The Man in Shadow Read online

  He never spent much time in the Hog Snout’s taproom these days, not since Bartley. Sal had too many memories of that taproom, and the fact that they were mostly good memories made it all the worse.

  Sal crossed the Tamber at the Bridge of the Lady, brushing the stone hem of the Lady White’s dress as he passed the limestone statue of her likeness. He took the Kingsway north and east until he reached a familiar alleyway. It was dark, the alley positioned between two large structures so that shadows loomed over the alley, no matter the sun’s position.

  Sal took hold of the locket with the hand he’d used to crumble the cap, the residue of the skeev, fresh on his fingertips, sent a familiar cascade of electric energy through him. He focused his will, and following a quick jolt of vertigo, Sal rode the lightning atop one of the buildings.

  He ducked low, observing his surroundings for potential threats. It was unlikely he’d come across any thieves in broad daylight—his real concern was steel caps. The City Watch often posted crossbowmen about the rooftops of High Town, all the easier to pick off and chase down thieves when they had an eye in the sky.

  Sal didn’t see a sign of anyone, friend or foe, though, that was to be expected. Both common men and steel caps had good reason to remain out of sight.

  Sal moved along swiftly, focusing his will and blinking from rooftop to rooftop. Each time was like riding a bolt of lightning—a tug, a rip, and a jolt of vertigo. It only took four jumps before he found himself atop an estate roof, the same one he’d used many times to observe the Bastian estate.

  He looked down on the black iron gate, tall twisted rails, as terrifying as they were beautiful. Three men stood guard outside the gate, two armed with long spears, and one with a crossbow.

  Two figures walked down the long estate drive. At a glance, Sal knew one to be Lilliana. Her beautiful black hair flowing elegantly down to her shoulders, the gown she wore a resplendent sapphire hue. It brought out the blue in her eyes in a way that was something to behold. The other was a man Sal didn’t recognize. A well-built man with long blonde hair, much like Vinny’s. Only Vinny’s hair was dull straw, where this man’s hair shone like polished gold.

  They walked shoulder-to-shoulder a mere hairsbreadth between them.

  Ten paces back, a third man walked down the estate drive. His bastard sword slung down his back, Damor Nev followed in the wake of the pair. Far enough to be somewhat out of mind, and close enough that Lilliana was never out of his sight.

  It took Sal a moment to process the entire scene, but so far as he could diagnose, the three seemed to be leaving the estate. The guard wielding the crossbow slung his weapon to open the massive iron gate. Lilliana and the man passed through, Damor Nev and his bastard sword ten even paces behind.

  Sal wondered where they were going, even more so who the blonde nobleman was. He followed from the rooftops, silently as possible. One wrong step, one mildly alarming sound, and Damor Nev would be on to him within a heartbeat.

  “You will have to tell me where we are going, Marco,” Lilliana said in a coy way that made Sal’s stomach twist. “While I find the mystery quite enduring, my hired man will not appreciate it.”

  Marco, Sal could only assume that meant this was Marco Horvat, the very man Lilliana’s father was arranging for her to betroth.

  “Good Damor knows our destination,” said Marco. “I took the liberty of providing him with the days itinerary when I first arrived at the estate.”

  “Before you called on me?”

  “My Lady, a man must see to his responsibilities before he partakes in the day’s pleasures. Leisure is a privilege of the responsible, afforded only to those who put in due diligence.”

  Lilliana sighed. “And if I was somewhat disingenuous when I told you I found mystery enduring? Mayhap, I changed my mind and decided I prefer the security of knowledge over the excitement of mystery. What then, would you tell me?”

  “Then I would needs remind you that I provide security by name alone, but without mystery, what fun would remain us?”

  Lilliana blushed, and the knot in Sal’s stomach tightened painfully.

  Doubtless, Marco Horvat could provide security by his name alone. His father, Lord Marcus Horvat, was Seventh Seat upon the High Council. He was well known throughout the city for his presence in the clothier trade and his various properties throughout the Agora. Sal knew little and less of this son of his, Marco, apart from what he had momentarily seen today.

  He was good-looking enough. Sal supposed he could see the appeal, despite Marco’s arrogant mannerisms, and the pretentious way he spoke.

  Marco wore a black doublet and a double-breasted frock coat with a split tail and silver buttons. Each button likely cost as much as all the clothing to Sal’s name. But the blade was the worst of it—a nobleman’s steel to be sure. A saber, the gold plated scabbard bore an elaborate pattern and was jeweled from tip to cross-guard. Sal was embarrassed for the man. He knew full well, the showier the weapon, the less skilled its wielder. And this saber was among the showiest of the lot that Sal had ever laid eyes on.

  The trio made their way toward the Tamber, and Sal was forced to use the locket, in order to keep pace. He tried to stay somewhat ahead, attempted to anticipate their movements as best he could while he remained out of sight.

  At one point, Sal nearly lost them after they cut south, unexpectedly. Still, he found them in short order, moving directly for East Market.

  He followed along as far as he dared, but the closer they drew to the market, the smaller the buildings were, making the rooftops more challenging to navigate inconspicuously.

  Once he’d gone as close as he dared, Sal stopped and leaned up against a chimney, tucked into the shadows best he could, and caught his breath.

  Using the locket had been rather taxing. Even while the electric current of the locket flowed into him, Sal seemed to lose energy at an alarming rate. He recalled the few times he’d used the locket, never had he used the thing to travel so far. It seemed there were limits to the amount of physical exertion his body would allow for the magic. Then again, had he not reached that limit in the past? That time at the Scarvini warehouse when he’d unleashed a storm upon Giuseppe Scarvini and his men, Sal had certainly reached his limit then.

  Sal thought it would be best to use the locket one last time to reach the cobblestones, then go by foot from then on. He focused his will one last time, blinked, and landed feet first in the alley below. Sal peaked his head out the alley mouth. When he saw no sign of Lilliana and Marco, or more importantly, Damor Nev, Sal stepped out of the alley and made his way toward East Market.

  He weaved his way through the crowd. The market round was packed with customers and vendors alike, making it near impossible to pick out even the sapphire blue of Lilliana’s dress. Sal skirted the outer ring of the market round, dodging the grasping hands of pushers and the loitering bodies of customers. He did his best to block out the cacophony of noise, the cries of vendors, the music of the singer’s, and the hum of the crowd, as he focused in his search. A futile attempt if ever he’d made one.

  “Dried Shiikal dates just in from port, you have never tasted so sweet a fruit. The jewels of the desert, no?” said a vendor.

  Sal ignored the man, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of his quarry. East Market consisted of multiple rings, each established by the rows of vendors that lined them. The outer ring offered the best vantage for observing, though there was much and more he could not see. He scanned through each ring, looking for any hint of sapphire blue.

  At the center of the market round, a singer and his band played “Piddle On The Diddler,” and all about, nobles and common folk danced the clap-step as they spun about.

  A hand clasped about Sal’s upper arm, but he pulled away deftly and slipped back into the crowd.

  As he slipped and squeezed his way through the mass of people, Sal grew increasingly irritated with Marco Horvat. The Agora was explicitly reserved for the aristocracy, a quiet, plea
sant place that offered peace of mind and an unearned sense of superiority over the masses. The lordling was, no doubt, one of the richest heirs in all of Dijvois. His father famously owned half the Agora, and yet, Marco had decided to bring Lilliana to East Market instead.

  East Market, much like Town Square and the Bridge of the Lady, was one of the few places where the aristocracy of High Town and the common folk of Low Town mingled wholeheartedly. It was a place of common pleasures; hot foods served cart-side, ale on tap, jaunty music, and carefree dancing; the sort of things one would not find in the aristocratic setting. It was clear Marco Horvat wanted to show he was a man of the people. Doubtless, he thought it would impress Lilliana, whose calling in life seemed to be: to help the less fortunate.

  The swirling black ball in his stomach was like a depthless pit of jealousy swiftly growing into hatred for the nobleman. The need to find them and see what was happening tugged at Sal like a hook through his gut. He had to keep moving, had to keep searching.

  Then he saw it, a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. Sal whipped his attention toward the color—a sapphire blue dress—Lilliana’s dress. His heart skipped up into his throat as he realized it was them, Lilliana and Marco, seated at a vendor cart in the outer ring.

  Lilliana was laughing loudly, something that would be considered taboo in many circles of nobility, but something Sal found provocatively attractive about her. It was not her laugh in particular, though, he was fond of her laugh—it was the way she disregarded formality—the way she always spoke her mind and never feared to challenge authority.

  Marco was speaking, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands, smiling broadly, his eyes fixed on Lilliana as though she were the only other in the market. Just looking at him made Sal’s blood boil.

  What would happen if he was to step up to Marco, then and there, take hold of the locket and unleash a bolt of lightning directly into the fop’s chest?

  With the Lady’s luck, Marco Horvat would explode into tiny bits that would splatter about the market, painting the cobblestones red with his blood. He would serve out the remainder of his days as a stain on the market ground—naught but a reminder to the next man that tried to take Lilliana from Sal.

  Lilliana would be upset for a time, no doubt, but Sal would apologize. He could simply play it off as an accident. Perhaps he’d pretend to trip; then it might seem as though it was the force of his fall that had blasted the nobleman to pieces. Then again, a feigned accident wouldn’t exactly send a message to the next noble’s son that came calling.

  Best to just have at him head-on, announce what he was about to do, and let the rest of the mere mortals know just who it was they were challenging for the hand of Lilliana Bastian.

  In truth, he knew he couldn’t kill Marco in broad daylight, not with so many witnesses. The murder of a nobleman would put him at the very top of the City Watch’s bounty list. That is if he were to escape the market without getting himself and half the market-goers trampled to death in the panic that would inevitably ensue.

  More importantly, he couldn’t kill Marco right in front of Lilliana. Regardless of what he did or said after, she would never forgive him. The sight of a man blown to pieces would change her in a way that might not be for the better.

  Still, he didn’t want to take killing Marco Horvat off the table. Might be, he could find the time to scout the man out. With the Lady’s luck, he’d find Marco alone in a dark alley some evenfall.

  Sal watched from a safe distance as Lilliana and Marco talked and ate, all the while thinking of ways in which he could make things somewhat less enjoyable for the pair, without resorting to murder.

  Eventually, Marco stood and held out a hand to assist Lilliana from her stool. Lilliana took the proffered hand, and they moved on.

  Sal sprang into motion, determined not to lose them this time.

  He felt a hand land on his shoulder, he ducked and brushed the hand away, but the grip tightened savagely.

  Sal gasped as pain shot through his shoulder, arm, and neck. He reached up and grabbed the hand, but the grip only tightened, thick fingers digging deeper into his shoulder.

  Sal dropped to a knee and twisted to see who’d taken hold of him.

  Damor Nev loomed over him, brow wrinkled, a scowl fixed on his broad jaw. “Going for a walk through the market, are we?”

  Sal grimaced. “Walking is difficult with your hand pinning me to the cobblestones.”

  Damor released him, and Sal got to his feet, clutching at his shoulder.

  “Lady’s tits, Nev. Is that how you greet all your old friends?”

  “We’re not friends, Lorenzo.” The bodyguard snorted and wiped at his nose. “Thought that was you I saw on the rooftops. Never seen anything move like you do. Now, why is it you’re following her ladyship and the lord’s spawn?”

  “Saw me did you?” Sal said. “Thought I’d kept to the shadows well enough.”

  “You move well, though, you’re not nearly so quiet as you’d need to be to stalk a half-deaf milkmaid, no less, a man trained in the art of the night flower. Now, tell me, just what is it you think you were doing?”

  “Just what you thought I was—same as you—that is. Was keeping a good eye on that fop.”

  Damor scrunched his nose like he’d smelled something rotten. “You’re a fool, Lorenzo. The boy’s firstborn to Lord Marcus Horvat. Might be he’s a lord’s git, but you’d be the fool of fools to go making him your enemy.”

  Sal shrugged. “There are men I fear, Nev, but that fop isn’t one of them.”

  “Right, think you’ve said something to that effect before. But listen to this, and listen good. Lilliana Bastian is off-limits. I catch you around uninvited again. . .” Damor reached behind his back and grabbed hold of the bastard sword’s leather-wrapped hilt, and fixed Sal with a glare hard as stone. “Am I understood?”

  Sal swallowed and nodded. “I understand perfectly well. But know this, Nev. I go where I will, and I take what I want. And I’ll damn well do whatever it takes where Lilliana is concerned.”

  13

  Audition For A Date

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Vinny said before taking another bite from his apple and brushing a lock of straw blonde hair from his eyes.

  “Didn’t expect it would be.” Sal scanned the estate grounds for any sign of Lilliana or Damor Nev.

  Vinny took another bite; there was a loud crunch as his teeth broke the flesh of the fruit.

  “Not as though it was easy the last time,” Vinny said through a mouthful of apple. “We got lucky with Garibaldi, and since then, Scarvini has tightened security. Got himself proper sentries, and I overheard something about some new wards.”

  Sal nodded. “Valla is already in contact with a new Talent about some counter-wards. Claims she can do it for a clipped-krom of what old Pavalo Picarri used to charge. Were you able to map the rotation?”

  “It’s fairly consistent. The faces aren’t always the same, but the routes seem to be. Don Scarvini has become somewhat paranoid, keeps shut up in his solar for the most part. Takes all of his meetings there now, only leaves when it’s necessary.”

  “You did good, Vin. I’ll need you to relay the timings, routes, and rotations to Aurie. She’ll be taking over the scouting on the Scarvini job from here on out.”

  Vinny looked as though he was going to protest, but Sal beat him to the punch.

  “It’s not something you did,” Sal said. “I have another job for you, and you’re the only one I can trust to do it right.”

  Vinny looked suspicious. He took another loud crunching bite of his apple.

  “Lady’s sake, if you eat that thing any louder, the whole City Watch is going to know we’re up here.”

  “The hell are we doing up here, anyhow?” Vinny asked.

  Sal pointed.

  “The Bastian estate?” Vinny said, “what of it? You’re not thinking of—no, no way in Sacrull’s hell are we going to take on two jobs at once. You�
��re bloody mad, mate.”

  Sal shook his head. “It’s all one job. Just one of the many moving parts that we’re going to need to connect.”

  “The hell is that supposed to mean?” Vinny said. “Bastian is rich, sure, I mean he sits the High Council, right? But what’s he got to do with the Don Scarvini job?”

  Sal had worried that might come up. Vinny wasn’t stupid, after all.

  “Bastian does sit the High Council, which makes him one of the most influential men in the city. On top of that, he’s been going after the Scarvini drug trade for some time now, whether he knows it or not.”

  “All the more reason for us to steer clear,” Vinny said.

  “Not if we can influence Lord Hugo,” Sal said.

  The look Vinny gave him was incredulous.

  “Influence Lord Hugo?” Vinny asked. “What in—what does that even mean?”

  “Means that if we can manipulate the situation right, Lord Hugo Bastian is going to do half the work for us, without even noticing the strings.”

  Vinny frowned slightly, but the cocked eyebrow showed he was listening. Not everything Sal had said was a lie, in fact, much of it was true, in its own way.

  “I need you to begin with the staff: the grooms, the cooks, the maids. I want to know everything there is to know about Lord Hugo. What’s his favorite drink, what are his favorite sweets? I want to know his daily and weekly routine. How many times a day does he go to the privy?”

  Vinny cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Right, then, suppose I’ll find the time to meet with Aurie.”

  Sal narrowed his eyes and fixed Vinny with a knowing look.

  Vinny smiled. “It’s not like that. Not yet, at the least.”

  Sal chuckled, and Vinny took another bite of his apple.

  Sal stood.

  “Oy, you headed off or something?”

  “Got to be going,” Sal said. “Moretti calls. In the meantime, be good to that girl, will you? I rather like Aurie.”

  Vinny scoffed. “Think you’re talking to Bartley, eh?”