CHAPTER SIX
What in the Hells is Going On?
Pytr
“I have a brilliant idea,” Syrus whispers.
“Gods, I hope so,” I reply.
Syrus grins at me in the dim light filtering in through the windows of the Towers’s massive kitchen. Aveus and Reznyk have already vanished through the kitchen trash chute, our inelegant way of sneaking out for the evening. It’s a hell of a risk to sneak out again this soon, but Syrus insisted.
“There’s someone you need to talk to,” Syrus continues, “but Aveus has a bit of a beef with that, uh, organization.”
“Aveus?”
It’s hard for me to imagine Aveus having a beef with anyone. Usually, he acts like the world is one big joke and he’s in on it. Syrus shakes his head, then waves his hand like he’s dismissing what he just said.
“Don’t worry about Aveus,” he says. “Just, when the time comes, follow me.”
I nod.
“Oh, and take this,” Syrus continues, pulling something from his vest.
The coins inside click together when he tosses them to me. I catch it, then put it in my pocket. It’s heavier than I expected.
“Gods only know how much this kind of thing will cost,” Syrus says. “Just give the man coins until he stops scowling, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
The pouch he tossed to me feels like an anchor. Syrus vanishes down the trash chute, and I only barely manage to restrain the part of myself that wants to open the pouch and count the coins right here. From the weight and the sound, I could be carrying enough coins to buy a new farm.
And Syrus tossed it to me like an afterthought.
Shaking my head, I pull open the door to the trash chute and try not to breathe.
Syrus takes us to a different bar this time.
It’s just as elegant, but quieter, and on a darker street.
When we first arrive, Syrus pulls the hostess aside and whispers something in her ear.
He puts something in her hand that must be a coin, because the gods know Syrus is dripping with coins, and then he leads us to a small booth in the back.
It’s almost like any other night out, except that Syrus keeps glancing at the door. Reznyk is watching him, so I’m sure he knows what’s going on.
Aveus tried to get the plan out of the two of them for a while, until a musician wandered over with a top so low-cut that I think it might actually fall off.
But Aveus seemed more interested in her instrument than the wide expanse of skin she’s got on display.
Now, he’s plucking the strings of her strange instrument with a look of concentration that’s so intense it’s almost hilarious.
“No, no,” the musician says, taking his hand. “This finger. And faster!”
Aveus tries again. Syrus suddenly groans, then sinks back in the booth.
“Shit,” Syrus mutters under his breath.
I turn to see a woman approaching our table. She’s tall and beautiful, in the way a sculpture on a pedestal is beautiful, and I’d be willing to bet the dress she’s wearing cost more coin than I’ll ever see in my life.
“Syrus Maganti,” the woman purrs as she slides into the booth next to Reznyk. “Who are these charming friends of yours?”
“Lady Lenore Castinac,” Syrus replies, with a little flourish of his hands and a wide, blindingly insincere smile. “What a surprise to find you here. These are my compatriots, Aveus, Pytr, and Reznky.”
Aveus waves a hand at the elegantly dressed woman, then turns back to his instrument. I nod at her politely and turn away, but not before I catch the look on Reznyk’s face.
Until tonight, I would have said it was impossible to surprise Reznyk. But now, watching him stare at Lady Lenore in her tight, expensive dress, I think I might be wrong.
Syrus taps my shoulder, then tilts his head toward the door. He stands, and I follow, glancing back at the table as we leave. Aveus is still engrossed in the instrument. The elegant woman is smiling at Reznyk in a way that reminds me of the story about the snake who sang the mice into his fangs.
“Fuck me,” Syrus says, under his breath. “Lenore’ll eat that poor man alive.”
I glance at Reznyk, then hurry to follow Syrus.
“Should we, uh, warn him?” I ask.
“Can’t reason with lovers or drunkards,” Syrus replies, shaking his head. “Come on. Let’s get this over with and then save Reznyk, the poor idiot.”
I follow Syrus through the pub, and then, surprisingly, out the door. The woman Syrus spoke to when we entered is waiting in the cool evening air with a look on her face that says she expected more out of her evening.
“Thank you, dear,” Syrus purrs to her.
Then he pats me on the shoulder and turns back toward the pub’s entrance. My heart drops.
“You’re not going with me?” I ask, trying not to sound as panicked as I suddenly feel to be left alone in the tight, dark alley beside the tavern.
Syrus shakes his head. “I can’t be seen with those people,” he says, as if that’s obvious. “But don’t worry. Maj here will take great care of you.”
He gives the woman another one of his blinding smiles, the kind that reminds me of tea so sweet it sets your teeth on edge. And then he’s gone, back into the light and noise of the tavern.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
Would it have killed him to tell me what in the hells is going on?
“Over here,” the woman, Maj, says in a low voice.
I shrug, then follow her deeper into the narrow alley. There’s a man waiting in the alley, and of course, he’s wearing a thick, heavy robe that obscures his face. When he turns to us, I catch a glimpse of hard eyes in a face that’s much younger than I expected.
Maj turns to leave, abandoning me in the alley with a man who’s probably thinking about all the fun and exciting ways he could kill me. I listen to her footsteps recede, then square my shoulders and try to look like I know what in the hells I’m doing here.
“So,” the man begins, in a low voice, “I heard you have need of our services.”
I swallow hard.
There are only two ways out of the Towers. With the Exemplars, or in a coffin.
So, I clear my throat and turn toward the shadows obscuring the man’s face. The bag of coins in my pocket feels like a weight around my throat.
“I need a corpse,” I say.