Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘He’s still here.’

Carpello stifled his gasp, swallowing hard.

‘Actually,’ Jacrys continued, ‘no one has seen him in nearly a Moon, but he hasn’t left the city. I’m assuming you know about the Prince Marek.’

Carpello nodded, then changed the subject back. ‘So what exactly have you managed to get out of Sallax?’

‘Not much.’ Jacrys examined the wine goblet. ‘He keeps talking about wraiths, a rock and a river.’

Carpello shrugged. ‘It doesn’t mean anything to me.’

‘And he’s a gods-rutting disaster. His shoulder looks like it was broken and left to heal in a horribly unnatural position. I brought a healer in a few days ago to re-break it and that was a nightmare – he’s still as strong as a grettan. He was all bent over, twisted in pain all the time. He’s tied up now in that cot you had back there.’ The spy gestured towards the large storage area behind Carpello’s office.

‘You re-broke his shoulder?’

‘Yes, I want him whole, healed, friendly with me again. He trusted me once and we helped each other get to Gilmour.’

‘But that’s done. Why keep Sallax alive now?’

Jacrys lowered his voice, leaning across the table and staring into Carpello’s eyes. ‘Because I want the stone and I want the-’ He paused, deciding to leave out any mention of the curious staff Steven Taylor had wielded against the almor. ‘I want the stone, and I want to deliver it to Prince Malagon in person: my last assignment before I retire. That’ll be my grand gesture, handing the stone over to him. And then I want to get out of here.’

‘So what role do I play?’ Carpello lifted himself from his chair and rose to pour his own goblet of wine.

‘I need information, and I want to know that every barge captain, every crewman, every carriage and wagon driver, every stevedore and every whore you have working for you is out looking for them. I need to know where they are and where they’re going, and what they are doing when they get there – and I want to know it all yesterday.’

‘So what’s in it for me? Why should I help you with this?’

Jacrys’ face reddened. ‘Why should you help me? How about to keep me from cutting your bloated black heart out of your fat chest and feeding it to Sallax? And trust me, Carpello, the thing I have tied up back there would find it delicious.’

Carpello cringed; though a bully, he was a coward. Jacrys had no idea how the merchant had gained such power, but right now he didn’t care – he would be very happy to kill Carpello as soon as he knew the whereabouts of Steven Taylor, the wooden staff and the keystone Prince Malagon wanted so badly.

Carpello marshalled his courage. ‘Threatening me won’t do you any good, Jacrys, not if you want me to help find your lost quarry. Again, what do I get out of this?’

Jacrys smiled. It wasn’t reassuring. ‘What do you want?’

Carpello leaned forward, his words almost tumbling over each other in his rush to speak – and before he was halfway through he was silently cursing himself for showing his naked desperation. ‘I want to come with you, I know it’s dangerous, but I want to be there when you hand the stone over. I want it to be from us. I want him to know that although I lost the bastards overboard, I didn’t fail him.’

Jacrys sat back, contemplating his colleague. A wise decision, Carpello. You might just save your own life.’

‘Is that yes?’

Jacrys said, ‘You’ll have everyone in your employment combing the country for them?’

‘Done.’ Carpello raised his glass in anticipation. ‘There will be no place for them to hide.’

Jacrys reciprocated. ‘Then we have an agreement.’

‘Excellent,’ Carpello said, draining his glass. ‘Shall we visit your prisoner?’

The spy pursed his lips and nodded.

‘Wake up, Sallax.’ Jacrys tugged at the big Ronan’s toes, exposed where they stuck out at the end of his blanket. ‘Wake up, please.’

Jacrys had been thorough in his care: Sallax had been bathed, shaved and given a much-needed haircut. His leggings were clean, and his bare chest crisscrossed with bandages.

Carpello was impressed: Sallax was a powerful-looking man. The merchant wiped at his nose and said, ‘I thought he was a mess. He looks just fine to me, apart from the shoulder and all. Healthy skin tone; and well-defined muscles: he looks good.’

‘You should have seen him when I brought him here. Lucky for me he was so weak from malnutrition and dehydration because even so he nearly killed me. I had to cut him a couple of times across the chest – I stitched the slashes and wrapped them before the healer came in to re-set his shoulder.’

‘It seems like a lot of trouble to go to for one man.’

‘One man who knows more about the organised resistance in the southeast than anyone in Eldarn – the one person who knows how to get to Gilmour’s home in Estrad, how to find Gilmour’s writings, his personal effects – whatever I want. This man is too valuable to kill. I need him to trust me again.’ He turned back to the cot. ‘Sallax, wake up.’

With a groan, the man on the cot, clean and well nourished now, after who knew how long, tried to roll onto his side, but he was bound in place. He opened his eyes with a start, struggled for a moment to get free and then relaxed, obviously saving his strength. It was apparent he had been well trained, for as soon as he realised he was unable to break loose, he quieted. His gaze moved from Jacrys to Carpello. Even worn down and lashed to the cot as he was, Sallax still terrified the fat merchant.

‘How are you tonight, Sallax?’ Jacrys sat on the edge of the cot.

‘Girl – the girl knew his name.’ Sallax’s voice came out more a groan that anything else; it sounded unused, grating.

‘What girl, Sallax? You mentioned her before. Who is she?’

‘She knew Sallax.’

‘She knew Sallax? Well, that’s interesting. Sallax, tell me where Steven and Garec are tonight. Do you know?’

At the mention of the partisans’ names, Sallax bellowed, an anguished cry, devoid of hope. For a moment Carpello felt sorry for him as Sallax rocked his head back and forth across the pillow, screaming, ‘Can’t see him, can’t see him. He’s blurry, can’t see him, too far away.’

Jacrys asked again, ‘Who is, Sallax? Gilmour, Garec, or Steven Taylor?’ His question elicited another despondent cry.

Carpello interjected, ‘That certainly sets him off doesn’t it? Can you stop asking him that?’

Jacrys frowned. ‘He was there that night. He wanted Gilmour dead almost as much as I did. I don’t know what this means, why he would be suffering about it now – this man is a killer; he has no problem with death. Why he’s beating himself up about Gilmour is a mystery.’

‘Pain or guilt, or sadness.’ Carpello threw up his hands. ‘Take your pick.’

Jacrys ignored him and continued to press the point. ‘Sallax, tell me what happened in the Blackstones.’

Tears slipped from his eyes and tracked down his cheeks to soak into the pillow. ‘Can’t see him, he’s too far away,’ he wept. ‘The girl knows. She knows Sallax.’

‘The Blackstones, Sallax, what happened in the Blackstones?’

The big man’s voice dropped to a coarse whisper. ‘River… wraith.’

Carpello leaned in a little closer. ‘What did he say?’

‘River… wraith in the river,’ Sallax repeated.

‘A wraith?’ Jacrys clarified. ‘What kind of wraith?’

‘In the river.’

‘Did a wraith attack you in the river? Was it here in Orindale?’ Jacrys rested one palm on the clean bandage strips wrapped across the partisan’s broad chest, the touch of a caring friend – the Malakasian would have gutted him then and there if he had known about Sallax’s nocturnal killing sprees in the alleys near the wharf.