Jay Lake - Endurance

The mansion adjacent to the Selistani embassy was in sore need of a groundskeeper. This was fine with me, as it meant the wisteria along their side of the common wall had grown quite wild. That is not the easiest plant to move through, but at least it only grips at one’s ankles, rather than slashing with thorns or spreading poison from its leaves.

I skulked along the wall inside the shelter of the thin wooden whips of the overgrowth. The midpoint would give me the best vantage to study the rear of Surali’s mansion. I already had some good notions of the layout of the front, and the public rooms.

Not for a moment did I imagine that Corinthia Anastasia would conveniently leave a banner or some other signal from an upper window, but I wanted to see whatever was to be seen. Perhaps certain rooms were sealed, or there would be balconies I could climb to-unlikely as that was in the Haito style.

Mostly, though, I needed to visualize a target for my wrath. I could hardly set fire to the house with the hostages within it. Though the idea was still tempting, especially if I nailed the doors shut first. The whole neighborhood could burn for all I cared.

When I reached the midpoint of the dividing wall, I scrambled up under the cover of the wisteria to see what I might learn.

The rear of the house opened in two wings flanking a paved court or terrace. Low windows among shrubbery and vines indicated a basement, likely servants’ territory for kitchens, laundry, maids’ quarters, and so forth. Two main floors with high ceilings rose above that, then a lower-ceilinged third storey that tucked into the roofline. The uppermost floor would be suites for senior servants and junior relatives.

If I were holding a hostage here, I would keep her in either the basement or the top floor. That would simplify the guard rota, as well as reducing the possibility of accidental exposure to visitors.

There were a number of paths to access the house. No balconies, unfortunately, as I’d figured. The grounds between the terrace and the wall were lightly wooded. Oaks and maples widely spaced, with cropped lawn and patches of leaf-covered loam between them. No cover. The only bushes were those in the beds lining the house.

Even worse, if we had more snow, my tracks would show up like lines on a map.

I very much wanted to know whether Corinthia Anastasia was in the basement or on the top floor. Good money would bet on Surali choosing to go high, but I couldn’t tell from out here. And entering the house to gain the uppermost floor was probably beyond me acting alone in this moment. Surali would have dozens of Street Guild men in there. I could not fight them all by myself.

There were other ways to see inside a building.

I retreated down the dividing wall to the corner by the street, to watch in unaccustomed patience. I kept an eye on the front gate to see who came out. I resolved not to pursue a target should they turn left instead of right out of the front of the grounds. Instead I waited for someone to walk down Knightspark Street, past my watchpost.

Over the course of the next hour, a pair of servant girls came by. They carried baskets, giggling together as they went marketing for something needful that must not have been delivered by the purveyors who normally supplied great houses. They were Petraean, and I did not think they would likely have the information I wanted.

More to the point, I did not want these poor girls to pay the price I would be exacting for that information.

My patience was rewarded in the second hour when a Street Guild thug strode quickly out of the house, then chose to walk my way. This was someone with whom I could deal in whatever fashion I chose.

I chose to slip over the wall as he passed me by, and take him from behind with the butt of my long knife to the base of the head. Knightspark Street was fairly quiet, but I could not count on much uninterrupted time. Neither was I prepared to haul him back over the wall.

He groaned and slumped to the cobbles. I bent close, pressing my short knife into the soft skin behind his left ear.

“Where is the northern girl being kept?” Speaking Seliu, I kept my voice fierce.

“You will not-” he began. I sliced off his earlobe, then punched him in the mouth with the knife hilt when he began to scream.

“Be advised that I am short on time and shorter on patience.”

“Green.” The Street Guildsman made my name a curse.

That was fine with me. “Unless you want me to be the last person you ever meet in your life, you will tell me where she is kept.” I once more set the blade against the spot beneath his ear. “Or I am done.”

“They will be killing me.” He almost made it a sob.

“ I will be killing you now. Your choice.” I poked the knife in until blood ran freely. He stifled another scream. “Three… two…”

“Upstairs,” he gasped. “West end of the top floor.”

I clubbed him harder, banging his face into the cobbles, and left him there unconscious with a bloody nose. “You may keep your life by way of my gratitude,” I told him, though he could no longer hear me.

Feeling much better informed, I cleaned my knives then hurried toward the teahouse that had become my favorite. Once again I approached without passing by the Textile Bourse. I found my seat in the shaded table hard by the front of their little store. My friend the cinnamon-skinned woman brought me cardamom rolls without my asking, and a rich cup of kava. This time the dark beverage had been foamed with milk and cinnamon. I asked her politely for some meat and cheese to accompany it all, then applied myself to the serious business of eating and thinking while the afternoon of the city flowed past.

My angry fantasies aside, I could not simply snatch Corinthia Anastasia from the Selistani embassy. They would be prepared for any such attempt. This took more planning.

In any case, I had to be sensible. The girl was already hidden away behind stout walls and numerous guards. Rushing headlong to rescue her might have made sense if I’d known before her captors returned to Copper Downs, but not at this point. Far more significant now to stop what pieces of this plot I was able to, my pieces, and set in motion such counterplot as I could manage.

Did I dare try to speak to Iso and Osi? I suspected they would realize at the mere sight of my face that I had finally grasped a corner of their truth. Whether or not their graceful economy of motion truly reflected a battle readiness I had not been willing to see until now, I suspected I would not easily walk away from them if they were determined to stop me.

But I’d left the Rectifier with the twins. Not that he needed rescuing, not exactly, but the Rectifier in possession of all the facts as well as my informed speculation was a far more useful ally to me than the Rectifier plotting the downfall of a god I’d wrongly set him against.

My next step would be to spy out whether the pardine rogue was with the twins now. I would not by myself beard Iso and Osi in their warehouse den, but I might be able to approach them if the Rectifier was there.

If I did not see him with the twins I’d have to go hunting at the Tavernkeep’s place. Given that I’d last left there under the cloud of a riot, my welcome back might not be as open as I would have liked.

Still, one thing before the next. As always.

I realized that before I headed out on a new round of potentially deadly errands, I would be needing my leathers back. And my good fighting boots. Raiding wasn’t so much an option in the corduroy trousers and canvas shirt of an errand boy, no matter what coat I wore. I dug my bundle out from where I’d hidden it amid the scattered stones behind the tents and tried to change right there in the field.