‘Among other things, a chest of gems. Uncut gems, bound for a Jeweller’s Guild consortium in the capital. They cut a deal with a mining company across the border, and they’re flying them back in secret to avoid the Coalition taxes. The profit margin would be huge.’
‘If they got there.’
‘If they got there. But they won’t. Because you’ll bring those gems to me.’
‘Why trust me? Why wouldn’t I head for the hills with my new-found riches?’
‘Because you’d be a fool to try it. I know about you, Frey. You don’t have the contacts or the experience to fence them. You’ve no idea how dangerous that kind of wealth can be. Even if you didn’t get your throat slit trying to sell them, you’d be ripped off.’
‘So what do you propose as payment?’
‘Fifty thousand ducats. Flat fee, non-negotiable, paid upon delivery of the gems to me.’
Frey’s throat went dry. Fifty thousand. He couldn’t possibly have heard that right.
‘You did just say fifty thousand ducats, didn’t you?’
‘It’s a better offer than you’ll get trying to sell them yourself, and the deal will be straightforward and safe. I’m rather hoping it will help you avoid temptation.’
‘How much is the chest worth?’
‘Considerably more, once the gems are cut. But that doesn’t concern you.’
‘Let me get this straight. You said fifty thousand ducats?’
‘On delivery.’
Frey drained his wine in a gulp.
‘More wine?’ Quail offered politely.
‘Please,’ Frey rasped, holding out his glass.
Fifty thousand ducats. It was a colossal amount of money. More than enough riches to live in luxury for the rest of his days, even after he’d cut the others their share. If he cut them a share, he corrected himself.
No, don’t think about that yet. You just need to decide if this really is too good to be true.
His heart pounded in his chest, and his skin felt cold. The opportunity of a lifetime. He wasn’t stupid enough to think it came without a catch. He just couldn’t see it yet.
Ever since he became a freebooter he’d stuck to one hazy and ill-defined rule. Keep it small-time. Ambition got people killed. They reached too far and got their hands bitten off. He’d seen it happen time and again: bright-eyed young captains, eager to make a name for themselves, chewed up in the schemes of businessmen and pirates. The big-money games were run by the real bad men. If you wanted to play in that league, you had to be ready for a whole new level of viciousness.
And then there was the Navy. They didn’t concern themselves with the small-time operators, but once you made a reputation they’d take an interest. And if there was one thing worse than the backstabbing scum-sacks that infested criminal high society, it was the Navy.
Frey wasn’t rich. What money he made was usually gambled away or
