Fold Thunder
Chapter Seven
His hands no longer shook. Joaquim’s head felt better, his stomach settled. There was a narrow sliver of ice that ran somewhere through his belly to his heart, like a string drawn too tight and then frozen in place, but he was calm. Not so bad, he thought abruptly, relief flooding him, warming everything but that frozen wedge. Not a bloody duel, but not so bad. For a moment he wondered at the people staring at him as they passed, at how they could know he had just killed a man. Then, looking down, he saw the sewage that stained his boots and clothes, and he laughed, a chuckle that grew into a fit of coughing. Practicality returned; he sat down and pulled out his rapier, cleaned the blade as best he could on his ruined pants, and sheathed it again.
Joaquim circled around to the boulevard and, after a few inquiries, found out who owned the house. “Nicotio Phimus,” a matron with long, well-dressed curls answered, wrinkling her nose and pulling up the hem of her loose white dress, as though to keep it from the unseen miasma of filth that surrounded Joaquim. “Sisters bless you,” she said, “here’s a copper for the bath-house.“ She hurried away from him.
Joaquim smiled at her behavior; in any other situation, he could have bedded that woman, and half a dozen like her, with nothing more than a smile and a few well-chosen words. The obvious disgust, the disdain, were somehow a refreshing change, comical in their novelty. Can’t wait until I tell Etio and Zirolo about this, he thought, still smiling as he made his way to a much smaller side street that would take him down to the Gut. He still had to find Viane. Perhaps having killed a man would make him more desirable to women; a part of him knew that it would and reveled in it. As he thought of how to tell the story, his mind went back, again and again, to the feeling of flesh giving way beneath steel, to the faintest of ripples that traveled up that blade into his hand and, still, into some dark corner of himself.
The looks of shock and disgust that followed him through the upper city disappeared as he wound lower and lower, around the hills and down toward the Gut. Nicotio Phimus. The further he walked, the lower the name sank in his gut. What’s one of the Bel-taken Six Fathers doing in all this? It did not surprise him that one of the Six Fathers was involved in smuggling; it would have been a greater surprise if one of them did not have his hands in illegal activities. Still, Joaquim did not like how it felt; Viane stealing from her father, only to disappear the same night, and then to find out that one of the Six Fathers was involved. Bloody Bel, what did that girl get me into? The Six Fathers, the heads of the six richest—or, at times most powerful—families in Apsia. Riches and power were not always connected, at least not in the city. The legend of Thaecus Ammien, the beggar-king who had controlled the other five Fathers through blackmail and all-around thuggery, was proof of that.
As Joaquim neared the docks, the looks he received were directed more at the finely cut clothing he wore than at the filth that stained them. They went no further than looks, though—at least, not in the early afternoon, and not with the steel band of the Order on his arm. The steel band did not give him immunity from the law, Joaquim had been disappointed to find out, but it gave him a decided advantage when it came to testimony before the justices. The men and women from the Gut knew that truth as well as he did. In daylight, they contented themselves with looks that bespoke the ever-present undercurrent of violence in their lives.
Joaquim had come down around the west side of the city, to avoid the main thoroughfares, but that left him at the base of the cliffs, where the docks continued to circle north through the deep harbor that surrounded the city. He had few choices left to him in his search. Or too many choices, he thought, and no way to decide which one will pay off. His father’s instinct of searching the warehouses spoke true to Joaquim as well; Viane knew, as well as anyone familiar with the vast shipping industry that made up Apsia, the difference between those warehouses that were used, constantly emptied and filled as ships and traders came to call, and those warehouses that, for whatever reason, sat abandoned and forgotten by all but their owners. If she found one of those, Joaquim thought, I’ll bloody well find myself with a wife and a few children before we ever come across her again, not unless she wants to be found.
And that was the trick of it all, he decided. Something told him, in Viane’s behavior, in the way that she had invited him, as drunk as he had been, to accompany her last night, that she had wanted someone with her. Not just someone, he thought. Not anyone. Me. She found me, drunk so I couldn’t walk, and still wanted me with her. It was a pleasing thought.
As he thought, he walked. Though he had not started with a direction in mind, he found himself following the edge of the docks south, then east, back to the street corner where he had waited with Viane for darkness to fall. The sun still hung above him, not even halfway through its descent, and the stench of the garbage in the heat made him regret his decision. He wished for the cool, night air, the fresh breeze off the harbor. The lights of the watch, sweeping out across the water . . .
Bloody Bel take me, Joaquim thought. He knew what he had to do. He set off down the harbor, following it east, before it curved north. This was the original port of the city, where Apsia had begun. The land leveled out into a nice, flat stretch, perfect for unloading ships, even before the great stone quays had been built. It was from here, from that almost perfect natural harbor on Amala’s Heart, that Apsia had risen, hundreds of years before. And, hundreds of years ago, they still had customs officers, he thought with a grin, explains why their office takes up so much space on the docks.
The customs office took up a full block of the city, a rambling structure of wood and stone. It was a madhouse when he entered. There seemed to be no central room or coordinating office, but instead a main hall, off of which branched more corridors and rooms. Merchants and captains filled the hall, arguing with customs agents in varying states of composure. Joaquim pushed his way through the building, more than once earning himself a kick to the shins or a shove in return. Muffled imprecations against the Order followed him. He should have expected the last place the Order would be respected is where all the coin comes through; these men knew who kept the Order well-supplied with wine and armbands.
“Can you help me?” he finally asked a customs agent in a heated argument with another man.
The customs agent did not even respond.
“Excuse me,” Joaquim said, with a placating gesture to the other man. “It will just take a moment.”
They continued to shout over each other without paying him any mind.
With a mocking bow, Joaquim continued his way through the wandering halls, sweating from the heat of the afternoon sun and the press of bodies. Smells almost as bad as that alley. As Joaquim tried to wedge past a merchant and a customs officer who were taking up most of the corridor, the merchant, screaming at the top of his lungs, turned an abrupt shade of white and collapsed. The customs agent, in the middle of his own tirade, cut off and let the man fall to the ground with a look of satisfaction and turned back down the hallway.
Joaquim grabbed him by the sleeve. “Excuse me,” he said.
The customs agent, face red, swelled and plucked at Joaquim’s hand. “What is it?”
“The night watch for the docks,” Joaquim said. “Where do I find their offices?”
“Upstairs, back of the building,” the man said with a frown. “But you’re wasting your time; if you want things through customs, you have to deal with one of us, and I’m too busy for,” and he glanced down, just noticing Joaquim’s stained clothing, “you.” Freeing his arm, he turned and disappeared into the jumble of bodies.
Joaquim shook his head and knelt to help the merchant who had collapsed. The man’s face, still deathly white, twitched, and he opened his eyes. “Hold still just a minute,” Joaquim said. “You’ve collapsed.”
The man let out a moan of irritation. “And that Bel-blessed agent just scurried off, didn’t he? Bel take me, they’re going to have those crates on the ships until everything is
rotted.”
“Let’s get you outside,” Joaquim said. “Or you’ll work yourself up into an apoplexy.” Joaquim helped the white-faced man to his feet and, with the man leaning against him for support, negotiated his way through the packed corridors. Occasionally someone would nod familiarly at the man Joaquim was helping, but no one moved to offer assistance. They slowly made their way from the building.
The air outside, though still hot, smelled fresh and clean in comparison, even as close as they were to the docks. Joaquim helped the man to a stone bench across the street. The man leaned back, eyes closed, and took a few deep breaths. Some of the color returned to his face, and he opened his eyes again.
“Thank you,” he said. “The last few times that has happened, I’ve woken up with boot-marks from head to heel, and bruises to match every one. They’re like sharks.”
“Who?” Joaquim asked with a smile. “The other merchants and captains.”
“Of course,” the man said. “The moment they smell one of those agents free, it’s like blood in the water, and they’ll tear through anyone or anything to get to him first. I know, because I do it myself every time. Not as though the agents are much better; you’d think we were imposing on them, but we just want them to do their jobs.” He shook himself a little and sat up, then stretched out his hand. “My name is Genayko ez Lostk.”
“Joaquim Dolç. That’s not an Apsian name,” Joaquim said. “Where are you from?”
“Apsia,” the man said with a sigh. “But my mother married a Manc trader and he was a man of great tradition. Still, he left me a few ships, and I can’t complain about that, can I?”
“No, I suppose not,” Joaquim said. He clapped the man on the shoulder and stood up. “Better luck next time,” he said, “maybe try breathing a little deeper when you’re in there, between shouts.”
“I’ve tried,” Genayko said. “It just postpones the inevitable. Still, one day I’ll manage to work it out. You go on; I’ll be fine now. Thank you again for the kindness.”
Joaquim shrugged and said, “Not a problem. I needed some fresh air myself.”
He turned to head back into the building. Genayko asked, “What do you need in there anyway?”
“Information,” Joaquim said. “I’m trying to figure out how to locate one of the watch who patrols the docks, near a specific quay.”
A hard look came onto Genayko’s face. “And I suppose that, as usual with that lot of thieves, the captain of the watch will accidentally overlook your curiosity when you slip him a gold aps. If you’re into that sort of business,” he said stiffly, “I’m not able to help you. If you need honest work, though, I can find a place for you on a ship. You’ve done me a service, young man, and I would be letting you down if I allowed you to live a life that ends at the rope or the galleys.”
“It’s kind of you,” Joaquim said, “and I thank you, but I think you misunderstand me. I should be going, Day Sister shine on you.” Joaquim did not blame the other man for thinking ill of him. Bel bless me, I would have thought the same thing, I’m sure. He felt sorry for the other man. A bloody good thing I was there to help him, or I doubt he’d have woken up for another round with those agents.
Genayko gave a nod to Joaquim’s words, his face flushed again, and Joaquim hurried off without waiting to hear if the merchant had anything else to add. Men and women still packed the hallways of the customs office, but Joaquim, better prepared to negotiate the maze of people and rooms, worked his way to the second floor without any problem, and then began his search. He found the captain of the watch in a small room that was surprisingly empty, although the people in the hallway, as though subjected to some immense pressure, swelled to the edge of the doorway. When Joaquim pushed through the last pair of arguing men, he found himself in an island of calm.
The man behind the simple desk wore a gray coat over a white shirt, with only three gold stripes running along the length of his left sleeve to mark him as a captain. His hair was gray, almost gone to white, and hard, small eyes stared out of a face riddled with pockmarks. He sat at the desk, slowly writing, oblivious to Joaquim’s presence.
“Excuse me,” Joaquim said. “I’m looking for the captain of the watch.”
“That’s me,” the man said in an excessively loud voice. “Gadazzo Pattari. What do you need? I can’t approve any unloading, or anything of the sort, I’m afraid.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Joaquim said. “I’m looking for a friend, a young woman, who disappeared down by the docks last night.”
“Yes?” the captain asked, still writing. “A lot of people go missing down by the docks, unfortunately. The watch is there to protect the cargo, and, more importantly, to keep the cargo exactly where it is supposed to be. I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir. Good day, the Sisters shine on you.”
Joaquim shut the door to the office, then pulled over a chair from against a wall and sat down. “I’m not sure you’re hearing me, Captain,” he said. He drew a handful of silver coins from his purse, mostly quints with a few aps, and put together a small stack. “I’m looking for a man of the watch working near a very specific quay last night; I think he may have seen my friend.” He slid the coins across the table.
“Double that,” the captain said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re stinking up my office and wasting my time, and I have a pretty large suspicion that there is no friend at all, so if you want the name of the watchman, double that. Otherwise, I’m going to have you dragged down to the holding cells, and in the morning you’re off to Mane or Elese or wherever the first ship goes, because you’ve wasted my time for,” he took a moment to add up the stack of coins, “barely a gold aps.”
Joaquim flushed. He felt like a fool as he drew out the rest of the silver in his purse and started stacking it up. The captain paid no heed to the clink of the metal coins, his quill moving seamlessly, albeit slowly, across the parchment. When Joaquim had finished adding them up, the captain said, “The man you want is Mycander Duruson, he starts patrol an hour before sunset.”
“I didn’t even tell you what quay I’m interested in,” Joaquim protested.
“We’re done here,” the captain said, sweeping the coins into a drawer of the desk. “See yourself out, or I will have you escorted to the cells.”
Joaquim stood, his hands trembling. His purse was all but empty, but the feeling of frustration was even more painful. He realized how Genayko could have screamed himself into unconsciousness more than once while dealing with these people. Joaquim was tempted to draw his sword and force an apology from the elderly man. Not that an Order armband will help when I’m a hundred miles from shore on my way across the Heart. He turned and put his hand on the door.
“Young man,” the captain said. Joaquim turned, but the captain did not look up. “You’re a fool to be messing around in these kinds of things; any smuggler worth his salt—Bel take me, any man with half a brain—would know not to come to the captain of the watch and then try to bribe the man. You’re lucky that I like your father and I’m willing to let this mistake in judgment pass. Don’t ever come back to my office again, though. I have a feeling that I’ll see you in a press-gang soon enough for my liking.”
“Why is everyone so Bel-blessed ready to think I’m a smuggler?” Joaquim asked.
“You wouldn’t be the first young man to try and save his family by bringing in just one small package. It’s always small to start, and always just one. Precious stones, perhaps, or dyes. It grows, though. There’s never enough, no matter how much you try.” The captain’s small eyes fixed on Joaquim. “Duruson’s a decent man, so don’t try to bribe him; more importantly, he’s a well-connected man. If you really do have a friend who disappeared on the docks, he may know where she is.”
Joaquim left the room. He hurried out of the building, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. No surprise that he knows my father, he thought. I wonder what he’ll tell him. Nothing too da
mning, Joaquim hoped. Father knows I’m looking for Viane, so that part’s not a lie. But Father’s bound to be suspicious after the stone . . . Joaquim imagined his father would have some questions that he did not want to answer. Bel take me, if they catch Father selling that stone, we’re all going to row.
No help for it now. Joaquim had a name, and that watchman could put him in touch with someone else, someone who ran in the same circles as Viane. It’s getting bloody expensive to find this girl, he thought. It was an investment that would pay off, he knew. Bouncing his empty purse on one hand, he turned back home. He would need more money; he had some smugglers to hire. A current of fear still ran through him as he thought of Viane in danger, but it was tempered by the vein of ice that killing had left in him. Oh, Viane is going to owe me for this. She’s going to owe me for the rest of my life, he thought, smiling to himself.