Patricia Briggs - When Demons Walk

She shifted her weight and the little mare stopped in front of the dressmaker’s. Talbot followed suit, helping her off the awkward sidesaddle. Slipping a coin out of his purse, he handed the copper and the reins of both horses to one of the young boys who haunted the streets looking for odd jobs.

Sham tucked her hand under his arm and allowed him to lead her into the dressmaker’s shop.

Buying the thread took her some time. The dressmaker took some convincing before she agreed to sell Sham all her gold thread. It took time to order more from the goldsmith and there were dresses on order. Only Kerim’s letter that authorized his mistress’s unlimited spending persuaded the dressmaker to relent.

They attracted a lot of attention as they ventured into Purgatory. Sham had considered hiding their presence, but decided it was unlikely that Lady Sky bothered hiring spies, and the furor was likely to attract the Shark’s attention. She could have returned to the Castle and changed herself back into Sham the Thief—but the mottled-silver silk dress (that matched the horse with expensive perfection) might come in useful.

She knew the Shark’s haunts and hoped to find him before someone braved Talbot’s wrath in hopes of a full purse. Sure enough, as they turned a corner the Shark was waiting in the shadow of a battered awning.

He looked pointedly at a filthy figure that had been following Shamera and Talbot for several minutes. Noticing the attention, the skulker abruptly turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.

“Business slow, Sham?”

She shook her head. “Actually, I think I’ve become successful.”

The Shark raised his brows. “Oh?”

“They’re paying me not to steal. I think it was you who told me that you can tell when you have become a success in your chosen field because then people pay you not to do it.”

“Welcome to success,” said the Shark, making a gesture that encompassed all of Purgatory.

“I need to talk to Tallow.”

The Shark shook his head. “Not unless you want to talk to a corpse. He got his throat slit five, maybe six days ago.”

“Then who controls the territory by the cliffs, where the old bell tower used to stand?” she asked.

He scratched his ear and pursed his lips in obvious perplexity. Sham gave an exasperated sigh.

Talbot grinned. “He looks stupider than a codfish out of water. Think a bit of gold would help that mouthbreathing?”

“Nothing,” said Sham, “would help that. But it might make him talk.”

The Shark bared his white teeth. “Now, Sham, you know you love me—and business is business.”

“Like I love the plague,” she muttered.

The Shark laughed, effortlessly catching the gold Talbot tossed to him. He dropped the Purgatory dialect, exchanging it for that of a courtier. “A charming runt who calls himself ‘Toadstool’ has taken over that half of Tallow’s territory. You need something from him?”

“I need to talk with him myself.”

The Shark shook his head. “He eats little girls like you for breakfast.”

“I grind up toadstools for my lunch,” she replied. “For dinner I eat shark-steaks.”

The Shark sighed, appealing to Talbot for sympathy as he drifted into a rougher dialect. “Always she does this to me. Isn’t any way I’m goin’ to let her go to Toadstool and talk without me, an’ she knows it. Gives a man no room to bargain. She isn’t goin’ to pay for service I’ll give her anyhow.”

Talbot grinned. “If that’s the first time a woman’s gotten ye by the short ...” he glanced at Shamera, “er ... toes, ye can count yourself lucky.”

The Shark gestured to Talbot and fell into the thick accents of a dockworker, “You see, girl? You’re gain’ to ruin my reputation. Soon no one will take the Shark seriously. Pretty girl says walk this way, I say how far. Word gain’ to get around. Ain’t no Shark, but a little Tadpole running the Whisper.”

Sham bent down on the horse until her face was level with his, matching his accent. “They’re gain’ to say dead Shark, if you don’t start moving. We’re all gain’ to die of old age right here in this spot wi’ the wind a’ rattlin’ our jaws.”

He laughed and started down the street, letting them follow as they could through the debris that littered the battered cobblestones. Sham drew in a deep breath and coughed. Funny how quickly she’d gotten used to the fresh salt air of the Castle.

The Shark led them to a rough brick and stone building near the old docks, shaking his head when Talbot started to dismount.

“They know we’re here. Let them come to us.”

“They’ll consider it an insult,” commented Talbot, familiar with the games of the streets.

The Shark shook his head. “Tell them you wanted to keep your horses. He won’t take it amiss.”

“I hope not,” said Sham. “I need his cooperation.”

The Shark smiled sweetly. “You’ll get it.”

She turned to Talbot. “You know he’s not as nice as he’d like to pretend, don’t you?”

“Neither am I,” replied Talbot smugly.

She snorted just as a nattily dressed young man opened the door of the building.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, in a pure Cybellian Kerim would have been pleased to claim. “But Toadstool sent me out to inquire as to the nature of your visit.”

The Shark nodded gravely.

“These are friends of mine. The pretty little mare here—” he rubbed Sham’s horse underneath its cheekstrap and it closed its eyes in ecstasy, “—she’s a bit skittish, so we don’t want to leave her alone. Could you persuade Toadstool to come out and talk with us a moment?”

“Regarding?”

“I would like to rent some property from him for tonight,” answered Shamera.

“I will so inform him.” Toadstool’s man went back into the house.

They waited. Shamera’s “skittish” mare dropped into a three-legged doze, idly switching her tail at the flies.

At last a middle-aged man with a slight potbelly and a round, good-natured face approached them from an alley several buildings away from the one where Toadstool made his office.

“I’d wager he’s not as nice as he acts either,” commented Talbot softly.

Sham grunted her agreement.

“My friend tells me that you are interested in the rental of a property,” said the chubby man congenially.

She nodded. “I need to rent the space near the cliffs, where the old bell used to hang, from now until dawn.”

Toadstool pursed his lips. “I know the spot. Tonight’s the Spirit Tide, eh? Nice little place for a lover’s tryst.”

Sham gave him a sly smile. “That’s the idea.”

He cast an assessing eye on her clothes, just as she had expected he would. It would have been safer to wear her tunic and trousers, but then he might not have dealt with her at all. Purgatory’s territorial lords were a fickle lot.

“Ten gold.”

“For that price, I want you to make sure that we are not disturbed,” said Shamera.

“Eleven gold and I’ll supply guards.”

“Ten gold,” she countered smoothly. “I have my own people. I just need you to put the word out to your folk to stay off the cliffs tonight. For their own safety, you understand. I have a few enemies, and it would be a great tragedy if one of my men killed one of yours by mistake.”

“Ah, quite,” he agreed cordially. “Ten gold then.” Sham nodded at Talbot, who opened Kerim’s purse and produced ten gold coins.

Sham waited until they had ridden out of sight before she reached over and snagged the purse. Stopping her horse near the Shark she tossed him the heavy leather bag.

“Shark, there’s another ten pieces of gold here. I know that you usually don’t offer protection, but I need people I can trust to keep that area clear.”