David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“If the guards give us trouble, just show them your tits,” Grayson said.

“And if they’re not into that?” she asked, flashing him a wide smile.

“Then I’ll show them my dick. Hardly complicated.”

Boggs let out a laugh, and Grayson shot him a look. “Care to share, Boggs?”

“Don’t you see?” Boggs asked. “We’re the most dangerous men Veldaren’s seen in ages, and they’re going to let us through their walls because of some tits and a dick?”

“Don’t forget a little help from on high,” Grayson said, pulling the medallion from his pocket by its bronze chain.

“Just seems shameful,” Boggs said. “Shouldn’t we be climbing over walls at night or something?”

Tracy kicked him in the back with her heel, the hilt of the knife hidden in her boot jamming him hard in the kidney. “Just shut up and steer.”

“Yes, Sister.”

They followed the road through the shallow hills, enduring the jostle of the wagons. Grayson lay back so his eyes were free of the sun and did his best to relax. Getting through the gates would be trickier than he let on, and a crucial part of their plan. In the nation of Neldar, the Trifect had arranged so that only they were allowed to grow and sell crimleaf, the drug of choice for the lowborn. This had allowed the price to rise by gross amounts, yet in the west, where the Trifect’s influence was far lesser, the simple leaf could be grown in abundance by any farmer regardless of station.

So the guilds in Veldaren had taken the natural course: they bought absurd amounts of crimleaf from the west and smuggled it east. They then undercut the Trifect’s sellers, but only a little, given the trouble they went to to get it past the guards and walls. It was that easy coin that fueled much of the thief guilds, Grayson knew. It was that easy coin he wanted to disrupt, if not permanently take away.

But that meant getting into the city with their wagons untouched.

“Remember,” Grayson said, sitting up as the walls of Veldaren grew closer. “You keep your mouths shut and let me do the talking. Don’t want anything to draw attention to us.”

“Not our first time smuggling,” Tracy said.

“And all things considered, I’d prefer it not to be our last, either,” Boggs said. “Guards are crawling everywhere. Well, Grayson, I hope you’re right about your little helper on high.”

Grayson grunted. He hoped he was right as well.

The wagons approached the west side entrance, the portcullis open for the daytime traffic. Boggs stopped the lead wagon at the behest of two guards who approached with hands raised.

“Been here before?” asked the first, an older man with his gray hair mostly hidden behind his helmet.

“Can’t say we have,” Grayson said.

“Need you to register your cargo, as well as pay a fee if you’re not with the merchant’s guild. I’ll let you know the tariff once I look it over.”

“Not sure that’s necessary,” Grayson said, leaning closer to the guard. He lifted the medallion, given to him by Laerek to ensure entrance to the city without incident. The guard’s eyes widened upon his seeing it, and he glanced about.

“Back to your post,” he said to the other. The man looked unsure, but did as he was told.

“You’re asking a lot,” the guard said when they were alone. “We allow the temple to bring in supplies as necessary, but three wagons? And you’ve yet to tell me what you carry.”

“What I carry is of no concern to you,” Grayson said, reaching into his pocket. He’d worried the priests of Karak might not have enough sway to get his men and crimleaf through. But of course power wasn’t the only way to get what one wanted in the world…

“This, however,” he said, tossing a bag of coins at the guard, who caught it. “I think this is what will most interest you.”

The guard opened it, saw the gold within. The yellow sparkled in his eyes. Closing it, he pocketed the bag and then nodded.

“I’ll still need to inspect it,” he said. Grayson motioned to the others so they knew to leave him be. The guard climbed into the back of each wagon, giving only cursory glances and not once opening a crate. After the third, he returned to the front.

“Your tariff plus merchant fee is seventeen silver,” he said. “Going rate for such low-quality wheat.”

“You heard him,” Grayson told Boggs. “Pay the man for our wheat.”

Boggs grumbled but pulled the demanded coin from his own pocket. That done, the guard waved them through, then went back to his station to hand over the tariff.

“So much for your help from on high,” Tracy said as the wagons rolled forward.

“We’re through, and untouched,” Grayson said. “That we had to grease the wheels a little shouldn’t be much of a surprise.”

“Just preferred we used your grease instead of mine,” Boggs muttered. “Where to now?”

“Head south. I already have a contact there waiting. Once we’ve claimed the hearts of the city’s most poor and desperate, and established our territory, we’ll worry about moving north.”

The quality of the roads steadily deteriorated as they traveled deeper into the southern district, the neglect apparent with potholes and even gaps where the brick had been covered with long swaths of dirt in halfhearted attempts to smooth out the passage. The wagons slowed, and the jostling increased. Grayson saw Pierce hop out of the second wagon and come running. At first he thought him just tired of the rough ride, but that turned out not to be the case.

“We got a tail,” he said, walking beside them.

“To be expected,” Grayson said. “I doubt too many merchants travel this far south. Did you catch which guild?”

“I don’t know them well enough to say for sure,” Pierce said, shaking his head.

“Just keep your eyes open,” Grayson said. “And don’t let them know we see them.”

Pierce nodded. “They’re running ’long the rooftops,” he said. “Watch them if you can.”

He returned to the second wagon. Grayson leaned back, imitating his relaxed position of earlier. As he did, he looked to the rooftops, trying to see out of the corners of his eyes who shadowed them.

“Any of them a threat?” Boggs asked as they shifted to one side to avoid a nasty stretch of mud.

“Not really,” Grayson said. “Spider Guild’s in ruins, which just leaves the Ash Guild as any real danger. But if that’s who’s tailing us, well, they might have a tail of their own soon…”

They continued until they reached their contact, one of the few merchants still maintaining a presence in the far south of Veldaren. He was an overweight man, sweaty and with his shirt overstuffed with his own fat.

“Afternoon, Billick,” Grayson said as they stopped the wagons in front of his shop.

“I assume no guards followed you?” Billick asked, furtive eyes bouncing among the wagons.

“Guards?” Grayson asked, hopping down from his seat at the front. “No, guards are the least of our problems, my friend. Where can we store our merchandise?”

“Space for everything,” Billick said, gesturing toward the open door to his shop. “Carry it in, and put it in the back room.”

“You heard him!” Grayson roared, amused at how the fat man jumped at the volume of his voice. One by one the wagons were unloaded, his Suns lugging the crates into their place of storage for their time in Veldaren.

“I won’t be handling any of it,” Billick said as he watched. “You know that, right? Don’t tell me what it is, and don’t make me sell it. I’ll let you get it in, and I’ll let any of you Suns get it out. Just make sure the pay is on time.”

“Good man,” Grayson said, smirking at him. “So brave, so noble. You’ll get your pay. Just keep an eye on our wares. I don’t take kindly to those who help themselves to what isn’t theirs.”