Chapter Five

 

 

I DID not go straight back to my place, even though I was tired. I also didn’t take any steps to investigate Pearce. Instead I went to the Weeping Wyvern and drank until I couldn’t see straight. It didn’t solve my problems. Didn’t make me feel any better. But it dimmed the world for a bit, and that was the most I could hope for.

When I got home, I took off my fine clothes and hung them on hooks, hoping the rats wouldn’t eat them while I slept. Then I collapsed naked onto my bed and didn’t particularly care whether I ever woke again.

But I did awake. With a pounding head, a foul-tasting mouth, a churning stomach, and a cockroach bigger than my thumb crawling up my thigh. And with somebody beating on my door.

I flicked away the insect, found my feet, and wrapped the blanket around my waist. I stumbled to the front room, grabbing a knife along the way because you never knew. When I opened the door, even Tangye’s smoky sunshine was enough to sear my eyes, and the gangly boy waiting there did little to block the light.

“Wha’?” I growled.

He took one look at my bleary face, my nearly naked state, and my poorly brandished blade and burst into braying laughter.

I would have slammed the door in his face, but I recognized him as the half-grown son of some river scavengers I occasionally did business with. My grogginess fled instantly, replaced with a sharp dread I didn’t understand. “A body?” I asked.

“Yeah. Fresh one too. Ma dragged him out of the water at first light—she says she figures he was still breathing last night at sundown.”

People die all the time in Tangye. A lot of them end up in the river. It could be anyone.

I took a deep breath. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“You mean you’re not going to walk down to the river dressed like that?”

“Not today.”

He laughed and hurried away, and I shut the door.

I lurched to the chamber pot and emptied my bladder. I managed not to vomit, which was a victory, and then drank some tepid water from the covered ewer I kept by the dry sink. I scrubbed my face and then, for good measure, ran a damp soapy rag over my body. As I did so, I wondered what Pearce would think if he saw me naked.

Ah, but I’m not vain, remember?

I owned two sets of clothing in addition to the new one. One set, of course, currently awaited me at a shop in the Silver Quarter. I put on the other, leaving my finery for the next occasion that called for it—which might be never. I didn’t want to wear good clothes to examine a corpse on the riverbank. A stray thought crossed my mind: what would become of my belongings when I died—when I was the one floating down the river? The owner of my building would undoubtedly scoop up anything of value, but I didn’t know what would happen to whatever money remained in my account at the bank. Would the bankers get to keep it? Did it revert to the Crown? What the many hells difference did it make to me anyway? I’d be dead.

Before setting out into the world, I buckled on my knives, as I always did. I’d sooner go out without tunic and chausses than without my blades. In a burst of frivolity, I put on the new cloak instead of my old one. It was a beautiful garment; I’d try not to get it dirty.

Although my stomach was sour and I wasn’t hungry, I knew I’d regret eating nothing at all. I stopped for a hunk of sawdust bread and some tiny dried fish, which I ate as I descended to the river.

A few paces from the Royal Bridge, a flight of stone steps ran down to the water. They were steep and perhaps as ancient as the city, each tread worn into a shallow dish by generations of feet. The steps were slippery, so a wise person took them slowly, unless he wanted to risk falling and breaking his neck on the big rocks at the bottom. I’m not that wise—I hurried. My boots gave me blessedly good traction, and I reached the bottom safely.

Most of the scavengers were busily at work, although they glanced my way and a few waved. My morning visitor stood on the beach with his mother and a few younger children who might have been his siblings, and at their feet lay a naked body, pale and still.

I’ve been acquainted with Lady Death ever since I could walk. I’ve seen her touch countless men, women, and children, sometimes soft as the winter fog, but more often hard, sharp, and bloody. I had been the one to discover my mother cold and stiff, her open eyes sightless. I called the Lady myself more than once when I served in the guard, summoning her with the thrust of my blades into flesh. And I’ve felt her brush by me, leaving a promise that someday she’ll embrace me as well. But I’d never hesitated to approach a corpse the way I did now.

“He’s not getting any fresher, Blyd!” called the mother with a cackle. I never expected reverence from a scavenger.

He lay facedown in the muck, his legs splayed and his arms tucked under his body. He’d been tall and well made; the body of a dancer, not a laborer. His hair was too wet and muddy for me to discern the color.

I nodded at the scavengers. “Turn him over, please.” And I held my breath while they did.

I didn’t know him. Good gods and goddesses, I’d never laid eyes on him before. All the air left my lungs in a noisy whoosh.

He’d been young—early twenties, perhaps—and his brief stint in the river hadn’t robbed him of his beauty. But the gaping wound at his neck was ugly enough.

“He’s nobody I’m looking for,” I said. “He comes from money.”

The scavenger and her children peered at the body quizzically. “How can you tell?” she asked. “There’s no fine clothing.”

“Look at his teeth. Straight and white, and none of them missing. No scars or marks on his skin.” Well, other than the slash that had killed him, which would never form a scar. “I doubt he’s ever gone hungry. His fingernails are neat. His feet are in good shape, so he’s worn fine shoes.”

As I detailed the signs of his wealth, my little audience examined him closely, attentive students to my lesson. When I was done, the mother stood with hands on her narrow hips, frowning. “So you don’t want this one.”

A corpse’s only value to scavengers—other than what I might pay in order to reunite a missing loved one with family—is in clothing or other property they can strip from the body. In this case, it looked as if robbers had already taken care of that. The woman and her children would drag him back into the river when the tide came in, letting him be washed out to sea. It seemed a lonely end, especially when somewhere he might already be missed.

Wondering what in hells had gotten into me, I produced a remi from the folds of my clothing. The scavengers’ eyes went wide.

I laid the coin in the mother’s deeply callused hand. “For your troubles. Because I appreciate you sending word to me right away. Will you do me one favor more?”

“What?”

“Keep the body here, out of the water. I’ll tell the guard about him.” She looked doubtful—few Lowlers wanted anything to do with the guard—so I sweetened the pot. “Maybe his family will pay a reward for finding him.”

“And maybe the guard will decide we’re the ones who slit his throat.”

“I doubt it.” I glanced at her oldest child, the kid who’d come to fetch me, then returned my gaze to her. “He was someone’s son.”

Scavengers couldn’t afford sentimentality, but her eyes softened a bit. No doubt that remi had improved her mood a good deal. “All right, then. But you tell ’em we only found him.”

“I will.” As if my endorsement meant anything to the guards.

I watched as she and her children tugged the body farther from the water, and then I made my way up the stairs.

 

 

BEFORE I continued my morning errands, I stopped at a barber’s. I don’t like growing a beard, and my face itched. I couldn’t always afford a barber, and shaving myself was an unwelcome task; I felt fortunate to experience the luxury today. The shave helped my disposition more than breakfast had, and I felt almost human as I wove through the stinking, shouting throngs and back to the Royal Bridge. I peeked down as I crossed and was pleased to spy the body still huddled on the beach, alone and pathetic.

The other half of the Low was no quieter or sweeter-smelling than mine. On an especially crowded narrow street, I felt a small hand near my waist, light as a whisper. I grabbed the wrist tightly and dragged its young owner—shrieking and kicking—into an alley. Nobody paid us any mind.

“I could bring you to the guards for this,” I told the child. I thought it was a girl, although it was hard to tell through the matted hair and layer of grime.

She tried to bite me, but I put my free hand firmly to her neck even as I continued to hold her wrist. She hissed, but since she couldn’t reach me and couldn’t get away, after a moment or two, she went still.

“Go ahead, pig-fucker,” she said. “I don’t care.”

“Of course you care, because you know that if I take you to the guards, they’ll likely chop off your hand.” I squeezed her wrist a little tighter. I could have snapped those thin bones if I’d tried. “And if you’re going to call me names, be more creative. Pig-fucker is boring.”

She eyed me warily, unsure what to make of me.

I smiled. “How would you like to earn ten briquets?”

“I don’t want to touch your dirty cock!” she spat.

That made me feel ill. “And I don’t want you touching it, thanks very much. But I’m willing to pay you for information.”

“Information?”

“I need to know about a man named Jory Pearce. He sings at Two Gray Cats but lives here in the Low. You know that ugly fountain in Five Witches Square?”

She nodded cautiously.

“Meet me there at midday, and if you can tell me some things about Pearce—some useful, true things—I’ll give you ten briquets.” It was a long shot worth pursuing. I knew from firsthand experience that children like her knew a great deal about what went on in the quarter.

“How do I know you ain’t lying?”

“You don’t. But it’s worth a gamble, don’t you think? All it will cost you is some time, and you’ve plenty of that. If you don’t show up, you definitely won’t get any briquets from me.” I let her go and she didn’t bolt. Good.

“Midday?” she asked.

“Yes. When the bells ring. And you remember his name?”

“Jory Pearce.”

“There you go.” Then I shrugged. “Give me good enough information and I’ll feed you too. You know that place in the square with the cakes?” When I was a boy, I’d spent many hours gazing longingly at the display windows, my stomach as empty as my purse.

She knew what I meant, and her eyes grew large. “I’ll be there. But you better not be lying.”

I nodded. She nodded back and was gone in a flash.

 

 

I WANTED to retrieve my clothes from the shop but decided to complete another errand first. It wasn’t an errand I much fancied. I slogged upward, out of the Low and into the Silver Quarter, straight up the Royal Road. Dressed as I was today, passersby were less friendly than they had been the night before. Only my cape and boots saved me from complete scorn.

The road widened as it rose, and the traffic lightened. The people I now passed glittered in fancy clothes and shiny jewelry. A few eminent personages even traveled hidden inside elaborately decorated compartments hefted on the wide shoulders of servants. Aristocracy. Too good to walk, I guess.

The buildings lining the road became grander, and very few of them were shops. Some of the city’s wealthiest merchants lived here. I wondered if it galled them to know that no matter how many gold coins they accumulated, they’d never live slightly higher yet, in the Royal Quarter. And what of those who resided on the top of the hill—the queen and her family? Did they yearn for even greater heights? The realm of the gods, perhaps?

Throughout most of the city, the boundaries between quarters were somewhat amorphous. But not here, where a gate marked the boundary. It stood open, but if it had been closed, a person could simply walk a block or two to either side and cross over. The gate, which was heavily gilded and topped with statuary, unequivocally proclaimed that there was something special about the territory beyond and that a divide would always exist between the rest of the city and those who lived at the summit.

On the right side of the gate stood several altars, each with colorful offerings arrayed in front. To the left loomed a blocky stone building, gray and forbidding in comparison to its gaudy neighbors. Three uniformed city guards lounged in front of the door, looking bored.

Their interest perked, however, when I approached and one of them recognized me. “Daveth Blyd,” she hissed.

I didn’t know her name, although she looked vaguely familiar, so I simply nodded.

The other guards glanced at each other and let their hands rest on their sword hilts. They were too young to have known me when I was a guard, but they clearly knew my name. Lovely. I am a legend among the city guard—and not a happy one.

“I need to speak to Captain Tren,” I said calmly to the first guard, putting a tiny note of authority in my voice.

“Why?”

“That’s his business, not yours.”

“He’s not here.”

I sighed. “I know that. But you do know where to find him, seeing as he’s your commanding officer, yes? So have him fetched.”

She frowned. “You don’t fetch a captain of the city guard.”

“You do if you don’t want him to find out later that you refused. He wouldn’t be happy about it.” That was a lie, but I could pull it off.

All three of them appeared uneasy, and after an unsuccessful attempt to stare me down, she turned to one of her colleagues. “Get him.”

He took off running into the Royal Quarter.

I leaned against the wall and wished I smoked calmsticks. It would have given me something to do with my hands. Instead I played with the hilts of my knives without removing them from their sheaths—which seemed to make the remaining guards nervous. Good. I wanted them to worry about me.

After some time, the woman stepped closer, her head slightly cocked. “Are the stories about you true?”

“No doubt some of them are.”

“You’re a Lowler.”

I shrugged. “That one’s true.”

“But they let you into the guard anyway.”

“They didn’t let me in. I earned my place.” I was still proud of that. Damned if I knew why.

“They say you were one of the best fighters the guard ever had.”

“That’s a judgment call. But I’m handy with a blade.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But you stole from a citizen.”

The accusation didn’t make me angry anymore, and I’d given up denials years ago. “Everyone knows you can’t trust a Lowler,” I said.

Clearly she didn’t know what to make of me. She was young, probably still full of ideals. I’d had ideals at her age too, despite my background. I am a fool.

Her brow furrowed. “Why didn’t they hang you?”

I looked over her shoulder and saw the third guard returning, Myghal Tren striding several steps ahead of him. When Myghal was within earshot, I smiled at the woman. “Because my sergeant interceded on my behalf. I guess he took pity on me.”

“He’s not much a one for feeling pity,” Myghal announced loudly, making the woman startle. He laughed. “Let’s just say the sergeant believed that Private Blyd was a fine young man who’d made a mistake—and deserved a second chance.” He dropped his voice to less theatrical tones but kept his slightly mocking smile as he turned to me. “You called for me?”

“Can we speak in private?”

“Of course.”

He led me into the guardhouse. It was a stark place, unornamented and utilitarian. Cloaks hung on a row of hooks along one wall, while against another, large cabinets held weapons. I wondered whether the spells to open the cabinets remained the same from my day.

Two guards—temporarily off duty—had sprung to attention when Myghal entered, and now they gaped at us both. He ignored them and walked up a short flight of stone steps to a small private chamber that contained nothing but some wooden crates.

As soon as we were inside the room and the door was closed, he pushed me against the wall and pressed against me. “Eager for more?” he asked, his breath hot in my ear. He squeezed a hand between us to massage my crotch. “You’ve chosen a bold and direct way to get it.”

I growled and pushed him away. “I don’t want to fuck.”

“Are you sure? You seemed happy enough with it last month.”

I couldn’t deny it. He had an exceptional body that I’d enjoyed playing with. But although I hadn’t fucked anyone since, today I had other priorities.

“Another time, maybe,” I said. “I just wanted to give you some information.”

He frowned. “What kind?”

“Some scavengers pulled a man from the river this morning. I’m guessing he came from around here.”

The tense lines of Myghal’s face smoothed. “So?”

“I asked them to keep him out of the water until the guards came. They weren’t very happy about it, but they agreed.”

“And you did this because…?”

“He has family. They’ll be wondering what happened to him.”

Myghal stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head. “I will never understand you, Daveth.”

“I’m not complicated.”

He snorted softly and smoothed his hair. “All right. I’ll send some people down to the river for the drowned man, and—”

“He didn’t drown.”

“How can you be sure?”

“It’s hard to drown when your throat’s cut open.” I drew a hand across my own throat.

“Lovely. I’ll send some people down to the river for the murdered man, and I’ll see if we can reunite his remains with his grieving loved ones. Will that satisfy you?”

“No. I also need you to make sure the scavengers who found them get… something. A small reward.”

Myghal threw his head back and laughed, apparently finding genuine humor in the situation. “A small reward. Really, Daveth. So this is what you’ve come to now? Scurrying around with the river rats?”

“They’re people. Poor people who are desperately trying to stay alive. You or the dead kid’s family can spare them a few coins.”

Like nearly everyone else in the city, Myghal believed that the Lowlers’ situation was their own fault—that they lived as they did because they were too stupid, too coarse, too dirty, too lazy to do any better for themselves. I think even most of the Lowlers believed that. It meant they didn’t deserve assistance or empathy, and if you occasionally deigned to give one of them a briquet or two, well, then you were practically brethren of the gods. Maybe everyone was right. After all, I’d been given a rare chance to improve myself and I’d fucked it up.

“You missed your calling,” Myghal said, clapping my shoulder. “You should have tried for the priesthood instead of the guard. I can see you standing outside your temple in your white robes, preaching to everyone about the benefits of charity. Which god or goddess would you dedicate yourself to, though?”

“Bolitho,” I said. God of lost causes.

That made him laugh again. But he promised to make sure the scavengers got a little money and came to no harm, and then he pressed against me. “Come find me again soon, Daveth.”

“You don’t need me. You have all the boys and girls you could want eager for your bed.”

“But sometimes maybe I’d prefer a man. One who knows how to use me well.” He nuzzled my neck.

I stepped back and reached for the door latch. “Thank you. For….” I jerked my shoulders. “Helping me today.”

“It’s always a pleasure to do what I can for you.” And Myghal smiled.