“Anyway,” he said, and the sound of one of Belamy’s chairs scooting on his floor squeaked out, “we got to talking in the parlor, where the gambling tables had been set up. We played several hands of Fleece, then moved on to Tiles. They were wonderful conversation partners, and I thought we’d gotten on fine by the end of the night. I don’t know whether I came up on top in our games overall or not, but it didn’t matter much. This man and his friends were perfect gentlemen, come win, lose, or draw.”
“Who were they?”
“I didn’t get a straight answer other than names out of them; the leader of the trio called himself Lord Hajime, and he was my principal partner and opponent as we played. Even when matched with others at the table, he sought me out for conversation—you know, comments and quips about the game, or observations at this lord’s shoes or that lady’s bodice, the sort of normal fare at such a gathering. The other two were untitled, though they had rather common names: Marshall and Haman. The former was a large fellow, and seemed a bit rough in character, though dressed quite well, while the latter chap was too quiet to get much of a sense of him, though he seemed much more refined than the other. As I said, Hajime was the leader of the troupe and my main acquaintance for the evening. I do not know over what province he kept a lordship or if he was involved in any other distractions than parties and soirées.”
Skate’s breath had caught at the mention of the name “Hajime.” That was one of the aliases the Big Boss used in public. Lowlings like Skate didn’t know his real name, but they were familiar with his most common sobriquets: Hajime, Doughton, Kingfisher, Ouriole. At the mention of Marshall and Haman, all doubts disappeared: Gherun had met with the Big Boss, and Skate assumed the Big Boss had used that meeting to insinuate himself into Gherun’s life in order to lean on him. It was a very common tactic among the thieves of the Ink: introduce yourself, imply a threat, and suggest a monthly payment for “protection.” Haman called such agreements “extortion,” but Skate thought the protection racket was smart. It was free money, and you didn’t have to do anything to get it; just say some stuff and rake in the scepts. And someone like Gherun would have a lot of scepts to hand over each month.
“A few months later, they showed up at my home. I was glad to welcome my new friends, but the conversation took a most unwelcome turn very soon. They began to talk about how vulnerable I was, how easy it would be for people to come take what wasn’t theirs. They told me—he told me—they could prevent that from happening, but I’d have to pay, since such services ‘did not come for free, even for friends.’ Friends, indeed.”
Skate smiled. She knew exactly how the Bosses’ minds worked, including, apparently, the Big Boss himself. Gherun must have been a hefty mark indeed to draw the audience of the BB, and she found that she took some pride in the fact that she’d managed to successfully steal from such a bigwig.
“Did you pay them?”
“Of course not! To be set upon by ruffians in disguise in my own home, only for them to demand money out of me every month? Ridiculous. I told them where they could stuff their offer, that I was not interested, and that I didn’t wish to see them anymore.”
“Did you inform the Guard?”
Gherun clicked his tongue. “No. After I’d expressed my disinterest, Lord Hajime intimated that I ought to avoid doing that. ‘We’ve ears amongst the law,’ he said, ‘and we don’t like them getting involved in our affairs so unnecessarily.’ A common ruffian is all he is!” His voice was suddenly booming and full of hate rather than nervous and agitated. “I doubt he’s lord of anything save vice and thievery. He said they’d ‘be in touch.’ This has been their touch, Barrison; I’m sure of it.”
Barrison demurred. “If you say so. What will you do?”
“I’ll have to get back in contact, I suppose. Lady Flandel knows him, so she must know how to reach him. That will be the end of it. I may even be able to get my books back.”
Skate brought her hands up in silent celebration. This was amazing news; she had managed, on her own, to push a client into the hands of the Ink whom the Big Boss had taken a personal interest in. The Boss would be thrilled, and the King of Thieves in the city of Caribol would know her name and would be glad of her service.
“A small price to pay for my peace of mind.”
“Jack, no,” Belamy said, his voice sad. “There’s no need to fall in league with these people. You’ll never be free of them if you agree to their demands. You’ll be under their thumb until they say otherwise, which will never happen so long as you pay more money.”
“What am I to do, Barrison? They know where I live. They’ve shown that they can get in and out whenever they please. I’m not safe.”
You will be with the Ink, Skate thought. She whispered, “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” hoping Belamy would let the matter drop.
“Let me investigate further. Let me be the one to contact Lady Flandel about Hajime and the rest. I don’t mind meeting with ruffians; I can handle myself, even in old age.”
“Oh, Barrison, no, I can’t ask you—it’s far too dangerous, and not your problem—out of the question—”
“Jack.” Belamy’s voice had grown harder. More resolute. “I will be contacting the lady, and I will be investigating this on your behalf. Go home, and keep your door locked. Hire a wizard to ward your place from unwanted intrusions; I know you can afford it.”
At the top of the stairs, Skate was pulling her hair in frustration. “No,” she hissed to herself, “take it back, take it back, shut up, shut up.” Belamy was going to ruin everything with his insistence on “borrowing,” and now he was trying to keep his friend from falling into the Ink to boot. “It’s his problem, shut up, shut up.”
By the time she had quieted her muttering to the point that she could hear, Jack was already out the door, his voice heavy with emotion. He was thanking Belamy over and over again, promising to stay at home and shield himself better, and so on. “You don’t know what a weight this is off of me, Barrison, you really don’t,” he said with a sniff as Belamy’s door opened and let in a blast of cold air.
“I have some idea,” Belamy said, gently corralling Gherun out the door and shutting it when he was gone. He walked back to his desk and, after a few minutes, called out for Skate.
She sighed before answering. “What?” she asked, adding you bloody fool in her mind after the question.
“Oh,” he said, looking at the top of the stairs. He couldn’t see her from his position, but her voice must have clued him in that she was very close. “Come on down; your breakfast is almost ready. We need to talk about getting Jack’s books back to him.”
Skate let her head hit the wall before she stood up and walked down to meet her tutor and benefactor. The smell coming from the kitchen was very inviting; fresh-baked dough wafted through the half-open door, and an unfamiliar sweet smell came with it. Belamy was sitting at his desk, Ossertine’s book open in front of him. He had only a few more pages to get to the end of the text.
He looked up at her approach. “How long were you at the top of the stairs?”