“I’m glad that you and I are in agreement on that point. Now let’s talk.”
“What about?” Gozmo looked angry and dumbfounded at the same time.
“There’s a little matter I need to discuss. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”
“That’ll do you good,” the innkeeper interrupted.
The bowstring twanged, and a bolt went humming across the room and struck the headboard of the bed, very close to Gozmo. He jumped in the air.
“In the name of Darkness! What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?”
He seemed a little jittery.
“Be so kind as not to interrupt me. I’ve had a hard night and I’ve been feeling a bit on edge. So shut your trap and be so good as to hear me out.”
The innkeeper took my advice and shut up, although his thin lips turned noticeably paler. He couldn’t see the crossbow, but he could sense with every pore in his skin that the weapon was trained on him.
“Right then,” I went on, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About that conversation we had, and about a lot of other apparent coincidences. Why would a rogue like you suddenly decide to apologize? I was a bit too hasty at the time; I decided that it was all about the garrinch in the duke’s house, the one that you, you shameless villain, apparently forgot to warn me about. You grabbed at that line of explanation because you thought I didn’t know anything and so your precious life was in no danger. But it wasn’t really a matter of the garrinch. Isn’t that right, Gozmo?”
The innkeeper opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and merely licked his dry lips. In our little world the usual penalty for selling somebody short, especially in the way that Gozmo had allowed himself to do, was a slit throat. And, of course, the villain knew that perfectly well. That was why he said nothing and put his trust in luck, fate, Sagot, and Harold’s kind heart, now that I had so inconveniently found out about everything.
“All right, I can see that I’m not mistaken. And that’s encouraging. Let’s start from the fact that you knew who gave you the Commission for the figurine from the duke’s house and you didn’t say a word.”
“I didn’t know . . .”
“Well, you had a pretty good idea, which is practically the same thing,” I said with an indifferent shrug.
The point was that the person to blame for all this trouble I’d got into over the Horn was Gozmo. And so I had no reason to stand on ceremony with the former thief.
“As Sagot is my witness, Harold, I didn’t want to set you up!”
“But you didn’t hold back. When you saw Frago Lanten visit your dump and then take me away with him, you understood everything. And you evidently decided that I would be sent to the Gray Stones. You must have been very surprised to see Harold out in the street the next day. You thought I must know everything and you decided to cover your rear. I wouldn’t be surprised if Markun played quite an important part in all this.”
I threw in that last phrase for effect, to check the depth of the water, without really expecting it to produce any great effect. But Gozmo was so frightened he hiccupped so that I could hear him.
“Markun had nothing to do with it, that’s not—” He suddenly broke off.
“That’s not how it was?” I asked, grasping avidly at this new thread. “I believe you! I do! Especially since I think you weren’t really entirely to blame for slipping me that Commission.”
Gozmo sighed in relief, realizing that perhaps he wasn’t going to have his throat cut after all.
“But I’ll change my mind about that, if you don’t tell me all about that fat hog’s little deals.”
“May the Nameless One snatch you,” Gozmo whispered wearily. “All right, Harold, I did something stupid. The first time and the second time. But you have no right to complain about the first time—you got your gold pieces for the figurine, and I can see that your misunderstandings with Lanten have been sorted out. That evening, after you went away with the men in orange and black, Markun and his lads turned up. . . . And he let it drop, in passing as it were, that you had decided to join the guild after all and he needed to talk something over with you urgently. I told him that you were already bound for the Gray Stones and you wouldn’t be joining any guild, but Markun insisted. You know how he can be.”
I did know. Markun’s lads had always been well known for their polite way with reluctant talkers, and I doubted that Gozmo had resisted much, even for the sake of effect.
“You let him know where my lair was,” I stated rather than asked.
“Yes! But I didn’t think that you’d be there!”
“But the Doralissians that Markun set on me thought differently. Because that night they were waiting for me with a warm welcome. Thanks, Gozmo. You’re a real friend. You proved it twice.”
The innkeeper winced, ready for any kind of beastliness from me. If I had dispatched him into the light then and there, everyone would have supported me and said I’d done exactly the right thing. In our community of thieves nasty little tricks like that come with a stiff price attached, even if they are unintentional.
“My old friend Gozmo!” I began in a joyful voice, and the other man became even more miserable at this sudden and unreasonable amiability. “I am prepared to forget all our misunderstandings and even not to spread the word about the way you have behaved all round the city, but for a couple of favors in return.”
“Anything at all!” Gozmo replied hastily, realizing that one pan of the scales held a couple of favors and the other held his reputation and his life. “That’s not much to ask!”
“First of all, tell me about the killing of the magician from Filand and the disappearance of a certain item.”
Gozmo chewed on his lip thoughtfully, rubbed his chin, and then said, “Markun’s men. Shnyg and Nightingale, the word is. They did a perfect job; not even the magicians can figure it all out. They stole some Doralissian trinket or other. It must be something very valuable, if Markun decided to kill a magician.”
