Chapter 15

Quinn

When Quinn and the Dragon's assassin, whose name turned out to be Feredir, entered Mr. Whiskers' tavern, he found Kurt in the back corner flirting with a barmaid. The air was heavy with the aroma of strong malt liquor and pipe smoke. From the kitchen came the smell of hearty soup or stew, depending on the day's bargain from the market's greengrocers.

Mr. Whiskers, whose given name was Draga Stonecutter, stood behind the bar. He was over a century old, middle-aged for dwarven-kind; old enough to have the beginnings of a true grandfather's beard, three feet long and pure white. Thus, the name "Mr. Whiskers" was given to him by the street urchins he employed.

On most afternoons, the grandfathers of the five biggest dwarven clans gathered there, quaffing ale and trading gossip, away from the bustle of Oldtown's noise and strife. These were the beings Quinn needed to talk to. Dwarven-kind valued their elders for their wisdom; the length of their beards served as evidence of high status. And dwarven-kind were one of the keys to his plan. They were the builders and makers of Oldtown.

The dwarf gave the assassin a respectful nod and Quinn a grumpy glare.

"What do you want, troublemaker?"

Quinn laughed. He reached behind the bar, picked up the old dwarf, and kissed his bald pate.

"Greetings to you, old master."

"Put me down, Highpockets. By the lady, you have not learned your place. I should have sold you off long ago."

One of Mr. Whiskers' dire threats to the street urchins he sheltered was to sell them off to slavers if they didn't behave and produce. Dwarven-kind do not tolerate the lazy. Of course, his innate kindness would never let him follow through. His go-to punishment was to make the recalcitrant being miss meals and sleep out in the yard in the cold. The urchins all knew this, but they pretended to be scared and repentant. He was an odd mixture of ruthlessness and kindness, greed and generosity. He was a fence and an ombudsman between the hidden alleyways of the street and the parlors of the rich and powerful in Oldtown.

"Where are the two dwarf females the Bear brought in?"

He pushed a mug of ale across the bar to him. "They are in the kitchen with my wives and daughters. You and that shifter have saddled me with more mouths to feed. Poverty lurks just around the corner for this old dwarf."

"Why, that is certain, master." Quinn's eyes twinkled. "All know of your generosity and resultant poverty."

"Enough of your foolishness, boy. I can tell you are up to something, Highpockets. What is it?"

"I need you to talk to the Grandfathers. I need to speak to them."

"Out of the question, Highpockets. You know the custom. They will not talk with you."

"I know the customs. Nevertheless, please ask them. It is important."

Quinn sipped his ale and watched as the old dwarf reluctantly went back to the group of grandfathers who were holding forth at their table in the corner. The eldest shook his head and summarily dismissed him with an irritable wave.

Quinn gritted his teeth. He liked dwarven-kind; they were steadfast and honest as good iron, but they were ever arrogant and conservative. His temper, already blown white hot by what he had seen in Eastmarket, exploded.

The dragon whip emerged from its lair with blinding light and a shriek that instantly silenced the noise of the tavern. The Other came forward, and his green eyes turned black as the pit. He stalked over to the group of grandfathers. They stared at him, ashen-faced. He roared out in ancient Dvergrish:

"I am the Goddess Opari's Keeper. I am the Vísdómur's Shadow Walker. I am Death."

His voice, now soft, sang a question that chilled them each and every one. "Shall I end you and await your seconds to attend to me? Or will you meet with me?"

They all nodded their heads and bowed, their arrogance snuffed out in an instant.

Quinn felt faintly ashamed of himself for bullying these old beings, but it was necessary. Their stubbornness was legendary. They would hold to their ways no matter what. It was dwarven-kind's strength and their weakness.

Quinn called out to Kurt, who was leaning against the wall with the assassin.

"Kurt, fetch the two females you brought here."

Kurt quickly ducked into the kitchen and emerged with two young females. They moaned with terror when they saw Quinn.

"Fear not, mistresses. No one will harm you here. Tell these grandfathers the story of your last few days. They will listen and not gainsay you."

Heads downcast, the two girls told of their daily quest to find food and feed their babies, how they hid from the slaver gangs roaming the streets of Eastmarket and taking whole families down to Southmarket to be sold. They spoke of starvation and death, naming the names of the dead and disappeared of their clan, their voices dull and monotonous as they recounted the tale of horror.

Finally, one oldster raised a hand to stop the endless recital of death and dying.

Quinn gestured to Kurt to escort them back into the warm kitchen, into the arms of the mothers and grandmothers there.

He motioned for the banker's assassin to join him.

"Honored Masters, this state of affairs will not stand. With your help, we will rebuild Eastmarket to its former glory."

As expected, they stared at him. The outrageous statement made no sense to them.

Quinn continued, "Masters, I have secured financing from the bank. You know well this being standing here. He can bear witness to the truth of my statement. There will be good gold for your clans in this. It is my will that this be done--will you or nil you?"

As anticipated, the mention of gold brightened their eyes. The eldest grandfather spoke. "Let us discuss this. It is our way."

Quinn nodded, bowed his head respectfully, and walked back to his place by the bar. Behind him came the mutterings and arguments as they weighed the truth of his outrageous proposal.

Kurt whispered, his voice filled with awe, "Jesus Christ, you don't do things halfway, do you?"

Quinn whispered back, "You're the one who got me into this, remember? We need the dwarves to do the construction. The bank will provide the coin for it. I will see the vampire next to get her to manage the effort and keep the guilds and merchants in check. Goldeneyes and Larissa will provide the building materials. I'm hoping all these beings will do the right thing. This project is a tree that will bear fruit for years. Hopefully, all they needed was a kick in the ass."

Chapter 16

Quinn

It was full dark as Quinn and the amused assassin arrived at the vampire's palace.

To his surprise, a pair of slender, black-skinned warriors guarded the entrance to the vampire's mansion. The heat shimmer coming off of them and the glare of their red eyes identified them as afrits. They regarded Quinn with narrow-eyed suspicion.

These beings were new.

He cast a questioning glance at the assassin.

The Asrai murmured, "The vampire upgraded her security some time ago."

Quinn wondered why. She must have a credible threat in her life to go this far for protection. The Djinn were not a common sight in Oldtown. Their colony lived deep down in the warm depths of the Desolate. It was expensive to hire them. Afrits did not like the light of day. But they were a good choice for guards. It was impossible to harm or suborn them; one could only banish them. He watched their nostrils flare when they caught his scent.

Fuck, he should have realized that the spell-crafted disguise wouldn't cover that.

He quickly called out in Old Persian, "Hold, warriors. We mean no harm to any being in this house. I pledge my soul."

The pair settled immediately.

"We note your oath, human," the one on the right grated.

"Your mistress asked me to attend her."

"Bide here. We check." The pair exchanged glances. The leftmost one turned and disappeared into the mansion.

Moments later, it returned.

"Come with me. The assassin stays here."

"He comes with me," Quinn said firmly. "I pledge my oath he means no harm to this house."

The two beings conferred again.

"Noted. Follow me."

Quinn and the assassin followed the being as it stalked in front of them. Servants eyed them, then quickly averted their eyes and darted out of the way. Quinn didn't blame them. Afrits were intimidating beings.

They were ushered into magnificence. The room's coffered ceiling rose fifteen feet above the floor. Ultramarine-blue paint covered each deep-set coffer, and artisans adorned them with white-gold leaf stars, creating a spellbinding Milky Way illusion. One wall held a massive, vividly painted coat of arms boldly showcasing her family's house.

Welcome to the Italian Renaissance.

Two Amazon bodyguards flanked the vampire. Quinn greeted them in ancient Scythian. "I see you, sister warriors; I swear pax in this yurt."

The two females, six feet of lithe killing machines, each wore a braided horsehair cord with a small silver hawk emblem around their necks, indicating their rank and clan. "We see you, brother," they replied politely. "Our sisters have told us of you." Their cold eyes shifted suspiciously to the assassin.

He ignored them and calmly leaned against the wall.

The vampire Luciana Marinus sat behind an antique ivory writing desk. A classic Italian beauty with long midnight-black hair framing her fine-boned features, her large, expressive eyes--dark brown, almost black--radiated depth and passion above a hawk-like nose. On this day, she wore a high-necked ivory silken gown. Her gaze caught his. Her full scarlet lips gave him a smile rich with invitation.

"You are well come, Lachlan Quinn," she purred in Italian. She gave the assassin a nod. If she was surprised to see him accompanying Quinn, she didn't show it.

"Grazie, Signora," Quinn replied in the same language. The vampire was big on security, and all discourse in her home was in her native tongue. "I understand you wished to see me."

"When my watchers informed me you had crossed over, I confess I was taken aback. When the Shadow Walker appears in my city, chaos follows as surely as dawn follows night. Might I ask why you are here?"

Quinn's smile was cold steel. "You can ask, Signora. I originally came on other business. However, after seeing the chaos in Eastmarket, I have decided to take steps."

Her eyes widened. "Oh? Tell me more." Her expression was inscrutable. "First, though, will you have some tea?"

"For me, certainly," Quinn said. "My companion will not. He is fasting--religious holiday or some such."

With the tea poured, Quinn sat back in a chair that no doubt had graced one of Louis XIV's sitting rooms. He was careful not to touch the teacup.

"I don't see your bella figlia, Helen," he said politely. "Is she well?"

"I have no idea. She has disappeared." The vampire's voice was calm, her expression schooled, but Quinn picked up on the subtle signs of repressed rage.

"Ah. Betrayal is such an ugly thing."

"We faced the world together for over five hundred years. She was ever ambitious. I suspect some being kindled a lust within her for more."

"The dragon's second daughter, perhaps?" Quinn watched for her reaction. The vampire's mask-like expression slipped for just an instant, then resumed her usual iron-like control.

She knows the whole story. No surprise there.

He spoke again. "The pair of them certainly bear the blame for the deaths caused by the old dragon's rampage in Eastmarket. However, their punishment, or lack of punishment, is not in my hands. Who now functions as your second? Would you call that being to attend to you? I would explain things to both of you."

She whispered to one of the Amazons, who promptly left the room and returned with a tall, blond, stone-faced Amazon with a vicious scar bisecting her right cheek.

"This woman is Hera."

Quinn greeted her formally with a fist to his chest. "I see you, sister warrior."

She smiled and bowed her head. "I see you, brother."

Quinn turned his attention to the vampire. "As I said, the past is the past. My concern today is the situation in Eastmarket and the lack of any effort to correct the problem. A revolution will soon blow up out of despair. I am surprised that beings with torches and pitchforks haven't already shown up at your door. Now that I think about it, you must fear that as well, judging by the two beings who now guard your door."

"Why are the affairs of Oldtown any of your business, Shadow Walker?" Her words and voice were blunt. "In the past, you show up, sow chaos, and then depart, leaving all to face the consequences."

"You and the other leaders are ever greedy. You ignore the cancer growing here and then get upset when it is excised. Had Elisabeth the Hex Witch not come to your rescue, you would have a dozen daemons nesting here in Oldtown." Quinn paused. "Enough of the finger-pointing. Here is my proposal. I want Eastmarket rebuilt, and I want you to spearhead the effort."

The vampire's mouth opened in shock. Despite her control, her feeder teeth snapped out. She snarled in disbelief.

Quinn congratulated himself on the drama. He needed her attention. The assassin's usually blank face shifted into a tiny smile of approval.

"Va bene," she said, her sarcasm biting. "Just rebuild twenty or more city blocks of shops and houses on your command. Why, in the name of my sainted father, would I get involved in such an endeavor?"

"Why, money, of course, and power as well. Imagine the influence that would come from being the savior of Oldtown. It is going to take someone with your political acumen to assemble and juggle all the parts of the effort and make them work. The guilds and the merchants are sure to want to get their greedy fingers on things. As you implied, I am a bit of a blunt force when it comes to working with beings."

"Va bene, that is the carrot. What is the stick?"

Quinn looked at her with an arctic smile. "Mia bella donna, I will kill you, of course. Beings are dying all over Oldtown. Why should you be exempt? Frankly, your corpse would serve as a useful example of how serious I am about this. Make no mistake, mia signora, I mean to get this project done. You, with your skills, are the best bet. I know you are honest with your oath. With some other being, it will take longer, is all."

Quinn gave her a minute to digest his outrageous statements. He sat back and admired the craftsmanship of the finish carpentry in the room, giving her time to put her agile mind to work on the possibilities. He was under no illusions that his threat would have any effect on her decision. This woman had survived for hundreds of years in environments where the strongest lasted no more than a decade or two. All his threat had done was get her attention. She had no doubt been trying to figure out a solution for Eastmarket's rebuilding herself. Now she was probably trying to determine all the best ways to use the name "Shadow Walker" as a club to bend others to her will.

"Where is the coin coming from to do this?" she said finally.

Quinn gave an inward sigh of relief. He had jumped the hardest hurdle.

"He pointed to the dragon's assassin. I went to see the Dragons. They agreed to fund the effort. I'm sure you know my friend Feredir very well. He will be your liaison, both for the coin and for his people's help to enforce the contracts you negotiate."

"How will you bring in Southmarket? As Oldtown's major port, that is where the construction material will flow from. Larissa the Romani controls the ports. Why would she care about Eastmarket? I think she will not be swayed so easily."

"I will pay her a visit as well."

She nodded and spoke, her tone light--dismissive. The master of manipulation trying to regain control. "I will see what I can do."

Quinn allowed the Other to come to the fore. His eyes turned black, and his mouth stretched into a grim smile. His voice was whisper-soft--each measured word falling into the space between them like stones into still water. "This is Oldtown's best and probably only chance to recover quickly. Mia bella donna, I do not make threats, but I assure you I am serious. Succeeding at organizing this effort is your only chance at survival. I require your oath."

She blinked and looked down at her teacup.

"Giuro sulla anima di mio padre, che farò la tua volontà."

"I will need Hera for my next meeting."

Luciana nodded and raised a dismissive hand. Quinn rose to his feet. He, Hera the Amazon, and the Banker's assassin silently departed.

The dragon's assassin made no comment about Quinn's meeting with the vampire. Though careful not to show it, he was impressed. For centuries, Luciana had been a real force in Oldtown. She was so old that concepts like good and evil had lost their ability to mold her actions. There was only survival.

Spearheading the rebuilding effort would be child's play for her.

"What can you tell me about Larissa the Romani?" Quinn sang in low alfar as they walked.

The assassin answered, "Larissa the Romani dwells in Southmarket. Her power base is there. She and the Bank do much business. She is scrupulous in her dealings. Her word, once given, is good. She could have stepped in and taken Leprechaun's place in the slave trade, but she did not. As far as contacts go, Goldeneye's sister Asaqi seems to be in the thick of things down there. That means Larissa is one of Goldeneye's clients or vice versa. At any rate, their fates are tied together."

"Thank you," Quinn said. "All know your mistress has her hand on the pulse of the city. Do you know what happened to the Oracle? I stopped by her shop to find it leveled by what smelled like hellfire."

Hera answered, "Hellfire indeed torched the shop. Other than that, I do not know who did it."

"Feredir, your mistress's sister, Daiyu. She made her move last year. Where is she now?" Dragon-kind were the beings he most feared. She could blow his plan to hell with one temper tantrum.

"The master has had Mistress Daiyu locked away."

"I see. Any sign of the Daemon-kind around since your master's foray into the sky?"

"My master and mistress have taken steps to set up warning wards. There is no chance any of his ilk remains in Oldtown. But knowing what I have heard about those beings, if it is not dead, I'm certain it is still pursuing whatever goal it has. Probably in another realm."

"Thank you. You may return to your mistress. Hera, let us go see Goldeneye."

Chapter 17

Rose

It was fully dark when the church bus finally stopped. The children had fallen asleep. Rose had not. She was worried about what awaited them at their destination.

"Wake up, you lot," the Preacher Man called out. "This is the last stop, so gather your things. Hurry now. You, girl," he pointed to Rose, "follow that woman; she'll show you a place where you all can sleep."

Rose shook Junie and Izzy awake. Sam had grabbed all of the remaining bottles of water and stuffed those, along with the blankets, into the big black plastic garbage bags that contained their things. The children stumbled sleepily off the bus. A scowling woman with weird yellow eyes silently led them to a big red barn. She slid open a big door and motioned them in.

Inside, Rose smelled the scent of horses and the sweet smell of hay and molasses. The woman separated them into groups of four and wordlessly pointed them to bed down in the stalls. The floor was covered with mounds of straw.

Sam looked around appraisingly, then went to a corner, pulled some hay out of the manger onto the floor, and spread out two blankets he had stolen from the bus on top of the pile. Rose and the girls immediately cuddled under the blankets. Sam passed water bottles to the girls and waited in front of them, knife in hand, to see what happened next.

The woman left. The barn was plunged into darkness. The only sound was the whimpering of someone in the next stall. It was a long while before exhaustion finally claimed Rose, and she drifted off to sleep.

A squeal of delight from Junie woke her up. Creatures out of a book of fairy tales stood at the stall's entrance, staring at them.

Junie immediately broke the ice between the two groups. She walked over and offered a drink from her water bottle to the three creatures.

They excitedly whistled and clicked at her. They sounded like a flock of tweeting birds.

The biggest one was stocky and had reddish-brown skin and big amber eyes. His mouth had two baby tusks growing out of the lower jaw. The other, slightly smaller, was also stocky, with long peaked hairy ears and a fat bulbous nose. The third was a very slender girl with pale green skin and violet eyes.

The three were chattering away, whistling like birds and at the same time clicking and chuckling like chickens.

Izzy and Sam stared, big-eyed, at the trio.

"I think these kids, they're pretty thirsty," Junie said. "Do you have any more water?"

Wordlessly, Sam dug into their bag and passed out three bottles of water.

Junie self-importantly handed the bottles to the pale-skinned girl.

"Here you go."

The elf looked at the bottle dumbfounded. She shook it and handed it back to Junie with a questioning look. Junie grinned, twisted the cap off, and mimed drinking it.

They soon got the idea, and the three quickly upended the plastic bottles and drank.

Meanwhile, Junie was pointing to her chest and saying "Junie." Then she pointed to the slender elven-looking girl and mimed a question: who are you?

The girl replied with three high-pitched tweeting whistles followed by a series of rapid clicks.

Junie tried to duplicate her whistles and clicks, making the others laugh delightedly. The tall slender girl, whom Rose thought of as Elf Girl, pulled at Rose, motioning her to follow. She led her to the back of the barn to a door. She opened the door and showed them a blond-haired woman who lay chained to a wall. She looked bad--bruised and bloody.

Rose immediately went to her side. The woman was shivering in her sleep.

"Sam, go get one of the blankets for her."

Sam dashed off and returned with one Rose took and tucked around her. It looked like all the cuts had scabbed over, so she turned her attention to the wire cable encircling her neck.

The woman's eyes opened.

Startled, Rose fell back.

"Thirsty," her voice croaked.

Junie thrust a bottle of water into her hand. She lifted it to the woman's lips.

Then the woman started coughing and winced with pain.

"Take smaller sips."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Niamh. Where did you guys come from?"

Rose sat down and told the story of their bus ride while Sam went in search of the woman's clothes. He found them neatly folded on a shelf outside the room. He brought them to her and turned his back while she got dressed.

A harsh voice boomed from outside an hour later.

"Come to breakfast, you kids!"

Rose gently patted Niamh's hand. "We'll be back," she whispered, then darted out of the room and back to their stall.

The big doors slid open, and golden sunlight streamed through the opening, cutting through the dusty air and illuminating the straw-covered floor.

A burly man with a thick beard stood there. "Come on, you kids, get a move on." His voice was laced with irritation. He didn't wait for an answer. "Line up and come to breakfast. Hurry up now!"

Rose quickly joined Junie and Izzy, who were already falling in line with the other sleepy children.

Sam, ever vigilant, noticed the fairy tale creatures--the tusked boy, the fat-nosed boy, and the elf girl--looking confused. They clearly didn't understand the command. With quiet authority, Sam walked over and silently led them in line, positioning them safely between himself and Rose.

They were led out of the barn and up a short, dusty path toward a building that reminded Rose of pictures she'd seen of a Viking longhouse. It was built of thick peeled logs; it felt like it had been there a long time.

Rose's eyes swept over the scene: maybe fifty people of all ages were scattered throughout the hall, eating breakfast. There was a low, humming murmur of conversation that stopped as they entered.

A woman wordlessly handed Rose a heavy white plate and some silverware wrapped in a napkin. She pointed toward a table running along one side of the room. "Go through the serving line and get breakfast. Then sit over there."

The serving line was a long, crowded table laden with food: huge bowls of creamy oatmeal, platters piled high with thick-cut bacon, mounds of dark, heavy bread, and pitchers of milk.

Rose and Sam moved slowly, their eyes darting, taking in everything--the watchful adults and the wary, appraising looks cast their way. They filled their plates, making sure to grab extra helpings for Niamh. The three small, non-human companions copied their every move, their amber and violet eyes wide with fascination at the plates and the unfamiliar food.

Sam subtly guided the entire group to the designated long table with rough-hewn seating, placing the elf girl next to him and the two other boys beside Rose. The food was delicious and filling.

Two hours later, they were packed and on the move with the woman Niamh placed in a little cart being pulled by the burly man. They were hiking toward the lake when suddenly they were in a forest.

That was one too many strange things for Junie. She sat down and started to cry. "Rosie, I don't like this. I'm scared, and I have to pee."

The man came with his whip and raised it to strike the crying girl. Sam stepped in the way of the lash, taking it on his shoulder without a whimper.

Rose stepped up and got Junie up, trying to soothe her. She said to the man that she had to go to the bathroom. There was a momentary bit of odd pressure in her head that went away suddenly. Unaccountably, he nodded and called for a halt.

Odd.