Well Met in Molos Read online

  "And what of the gratitude of young women?" Tiglis asks, archly, avoiding the shiver that wants to shake her body in reaction to his expression. "Was she young, this thief? Was she beautiful?"

  Kalle gives her a censorious look tempered with hurt feelings and betrayal. "She seemed young, but I saw her in exceedingly dim light. She had attended the party, this much I know, so I dare say many would say she was pretty and many might call her beautiful. I, however, was more interested in the fact that she nearly surprised me at my work, which betokens a rare skill, and nearly got the draw on me with a very nice and very effective blade, so I have respect for her skill but no judgement upon her appearance."

  Tiglis's face betrays nothing, but the struggle to maintain such neutrality of expression is becoming more taxing, and she knows it is beginning to show in hesitation before she speaks.

  "Do you know anything else about this rarely skilled thief?" she manages to say.

  "She gave me the name Orianna, and spoke with an accent that betrayed her origin in the southeast, at least as far from here as I have come. If you wish to accuse someone of coming to Molos with intent, I commend you to accuse her."

  Tiglis conceals a surge of triumph at the success of her accent and Kalle's obvious failure to connect her with Orianna, but must struggle to conceal her fear at the rest of Kalle's sentence. Would he see Orianna's skin and know her to be fake? Tiglis has once met someone from that farthest border of the Empire, but her eyes are sharp and her memory keen and she knows none at Gabrio's party saw anything in Orianna's skin to make them suspicious. But would her deception be sufficient to con Kalle? She regards him obliquely. "You spoke? She gave you her name? And now you need help to find her?"

  Kalle coughs in mild embarrassment. "We did not speak for long," he admits, "and I did not realise that I might have spoiled her evening until my exit, ah, inadvertently alerted an overzealous guard, which I fear made her own escape far more difficult. It did not occur to me that I might have prevented her reaching her goal until I was at peace to examine the minor effects I had taken from a concealed safe box."

  Tiglis almost goes rigid in her attempt not to jump at Kalle with her hands clawing into his throat. "You took something you think she was after?" Tiglis does not realise until she has finished speaking how flat and angry her voice sounds.

  He sighs, his head dipping a little in what is probably intended to be contrition. "Truly, I did not mean to. I was after targets of opportunity; she clearly had a goal in mind. I saw her leave in some temper, with no joy leavening her mood despite having escaped a house full of roused guards. So I must assume she either had too little time to complete her task, or I took the very thing she was after. If the former, I may be able to offer her some assistance. If the latter, I would gladly hand it over."

  Tiglis almost jerks her mantle back across her face to hide her astonishment at hearing that Kalle had stayed to watch Gabrio's guests leave. To her great fortune, Kalle appears to misinterpret her reaction.

  "I know it is rare for a thief to so offer to return what one has stolen to another who laid claim upon it," he says loftily, "but such is in my nature. I must merely find this Orianna and offer my humblest apologies in person. Do you know of her? Is the name familiar to you? I appreciate she is new to this city and may be keeping herself to her rooms in one of the more expensive inns—"

  "Orianna?" Tiglis asks, blankly and, to her own ears, stupidly. "I... The name is not common. I do not know... I may have heard of one called Orianna." She uses the excuse of the effort of recall to break eye contact with Kalle, looking far enough away to hide her face, for one moment, in the depths of her hooded mantle. Blood is pounding in her ears, robbing her of the sharp, coherent, clear, decisive thought she desperately needs at this of all moments. Hells above, should she have claimed knowledge of Orianna? Or would that have aroused Kalle's suspicions? Or even have caused more problems than it might solve!

  "Then perhaps you could direct me to someone who might know," Kalle says. "How about Melech? I know he is a big man, everyone does. I believe some traders are contacts, most likely procurers. Or how about the stall-holder you let drag you inside? Does she know other women in our trade?"

  "Melech does not work with women, and I would not advise you to be beholden to him," she says, perhaps too sharply.

  Kalle gives her a keen look. "But he is a big man, isn't he? I do not wish to tread upon toes in Molos, so I need to know him, yes? Make peace with whomsoever I need to make peace with? I have been in most cities across the kingdom, and truly, there is always someone who demands a cut."

  Tiglis seizes the opportunity to escape, and to move past this subject without losing Kalle. And, moreover, to arrange a meeting with Kalle under safer circumstances. Kalle is unsettling her far too much, and she desperately needs to withdraw and regain her composure. "Melech is shah of thieves in Molos, that is true, but…"

  "Shah?" Kalle interrupts her. "I have overheard others using that word."

  "It means 'leader,' wetlander," Tiglis snaps. "Tribal leaders are shahs. Melech is a shah. Caravan leaders are shahs. Men are shah of their household. It is a title that reminds the small of their power, and the powerful of their obligations, and reminds everyone of who owes a duty to whom. If you wish education in the ways of Molos, I can arrange a meeting of much greater value to you, and with someone who is more likely to know of any Orianna, any young woman working as a thief in this city. And one who will be able to find out for you if he does not know, and to find her on your behalf."

  Kalle initially brightens at hearing this, then sighs in disappointment. "Hand to hand," he says mournfully. "I had been hoping not to have to rely upon any other. Not! Not," he hastens to add, "for lack of trust in your advice, my dear Tiglis, but simply because it is not in my nature to be beholden to anyone. Who is this man I need to see, and what will he ask for in return?"

  "He will do it for me, if I ask him," Tiglis says, then, upon seeing the expression upon Kalle's face, hastens to reassure him that, "He is my brother, not my suitor!" The response is automatic, but leaves her wondering why she gave it so forcefully. Of course, she may yet be able to manipulate his interest in her… She rushes past that thought.

  Kalle's grin returns to confidence and swagger.

  "His name is Zerris," Tiglis continues. "How will he be able to find you?"

  Kalle turns instantly wary. "I am not in the habit of making myself easy to find," he says, then sighs. "But I can see that I must. How will I know him when I meet him?"

  "You will be much alike in height," Tiglis says. "But whether he appears as a man of the city or of the desert, I cannot tell you. He is a busy man of many talents and many obligations."

  Kalle scowls at her. "Whereas I will be easy to spot, for although I move as I may, I have no intention of disguising my appearance. Very well. Until midnight tonight, I will be in the Twin Oxen. They play dice there, I may try my hand."

  "Gambling," Tiglis allows herself to snort.

  Kalle shrugs carelessly. "It has kept me well fed and consistently entertained," he says.

  "Very well," Tiglis says. "After midnight?"

  "After midnight, I do not know. Perhaps tomorrow evening—"

  "Tomorrow evening may be too far ahead," Tiglis tells him firmly. "If you come to the markets at sundown, it is possible he may find you. Else, I am sure you may find me," she finishes archly.

  Kalle's face, which had grown guarded, returns once more to its customary cocky grin. He sweeps her another bow, still without breaking eye contact. "That, indeed, I will, should you present yourself," he says. "If not, I will while away my time in my own fashion and hope to be accosted by someone slender of stature—does he ever pass as a boy, the better to avoid attention?—who gives the name Zerris and has news to lighten a heart sad from having missed your presence."

  Tiglis notes Kalle's question with the grim reminder that he must never be underestimated, nor given more information than is absolutely necessar
y. What is natural caution in any other dealing is essential when dealing with Kalle.

  "Then it is decided," Tiglis says with what composure she can gather from the tattered shreds of her concentration. "I should be able to see Zerris tonight. I urge you not to follow me. It might hasten a meeting, but it would not be a cordial start."

  Kalle bows with great dignity. "Though it grieves me to leave your presence so early," he says, "I would feel much happier knowing I had resolved this matter with Orianna, so I could put aside this debt and have it no longer weighing upon my conscience. Very well. You will seek out this Zerris now?"

  Tiglis nods. "I will go to him, and relay your story," she says, deriving some comfort from being at least slightly enigmatic. "Good evening, sir Kalle. May you have the wind at your back."

  She turns, replacing her mantle over her face to relieve her from the struggle to control her expressions, and heads resolutely into the market crowd.

  "Happy hunting!" Kalle calls after her.

  She responds by raising one hand in a gesture common in Molos. It means, "the Gods are fickle, who are we to argue?"

  Whether Kalle has met the gesture before or not, its meaning is sufficiently clear for him to guess. The wild, sharp bark of his laughter makes many shoppers veer away and clutch their purses and purchases more tightly.

  *~*~*

  Tiglis makes rapid progress through the crowd, but although she moves with purpose, she does not let her attention stray from her surroundings, and she keeps all her senses alert to anyone who may be following her.

  Without allowing herself to tarry or backtrack, she cannot keep a good enough lookout, so when she does not detect anyone pursuing her through the crowd, she assumes he is there anyway.

  She leaves the great square along a minor street that has a thin but steady stream of people along it. She weaves through the crowd from one side of the street to the other, making sure to pass each alley or crossroad in a position to duck down it, until she finally does so, down an alleyway even narrower than most.

  These cramped streets, little used by any save locals, are not often lit. With the sun but not its glow gone from the sky and the bright desert moon not yet risen, they are dark and gloomy places.

  Tiglis sprints to the end of the alley on sure, nearly soundless feet. Instead of ending in another street, it kinks between buildings before intersecting another alley even narrower.

  She knows better than to run incautiously around blind corners, so she is able to jump backwards when a man leaning against a wall pushes himself upright with malice lighting his face.

  Another figure steps from behind her to block her retreat. A third straightens from a slouch farther down the alley. All three men are caravan guards from out of Molos who reek of cheap wine.

  "Couldn't hope for a better target," the man in front of her says. He draws the dagger at his belt—a long, thick blade good as a tool but clumsy in a fight, although it would give an ugly wound if it lands. "I was just going to ask for your money, but you look like too much fun."

  Tiglis shrinks into her robes, eyes wide. "Please! I have nothing!"

  The cutthroat's expression turns vicious. "Then we'll just have to take..."

  He screams as Tiglis's dagger slashes at the inside of his wrist, severing the tendons.

  The man behind Tiglis leaps forward, but his hands close on empty air.

  Tiglis pirouettes, her knife licking out again to cut the tendons behind the first man's knee, her blade so sharp it is not slowed by his pants.

  The stricken cutthroat tries to turn to defend himself even as his leg buckles underneath him, but Tiglis seizes him under the chin to cut his throat.

  The third man laughed when Tiglis showed fight, so he is slow to draw his blade. He defends by instinct with his empty left hand, succeeding only in getting cut across the palm before his colleague's own knife is driven into his heart.

  The remaining caravaner bellows with rage as he closes, slashing the air in front of him wildly with his own knife. Tiglis melts back with face set and eyes wide, then darts forward with a sweep of her arms, catching his knife arm so his blade harmlessly tangles in her sleeve. She drives her own knife under his ribs into his heart as he tries to pull back from a grip on his arm far stronger than any girl so tiny and slender should possess.

  The fight has been too noisy. As feet come pounding towards them, Tiglis sprints around the next corner, ducks between two buildings, then goes straight up, using both walls in a lizard-like scramble to be gone before anyone can see her.

  The roof is flat, with no open courtyard. She scrambles back towards the dead men and risks glancing over the edge in time to see Kalle the first to arrive, his sword in his hand.

  He takes in the bodies in one quick glance before looking up and down the alley. Tiglis jerks back from the edge of the roof as his head begins to rise.

  She lies on her back, making no sound and trying to still her heart, as a babble of voices rises from the alley. Yes, Kalle definitely followed her.

  She hears him speak in a level, authoritative tone before other men answer with less self-control. There is a soft, almost sensuous metal-on-leather sound that would be Kalle sheathing his sword.

  Some men, clearly spoiling for a fight, grumble, but footsteps indicate the crowd is dispersing.

  Tiglis does not risk another look. She rolls quietly away from the edge of the flat stone roof before daring to rise to her feet and hurry away, making no sound so as not to arouse anyone in the house beneath her.

  She goes over several rooftops before jumping down onto a staircase that takes her comfortably back to the ground.

  Let Us Meet as Equals

  Tiglis closes the door behind her, moves from the entrance alcove into the house's main room, then stands very still for quite some time as she breathes deeply and evenly.

  "What the fuck is his game?" she whispers.

  A close inspection of her robes and her arms reveals no injuries, merely a tattered rip in her left sleeve.

  Upstairs, removing her robes leaves her in the long linen undershirt of the desert.

  In front of the ornate mirror, she stares into her expression as she automatically wets a cloth with spirits of wine to clean her face.

  She did not alter the shape of her jaw or cheekbones, nor conceal any lines or shading of her skin, but the fashion for less overtly deceptive uses of powders and pigments has grown of late among the rich wives of Molos, and Tiglis had found it amusing to join their game. Even without intending a disguise, her appearance changes dramatically when she removes the kohl around her eyes.

  "What the fuck is his game?" she repeats. "A thief, certainly, and one of exceptional skill. Followed me, now he's trying to court me, but wants to meet Orianna... For honour?! Who lets a matter like that trouble them? He is the sort to laugh it off and ignore her! Looking for another conquest? Trying whoever he can? He's handsome enough and charming enough..."

  She shivers, then scrubs at her face fiercely with the cloth until she gets her emotions under control once more and resumes her muttering. "He has the key, that much is certain. Is he after the Egg? If he knows about it, he must guess she is... Clearly hasn't got it himself, or we would have heard. Gabrio's house would have been in uproar, and every tongue in the city would be telling the story. No, the puzzle lock would defeat him. So all he has is the key, but he needs to know how it fits the lock. And he would expect Orianna to be able to tell him."

  She leans closer to the mirror as she gently scrubs at her eyebrows. They become thinner, and less arched. Tiglis has never disguised her own face much, finding that Zerris's beard and voice are enough to differentiate between siblings. But it seemed prudent to introduce some extra, subtle, differences as childhood became adulthood.

  "Wants to work with Orianna? Share in the profits no doubt, no matter what he says." she snarls. "Not in all the Hells!"

  For a brief second, her features and voice shift into a close approximation of Orianna's.
"Oh sir! You can be raped by Demons first!"

  Tiglis sits back, her face bare now of makeup, her hair and all her posture still that of Tiglis and no other. "Tiglis and Orianna," she mutters at herself. "For any other man, his motives would be transparent. He wants something from Orianna. He simply wants Tiglis." Her lip twists as she balances between fear of being discovered and smug pride at her desert beauty. She has never allowed herself to indulge in romantic games—not until she can do so honestly. Those urges are indulged by Fath, and there is no deception with those who pay well for Fath's company. No; Tiglis is chaste, and all who find themselves drawn to her either know it or soon learn it.

  In the safety of her own home, she lets herself indulge her vanity, and pulls her hair forward to frame her face, looking at her reflection from under long lashes. "Do I just intrigue him, or truly attract him?" she murmurs, twisting to the side to look coquettishly past her shoulder. The effect, as of a weak and childish city woman, makes Tiglis dissolve into giggles. Desert women are much more subtle when they flirt, and Tiglis is fiercely proud of her mother's desert blood.

  She sits back, composing herself, but thoughts of Kalle will not leave her. Kalle and his motivations, and his interests, and attractions… "And what about Phaere? Was he too cautious to let himself be distracted, or is he the sort of man who is only happy with a chase?" She laughs mockingly, but soon returns to a study of her own reflection.

  "Who does he really prefer?" she murmurs, looking herself up and down. "Orianna, Empire-born, a city woman flaunting herself among city women? Or Tiglis of the desert…"