“I’m just saying we should make sure our pistols are loaded and our knives are close at hand.”
The Barbarian said; “Mine usually are. It’s not my fault if you can’t keep your powder dry since you started hanging around with the Great Lady. I’m surprised you are not heading up there tonight. Or does she call the shots?”
“You want to go to the Snake’s Head or not?”
“I’m in,” said Weasel.
“Me too,” said the Barbarian.
“Then let’s get our stuff and go.”
The Snake’s Head was everything Rik had expected it to be and a little bit less. The ceiling was low. The clientele were rough as a thirsty dog’s tongue. The smoke of pipeweed, dreamweed and a dozen other narcotics filled the place. The lowest sort of bargirls, faces splashed with rouge and whitened with powder to cover their pox marks, stared at them when they came in. The Barbarian rubbed his hands together and chuckled with glee.
“My kind of place,” he said. “Time to get the beers in.”
He shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring the glares of the hard-looking men he pushed aside. Most of them merely stared. The Barbarian was the tallest man in the room by a head, and massive with it; not the sort of person anybody wanted trouble with.
Rik and Weasel took a table in an alcove and Rik studied the place carefully. It was a classic thieves dive if ever he had seen one. Furtive men with covered packages came in, said something to the barman and then headed into the back. Doubtless there was a fence through there. Sometimes he caught sight of a man as big as the Barbarian, when the curtains were swept aside.
The Barbarian returned with three beers and tumblers full of a strong-smelling spirit. Rik shook his head and indicated the Barbarian should take the spirit. Now was not the time for getting drunk. “Looks like your informant was right, I would say. What you want to do about it?”
“I think I’ll go have a word with the man in the back room,” Weasel said.
“Want us to come with you?” Rik asked.
“No, don’t want to scare him off with the sight of your ugly faces. Stay here, and come running if I whistle. You’ll know if there’s trouble.”
“Right-o,” said the Barbarian, downing the spirit in one.
Rik wondered at this. Was it possible that Weasel did not want them to hear what he had to say to the local thieves? Or was it that he just did not want to make the locals nervous? He could play it any way he wanted as far as Rik was concerned.
A slim youth entered. He was garbed in a black tunic, with a slouch hat pulled across his eyes. He had a long knife on his hip and a pistol thrust into his belt and he walked with the strutting confidence of a city-bred bravo. Rik felt a strange flicker of recognition, and then something like an electric shock when their gazes met. He knew this person, although at first he was not certain from where. Then slowly the impossibility of what he was seeing settled on his mind.
“You look like you just saw a ghost, Halfbreed?” said the Barbarian. There was faint mockery in his voice. “That strutting cockerel there scare you?”
Rik shook his head. He was not quite sure that he wanted to tell the big man that Lady Tamara, daughter of the former Chancellor of Sardea liked to hang out in riverside taverns dressed as a man. “No, I just know him. Wait here, I’m going to have a word.”
“Just leave me on my bloody own then,” said the Barbarian.
“Drink my beer.”
“As you command, sir.”
Rik tapped the black-clad youth on the shoulder. She turned swift as a snake. Cold eyes glittered beneath the brim of the hat.
“I think you and I should talk,” Rik said.
This close he could see it really was Tamara. The Terrarch noblewoman was very well disguised. It looked as if wads of something had been placed inside her cheeks to puff them out and make them look more human and makeup had been applied to the corner of the eyes to alter their shape, the same with the lips. Dirt smeared her face in a way that no Terrarch would ever allow it to. Her hair and her hat covered her ears. There was something else too, something he could not quite put his finger on, but which he suspected was magic.
“Very well,” the voice was low and sounded human. It had a Kharadrean accent. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I think we met very briefly the other night.” Rik was absolutely certain that she would remember him and recognise him, just as he had recognised her.
“There are private rooms upstairs.”
Words passed between Tamara and the bartender, she grabbed a bottle and two goblets and then they both headed upstairs. The private room was more like a private cupboard. It had a table and a couple of rickety chairs and a door that could be wedged closed. A small single bed took up most of the rest of the space. Tamara took a spill, lit it from one of the lanterns and then lit the candle set on a chipped plate on the table. Her expression was one of amusement. She did not seem at all frightened at being alone in a room in a rough part of town with a strange man.
She poured a drink. Rik watched her hands carefully, he was certain she added nothing to it. That did not mean the wine could not have been doctored though. It might have happened downstairs. She saw him watching her and raised the goblet to her lips and drank. He considered switching goblets with her and decided that might be a little too melodramatic. He doubted anyone would have the foresight to doctor the cups. He drank the wine. It was surprisingly good.
“I saw you at Lady Asea’s mansion the other night,” he said, once they were both seated. Their stools were very close together. Their legs touched. “I am surprised to see you here.”
“And I am surprised that you recognised me in the dim light, in these clothes, with this makeup and wrapped by these spells.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I was wondering about that.” She passed a hand across her face. An odd rippling, distorting effect followed her hand as she made the gesture and her features became the ones he had seen the previous evening. She was, like all Terrarch women, ravishingly beautiful and there was something else about her, a sense of interest in him personally, of availability. It was written in her smile.
“Do you think this is the sort of place that a Terrarch woman should come on her own?”
“I assure you I am more safe here than you are.”
“I must admit I am curious. Why exactly are you here?”
“You think I am one of those High Born who comes to the low parts of town in search of sexual adventure?” Rik had known of Terrarch women who did exactly that in Sorrow, Terrarch men as well. The way her hand now rested on his thigh seemed to confirm the impression.
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Are you offering your services?” She reached out and adjusted a lock of his hair with her hands. He pulled away, feeling a slight sting. Had she pulled out some of his hair? He looked but her hands were empty. It occurred to Rik that if Lady Asea really wanted Tamara dead, he was never going to get a better opportunity than now. Under these circumstances, though, he just could not do it. For whatever reason he found he actually rather liked her, and he was certainly intrigued.
“I wasn’t but…”
“It’s an interesting proposition. I must confess I noticed you the other night as we were departing and I thought; who is that handsome young man…” She had backed away now as if to put some distance between them. He considered what would happen if he attacked her. All she had to do was reveal who she was and he would be in terrible trouble and she was armed. Some instinct warned him that she was much more formidable than she looked.
“You thought more than that.”
“Really? Is mind reading among your many accomplishments then?”
“No but I felt something when I saw you.”
“How very romantic.”
