Talis swallowed. Sniffed. Ran her palm over Jasper’s eyes to close them—for his size she had to do one at a time.
“No point,” she said, standing. “Those stinking woodrots outside weren’t carrying anything but their weapons. We know what they were here for.”
She patted the lump under her shirt where the ring nestled in its velvet bag. Beneath it, her heart beat against her ribcage.
A side door to Jasper’s shop led out into Assessor’s Hall, which was little more than a dimly lit maze of pawn kiosks. The kiosks were little more than makeshift chicken coops stuffed to bursting with collateral and sale items and guarded by their attending shopkeepers. A brighter corridor opened up ahead, spanning two levels with catwalks that crossed and looped the space above their heads. Talis eyed the balcony, feeling like a fish in shallow water at the bottom of a barrel. Crowds pressed around them as they merged into the flow of traffic. She became hyper-aware of any movement in her purse, now perceptibly weighted by their attackers’ coins.
“And now, Captain?” Dug asked it quietly, but she bristled that he had asked her at all. Here, in the open, on the promenades of Subrosa where everyone was listening for a hint at weakness. And he knew it. He wanted to know she had a plan, and that it was a good one. And he’d make her think hard about her answer before she spoke it.
“Curse your hide, Dukkhat Kheri,” she hissed, using his full name for effect. She was surprised at the volume of her own voice. No heads had turned their way at the outburst, which pretty much guaranteed everyone was listening.
Sophie certainly was, though she kept her mouth shut and watched the streets for ambush and mischief.
That question had been bouncing around Talis’s own skull since they’d found Jasper. Sad as she was to see the gentle old dealer murdered on her account, it left her with that question echoing louder with each pulse of the headache gathering in her temples.
She stopped short and turned to face them both. “You two head back to the ship,” she said.
A purple-capped dandy walking behind them, who had been looking down at papers in his hands, ran up against Dug’s back. He looked up in surprise and irritation, opening his mouth to brandish insults at whatever lug had stopped in the middle of traffic. But upon observing the multitude of knives sheathed across Dug's back like rail ties, he closed his mouth with a snap and ducked away, losing himself in the crowd as quickly as possible.
Sophie started to protest, but Talis held up a hand. Breathed deep and popped them a smile. Made sure it was broad enough to flash light off her gold canine.
“I’m going to knock on a few doors and set up some appointments. See who’s around that we can deal with. You go back, give Tisker a break on watch. Both of you—four eyes, four ears. Make sure the gentlefolk of Subrosa don’t give us any more trouble than they’ve already done.”
Dug hesitated. She hadn’t exactly answered his question. Because she didn’t have the answer he wanted. She’d pawn the ring if she had to, but she’d rather find a respectable Subrosan fence to get her what Jasper’s death had convinced her it was worth. With the Breaker gone, she had to go down her list of contacts here. See who was still around. See who might already have the wind up their backs about her blasted little cargo. Someone’s lips had been to the ears of more people than she cared for, and she was now convinced it hadn’t been Jasper’s. Which left someone still living out there, making trouble for her.
She could fix that, if she could find them.
Chapter 11
The Docked Tail was as disreputable a place as any establishment in Subrosa that dared to call itself a restaurant. ‘Restaurant’—as though the food were not an afterthought to the watered-down ale served to sullen patrons at the long, ring-stained bar. One could, and did, count on poor service and little attention if they sat in the dimly lit booths along the far wall, across the expanse of wobbly-legged tables that customers ignored entirely. You either came for the drink and wallowed at the bar, or came for the relative privacy and wallowed in the shadows. You certainly did not come for the cuisine.
The walk there had calmed her jangled nerves to some degree. She still felt the chill of horror at Jasper’s death, but her heartbeat steadied and her mind cleared a bit with each step. This was not, she told herself, entirely unexpected. All the islands had their industries. Subrosa’s primary export was trouble, and there was little reason to be as nonplussed by it as she’d allowed herself to become. Trouble was a long-standing partner of hers. It was not her master.
Talis slid into one of the booths, opposite a lanky Cutter man with a too-well-considered goatee and mustache. He was dressed down in a blue twill cotton jacket, the primary feature of which was an oversized hood, which he now wore pushed back, freeing carefully groomed hair that fell in loose curls to his shoulders along with five of the smoothest prayerlocks Talis had ever seen. Fingerless kidskin gloves revealed a series of tattoos down each finger. Enough to show they were tattooed, not enough to see what the designs were. But Talis already knew.
“I see you got your set finished, Talbot,”
