Jack Whyte - The Skystone

Quietly and carefully, my heart still pounding in my throat, knowing that he could turn and see me at any second, I stood up and stepped around the open door into the short passageway beyond, hoping against all hope that the place I was going to would be empty. It was — empty and almost dark. The only light came from two lamps and a few narrow cracks between the boards of the shutters that sealed the single window. The door leading to the street was solid-looking and solidly barred. The place was a chandler's shop, cluttered with clay lamps of all shapes and sizes and amphorae and smaller jars of oil. It smelled pungently and aromatically of oils and camphor. To my left, a set of dangerous-looking steps led up to another loft, where the owner obviously lived. I crossed the room quickly and pressed my eye to one of the cracks in the shutters. There was chaos in the street outside; people were running in every direction and the scene reeked of panic. As I watched, I saw an old, grey-bearded man being hauled bodily across my line of sight by two hulking bullies. I had time to see no more, for from behind me came the roaring voice of the shop owner, arguing with someone. I looked again for somewhere to hide as I heard a slamming noise from the stable at the rear and the quick, angry sound of approaching footsteps. I moved quickly and tried to conceal myself behind the rickety steps in the corner just as the man came back into the room.

He was big — tall and broad-shouldered — so that he had to stoop coming through the doorway. As he began to straighten up, he saw my feet and froze for a heartbeat, and then he straightened up completely, eyeing me warily. He made no sound, and I saw that he carried no weapon. He looked me straight in the eye, and then his gaze dropped to my left knee. I remained motionless, my hand on the hilt of my sword. Unhurriedly, he closed the door behind him and moved two steps into the shop, coming to rest facing me with his buttocks resting against the small counter that held many of his wares. There was no fear in his eyes. The only sounds came from the street outside, where one woman screamed above the general noise, her voice ululating like a demented owl's. When he spoke, his voice was deep, and clearer than I would have expected.

"There's a lot of grief out there, " he said. "I hope you're worth it. " I reached into my tunic with my left hand and pulled out a heavy purse. I tossed it onto the countertop beside him, where it landed with a solid, full sound.

"The price on my head is ten gold auri, " I said. "There's at least that many in that bag, perhaps a few more. That presents you with an important choice. You can yell for help and die now, or you can pretend to help me and claim the reward later, hoping you'll get it. My guess is you won't smell it, once I'm taken, and you won't get what's in the bag there, either. "

His face was expressionless. "There has to be a third choice, one where I keep the money. What is it?"

I told him. "There's a ropery, about two streets from here. You know it?" He nodded. "I know it. "

"Well, my men are there, loading a wagon with hemp. They don't know what's going on. Bring them here, to your back door, the one you just closed. Once I'm safe in the wagon, covered up, we'll leave, and you can keep the purse. "

"Ten gold auril Do you take me for a fool? You'd leave me choking in my own blood for a tenth of that. A twentieth!"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't. The money's not important. I can't expect you to believe that, but nevertheless, it's true. I carry it with me in case I ever find the opportunity to buy iron. "

He was glaring at me sceptically. "Iron? You buy iron with gold?" I nodded my head. "That's right, I do. Raw iron. Ingot iron. At least I would, if I could. But iron ingots are becoming more hard to find than gold auri. " I could still see doubt and disbelief in his face, and I shrugged.

"Take my word for it. We're going to have to trust each other, I fear. " He was silent for a spell, looking me straight in the eye with a speculative glare, then, "Look, stranger, I don't know who you are and I don't want to know, but nobody is worth ten gold auri, that's too ridiculous for words. "

I nodded to the pouch. "Count it. "

"Oh, I believe it's there. That's a heavy little purse, and you didn't pack it with flat stones knowing you'd be meeting me. But what I'm wondering is this: what did you do to Quinctilius Nesca that makes your hide worth ten gold auri?"

I could have lied to him, but something in his expression prompted me to tell him the truth.

"I broke his favourite nephew's face and carved my initials in his chest."

"You what?" There was laughing disbelief on his face now.

"You heard me. "

"Aye, I heard you. " He shook his head. "Who was his nephew?"

"He still is — I didn't kill him. I just put my mark on him. Caesarius Claudius Seneca. "

His eyes grew round. "The crazed one? Him? He's Nesca's nephew?" I nodded. "Aye, or his cousin. They're related. " He frowned. "But isn't he the Procurator?"

"He was. He's disappeared. But he was here before, about six years ago, visiting on business for the Emperor. That's when we — met. " He shook his head again and then moved suddenly to the window. I tensed and jerked my dagger out, prepared to throw it, but he merely put his eye to a crack as I had done and made no move to open the shutters. I relaxed slightly, and after a few seconds he turned back to me.

"You haven't a hope of getting out of this town today. Not a chance. They're searching door to door, and the less luck they have the harder they'll look. Nesca's a powerful man and a bad one to cross. He won't stop looking for you until he's tossed this whole town upside-down. You're safe here, for now at least. They've already been here. That's why I shut up shop, and why I knew who you were the minute I saw you. How did you get in?"

"You passed me on your way to close the back door. I slipped in here while your back was turned. "

"Just as well you did. They came there, too, while I was shutting up —

the same ones who had searched the front here earlier. I sent them packing. "

"They searched the stable?"

"Not thoroughly, just had a quick look. I told them there was no one there and I was still angry at them from the first time, so they believed me. Why?"

I decided to hold my peace and said nothing.

"Hmmm, " he said, tapping a thumb-nail against his teeth. "You're a lucky man. "

I grimaced. "Lucky? You think so? Why?"

"Got away from them, didn't you? And you finished up here. "

"That makes me lucky? I suppose it does. "

"It does, friend. That makes you lucky. "

He was hinting at something, but I didn't know what.

"How? I don't follow you, "

He picked up the bag of gold and opened it, pouring a stream of coins onto the countertop. One of them he picked up and held towards me, between finger and thumb. "Because of this, " he said. "And because I hate Quinctilius Nesca's lard-filled guts because of this. " I said nothing, waiting for him to continue. He flipped the coin. "If I'd had ten of these, six years ago, I could have kept the business I had for five years before that gross slug came into my life. I borrowed some money from him and then lost my venture. He took everything I had. Even my wife. Not that she went to him. She just left me. Couldn't adjust to the pauper's life. " His big fist closed suddenly over the gold coin and he scowled. "This Seneca, Nesca's cousin. It never occurred to me the Procurator might be the same man. What does he look like?"

"Why do you ask that? Have you seen him?"

The big man shook his head. "I don't know. I may have. You said he was here in Britain six years ago. That's when I had my trouble with Nesca, and he had a fellow with him at that time who caused a deal of trouble around here. I'd never seen him before, and neither had anyone else. But he was a really unpleasant bastard, handsome as a god and evil as a snake.