Dancing on the Block Page 4

  “How astute,” the viceroy’s aide grunted. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time. And as soon as I realized why you had to do things the way you did, I started doing what I could to cover your skinny behind.”

  “Don’t even think you’re just paying me back for sleeping with you.”

  “I started helping you long before the fateful day we got drunk at the market and woke up the next morning in the same bed. There’s no need to mix the two things up.”

  Artanna grinned crookedly.

  “Since today is apparently a day of discoveries, why don’t you tell me why you haven’t had me sent to prison yet.”

  “Let’s start with the obvious.” Guiro let out a stream of smoke. “You aren’t a signora in this city. Regardless of the service you’ve done Givoi, you don’t have access to many of the privileges citizens enjoy. Legally, you can only get full citizenship once you’ve lived here for twenty years.”

  “Don’t forget that I’m Vagran,” Artanna jumped in. “When the time comes, I won’t have even started to get old.”

  The viceroy’s aide nodded.

  “You’re right. But you’ve seen for yourself over the past eight years how little you can do within the law. Once you’re my wife, you’ll immediately become a signora with influence over the city’s life. Direct influence, Artanna. I really like you as a woman, but if that was all there was, I wouldn’t have proposed.”

  “Let’s say you’re right. What’s in it for you? You could just go on covering my butt while I quietly pursue the brand of street justice that lines up with my twisted conception of what’s fair.”

  “I’m not prepared to wait twelve years,” Guiro replied. “Whatever your methods may be, they do good out there. You help outsiders, take care of people who aren’t yet citizens. I mean, you’re from Vag Ran yourself, and you know what I’m talking about—they treat you like dirt here.”

  Artanna’s laughter gurgled through the air.

  “Okay, so your big proposal is just a mutually beneficial alliance?”

  “With a little lust thrown in for good measure, guilty as charged,” Guiro smiled. “I won’t lie to you—I’m no spring chicken, so I’m not even going to try wooing you like a young man might.”

  “You try that, and I’ll stick that ring somewhere even my healer wouldn’t be able to retrieve it from,” the Vagran muttered amiably.

  Federigo Guiro’s smile widened.

  “I have no intention of testing your capabilities in that regard. So, are we in agreement?”

  Down under the balcony, Vezzam held his breath. He didn’t believe in either miracles or aid from the gods, but right then he would have been happy to pray to all that was holy if only Artanna would decline.

  The mercenary woman shook her head.

  “You can’t make decisions like that quickly, signor. I’ll be honest, it’s a tempting offer, but there’s something a little more important. I got everything I have right now in exchange for an oath. After I was imprisoned, I was taken before a court in Highligland. Lord Rolf made sure that I was just banished instead of being executed as a traitor, and he even gave me money to buy an estate. But he made me take an oath in exchange.”

  “What oath?”

  “I’m bound to answer the first call sent by Rolf or any of his descendants for as long as I’m breathing. I have to defend and act in the interests of any Voldhard that summons me, even if doing so puts me in mortal danger. Federigo, my life is on loan. All my peace and quiet could end tomorrow—Rolf left two children behind him. Every day, I wake up and wonder if this is the day I get the message… And, my dear signor, it was a blood oath. All the Highligland elite were there when I took it. So, how can I give myself to you when I don’t even belong to myself?”

  “That explains a lot,” Guiro said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, and it changes a lot, too.”

  “Why did you never tell me about that?”

  “I don’t like to think about it.”

  Vezzam closed his eyes and sighed in relief. His sigh, however, might have been too loud—the mercenary jerked away from Guiro, downed her wine, and squinted out over the balcony.

  “Who’s there?” she called loudly.

  Even though Artanna couldn’t have seen him, Vezzam pressed himself against the wall. From where he was, it was hard to see what was happening at the other end of the alley, though the Vagran had heard footsteps approaching. Someone was running right up to the house. Vezzam crouched down and practically crawled to the annex, from which there was a much better view.

  A heavyset woman in a white cap struggling with her skirts ran up to the house and started pounding her fists on the door in a frenzy. Her heart-rending shriek cut through the silence on the street.

  “Signor Guiro! Signor Guiro! Help!”

  The bolt slid back, and a guard stuck his nose out from behind the door.

  “What do you need? Don’t you know how late it is?”

  The woman was relentless. “He’s killing her! Help, in the name of the Keeper!”

  “Crazy woman,” the doorkeeper muttered. “I told you—come back in the morning. Except, go to the town hall, not here.”

  “Have pity! He’s going to kill her right now!”

  Artanna and Guiro exchanged glances. The mercenary woman leaped down from her perch and strode purposefully into the bedroom. Sticking her gray hair out onto the balcony, she addressed Federigo, who hadn’t moved.

  “What are you waiting for? Someone’s in trouble.”

  Guiro got up and followed her out, grabbing the belt for his robe as he went. But by that time, Artanna had pulled on pants, had thrown her jacket over her shoulders, and was across the hall and down the stairs in a few leaps. The hall was well-lit. The woman outside continued to wail.

  “Let her in,” said the master of the house from behind the mercenary woman’s shoulder.

  The guard stood aside begrudgingly.

  “I know you.” The mercenary peered closely at the woman. “You’re Claretta, wife of Vazash, the carpenter. A Vagran.”

  “Miss Artanna!” the woman howled, throwing herself forward. “I’m so glad you’re here! Vazash sent to your manor for help.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nareza is in trouble. Matteo wants to kill her!”

  “Slow down, woman!” Guiro said, his voice lifting. “Start at the beginning.”

  Claretty wiped away tears and tried to pull herself together. Her cap slid down, baring dark, curly hair with a touch of gray.

  “Paolo, the shipwright in the harbor, has a son named Matteo. A lanky guy with fishy eyes.”

  “I remember him,” Artanna replied with a nod. “Unpleasant kid. His family is friends with Tanor. So, what did he do?”

  “He started wooing my Nareza. She’s beautiful, suitors everywhere you turn, and she turned Matteo down since he’s already married. That’s what she told him—the Keeper prefers it when a husband just lies with his one woman.”

  “And I guess that wasn’t enough for him?”

  “No! He kept stopping by the workshop, and then he even started following her around. Once, he grabbed Nareza at the market; another time, he came up to her after a service at the Sanctuary. He won’t leave her alone, he buys her gifts, but she always turns him down. And then, it happened.”

  Artanna sat the woman down on a bench.

  “Keep going.”

  “About a month ago, I sent Nareza to a village half a day’s journey north. Vazash was working on a big project for the elder in their community—Nareza was supposed to show him the drawings and get his final approval. The boys are too young to handle that. But then… Matteo, that little rat! He ambushed her right outside the city.”

  “And what did he do?”

  “What do randy little boys do wo girls? He forced himself on her! And then he swore that if Nareza told someone, he’d up and kill her. She just told me today, and that was only because the bastard got her pregnant.”

&
nbsp; A shadow flitted across Federigo’s face.

  “That filth,” Artanna spat out. “Where is he?”

  Claretta’s arms flew up. “That’s not all! When my little girl told me what happened, Vazash flew into a rage. He’s a fiery one, you know as well as I do. He dashed over to Matteo’s house and wanted to have it out with the riffraff. But only his wife was home, and she didn’t believe him. At least, if she did, she pretended she had no idea what he was talking about. But she told Matteo when he got home, and he was furious… He grabbed a few of Tanor’s other guys, broke into our house, turned everything upside down, and—”

  “Is everyone still alive?”

  “Vazash is hurt bad—broken arms and legs.” Claretta’s voice cracked. “He needs a healer. Thankfully, the boys were outside when it happened. But Nareza… That monster cut her sweet face. Have pity, Keeper… I hid, and then I jumped out the back door and dashed over here, sending our youngest to the Hundred on the way.”

  Artanna listened darkly to the end of the ragged story.

  “What do you think, Federigo?”

  “He needs to be put on trial, without question.”

  “And what kind of sentence do you think he’s going to get? Paolo and Tanor will have time to pay everybody off. But if I—”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Guiro grabbed Artanna by the arm. “This is too serious—Paolo is an important person in the city.”

  Artanna’s gray eyes gleamed dangerously.

  “And so, his kid is going to walk?”

  “There are legal procedures that they—”

  “Oh, I know your legal procedures,” Artanna snarled as she pulled herself away from the Gatson. “They won’t do anything since Vazash isn’t a citizen.”

  “Calm down, Artanna! I can’t do anything until morning.”

  “But I can,” the Vagran hissed, buttoning her jacket. “Give me my weapon. Claretta will stay here, and you don’t leave here, either, until I send word.”

  “You’re going alone?” Guiro asked in surprise. “Are you crazy?”

  Artanna strapped the blades the servant brought to her belt and put on her cloak.

  “Of course not.”

  The viceroy’s aide shook his head.

  “I don’t approve of this.”

  “As if that’s going to change anything,” Artanna said over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

  Once outside, she carefully hid her hair under her hood and once more checked to make sure her blades slid easily from their sheaths before untying her horse. She stopped when she got to the alley.

  “Vezzam,” she drawled. “Come on out. I know you’re here.”

  The hireling stepped out of the shadows.

  “Did you know the whole time I was following you?” he asked when he got to his commander.

  “Shrain gave you up a long time ago. Don’t be mad at him, though—he wanted the best, and I was interested to see when you would get tired of following me around.”

  “I don’t have an excuse.”

  “And I don’t pay you to make excuses. For the first time in a year, you were here at the right time, and that’s all that’s important. We’ll talk about the rest later. In the meantime, we have a problem—are you armed?”

  Vezzam drew back his cloak to show the hilt of a sword. There was also a dagger in each boot, not to mention several knives in his belt.

  “Excellent. It’s not far, so let’s get going.”

  “What happened?”

  “They came after some of ours.” Artanna kicked her horse into a trot.

  ***

  Vazash lived in the port region, which belonged to Tanor. A stench wafted up from the river, a chill breeze cutting straight through their clothing. On the way, Birbo the Beard and part of his squad joined the mercenaries. Yon, a former Highligland scout, was sent on ahead to get the lay of the land. He quickly returned.

  “Five,” he whispered to Artanna. “Two on the outside by the door, three more inside.”

  The commander nodded.

  “That works. Vezzam and Hank will take the front, Daron will cover you. Don’t be stupid. Fester, Birbo, and I will head through the back door. Yon, you stay with the horses.”

  The scout looked at the commander in surprise.

  “Why Daron and not me?”

  “I’m giving the kid one last chance.” Artanna turned to the thin, pimply boy. “One more mistake, and you’re out. I can’t deal with you anymore. Got it?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  They moved out. Treading carefully, they split up at a darkened intersection—Vezzam, Hank, and Daron headed up the street, while Fester, Birbo, and Artanna ducked into a narrow alley. Pretentious citizens liked when the doors to the hovels were out of sight, and so they opened into the alley. It was filthy and stank, with a cesspool at the far end. The only thing breaking the quiet was the barely audible profanity coming from the distant port workers.

  Artanna headed into a narrow passage packed with old barrels and rags, turned left, and squeezed sideways between two sheds. Fester and Birbo stayed right behind her. Finally, she froze near an inconspicuous wooden door leading to a cellar.

  “Here,” she whispered. “I’ll go in first. Birbo, you cover.”

  The bearded hireling nodded. The commander pulled hard on the ring to open the cover.

  They made their way carefully down the wooden stairs. Artanna kept a hand in front of her and counted her steps, at the twentieth bumping into another wooden staircase. Freezing after each step, she slowly made her way up.

  Once at the top, Artanna crossed the kitchen and peered around the corner. Vazash was crumpled in a pool of blood near a wooden crate, his head cut open, one arm twisted unnaturally, and the other crushed under his body. Nareza was there, too—a lanky man with unusually light hair was taking her right there on a wooden bench. Her long skirts had been pulled up, her once-cute blue dress was torn at the chest, and her arms dangled limply. Matteo was fueling his passion with wine and the approving hoots of the two Brotherhood thugs. One was an awkward guy with a face pockmarked by smallpox that Artanna knew; the other was a large, dark-haired man with disproportionally large arms that she didn’t.

  The Hundred fighters snuck up to take cover in the shadow on the other side of the door. With a gesture, Artanna assigned the long-armed one to Fester and the pockmarked one to Birbo. She left Matteo for herself.

  Go, she mouthed.

  Fester grinned widely and pulled out his favorite throwing knives. Artanna watched his throw—the first blade buried itself in his target’s chest. The big guy, his shirt pulled wide, grunted for just the briefest of seconds before falling against the wall and sliding slowly down it, almost as if lost in thought. The pockmarked Brotherhood fighter saw them, opened his mouth to say something, and…didn’t have time. Birbo grabbed his blade on the run, leaped over a basket full of rags, and landed right next to him. Artanna smiled—the Beard was fully capable of taking a man out with a single swing, so she knew the job there was as good as done. And that left the star of the show. She flew over the workbench, grabbed Matteo, and held her blade to his throat.

  “Hey there, my boy. You’re done with her,” Artanna said sweetly into his ear. Birbo wiped his short sword on the clothes of his victim. “What do you think of this picture?”

  “What…” the rapist burst out. “Damn it!”

  Nareza groaned. Artanna glanced over at her sideways to see blood running down between her legs.

  “So, you like hurting girls, do you? Probably has you all at attention. Okay, tell me this—who said you could come after one of my people?”

  “Go to hell. I’m not telling you anything! And if you hurt me, you’ll pay for it with your life.”

  Artanna gave him a hefty slap. He howled, spitting in her face when he regained control of himself. The Hundred commander wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and shrugged.

  “Whatever you say. Hold him, boys. He doesn’t want to t
alk, so let’s make him sing so high he deafens the nightingales.”

  The mercenaries glanced at each other before spreading Matteo out on the workbench next to the bloody Nareza. The latter slid off onto the floor, her eyes met Artanna’s, and the commander nodded her over toward Vazash. Fester pulled a knife out of his boot and pinned Matteo’s palm to the wooden boards. Matteo howled.

  “You won’t get any sympathy from me,” the lanky hireling said indifferently before repeating the procedure with his left hand. “I may be the Crazy, but I only touch girls when they let me.”

  Someone pounded on the door.

  “It’s Vezzam.”

  Birbo pulled the bolt back and let the Vagran in. Vezzam whistled when he looked around, immediately turning to Artanna.

  “It’s bad. One got away—Daron screwed up.”

  “Curses.” Artanna spat angrily. “He’s off to get help. Okay, we’ll be done here soon, anyway. Beard, how’s Vazash?”

  “Dead,” Birbo sighed. “What a shame, he was a good guy. The girl is alive but hurt.”

  Nareza cried quietly, holding her dead father’s head to her chest.

  “Take her to Yon and get to the manor. Rianos will patch up the girl, so wake him up.”

  “Got it.” Birbo turned to Nareza. “Can you walk, beautiful?”

  Nareza nodded and sobbed loudly.

  “Excellent.” An almost fatherly tenderness crept suddenly into the hireling’s voice. “Let’s go, sweetie—no need for you to see what’s going to happen here. You can’t help your father, either, so leave him with us. Come on, we’ll go see the healer so he can work his miracles.”

  Nareza released Vazash’s lifeless body unwillingly and then let Birbo take her by the shoulders. Continuing to whisper encouragement to her, the bearded fellow walked her away.

  The mercenary woman stepped over to Matteo, who was moaning in pain, and brandished her knife.

  “Who said you could come after Vazash?”

  “The girl just caught my eye, that’s all! Don’t touch me, you Vagran bitch, or else…”

  Artanna grinned.

  “Or what? Decided to play the hero? Not a wise move, my friend—I can cut you down to size pretty quickly. The city is full of juicy young things, but you had to come after the daughter of one of my people. You knew exactly who he was, you knew there would be consequences, and you still came after him. So, who from the Brotherhood promised you protection?”