“Remove his bonds.”
Again Saliman moved to comply, this time twirling a blade from its hiding place in his sleeve. He made the move deliberately showy. The thief had a reputation for knives. It wouldn’t hurt him to know there were others in Sanctuary who prided themselves on their blade-handling ability. As he reached for the gag, however, the youth beat him to it, ungagging himself with hands that were somehow free from the ropes that had secured them.
Though Saliman showed no reaction, he knew the thief had won this particular round of showing off. So did Shadowspawn, who shot him a mocking glance as he tossed the gag and ropes aside. It seemed doubtful the two would become fast friends.
“Hanse . . . sometimes called Shadowspawn,” Jubal said, moving into the light of the brazier. “Do you know who I am, thief?”
The youth folded his arms across his chest, his stance arrogant and rebellious.
“We’ve never met, but it’s easy to figure who you are. You’re Jubal, right? You’re older than I thought.”
Saliman winced at the thief’s brazen mockery of Jubal’s spell-aged body, but the crime lord seemed to take no offense.
“True, we’ve never met. In fact, you’re one of the few of the local talent who never approached me for work, or at least to sell information. I was always curious as to why.”
“I work alone,” Hanse shrugged. “Besides, I’m choosy about my friends.”
“Not too choosy, if your friends include the likes of Tempus Thales,” Jubal retorted, his voice hardening. “And as for being your own man . . .”
He lifted the iron from the brazier.
“… I fear that came to a halt when the slavers took you. You’re mine now. Bought and paid for.”
Saliman expected Hanse to flinch, but the thief was uncowed. Though his eyes followed the iron, his voice was firm and confident.
“You aren’t going to brand me,” he said, more as a statement than a defiant challenge.
“I’m not?”
“You don’t have to untie me to brand me,” Hanse pointed out. “If anything, the process would be easier if I were still tied. That means you want to talk. All right. Quit waving that iron around and let’s talk. What is it you want?”
Jubal stared at the thief for long moments before returning the iron to the brazier. Saliman could understand why. There was nothing in their record to indicate Hanse possessed the intelligence he was now displaying. He wondered if this would mean a change in Jubal’s plans.
“You’ve changed, thief,” the crime lord said at last. “What happened while you were gone to change you?”
For the first time since removing his bonds, Shadowspawn seemed to falter.
“I … I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Very well,” Jubal nodded. “Shall we get down to business?”
Interesting, Saliman thought. The thief doesn’t fear the branding iron, but his recent past makes him uncomfortable. Though Jubal did not look his way or give any other indication, he knew he was expected to make note of Shadowspawn’s apparent vulnerability and investigate it as soon as possible.
“How did you know where I was?” Hanse said suddenly.
“I have many sources of information.” Jubal waved deprecatingly. “That particular piece of news came to me from the S’danzo.”
“The S’danzo?” the thief frowned. “I didn’t know you had any friends among the S’danzo.”
“I don’t,” the crime lord acknowledged without rancor. “But now at least a few of them owe me a favor for arranging your freedom. No, the information came from one of your friends.”
“My friends?”
“Two of them, actually,” Jubal added, apparently relishing the thief’s surprise. “One of them, the older, sensed your danger and went to the younger, the blacksmith’s wife, to divine your specific location. Hers was the added price of freeing the other slave as well . . . a favor to another client, I believe. Anyway, realizing time was short, they passed word to me, asking for my intervention in your behalf.”
Saliman was listening attentively. This was the first he knew of the source of this morning’s exercise. Learning it now, he realized why Jubal had been so eager to have this mission completed, and completed efficiently. He knew a moment’s pride that the crime lord had turned to him as his first choice for crucial work, then returned to his analysis.
The S’danzo were tight-knit and mutually supportive. Jubal had been trying for years to find a chink in their armor, and now their desperation over the welfare of a thief had delivered opportunity into his hands. Saliman wondered briefly of the price exacted for his work. Had Juba! demanded guarantees and assurances, or had he risked it all on performing this favor gratis, preferring to leave the repayment unspecified and therefore open. Probably the latter. Jubal had gained much of his power from Just such favors owed in return for his help at key moments.
“Then I’m free to go?” Hanse said uncertainly, glancing again at Saliman.
“I didn’t say that.” Jubal smiled.
“But you said the S’danzo paid for you to have me freed.”
“What I said was, they asked me to free you from the slavers. That’s been done. However nothing was said about freeing you from me … and I happen to have need of your services myself.”
“Since when did you need help to steal something,” Shadowspawn sneered, his old arrogance back.
“I don’t, thief. At least, not from the likes of you,” Jubal replied coldly. “There is, however, a task you can perform for me in return for your complete freedom . . . one involving someone who trusts you.”
“I’m a thief, not an assassin,” the youth snapped proudly.
The crime lord raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise.
“Reluctant to kill. are you? Strange, I don’t recall your showing any reluctance the night you helped Tempus kill four of my men.”
Even in the brazier’s glow Saliman could see the thief blanch.
“You do remember, don’t you? That night outside the Lily Garden? Or perhaps you thought I didn’t know about it.”
“They attacked us. It was self-defense,” Shadowspawn seemed suddenly aware of the hot iron again.
“They were trying to punish Tempus for murdering their comrades . . . and stop him from continuing his sport of hunting Hawkmasks, of course,” Jubal intoned. “I know you had no choice, however. Otherwise I wouldn’t have left your killings without response.”
He paused to study the thief.
“Now, if I thought you had a hand in freeing Tempus from Kurd’s, I might not be so generous in my treatment of you.”
Saliman kept a blank expression as he watched the tl]ieftry to hide his discomfort. It was clear that Hanse was unsure if Jubal was truly ignorant of his part in Tempus’s escape, or if he was simply being toyed with. His fear of the crime lord was great enough, however, that he wouldn’t risk Jubal’s possible wrath by openly admitting his guilt. Saliman knew, however, that now that fear was foremost in the thief’s mind, they could get down to business.
“That’s all behind us now. Rest assured I don’t need you to kill anyone,” Jubal said smoothly, as if reading Saliman’s thoughts. “Actually, all you have to do to win your freedom is to arrange a meeting for me.”
“A meeting?”
“Yes. With Prince Kadakithis. I believe he’s a friend of yours?”
The thief was clearly off balance now.
“How did you know that?”
Jubal smiled.
“I’ve been aware of it for some time. I would suggest, however, if you want it kept secret, that you try to keep the Prince from shouting about it in public . . . like, from the top of brick piles?”
Hanse flinched at the memory, but gathered himself to rally back.
“Why do you want to meet with him? I’d have to tell him something.”
“Probably not. I believe my name is not exactly unknown to him. Still, if it will ease things, tell him I have a business proposition for him.”
“What kind of a proposition?”
Jubal turned back to the brazier and poked at the coals with the iron as he answered
“There’s a civil war coming, thief. Not a local upheaval like we’ve just survived, an Empire-wide struggle. Even you should be able to see that. This town’s only hope of success is to rally behind one leader . . . and right now Kadakithis would seem to be that leader. I plan to offer him my services . – . mine and my organization’s. I believe we can aid him as an intelligence network, providing information and, if need be, stilling dissenting voices. I think even Vashanka’s priest would admit our value in that capacity.”
The crime lord turned to face the thief.
“All you have to do is arrange the meeting. Unfortunately, my position makes it difficult, if not impossible, to approach him through normal channels. Arrange it, and you may go free.”