Chương 9: Chapter 8 – Master spy

Bracken waited, scarcely breathing as Cinder and Pike left the Maeruki to his stall. He listened without looking as the pair shuffled on down the street, pushing people out of their way. Shoppers had begun to trickle into the market as the sun crested higher above the lake, clogging the thoroughfares with bodies, the walkways too narrow for the flow of people and commerce at this end of the city.

One of Greymere's many black ironies, that the Gutters should have so little space compared to Glasshill, yet so many more people. They were all technically Imperial citizens, but their equality began and ended in that title. He counted out ten slow breaths before raising his head and searching for his targets. They weren't hard to spot. Neither was particularly tall or distinctive, but the crowd parted around them like a school of fish around a pair of sharks.

They continued south, towards Fisher's Bridge and the next outermost ring of the lower city. Satisfied that they would at least be easy to catch up with, Bracken scurried over to the Maeruki's stall, trying his best to look like an interested buyer. It was difficult to keep the scepticism from his face. Implements did not simply flow into the hands of fools like detritus from the upper city into the canals. Objects of power like that, while not uncommon per se, tended to be sought after. Expensive.

There were plenty of minor ones about, to be sure – simple things that provided minor benefits. Bracken's father was a wealthy man and had installed many such enchantments around their home. Faucets that produced water endlessly. Crystals that glowed like stars the size of fists. Coals that burned without smoke or surcease. There were even plenty of treasures that could Stain a soul. Many guilds used them to empower promising apprentices with magic that would aid their craft.

But those sorts of treasures tended to fall only into hands already decked with gold or holding strings of power. Even out here, in the furthest reaches of the Weldric Empire, truly powerful magic was bound to Imperial whims and only granted to those in favour. No one in the lower city was in favour. Yet even compared to the minor Implements sometimes found in flea markets and pawn shops, the things in Tevaro's stall seemed… lesser.

The man smiled at Bracken like a fisherman noticing a tug at one of his lines, slyly confident he was about to reel in a sale. Bracken could smell the snake oil on his breath as surely as if he were wearing the lie-detecting piercing the man had just tried to sell to Cinder.

"Welcome, young sir. Please, ask any questions and Tevaro will answer. My wares are the finest quality, only the finest," Tevaro nodded along to his own spiel, all but rubbing his hands together.

"I have Implements crafted by the hands of Planewalkers. Treasures harvested from the deepest reaches of the Planes themselves. Maybe you want to be Stained, hmm? Tevaro can help make it happen, the right resources, the right instructions." Bracken paused with his mouth open. He was good. Not good at lying, of course. He was clearly a terrible liar, trying much too hard to sell it with the heavily affected Maeruki accent and the switching between first and third person.

The man was leaning on every stereotype he could to drum up a sense of mystery. No, he was a terrible liar and not much better of a salesman, but the man clearly knew that the best lies are the one your mark wants to believe.

"And you're selling them on the side of a garbage-clogged canal at the edge of the Gutters instead of a safer, wealthier market up the hill, why exactly? You just hate money? Love the thrill of knowing you could get knifed if you tried to sell anything truly valuable?" Tevaro placed a hand over his heart, looking hurt.

"Sir, you wound Tevaro. A prince among merchants, Tevaro does not lie, does not cheat, does not steal! His wares, like his word, are golden!" They locked eyes, Tevaro holding tight to his wounded innocence, Bracken unflinching in his disbelieving contempt. They held each other's stares for a long moment before both broke into real smiles, a tacit understanding passing between them.

"Very well, sir, I see that you are a man of refined tastes. It is true that some of Tevaro's wares are perhaps less potent than he would like, but perhaps he still has something to suit your tastes."

"Can we drop the mysterious Maeruki voice, please?" Bracken interrupted.

"You're killing me, kid" the Maeruki dropped his voice along with his accent. He leaned in close so only Bracken could hear.

"I get it, you're not a mark. What do you want?"

"Those two arseholes who just went past, you know them well?" Bracken had no intention of following in his father and eldest brothers' footsteps. He'd sooner wrap himself in chains and walk off a pier than accept a future as a merchant, but that wasn't to say he hadn't learned a thing or two from watching his family's business over the years. For example, when negotiating, it's best to find common ground early.

Ideally, it should be something positive, like offering a fine wine to a client who could appreciate the vintage, and you could earn their respect by demonstrating your knowledge of it. But when you were short on time, a common hatred could work just as well. Bracken could see it in the twitch of Tevaro's eyes, the man hated Cinder and Pike as much as anyone on the wrong end of their petty tyranny.

"Yeah, I know the pricks. Everyone knows the pricks. What of it?"

"You really going to be here on Durnday with goods for them?" Tevaro raised the scaled ridges that passed for his eyebrows and held out an open hand. With a sigh, Bracken pressed a silver coin into his palm.

"Fuck no. Buddy of mine is going to bring in some goods the day after tomorrow. I'll be shipping out with him that night. Plenty of other markets around, and I don't need the smoke that comes from tangling with their sort."

"Stay till Durnday night," said Bracken, not entirely sure yet what he was planning, but feeling an idea tease at the edges of his mind. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Yeah, no, not gonna happen, my friend. I've enough troubles of my own without getting tangled in yours."

"You'd be helping to take those two down a few notches," Bracken promised, seeing a flicker of hesitation, of interest, in Tevaro's expression.

"And I'll pay you, of course. Five silver now. Five more when it's done." Not quite a princely sum, but it was more money than most Gutterfolk could afford to throw around. Certainly, enough to catch a scammer's interest with the promise of a quick win.

"What exactly is it you want me to do?" Bracken knew he had him as soon as he asked the question.

"I'm not sure yet, exactly. But I have an idea." Tevaro hesitated a few moments longer, pretending he hadn't made up his mind in an effort to drive up Bracken's price. Finally, he agreed to it, pocketing five silver with an agreement that Bracken would meet him there again with the details of the plan on Thulday night. His purse lighter and hoping he hadn't just been grifted out of two weeks' worth of drinking money, Bracken dashed off through the crowd.

He headed south, following the direction he'd last seen Cinder and Pike walking. He couldn't see them anymore, the narrow market street too full and himself too damn short to get a clear view. He struggled through, almost getting knocked into the canal several times as he darted through gaps and pushed past stalls. But he was getting nowhere fast. Frustrated, Bracken slipped into an alleyway between two squat buildings. A rusty metal trellis clung to one wall, a few sickly vines and pale flowers woven through it.

Many of the older buildings in the Gutters were fitted with them, relics from a time past when the people of the lower city could afford to care for beautiful things. Thankfully, it wasn't so old or rusted that he couldn't climb it. He scampered up the side of the building, for once grateful for his compact dimensions and slight weight, the trellis scarcely groaning as he climbed. He pulled himself atop the roof, the slope gentle enough that he wasn't afraid of falling and crept towards the ridge.

From on high, he looked out over the crowd and spotted them, halfway along the Fisher's Bridge. The Guard maintained a token presence at best in the lower city, mostly just standing watch at either end of each of the first five major bridges. Further out was almost uninhabitable nowadays, and Glasshill didn't bother policing those outer rings. Fisher's Bridge was the fifth bridge and guards only ever stood at the northern end.

Bracken squinted, watching to see whether they continued straight or turned at the end before giving pursuit. They went straight. He'd have expected the guards to watch the duo more warily, but they just nodded at one another as they passed, almost friendly in their familiarity. But then, Bracken supposed, if he were on guard duty out at the edges of the city in gang territory, he'd be pretty damn friendly with the gangs himself.

Bracken perched the tip of his tongue between his teeth and considered the route before him. The main street was already crowded and just getting worse. If he ducked down and tried to wind his way through the back streets and alleys there was every chance he'd run into a dead end or just lose track of his quarry altogether. He tested his footing, considering. It had rained last night, but already the rooftop was less slippery than the cobblestone paths below.

There was less moss, less damp, the water sloughing off quickly and the sun eventually drying the rooftops in a way the footpaths seldom felt. Making up his mind, Bracken scampered over the roof. He didn't quite run, always staying in a low crouch with one hand close to the tiles or thatching so he could grab hold in case he slipped. He picked up his pace, making good time as his footing grew more certain.

He crested a rooftop and saw at the building's edge an alleyway, barely four feet across, separating him from the next building over. A mad smile tugged at his lips, the idea spurring him on before reason or sense could stop him. He ran, the roof tilting downwards, the tiles slippery. His foot slid on the second step and his legs almost went out from under him. He got his other foot down and slid, legs apart towards the ledge, faster and less controlled than he'd planned.

No time to stop, he bent his knees and leapt at the last instant. He was short, his legs were shorter, and while he was nimble, the distance seemed a lot wider than it had from atop the roof. He flailed in the air, never rising high enough and sinking far too quickly. He might have sworn, might have screamed. He wasn't sure. Whatever sound he made was swallowed with a gasp of pain as his chest slammed into the edge of the next building, his fingers scrabbling for purchase and finding none.

He slipped further down, the alleyway yawning beneath him, feet kicking against the wall in search of a windowsill or a gap in the brickwork. His fingers finally caught on the edge of the guttering and the metal sagged, loudly protesting his sudden weight. Slowly, carefully, and with shaking, bloodied fingers, Bracken pulled himself up. His arms shook and his lungs refused to inflate, each breath shallow and painful. Finally, he pulled himself onto the roof and crawled to safety.

He lay panting, face down with his feet braced against the gutter and his fingers curled around the edges of rooftiles. Wincing, he forced himself to move, stubbornness as much as adrenaline driving him to motion. He shuffled down a drainpipe and limped towards the bridge. His right knee throbbed where he'd knocked it against the side of the building and people cast him odd looks but no one tried to stop him. The guards at the Fisher's Bridge let him pass without a word.

They weren't really guarding anything out here, just reminding people they existed. When he reached the end of the bridge, he realised he had no idea where Pike or Cinder were, or what to do next. He'd lost sight of them. They could have crossed the next bridge or gone into any one of the seedy looking buildings around this side of town. The last thing he needed was to bump into them on his own with his knee too banged up to run. A door opened down the street and music spilled out, catching Bracken's attention.

The place was halfway submerged, a building made of dense black stone, encroached upon on all sides by rotting wooden neighbours. Four stories tall above the water, red lanterns lit the upper levels' windows and iron bars had been affixed to all but those on the ground floor. A sign out front read Silk's Laundry. A brothel naming itself after the Aldaryn of Thulmor, the Plane of shadow, was not entirely uncharacteristic, but it was certainly bold. Bracken hesitated.

The day was awfully young for anyone to be visiting a brothel, but there was precious little else of interest on the street that might have drawn Pike and Cinder out this way. The door closed, a drunk stumbling away to throw up in the canal, and the music was silenced. Must have been a thick door for the difference it made, the party within clearly hadn't yet wound down from the night before. With a shrug, Bracken chanced it. He would peek inside, see if they were there, and then make his way back to the others.

Try again tomorrow. Just as he reached the door, it was thrown open, nearly knocking him on his arse as he stepped clumsily backwards to avoid it.

"Bracken?" Edrin asked. His brother looked surprised. Bracken couldn't blame him, so was he.