Chapter 20

Razai waited for her contact at the rear of the tavern, tapping her finger on the table as she idly considered whether the seaborn were paying her enough to make it worth sticking around. Maybe it was time to consider moving on, back to High Cove, or even up to Lanport. They were smaller cities, but there was still plenty of work to be found.

Then she realized what she was doing, and forced herself to stop. She had no desire to go north in the middle of winter, but lately, if she let her mind wander, she’d start coming up with excuses to head that way. It was probably Vatarxis, trying to manipulate her into following his pet warden around.

Without thinking about it, she checked Corec’s direction. It had become an almost reflexive habit at this point. He was still north and a bit west. Possibly Ironholt, or somewhere in the Storm Heights or the northern plains. What kind of idiot would head that way at this time of year? Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell how far away he was. That would make it easier to avoid him, but all she could judge was the direction he was in.

Someone stopped in front of her, blocking the light, and she looked up to find a hard-eyed man watching the pattern her fingers were tapping out on the table.

“Razai?” he asked uncertainly.

She nodded, letting her Aden disguise flicker away for just a moment. He was blocking anyone else’s view of her anyway. He sat down across from her.

“What’s with the secrecy?” she asked. “And why are you dressed like that? Does this have something to do with why the buyers came out to meet us today?”

Stavo was one of the guards Renny Senshall had hired to help with her divers’ cooperative until the gang threat had been dealt with, but instead of his normal armor and uniform, he was dressed as a dockworker, similar to the illusionary clothing that Razai’s own Aden disguise was wearing.

“Talai’s crew was ambushed and robbed last night after selling to us. Their bodyguard was killed. Mistress Senshall thinks we’ve gotten too predictable, since the crews have all been coming to the same place for their sales. Talai got in after dark, and her crew went through an alley on their way home after we paid them. They’ve been going the same way every night, and the gangs were lying in wait.”

Razai growled. She’d never spent any time with Talai’s bodyguard—a human who didn’t seem to like demonborn—but she was beginning to hate these gangs. The thugs stayed away when she was on duty, but two of Lanii’s men had been caught and beaten the previous week after the crew had split up for the day. Razai couldn’t be everywhere at all times, and she wasn’t getting paid enough even for the hours she was officially working, but she didn’t like letting the gangs get away with what they were doing. Unfortunately, like Vash, the seaborn didn’t want to upset the balance, fearing what the result would be.

“That doesn’t explain what we’re doing here,” she said.

“Mistress Senshall sent the buyers out to the docks today instead, until she can come up with a better solution, but she didn’t want them carrying too much coin with them, even though we were there to watch over them. Nobody realized Sifoo and Lanii were going to bring in pearls, so the buyers were short. I brought you the extra silver to take back.” He passed her a full coin pouch under the table.

Razai sighed. “Lanii could have just told me that. I was there!”

Stavo shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want anyone overhearing. She’s the one who suggested you and your disguises. I took the idea back to Mistress Senshall, who thought I should be in disguise too, so nobody would follow me to see the handoff.”

“This is stupid. They could have just brought the rest of the money tomorrow—in public, in the daylight, when all the guards are on duty.”

“It has something to do with the contract, I think. Something about paying on the same day.”

Razai shook her head, exasperated. They should have been dealing with the thugs, not grousing about contracts or playing children’s games with disguises.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll take it. I’m seeing Lanii after this. I’m sure she can get Sifoo’s share to him if he’s not there.”

She left the tavern through the back door, shifting to the guise of an elderly drunk man. She staggered along to another tavern three doors down, again changing disguises as she entered, this time to the illusion she’d chosen for her bodyguard work. She’d modeled it after Vash, since the lucky bastard could intimidate people without even trying, but she’d made enough changes for it to be apparent that they were two different people.

Sitting down at a long, crowded table, she greeted Lanii, Sifoo, and Wotar. Before she could ask about Vash, he joined them, bringing a new pitcher of ale and the serving girl who was supposed to be carrying it.

“Well?” Lanii asked, the elderly stormborn woman staring a full foot above Razai’s eye level. That was the only problem with the Vash-like disguise—it was much larger than Razai herself, so it was sometimes difficult to coordinate her movement with the illusion.

She passed the pouch over, and Lanii glanced through it before handing it to Sifoo.

“Was all this really necessary?” Razai asked.

“After last night’s attack, that silly human girl wants to stop using the stall where we’ve been selling our catches. She wants to vary the locations instead, so the gangs can’t set a trap. But her buyers didn’t bring enough money, and they didn’t have the authority to accept a late payment penalty, so rather than sending messengers back and forth all afternoon, I figured I’d annoy her a bit.”

“What’s all this about?” Vash asked. He’d swung the red-headed serving girl into his lap and hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation.

Razai rolled her eyes. “It looks like you’re busy. I’ll tell you later.” She turned back to Lanii. “I don’t think you annoyed the girl—I think she liked the idea. She sent her own man in disguise, too.”

Lanii cackled. “We should be making better use of your ability, I suppose.”

“Not like this.”

“Oh, very well. We’ll figure something else out next time. Personally, I think we should go back to using the stall, and just be more careful. Get back in daylight, for one.”

“But the days are so short right now,” Sifoo protested.

Lanii waved that away. “We’ve got to do something.”

“We could always stop this nonsense with the human’s plan and go back to what we used to do,” suggested Sozu with a dour expression. He was the crew leader that Vash worked for.

“We’re making more money now than we were before,” Lanii said, “and besides, the gangs were after us then, too.”

Razai said, “We need to actually deal with them. If this keeps up, they’re liable to start following your crew members home.”

“They haven’t risked coming into the warrens so far,” Sifoo said doubtfully, referring to the rat’s nest of cheap, aging buildings where many of the docks’ citizens and seaborn lived. When the new gangs took over, the docks’ old gangs had been pushed back into the warrens, but they still kept tight control over their remaining neighborhoods.

Razai sighed, knowing the crew leaders would once again talk themselves into doing nothing. The seaborn divers and sailors who worked out of human cities were a far cry from the real seaborn crews she’d encountered a few times in the past, on their proud sailing ships. Seaborn ships rarely came this far east, though, and their people who lived in Tyrsall had been among the humans for too long. Just like her own people, Razai reflected.

Vash had been whispering into the serving girl’s ear, and she suddenly jumped up from his lap, giggling.

He followed her up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, folks,” he said. “I’m going to turn in for the night.” He took the girl’s hand and they headed for the stairs.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Wotar said, staring after him. “Do you know, she doesn’t charge him?”

That gave Razai an idea, but it wasn’t one she could voice to the group.

Instead, she said, “I think I’ll head out, too. Lanii, you’ll walk home with the others, right? Not by yourself?” Her shift was over, but she wanted to make sure her crew leader would stick with the big group of seaborn that would be heading back to the warrens together once they were done with their carousing for the night.

“Oh, go on, I’ll be fine. You young folk should go have your fun.”

Razai smirked. She’d never told the woman how old she truly was—older than Lanii herself.

“I’ll see them back safely,” Wotar promised.

Razai nodded, then left the inn, sticking with her Vash-like disguise for the moment. She almost hoped that one of the gangs would recognize her from her bodyguard work, and try to attack her while she was alone.

An hour later, she entered yet another tavern, this one in the heart of the territory held by one of the gangs trying to take over the docks. She’d had to stop at her rented apartment on the way, to change into a blouse and skirt that would at least roughly approximate the feel of the dress her new guise was wearing.

With a self-confident swagger in her hips, she strode up to the bar and addressed the tavern keeper, a rough-looking bald man with a gold tooth. “I’m lookin’ for work if ya got any,” she said.

He eyed her disguise’s mostly illusionary cleavage. In Tyrsall, the cut of a tavern girl’s dress indicated how likely she was to be a whore, and her fake dress was cut very low indeed.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“I’m Molly, boss.”

“Molly, you look like you done this before.”

“I used ta work for Miss Rosa’s House of Comfort—ya know, over in the crafter’s district?” There was no Miss Rosa’s, at least as far as Razai knew, but she doubted the man would bother to check up on her story.

“Why’d you leave?”

“Oh, uhh, no reason,” she said, stammering, as if she hadn’t thought to come up with a lie in advance. “I just wanted to try another place.”

“You skimmin’ from her?”

She looked down at her feet without saying anything.

“We won’t have any of that here or you’ll answer to me,” the man said with a glare. “You charge at least a silver an hour, more if you can get it. Twenty percent goes to me and twenty to Eben, and that includes from your tips, you hear me?”

“Eben?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know.

“He and his men spend some time here. You be nice to them. His boys get a ten percent discount, and that comes out of your share.”

She scowled at that, as he would expect her to do, but then she nodded.

“Good,” he said, “I’m glad you understand me. You can start tonight. Room four upstairs is open. You can work as many hours as you want, but you got to be upstairs at least three hours a night.”

“What if there aren’t enough customers for that?”

“Then you better make it up by the end of the week. Got it?”

“Yes,” she said sullenly, looking down again.

“Then get to work. Ask Priss over there if you have any questions, and don’t steal any of her customers.”

Luckily, it was a busy evening, and the tavern keeper didn’t insist on trying her out before she started. Or perhaps it was because Eben always liked to be the first to sample the goods.

Without telling Lanii, Razai had been scouting out the place in various disguises after she’d realized that Eben was the stupidest of the gang leaders threatening the divers. She’d mostly done it out of habit. She certainly wasn’t getting paid for the extra work, but she couldn’t help herself—she was good at what she did, and she hated to leave a job half done.

At the Senshall girl’s urging, the constabulary had increased its presence within the docks district, but so far they hadn’t made much progress against the gangs. The thugs looked like any other dockworkers, and could split up and blend in with the crowd if they saw a constable coming.

Razai, however, could come and go at will, and the gangs never knew. She spent her evenings amusing herself by looking for weaknesses, and Eben was the biggest weakness in the bunch.

Where is he? she asked the whispers, but they didn’t reply. They had little interest in the goings-on in the docks district, which was yet another sign that it was time for her to move on. Maybe somewhere north. She’d never spent much time in Ironholt before; it might be interesting to ... She caught herself again, and pushed all thoughts of leaving Tyrsall from her mind. She had to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Hey, girly, why don’t you come over here?” slurred a drunk fisherman, who still smelled like the catch of the day.

The tavern keeper watched suspiciously while Razai tried to come up with a way to turn down her first potential customer. Then she realized Priss, a blonde wearing heavy makeup to cover the lines in her face, was glaring at her. The fisherman must belong to her, which gave Razai a convenient excuse. She pointed the drunk man to his regular girl, and went on her way.

Before anyone else could accost her, Eben came in the front door, only a few minutes after his usual time. He was followed by two of his men. “Hello, my friends!” he boomed. “What a fine evening it is!”

The gang leader couldn’t have been more than forty years old, but he’d let himself go. He was the width of two men, and was prone to excesses of food, drink, and women. From the sound of his voice, he’d already gotten a good start on the first two, which meant he was looking for the third—right on schedule.

She sauntered in his direction, not quite aiming for him. When she was about to pass him by, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm. She had to keep a tight grip on herself to refrain from punching him in the face.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he said, looking her up and down. Or looking Molly up and down, at least.

“I’m new here,” she replied, managing a bright smile. “My name’s Molly. What’s yours?”

“They call me Eben, and I own half this place.”

“Oh!” she said, her eyes wide with what she hoped looked like awe. “The boss told me about you. Would ya like some company?”

She suspected he would. She’d constructed the Molly disguise quickly, not having considered the idea until that evening, but she’d based pieces of it on Vash’s various lady friends. Vash had good taste—in looks, if nothing else—and not many men would be able to turn her down. She’d used her own height and voice to make the work easier.

“Why not?” he said, slapping her ass. “Go get us a pitcher and four mugs.”

She managed to keep from growling, but found herself clutching her daggers—hidden under her illusory dress—all the way to the bar.