CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
*~~~**~~~*
Iris Everton
*~~~**~~~*
Septos, 927 PC
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Master Rellin sat down opposite Iris, like he’d done countless times before. Only this time rather than scratching at his chin in curiosity and thought, he rubbed his eyes and let out what had to be the longest breath to ever escape his lungs. In the time she’d known the Master of Alchemy she’d come to learn that if he made a spectacle of telling you what was wrong, he’d already thought of a way to solve it and wanted to see if you could do so as well but if came right out with what was bothering him, he didn’t know how to deal with it. A smart man can solve problems, a smarter one can ask for help.
“Now would be a good time to discuss whatever’s wrong,” she said, taking advantage of the fact that Urman was off frightening students somewhere in the university and Master Styner had requested an audience with the High Chamber for one reason or another. The man was always five steps ahead of the next smartest person in the room – typically her. Not something she enjoyed.
“Alaric Sampson is on to you,” he said. And apparently it was her responsibility to deal with it. That was becoming a common theme as of late.
She set her bowl of broth on the desk gently, staring at his tired eyes as she did. “Is he after Jameson as well?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Seems someone has leaked your name and your name only.”
“How did you hear of this?” Perhaps she was so full of anger that it had to escape in her voice or perhaps she’d become a person who demanded answers from those below her in the hierarchy. Either way her sharp tone made Master Rellin’s eyes narrow.
“Remember who you are talking to, Iris. You may be the future queen but I am the present king. The master, if you recall. Not the apprentice.”
“Neither of us will be royalty if Alaric comes knocking with his magic and you clearly have no solution. So, I ask again. Who told you of this news?”
“Master Styner if you must know. And he heard from Eleanor Ashby.”
Eleanor Ashby was the Supreme Purist and Voice of the High Chamber. Iris had learned that there may be nine votes in the chamber, but one outweighed all the others. Go against Eleanor and you’d find yourself at odds with one of the three devils.
“And does she believe there is truth in his words?” Iris asked.
“Thinks he is a desperate fool throwing knives at anyone he can find now that he’s been removed from the chambers.”
She pulled open a drawer and snatched a half-empty vial of Cleresio; an old medicine for headaches that had both survived the passage of time and never been improved upon. She popped the cork stopper and downed what was left. It tasted like berries when she wasn’t numb with paranoia. It tasted like nothing now. “It sounds as though we’re only dealing with Alaric then. The Crimson Nine will be of no help to him.”
“Aye, but a burden worthy of our attention.”
“How familiar are you with his magic?” she asked. “Is there any way to combat it? Or nullify it? Even temporarily.”
“Short of knocking him out, I’m afraid not. I suppose you could cut off his hands but you’d have to get much closer than I would dare. Dastardly stuff. Seizes the body with an unbelievable amount of force. He can snap bones like they’re nothing. Quick to release the arrow too, if you get my drift. I worry we may not be able to stay here. We may have to take our work to Iron Helm.”
Locke was cold but everything she’d ever heard about Iron Helm made it sound like an icy tundra she’d rather never step foot in. But more importantly, Cora was in Locke. Somewhere. Maybe. “I’d prefer to stay here.”
“Iris, don’t be fooled by the sweet nature of the man he showed you that day. He’s death personified. There’s little we can do in the way of ridding ourselves of him.”
“Of course we can’t. But there are people who can. We just need to find one,” she said, standing up. “I’ll get Urman.”
*~~~**~~~*
She found Urman sitting in the dining hall. In a room where the tables were packed shoulder to shoulder, Urman sat alone, smack dab in the middle of the room. The steady hum of conversation formed walls on either side of her as she walked down the aisle between the tables. She didn’t ask permission to sit, nor did she care that the entire university could see her speaking to a man like Urman. Why would I care what these imbeciles think? They will be my subjects soon enough. As soon as I take care of Alaric.
Urman greeted her with a stare up and down her body but no words. Eyes like his had a way of coating a woman in discomfort but she’d gotten used to the feeling. She pulled the bench a hair closer to the table for comfort. As far as she could tell Urman was a straight shooter whenever he could be. And when he wasn’t he was cunning as a fox. She didn’t have the time or patience to play games with him. “I’m in trouble and I need your help.”
“I ain’t chasing after your babe.” He finished a spoonful of stew and dropped the utensil into the bowl loudly.
“It’s nothing like that.”
“Who’d ya piss off this time?”
She spoke quietly. “Alaric Sampson.”
The man’s grin made her flushed with irritation but his chuckle made her blood boil. “Not even Rellin can save ya from him. That prick gets what he wants.” He laughed some more, handing his empty bowl to a student walking by and saying, “Delicious.” The student stared at it for a moment but when he looked at Urman he chose not to say anything. Urman turned back to her and wiped his face with his bare hand, rubbing the gravy on his pants. “I’ll make sure t’say a prayer for ya.” He cleared his throat, spit the phlegm in his glass of water. “Take some water with ya, I hear it’s hot where you’re headin’.” He pulled out his dagger and started picking at something between his front teeth.
“I don’t intend to die any time soon.”
He pointed the knife at her chest. “Ain’t up to you to decide that. See, ya don’t seem to wanna admit this game you’re playin’ is more of an art than that science you love so much. I’ve been swiping my brush for years and I still ain’t got what it takes t’mess with men like Alaric Sampson. You’d need a whole fuckin’ army to do that.”
“You won’t have to go near him.” She leaned in closer, sliding a note to him. “I just need you to find me someone who will. Find this man and I’ll pay you any amount of money you want.”
Urman was intrigued enough to lean in and grab the note, studying her closely. “Kovey Walber. What d’ya need with him?”
“You know him?” Jameson had eventually learned Walber was the man that had been posing at Mateo when Brunson and Yormir got involved with a job that had gone nowhere.
“Heard of him. Surprised you have. Spends all his time bedding other sap’s wives or gettin’ too fucked up to walk a straight line. Ya might as well snap your own neck now if this is who you’re relyin’ on.”
Iris crossed her legs under the table, curling her toes up angrily in her shoes. It pained her more than she expected to say her next words. “I have no one else.”
“Ya have no one at all. I got better things to do than get my neck snapped.” He tossed the piece of parchment back on the table and stood up.
He was straddling the bench when Iris said, “Wait.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
He turned. “Look, Walber spends his time in The Roarin’ Lion. It’s across the city. Show a little more skin. It’ll go a long way over there.” He started to lift his other leg over the bench.
“I can get you your brother.”
Urman narrowed his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“Rellin does whatever I tell him to now. You help me and your brother’s yours. Hand to The Creator.”
“Fuck The Creator, shake my hand.” He leaned across the table and offered her his dirty, grimy hand. She could feel the misdeeds he’d committed in his grip. She wondered if he could feel hers.
“I’ll help ya. But you’re comin’ with me.”
*~~~**~~~*
The Roarin’ Lion was full of the same women laying their bodies on the same platters for the same hungry men as when she’d met with Yormir. However, this time it was even more blatant. Women danced on the bar tops at either end of the pub while men stood beneath them, waving their arms and shouting things no woman should ever have shouted at her. Although, these women seemed to take the derogatory comments as compliments. To each their own, she supposed.
She couldn’t help but be disappointed in herself, she’d vowed to put this tasteless sack of scum behind her. But then again, when was her word ever worth anything anymore? As long as she held true to the one promise that mattered she’d be content.
One good thing was that she felt ten times safer with Urman than she had with Yormir and Master Rellin. The Old Wolf had been respected by these heathens but not feared while men moved out of Urman’s way as if he was one wrong look from slashing a throat. And that was with the satchel full of Leos she’d gotten from selling the platter Master Rellin had given her as a gift.
“What are we doing?” she asked when they came to a stop in the middle of the crowd. Urman glanced at the two bars at either end of the room.
“Quit talkin’, I’m tryin-”
A scrawny young man bumped into Urman and ended up on the ale-covered floor. Poor boy couldn’t have had more than fifteen or sixteen years to his name. Cute enough with his shaggy brown hair and a face that should have been on an even younger lad but that reminded her that he shouldn’t have been anywhere near a place like this. At first, she thought Urman was bending down to help the boy up but instead he grabbed a handful of his tunic and dragged him to his feet. Apparently fifteen wasn’t too young to have the snot beat out of you in Urman’s opinion. Never too early to start learning the hard way. Rather than punch him though, he held out an open palm. “Give ‘em back or pay the price.”
“I’m s-s-sorry.” The boy dropped a few Leos in Urman’s palm and apologized again. “Just tryin’ to get a drink, sir.”
Urman shoved him hard in the chest and walked away, telling Iris to keep up. Before he got too far away she grabbed his wrist and slid her hand into his. To her surprise he squeezed it tight and pulled her across the room, bumping shoulders and clearing a path.
A hole formed in the crowd at the bar when Urman arrived. She stood as close to him as she could get as he waved to the bartender who came to him like an obedient child. He was dressed decent enough to look like he belonged in a finer establishment but the missing teeth and blinking eyes told a different story, one that involved pills and lots of them.
Urman laid two Leos on the bartop and said, “Walber here?”
“Business or other?” The bartender said. He looked at Iris as he said the second half.
“Business,” Urman said.
“Room 14.”
They sliced through the crowd toward a set of stairs that looked like they may not hold them both at the same time but standing alone at the top or bottom was far less attractive than falling through them. The upstairs of the tavern was cut into sections by two hallways. Both of which had ugly green carpets running down the middle; stained and torn from years of being abused by drunks and scoundrels with no respect for anything. There were men and women on the floor, some sleeping, some moaning like they were in pain. One woman asked Urman if he’d like a few minutes alone. When he ignored her, she offered the same thing to Iris with her eyes. Iris wrapped a second hand around Urman’s wrist and followed him quickly.
Urman stopped in front of Room 16.
“He said Room 14.”
“Shut up.” He yanked his hand away from her. And oddly, it hurt her feelings. That, or she felt endangered again.
Now was not the time to start an argument. But she simply couldn’t let it go. “He said-”
He didn’t even look at her as he said, “Shut… your fuckin’… mouth.”
She took the second hint. Urman knocked on the door with a single knuckle. Two light taps.
They stood there for quite some time in silence, filthy strangers strolling and stumbling past them up and down the hallway.
Urman knocked again. Once this time. The door opened almost instantly. The skinniest woman she’d ever seen stood in the doorway. A torn shirt exposed her ribs and the bottom of her breasts. Whatever she was wearing for undergarments covered just as little of her ass. She twirled a strand of her long white hair around her finger. An unlit smoke stick hung from her lips. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Urman Gant. And this is Iris Everton.” For a brief moment she was oddly proud of Urman for getting her surname correct. Then she realized he’d used her real name in the seediest place in the city.
“What do you want?” the woman asked.
“Got a job for Walber,” Urman said.
“How much?” the woman asked.
Urman turned to Iris. “Uh… A hundred Leos,” she said, hoping that was enough, regretting having to spend any amount on something that should have ended months ago. Based on Urman’s reaction, she changed her tune. “One fifty?” Silence. “Two hundred.”
The woman cackled and smiled at Urman. “How long will she go?” Urman shrugged. “She’s not spending your money, is she handsome?”
“No. Thank The Creator.” The two low-lifes share a grin at her expense.
The woman turned away from the doorway, leaving the door open for them. “Walber’s next door. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She moved toward a door that connected to an adjacent room. “Have a seat.” Noises of intimacy flooded through the doorway as she left. “Walber!”
“Get the fuck out of here, Velvetine!” a man yelled. There was giggling.
“You got guests,” Velvetine said in her scratchy voice.
Urman sat down in a chair that was missing an arm and looked like a sword had been pushed through the back. The money bag sat between his feet. Iris found her way to a wobbly bench that may have been built by the same carpenter as the one she’d bought her furniture from.
“Who the fuck is it?” the man asked.
“They said their names are Gant and Everby,” Velvetine said. Iris was happy to hear that.
“Who the fuck are they?!”
“Just put your cock away and get over here.” Velvetine came back into the room. “Give him a minute, he’s working on something.” She sat down at a raggedy desk with pills all over it and started separating them by color. As far as Iris could tell, she and Urman had vanished from the woman’s mind.
Urman leaned toward her and whispered, “Two hundred Leos? Ya could have bought the Royal Guard for that amount.”
“You should have told me what to offer then, asshole.”
“And miss that? You better start countin’ now or we’ll be here all night.” He nudged the bag of Leos with his foot.
He sat back up when a shirtless man with styled brown hair and a physique that suggested he moved heavy boxes for a living emerged from the doorway, slamming the door behind him. A moment later his abs were gone and his hair was black and ratty. Iris’ faith in him disappeared just as quickly. “You’re looking for me?”
“Aye,” Urman said. “Well, she is. I’m just here to carry the goods.”
“I’d like to hire you to do some work for me.”
Kovey scratched the stubble on his chin. He looked her up and down with disdain. “I don’t usually work for your type.”
“She pays well,” Velvetine said from the desk, laughing quietly.
“Real well,” Urman said.
“That right?” Kovey asked Iris.
“Two hundred Leos for absolute cooperation and confidentiality,” Iris said. Kovey stared at her. “No one can find out.”
“What do you think I am? A rat?” Kovey said defensively and ran his hand through his greasy hair.
Iris changed her tune. “Of course not. I simply meant to stress the importance of this job.”
Kovey grabbed a cup from the desk Velvetine sat at.
“That one’s for my suri,” Velvetine said.
The shapeshifter smelled the contents of the cup, frowned, then sat it down and picked up a different one. “What kind of important job?” He slurped from his cup obnoxiously.
“I need you to bring me Alaric Sampson. Alive.”
“Who the fuck is that?”
Velvetine twisted on her chair. “Alaric Sampson.” She was clearly racking her brain trying to remember where she’d heard the name. “Crimson Nine?”
“That’s the one,” Iris said.
Velvetine cackled madly. “Good luck with that one, Walber.”
The room became so densely packed with Walber’s confidence it was a wonder they all weren’t smothered to death. “The Crimson Nine. Alaric Sampon. Two hundred Leos. Is that it? Then we never speak again?”
“Unless I need you again,” Iris said.
Kovey thought in silence.
Urman tossed the bag toward him. “Gotta be more than two hundred Leos in there. Keep it all.” Iris opened her mouth but Urman glared at her.
Kovey dropped the bag on the desk, covering Velvetine’s pills. He opened the bag and felt two handfuls of coins. They fell through his fingers like metal rain drops. “Deal.”
Iris was still looking at the bag of coins, shocked she had just spent three hundred forty-two Leos on a kidnapping, when Urman said to her, “See, art, not science.”