There was also the sale of the
Then there were the tales of its current haunting.
Only someone insane would buy that vessel. Or someone who believed that everyone made their own luck. Someone daring enough, or insane enough, to try his luck with Meanas.
So he’d been watching Smiley’s – even becoming something of a regular – and knew that the woman, Surly, was much more than a mere servitor. He also knew what was transpiring this very night, now that Mock had gone away.
He picked up his mug and crossed to the booth, sitting down uninvited. The big fellow glared murder at that, his massive hands clenching, but the woman sent him a sharp look and he eased back in the bench seat, which creaked and groaned beneath him.
Nedurian noted that more than rain darkened the cloak wrapping the Napan woman, who appeared greyer than usual, and sheathed in sweat. So he made a cast hoping for a bite, saying, ‘Did you get him?’
The woman eyed him warily – he knew she recognized him from Smiley’s. ‘And you are?’ she answered, her voice tight and clenched.
He shrugged. ‘A retired mage. Geffen was no friend of mine. So I ask again – did you get him?’
‘No idea what you’re talking about.’
Fat Coop came over to the table, rubbing his hands in his apron. ‘What can I get you?’ he asked.
‘Wine,’ said the woman weakly.
‘Beer,’ said the fellow – Urko, Nedurian believed his name to be.
Coop gave Nedurian a nod, saying, ‘Good to see you. I’ll get you your usual.’
Once Coop had left the table, Nedurian shrugged again. ‘Fine. Be that way. But I’m sympathetic. I’ve been watching you, and I think that what you need is a mage cadre.’
The big fellow pulled a hand down his face to wipe away the rain. ‘A what?’
The woman took a sharp breath, sagging into the booth. ‘He means mages who are integrated with squads or crews, like in the old days among the imperial Talian legions.’
Nedurian gave her a nod. ‘Showing a lot of book-learning for a servitor.’
The woman’s smile was brittle with pain as she sat holding her side. ‘I’ve just heard all the old stories, of course.’
His answering smile was equally sincere. ‘Of course.’
‘So?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’
He opened his arms. ‘Employment, naturally.’
She shook her head. ‘We don’t need another mage.’
Coop passed by and set down a tumbler of brandy before Nedurian. He turned it in his hands. ‘Oh, yes. You have two. One is of Ruse. Excellent at sea, but limited on land. The other is … well, of questionable usefulness.’
Now her eyes narrowed and the front of disinterest hardened into a mask. ‘I’m not hiring right now.’
The front door opened, sending the candle and lamp flames flickering. It was another of the Napan crew, a tall, mast-thin fellow whom Nedurian knew to be named Tocaras.
This one crossed to the table and bent to whisper in Surly’s ear. She nodded and moved to rise, carefully. ‘Thanks for your offer,’ she told Nedurian by way of dismissal. Together, the three exited.
He gave them a while, then rose and headed for the door. A cleared throat behind brought him up short. It was Coop at the table, who motioned to the glasses. ‘On me,’ Nedurian told him.
He felt eyes on him then, steady and level. He glanced over to see two of the long-standing regulars here, one a wiry drunkard named Faro and the other a giant of a fellow who sometimes served as a sort of unofficial bouncer when he was sober enough. He gave them a nod, which Faro answered in a strangely measured way.
Shrugging off the fellow’s gaze, Nedurian ambled out on to the wet night-time street. He was in no hurry; after all, he knew where the Napans were headed. When he reached the block containing Smiley’s he was rewarded by the noise of a scuffle and the crash of a door. He paused, leaning against a neighbour’s shop-front, and watched while street-toughs came rocketing out of the door one by one to crash to the gleaming cobbles. Groaning, they picked themselves up, dragged their compatriots up off the ground, and limped away.
Nedurian smiled to himself in the dark and gave them a while, then pushed off, thinking,
He pushed open the door to find himself facing one of the Napan crew, the tallest, Tocaras, longsword bared. ‘Not now,’ the fellow said, his face grim. Nedurian peered in past him to see another of the crew, Grinner, cleaning the counter.
‘You’re closed?’
Tocaras nodded, almost as if he couldn’t trust himself to speak. ‘Aye. Closed.’
The servitor and Urko emerged from the rear, the giant fellow still half supporting her. ‘Who is it?’ she called.
‘That mage, Nedurian,’ Tocaras answered over his shoulder.
‘Let him in.’
