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with larger silver royals so as to get rid of two of the most conspicuous
coins
in his loot. He'd never dreamed the men could have been carrying gold.
Gold. Gold meant everything. With gold, he suddenly had the means to
concentrate
entirely on finding Bazie's murderer. He wouldn't have to work the entire
summer. With gold, he had the means to offer the kind of bribe that would
loosen
even the most reluctant of tongues.
With gold he could follow up on the only real clue he had that wasn't
connected
to Jass.
 & my lord Orthallen gave you high recommendations& 
Gold could actually buy Skif a way into Orthallen's household you didn't just
turn up at a Great Lord's doorstep and expect to be hired. You had to grease
palms before you got a place where you could expect to have privileges, maybe
even collect tips for exemplary service. Gold would purchase forged letters of
commendation very rarely did anyone ever bother to check on those, especially
if
they were from a household inconveniently deep into the countryside. Those
letters could get Skif into, say, a position as an undergroom, or a footman. A
place where he'd be in contact with Lord Orthallen's guests, friends, and
associates. Where he could hear their voices.
This one encounter changed everything&
Maybe.
It was one plan. There were others, that would allow Skif to hang onto the
unexpected windfall. Jass wouldn't have been paid for the job entirely in
advance he'd have to collect the rest, and maybe Skif could catch him at it.
There were other places where Skif could go to listen for that familiar,
smooth
and pitiless voice.
But the idea of insinuating himself into a noble household was the kind of
plan
that the craggy-faced sell-sword would not be able to anticipate. If he knew
anything at all about Skif, he'd know that in the normal course of things,
pigs
would fly before someone like Skif would get his hands on enough money to buy
his way into Lord Orthallen's household.
So Skif carefully folded the five gold coins into a strip of linen and packed
them with his larger silver coins in the money belt that never left his waist.
Then he blew out his candle, laid himself down, and began his nightly vigil of
listening for Jass and Jass' business.
Because while gold might add to his options, if Bazie had taught him anything
at
all, it was to never, ever abandon an option just because a new one opened up.
* * * * * * * * * *
But Jass didn't come back that night, nor the next day. Skif fell asleep
waiting
to hear his footsteps on the stairs, and woke the next morning to the
unaccustomed sound of silence next door. He waited all day, wondering, with
increasing urgency, what was keeping the man from his own rooms.
By nightfall, though, he knew why.
At dusk, a three-man team of the Watch came for Jass' two girls, escorting
them
off, rather than taking them off under guard, so it wasn't that they were
arrested or under suspicion. Skif was at his window when they showed up, and
he
knew before they ever came in view that something was wrong, for the whole
street went quiet. People whisked themselves indoors, or around corners,
anything to get out of sight, and even the littles went silent and shrank back
against their buildings, stopping dead in the middle of their games, and
staring
with round eyes at the three men in their blue-and-gray tunics and trews. The
Watch never came to this part of town unless there was something wrong or
someone was in a lot of trouble.
Skif ducked back out of sight as soon as they came into view, and when he
heard
the unmistakable sound of boots on the staircase, huddled against the wall
next
to the door so that no one peering underneath it would see his feet.
What're they here for? For me? Did that feller turn me in? Did summun figger
I
lifted them purses? His mind raced, reckoning the odds of getting out via his
emergency route through the window if they'd come for him, wondering if that
sell-sword had somehow put the Watch onto him. And if he had why?
The footsteps stopped at his landing, and his heart was in his mouth his blood
pounding in his ears every muscle tensed to spring for the window.
But it wasn't his door they knocked on and they knocked, politely, rather than
pounding on it and demanding entrance. It was the girls' door, and when one of
them timidly answered, an embarrassed voice asked if  Trana and Desi Farane
would be so kind as to come down to the Watch-station and answer a few
questions.
Skif sagged down onto the floor, limp with relief. Whatever it was, it had
nothing to do with him.
Now, everyone knew that if the Watch had anything on you, they didn't come and
politely invite you to the Watch Station. When someone came with that
particular
request, it meant that you weren't in trouble, though someone else probably
was.
But if you were asked to come answer questions and you refused, well& you
could
pretty much reckon that from then on, you were marked. And anytime one of the
Watch saw you, they'd be keeping a hard eye on you, and they'd be likely to
arrest and fine you for the least little thing. So after a nervous-sounding,
unintelligible twitter of a conversation among all four of the sisters, Trana
and Desi emerged and five sets of footsteps went back down the staircase.
Now he had to see what was up! When Skif peeked out around the edge of the
window, he saw that two of the Watch were carrying lit lanterns, making it
very
clear that the two girls weren't being manhandled, or even touched. And he
could
see that the two girls had taken long enough to lace their bodices tight, pull
up their blouses, and drop their skirts where they were usually kirtled up to
show their ankles. They were definitely putting on a show of respectability,
which only made sense. That was the last he saw of them until just before
dark.
They returned alone, but gabble in the street marked their arrival, waking
Skif
from a partial doze.
Their sisters must have been watching from the window; they flew down the
stairs
to meet them, and half the neighborhood converged on them. Skif took his time
going downstairs, and by then the block was abuzz with the news that Jass had
been found dead in a warehouse that afternoon, and the girls had been brought
in
to identify the body. There was no question but that he was the victim of foul
play; he'd been neatly garroted, and his body hidden under an empty crate. He
might not even have been found except that someone needed the crate and came
to
fetch it, uncovering this body.
Damn& Skif couldn't quite believe it, couldn't quite take it in. Dead? But
By the time Skif drifted to the edge of the crowd to absorb the news, Trana
and
Desi were sobbing hysterically, though how much of their sorrow was genuine
was
anyone's guess. Skif had the shrewd notion that they were carrying on more for
effect than out of real feeling. Their sisters, with just as much reason to be
upset, looked more disgruntled at all of the attention that Trana and Desi
were
getting than anything else.
Skif huddled on the edge of the crowd, trying to overhear the details. There
weren't many; he felt numb, as if he'd been hit by something but hadn't yet
felt
the blow. Before a quarter candlemark had passed, the landlord appeared.
He had tools and his dimwitted helper; he pushed past the crowd and ran up the
stair. The sounds of hammering showed he was securing the door of Jass' room
with a large padlock and hasp. An entire parade, led by the girls, followed
him
up there where he was standing, lantern in one hand, snapping the padlock
closed.  There may be inquiries, he said officiously when Desi objected,
claiming that she'd left personal belongings in Jass' rooms.  If the Watch or
the Guard wants to inspect this place, I'll be in trouble if I let anyone take [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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