The doorguard for the Outsiders was a nervous-looking, pathetically small boy, who didn’t look the at least twelve years of age that Neal knew he must be. The Outsiders didn’t take them any younger. He wasn’t so much a guard as a lookout, which was just as well. He didn’t make any move to either stop or challenge Neal as the man brushed past him. Instead, he followed him in yelling “One!” at the top of his lungs.
The two men who stepped out of the shadows behind Neal once he was a few steps into the building looked much more like guards. They were young, but old enough to have the broad shoulders and heavy muscles of grown men. Around twenty, probably. Each was holding his hand over the handle of a sheathed knife. It wasn’t a bad arrangement. Why stop an unwelcome visitor at the door if you could ambush him just inside it? If you don’t mind killing, it works. Neal wasn’t too worried that they might actually kill him, but he was cautious. With young men there was always a chance of hot heads prevailing over good sense. And since it was his job to threaten them, he anticipated their heads getting toasty.
Neal ignored the two men behind him and continued strolling into the building, toward a table at the other end where three men were gathered, but had now pushed back to watch him approach. They’d all moved clear enough of the table that they could rise quickly. One stood up. The two guards followed close behind Neal, raising goosebumps on the back of his neck, but Neal kept his expression and the swing of his limbs confident and easy. Nobody else needed to know he was the least bit concerned about the men behind him.
He stopped right in the middle of the room, where anyone still hiding in the shadows would be sure to see him.
“I’m here to see Tagg,” he said. “On the Thief Lord’s business.” And he held up his token where the light from the center of the table at the end of the room caught on it and glinted.
A dark haired, deeply tanned man hopped out of his seat and came forward, and though he was only walking, he was almost bouncing with each step with excess energy. He jerked his head up and to one side. “I’m Tagg,” he said. “What can we do for the Thief Lord?”
Neal flicked his glance at the two still at the table. “Perhaps we should go somewhere private. I’d prefer not to discuss this in front of your men.”
Tagg whipped a hand in a quick circle that indicated the whole room. “They can handle it. What do you need?”
“It’s your house,” Neal said with a shrug. “The matter is this: the Thief Lord is concerned you will not be able to make your quota.”
“I always make my quota,” Tagg said. “The Thief Lord doesn’t need to be concerned about us. We’re, ah, just a little short handed. We’ll work long hours. No problem. That all?”
“Short-handed?” Neal said. “Indeed. I believe that is the reason for the Thief Lord’s concern. Why are you shorthanded?”
Tagg rolled his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing much. Just a little trouble with the rounds. Again, we’ll take care of it. Is that all the business the Thief Lord has sent you on?”
Neal could understand why Tagg wanted to get rid of him. The best business with the Thief Lord was the short kind. But he couldn’t be put off so easily. “What is the nature of the trouble, Tagg?”
“Well, it’s, uh,” Tagg shifted from foot to foot then made a dismissive gesture with one hand, as if sweeping the trouble away. The whole time Neal had been talking to him, Tagg had been moving. He fidgeted constantly, not nervously, but almost manically. “It’s just this, um, well I don’t want to call her a girl, she’s like, I mean she is a girl, but she’s like lightning, I mean she like--” he pointed all his fingers out stiffly at Neal and made a zzzzzz sound.
“What?” Neal said sharply. “Lightning? This girl, do you know her name?”
“Who knows what her name is,” Tagg said. “But she calls herself Firebrand. Anyway, she doesn’t want us harvesting, but like I said, we’ll deal with it. We just have to get the drop on her. No big deal.”
Neal ground his teeth. The Firebrand girl had come here, too. Could it be possible she was following him? He quickly thought over whether he should let these boys have some clue of what they had gotten themselves into. He wasn’t sure, and in any case, he needed to pass the news on. It would, he decided, be best to leave it up to the Thief Lord to decide whether to leave these Outsiders in the dark.
“Take care of it, then,” Neal said finally. “I don’t like the Enforcer, but I will call him in if you don’t live up to your obligations.”
“We will,” Tagg said. “We will, no worries.”
There were some pastries on the table. Neal brushed past Tagg to snag one and took a thoughtful bite as he strode quickly out of the building. He had no back up, and wanted to be out of there quickly before one of those young hotheads decided they didn’t like him threatening them. Of course he didn’t want to look as though he was hightailing it, thus the pastry. It gave off the impression of nonchalance as well as importance. He had taken something that wasn’t his with an air of entitlement. Taking things, showed the others that everything they thought of as their own could actually be his. He’d learned it from Lord Useph. People in the Thief Lord’s organization must learn that all their possessions really belong to him, and it is only through his tolerance and magnanimity that they have anything at all.
It had taken some spying, a lot of talking, and a little palm-greasing with what little coin he had, but Garon finally convinced a steward on Lord Useph’s ship to take a note to his sister. He had been strongly discouraged from waiting at the boat, so he sat in the dank bar beside the docks, nursing a mead and waiting for the response. He wasn’t sure what his next step would be if Mala denied knowing him. He wouldn’t put it past her. She put a lot of stock in her image and it wouldn’t look good for a brother looking like a river rat to show up at her posh party boat. He had nearly decided to give it up for the night when a boy with clothes too clean and expensive for the crowd appeared in the doorway. The boy was clutching a folded note and scanning the crowd with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth.
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Garon threw back the last of his drink and pushed through the crowd to the boy, who looked him up and down.
“Are you Garon Miller?” he asked.
“That’s me,” Garon said. He held out a hand. “I’d wager that note’s for me.”
“You don’t look like a miller,” the boy said doubtfully.
“My father is,” Garon said.
The boy shrugged and handed over the note. When Garon had read it, he said, “I’m supposed to take you back.”
“I read that,” Garon said.
“We can’t go by the front,” the boy said, looking Garon over again, srunching his face in distaste at Garon’s appearance. “Not like...that.” He shook his head. “Well, come on.”
There was a back way onto the boat, it turned out. Apparently that was as much a priority for a high lord’s boat as his castle, that he did not have to see too much of the riff raff that made the wheels of his grand life turn. The boy left Garon in a room that was small, but nice enough. It was certainly better than any place Garon had been to since he left Westfall. Garon judged it to be below the waterline by the curve of the wall. As always, it made him feel a little claustrophobic to think about being underwater, even though it was held away by a solid hull. There was a desk in the room, three chairs--one behind the desk and two before it--and a number of cabinets that might have been bookcases. On board a ship such things had doors to prevent the books falling out, but they looked like that’s probably what they were.
When he had been waiting for long enough that looking around the room had stopped being interesting, Garon sat behind the desk and propped his feet up on it. He leaned back and pulled his hood over his eyes. Mala might take a notion to keep him waiting, and if she did he might as well get some rest. He was always tired anymore. He’d thought his father worked him hard back at the mill, but that was not one quarter the work that the men of the dock did every day. And unloading iron had turned out to be more exhausting than anything he could remember doing in his life.
The sound of the door bouncing off the wall jerked Garon awake. He must have dozed off at some point, and Mala must have kicked the door open to send it flying with such force.
Blinking, Garon fixed his gaze on his sister. She was glittering from head to foot. Her hair was wrapped in a jewel studded net and her long, body-skimming gown was embroidered with bits of jewels as well. For a moment her face was completely blank, and then it settled into a warm but patronizing smile.
“Oh, Garon, you’re so hopeless!” she said. “Look at you! If you’d wanted to come visit me, Useph and I would have arranged for you to come in style. You’ve had to work your way downriver, haven’t you, you poor dear!” As she spoke she swept past the desk and came to stand beside Garon. She laid an arm across his shoulders and planted a kiss on his forehead. At least she didn’t tussle his hair. Garon had hoped sitting opposite a desk from her might have lent him some dignity in the conversation, but she had neatly taken any such notion away. He couldn’t pull away from her without looking petulant, but it was hard not to feel like a child with her standing over him. Well, then.
Garon pushed to his feet and turned to embrace his sister warmly. She stiffened only for the barest second. When he stepped away he left his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. He was much taller than her. “You look lovely, Mala.”
She laughed lightly and stepped back, neatly taking his hands and releasing them as she did so. “I wish I could say the same for you,” she said. “Really, Garon, you should have written!”
“Actually, I didn’t even know you’d be here in Laed until today,” Garon said. “I thought you were going to your new home.”
“Oh, Useph had business,” Mala waved a hand. “And this is such a fantastic place! It’s good to have the chance to meet all the ladies of the capital. And their houses! Of course, I’ve given many parties here on the boat, too. I’ve been so busy.”
Garon sat back down in the chair and studied the winding lines of the wood grain of the desk as Mala rambled on about the parties. When finally she paused for breath, he asked her “Have you heard from Kiri?”
For a moment, Mala’s smile wavered. “Oh, no,” she said. “I’ve only had one letter from home. I suppose they all realize I’ve moved beyond them. But if you didn’t come to see me, why are you in Laed?”
Garon stared at her, finding he didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, I…”
“Jealous?” Mala said. “Realized you wanted out of Westfall too, didn’t you? After all those years trying to convince me there’s something so good about the ‘simple life’!”
“That’s not…” Garon stopped, watching Mala’s knowing, indulgent smile. It was always easier to just let her believe what she wanted to. “I guess jealous is the right word.”
“No shame,” Mala said. “Of course I understand. Well, I have to get back to my party, and you’re not really…” she looked pointedly at his stained clothes. “Not ready for it. But drop me a note anytime, and if you like we can get you attired for a soiree. I’ll send the boy to show you out.” She left; the room suddenly much plainer without the glittering of her dress.
The boy came soon enough, and showed Garon back out. They weren’t alone on the short trip back to shore. A blue-eyed man with a scar that split one sallow cheek sat in the other end of the dinghy. Garon recognized him. He was often at the dock, but he’d never worked with Garon’s crew. Garon’s boss didn’t like him, and seemed in fact to actively dislike and distrust him. Garon had gotten the impression that it was because he was involved in some of the extralegal deals that sometimes went down at the docks. Tan was a big believer in rules and fair-dealing. Any hint of corner-cutting brought his heavy brows low and a flush to his thick neck and rough face. Garon sympathized with the perspective; he believed in being realistic but above-board as much as possible.
The best way to stay out of bad business might usually just be to avoid it, but there are times that staying above board doesn’t mean staying ignorant. As much as Garon felt like keeping a low profile, his sister was the opposite. The presence of this thug made it obvious that she was somehow connected to the underworld now, and Garon couldn’t afford to keep his head down and ignore the ill-dealers on the docks anymore. He still intended to keep a low profile as much as possible, but he wasn’t going to shut his eyes and ears anymore. He had to find out what all they were up to and what his impetuous twin had gotten herself into.