Douglas Hulick - Among Thieves

“All right,” I said, “even if I assume for a moment that Athel was keeping tight out of a sense of duty-which I don’t-it still comes down to who. Who would he be loyal to? He was a smuggler. He worked for himself. Who gets a smuggler to stand up to torture like that?”

“Ioclaudia?”

Back to the one name Athel had given us. I shook my head in frustration. “Maybe,” I said, “but who is she? She’s no Boman Prig, that’s for sure-otherwise one of us would have heard about her before this.”

“Who says she has to be a notorious member of the Kin? Maybe Athel was doing it for some other reason.”

“It’d have to be a pretty damn good reason to hold out against Shatters all night.”

Degan stared off down the street for several paces. “Maybe Ioclaudia was family,” he said.

“Athel’s? You mean his sister or something?”

“Or a mother, or a lover.”

I shook my head. “I don’t see it.”

“No, I don’t expect you would.”

I bit down on a sharp reply and managed a shrug instead. I wasn’t going to let myself be baited that easily. If Degan wanted to bring up my sister, he could damn well say her name. I wasn’t about to do it for him.

“Don’t I owe you breakfast?” I said instead.

“Changing the subject?”

“Paying my debts.”

Degan smiled. “Even better.”

I did some quick mental figuring. “It’s Falcon Day. That means I need to stop by Mendross’s stall.”

Degan glanced up at the sky. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be paying calls?”

“By about eight hours,” I agreed, “but I’ve found that it never hurts to surprise your people now and again. Keeps them on edge. Besides, his produce will be fresher this time of day.”

It took us less than half an hour to make our way to Fifth Angel Square. The place was home to the A’Riif Bazaar, a maze of stalls, tents, and humanity, all crammed together in an area that should have held half as much of each. The bazaar was famed for its cheap prices, cheaper goods, and excellent street food. A perpetual haze hung over the square, made up of equal parts cooking smoke, dust, and heat. Beneath the haze, the awnings and tents of the merchants created a ragged patchwork of shade and sunlight, shadows and color, through which walked a cross section of the empire itself, from native Ildreccan bargain hunters to refugees from the Djanese frontier, and everything in between.

Presiding over it all was the square’s patron, the Angel Elirokos. The statue must have been a fine representation of the old Pardoner when it went up a couple centuries ago. Now, though, the paint had peeled off nearly a quarter of his frame to reveal the dull gray stone beneath. Only one arm, the one traditionally pointing northward, remained intact; the other had been missing for decades. Without his famous handful of souls, the old boy looked like a crippled beggar trying to wave down a mark.

I’d always liked that statue.

Mendross’s stall was near the base of the Angel, just beyond its shade. He was busy overcharging a woman when we walked up. As they dickered, Degan and I helped ourselves to some breakfast. Mendross took this in stride, but the woman seemed put out.

“Is this why I pay so much, eh? So your friends can eat for free, eh?”

Mendross favored us with a frown deep from within his jowls, then beamed at his customer. “Ah, no, madam! No, these fine fellows are merely sampling wares for their master, the esteemed Pandri, favored underchef to the Outer Imperial Court.”

The woman looked Degan and me up and down and did not seem impressed. I couldn’t blame her; even without the night we had just had, I doubt anyone would have allowed us near the Outer Court, let alone into its kitchens.

“Pah!” she concluded, and walked away.

Degan picked up a handful of brilliant mountain strawberries and sampled one. “I think our master, the underchef, would be quite pleased with these, Drothe.” He popped another into his mouth. “Ought to slide down the thrice-blessed pipe quite nicely.”

“Excellent timing,” grumbled Mendross. “I nearly had her.”

I made a dismissive gesture as I stepped up alongside the merchant, leaving only a small bushel of figs between us. “I’ll give you the two damn owls you’d have made.”

“Four. And you’re early.”

“Three, and yes I am.”

“Wait here. I wasn’t ready for you.” The merchant lumbered to the back of his stall and made a production of rooting around. I amused myself by tossing figs to a couple of bazaar urchins. Degan ate and watched the crowd.

“Hunh, business is bad,” said Mendross when he came back. He slipped a small pouch behind the bushel. I took it, making sure anyone who knew their business would catch the handoff.

“Tough all over,” I said. “But it’s nothing personal…”

Mendross resurrected his frown. “Yeah, I know. It’s just business.” He spit off to one side.

The pouch was filled not with coins, but seed pits and gravel. It was a false payoff, a bogus protection dodge for the benefit of any curious Kin, as was our chatter. Mendross was an Ear-he worked for me.

I smiled at his display and sampled some nearby dates. I had noticed no one hanging around the surrounding stalls any longer than they should, so I gave Mendross a tiny nod, as if in appreciation of the fruit. He leaned forward and began rearranging a pile of oranges. It brought his face near mine.

“Niccodemus wants you,” said the Ear, his lips barely moving.

“Why?”

Mendross shook his head as he set a bad orange aside. “Don’t know. I only heard the call.”

“Is it urgent?”

He gave a minuscule shrug.

I considered. Nicco could want me for anything, from running down a rumor to handing me a new job. And all of them would involve my going well out of my way, rather than home to bed, which was where I desperately wanted to be.

I sighed and picked up an orange. I needed sleep. I didn’t want to go running down any more rumors or Kin this morning.

“Nothing about its being important?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“All right,” I said, piercing the skin of the orange with my thumbnail. The sharp, sweet smell made my nose tingle. “Get word back: I need to-No, I have to follow up on something this morning. I’ll see him tonight, after I’ve run things down.” It wasn’t the best answer and wouldn’t win me any points, but it would cover my ass until I finally knocked on Nicco’s door.

Mendross made a show of looking resigned, nodding as if at the inevitable loss of the orange. Translation: Word would get back. I suppressed a grin: Mendross had missed a calling to the stage.

“Anything else?” I said.

“There’re rumblings in Ten Ways.”

I snorted. “There are always ‘rumblings’ in Ten Ways.” Ten Ways was a hole of a cordon that no one truly controlled. Nicco had minor interests there, but so did several other bosses. “Let me guess: A couple of gangs crossed steel over their border and one of Nicco’s clients got clipped in the process. Now the client’s complaining about not getting the protection he paid for.”

Mendross stopped rearranging his produce and stared at me. “There wasn’t a gang fight involved, but yes, that’s basically it. Why do I bother telling you these things if you already know them?”

I smiled slyly. I’d come out of Ten Ways years back-I knew how the place worked.

I separated out a section of orange. Juice trickled down into my palm. “Next?” I said.

Mendross went back to work on a pile of dates. “There’re whispers,” he said, his voice dropping. “Someone’s snilching Nicco.”

I stopped, the orange midway to my mouth, which had suddenly gone dry. “Snilching?” I said. That wasn’t good. No one liked spies, but Nicco was pathological about them. Even the hint of another crime lord’s man inside his organization would send Nicco into a rage. And when that happened, he’d tear the place apart until he found one, even if he had to manufacture the proof out of rumors and suspicion.