“I live here, you know,” said the man. “It’s not just an office. It’s my home. No privacy.”
“I’m deeply moved,” I said.
“What do you need?” muttered the man, resignedly.
“Market permits applicable to last Saturday,” I said, starting to follow him through the doorway. Potbelly turned on me with quick embarrassment, shielding the room’s interior and its sniggering inhabitant with his body.
“Just wait there, if you please,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll bring you what you want. Last Saturday? Right.”
He shuffled off, whispering to his girlfriend or whore, who was hissing like a bag of vipers. He clumped around and returned to the doorway’s rectangle of light with a heavy ledger in his hands.
“Can I use your table, or something?” I asked, taking the book brusquely.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” said the man, awkwardly shifting his feet. “Someone not paying market taxes?” he added to fill the silence.
“Among other things,” said I, without looking up. “Thank you for your assistance. Have a good evening.”
I heard the woman giggle again as the door closed and figured that he would.
I joined the others in the shadows outside.
“There were five parties registered under the name of Joseph on Saturday,” I said as soon as we were out of earshot, “but only three of them were six-man groups. We have addresses for all of them.”
“Are you going to explain that little performance?” asked Mithos.
“What’s to explain?” I said innocently.
“We have the seal! We don’t need to take chances with stories!”
“Well, don’t ask me to do the talking, then!” I said, stopping and facing him. “If you don’t like what I do, don’t ask for my help. This is what I do,” I said. “It’s my thing, my oeuvre, my.
Mithos glanced at Lisha and then back at me. “You’re right,” he said, “my apologies. And you could memorize the addresses, just by glancing at them?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” I said.
“Impressive,” said Mithos.
“Hardly,” I answered as we headed back to the inn. “Try learning the lines for the female lead of a new play two days before you open. That’s impressive.”
SCENE XXXVI Investigations
We spent the morning staring at a map marked with the location of each raider attack. Right in the middle, just on the Greycoast side of the Shale border, was the mark of a small castle.
“What’s that?” said Lisha.
“I’ll find out,” said Mithos. “The raiders must have an operations base in the area. Maybe that’s it.”
“Track down the three Joseph addresses,” said Lisha to Orgos. “See if any of them looks big enough to house troops or stolen property.”
The Hopetown marketplace was a very different kettle of fish from the one in Ironwall: professional hard selling everywhere you looked. You could have bought anything you wanted there, and a lot of stuff you didn’t. The stall keepers shouted, intimidated, and just plain lied to make a sale, gracelessly thrusting coins into a chest before the customers could change their minds. The barefaced economics of it all just wasn’t my style. I was glad to see Orgos strolling over to speak to me.
“We have found all three of the ‘Joseph’ houses,” he said. “Renthrette and Garnet have spent the morning checking out the addresses and they think one of them is empty. We’re going now.”
“You mean, breaking in?”
“Yes. Just to look around.”
“You’re sure it’s empty?”
“Positive.”
“And we’ll be in absolutely no danger?”
“None at all.”
“I’m your man.”
Mithos told us to be very careful, and made some not wholly complimentary remarks about my being wiry and thus well suited to housebreaking. I don’t think he believed I hadn’t done it before.
The house belonging to Mr. Brineth Joseph was in a poor suburb of town. It was made of timbers that had warped and splintered away from their rusty nails like the scales on a rotting fish. By now it would probably have been cheaper to torch the place and start over. We found a downstairs window unlocked and clambered in; not exactly maximum security, but then, as we quickly discovered, there was bugger-all worth stealing.
There were two bedrooms upstairs and a little kitchen-bakery on the ground floor. They obviously sold bread in the market. The furniture was basic, and the clothes were few and threadbare. Several of the interior doors were missing, probably burned when the weather turned cold.
“Palatial,” I muttered. “If they are bandits, they’re really bad at it.”
Orgos picked up a tiny pair of boy’s shoes whose heels were worn to nothing. He just looked at them and said nothing. I sighed, a little irritated that these people’s poverty should take the edge off our adventure. The bakery was clean but poorly stocked, and the flour was coarse and cut with chalk in fine old Cresdon style. There was no sign of anything remotely suspicious.
“Ah, the thrifty lower classes,” I said sardonically as we slipped out. “Salt of the earth.”
“Don’t make light of poverty,” said Orgos. “It kills more than the raiders ever will.”
“Really?” I said. “How interesting. Having been destitute most of my life I never would have known that.”
Orgos didn’t reply. Sentimental idiot.
Mithos was pleased with our report.
“Well, we can cross that one off the list,” he said.
We would have to watch the other two houses closely. I suggested breaking in by night, but this was generally considered an extraordinarily bad idea, even by my standards.
“So we just sit around and wait?” I said.
“Until we get a better lead,” said Mithos.
And, right on cue, we got a better lead. Orgos burst into Lisha’s room, where the rest of us had gathered, and tossed a curved knife on the bed.
“Look at that,” he exclaimed. “Familiar?”
“Not to me,” I muttered, wondering why I felt a thrill of alarm whenever Orgos got excited about weapons.
“It’s kind of like the scyax that we looked at,” said Garnet, picking it up and holding it up to the light.
“The same steel,” said Orgos triumphantly. “The same workmanship.”
“Where did you get it?” asked Lisha.
“I was stocking our weapons chest in the marketplace and came upon a stall that sold nothing but this stuff. The stall keeper was reluctant to tell me where he got his material, but I persuaded him. He is supplied exclusively by a weapons dealer known locally as the Razor. He pays certain traders in town well above the average for the best ores and sells his exclusive wares to whoever can afford them.”
We were about to ask more when Mithos came in hurriedly. He pointed to the center of the map again.
“That building in the middle of the map?” he said. “It’s a keep. A fortification belonging to one Eric Thurlhelm, known as the Razor.”
