Fugitive
It was raining the day the Interlocutor came to visit. I was spending the day inside the Gilded Stallion. It's a Piriveni place, and an upscale one too. All the toffs frequent the Stallion: Tehavi Houselords, Alonite Poets, even Sadorishi Pacryrs, on those fairly rare occasions when one was in town. I'd been there on scams, of course, and to filch the odd purse, but never as a patron. Fortunately, the Stallion doesn't discriminate except against the poor, and just at that moment I was no longer among their unfortunate ranks. I'd had a good few weeks. Only had to use my magic charm once and it had worked like a charm that time too but knowing I had it in my back pocket had emboldened me. Not that I wasn't plenty bold before, mind you; no one ever accused Terol Biravi of being a shrinking violet. But there were jobs where even I thought the risk outweighed the return, and now I was comfortable enough to do them anyway. I'll spare you the details, thrilling though many of them are, and suffice it to say that I'd had an exciting and prosperous time of it, and come into a considerable sum of money that had sadly vanished from various of the city's well-to-do establishments.
Oh, all right, if you're really desperate to know, just ask around Perena about the White Fox and you'll hear a tale or two. Yes, I know it's a bit cliched, but I was on top of the world and for once wanted to indulge my theatrical impulses. Besides, no one would ever think to link that infamous master criminal with poor old Terol Biravi (or Shax-ta-Icci or Ranai Satrai, for that matter). Good sound thinking to set up an overly dramatic alter-ego for the over-the-top jobs; makes it all the easier to disappear. And I was planning to disappear: get a minor fortune put away, and then drop off the map, take a ship and reinvent myself far away as someone respectable, maybe buy into a nuccion or something. Another couple of weeks and I'd get out of Perena for good, go live the good life. But until then I was resolved to make life here as good as I could. So on a cold and rainy day like that where else could I have been but the Stallion? Nothing like a bottle of wine in your hand and a girl on your lap to brighten the day, and the Stallion had the best. Creamy, full-bodied, fragrant and thoroughly delicious. The wine wasn't bad either.
So yes, I was having a very good time. At least, I was until I overheard the adjacent table visiting Latoshis, I think they were, but I'm not familiar enough with their ranks to tell you how high up they were discussing their fear of being robbed. I gathered that they were there to seal some important deal with the Tehavis, and they'd brought a chest full of gold along for the payment, and that they'd be bringing it into the city the next day. Well, you can imagine what that did to my mood. A chest full of Haidali gold on the move in the open? I was now having an
incredibly good time; might be I'd have enough to disappear tomorrow. Now, you're thinking that a whole bunch of gold would be guarded, and it would. In truth, it's the sort of target that usually I wouldn't dream of hitting, but thanks to my magic charm I was confident that my new Latoshi friends were going to have to disappoint their business partners. It did however, mean I'd have leave and make a few preparations. So, slowly and with enormous regret, I set aside the wine and the girl, promised to come back to them both later, and made my way out.
As I walked down the street, my mind was already whirring, cooking up a plan. I'd have to do some reconnaissance, of course, but there was only one place the Latoshi money could be coming from. Did I need help? Could always cut Artal in; be safer that way. But no, I was confident, arrogant even: help just meant splitting the score. Have to have a place to stash it, to lay low...I stumbled and leaned on a wall for support. I hadn't had that much to drink: that wine must have been strong. I can hold my booze with the best of them usually. I tried to shake it off and continue, but my head was getting fuzzy, and I couldn't walk in a straight line. I could barely walk now, and was getting nauseous, and I headed to the nearest alley to solve at least one of those problems. My vision was starting to get blurry, and under the mist filling my head I felt serious alarm, verging on terror. I staggered into the alley and pitched forwards. I was dimly aware of arms catching me, but then I closed my eyes and knew no more.
*****
Do you know what this is?
A voice awoke me. It was an interesting voice, male, clipped and polished and urbane, and maybe a little too in love with its own sound: the sort of voice you get from years of schooling in a Raelite academy. It was an encouraging voice, all things considered: voices like that usually weren't comfortable saying thing like work him over, or slit his throat and drop him in the harbour. I assessed my situation as best I could. I was bound in a chair in a dark place with a little circle of light emanating from a candle beside me. The source of the voice was out on the edge of the blackness, but I couldn't make it out as anything more than a blur. My eyes wouldn't seem to focus properly. Whgrbllr, I said; my mouth wasn't working properly either.
The Voice sighed. Still under the after effects. You drank more than I expected. I'll come back later. The blur vanished. There was no sound to indicate that he'd gone, but I knew I was alone. More the fool him, then: I'd slip the ropes and be gone in thirty seconds...
Or not. Turned out whoever had tied me down (the Voice? Or did he have friends?) had known what they were doing. Five minutes of wriggling produced nothing more than some pretty bad blisters on my arms. Now, don't get me wrong, at my best I'd have still been able to slip it, I'm pretty sure, but I wasn't at my best. Whatever had been done to me hadn't, as the Voice had noticed, worn off, and my head was swimming. I redoubled my efforts, and this time managed something. Specifically, I managed to tip the chair over, bang my head on the floor (stones, not dirt, and more's the pity) and knock over the candle, which promptly went out. So, now I was horizontal, blind, and my head was twice as bad. On the plus side, I'd demonstrated that I wasn't going to just meekly submit to captivity, so I was inclined to chalk it up as a moral victory. And besides, I was getting sleepy again, it was pitch black and the stone wasn't so uncomfortable a pillow, once you got used to it...
*****
The second time around I was awoken by a bucket of cold water. This was far less pleasant, but undeniably more effective. I came instantly to life, spluttered out a few curses, and tried to get up. I couldn't, of course, being still bound to the overturned chair, and then I remembered my predicament.
Properly awake now, I see, said the Voice from behind me. My world suddenly rotated back to its proper orientation as hands set the chair back on its feet. The candle was burning again, and when a man strolled nonchalantly into my limited field of vision I could make out his face. It was decidedly not a face to inspire optimism: overhanging brow, sinister eyes, and a street-brawler's face, rough and scarred and misshapen. The man carried himself like a street-brawler too. He somehow gave off the impression that he was barely containing the urge to strangle you. He studied me for a moment, then he said It's cliched, I know, but I did think that you'd be taller.
I blinked in surprise. The Voice belonged to this man. The combination was so jarring that I completely missed what he next said. He seemed to be expecting a response, and I mumbled out err umm ahh.
The man sighed and held his hand up to my face. I flinched, but he only wanted me to focus on what he was holding. It was a little chain, and off it dangled, I saw, my magic charm. This, repeated the man, do you know what this is?
Well, it's a...err...um, I replied, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't get me strangled.
Of course you don't, the man said, interrupting my deliberations. How could you? Well, let's lay that aside for a moment. This belonged to a dear friend of mine, Berak Dontir. It was...important to him.
I nodded knowledgeably, trying to act as though I understood what was going on.
He would not have parted with it willingly, and I very much doubt that even you could have stolen it from him. So that begs the question which I will now put to you: where did you get it?
My mind raced. My first instinct was, of course, to lie: say I'd gotten it at a pawn shop or found it in a gutter or something. But a look into those eyes convinced me that this was not a man I wanted to lie to. At least, not if I wanted to get out of this alive. I took it off a dead man who had been chasing me.
The man's expression didn't change, but I sensed that was the right answer. You killed this man? he asked evenly.
I didn't hesitate this time. No, no, no, I didn't. He was chasing me and I couldn't lose him, so I ducked into a pub. There was a brawl...well, I started a brawl, and he got a knife in the back in the confusion. I didn't know who the hell your friend was, so I checked his body, and that was the only thing he had worth nicking. Silence from the man. I continued Look, I'm really sorry about your friend, but I didn't do anything to him and that's all I took and you can have it, I'm done with it, I'll forget about this whole thing, no reason to... I was babbling, I realized. Incomprehensible mumblings and desperate ramblings: not my finest rhetorical hour. I'm usually far more articulate, I promise you.
The man mercifully put a stop to my rambling. Well, at least you're not stupid enough to lie to me. That speaks well of you. I was beginning to doubt my information. He paused for a long moment. You have put me, put us, in a difficult situation, Peot. I jerked upright at that. How the hell did he know that name? Ordinarily when something like this happens we simply...clean up the mess, I started more desperate protestations, but he cut me off. Berak's death, however, leaves us with a hole. For various reasons it's a hole we tend to have trouble filling. And you, Unassociated as you are and skilled in unorthodox methods as you are? Well, you're an interesting prospect. Nobody knows you, you've no entanglements to complicate matters. Yes, very interesting... he trailed off.
There was a long silence, which I broke by saying So, does that mean we can conduct this business in a more civilized manner?
The man laughed. We both know that the instant those ropes are relaxed you'll be running for the door, and I need you here until I'm finished talking. Well, as matters stand I think I have a choice, and that means you have a choice, happily for you. There are two paths ahead of you, Peot. I'm going to make you an offer. If you say yes, you walk out of this room a free man. If you say no, I have to clean up the mess. Do you understand?
I nodded vehemently. If this guy wanted me to bugger the High Ward himself I'd say yes at this point.
Good. The offer is this: take Berak's position, continue to hold this, he waved the pendant, but legitimately so, and work for us.
Um, forgive me for asking, I said at this point, but who exactly is 'us'? I'd need to know what I was agreeing to, obviously.
Ah, how absent-minded of me, the man said, a broad smile now appearing across his features. It was a predatory smile; combined with the rest of his aspect, it lent him an exceptionally unsettling presence. Do you know what this is? he repeated, holding up the pendant again. I started to shake my head again but he didn't wait for an answer before continuing. This is a badge of office. There are few enough who recognize it, and many fewer still who hold it. This, you see, is an Interlocutor's symbol.
My stomach dropped through the floor. S#it. An Interlocutor. I'd heard of them, of course, everyone's heard of them, but you don't meet them, not unless you're very high up in the Orders or very, very naughty. Then it occurred to me: an Interlocutor had been after
me. I was lucky to be breathing, and I cursed Artal and the damned Accans: whatever that statue business had been about, it was way outside my comfortable range to attract the attention of an Interlocutor.
As I sat there (not that I had much choice on that point) furiously thinking, the man, the Interlocutor, continued I understand it's a difficult decision, Peot. I can't reasonably expect you to make it here and now. Tell you what: I'll give you twenty four hours to think it over. In twenty four hours, I'll expect an answer, one way or the other. And then he produced a knife so quickly it seemed to simply materialize in his fingers. I gave a strangled yelp, but instead of slitting my throat he bent down and sliced at the ropes. A moment later they were cut and I was free. I stood up warily, trying to rub life into my legs.
You're letting me go? I asked, confused by this sudden turn of events.
As I said, Peot, I don't expect you to make this decision tied down in a little room. Wouldn't be fair at all. Yes, you're free. For twenty four hours. There was a clear threat in that last. The door is behind you. He gestured. It's not locked.
I glanced over my shoulder and then backed towards the door, keeping my eyes fixed on the Interlocutor the entire time. I found the handle, pulled it was indeed unlocked and the door opened onto a street. It was about midnight from the looks of things. I took one last look back at the still motionless Interlocutor, and then I bolted.
I'd have said anything to get out of that room, but I sure as hell wasn't waiting around for twenty four hours for the Interlocutor to come back. I'd have to drop off the map faster than I'd planned. I wouldn't be able to carry all my loot on such short notice, but that was all right: most of it wasn't easily accessible on short notice anyway. Besides, if the Interlocutor was any good, and he clearly was, he'd have people watching it. Fortunately, I had another option. I'd got an emergency stash in a cellar: good bit of cash and a set of clothes with jewels sewn into the lining. Not enough to buy your way into a nuccion, but enough to start over comfortably someplace else. I'd stashed it there more than a year ago no way the Interlocutor could know about it. I was careful anyway, but there was nobody watching the place, and my stash was undisturbed. Plenty of money to make my getaway.
That morning Terol Biravi booked passage on a ship leaving for Acca with the tide, paying an exorbitant sum of money for the room. Ranai Satrai bribed his way out of the city, stole a horse, and rode like hell down the High Road towards Senden. Maerae laid up in my deepest, darkest safe house.
I, however, doubled back, laid low in the sewers until dusk, then crept out of the city and ran for the woods in the north, disguised as a farmer. I didn't stop until the sun was long down and I was ten miles away from the city. Only then did I take a moment to savour my cleverness. The boy I'd paid to wear my clothes and take the horse would be halfway to Jedim by now, and the ship far out into the Kern. By the time the Interlocutor tracked them down I'd be in Sirasona, and in Sirasona there were ships that went everywhere. Even an Interlocutor couldn't chase you to Seis or Treha, surely. It was a warm night, luckily, because I certainly wasn't going to chance a fire, and I found a hollow under a tree, curled up reasonably comfortably, and drifted off, thinking that all in all things hadn't turned out so badly.
*****
I was awakened by a depressingly familiar voice. Time's up, Peot. Yes or no?
I groaned. I could just make out a figure in the faint moonlight. From the looks of things, it was about midnight. Maybe Interlocutors actually were magic. Well, I didn't have much choice at that point, did I?
Yes.
