The Black Bouquet

CHAPTER 13

Aeron peered at the crack between the wide double doors, then lightly pressed one of them with his palm.

"Can you open it?" Miri whispered.

She looked odd, and it wasn't the olive pigment they'd both smeared on their skin to make themselves resemble half-orcs. He couldn't see the color amid the darkness of the narrow cul-de-sac. Rather, it was the absence of a bow, quiver, and her distinctively dyed armor, which had seemed as much a part of her as her hands and feet.

"No," he said. "It doesn't have a lock for me to pick, just a bar on the other side. However, the place does have a skylight."

He prowled along the warehouse wall, looking at a spot where the brick was cracked and pitted enough to provide some decent handholds. When he found it, he swarmed upward onto the slanted roof, where a night breeze wafted. The cool air felt strange on his newly shaved chin.

It was easy to work a knife between the skylight and frame and pop the latch. The hard part would come after he slipped through. It was a thirty-foot drop to the floor. He'd had good luck lately surviving long falls relatively unscathed-it was about the only good fortune he'd enjoyed-but it would be mad to risk another unnecessarily.

In other circumstances, he would have lowered a rope, but even if he'd had one, he wouldn't have been able to leave it hanging down for someone to discover. So he gripped the protruding underside of a rafter. Clinging by the sheer strength of his fingers, Aeron inched along it until he could swing himself over the railing onto the loft that ran around the walls.

He found the long hooked pole used to manipulate the skylight and swung it closed then skulked down the stairs. The warehouse was more empty than otherwise, a testimony to Imrys Skaltahar's ability to move stolen goods quickly, but stacks of crates sat here and there, providing places to hide.

Aeron unbarred the door, and re-secured it once Miri slipped inside.

"How in Fury's Heart does this Skaltahar scoundrel get in and out?" she asked, peering warily around the interior of the building.

"I imagine he has a private tunnel connecting the warehouse to the Hungry Haunting."

She considered a pile of boxes shrouded with a drop cloth, then gave him an inquiring glance. He nodded, and they crouched down behind it. After that, they had nothing to do but wait.

It wore on his nerves, and maybe on hers as well, because eventually she whispered, "Nothing's happening."

"It will. Here in Oeble, thieves move loot through the Underways whenever possible, but some things are just too big and heavy to drag around below ground. They have to go through the streets, and the Red Axes make a delivery to Imrys around this time every fifth day."

"How do you know?"

Aeron just grinned.

"All right," she said, "but are you certain they won't postpone it? After all, they're looking for you, and trying to protect all their various enterprises, too. If the halflings are raiding them as promised, they should be feeling all the more inclined to pull in and stay safe."

"You'd think. But a gang chieftain like Kesk has to keep his operation running and the coin flowing, if only because otherwise it would make him look weak. He can't afford that. He's got rival organizations, the Gray Blades, and ambitious underlings all eager to strike at him if they think they see an opening."

"That makes sense, I suppose." She was silent for a time then said, "Was I completely foolish, hoping Ombert would help us just because it's the right thing to do? He said you rogues have a code."

"It's not the same kind your guild evidently holds to. It doesn't say you have to put your own hand on the chopping block to help out somebody else. It just says outlaws are supposed to deal fairly with one another." He smiled ruefully and added, "Even so, we break the rules when it suits us."

"I'd be ashamed to tell people my name if I were content to live like that."

He wasn't sure she'd aimed the barb specifically at him, but even so, it stung.

"You're so sure you know right from wrong," he said, "but you work for this Lord Quwen, and according to Ombert, the bastard loves war. Maybe he's going to use the gold he makes off the Bouquet to launch another campaign against his neighbors."

"He's not! He told me himself, it's to provide food and shelter for folk in need, just as, here in Oeble, the book will give a good many laborers a chance to live both comfortably and honestly."

He grinned and asked, "Do you believe everything people tell you?"

She glared, but before she could retort, a hitherto concealed trapdoor in the plank floor swung upward, and she had the good sense to fall absolutely silent.

A lantern in one hand and a scimitar hanging at his hip, Imrys Skaltahar climbed into view and closed the hatch. Oeble's preeminent receiver of stolen goods was a square-built man with dark, watchful eyes. Time had stolen much of his hair, etched lines in his face, and begun to tug the flesh under his jaw into dewlaps, but he still had the lithe tread of the young bravo he'd started out as. He was simply but well dressed in an indigo buffin tunic and leather breeches.

Imrys started drifting about, idly contemplating this heap of plunder or that, pulling the lid off a crate to look at the ivory tusks inside. Aeron's mouth went dry. Somehow, when he'd conceived the plan, it hadn't occurred to him that the fence might simply wander through the warehouse until he inevitably stumbled upon the intruders.

Aeron assumed that together, he and Miri could overpower Imrys, but that wasn't the point. Any confrontation would ruin the plan, and even if matters were otherwise, he had no desire to raise his hand to a man who'd always treated him relatively well.

Fortunately, before it could come to that, someone rapped on the door. Imrys unbarred it, and a wagon, drawn by a white horse and a black one, rolled inside. Tharag the bugbear held the reins, and an orc cradling a crossbow served as guard.

Imrys shut the door behind them. After the three exchanged a few words, the Red Axes hopped down and unloaded some barrels from the back of the cart. From the ease with which they accomplished the task, it was plain the kegs were empty.

They had to shift them, however, to more easily raise a hidden hatch of their own. The wagon bed was hollow, deeper than it looked, and held the actual shipment cloth bundles that clanked or clattered when they lifted them out and set them on the floor.

Imrys crouched to unwrap one, and a pungent scent of oil filled the air. Inside were gleaming sword blades. Evidently nobody had sharpened them yet, for he had no difficulty flexing one without cutting his hand. Poking with his index finger and muttering under his breath, he counted them, then turned his attention to the next bale, which proved to contain spear shafts.

Tharag and the orc looked on as Imrys conducted his inspection, responding, as best they were able, to the fence's shrewd observations regarding short counts and deficiencies in workmanship. Aeron was grateful to the older man for keeping the Red Axes occupied. It was the only reason his plan, which, since the moment had come to try it, looked harebrained even to Aeron, had even the slightest chance of working.

He gave Miri a nod, and they glided forward, keeping low, using every available bit of cover. He was glad she moved as silently as any burglar he'd ever known. He supposed rangers had to master stealth to stalk game and goblin-kin through the woods.

Imrys liked to cook for the patrons of his tavern, and was renowned for his tangy stews. Aeron's path led him nearly within arm's reach of the fence, so close that the scent of spice clinging to Imrys's hands and clothes tickled his nose, and for a moment, he was afraid he was going to sneeze. He didn't, though, and he and Miri reached the wagon without anyone looking up. Nor did the draught horses, stolid beasts of burden that they were, do anything to give them away.

Aeron managed to crawl into the cramped interior of the wagon bed without making noise. Miri did almost as well, though once, when she'd squirmed most of the way in, the tip of her scabbard softly thumped the wood. Aeron winced, but Imrys and the Axes didn't react.

Aeron and Miri lay in the claustrophobic space like corpses in a coffin built for two, and he wondered how they could defend themselves if discovered. He'd just about concluded it would be impossible when Imrys completed his inventory and declared exactly how much he was willing to pay.

Tharag objected in a desultory fashion, even invoked the threat of Kesk's displeasure, but then accepted the offer. The fact was, even the Red Axes found Imrys too useful to risk alienating him over an everyday sort of transaction.

And to a thief operating outside the gangs, the fence's good will was all but indispensable. If Imrys ever found out Aeron had used him as an unwitting tool in a quarrel with Kesk, the consequences could be severe. Yet with his father's life in jeopardy, and schemes for rescuing him in short supply, he hadn't seen another choice.

Tharag laboriously counted Imrys's coin, and the orc slammed the hatch shut without looking inside. The boards above Aeron's face groaned a little as the Red Axes reloaded the empty casks. Then, axles creaking, the wagon began to roll. The wood was hard against the thief's back, and felt harder still when the cart's progress bounced him up and down.

Miri's voice murmured from the darkness, softly enough that the Red Axes wouldn't hear it over the noise made by their horses and conveyance, "Suppose they don't bother to unload the barrels when they get back to the mansion. How are we supposed to climb out of here without jostling them around and making a lot of noise?"

"I don't know," Aeron answered. "I knew about the trick wagon, but I kind of forgot about the kegs."

"How clever of you."

'We'll manage, all right? If you don't like this idea, what was your cunning plan?"

She was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry. You're right. Barrels or no, this is a better scheme than any I was able to devise, and I shouldn't find fault."

"Well, I'm glad I didn't have to attempt it alone, and glad you know how to creep. You have the makings of an able cutpurse or housebreaker."

She snorted and said, "Thanks so much. I imagine someone could make a passable woodsman of you. If you were willing to stop depending on all those little knives and invest the time and effort to learn to use real weapons."

"I guess if I learned to draw a bow, I could kill people from a long way off, when they had no way of fighting back."

"I told you, I took no joy in shooting your friends."

"I know," he said with a sigh. "You were only doing your job, and they knew the risks. I just miss them, is all."

"I understand. I've lost my share of comrades."

"Who knows, maybe I've already lost my father, too. He's frail. If Kesk tortured him the way he said, he may have killed him without even meaning to."

Groping in the blackness, Miri found his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Don't dwell on such thoughts," she said. "Focus on practical matters: how to accomplish the task at hand, and what to do after."

"Right. Once we get him out, he'll probably need a healer. We can take him to Ilmater's house, but I don't think he or I should spend another night there. When someone's after you, it's often safer to keep moving around. I have one more person I trust. Her name is Naneetha Dalaeve, and-"

"And she owns the Talondance," finished Miri, in the tone of one reluctantly delivering bad news. "She gave up your name to Sefris. It was how we traced you to your garret."

"Shadows of Mask, why would she do that?"

"It's not important. What matters is that your friendship is no great secret, and if someone could make her betray you once, the same thing could happen again. If I were you, I'd find somewhere else to hide, or another way to be safe. Let me help you with that, too."

"You mean, you'll ask the same rich bastard I robbed in the first place to protect me?"

"By all accounts, he's an honorable per-"

" 'By all accounts,' " Aeron broke in. "You've never even met him, have you?"

"Well, no, only his representatives, but…"

"Thanks, anyway, but Father and I will take our chances on our own. You just keep your mouth shut about exactly who stole the Bouquet, or helped you recover it, for that matter."

After that, the conversation lagged, and Aeron felt a black mood coming on. Even sweet, unworldly Naneetha, who doted on tales of chivalrous heroes and pure damsels faithful unto death, had sold him out. It was even more of a shock than Burgell's treachery.

But Miri was right, it was not the time to brood about it. He struggled to shake off the hurt and concentrate on his immediate concerns, on how he and the scout would locate Nicos, then escape Kesk's stronghold alive.

The wagon accelerated and slowed, turned periodically. Aeron found it impossible to judge how much time had passed or how far the conveyance had traveled since the Red Axes drove it out of the warehouse. His discomfort and trepidation made it feel like hours. Finally, though, the cart rumbled to a stop. He listened as, judging from what he could hear, Tharag and the orc climbed down from their seat and unhitched the horses. After that, everything was quiet.

"Now?" Miri breathed.

"A little longer," he replied.

He counted off twenty heartbeats, then squirmed around until he could reach the catch that held the hidden panel down.

Even working blind, it was child's play to pop it open. When he raised the hatch, however, the barrels on top slid, toppled, and clunked hollowly together. He'd expected it, but scowled at the noise even so.

He'd only raised the panel a few inches. Plainly, if he shoved it all the way back, the casks would fall and bang around even more.

"Hold this," he said.

Aeron dragged himself out through the narrow gap. When he got his feet under him and looked around, he discovered he was in Kesk's stable. Horses and mules eyed him from their stalls, but no Red Axes were in view. Evidently the kegs hadn't made enough of a racket to attract attention.

He held the hatch for Miri while she wriggled free. She pointed to a door that apparently led to the main body of the mansion. He gave her a nod.

The interior of the sprawling house was gloomy. Only a few of the lamps were burning, and due to the mild autumn weather, most of the hearths were cold. Still, enough light shone for even human eyes to make out the dirt and other signs of neglect, and naturally, the dimness did nothing to cover up the smell of mildew.

Neither Aeron nor his father was much of a housekeeper. That had been his mother's province until she passed away unexpectedly in her sleep, worn out, perhaps, by worrying over her son's embrace of the outlaw life and her husband's infirmities. But then again, he'd never lived anywhere fancy, and his own slovenly habits notwithstanding, he still felt a twinge of disgust at Kesk for letting such a palace gradually crumble into ruin.

But what mattered was that the mansion was quiet. Aeron knew it wasn't deserted. The tanarukk wouldn't have left his coffers of gold and stores of loot and contraband entirely unguarded. But from the sound of it, most of the Red Axes were off hunting Aeron, or standing watch over their various interests throughout the city, and that meant his scheme might actually work.

"Which way?" Miri whispered.

He shook his head and replied, "I've never been inside here before. They could be keeping my father anywhere. We'll just have to look."

They skulked on, keeping to the shadows, cracking open doors to check the rooms on the other side. The damp river air had warped some of them, making them stick in their frames, and the intruders had to force them open. The resulting squeaks and rasps jangled Aeron's nerves.

They didn't raise an alarm, however, and as the minutes passed without calamity, Aeron started to feel the old familiar thrill. He was still frightened for Nicos, and for himself, come to that, but it was nonetheless a delight to outwit his opponents in the game a burglar played, to trespass where he wasn't allowed and do what wasn't permitted.

In time, he and Miri found a staircase leading down to the cellars.

"Maybe the Red Axes have their own little dungeon," the scout suggested.

Aeron thought about it for a second, listening to the same instincts that had led him to many a hidden cubbyhole or closet filled with valuables.

"It's possible," he said, "but they wouldn't need to lock my father in a cell to keep him under control. Feeble as he is, a bit of rope would do the job, and I reckon Kesk would prefer to keep him close by. That way, he could hurt him whenever he felt the urge, without the bother of tramping up and down stairs."

"So we need to find where Kesk spends the majority of his time."

"Which will be the most lavish part of the house."

They prowled on, and in time caught sight of a wide marble staircase sweeping upward. Partway up, a bravo sat on one of the steps picking something out of his shaggy, tangled beard. At the top, tall double doors, inlaid with a stylized scene of a river, boats, leaping fish, and spindly-legged wading birds, stood open.

Aeron and Miri retreated back into the shadows before the Red Axe could spot them.

"That looks like it could be it," the ranger said. "If you'd let me keep my bow…"

Perhaps he should have, but it was too uncommon a weapon in Oeble. It had marked her almost as well as her green leather armor.

"You still couldn't count on picking that fellow off without him making some noise," Aeron said. "Maybe we can find a back way in. A big room in a rich man's house is likely to have at least two doors, one for the masters and one for the flunkies."

She gave him a nod and said, "Lead on."

It didn't take long to find the servants' stairs, spiraling up and down in a claustrophobic shaft. The risers were narrow, the way all but lightless, and the trapped air was stale. Aeron wondered how many maids and valets had taken a nasty tumble back when the house was young. He caught his first glimpse of the chamber at the top, and it drove such casual speculations from his mind.

The long hall was a solar, one wall a continuous row of windows intended to admit sunlight and provide a panoramic view of the Scelptar. Nicos sat tied in a chair, his eyes closed and his head lolling. His chest rose and fell, reassuring proof that he was only unconscious, not dead. In fact, apart from the mutilation of his hand, he didn't look as badly injured as Aeron had expected.

Unfortunately, the prisoner wasn't alone. The big gilded chair in which Kesk no doubt liked to sit was currently vacant, but Tharag, the orc who'd accompanied the bugbear to Imrys's warehouse, and a human outlaw were hanging around. Moreover, one of the glass panes had shattered, and a small man with a wool scarf masking the lower portion of his face stood before the breach, evidently because it afforded a clearer view than the cracked, filthy windows that remained intact. Gazing through a brass astrolabe, he alternately scrutinized the night sky and scratched his observations on a slate. A green mantle and gold-knobbed blackwood cane rested on a little table beside him.

Aeron wondered if the astrologer was also a magician, and had supplied the Red Axes with the metal mantis and potion of invulnerability that had nearly cost him and Miri their lives. If so, he was likely to prove more clever and dangerous than the common ruffians.

Miri tugged on Aeron's arm, and they sneaked back down the steps a little way, where they could whisper without fear of being overheard.

"How fast can you throw your knives?" she asked.

"Not fast enough to kill four men before one of them yells for help. I think it's time to test these disguises."

She stared at him as if he'd gone mad. Maybe he had.

"I figured that at best, they'd only work at a distance," the ranger said. "I mean, I've seen half-orcs. We don't look right."

"Close enough, maybe, if no one peers too closely," Aeron replied. "A disguise is half attitude and the way you carry yourself. We have the advantage that the Red Axes never expected us to sneak in here. I'm sure of that much. Besides, if they recognize us, and we wind up having to fight, it won't be any worse than if we started out that way."

"Yes, it will. We'll have lost the advantage of surprise." She frowned and continued, "Still, Nicos is your father, and it was your tactics that got us this far. If you're sure you want to try it this way, I'll follow your lead."

"Thanks. Let me do the talking."

They climbed back up the stairs, making no particular effort to do so quietly. The risers creaked.

When the Red Axes glanced in his direction, Aeron felt a split second of panic, of certainty that the greenish pigment on his skin, the black dye in his hair, and the absence of his goatee wouldn't fool anyone. He slouched on into the room anyway, praying that his cowl cast his features into shadow. Kesk's operation was large and varied enough to make it unlikely that all his minions knew one another well, but it was possible they'd all laid eyes on one another at least a time or two.

Aeron grunted one of the orc greetings he'd picked up over the years then ambled to Nicos with Miri following along behind. He crouched beside his father's chair and started untying him. The old man came awake with a start.

"Hey!" Tharag said. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" Aeron replied in his best imitation of a surly goblin-kin voice.

He kept his head bowed over his work.

"It looks like you're undoing the rope," Tharag said.

"I knew you could figure it out if you strained hard enough," Aeron replied. "Look, Kesk's sick of having the old man up here all the time. He wants us to stick him somewhere else. You don't think we're going to carry him and the chair, too, do you? Not as long as he can walk."

The hulking bugbear blinked its green, red-pupiled eyes and asked, "Kesk's back?"

"He couldn't give orders if he wasn't, now could be? He said he'll be up here in a minute, soon as he checks something that came in through the Underways."

The last knot yielded, and Aeron jerked Nicos to his feet. Miri grabbed hold of the hostage's forearm, and they wrenched him around toward the servants' door.

For a couple of steps, no one protested, and Aeron felt a surge of exultation that he and Miri were actually getting away with it.

Then a mild baritone voice said, "Please, hold on for just a moment."

It had to be the astrologer. No one else in the room would speak in that educated accent. For want of a better idea, Aeron and Miri ignored him and kept on moving.

"Excuse me," said the man in the scarf, raising his voice a little.

Brilliant white light blazed through the room. Startled, the Red Axes shouted and cursed. The intruders spun around, only to discover they didn't need to defend themselves. The flare of light had been simply that, not a sign they were under mystical assault. Not yet. It had been a warning the wizard could attack them if they refused to heed him.

"What?" Aeron growled.

"Do any of you fellows know these two?" the small man asked. "Look closely."

At some point over the course of the past couple minutes, he'd tossed his cloak over his shoulders and picked up his cane.

"We rob travelers along the river," Miri said, making her voice coarse. "We don't get into town much."

"That may be," said the magician, "but I'm going to ask the same thing of you that I did of Dark Sister Sefris. Show me your brands."

Aeron pulled back his sleeve to display the false scar he'd shaped from crimson candle wax.

"Nice," the wizard chuckled through his lemister scarf, "but not quite convincing enough. You're the man himself, aren't you? Aeron sar Randal, even bolder than your reputation led me to believe. I thi-"

Aeron whipped an Arthyn fang from its sheath and hurled it at the arcanist's chest. The knife hit the target, but clanked and rebounded. The small man had some magical protection in place that kept it from penetrating.

A crossbow bolt streaked at Miri. She shielded herself with her buckler, then turned to face the human Red Axe, who was charging her with a dagger in either hand. She drew her broadsword and cut in a single motion, ripping open the outlaw's belly. His knees buckled, and he dropped.

"If you Red Axes have any of my talismans or elixirs,'' the astrologer shouted, "use them!"

He backed away, putting distance between himself and the intruders.

It was evidence the whoreson wasn't entirely impervious to harm, but Aeron was more interested in getting away than in trying to hurt him. He considered a leap out the broken window, but feared Nicos wouldn't survive the fall into the river, and that even if he did, he couldn't manage the frantic swim for safety afterward.

He shouted, "Down the stairs, Father! We'll follow."

Nicos spat an obscenity. Plainly, frail as he was, it still irked him to flee while other folk risked their lives to cover his retreat. But he tottered backward as quickly as his weakness allowed.

No doubt drawn by the commotion, the Red Axe with the long, matted beard appeared in the doorway at the far end of the hall. Half concealed behind Tharag, the wizard chanted, and swept whatever it was he held between thumb and forefinger through a mystic pass. Standing closest to Aeron, Miri, and Nicos, the bugbear and orc gulped the contents of tiny bottles.

Aeron threw a knife at Tharag. The creature wrenched himself sideways, and the blade pierced his forearm instead of his chest. A painful wound, perhaps, but it wouldn't stop the creature. An instant later, Tharag's body swelled, becoming bigger and likely stronger than an ogre's. His clothing and gear grew with him, though for some reason, Aeron's dagger didn't. The process of enlargement shoved it out of the wound to fall and clank on the floor. Tharag raised his cudgel, bellowed a battle cry, and rushed the human who'd hurt him.

Huge as the bugbear was, his head nearly brushing the high ceiling, he seemed as terrible an opponent as the brass mantis. Aeron was sure he lacked the strength to parry a blow from the heavy club, so he dodged the first vicious stroke instead. He told himself it was just possible that, by drinking the potion, Tharag had outsmarted himself. At his present size, the Red Axe wouldn't be able to pursue his foes down the servants' stairs.

Nicos cried out in dismay. Hard-pressed though he was, Aeron risked a glance over his shoulder. A mesh of slimy gray cables, sticky enough to adhere to the walls, floor, and ceiling, sealed the entrance to the narrow steps, as if a gigantic spider had spun a web there. Obviously, the man with the blackwood cane had conjured the strands to cut off the intruders' retreat.

Miri and the orc circled one another near Kesk's throne. The Red Axe opened its mouth wide and seemingly spat out its own tongue. The pink flesh flew through the air, meanwhile stretching into a cord a dozen feet long. It slapped and whirled around the startled ranger's legs, yanking her off balance and binding her to the heavy chair. The orc sprang at her with its short sword leveled to pierce her belly.

Aeron wanted to rush to her aid, but it was impossible. He didn't dare ignore his own opponent. He hastily faced forward, and Tharag swung the cudgel down like a man splitting wood. Aeron dodged. The weapon clashed against the floor.

Maybe Aeron could hamstring the goblin-kin before he could lift the stick for another stroke. He sprang in close, only to find that Tharag had anticipated the move. The bugbear's boot lashed out at him.

Aeron tried to dodge, but the brutal kick still struck him a glancing blow. That was enough to smash the breath from his lungs and send him staggering. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Miri, still alive but still bound as well. The orc was trying to stab her from behind, and she was only barely able to twist around far enough to fend him off.

Snowballs pelted her. Plainly, it was another conjuration, one that looked almost comical, though it was evident from the way she jerked that the white barrage inflicted actual pain. The orc lunged, and once again she managed to turn its blade with her buckler. Her riposte, however, was a feeble, fumbling action easily avoided. In fact, it looked like she almost lost her grip on her broadsword.

Nicos had picked up a bronze cuspidor to use as a makeshift bludgeon, then limped to intercept the Red Axe with the unkempt whiskers. The old man had been a formidable brawler in his day, but it was obvious from the way Nicos moved that, without sufficient strength or agility to back them up, his rusty skills no longer posed a threat. The Red Axe thought so, too. Leering, he advanced with his guard lowered, daring Nicos to strike at him.

Two more ruffians appeared in the far doorway.

Tharag rushed in. Aeron flailed his arms and recovered his balance just in time to dodge the next sweep of the bugbear's cudgel. It was hard to imagine it mattered. He, his father, and Miri might last a little while longer, but the Red Axes were inevitably going to prevail.