fingers.
“Are you out of your mind! I could get an arm reattached for that!”
She narrowed her eyes at me and lowered two digits.
“That’s more like it.” I set three ochres on the table, and she scooped them up and tucked them quickly into her robes. I grabbed my shirt and coat, putting them on as I walked outside. “As always, whatever language you speak, anyone hears about this visit and you’ll need to find someone better with that scalpel than you are.”
She didn’t answer, but then she wouldn’t. By the time the painkiller wore off, I was halfway to Low Town and it had started to snow again.
Back at the Earl I got to watch Adolphus try and pretend he hadn’t been worrying about me. His shoulders tensed up as I came in, but then he returned to wiping the counter with little more than a grunt. I took a seat at the bar.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” I responded. “Just out late, didn’t want to walk home with the weather.”
It was clear he didn’t believe me. “These came for you while you were out.” He handed me a pair of envelopes, and waited while I tore open the seals.
The first, tight script against cream-colored paper, was from Celia. My workings have borne fruit. You will find evidence of the Blade’s crimes in a hidden chamber in the desk in his study, beneath a false bottom. Good luck. C
Short as it was I had to read it twice to make sure I got it right. Then I set it aside, trying to keep the smile off my face. I’d all but forgotten about the working Celia had promised to perform-those things rarely go as advertised, and never quickly enough to be of help. But if she was right, then I had a line on something real I could take to Black House. I set my mind toward Beaconfield’s mansion, and the machinations that would be required to again gain entrance to it.
Wren bolted his way in from the back room, so finely attuned to the mood of the place he could tell when I’d arrived. Which was good, because there was a man I needed to make contact with, and I didn’t feel like walking. “You need to run a message for me.”
His expression remained unchanged, but I’d had enough evidence of the bear trap quality of his memory not to need any outward displays of attention.
“Take Pritt Street east past the docks, into Alledtown but before you hit the Asher enclave.” I rattled off a street name and house number. “Tell the woman at the entrance you need to speak to Mort the Fish-she’ll let you on up. Tell Mort I need to see the doctor. Tell him it’s urgent, and tell him the doctor will be glad he made time.”
“Don’t forget your coat!” Adolphus added, although the boy was heading toward it anyway. Wren pulled it over his shoulders and set out into the snow.
“He can tell the weather,” I said after he was gone.
“I didn’t want him to get cold.”
“Just because you got him three months ago doesn’t make him three months old.”
Adolphus shrugged and tapped his finger against the remaining letter. “The aristocrat came by earlier this morning for you. Wanted me to give you this. You got any more business with that one, try and do it outside my bar.”
“Guiscard’s not so bad.”
“I wouldn’t trust him.”
“I’m not. I’m using him.” I read through the note. “And he seems to have been of service.” Afonso Cadamost spends most of his waking hours at a wyrm den on Tolk Street beneath the sign of a gray lantern. You were right- we are still keeping tabs on him.
Guiscard was sapling green if he didn’t know Black House kept tabs on damn near everyone. I looked back up at Adolphus. “Are you going to get me breakfast or not?”
He rolled his eyes, but stepped into the back room and called for Adeline.
I was massacring my plate of eggs when Wren returned, his hair slick with snow and his face flushed with enthusiasm, or perhaps the cold.
“He says okay. He says the doctor will meet you at the Daevas’ Work pub off Beston in two hours.”
I nodded and went back to finishing off my sausage.
“Who’s the doctor?” Wren asked.
“You’ll find out in two hours,” I said. “Take your coat off-it’s warm in here.”
He looked at me, then shrugged and headed to the rack.
There are two ways to meet the best second-story man in Rigus. The first is quick and easy. Catch a shiv anywhere from Kirentown to Offbend and, if you’re lucky enough not to bleed out in the street, you’ll be taken to Mercy of Prachetas Hospital. Inside this somber edifice, assuming you aren’t forgotten by their massive and incompetent bureaucracy, you’ll be taken to an overworked medical professional who will pronounce your wound untreatable and prescribe a few drops of attaraxium to speed your ascent into the afterlife. As the light goes from your eyes, you’d likely be shocked to discover that the short, affable-looking gentleman standing over you and easing your meeting with She Who Waits Behind All Things is responsible for three of the five most lucrative heists in the history of Rigus, including the legendary theft of the Amber Pagoda, the exact details of which have never been successfully reconstructed.
If the first option doesn’t sound square, you’ll have to settle for the second-putting a word into the ear of his agent, a fat-faced, unpleasant Rouender, and hoping that his client decides your job is interesting enough to warrant an interruption of his schedule.
To that end I was sitting in a small neighborhood bar on the outskirts of the Old City. I’d left Wren at a corner table in the front, not wanting to spook my prospective envoy-although the doctor would need to have awfully weak nerves to be overcome by the sight of a hundred-and-ten-pound prepubescent.
I’d been waiting about twenty minutes when he walked in. The single most talented larcenist since the execution of Fierce Jack Free was an open-faced little Tarasaihgn, somewhat fairer of skin than most swamp dwellers, but apart from that utterly average. We had met a few times, under the kind of predictably clandestine circumstances that didn’t encourage intimacy.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
“Dr. Kendrick, a pleasure.”
He hung his coat on the hook next to our booth and sat down across from me.
“Not at all. Actually I was surprised when Mort told me who’d contacted him. I always got the impression you didn’t much care for me.”
His impression was correct-I didn’t like Dr. Kendrick. He was friendly enough, and his skills were beyond question-but I’d never worked with him and would have preferred to keep that streak unbroken.
The code of the criminal is clean if not honest, based on naked self-interest and the accumulation of capital. You don’t need to respect a man to work with him, or even trust him. You just need to know you’re giving him the best deal. But Kendrick didn’t care about money. Doctors aren’t paupers, and anyway he’d made enough through his various heists to have retired rich a dozen times over. He was in it for the thrill-you could see that in his eyes.
At the end of the day I didn’t care how many ochres he’d stolen or that his street name was spoken in reverential tones throughout the underworld. I didn’t care that he could scale the sheer face of a rock wall or pick a triple-rated lock while tossing back shots of corn liquor. I learned quickly growing up in Low Town that the only excuse for crime is survival. Excitement and renown are concerns one busies one’s mind with on a full stomach. The doctor was a thrill seeker, and this wasn’t a business for him, it was a game. You can’t trust a man like that. He’s apt to go screwy at inopportune moments.
Of course, no self-respecting professional would have come within a hundred feet of a job this half-baked-I hadn’t even bothered to ring out any of the rest of my contacts. The peculiar nature of the job limited my options.
“I don’t have much need for subcontractors. Normally I prefer to handle my own business. But I have a situation that requires your unique skill set.”
“Indeed,” he said, flagging down our homely waitress and ordering a beer. I waited till she was out of earshot before continuing.
“Nor do I refer to your renowned ability with a scalpel.”
