Richard Baker: The City of Ravens

"That's three!" the swordsman cried. "Do you hear me, Jack? That makes three!"

While the swordsman and the demon traded desperate blows, Jack shook his head, clearing the cobwebs, and scrambled after the rubies. The first one he reached for was kicked aside by a careless step of the guardian demon; the second, Aldeemo reached first. He groped for another ruby and seized one… just as another door opened and Ospim Kuldath stepped into the fray, armed with a long cudgel.

"Thievery! Burglary! Chaos!" the second Kuldath shrieked. "Summon the Watch!" Then he stooped and picked up the fourth ruby.

"Discretion is advised," Jack muttered, then decided to leave while he could. "Anders! Get out!" He jumped to his feet and darted past Ospim, ducking under a swing of the club, and threw himself into the secret storeroom in the middle of the hall-there was no way to get past the demon and Anders, engaged in their furious duel.

"Stop! Come back here!" Aldeemo cried. He tried to scramble after Jack, sprawling to the ground again when he tripped over the quarrel stuck in his foot. The lean, bearded merchant screamed a string of curses in some uncouth eastern tongue and clutched his injured extremity.

Anders snarled a curse of his own and started giving ground, retreating back to the carpet room. At the right moment, he jumped back and slammed the door in the demon's face, barring it with one swift movement. The creature lowered its massive head and butted the door hard enough to split one of the planks. Hoping that Anders had sense enough to make his escape while the demon battered down the door, Jack retreated into the linen closet and groped for the catch to the secret door. An anxious moment later, he found it and bolted down the secret stairway.

One ruby still clutched in his hand, he burst out of the secret door into the Kuldath business floor and threw himself out of the first window he encountered in a spray of broken glass. Without breaking stride, he rolled to his feet and pelted for home. Instinctively he avoided the bobbing torches and angry voices of the local watchmen converging on the scene, slipping into a dark alleyway and resuming his mask of invisibility.

It could have gone worse, Jack told himself.

An hour later, Jack sat in the crowded warmth of the Cracked Tankard and quaffed a clay mug of ale. The Kuldath ruby rested in the innermost pocket of his doublet, a mere handspan from his heart, and he reveled in the cool impression it made against the ribs of his left side. As always, he'd claimed his seat on the back wall, midway between the stairs leading up to the Tankard's private rooms, a doorway leading to the kitchens and then the alleyway beyond, and a small window fronting on DeVillars Ride. He'd learned through necessity that he could fit through that window in a pinch, and he now counted it among the seven possible exits from the room.

The Cracked Tankard was not the roughest taproom in Raven's Bluff, nor the oldest, nor the one most frequented by thieves and swindlers, nor the one with the cheapest ale or the sauciest barmaids. It was instead a pleasant combination of all these things. Situated on the western end of the Anvil, the heart of the city, the Tankard not only made an excellent meeting place, but it also collected rumors and news in much the same way that the lowest portion of an awning collected rainwater. All manner of things in Raven's Bluff ran downhill to this one spot.

By Jack's guess, midnight was two hours gone, and still Anders had not showed up at their arranged rendezvous. He chose not to worry too much. The blond-bearded swordsman was one of the best brawlers he knew, and he was as comfortable racing across the city rooftops as the rocky cliffs of his distant homeland. It would take more than an angry demon and the brothers Kuldath to prevent his escape. Jack had partnered with Anders before in similarly daring escapades; if he knew the Northman, Anders would be along sooner or later.

Observing that his ale was almost gone, Jack held his mug in the air and called, "Briesa! There must be a hole in this cup, for it is empty again!"

Across the taproom, a pretty dark-haired barmaid waved him off. "I'll get to you as soon as I can, love," she replied over the din.

"I have been waiting to hear you speak those words for weeks now, Briesa," Jack replied.

She rolled her eyes and turned away, six tankards brimming in her hands as she danced off to a table of rowdy Sembians. The girl was very pretty, a few inches shorter than he was, and quite fetching in the busty barmaid's blouse and dress. Jack grinned to himself and drained off the last of his mug, designs upon Briesa's virtue forming in his mind.

When he looked up from the empty tankard, he found himself gazing into the eyes of an exquisitely beautiful woman dressed all in dark leather. Hair as dark as midnight spilled down her shoulders. Eyes that smoldered with sultry promise and ebon fire studied him with calm, collected confidence. A long, slender sword was sheathed at her hip.

"Good evening," she said in a clear voice marked by a faint burring accent. "Are you called Jack Ravenwild?"

"I might be," Jack admitted, setting down his cup with some care. "If you owe Jack Ravenwild a substantial sum of money, then I am certainly he. If, on the other hand, you intend to run him through for some imagined slight long forgotten on his part, then no, I don't believe I'm the one you're looking for." He paused, studying the woman, and then added, "If, perchance, you have heard of his prowess in the arts of love, and yearn to find out if half of what you might have heard is true, then I am most certainly Jack Ravenwild."

She smiled coldly, a smile that didn't touch her eyes, and settled into the chair opposite him. "I'll take that as a long-winded yes, although I don't owe you money, I don't mean to kill you, and I don't have any particular interest in your romantic prowess. I'm here to talk business."

"Business?" Jack sighed dramatically. "Well, business it is, then. To whom am I speaking?"

"You can call me Elana," the dark-haired woman said. She shifted slightly in her seat, clearing her sword arm and moving to make sure that the table would not interfere with a sudden draw. Long, lithe muscles flexed along her forearm. Jack realized that her face and figure showed not a trace of softness-she didn't wear the sword for show. She was a panther, a tigress, absolutely confident in her own abilities.

"What can I do for you, Elana?" Jack asked. He offered a subtle smirk, unable to resist the temptation to jest a little with her. He hated serious people.

"I hear," said Elana, "that you excel in finding things. I would like you to find something for me."

"You have heard correctly. There will be, of course, a pittance of a finder's fee. I would charge you nothing for my sendees, but if word got out that I'd worked for free, why, then I should never be solvent again. What are you looking for, dear Elana?"

Elana started to speak, and then held her tongue as Briesa approached and replaced Jack's mug of ale. The barmaid glanced at Jack and hid a smile, as if to say that Jack had no need of troubling her anymore with his suggestions, now that he had female companionship. Jack winced. It might take weeks to convince Briesa that he was discussing business and business alone with the lovely Elana.

"Anything for your companion, Jack?" the barmaid asked.

Elana glanced up at her. "I'll take whatever he's drinking.''

"Right away, miss," Briesa said. She whirled off into the crowd, a serving tray balanced on her shoulder. She didn't notice the long, thoughtful look Elana gave her as she moved away.

"You were about to say?" Jack prompted.

The swordswoman returned her attention to him. "I'm looking for a book. A very old, rare book that I have good reason to believe is somewhere in this city. I'm willing to pay you five hundred pieces of gold for your help, plus a bonus if you actually recover it for me."