*
After a hot meal of spiced eggs, Never walked one of the markets while waiting for noon – when he would meet with Vento’s contact in the thieves’ guild. The sun beat down, baking the dust of old stones. The small amount of shade offered by a vendor’s canvas was usually filled with people, and being pressed between sweating, arguing folk wasn’t his idea of respite.
Still, he purchased replacement knives with some of the money left over from Vento’s fee and glanced over other wares too. Little tempted him and he found himself gradually growing aware of the weight of eyes upon his back.
Someone watched him.
Pausing beside a weaver’s stall, he knelt as if checking on his boots and glanced around the market. People in white robes with slashes of yellow and red or sometimes blue... mostly Marlosi folk, but enough pale-skinned Hanik from the eastern forests to stand out too. Yet no-one appeared to be paying him any special attention.
Old foes perhaps. His last visit to Isacina had left a few people rather unhappy, but enough to be watching for him now? Merely a day since his return? It was a big city – the Water Petal was barely beyond Ashina’s trees, and he’d not come close to the Singing Quarter where there had been a misunderstanding with the bard, nor the warehouses where Never had nearly lost complete control of his blood during a nasty knife fight.
But by noon he’d learnt nothing and headed back to the Petal to wait for Vento’s man.
The common room was crowded but a table had been saved. He took an empty seat and ordered ale. While he waited, he toyed with one of his new knives, testing the weight and balance. Without them, he often felt naked, exposed. Was it odd that instruments of death offered him such comfort? Why not? His blood was cursed, after all.
Conversations drifted to his table; boasting, arguing, murmurs of the Empress finally choosing a consort. Nearby, a pair of men spoke softly, excitement tightening their voices.
“No. It’s not how to get to the Amber Isle, I know that. It’s where to go once you’re inside,” one man said.
Never tilted his head slightly. The Amber Isle? A treasure-hunter’s myth according to most – but if it truly existed it too might hold ancient secrets. Gods knew he’d tried to chase down all the others. Many had searched and few returned from the Isle but all agreed it was an old legend even before the first War of Dust, two hundred years past.
The other man scoffed. “Think you’re going to find the Sea King’s jewels, do you?”
“No, we are,” the man said. “I’ve been to the Grey Chain, there’s a way to the Isle. As I said, all we have to do is find the map.”
“If it exists.”
“It does – I heard it from Neosi. He used to work in the palace library before he tried to double-cross the Brotherhood.”
“Neosi you say?” The second man paused. “Now that changes things. He was sure about what he saw?”
“Of course.”
“Any ideas about how we’ll break in?”
The first man lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder. Never continued to toy with his blade, as if unconcerned by his surroundings. The fellow grunted. “Not here. Meet me at the palace tonight, I’ll show you.”
The two stood and left. Never exhaled softly.
Another clue or a fool’s path?
Serni appeared, holding his ale. She placed it on the table and sat across from him with a smile. “Well?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I admit you are more pleasant-looking company than I was expecting.”
“You’re only half right, Never. I’ll pass on your request – the guild remembers you and your... unfortunate affliction.”
Of course; they’d remember his curse well. Never grinned. “It’s not catching.”
“Nonetheless, let’s hear what you’re looking for and what you’re offering.”
“Fair enough.” He outlined Julesa’s ‘fear’ about her father’s relics and paused to drink. “So you can understand I’d like to know if the Cofradia has any stake in the heist – as that would change how I approach the situation.”
“And your offer?”
“A generous cut of the reward for its return perhaps. Say, two thirds.”
Senri gave him an appraising look. “Two thirds? What are you playing at?”
“Information.”
“Ah. You think these relics can tell you something about your curse.”
“Believe me, the money is not important. Take four fifths, I care little.”
She folded her arms. “All this is dependent upon there actually being a reward for their return. That is nothing you can guarantee, so we will have to decline.”
“It’s ‘we’ now, is it?” he asked.
She didn’t address his question. “Offer something else.”
Never drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Quite the request. What could he offer? All he possessed was his years, cursed blood, his clothes and a few knives. “I have so little, as you might imagine.”
“What of your skills?”
“Such as?”
“Death,” Serni said. She leant forward. “The ones assisting Lady Julesa seek to establish a base here in Isacina, and the Brotherhood would be happy to help if you were willing to disrupt those plans.”
“Surely they don’t need my help with such a thing?”
“Of course, we could drive them out but the Marlosi and Quisoan relics change everything – we hardly wish for royal attention. And more, why do the dirty work if someone else will do it for you?”
“I see. You have an arrangement with Firmita and cannot publically be seen to break it. Hence my services.”
“Aren’t you clever.”
Never leant back in his chair and waved a hand. “Very well. Tell me about Julesa’s friends. How many, how organised? Where and when will the attempted theft happen? I might be clever but I’m not fond of surprises.”
Chapter 5.