There was already a full mug of the pitifully pale ale in front of Talbot. The refill was a courtesy.
He held up his hands between them and splayed the fingers, as if admiring the ink work through the gloves. He had invested a small fortune on the alchemical sigils that strategically marked the backs of his hands, down to just above the bed of each fingernail.
“Aye, I did. Just got back yesterday, matter of fact. You would’ve missed me had you come any earlier, you know.”
“Lucky me. You try them out yet?”
Talbot wiggled his fingers, connecting first his thumb and forefinger, then thumb and middle, and so on to his pinky.
“Aye, I gave it a go.”
She raised her eyebrows as he raised the mug of ale to his lips to draw out his tale.
“Hard to say, really,” he admitted, when he replaced the mug into its condensation ring on the discolored table. “When your fingers are as light as mine to start.”
She laughed. “You were had.”
His amiable smile soured at her jest. “I’ll cut that Rakkar ink-slinger’s throat if that’s the case.”
“Try something tougher, then?” she suggested, not wanting to put his mood off before she got what she came for. “Maybe the dock officer’s safes?”
“Nah, I’ve done them.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You’re right, though. Need me a challenge to know properly. Wait until they’re right healed. Fingers swelled up like corpses under the needle, and they still sting.”
She nodded, though the corner of her eye twitched in sympathy. “You’ll have plenty of chances, no doubt. Somehow folks keep walking around with heavy purses, however often you keep relieving them of the weight.”
He grinned, crooked smile flashing white teeth. Drinking overpriced half-watered ale at least didn’t stain like the stout Talis would have preferred. Sparkling green emeralds winked in the centers of Talbot’s incisors, even in the low light. Talis knew he’d spent as much money on his looks as his tattoos. Everyone had their money pits, she figured, and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d skipped any necessary maintenance on his ship in pursuit of beauty.
With Talbot’s mood restored and a fresh pair of ales delivered to the table, Talis leaned forward to get to business. The bar was quiet this morning and, with no music, she felt as though her voice carried farther than she’d like. Probably her nerves. But Subrosa was never what she’d call quiet. This afternoon it was eerily so.
Talbot held up a hand before she could speak, though. His grin had lost some luster.
“I know what you’re here to propose,” he said.
He cast a glance around the barroom at the other patrons. One other booth, its occupant slumped and asleep. Three heavy-lidded and overweight men at the bar, noses inches from the tops of their steins. The bartender, studiously wiping glasses with a discolored cotton rag, eyes trained on his work. All inattentive demeanors either sincere or practiced.
Talbot leaned forward. Their foreheads nearly touched over the center of the table.
“Word’s around, you’re trying to sell something the wrong people want.”
He didn’t ask to see it, or about it. Just knew. All she’d said was that he should meet her at the bar, but he knew everything, like she’d proposed it all right there in her message to him.
“That’s a bad item you got.” He licked his lips and polished off the first mug of ale. “Anyone pays you for that, and it’s going to end up taken from them, and them out the price. Lucky if that’s all they’re short at the end of it.”
Talis put her hands up, a non-threatening gesture. “Hey now, since when do we take things other people aren’t trying to relieve us of? That’s the business. That’s the meat of it.”
Talbot shook his head.
“What do you mean, ‘no’? You want to test that ink work, but here you won’t cargo a stolen item. Out of Subrosa?” She laughed in disbelief. “I’d find more nerve in Silver Isles than I’m finding here. You even know what I’m asking you to carry? A tiny bit of nothing, except to the right buyer.”
“I don’t want to know what it is. I know it’s drenched in problems. The authority that’d chase me down for it isn’t one I’m going out of my way to invite aboard.”
Talis couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Didn’t like the feeling that settled into the bottom of her stomach. Here she was, so close to what ought to be a payday she could roll around in properly, but coming up with nothing but dead ends. She couldn’t afford dead ends.
“The original contract I had to fetch this thing was a half-fortune. I can’t walk away from that. I spent money and time—risked my neck—on fetching it. Made promises to my crew. Put off repairs on my ship to fund the salvage. I need a buyer.”
Talbot thumbed one side of his thin mustache. Looked contrite, even. But refused to say what she wanted to hear.
“You and me, we have a long-standing business history. But as a friend, Talis, I’m telling you to shed that thing. Put it in the nearest bin, or dump it out in the skies, whatever. But you wanna be done with it. Go and scrape up some more honest contraband.”
She pursed her lips at him, then blew a short blast of disgusted air. “Subrosa’s thieves have gone coward.”
Talbot put a hand on hers, looked like he wanted to say more. But she pulled her hand away and stood.
She should stay. Get another cargo from him, get some news from around; there was always something to talk about here. But between the daggerpoint feeling in her gut and the panic in her mind, she needed to move. Wanted to be far away. Alone.
“Thanks for the drink,” she said, giving him one last angry stare, childishly putting her problems on him for the moment. Willing him to change his mind.
“Hey now, I thought you
