A Shaper's Birthright Page 7

  Elona’s nostrils flared in anger. Not a Reader, a Mind Reader, the cheat. There was little point in pretending. She passed him her purse. “Done.”

  “I’ll keep your men for insurance. The target is Master Cantry Millan. He’s the harbourmaster. He’s become an inconvenience. He also has an eye for a pretty blonde. My boy will accompany you to where he eats and drinks of an evening and point him out. It won’t take you long, I don’t think. He surrounds himself with sycophants and guards, but you appear resourceful. I’ll expect you back before first bell. Take any longer and I’ll start removing chunks from your Healer friend over there. It would be such a shame to spoil that perfect skin.”

  Elona turned to see Pyteor and Nijel being led away at knife point. The inn’s customers carefully averted their eyes. She was furious. Her eyes blazed as she regarded Urchit.

  “Oh, yes, he’ll love that fire. Personally, it leaves me cold. Don’t let me down.” The businessman waved her away and Elona found herself being bundled out the back door. Her companion was a short, skinny boy of about fourteen years. He rushed off to the left, turning occasionally to make sure the pretty lady followed him. Elona’s mind was pulling together the beginnings of a plan. She didn’t like the sound of sycophants and guards. She’d need to get the man on his own. Or as close to alone as possible. She grabbed the boy by the neck and swung him round to face her.

  “Is he married?”

  “Master Urchit?”

  “No, you fool, the harbourmaster.”

  “Oh, right, eh, no. His wife walked out on him last year. Too fond of the ladies by half, he is.”

  “How does he travel home from the eatery?”

  “By carriage. He’s right fussy about his standing in the world. Thinks walking’s beneath him.”

  “How many on the carriage?”

  “I don’t rightly know. I suppose the driver and a couple of guards. He doesn’t go anywhere without them.”

  “How many at his home?”

  “A couple of servants overnight, maybe? He can’t keep maids so they’ll be men. His sister housekeeps for him. Plus the guards, but I don’t know where they stay of a night.”

  “The route. Any quiet stretches?”

  “Oh, aye. I can show you that all right. He lives out of town. Got to take Pilcock Way to get there.”

  “Take me there first. Somewhere we can lay in wait.”

  The boy led Elona to a quiet street lined with modest houses, all with matching front doors, polished knockers and tiny front lawns without a blade of grass out of place. She rolled her eyes at the sickening commitment to equality but cheered considerably when the boy led her to a house with dirty windows and an overgrown frontage which seemed to double as the local rodents’ privy. The lack of compliance must drive the neighbours wild, she thought with a smile. Even better, though, the grime on the glass would stop the inhabitants from spotting a couple of loiterers in the neighbouring alley.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Now the eatery.”

  The target turned out to be a handsome, short and slightly portly man of around forty. He was extravagantly dressed and dripping in gold. Even the blade at his belt was bejewelled. A tableful of followers hung on his every word as he waxed lyrically over his exorbitantly priced, shellfish dinner, his aura full of self-importance and gluttony. Now she’d seen him, Elona was looking forward to killing him.

  “Show me the coach,” she told the boy.

  “Will you recognise it in the dark of the street?” she asked as he pointed out an ornate carriage in the coach yard.

  “No problem,” the boy shrugged. “It’s got extra big running boards, see? So his nibs can get in and out easily.”

  When they reached the alley, Elona told the boy to punch her in the face, hard.

  “You what?” he asked, shocked.

  “It’s necessary,” she replied calmly. “Not the nose, please. Aim for my jaw.”

  The boy made a tentative jab towards the woman’s jaw.

  “Pathetic. Is that the best you can do?”

  “I don’t make a habit of hitting women.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong line of work. Consider this good practice.”

  The boy swung and connected solidly with the side of Elona’s face. “Better,” she told him emotionlessly. “Inaccurate, but at least you put a bit of power in it. Again, then on the other side. Follow it up with a few to my ribs. Wait, you’ll need better access and it won’t do for the fabric to cushion the blows.”

  The boy gaped as the woman began to remove her clothes and pile them neatly on the ground. He’d dreamt of this sort of thing happening to him but, somehow, he didn’t think she had the same thing in mind. He gawked as her lack of clothing revealed weapons fastened to both arms, both thighs and both ankles. She added the lot to the pile.

  “Right, go,” she told him, standing in front of him completely starkers, her arms in the air to give him a clear shot at her ribs. She had to be the craziest woman in the world. The lads would never believe him.

  “Pass me my cape,” she instructed when she was content it looked like she’d been beaten. Well, she had, he supposed, shaking his head. He watched her take two long pins out of her neatly coiled hair then pin it back up so it looked like it was falling down. Finally, she shook her head hard to muss it even more. He was curious why she bothered with the pins, but thought he’d best keep conversation to a minimum. She wasn’t exactly the friendly type.

  It was a long wait. One o’clock had come and gone when the boy finally tugged at Elona’s arm and she abandoned her cape to his care. She calculated the speed of the carriage and timed her run to perfection, moonlight picking out her naked body as she ran across the street.

  The driver gaped but managed to stop the horses. Or so he’d thought, but they must have caught her because she sprawled on the ground before them, stunned. Shouts came from inside the carriage as the owner fell off his seat. The driver and two guards jumped down and ran to the woman’s side. An irate Master Millan yelled and, getting no answer, came to investigate what had caused him to bump his head and his behind. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw the beauty lying before his horses. He pulled off his cloak and covered her with it.

  “Get her inside, fools. She might be injured.” He couldn’t believe his luck. As soon as the woman was inside, he ordered a guard to go find a Healer and meet them at his home. The delay would give him the opportunity to make her so comfortable she decided to stay awhile. He waited until the carriage was underway and lifted the cloak to ogle her body in the light of the lantern. He dropped it quickly when she began to stir.

  “Oh! Oh, sir! Where am I?”

  “Calm yourself, dear lady. You’re safe. I’m taking you to my home. I’ve sent a man to meet us there with a Healer. You have some fearful bruises.”

  The beauty sat up, clutching the heavy cape to her bosom a fraction too late to prevent him catching another delightful glimpse. Fear twisted her features. “Oh, milord, please don’t let him get me. Please don’t send me back!”

  The harbourmaster dragged his eyes away from her semi-covered chest. “Of course not. You’re quite safe, I assure you. But you must call me Cantry.”

  The beauty smiled shyly at her rescuer. “My thanks, Cantry. My name is Margrit. It seems I’ve been fortunate in meeting you.”

  “What fiend did this to you, Margrit?”

  “Please, sir, don’t make me talk of it. It’s too painful,” she cried, tears welling in her eyes.

  The harbourmaster nearly cheered at the opportunity to show his concern up close. He slid across to her side of the carriage and gently put an arm about the woman’s shoulders. His free hand touched her thigh and he felt a frisson of expectation shiver down his spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after you,” he promised.

  “Do you think we could slow a fraction, Cantry? These jolts pain me.”

  “Of course! I’m only sorry I didn’t think of it myself.” The harbourmaster open
ed a shutter and yelled at his driver. “Slow down, you idiot! We have an injured woman on board!”

  He almost didn’t feel the pin-like blade slit his throat as he closed the shutter and his mind was too busy trying to breathe to feel its twin pierce his heart.

  Elona helped her would-be rescuer collapse onto the seat and held her hand over his nose and mouth. No waiting Healer would have the chance to save him. Job done, she disrobed him only to find anything that wasn’t soaked in blood was too short, too big in the waist or too small in the chest. She punched the pompous lech a couple of times to vent her frustration then removed the stuffing from a cushion and shoved his jewellery, agreeably heavy purse and dagger into the empty bag.

  A carefully opened shutter revealed an absence of light and silence from the wheels and horses’ hooves: they were out of town and over grass. Time to go.

  She eased the door open, listening for the one remaining guard who’d either be upfront with the driver or riding the rear. Her ears strained to make out conversation. Smiling, the woman who ‘didn’t know what she was letting herself in for by getting rescued by Cantry Millan’ crouched on the running board in her victim’s cloak and quietly closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER 9

  E lona was cursing non-stop when she finally made it back to Nestry’s house. Not only had it started to rain, the wind off the ocean was freezing and the expensively embroidered cloak wasn’t waterproof.

  Mystrim had taken one look at her bedraggled face and burst into laughter. He’d quickly suppressed it when he found her frozen hands around his neck.

  “Where is that idiot, Cleish?” she asked between gritted teeth.

  “Abed, as far as I know. He told me you and Urchit had got on famously. Said all was well, the three of you had stayed on as the man’s guests and we’d have safe passage tomorrow.”

  “Give me your dagger.”

  Mystrim followed Elona as she made her way up to the top floor, dagger at the ready. Her hopes of taking her bad evening out on the hapless servant were dashed when she discovered his drawers left open and empty. She growled in fury and turned on the weather mage.

  “You moron!” she screamed, slamming her fist into his belly.

  Mystrim held up a hand to ward her off from his abruptly acquired position on the floor. She ignored his entreaties, straddled him and pulled his hair back viciously so his throat was exposed. She was about a second away from dragging his own blade across his neck when she felt the room go icy cold. “Both or neither. You choose,” he wheezed.

  Elona felt his hand burning the skin on her ankle. He’d send her up in flames if she carried out her intent. Damn the man. She pushed him away and stormed out. Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed in leathers covering umpteen weapons and had forgotten the whole thing. She found him sipping wine in the lounge.

  “Did you have any luck finding valuables?” she asked.

  “A hidden panel in the study, but not much in the way of cash. It seems our agent likes to spend more than he earns.”

  “How much?”

  “Sifry has the details, but not above seventy gold.”

  “I had to pay fifty for the boat.”

  Mystrim raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t look at me like that. No, there was no way to get it cheaper. Believe me, I’d happily take on Urchit and his whole posse just to pull him down a peg or two, but we don’t have the time.”

  “And you returned naked, bloodied and without Pyteor and your pet because…?”

  “Because I don’t spend our master’s money like water!” Elona snapped. She snatched up the harbourmaster’s valuables and threw them at him. “This might make you feel a little less aggrieved. There must be several hundred gold’s worth in that little lot.”

  Mystrim looked inside what appeared to be a sodden cushion cover. He pulled out a purse and spilled its contents onto a small table. “A nice little haul. And the previous owner?”

  “Dead. To save us a hundred gold off the price of the boat.”

  “Anyone important?”

  “Not that it matters, the harbourmaster.”

  Mystrim sat up, his wine forgotten. “Millan?”

  “Yes, why?”

  Mystrim groaned. “Because he was being groomed by Nestry. He was on the point of signing up. It’s in Nestry’s papers.”

  “How was I supposed to know that?”

  “Let’s hope, for your sake, that our master sees it that way.”

  Elona paced the room. “It was unavoidable. We couldn’t afford a hundred and fifty for the boat and we couldn’t wait.”

  “If you say so,” Mystrim said scornfully.

  The Reader spun round to face the weather mage. His aura told her in no uncertain terms that he was loving her blunder. He’d no doubt take every opportunity to rub it in. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. “I need to go back to the Jolly Sailor. You better come with me. I might need back up.”

  “You got proof of death?”

  Elona put her hand in the cushion cover and pulled out a signet ring. It was still attached to a finger.

  The pair made it to the Jolly Sailor well before the first bell. The front was closed up so Elona took Mystrim round the back. The door was answered the muscle-bound thug who’d first alerted Urchit to her presence.

  “Nice bruises. How far down do they go?” Geest asked with a leer. His attempt at flirtation was met by silence and a stare that had him questioning the sense in being in the same town as this woman. He tried a more professional approach. “He’s been expecting you. Wait over there. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Nystrieth’s spies took two seats near the back door, Mystrim’s face showing what he thought of the smoke-stained walls, filthy, vulgar rugs and battered furniture made so obvious by daylight. He wasn’t so naïve that he believed appearances, but he doubted this Master Urchit was so formidable if was happy to work in such a hovel.

  The place had appeared to be deserted, but the sound of pleading and crying reached them around the corner, further into the inn. The two took advantage of Geest’s absence and moved closer. There wasn’t much light reaching the centre of the inn from its grubby windows, but they could make out Urchit whispering into the ear of a man who’d been tied to a chair. The businessman wasn’t laying a finger on the prisoner, but the man was twisting and bucking furiously to try to get away from whatever Urchit was telling him. Suddenly, he seemed to give up, slumping in his chair and nodding his obedience. Urchit gestured to one of his men and the prisoner was untied. He dropped to his knees and bent his head. The chair blocked the view, but Elona saw a flash of gold light briefly illuminate Urchit’s listening face. Neither she nor Mystrim could hear what was being said.

  They stepped back as the businessman began to walk towards them, pretending to have seen nothing. Mystrim pulled heat from the air, just in case.

  “Ah, the eye candy returns,” Urchit said matter-of-factly. “I assume our friend was suitably blown away by your big, blue eyes?”

  Elona handed him the harbourmaster’s finger and signet ring. She kept her thoughts firmly on business at hand. She didn’t want to give this man ammunition with which to complicate matters any further.

  Mystrim had Elona’s word that Urchit could Read Minds, but he thought it was probably an excuse to forgive her poor negotiation skills. The man and the man’s place of business were hardly impressive and that performance he’d just given could have been staged for their benefit. He couldn’t be a match for a Reader with Elona’s fighting ability and a weather mage ready to kill.

  Urchit took a seat at his customary table and waved the pair to the seats opposite. Three men arranged themselves behind them. Mystrim knew that Elona could handle them easily so he wasn’t concerned.

  “My men?” Elona asked.

  “On their way.”

  “And my things? I have a fondness for those blades.”

  “Untouched. They’ll be returned to you before you l
eave.”

  “Passage?”

  “You’ll be picked up by carriage from Nestry’s back door at midday. It’ll take you to your departure point. Dress for a steep descent on foot. Assuming we’ve received confirmation of Millan’s death, you’ll be in Ionantis on Fourthday. Weather depending, of course, but then you have an advantage there, I think.” Urchit looked pointedly at the weather mage.

  Mystrim started, shocked at the man’s knowledge of his gift.

  “Confirmation? You don’t trust me?”

  “We all know that would be foolish. You could simply have removed the finger from the hand.”

  Elona appeared calm, but she was imagining doing precisely that to the irritating man opposite with his stupid, tapping, steepled fingers. She looked him straight in the face. “Read this and know that I am growing impatient.”

  Urchit didn’t move so much as a hair as he watched Elona murder the harbourmaster again in her mind. He knew she was dangerous, but her threat didn’t affect him. He’d have her retching on the floor before she could even go for one of her concealed weapons.

  “As I said, you’ll be picked up at midday,” he said, his coolness infuriating the spy. “We’ll have independent confirmation long before then. If the man survived, you’ll forfeit your purse. If not, then you have passage to Ionantis.” He shrugged. “I find it’s best to be cautious.”

  Elona knew it was the closest thing to an apology she was going to get for the man’s mistrust that she’d kept her end of the bargain.

  Noise from the back door alerted them to the arrival of Pyteor and Nijel. Both had been blindfolded and their hands tied. They were shoved into the chairs Elona and Mystrim had vacated only a few minutes before.

  “Feel free to drop by if you’re passing this way again, Elona, Mystrim. I always have work for an efficient assassin, especially one who Reads.” And with that, the businessman got up from the table and disappeared off through a door marked ‘no entry’.

  The spies shared a look. Elona’s said, “See?” Mystrim’s said, “What the hell?” Neither had shared their real name or gift.