Drisker smiled bleakly. “Not when the dogs are so determined to take a bite out of me. I need to know where they can be found and who leads them. For purposes of our talk, of course.”
“Of course.” Quisk leaned back in his chair, his ruined face partially disappearing into shadow. “You want to know where these wharf rats make their lair?”
“And which one is the chief rat. The solution to my problem lies in finding out who hired them.”
“Usually, that sort of information is hard to come by. Even for Druids. Bad for business when you reveal that sort of thing. Tends to suggest you can’t be trusted to keep your mouth shut. And in the assassin business, if you can’t be trusted to do that, you find clients much less eager to hire you. But you already know all this. And I presume it doesn’t matter all that much to you, or you wouldn’t be here.”
Drisker leaned forward. “I intend to ask them to make an exception if they want to square matters.”
“For you, I expect they will be more than willing.” Quisk rose, retrieved glasses from a shelf, and poured an amber liquid the color of thick caramel from a pitcher. Then he carried two of the three glasses over to Drisker and Tarsha and set them down before going back for the third and taking his seat once more.
“Your good health and success in life,” he offered, lifting his glass to each of them. “My sincere wish that you do better at achieving both than I think you will.”
They drank, and Tarsha made a sound of approval. “This is good. Much better than the donkey piss they’re serving out there.”
“True, but don’t tell the barkeep. He thinks his product is better, and I find it smarter to let him believe so.” Quisk gave her a look and turned to Drisker. “Has she got a dog in this fight?”
Drisker nodded. “Very much so.”
Quisk drank deeply of the liquid. “You need to go to a pleasure house called Revelations, down on the lower end of Crean Street on the waterfront. Do you know it? No? Bad place to go, but that’s what you have to do. The man you want is called Tigueron. But he’s hard to find. Smoke and mirrors, mostly. You want to watch yourself, Drisker Arc.”
The Druid nodded. “I make a habit of it.”
He finished off the contents of his glass and rose. “We should let you get back to your game. Your help is much appreciated. Not many people I can go to these days that I can trust to keep quiet about my visits. The list of those in the city of Varfleet starts and stops with you. Just so you know.”
“I feel the same about you.” Quisk finished his glass, as well. “Or I wouldn’t have told you what I did. I trust that when you are being tortured and asked who gave up Tigueron’s name, you will come up with someone other than myself?”
Drisker smiled. “I am more frightened of what you might do to me should I cross that particular line than I am of any member of an assassins’ guild. Come, Tarsha. We have another visit to make.”
He watched as Tarsha Kaynin emptied her glass. Together they departed the room and the tavern and went back out into the city.
TWENTY
Drisker found them an upscale inn where they could spend the remainder of the day in relative peace and quiet, an establishment that catered to businessmen and government officials and championed food over drink. It was farther into the city, away from the dockyards and waterfront, and the noise was less noticeable here.
They ate lunch in the dining room, a space separate from the bar. Then Drisker left Tarsha behind to rest while he went out to locate Crean Street and determine the particulars of the look and feel of Revelations. The girl did not like the idea of being excluded, but after giving him a look that clearly expressed her displeasure she surprised him by letting the matter drop. He had expected her to argue, certain she would not stand for it. But perhaps she was learning it was necessary to defer to him every now and then. Tarsha Kaynin, he was discovering, was full of surprises.
The innkeeper was able to help with finding Crean Street, offering directions that Drisker found vague but manageable. It took him the better part of an hour to find the street itself, mostly due to the foot traffic that clogged every street and alleyway within six blocks of the water’s edge. Carts and wagons and animals added to the congestion, and by the time he started his walk down to his ultimate destination, he was wishing he had taken a carriage.
But a carriage would have been too obvious for this part of the city, and Drisker wanted to remain anonymous. So he suffered the endless walk, the jostling, and the unpleasant sights and smells of the city, thinking as he did that he liked Varfleet these days no better than Tarsha did, birthplace or no. It was odd how what you didn’t mind when you were young and growing up became less palatable as you aged. Perhaps that explained his refusal to accept the foolish recalcitrance and pointless obstreperousness of the Druids in recent years. His once-famous patience was frayed and prickly, and he more frequently found the need to settle matters with magic’s sharp-edged blade than with the blunt edges of reason and hope.
His walk along the waterfront was rife with sounds and sights and smells, but the deep misgivings of his thoughts kept him from being distracted. While certain of his own abilities and experience, he was wondering for the first time about the girl’s. Perhaps he was putting too much faith in her adaptability and quick mind. She was the ideal student, save for her willingness to risk herself so recklessly. It didn’t matter that the worst risk she had taken had been for him. It didn’t matter that the most recent risk had been with inebriated, drunken buffoons who were clearly overmatched. Her confidence in herself and her determination to see done what she believed right was a dangerous combination. She was good, but there were those who were better. Worse, there was always the chance that her luck would run out.
But he knew that leaving her behind at this point would be worse than including her. It would undermine everything he had worked so hard to instill in her, reduce her confidence to uncertainty, and leave her worse off than when she had set out to find him. That was both unfair and unacceptable. She was better off taking risks while he was there to watch over her than being made to think herself useless.
But for the moment, as he looked along the length of Crean Street, wondering which way to turn and how to locate the pleasure house, he had more pressing problems to occupy him.
“Spare a coin, old man?” a ragged boy asked, tugging at his elbow.
He was young and dirty, and the Druid stared at him openly. “Why should I give you a coin?” he asked.
The boy shrugged. “Maybe because you look like you’ve got one to spare? Never hurts to ask.”
“Tell you what.” Drisker bent close to him, ignoring the smell and the sores on his face. “Are you willing to work a bit for this coin?”
“Might be.”
“Are you good at finding your way around this district?”
The boy nodded. “Born here. Lived here all my life. You name it, I can take you there.”
“You know a place called Revelations?”
“Sure.” The boy’s mouth pursed. “Though you don’t seem the sort who would go to a place like that. It’s not safe. Take my advice and stay away. That alone should be worth a coin.”
He held out his hand, his gaze steady. Drisker liked him at once.
“It’s worth more than that, and I shall pay you accordingly if you guide me there now, and again tonight. Two times, and then you disappear and do not come near it again. What say you to that?”
He dropped a fifty-credit note into the boy’s hand. The boy stared at it suspiciously, letting it sit there undisturbed. “You don’t expect anything else of me, do you, grandfather? Nothing but what you asked? You’re not one of those sorts, are you?”
“I expect nothing more than what I asked. I have business that requires your guide services. Another fifty if you provide them.”
The boy nodded eagerly, his hand closing on the note. “Come along then. Try to keep up. I go fast, and I go smart.”
And he was off
through the crowds.
It was a chase more than a guiding. The boy slipped through the seething masses like water through sand, quicksilver in his movements and certain in his direction. At times, the Druid lost him completely, slowed by his inability to pass through gaps with the alacrity of the boy and his own considerable bulk as an adult. Now and then, the boy had to come back for him, laughing as he did so—although not in an insolent or critical way but with genuine pleasure at the success with which he was able to demonstrate his skills at dodging around and weaving through seemingly impassable obstacles.
The chase wore on, with Drisker growing steadily more irritated and increasingly questioning his wisdom in thinking a guide might help. He would have been better off, he thought, if he had simply continued on alone and relied on his own instincts. Now and then—accepting reluctantly that on this occasion it was unfortunately the former—he found himself wondering if courageous quests and ultimate reckonings were beyond him, and his days of performing the active tasks that being a Druid frequently demanded were drawing to a close.
All of a sudden, as if conjured from the masses of people and with no warning at all, the boy reappeared right in front of him grinning broadly. “We’re here!”
He pointed down the street through the crowds to the dark bulk of a structure consisting of towers and spires and flags that hovered over the surrounding buildings like a huge governess over a passel of cowed children. Its windows were shuttered and barred, and the doors off its balconies tightly closed, and there was about it an air of repression and danger that was unmistakable. Those passing by on the streets did what they refused to do at any other point during their various journeys—they shifted direction and gave the building a wide berth while keeping their gazes directed elsewhere.
Even though he was already certain of the answer, Drisker asked the question anyway. “Are you sure?”
“Am I quicker, slicker, and trickier than you, grandfather?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
The boy grinned. “Where do you want me to be tonight when we meet?”
“Do you know the Three Kings?”
“Know it, and keep my distance. They don’t like boys like me hanging about. That where you are?”
“Come by tonight. Ask for me at the door. Show me a shortcut from there to Revelations and I’ll double your payment.”
“Lucky for me, I know one.” The boy was grinning excitedly. But then he went suddenly sober. “You’re being awful good to me. Why is that?”
Drisker looked off toward Revelations for a moment and then back again. “I was born here, in this district, like you. It was a long time ago. Call it professional courtesy.”
“Call it what you like, grandfather. You got my services long as you need them.”
“Then go on. Get yourself to somewhere else. Stay out of trouble.”
The boy started off. “And what fun would that be?” he called back.
Then he was gone.
—
When Drisker returned to the inn, he found Tarsha sitting at the window gazing down at the busy street below, a curious look on her face. “Did it go as expected?” she asked.
He nodded wordlessly. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was out of place. Then he noticed her face was flushed and her clothing slightly rumpled. “Are you all right?” he asked finally.
“I just need a nap. I couldn’t sleep before and went out to look around. Now I’m tired.”
She went over to the bed and without another word stretched out and fell asleep. He remained where he was, propped up in the only chair in the room, pondering his uneasiness. What was it she had done? Because she most certainly had done something.
Eventually, he lost interest and his thoughts drifted back to the events of earlier. He had spent time after the boy’s departure studying Revelations from several angles, searching for ways to enter and exit the pleasure house, particularly ways to escape it if things should go wrong. There were three doors available—front, back, and a cellar door that opened through the ground on the south side of the bulky structure. Windows were problematic, since they all appeared to be sealed. There were guards at the front and back, warding both entrances against uninvited guests. There would be more guards inside where business was conducted. But without going in, it was impossible to tell in what part of the building the Orsis Guild headquarters were located.
It was just before the girl woke from her sleep that he found the answer he was looking for. She probably wouldn’t like it, but it was their best chance for gaining admittance and finding the man called Tigueron. Once they got that far, they would have to rely on instinct and opportunity.
“Feeling better?” he asked her.
She yawned, stretched, and walked over to the basin to wash her face. “You were gone longer than I expected,” she said, toweling her face dry.
“I had a hard time getting through the crowds. It would have helped if I’d had some help getting there.”
“Perhaps a guide?” she said.
He started to reply, and then abruptly he realized the truth.
“Yes, a guide,” he said. “A guide would have helped. But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”
She gave him a look. “I did.”
“You followed me.”
“I did.”
“Right from the hotel to Revelations. You saw the boy. You saw everything.”
She faced him, unabashed. “I wanted to test myself. I wanted to see if I could manage it without being caught. You never saw me, did you?”
He walked over and sat on the bed. “Is there some reason you are incapable of doing anything I tell you to do? Do you not realize there are reasons for asking for your cooperation, reasons that have to do with keeping you safe? Why are you so obstinate about everything?”
“I don’t want to be kept safe. Don’t you understand? I want to be educated. I want to learn what you know and do what you do. I want to be what you are, and I can’t do that if you keep me shut up in a room.”
“You are my student, not my equal!” he snapped angrily. “You aren’t entitled to do everything I do. There are skills that will help you find your way there and keep you alive in the process, but you haven’t mastered them yet. If you try to take shortcuts, you will eventually damage yourself—maybe seriously. What is so difficult for you to understand about this?”
She came over and sat down next to him. She looked small and beaten, but there was determination etched in her young features. “What is so difficult for you to understand? I have a brother who is half mad and on his way to being completely insane. The magic is doing this to him. I have that same magic. I have to learn to understand it quickly, because I don’t want to end up like him!”
She refused to look at him and suddenly there were tears leaking from her eyes. She turned away to hide them, wiping at her face with her hand.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she muttered.
Drisker gave her a moment to collect herself, and then touched her shoulder.
“Tarsha, look at me,” he said.
When she failed to respond, he reached over, placed his hands on her shoulders, and gently turned her toward him. “Tarsha, I know you are struggling with your brother and the threat of his magic. I know you are worried that time is slipping away from you. But it isn’t wise to try to move too quickly, even when it seems you must. You do not help yourself or others by doing so. Thinking you can skip steps and cut corners and ignore risks is foolish. You think I hold you back by asking you to sit tight, but you are wrong. I am trying to teach you. I recognize the need for haste as clearly as you do, but the possibility of harm to a loved one does not excuse rash behavior or disregard for your own safety. You help no one by hurting yourself. You have to step back from these urges and try to trust me a bit. If it is possible to save your brother, you and I will do so. Together.”
He paused, taking a deep breath. “Now about
this other thing. This is the first I have heard anything about you fearing your own magic. I have had time to study you, to see how you use the magic, to watch you grow as a magic user. If there were any real danger present, I would have recognized it by now. But I’ve seen nothing. So why have you waited until now to speak to me of this?”
She was already shaking her head, as if to say she couldn’t bring herself to answer. But he squeezed her shoulders reassuringly and whispered her name softly. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Petulant, embarrassed.
“Tarsha?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Tarsha, please! Tell me.”
She closed her eyes. “I was afraid you would send me home if you knew.”
It caught him by surprise. “Why would you think that?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You were quick enough to abandon the Druids when you found them more trouble than they were worth. If I suddenly announced my fears about using my magic, how long would it take you to decide that I was more trouble than I was worth? You were my last hope for helping my brother. I couldn’t afford to risk losing that chance by telling you my personal concerns. So I kept quiet.”
Drisker was appalled. “But the situations are entirely different, Tarsha! My decision to leave the Druids was based on the actions of people I disliked and distrusted. I don’t feel that way about you—nor would I feel that way if you were struggling with your magic. You’re not someone who has failed or disappointed me. You’ve done everything you’ve been tasked with doing, and you show great promise. I would never abandon you because of your fears. Never.”
She studied him a moment. “I don’t know if I can believe that. I haven’t had much to believe in for a long time. If I’m wrong about this…”
“Think about it. If you were wrong, you would be on your way home this very minute. You’ve told me of your fears, and I found them groundless. I don’t see a weakness in you. I don’t see any loss of control over the wishsong. I would take no chances with you if I did. There really isn’t anything else I can say.”