“Marype, you surprise me. You really do. You left the amulet on him in the hopes it would look too worthless to steal. Correct? Every child knows that Mazers and Downwinders steal anything that is not nailed down too securely to pry up. If you didn’t have your father’s talent in your blood I wouldn’t put up with you. Such talent deserves training, but you severely try my patience,
“Still, all is not lost. Perhaps we can scry its location.”
The day’s first customer was small, with delicate bones and a slender figure. Her face was veiled and a scarf almost hid her mane of chestnut hair. Although she dressed as a lady’s maid, her bearing was more suited to giving orders than taking them. She looked around nervously, making sure no other customer was about. At last: “You are Chollandar?”
He nodded. “How may this humble gluemaker serve you. Milady?”
“I was told you will pick up … uh-uh-uh . . .”
“Raw materials, Ma’am. Raw materials. For a fee we will pick up that which you no longer desire, and turn it into a variety of useful products. We do stipulate, however, that the goods must be ready to use without further treatment. Do you understand?”
“Yes. You mentioned a fee. You will do it, then?”
“Certainly, Beautiful Lady. For ten soldats we will remove your raw materials from any address you name-which we promptly forget. For this reason we ask for advance payment. Otherwise we might remember and send a bill. Does this pose some problem?”
To his surprise she did not haggle.
I should’ve asked for more, he thought.
She gave him the address and turned to leave.
“A moment. Milady.”
Cholly held out a clay jar. She looked at him in puzzlement, then took the jar.
“This is a glue shop. If you leave with one of my Jars anyone who sees you will see why you have come and notice nothing else.”
Her veiled face whitened. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“By the way, this variety is made especially for porcelain and ceramics. It does wonders on broken dishes.”
After she had hurried away, the clay jar held where it could be seen, Sambar came through the curtained doorway. “Master, why do you always insist that the pickup be dead? Wouldn’t they pay more if you did it for them?”
“They would, but I will not take blood money. See, I deal in death every day without adding to it. If people want to kill each other, I can’t stop ’em. But I’ll be damned if I’ll do it for ’em.”
With the work on the city walls and the repairs from the aftermath of the witches’ fire and flood, business was brisk. Kadakithis’s workmen had bought an entire wagonload of mixed varieties. The new tax was at least being spent for the purpose it was collected for, rather than lining the Prince-Governor’s purse.
Privately Cholly had no use for magicians, but that did not prevent him from doing business with them. One came in seeking a human skull. Another, a lanky fellow with graying hair and beard and an unusually dynamic voice, came seeking fingerbones. These gentlemen never knew that their treasures came from his fuel pile of dried leftover bones.
A third aspiring thaumaturge sought a hand of glory. Cholly went back into the rendering room once more. There was a chunking sound. A moment later he returned with a severed human left hand.
One last minor magician-the truly powerful ones needed no such props-requested an entire human skin. He was sent next door. Zandulas would pay him a referral fee later.
When business slowed down enough for him to check on the boys, Cholly saw that they had been busy indeed. The bodies had all been stripped and the belongings sorted into neat piles, according to type. The smallest pile by far was money. They were honest enough lads, but he knew they kept a few coppers, even as he had done when he was apprenticed to old Shi Han Two-Fingers.
He sent Sambar to the front counter while he and Aram scalped, bled, and dismembered the remaining corpses. Once the bodies and the proper additives were mixed into the scalding water to his satisfaction he told Aram, “When you get time, take those barrels of tallow across the alley to Reh Shing the Soapmaker. It’s time I started my rounds.”
Chollandar scratched the back of his neck. For a moment it itched like someone was staring at him.
He always began his trading at Shamara’s Wig Shop. In her youth Shamara had been striking. Her present beauty was of a different sort, a warmth that radiated from her sweet soul. They dickered for a bit, Shamara fingering the scalps for quality and texture. At last they settled upon three silver bits, eight coppers, and a kiss.
“The things I do for business,” Shamara laughed before pressing her lips beneath his moustache. There was no lustful passion there, but there was something undefinable. “Enough. You make me feel like a girl, and I’ve survived that nonsense already.”
He whistled a happy tune all the way to Marc’s Weapons Shop. Most of Marc’s goods were shoddy, but so were the weapons Cholly sold him. The really good stuff he sold separately. Some special blades he kept for himself. Even so, he sometimes ran across an interesting piece in Marc’s stock.
Cholly regularly had lunch with Furtwan Coinpinch while Hazen, Furtwan’s nephew, watched the shop and kept an eye on the gluemaker’s wagon. Today they decided on beef, so they found themselves a quiet table at the Man in Motley, where a joint was always skewered to the carving board.
“Anything interesting happen last night?” Furtwan asked between swallows of True Brew.
Cholly did not answer right away. He felt the feeling return that he was being watched. By whom and for what reason he had no idea. He scratched his neck again.
No one seemed to be looking in his direction, but he knew damned well someone was spying on him. The itch was stronger. He slid his right hand under the table, pretending to scratch his bare calf. He assured himself the extra knife was in place in his boot. Good.
The two men gossiped spiritedly for an hour. When Cholly left the shop the itch returned. If anything, it was stronger. The most unsettling part was that he could spot no sign of anyone following him, yet he knew they were there. But who? And why?
He missed the friendly greetings he used to get from Ganner, Lalo’s son who was slain by the mobs in the False Plague riots. He had enjoyed the brief chats they used to have. Instead of Ganner it was Herwick himself who met him at the door. The jeweler still wore the symbolic torn collar and black armband of mourning.
“Good to see you, Cholly. Are you here to buy or sell? I believe Ineedra has a birthday coming up. Next week maybe?”
“Next Eshday. The trouble is she still hasn’t given me a hint what she wants like she usually does, or else for once she’s been so subtle I missed it.”
“You can’t go wrong with good jewelry. I’ve got some nice new pieces.
Take a look. I could make you such a deal . . -”
“Not today, I’ve got a few days yet in case she drops a hint. In the meantime 1 did bring you a few trinkets to examine.”
He fished a folded square of cloth from his tunic. Unfolding it upon the counter, he displayed a jumble of glittering ornaments. Most were cheap junk, worth a copper or two apiece. A few were good quality paste and worth a bit more. Two pins were set in real gold and sparkling gemstones. Finally there was a solid gold pendant covered with strange markings.
“Where did you get this? I’ve never seen this type of workmanship before. Most unusual. And raw gold! I can’t read it; it isn’t Rankan or Ilsigi. It isn’t Beysib-I’ve had too many Fisheyes in here not to recognize it when I see it. If it was older I might guess it might be Enlibaran.”
“Now that I’ve had a good look at it, I think I’ll keep it for the time being. It’s sort of interesting. Can you think of anybody who might be able to tell me what it says?”
“Try Synab. If anyone can tell you, he can.”
His next stop was Synab’s artifact and curio shop just down the street. The daub of blue paint smeared on the door meant the pwner was paying protection to someone. Cholly himself had never paid anyone for “protection” and he vowed he never would. A bell jingled when he entered.
The white-haired man in green linen said, “I haven’t seen you lately. I trust you have something of interest for me?”
“Maybe. I found this medallion in this morning’s goods. Can you decipher the writing?”