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“How good is she, sir?” Qamra asked.
“Don’t let her get close to you. Bring your darts and blowpipe.”
“Yes, sir.” She hopped from her bed.
He left and headed to his office. Qamra had the best aim in his entire corps. He’d put her through the paces, thrown every obstacle and distraction in her way, and she never missed. Valek wished he could say that about all his operatives. Blow in Janco’s ear and he’d miss every time. But that was the beauty of training—it exposed the strengths and weaknesses of his corps so he could match jobs to agents.
At Hedda’s school, though, she hadn’t allowed weaknesses. Every skill had to be mastered before learning another. When Valek had been a student and he’d regained his health, his training began in earnest.
Arbon had shown him the long narrow one-story building then left Valek there without a word. An instructor gave Valek a stone about as big as his thumbnail. The man pointed to a target at one end of the building, then swept an arm out, indicating a series of red marks along the floor.
“Stand on the first mark, closest to the target. When you hit the bull’s-eye with that stone at that position ten times in a row, move to the next one. Repeat. When you can hit the bull’s-eye from the last mark, you will go back to the first mark and practice hitting the target with a knife. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Who would have thought hitting a bull’s-eye with a stone would be that difficult? Hours turned into days and, determined to succeed, Valek only stopped when it was too dark to see. Hedda’s training methods were simple and effective. No one taught you how to throw the stone. Repetition and practice until calluses coated your hands and you figured out the best way to hit a target.
Valek wished he had the time to train his corps the same way. However, time was always an issue. Back in the days before the Commander’s takeover, he had sent promising individuals to Hedda’s school to be trained. After the takeover, the Commander wished to incorporate her school into his military. She refused and had retired. Or so she claimed. Obviously she’d lied, and there might be more assassins in Ixia. Yet another detail to investigate.
He unlocked the door to his office. Even with the first rays of dawn creeping in through the square window, it remained too dark to read. He lit the lanterns. Searching through the files, he found the one on Gerik and read through the man’s dossier. Nothing popped out at him. Maren had performed a thorough background check.
His door banged open. Valek stood and drew both knives without thought.
“Easy there, boss,” Janco said, spreading his hands wide.
“I said to knock. Not to knock the door down.” Ari entered.
“I barely touched it. It wasn’t latched tight.”
Valek returned his knives to their hidden locations and sank into his seat. “Come on in.”
They drew closer.
“Is it true?” Ari asked him.
Nice to know the castle’s gossip network still worked with lightning-fast precision. “Yes.”
“Son of a snow cat!” Janco slapped his thigh. “Did you kill him?”
“Her. And no, I didn’t.”
Ari and Janco glanced at each other in amazement.
“But she reached the Commander.” Janco’s voice held outrage.
“He wasn’t her target.” Valek leaned back in his chair.
Ari smiled. “Possible recruit?”
Or replacement. But Valek wouldn’t say that aloud. “We’ll see if she escapes the dungeon.”
“You want us to hang out near the dungeon, catch her in the act?” Janco asked.
“No. Continue with your assignment, and I’d also like you to nose around and see if you can dig up anything on Sergeant Gerik. He’s a transfer from...” Valek consulted the file. “MD-2 about a year ago, and managed to impress his commanding officer enough to be promoted to the Commander’s security detail.”
“Seems sketchy to me,” Janco said.
“Maren approved it. Do you know where she is?” Valek asked.
“No,” Ari said. “No one does. She slipped out of here without a word a month ago, leaving Mannix in charge, but all the poor guy’s been doing is sorting reports into piles.”
“Keep asking around. See what you can discover.”
“Yes, sir.”
They left and Valek returned to the files. After a few hours, a light tap broke his concentration.
“Yes,” he said.
Gerik poked his head in. Strain lined his haggard face, but he kept his voice even. “The Commander wishes to see you in his war room, sir.”
“Now?”
“Yes, sir.”
Valek straightened a pile of files then followed Gerik out. He locked his door and strode to the war room. Gerik didn’t say a word as he trailed behind. The guards waiting near the entrance flinched when Valek approached. White-faced and with eyebrows pinched tight together, he sensed there was more going on than their fear of being reprimanded.
They pulled open the double doors. Valek entered the room.
Onora sat at the table with the Commander, eating breakfast.
7 (#ulink_d00150ed-7d24-50c4-b8bc-a71c7c2230da)
JANCO (#ulink_d00150ed-7d24-50c4-b8bc-a71c7c2230da)
“You know what I can’t figure out?” Janco asked. He leaned against the wall despite the grime. They hid in yet another garbage-strewn alley that reeked of piss, tracking potential suspects. Ah, the life of a superspy.
“How to tie your laces?” Ari asked.
“Funny. What I want to know is why sell black-market goods this close to the Commander’s castle? Castletown is crawling with soldiers and spies. Why not sell their illegal wares in MD-7 or MD-5 since both are closer to the border?”
“Who says they’re not selling there, too?” Ari crossed his arms. “This is a big city full of people. Criminals like to hide in plain sight.”
“Yeah. They can be smart until they’re stupid.”
Ari’s mouth opened, but then he closed it. Too bad. Janco enjoyed provoking his partner. It helped pass the time. When they did stakeouts that required silence, it killed him to keep quiet. Worse than magic. No, scratch that—nothing was worse than magic.
“There’s the guy with the funky mustache.” Janco pointed to a tall man unlocking one of the warehouse doors. “Could be going to get more of those illegal Greenblade cigars.”
“Or he’s going to warn his boss about the guy who had asked too many questions about those potent cigars,” Ari said drily.
“No way. I was smooth. Subtle. More than subtle.” He pouted.
“I think you’re too recognizable. You should have worn your cap.”
“It itches.”
Ari sighed. “We’ll see what happens next. If they start packing up, we’ll know you hit a nerve.”
Janco fidgeted. He studied the building. “Why don’t we jimmy open that second-story window and slip inside? Better to hear what’s going on than guess.”
“We’ve no idea what’s inside.”
“Exactly.”
“What if there’re guards?”
“So? Not like we can’t handle a couple—”
“And tip them off? By the time we fight our way in, they’ll scatter.”
“Oh, all right.” A few minutes passed without incident. “How about I slip inside and you watch for Funky Mustache?”
“No.”
Janco groaned. He was a man of action. All this sneaking about... Yes, it was necessary and patience led to results. Usually. But give him a fight over this any day.
Hours, seasons, years must have passed while they watched the door. An ordinary green door with paint peeling from the wood, revealing a yellowish-gold color underneath. Curled chips of paint lay on the ground right in front. Probably from when they installed the lock. A shiny knob and keyhole looked out of place on the weathered wood.
Smart until they’re stupid. Install a new lock, but don’t bother to paint the hardware to match the age of the building or bother to clean up.
Janco’s hair turned gray as another few years passed—or so it felt to him. According to Ari, two minutes equaled two years in Janco time.
Ari touched his arm as the door swung open. They melted back into the shadows of the alley. Two men exited. Funky Mustache and a big burly brute. They parted, with Funky heading back to the market and Big Brute cutting through the alley to the other side.
“I’ll follow the new guy,” Ari whispered. “Now’s your chance to sneak inside. Watch out for guards. If you see anyone, don’t engage. We can always come back later tonight. I’ll meet you at the Black Cat Tavern.”
“Get inside, avoid guards, don’t get married, meet at the Cat. Got it,” Janco said.
Ari shot Janco his I-don’t-know-why-I-put-up-with-you look and followed Big Brute. Giving Ari a few minutes to catch up to Big B, Janco showed considerable sense by waiting a handful of months.
Janco slipped off his boots, tied the laces together and swung them over his shoulder. Not bothering with the door, he scaled the wall, finding finger-and toeholds in the crumbling mortar of the old brick structure—his favorite type. His least favorite—the marble walls of the Sitian Citadel; those buildings were slick as ice.
When he reached the second-story window, he peered inside. The sunlight reflected off the glass and made it hard to see beyond the sill. Clinging to the bricks with one hand, Janco shielded his eyes until they adjusted to the dimness. The room had a few pieces of office furniture, but was otherwise empty.
After a few minutes, he pushed on the window, testing it. The pane slid up without trouble. Rookie mistake, thinking you were safe on the upper levels of a building. No floor was unreachable. All a thief had to do was climb up or use a rope to climb down.
Janco eased into the room. Puffs of dust tickled his nose and he held in a sneeze. Memories of another sneeze that had revealed his and Ari’s hiding spot rose unbidden. He’d never seen Ari so angry. No, wait. There was that other time... His eyes watered as laughter threatened to bubble up his throat. He sucked in a deep breath and focused on the task at hand.
After a quick scan of the abandoned room, he put his boots back on, then grasped the door’s knob and slowly twisted. The metal creaked. He paused and listened. Nothing. When the latch cleared the jam, he pulled the door open an inch. Beyond the room was a walkway with a half wall on the opposite side, and past that, thick chains hung from pulleys attached to the ceiling.
No voices echoed or footsteps neared, so he poked his head out and glanced to the left. A few more doors led out to the walkway before it ended. To the right, two more offices and then metal stairs. Lantern light from below flickered on the walls. He ventured onto the walkway and peered over the half wall. Stacks of crates lined the space downstairs. A few had been opened and their contents filled tables along the back wall. As he waited, no one appeared. All remained quiet.
Janco then checked the rooms to the left. All had a thick coat of dust and matched the room he’d entered. The same with the first of the two on the right. However, the door to the office closest to the stairs was locked. Kneeling next to it, he pulled his diamond pick and tension wrench from his pocket and popped the lock in seconds.
He slipped inside and closed the door. The dirty window let in enough sunlight to illuminate the desk, chairs, filing cabinet and liquor cabinet. No dust scratched his throat and an area rug covered the floor. Nice. Invoices, inventory lists and billing receipts littered the desk. Janco scanned them, but nothing illegal was on the list of goods. No surprise.
Checking the drawers and then the filing cabinet, Janco didn’t find anything incriminating. Too bad. He searched for a safe. None in this room. Janco read the labels on the whiskey bottles in the cabinet. Expensive. The man had good taste. He left the office, relocked the door and paused. No sounds from below.
Janco crept down the metal stairs. They creaked with his weight. He then explored the warehouse. Crates stacked three high didn’t have any writing or labels on them. The big loading doors had been bolted shut. Wagon-wheel marks on the floor indicated where the four-foot-tall crates must be loaded and unloaded onto wagons by using those chains and pulleys. He found the back door with the shiny new lock. Other than that, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
Time to check the merchandise. Peering into one of the opened crates, Janco saw bolts of Sitian silk. Another crate held small burlap bags filled with coffee beans. The boxes on the table, however, held a dozen Greenblade cigars. Made from dried honey-tree sap, kellpi weeds and crushed abacca leaves all grown in the Greenblade forest, the cigars caused quite a buzz and seemed to be very addictive. The Commander had banned them as soon as it became obvious they weren’t your ordinary cigar.
Janco searched the other open crates, but he couldn’t find any more cigars. Perhaps there were more in one of the unopened crates. He stared at a stack and again absently scratched at the place where the bottom half of his right ear used to be. Why fill a crate and risk it being opened and discovered by the border guards? Unless...
He returned to the one with bags of coffee and dug down until he reached the bottom. Nothing. Unless...
Measuring with his arm, he estimated how deep it was inside the crate. Then he straightened and compared it to the height of the box. Bingo! False bottom. Small enough to miss and big enough to fit those boxes of Avibian cigars. Janco suppressed the desire to dance a jig. He’d wait until he hooked up with Ari at the Black Cat.
A metallic snap cut through Janco’s elation. Oh no. He dived behind a stack of crates as the back door opened. Strident voices quarreled. Janco counted. Two, three, four, five in all. Maybe they’d be so engrossed in their argument they wouldn’t notice him sneaking out. Or maybe they’d all go up to the office and shut the door. And maybe Valek’d assign him to spend a season tanning on the beach. That would be just as likely as the other two.
Janco slid into a more comfortable position. He might be here awhile.
“...it doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” one voice yelled over the others. “Spread out and find him. He has to be here somewhere.”
Then again, he might not.
8 (#ulink_37c95e32-1616-56d0-9e3f-9f149d96357e)
YELENA (#ulink_37c95e32-1616-56d0-9e3f-9f149d96357e)
“I smell like death?” I asked Leif, trying to keep my panic from my voice. “Whose death? Mine? Yours?”
He tapped his chest and crinkled his nose. “No one’s. I just...” Leif waved his arms as if trying to pull in the right word. “It’s similar to death. It’s a...loss. Something is missing. And there’s strong grief, as if someone close to you has died.”
Oh. That explained it.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
Guess he hadn’t talked to Mara yet. I glanced around at the training yard. A few students still lingered and a couple kept practicing. Some magicians had the ability to listen from a distance.
“Don’t worry. It’s not that dire. I’ll tell you when I tell Fisk,” I said.
“Fisk?”
“Yes, I need both of your help and it’d be easier if I only have to explain everything once. Do you have time now?”
Leif looked at the glass workshop with a wistful expression.
