Poison Dance Proofreading Epub Read online

  It should have ended like that, with bruised pride and nothing else. But a few days later, James overheard Nathaniel making plans to ambush Bacchus. James had watched the first fight without interfering—he’d had no special love for Bacchus back then, thinking him unpredictable and dangerous. But James disliked Nathaniel even more than he disliked Bacchus. The older assassin was part of Gerred’s inner circle and all too willing to abuse his position. It was why Nathaniel had even dared plan the ambush—infighting within the Guild was against Clevon’s rules, but Nathaniel thought himself untouchable.

  Nathaniel’s crew was successful in their ambush. They had Bacchus on his knees, spitting blood, when James intervened. As it was, they didn’t see James until two men were already down with their throats slit. James would have preferred not to kill them—it meant more trouble from Clevon later on—but he couldn’t have gone up against four if he’d held back.

  When Gerred found out, he demanded that Clevon execute James. Instead, Clevon pardoned him. Gerred and James maintained an uneasy truce after that. With the old guildleader gone though, it seemed that Gerred was taking more direct steps.

  The carpenter’s shop had emptied considerably by the time James dragged the bound and gagged spy through the door. The only people left were Gerred, Lord Hamel, and two men that James recognized as Hamel’s bodyguards. Gerred stopped talking when James entered. His gaze went first to James, then to his prisoner, lingering in particular on the cut across the man’s neck.

  “Please excuse me,” Gerred said to Lord Hamel.

  There was a touch of a smirk on Hamel’s lips as he led his guards past James and his prisoner. James got the impression that the nobleman was amused by the hint of internal trouble. As the door closed behind Hamel, James turned back to Gerred.

  “I brought him back this time,” said James. “Next time, I won’t.”

  Gerred sat back in his chair, showing no more remorse than if James had accused him of forgetting his birthday. “I needed to know the loyalty of my men, with Clevon gone.”

  At least he hadn’t tried to deny it. “Next time you’re wondering about my loyalties, ask me.”

  “You know that’s not good enough. If you had nothing to hide, you had nothing to worry about. If you did . . ” Gerred shrugged.

  James dumped the spy onto the ground. A small cloud of sawdust rose up off the floor. “I won’t follow a guildleader who thinks he can sift through my quarters on a whim.”

  Gerred’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, James. Do you realize what you’re saying?”

  James stopped himself. He hadn’t meant to overtly threaten defection. “I’m willing to work under you, Gerred. If you treat me fairly, I won’t cause trouble. But I won’t stand for spies.”

  Gerred glanced at the candle on his desk. It hadn’t yet burned half its length. “You were hardly gone an hour. Rather impressive, to finish a job and make it back so soon.”

  “I work quickly.” James couldn’t quite dredge up the motivation for a more convincing lie.

  “I’ll wager you did,” grunted Gerred, taking one last look at the candle. “You’re a good assassin, James, provided you do as you’re told. Finish the jobs you’re given, follow instructions. You’ve been running jobs with Rand and Bacchus for a while now. I think it’s time you pair up with some others. I wouldn’t want you getting stale, working with the same crew all the time.”

  And of course, separating him from Rand and Bacchus would make it harder for them to cause Gerred trouble. The guildleader was watching James carefully now, seeing if he’d provoked a response. Briefly, James entertained the thought of drawing his blade. Gerred was good, but he’d slowed with age. In a fair fight, the odds would be on James’s side, but Hamel and his bodyguards were just outside. Somehow, James suspected that starting a fight was exactly what the guildleader wanted him to do.

  He kept his expression carefully neutral. “Very well then. If that’s what you think is best.”

  Chapter Three

  BACCHUS slammed his mug down on the table. “Now he wants to split us up? He’ll pair us with his lapdogs, mark my words. We won’t be able to do anything without him knowing again.” They were back at the Scorned Maiden, discussing the previous night’s events.

  Rand nodded in agreement. “Gerred’s tightening his grip.”

  James didn’t reply. They were right, and he had nothing more to add. Instead, he looked across the room to where the auburn-haired dancing girl was performing. The girl’s onstage persona was completely different from the way she’d presented herself two nights ago. When she danced, she was striking—animated, unreserved, and alluring. When the girl had approached two nights ago, though, she’d gone out of the way not to draw attention to herself.

  Bacchus followed James’s gaze and whistled appreciatively. “You talk to her yet?” he asked James.

  James shook his head. “Later.”

  “Why don’t you stop ogling her and think about how we’re going to live out the next month?” said Rand. A serving girl came to ask if they wanted more ale, and Rand shot her a glance that sent her scurrying away.

  James let out a breath and turned back to Rand. He pressed his ankle against the side of his boot, and the knife he kept there pushed comfortingly back. “What are our options then?”

  Bacchus cracked his knuckles. “I say the bastard’s lived out his time on top. Clevon was no genius, but he was honest with us, at least. Gerred’ll stab anyone in the back if it means more gold for him.”

  “If either of you wants to fight for the top, go ahead. I’ve no interest in it,” said James. “We’ve been here ten years. We know how it works by now. Clevon lived a comfortable life, and Gerred still does. We all joined thinking someday we’d live like them. Only now we know how many rank and file want the same thing, and how many bodies we’d have to crawl over to get there.”

  “We could outfight anyone in the Guild,” said Bacchus. The eagerness in his voice was hard to miss.

  James shrugged. “Mayhap we could, but all it takes is one knife in the back. And all this for what? So we can be finished off by a Red Shield in ten years?”

  Rand cleared his throat. “You’re forgetting that Gerred in’t exactly giving us a choice in the matter. It doesn’t matter whether we’re loyal to him or not. He’s already convinced you’ll fight to be head, and your conversation last night didn’t calm his fears, I’ll guarantee you that.”

  While Bacchus’s thoughts were always written clear on his face, James had always found Rand harder to read. He was somewhat of a puzzle: closed-mouthed about his past and effective enough at his job, but he clearly didn’t love it like Bacchus did. And though they’d saved each other’s lives dozens of times, James realized he didn’t know what Rand really felt about the headship, or the Guild for that matter.

  “You’re right, Rand. Gerred’ll likely not give us a choice about the issue—if we stick around in Forge,” said James. “But none of us has ties to the city. What’s stopping us from leaving altogether?”

  Bacchus gave James a sidelong glance, comprehension dawning on his face. Rand looked impressed as well. As his companions chewed over his words, James’s gaze wandered back to the dancing girl. She’d put bells on her ankles and wrists now and shook them in time to the music. Light from the hearth, the table lamps, and the candle chandeliers played off her movements and gave her skin a reddish hue. A few times, he thought she looked in his direction.

  “Not a bad idea,” Rand finally said. “I’ve always wanted to see Parna.”

  “Set up there?” asked Bacchus.

  “Or just travel for a while,” said James.

  “We in’t got the coin,” said Rand, his scowl creeping back. “We’d need supplies, horses, better traveling clothes than we’ve got if we want to survive the winter.”

  He was right. The forest roads were not friendly to travelers, and Parna would present its own set of obstacles once they got there.

  Bacchus drained his flago
n and slammed it down on the table, his signal that he was done talking for the night. “Too much worrying and too little ale. We can decide tomorrow.”

  The music had stopped. James glanced around and saw that the dancing girl stood near the back of the dining room. Again, she’d changed out of her costume and into her homespun dress.

  “Fine. We think about it,” he said, pushing back from the table.

  Bacchus grinned when he saw where James was looking. “Don’t be up too late,” he said as James walked away.

  The girl straightened as James approached. She looked him calmly in the eye, though she fidgeted with her fingers as if grasping and ungrasping an invisible ball.

  “You were right,” he said.

  Relief flickered across her face. Her expression was guarded, and she stood in such a way as to emphasize the empty space between them. James didn’t see even a hint of the coquettishness he’d seen from her onstage. “You caught someone then?” she asked.

  He moved closer and lowered his voice. “How did you come to be so good at overhearing Guild secrets?”

  He’d half expected her to put more distance between them, but she stood her ground. “I’m quiet. Men don’t notice me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing a flush rise in her cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said. “But they forget I have ears.” When he didn’t reply, she spoke again. “What now?”

  “I owe you my thanks. I’ll hear you out.”

  She glanced around the room, and her gaze settled on a group of men close enough to overhear them.

  “Mayhap we can take a walk?” he asked, catching her meaning.

  They headed to the door. She looked surprised when he held it open for her. James gave her a sardonic smile and waved her out. The air was brisk, just chilly enough to bring a cloak to mind.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Thalia.”

  They walked down a ways, past the busier streets until no one was in sight. The roads were narrow and the night was dark. The upper floors of houses on each side jutted out overhead to block the moonlight. Nevertheless, Thalia followed him without hesitation, as if they were old friends instead of a maid and an assassin.

  “You’re brave. Or very trusting,” he told her.

  “Just determined.” Her shoulders were hunched as she walked, her jaw set.

  “And what are you determined for?”

  The sound from the crowds they’d left faded away completely, and the streets were quiet. They slowed to a stop at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. Thalia clutched her elbows and faced him, angling her head up to look him in the eye.

  “There’s a man. I want him dead.”

  She’d said as much earlier. “Who?” he asked.

  “A wallhugger.”

  James laughed. The girl was either stupid or suicidal. “Not just enough to hire an assassin, is it? You want to kill a nobleman.”

  She didn’t react to his derision. “Will you do it?”

  He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

  “They’re men like anyone else.”

  “Men with money and power, and scores of Red Shields at their beck and call. Folk who value their lives don’t meddle in wallhugger affairs. I owe you for your help, but this is too much.”

  As he turned away, she called after him. “Wait!” For the first time, a hint of desperation crept into her voice. “If you won’t kill him for me, at least help me.”

  So the girl wasn’t quite as cool and calm as she’d appeared. “How?” he asked.

  Thalia swallowed. She was trying to compose herself again, with only partial success. “Show me how to kill him myself.”

  “You?” He looked from her eyes to the rest of her body, making no effort to hide his disdain at her fragile limbs. He took her wrist in his hand, holding his hand up to show her where his fingers overlapped. He wasn’t gentle, and her eyes teared up, though she didn’t pull away.

  “How strong do you need to be, really, to push a dagger home?” she whispered. “He’s not very powerful. Just a minor nobleman. And I don’t look like a killer. He won’t be expecting it from me.” There was an intensity in her eyes, either ambition or despair, he couldn’t tell.

  “I can offer you more than a simple payment,” she continued. “I have connections with trade caravans. You must need money, with your guildleader gone. I can give you access to rare goods. Expensive ones. You could gain much by doing business with the traders.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I branch out into honest trade?”

  “It’s not … entirely honest.” She spoke carefully. “But it could be lucrative. One run with them could earn you enough to outfit you comfortably for travel. And being friends with the caravans never hurts if you’re planning to take to the road.”

  James wasn’t sure if he completely hid his surprise at her words. Apparently, he was no more alert to her eavesdropping than Gerred’s men. But he did need money, and if she really could deliver what she promised … “Are you lying to me?” he asked.

  “I promise you I’m not. Give me a few weeks. See what I have to offer, and what you can teach me. Then you can be done with me.”

  *

  She came cautiously through the door the next afternoon, taking in his sparse room—the bed, his trunk, the window—with a few quick glances. When the blacksmith started hammering downstairs, her brow furrowed with annoyance, but she said nothing.

  “You live here?” she asked.

  “It in’t the Palace, but it’s got walls.”

  “I grew up in a covered wagon. At least this doesn’t blow over in a storm.”

  She moved as if to sit on the bed but thought better of it and crouched by the wall. James sat in the space she had just avoided and studied her. She sat with her dress bunched around her, and her hair fanned over her shoulders. Though her face was carefully blank, her fingers tapped restlessly against her knees.

  “You’re serious about this?” said James. “You want to kill a nobleman.”

  She nodded, studying the wall behind him as if there were an image there only she could see.

  “And you want this enough to put your life in danger? Why come to me?”

  She was silent for a moment, pulling at the hem of her dress. “I’ve been watching you,” she said slowly. “You think before you act. You don’t get carried away by your drink like your friend Bacchus. You look at the serving girls, but you don’t grab them. And I know you’re good at what you do.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

  “Three months ago. When the fight broke out in the Scorned Maiden.”

  He vaguely remembered that fight. A merchant and his friends had taken offense to one of Bacchus’s cracks, and James had come to his defense. “I didn’t kill anyone in that fight,” he said. It was better not to, if he wanted to continue to frequent the tavern.

  “But you could have. I’ve seen my share of brawls. I know a good fighter from a bad one.” She spoke with the objective tone of a seamstress picking thread.

  “So who is this mysterious nobleman?”

  Her expression became guarded. “You’re not killing him for me. Just showing me how to use a knife.”

  He’d thought her reckless, with the way she’d followed him into the alley last night. But perhaps he’d underestimated her. “How long have you wanted him dead?”

  “Two years.”

  “Did something happen two years ago?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t volunteer any more information.

  He shrugged. “Keep your secrets for now. One wallhugger’s the same as another to me. But if you really want me to teach you right, you’ve eventually got to tell me more. I’ll need to know how close you can get to him. If he’s guarded, and how well. If he’s trained with weapons. But right now, I want to know more about your connection with the caravans.”

  She relaxed a bit at this new line of questioning. “I grew up with the trade car
avans and traveled with them until a few years ago,” she said. “As you know, the Palace puts limits on what can be sold. It reserves some rare goods for itself by making it illegal to sell them to others in the city. I have friends though, who could be persuaded to overlook those laws.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Thalia snapped her head to the sound. “That’s Rand and Bacchus,” said James. “Will you tell them the same thing you just told me?”

  “Do you trust them?”

  “With my life.”

  She thought for a moment, then nodded.

  Bacchus winked at Thalia as he came in, and Rand nodded curtly in her direction. She ignored Bacchus and returned Rand’s nod as James filled them in.

  “What kind of rare goods?” asked Bacchus when James finished.

  “Spices. Tapestries,” said Thalia.

  “And what would we need to do? How long to set everything up?” asked James.

  “You’d have to meet them outside the city and smuggle the goods past the city gates. After that, it’s up to you. You could have a run set up in three weeks.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work,” said Rand. He trailed off and gave Thalia a sideways glance.

  Thalia gathered her skirts. “I can leave, if you’d like to talk things over.”

  “Come back tomorrow,” said James. With the girl’s knack for picking up information, kicking her out now probably wouldn’t accomplish much. But they might as well keep the illusion of secrecy.

  He waited until she stepped out to the street below before he turned back to Bacchus and Rand. “What do you think?”

  “We’d need buyers,” said Rand.

  “For spices, it’d be rich merchants or noblemen. But they’d definitely buy,” said James.

  Rand bobbed his head in acknowledgment of James’s reasoning. “Three weeks to get the goods, another few days after that to wrap things up. Gerred’ll be suspicious if he sees us doing anything unusual. ”

  “We keep it from Gerred,” said James. “He’d just assume the worst. Better if he doesn’t know our plans until we’re gone. If we play nice, I don’t think he’ll do anything rash in the meantime. He’s too careful for that.”