“Well, we aren’t barbarians.” I started to say more, but out of the corner of my eye saw that the last man to empty a bucket remained, lurking about between two buildings up the street. A small wiggle helped my hood farther forward over my face. His bucket hadn’t smelled like household waste. And now he lingered in the rain. My brother wasn’t the only one who could be paranoid.
I thanked the guard again and left her to her unenviable duty via one of the side alleys. Thankful for the rain now, I padded around the narrow street behind, head down, just one more faceless drudge on my own business, until I circled back to the sewer street. Our overly interested friend hung about still, playing a little skill game balancing and tossing stones on the backs of his hands. I didn’t believe his false idleness for a moment.
When he spun about and stalked up the street, leaving his bucket behind, I’d enough time to slip back into the shadows of the alley, the heavy splatter from a broken eave providing further cover. He didn’t even glance at me as he passed. I barely glimpsed his profile, hidden under a brimmed hat, and from behind nothing about his gait or physique seemed remarkable. He was thin, with dark hair worn long and braided over his shoulders, and his coat was plain and cheap.
Etan had taught me to observe, so observe I would. I tracked behind the stranger through a winding series of small lanes until he reached his apparent destination: a kori bar called Branno’s that had remained open, albeit to greatly reduced custom, during the siege. It had low, wide windows with broad sills, and stone benches inside and out. In good weather and better times, customers had probably sat at the front of the kori bar and enjoyed their drinks outside amidst fat little citrus plants in glazed pots. Today the outside was bare, the citrus plants stripped of fruit and the benches cold and empty, pooling with little rain puddles. I loitered near a table by the window with a good view of the inside of the building and watched the man as he made his way to the bar. Without his coat it was easy to mark him as a Doranite: olive-skinned and long-nosed, though his garb was Silastian.
He said something to the barkeep and the ancient fellow closed his lips over bulging teeth and shook his head. The man raised one hand then let it drop, shrugged, and turned away. Refusing to serve him? A reminder that the distrust within the city went beyond the Darfri; any outsiders were finding things hard in the increasingly tense conditions.
I almost left then, until I saw who was sitting at the table he approached, and my heart started skidding around like a live thing in my tight chest.
Varina the Theater-Guilder sat in a dark corner with Hasan, a prominent musician in her Performers’ Guild and, I remembered, the same man who had performed at Lazar’s lunch on the day of the poisoning. She must have come straight here after the Council meeting. Nothing prevented a Councilor having a break and a cup of kori, but this bar was nowhere near her Guildhall, her sector, or her apartments.
I lurked at the edge of the window, keeping the Doranite man in my view but staying outside Varina’s line of sight. The three spoke briefly and then exchanged something, though a lamp and several cups obscured my view, so perhaps they had merely moved their hands at the same time.
The Doranite man stood and strode toward the door. I stepped away from the window and pretended to be reading the sign, but needn’t have bothered; he went past me without a glance, cramming his hat back on, his pace quick. Before I could move away from the doorway to follow him, Varina was upon me, too, Hasan right behind her, a pile of coins on the table for the abandoned drinks. Her already tense face tightened at the sight of me. I suppressed my frustration at being spotted and sauntered up, casual, smiling, remembering how she had reacted the last time she’d been challenged. It gave me confidence.
“Theater-Guilder! I was passing and I saw you through the window.” I gestured to the kori cups. “I was just on an errand—what brings you all the way over here?”
Varina swallowed. She smoothed a hand over her hair and glanced at her companion. “I’ve had a busy day with Council business, dear,” she murmured. “And I met a friend for a drink. Even in these times, friendships are important, as you doubtless know, with your relationship with our Honored Chancellor.”
The musician Hasan put a hand on her waist, one eyebrow raised and the hint of a smug smile on his lips. Varina wouldn’t be the only one to assume my friendship with the Chancellor was something more. I suspected Tain let people assume that, for convenience, and though I didn’t want to be bothered, it still had the power to wound me even after all these years. I couldn’t tell whether Varina meant to insult, provoke a reaction, or simply fish for information. I smiled more broadly.
“Actually, I almost ran into your friend just now, coming in. I saw him sitting with you.” Impulse and sudden wild speculation took me, and it was my turn to fish. “He’s one of Credo Lazar’s servants, isn’t he? What was his name—Batbayer?”
The forced smiles dropped off their faces. Varina’s gaze darted away to the side and Hasan’s fat lips twisted into almost a snarl. I kept my face smooth as they shifted from foot to foot, sweating, trying to decide what I knew and what I didn’t. Etan had taught me the value of silence.
Varina tried for a laugh, but managed only a husky “ha.” “Not a friend, as such. Just a Guild member.” For the head of the Performers’ Guild, her acting was poor.
“Wonderful. Tain’s been trying to speak to Lazar’s servants since the day our uncle died, but it’s been hard to find them. Now I know he’s one of your Guild members, you’ll be able to help us talk to him.”
She didn’t meet my gaze. “I don’t know who he works for, Credola Kalina. And we don’t keep address details for our members.”
“That’s funny,” I said, my tone still light. “I’ve been looking over the Guild rolls, and they definitely listed members’ addresses. Now that you say that, I didn’t see his name, either.”
Hasan folded his arms, glaring at me, his thick eyebrows drawn together. “Why were you looking at our Guild rolls, then?” He took a step closer, and fear surged inside me. I glanced around, but the bartender was the only other person inside, and he was hunched over with his back turned at the other side of the room.
Her companion’s aggression seeming to restore her confidence, Varina put her hands on her hips and tossed her hair. “You’re speaking with a Councilor, Credola. Kindly remember your manners.”
“My apologies, Theater-Guilder,” I said, all meekness. “I know you’re terribly busy. I’ve got the rolls. I’ll find the address myself, shall I?”
I wanted to laugh as they pushed past me; the sensation of controlling the situation was so foreign and so welcome. If they were our enemies, whether connected to the poisoning or the siege or both, at least direct attack was obviously beyond them.
* * *
Our apartments reeked almost as badly as the sewers, though in a different way. “Jov? What’s going on?” I slipped the wet cloak off.
He was in the proofing room, wearing spectacles and a cloth over his nose and mouth, and he gestured at me to stay back as he closed the lid of a chest on the bench. I watched, wary, and jumped when a shattering pop came from within. He checked my position then cautiously opened the chest.