Thief Of Light Part 22

The woman got to her feet, selected a pastry and took a healthy bite. Her hand shook. "No," she mumbled. The dog crept forward to lick up the crumbs from around her boots.

"I see. Tell me, Mehcredi of the a.s.sa.s.sin's Guild, how many kills have you to your credit?"

Mehcredi stared fixedly at the curl of steam wafting from the tisane pot. "Eight." She turned, her deep bosom straining her knitted tunic, and the Necromancer knew she'd lied.

He hesitated, unusually torn. Inexperience meant she wouldn't be able to command much of a fee and he was always thrifty, despite his high office. A slum childhood tended to produce that effect. Besides, he thought resentfully, housing and equipping the Technomage Primus of Sybaris had cost him a mint of money.

But, by Shaitan, time was of the essence. And a healthy dose of fear tended to encourage attention to detail.

"Two days," he said. "Ten credits."

The a.s.sa.s.sin snorted. "Don't care what the Guild Master told you. I'm not as cheap as all that. Fifty." Seating herself once more, she reached for the tisane pot. "And I'll need to know more about the man."

"Fifteen. He's an offworlder. Performing at the Royal Opera. And he hasn't wasted time finding himself a woman. Prue McGuire. She works here, at The Garden."

Mehcredi struggled to her feet. "A Garden courtesan? Are you mad? Those women have connections! The singer did a Royal Command performance. I just remembered." Her eyes narrowed with calculation. "Which means he has the favor of the queen and the Cabal. How do you expect me-?"

"Sit down!" The Necromancer's voice was sibilant, silky and utterly compelling.

The a.s.sa.s.sin fell back and the dog shot between her legs and under the bed. Claws scrabbled for purchase as it shifted until only a quivering black nose was visible behind her calves.

"You may leave the queen and Cabal to me. Twenty credits and that's my final offer." The Necromancer tossed a coin. To his irritation, it glanced off the side of the table and tinkled to the floor. But the a.s.sa.s.sin hunkered down, reaching. So he tossed her the rest, one at a time, and watched her scoop them up like a beggar child.

"All right." The task completed, Mehcredi grabbed a savory pie. Absentmindedly, she broke off a piece and dropped it near the bed. The mongrel darted forward with remarkable rapidity and snapped it up, leaving only a wet tongue print on the floor.

The Necromancer frowned, plagued by a niggling doubt. Mehcredi was a minor part of his grand plans and she was also that most useful of objects, an expendable tool. So what was it that bothered him? Watching her jaw move as she chewed, he realized.

Why wasn't she crazy with terror? When he manifested like this-a dark cloud roiling beneath a cloak, the hint of burning eyes-people frequently lost bladder control. Even a woman as intelligent and powerful as the Technomage Primus of Sybaris had been reduced to incoherence. Mehcredi was wary, true enough, but that was all. Was she completely ignorant of dark Magick? How could that be?

A lesson was in order.

The Necromancer rose-and rose-and rose. He expanded until the pretty chamber was clouded with his dark, billowing presence. Unchaining his irritation, he let it loose to run in harness with his unholy glee.

Ah, now now she showed fear! Too late, my dear. Chuckling, he swooped, pushing insubstantial fingers through the flesh on her throat. He thrust muscle and bone aside until he could pinch her spinal cord between finger and thumb. she showed fear! Too late, my dear. Chuckling, he swooped, pushing insubstantial fingers through the flesh on her throat. He thrust muscle and bone aside until he could pinch her spinal cord between finger and thumb.

"Aaargh!" Mehcredi convulsed.

Delicately, the Necromancer relaxed the pressure and she surged beneath him, surprisingly well muscled, beneath the concealing garments. He increased it again and she subsided, panting, her eyes wide.

Holding her poised, he savored her soul's bouquet. Unusual, plenty of s.p.a.ce and light. She was spotless, near as pale inside as out. Almost beautiful. Puzzled, he probed a little further.

So that was it! The a.s.sa.s.sin was extraordinary. She'd never known love-not a mother's, not a friend's. She'd never been roused by pa.s.sion, never known the touch of a man. An emotional vacuum, no less. In all his long experience, he hadn't seen the like.

Moaning, Mehcredi shifted in his grip. The dear girl, she was fighting back. How fascinating.

The Necromancer was so engrossed that when the dog set up a storm of barking, he let her slip. Just a fraction, but it was enough. Mehcredi heaved like a restless leviathan on its seabed. The connection broke and she rolled away.

Chuckling, he chose to be amused. The a.s.sa.s.sin promised delicious entertainment. The dog, however, was another matter, standing over the woman's legs, its filthy fur on end, teeth bared. Fortunately, it wasn't a large animal. But as he stooped to it, Mehcredi grabbed it by the scruff and tossed it neatly out the window into the ca.n.a.l.

The howl was cut off abruptly by a splash.

The a.s.sa.s.sin lay propped on her elbows, shuddering. "Please . . . what did . . ." She licked her lips. "Sorry, I'm sorry."

Much better. The Necromancer returned to the easy chair and the woman sat up, ma.s.saging the nape of her neck. "Take your money," he said in the cold, s.e.xless voice he used for dark Magick. "And remember the cost of failure."

Mehcredi reached for the stack of coins on the table.

"No, no," he said, and she froze.

"The fee is now fifteen credits. Two days."

Amused, he watched her swallow her fury as she thrust the money into her belt pouch. "My man is outside," he said. "Send him in to me as you leave."

Her pale cheeks flushed a delicate pink, the a.s.sa.s.sin edged around him until she reached the door. A final, wild-eyed glance, and she wrenched it open and disappeared.

Because he was busy inside the pavilion of Clouds and Rain, disciplining Nasake, the Necromancer failed to see a shivering, bedraggled bundle of fur drag itself up the water stair and collapse at the top.

Nor did he see Mehcredi the a.s.sa.s.sin glance back over her shoulder at it and pause, waiting. "Hmpf!" she snorted, fists on her hips. "So you didn't drown, after all, you miserable object?"

With a shudder, she cast a wary eye toward the pavilion, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "G.o.ds!" Hastily, she strode away down the pretty, twisting path toward the bridge, foliage swishing with the speed of her pa.s.sage.

It took the dog three attempts to stand. When it shook itself, water sprayed in all directions and it nearly fell down again. After a moment's grim concentration, it drew a breath so deep it qualified as a canine sigh and limped off in pursuit of the a.s.sa.s.sin, head down.

23.

Even after all these years, Prue still hated entering the Melting Pot. Her heart beat faster, all her muscles tight, ready to run. Just there, in the dank, smelly shadows under the Bridge of Empty Pockets, that's where she'd huddled, Katrin tucked beneath her, for the first interminable night.

The market seethed with life and noise. Light wavered from behind windows of rough gla.s.s, illuminating the produce spilling off the stalls and onto the street, the raucous crowds-farmers from the Cressy Plains jostling with lordlings out for a night on the town, the occasional Trinitarian in bright silks, a curved sword at his hip, even a huge, ice-pale barbarian woman from the far north.

Sooner or later, everyone on Palimpsest drifted down the blue ca.n.a.ls to the Melting Pot to haggle and argue and drink and wh.o.r.e at the tops of their voices-a cacophony intent on doing business.

Un.o.btrusively, Prue stepped a little closer to Erik's bulk.

A big warm hand swallowed hers. "All right?"

Prue tugged her fingers free. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

In the uncertain light, Erik's teeth gleamed as he wrapped a long arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. "No idea," he said, "unless you're embarra.s.sed to be seen with me."

Prue snorted. "Too late for that. After the Open Cabal, everyone thinks we're both mad. Or on crazyspice."

She turned her head. In that dark, twisting alley, the one off to the left, leading to the vegetable market, there'd been a paunchy man with hard hands and raw liquor on his breath. Thank the Sister, he'd been drunk and not drugged. Crazyspice gave the addicted insane strength. As it was, she'd left him with a slash across the cheek that did nothing to enhance his looks.

"You're awfully serious, Mistress Prue," said Erik. He stopped and pulled her into a doorway. "Listen, we could find a skiff to take you back, but I promised Dai I'd speak to these people, and this is my only free evening."

Prue raised her brows. "I wouldn't miss it, not after the performance you gave last night."

Ah, s.h.i.t! A wave of heat spread from the base of her spine to suffuse her whole body, all the deep, tender places throbbing with delighted memory. Her scarlet cheeks must be shining like beacons in the dimly lit street.

"I meant-" Giving up, she clamped her lips shut. Even now, she could hardly believe it, what she'd done, how wanton and wicked and wonderful his performance had been. G.o.dsdammit, there was so much more to explore, to experience. She longed to crawl all over him, savor every hollow and dip with her hands, her lips-her tongue. If only she hadn't pa.s.sed out like that, but she'd been so sated, so warm and safe, with his big body stretched out hard and hot beneath her.

Erik chuckled. "I know what you meant, but it was good, wasn't it?" His arm tightened around her waist, warm lips feathered over her cheek.

Prue pushed against his chest, relishing his strength, pitting herself against it. "And you're a conceited-mmpf."

The kiss took her under in a dizzying rush, the heat and the taste of him already familiar, but even more intoxicating than before, because now she knew what was possible, how far he could take her. In fact, she was beginning to suspect she might let him take her almost anywhere.

Ah, she was hopeless. Hopeless! Hopeless!

Erik had backed her into a shadowed doorway. He cupped one breast in his hand, rotating his palm against the nipple. "C'mon, Prue. Admit it." He licked a hot trail over the pulse pounding in her neck. "You enjoyed every minute, didn't you?" He blew gently on the spot, so that she gasped.

The night air pressed against her skin, a soft, caressing warmth. Prue sank her fingers into the thickness of his hair and tugged until he lifted his head. With all his experience, why did he even bother asking? Her reaction had been embarra.s.singly obvious.

"Yes," she said. "Stop fishing."

Some of the tension left his shoulders. "Good," he said, and swooped to press his open mouth to the cheek with the dimple. Broad palms traveled from her shoulder blades down to the upper swell of her b.u.t.tocks in a long, luxurious stroke, pulling her hard into his body. His voice dropped half an octave, to that deep, rich timbre that made her tingle. "You have more dimples here, did you know?" His c.o.c.k kicked against her, igniting sparks low in her belly.

Someone whistled and a rough voice called, "Me next, mate."

Erik's head jerked up. In a single smooth motion, he shoved Prue behind him and dropped a hand to the hilt of the long dagger at his waist. "f.u.c.k off," he growled, radiating menace. "She's mine."

A stiff breeze sprang up, swirling down the alley. Debris rattled in the gutters.

When Prue attempted to step around him, he simply barred her way with a heavy arm. She might as well have tried to shift the building at her back.

The man raised a jug to his lips with one hand. With the other, he gave Erik the finger. "Pox on ye, b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He reeled away.

When Erik rumbled deep in his chest, all the hair rose on Prue's arms. Tygres sounded like that. Centuries ago, a Trinitarian pasha had foolishly imported a few pairs from Concordia, for sport. The animals had gone wild, thriving in the remote forests of Palimpsest. As a child, she'd seen one in a traveling circus, prowling the perimeters of its cage, yellow eyes shining with rage.

He glared down at her, his face implacable. "You stay where I put you-out of the way-understood?"

Prue blinked, refusing to show the secret thrill his possessiveness gave her. "I'm not completely helpless. I could have dealt with him. But I'm not a fool either. Thank you."

"Ah yes." He took her hand again and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, drawing her back into the narrow street. "The training with Walker. Is that it?"

"I know enough to kill a man with my bare hands," said Prue, conscious of the petty desire to shock. "But only if I have to."

"Really?" He stopped to slant a look at her, a brow raised. A heartbeat of silence. "G.o.ds, it'd be a brave man-" He broke off, his eyes dark with mischief. "Is my life in danger, Mistress Prue?"

"Depends." She patted his arm, fighting a smile. "Annoy me and find out."

Erik's crack of laughter rang off the walls of the shabby buildings. An old woman looked up from behind an immense pile of rainbow-colored fruits and grinned, her seamed face crinkling with amus.e.m.e.nt. When Prue caught her eye, she winked, ogling Erik's perfect a.s.s. Then she grabbed an immense, shiny green nanafruit, about a foot long, and waggled it in the air, her face full of avid inquiry.

Prue nodded, giggling. The blood sang in her veins, an exuberant rush like seelies dancing.

Merciful Sister, she was skidding down an icy slope to her doom, faster and faster, the wind whistling through her hair and whipping her cheeks. Unless her shields were absolutely perfect, there'd be a world of pain, open wounds that might never heal, but right now she couldn't bring herself to care about the risk. She'd never felt this alive, full of light, crackling with energy. Life, usually so humdrum, so serious, was suddenly full of glamour and danger. She, ordinary Prue McGuire, had an extraordinary purpose and-she shot Erik a glance from under her lashes-an extraordinary man to accomplish it with. Charming he might be, but beneath the light, beguiling manner was a core of steel, an adamantine will. He made Chavis look like a boy, and a boring one at that.

They had a job to do tonight, she and Erik the Golden, but afterward . . . Prue's breath hitched. She'd take him back to The Garden and-she exhaled slowly-indulge herself. Gorge her senses 'til she was too sated, too sore to move. The memories of pleasure were going to have to last her a long, long time, so she'd better make them good. Her lips curved in a wry smile. Funny, Chavis had offered to teach her how to juggle and she'd refused. With Erik, juggling her emotions had become a means of self-preservation. It astonished her how swiftly she was learning to hide her heart.

Directly in front of them, a boiling knot of bodies tumbled onto the street, fists and oaths flying. A small mongrel dog darted out of the way and disappeared around the corner of the building.

"What the-?" Erik came to an abrupt halt.

"We're here," said Prue demurely, taking a cautious step backward. She indicated the sign that swung over the door, a ship's figure-head with an improbable bosom. "The Sailor's Lay."

Erik only gave a disgusted grunt, but Prue laughed outright. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll protect you."

The tangle of bodies resolved itself into three men and a woman, all liberally splattered with mud. Two of the men lurched off down the alley cursing, while the remaining couple leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder. A few deep breaths and the woman straightened. "Well, well," she said, pushing the limp hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist, "if it isn't my pretty lunatic."

Yachi, the guard, the one who'd delivered the Money's note. Tall and muscular, she topped Prue by a good six inches.

"No," said Prue tartly. "He's my my lunatic, though I'll grant you he's pretty." lunatic, though I'll grant you he's pretty."

Erik choked.

Yachi chuckled. "So I see," she said. She turned to the barrel-chested figure at her side. "Well, Rhio? What do you think? Pretty?"

Sergeant Rhiomard regarded Erik with disfavor, a.s.sessing him in a single comprehensive glance. "No," he said gruffly. "But I'm bettin' he's a fine lad in a brawl."

"To h.e.l.l with all that," growled Erik. "Shall we get on with it?" Without waiting for a reply, he towed Prue in through the swinging doors.

But two steps into the fusty, low-ceilinged room he stopped so abruptly Prue b.u.mped her nose on his spine. Before she could recover, he'd let out a pained bellow that bounced off planked walls sticky with the residue of smoke and beer and sweat. "What the f.u.c.k f.u.c.k-?"

Seated opposite Dai was a small, familiar figure, one grimy little paw poised over three battered nutsh.e.l.ls lined up on the stained table. At his elbow was a small jug of ale and the foam on his upper lip gave him an unlikely looking moustache.

Erik strode forward, gripped Florien by the collar and lifted him clear off the seat. "You!" Although the boy snarled with outrage as Erik gave him a brisk shake, he was wise enough to hang unresisting in his grasp. "What are you doing here?"

"What's it f.o.o.kin' look like?" When Erik released him, Florien landed neatly on his feet, tugging his tattered vest straight, huffy as an alley cat in a snit.

"Leave him alone," said Dai absently, his gaze fixed on the sh.e.l.ls. "C'mon, lad, one more time and I'll get it for sure. The eye's quicker than the hand, it has to be."

Shooting Erik a glower, Florien clambered back onto the bench. "Didn't shake 'ands," he muttered. "No promises."

"My mistake," growled Erik, all grim purpose. "Who gave you beer?" He placed both hands on the table, leaning right into Dai's s.p.a.ce. "You?"

Not shifting an inch, the swordsman met a furious blue gaze. "Boy buys his own. He's no trouble."

Caught between horror and amus.e.m.e.nt, Prue took her underlip firmly beneath her teeth. If she laughed now, three male egos would never forgive her.

Besides . . . she threw a quick glance over her shoulder . . . the place was packed with off-duty guards, mercenaries and sailors, harlots of both s.e.xes providing splashes of color. They were gathering an interested audience. This was what he had come to do.

"Erik." She planted a sharp elbow in his side and rolled her eyes at the crowd.