword. As an afterthought, she took up the two daggers. Hanse considered himself good with throwing-knives. It might make exciting play to challenge him. Dressed, she tucked the bottle of Vuksibah under her arm and left her room. Her father was asleep or reading in his own chambers, and she did not disturb him. He worried when she went out, but never tried to stop her. She loved him most for that.

She descended stairs to the main floor, her boot heels clicking on the stone. Dayme must have heard her, for he was waiting at the bottom. Two more of her eight gladiators would be prowling about somewhere nearby as well. Ka-dakithis was not alone on Theron's list; her father had been friend as well as relative to the late Emperor.

"Bring Reyk," she instructed her dark-haired giant. "Then get someone else to stand your watch. You've walked the streets with me these past five nights, and the lack of sleep showed in our workout today."

Dayme frowned, then quickly hid it. "Let me go with you. Lady. The night is treacherous...."

She shook her head. "Not tonight, my friend." She indicated the liquor she carried. "Tonight, it's a little pleasure I seek." He seemed about to speak, then thought better of it, turned, and left her alone. The falcons were caged at the rear of the estate, but Dayme returned promptly with her pet.

Chenaya wrapped the jess around her fingers, then removed Reyk's hood and gave it back to Dayrne. She did not need it to handle her favorite bird; it was a different story for others.

"Now to bed with you." She squeezed playfully at his huge bicep. "And in the morning be prepared for the hardest workout of your life!" She passed into the warm night, feeling better now that she was free of the confines of her room. She would look for Hanse at his apartment first, at the Vulgar Unicorn if he wasn't home. It might take a little time, but she'd find him. He was worth the effort.

As she crossed the Avenue of Temples a young girl stepped out of the shadows and blocked her path. A small hand brushed back the concealing hood of a worn cloak, exposing dark curls and wide, frightened eyes. "Please, Mistress," she said timidly, "a coin for a luckless unfortunate?" Chenaya realized she had forgotten her own cloak. No matter, the street people knew her well by now. She made to pass the girl by.

.

The girl stepped closer, saw Reyk, and stopped. She chewed the tip of a finger, then said again, "Please, Mistress, whatever you can spare. Otherwise. I must sell myself in the Promise of Heaven to feed my little brother." Chenaya peered closely at the thin face emaciated from hunger. Those large imploring eyes locked with hers, full of fear and full of hope. Beggars had approached her other nights, and she had kept her coins. Something about this one, however, loosened her heart and her purse strings. Several pieces of Rankan gold fell into the outstretched hand.

It was more wealth than the child had ever seen. She stared, disbelieving, at the gleams in her palm. Tears sprang into her eyes. She hurled herself to the ground, flung her arms around her benefactor's legs, and cried. Reyk screeched and sprang to defend his handler. Only the jess held him away from the sobbing child. Chenaya fought to control him and to keep her balance as those arms entwined her. The bottle of Vuksibah slipped from under her arm and broke; the precious liquor splattered her boots. She let go a savage curse and pushed the silly beggar girl away.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," she wailed, scrambling to her feet, backing away. "So sorry, so sorry!" She whirled and fled into the darkness. Bits of glass shone around her feet as Vuksibah seeped into the dust. She sighed, stirred the shards with a toe. Well, another could be gotten at the Unicorn.

Then a tingle crawled up her spine. She kneeled to see better, then cast a glance over her shoulder at the sky. The moon carved a fine, bright crescent in the night, and every piece of glass mirrored its silveriness. The voice of her god screamed suddenly inside her head. When the splintered moon lies in the dust.

She released the falcon's jess. "Up!" she cried, and Reyk took to the air. She ran through the streets, her brain ringing with Savankala's warning, until she reached her father's estate. She burst through the doors, breathless.

"Dayme!" she called out. He had not obeyed her; he came running from a side room still dressed and armed. It was not the time to scold him. "Dayme, it's now!" More words were unnecessary. He disappeared and returned with a pack on his shoulders. Four of his comrades followed him, strapping on swords. "Stay and see to my father!" she ordered them.

"Where is Reyk?" Dayrne interrupted.

She raised a finger. "Always close by. I can't run and carry him too." Together they ran back into the dark and up shadowed streets. The tall silhouettes of temples loomed on their left, and the voices of gods called from the gloom-filled entrances, urging them to hurry. Or, perhaps, it was the wind that rose mysteriously from nowhere, wailed down the alleyways, and pushed at their backs. The moon floated before them, beckoning.

They reached the granaries and stopped. The rear wall of the Governor's grounds rose up on the opposite side of the street, impossibly high and challenging.

"The west side," Chenaya ordered.

They had planned this carefully. The gates to the palace were barred at night; only a handful of guards bothered to patrol the grounds. No one was admitted at night except with the Prince's permission. But she and Dayme had found away. Another wall rose around the granaries themselves. It was to the west side of this wall that they ran. Dayme* unslung the pack, removed a grapple and rope. Here the wall was lowest and easy to scale. In no time they were atop it, racing along its narrow surface. Gradually, the wall angled upward to reach its highest point above the granary gate opposite the palace wall. Dayme prepared the second grapple.

Hanse had bragged how he had broken into the palace. No man was strong enough to hurl a grapple the height of the palace's wall, he claimed. Probably he was right. But the Street of Plenty which separated the granary and the palace was not as wide as the wall was high. Still, for an ordinary man even that was an impossible throw; but not for one possessed of Dayme's skill and rippling strength.

The night hummed as he whirled the grapple in ever-widening circles. She lay flat to avoid being knocked over the edge. Finally he let fly. Grapple and line sailed outward, disappeared. Then metal scraped on stone. Dayme tugged the line taut.