Jon Sprunk: Shadows son

"I want to help you, Mathias, but there are too many things to consider. I spent weeks stalking Reinard before I took him down. I would need time to study the target, learn his habits and movements. After that I would have to do the same for his family and bodyguards."

Mathias bounced off the chaise and waddled to a rolltop desk against the wall. He held up a bundle of papers bound together with a red cord.

"I have all the particulars here: daily itinerary, personal security details, interior layouts, everything you'll need. He lives with a young daughter, but don't worry about her. The mother's dead. He doesn't keep any guards, just a broken-down manservant who sleeps like a log. It will be the easiest money you ever made."

Mathias held out the bundle, but Caim didn't take it.

"Who gathered all this?"

"A mutual friend. I vouch for its authenticity."

"It was Ral, wasn't it?"

"Why does it matter? Just take it."

"Damn it, Mat. He took the assignment and then dumped it back in your lap when a better job came up, didn't he? No wonder he was so chummy. No thanks. I'm passing."

Caim took two steps toward the door. Mathias reached out as if to grasp his sleeve, but drew his hand back before it made contact. Caim stopped as the bundle of papers was thrust in front of him.

"It's his loss!" Mathias said. "In and out, and a thousand soldats in your pocket."

"I don't clean up other people's messes."

Mathias cocked his head to the right. "My friend, that's precisely what you do. Please, don't make me beg. I'll throw in half of my end. That's another three hundred in gold. Then you can take a nice, long sabbatical."

Caim sighed as Mathias shook the papers at him. He couldn't do it, couldn't let down the man who had given him a chance as a young man on the run, a vagabond with no contacts or vouchers.

Caim took the papers. "All right. I'll do it. But hang on to your fee. You're getting old, Mathias. You should think about retiring soon."

Mathias gathered his robe around him as he returned to his chair. "I don't know what I'd do with myself if I ever retired."

"Buy a big villa somewhere nice. Live the life of a country gentleman."

Mathias laughed so hard he almost choked on his wine. "Can you see me as a country squire? I wouldn't last a month. Good fortune, my friend. I'll see you when the job is done."

Caim tucked the papers into his tunic. The bundle made a lump under his arm opposite the money pouch. He crossed to the door, but hesitated with his hand on the knob.

"By the way, what was the other job Ral took?"

"What?" Mathias twisted around to look at Caim over his shoulder. "Oh, something in Belastire. He'll be bow-legged and as dusty as a beggar by the time he returns."

"Belastire? It'll be cold on the Midland coast this time of year."

Mathias nodded. "Cold and bitter. The blackheart should feel right at home, eh?"

Caim thought back to the conversation on the stairs. Hadn't Ral mentioned a warmer clime? What game was he playing?

Caim checked his knives out of habit as he departed the Three Maids. Revelers accompanied by torchbearers filled the benighted streets, pushed out the door by exhausted tavernkeeps. The sun would be rising in another couple hours. He would have liked to go back home and crawl into bed for a couple sennights, but he had work to do. Two days wasn't enough time.

Tucking the pouch and the papers deeper into the confines of his shirt, Caim pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The broadcloth wrapped around him in a warm cocoon as he delved back into the Gutters.

osey had nearly worked herself into another bout of tears by the time her carriage stopped outside Anastasia's house on Torvelli Square. She couldn't get the conversation with Father out of her head. She'd never felt so helpless in her life. The only thing she could think of was to talk to her best friend about it. Between the two of them, she was certain they would find a solution.

An elderly footman ushered her inside. Handing her mink-lined cloak to one of the house girls, its silky hairs stiff from the chill, Josey filed away the changing seasons as another potential argument against her departure. Now was hardly the best time of year to undertake a sea journey. That wouldn't be enough on its own to sway her father, but when she talked to him again, she intended to have an arsenal of reasons why it would be best for her to stay in Othir, at least until after Yeartide.

"Josey!" Anastasia's cheery voice echoed through the atrium as she hurried down a winding staircase. They clasped hands and kissed each other's cheeks.

Anastasia stepped back to arm's length, concern written across her pretty features. With her honey gold hair, coiffed in wavy marcels, and her ocean blue eyes, Anastasia was a true beauty, doll-like in her perfection. Next to her, Josey had always felt homely, her complexion too pale, her hair too dark and stringy.

"What's the matter, Josey? Come in here."

Josey let herself be pulled into an adjourning parlor room and seated alone on a padded settee with tiny green leaves embroidered on the cushions.

Anastasia kissed her again. "Something's wrong, Josey. Tell me."

Josey told Anastasia about her father's decision to make her leave. By the time she finished, she was sobbing openly.

Anastasia lent Josey a handkerchief to wipe her face. "That's simply not fair. Othir is as safe as a nursery. Forgive me, Josey, but I fear your father may be feeling his dotage. You know how old men get. They see specters in every dark corner."

"I know. But no matter what I said, he refused to budge on the matter. I don't know what to do. That's why I came to see you. You have to help me, 'Stasia. I cannot miss your wedding. It will be the happiest day of my life!"

"You have to be there!" Anastasia looked on the verge of tears herself.

Before her friend started to cry, Josey rushed on. "I will be. I promise. But I need a plan. Father won't give in to emotional pleas."

"You could stay here with me. With the armsmen we keep, this house is virtually a fortress at night."

"I'm not sure Father would feel that's adequate. My safety has always been his chief concern. There were bodyguards everywhere when we lived in Navarre. Sometimes I could hardly breathe."

"But the westlands are abysmally lawless. This is Othir. It's entirely different."

"I know. I just don't know how to convince Father of that."

Anastasia squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, darling. We'll find a way." She reached up and touched the pendant hanging from Josey's neck. "I've always admired this piece, Josey. It's beautiful. So simple, but elegant."

Josey lifted the pendant, an antique-style key in gold. "Father gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday. It's my favorite piece of jewelry."

"It must be. You never wear anything else."

"Father says it's the key to his heart, that it would give me everything I ever wanted and more. Sometimes he's the sweetest, kindest man in the world. I wish he would see reason and let me stay here until your wedding day."

"It will work out, Josey. I know! We'll go to the basilica and say a prayer for it."

Josey dabbed her face with the silken cloth. "I don't think praying is going to solve anything, 'Stasia. This is serious." Then she saw the stricken look in her friend's eyes. "Forgive me. I'm just overwrought. Yes, let's go."

As they made to leave, a servant appeared at the entrance of the room. "Pardon, milady. A visitor has arrived for you."

"Let him in." Anastasia turned to Josey. "That must be Markus. He's been coming by every day since the engagement was announced. He's such a romantic. Do you like him, Josey? Tell me true."

Josey hugged her friend and laughed, glad to speak of something else. "He's a dream come to life. You two will be as happy together as a pair of larks."