Warbreaker Part 12

"I want to go back out," he said.

"What?" she said. "Why?"

"If you aren't familiar with a place," he said awkwardly, "you need to make yourself familiar." He gave no other explanation.

Vivenna felt a stab of fear at the thought of being left alone. However, it wasn't proper to demand Parlin stay and attend her. "Do you promise to stay close?"

He nodded.

"Then go."

He did, walking from the room. He didn't move like one of the Hallandrens-his motions were too fluid, too much like a prowling beast. Perhaps I should have left him, she thought. Sent him back with the others.

But the thought of being completely alone had been too much. She needed someone to help her find Lemks. As it was, she felt that she was probably taking too great a risk at entering the city with only one guard, even a soldier as skilled as Peprin.

But it was done. No use worrying now. She sat, arms folded on the table, thinking. Back in Idris, her plan to save Siri had seemed more simple. Now the full nature of it lay before her. Somehow, she had to get into the Court of G.o.ds and sneak her sister out. How would one accomplish something like that? Surely the Court of G.o.ds was well guarded.

Lemks will have ideas, she told herself. We don't have to do anything yet. I'm- A man sat down at her table. Less colorfully dressed than most Hallandrens, he wore an outfit made mostly of brown leather, though he did have a token red vest thrown over the top.

This was not Lemks. The spy was an older man in his fifties. The one sitting with her had a long face and styled hair, and couldn't have been older than thirty-five.

"I hate being a mercenary," the man said. "You know why?"

Vivenna sat, shocked, mouth opened slightly.

"The prejudice," the man said. "Everyone else, they do a job, they ask for recompense, and they are respected for it. Not mercenaries. We get a bad name just for doing our job. How many minstrels get spat on for accepting payment from the highest bidder? How many bakers feel guilty for selling pastries to one man, then selling those same pastries to the man's enemies?" He eyed her. "No. Only the mercenary. Unfair, wouldn't you say?"

"W... who are you?" Vivenna finally managed to ask. She jumped as another man sat down on her other side. Large of girth, this man had a cudgel strapped to his back. A colorful bird was sitting on the end of it.

"I'm Denth," the first man said, taking her hand and shaking it. "That's Tonk Fah."

"Pleased," Tonk Fah said, taking her hand once Denth was through with it.

"Unfortunately, princess," Denth said, "we're here to kill you."

Chapter Twelve.

Vivenna's hair bleached a cool, stark white.

Think! she told herself. You've been trained in politics! You studied hostage negotiation. But... what do you do when you are the hostage?

Suddenly, the two men burst out laughing. The larger man thumped the table several times with his hand, causing his bird to squawk.

"Sorry, princess," Denth-the thinner man-said, shaking his head. "Just a bit of mercenary humor."

"We don't kill," Tonk Fah said. "That's a.s.sa.s.sin work."

"a.s.sa.s.sins," Denth said, holding up a finger. "Now, they get respect. Why do you suppose that is? They're really just mercenaries with fancier names. Inst.i.tutional bias, I tell you."

Vivenna blinked, struggling to keep control of her nerves. "You're not here to kill me," she said, voice stiff. "So you're just going to kidnap me?"

"G.o.ds, no," Denth said. "Bad business, that. How do you make money at it? Every time you kidnap someone worth the ransom, you upset people a whole lot more powerful than you are."

"Don't make important people angry," Tonk Fah said, yawning. "Unless you're getting paid by people who are even more powerful."

Denth nodded. "And that isn't even considering the feeding and care of captives, the exchanging of ransom notes, and the arranging of drop-offs. It's a headache, I tell you. Terrible way to make money."

The table fell silent. Vivenna placed her hands flat on its top to keep them from quivering. They know who I am, she thought, forcing herself to think logically. Either they recognize me, or...

"You work for Lemks," she said.

Denth smiled widely. "See Tonk? He said she was a clever one."

"Guess that's why she's a princess and we're just mercenaries," Tonk Fah said.

Vivenna frowned. Are they mocking me or not? "Where is Lemks? Why didn't he come himself?"

Denth smiled again, nodding toward the restaurant owner as the man brought a large pot of steaming stew to the table. It smelt of hot spices, and had what appeared to be crab claws floating in it. The owner dropped a group of wooden spoons to the table, then retreated.

Denth and Tonk Fah didn't wait for permission to eat her meal. "Your friend," Denth said, grabbing a spoon, "Lemks-our employer-isn't doing so well."

"Fevers," Tonk Fah said between slurps.

"He requested that we bring you to him," Denth said. He handed her a folded piece of paper with one hand, cracking a claw between three fingers of the other. Vivenna cringed as he slurped the insides out.

Princess, the paper read. Please trust these men. Denth has served me well for some measure now, and he is loyal-if any mercenary can be called loyal. He and his men have been paid, and I am confident he will stay true to us for the duration of his contract. I offer proof of authenticity by virtue of this pa.s.sword: Bluemask.

The writing was in Lemks' hand. More than that, he had given the proper pa.s.sword. Not 'bluemask'-that was misdirection. The true pa.s.sword was using the word 'measure' instead of time. She glanced at Denth, who slurped out the insides of another claw.

"Ah, now," he said, tossing aside the sh.e.l.l. "This is the tricky part; she has to make a decision. Are we telling her the truth, or are we fooling her? Have we fabricated that letter? Or, maybe we took the old spy captive and tortured him, forcing him to write the words."

"We could bring you his fingers as proof of our good faith," Tonk Fah said. "Would that help?

Vivenna raised an eyebrow. "Mercenary humor?"

"Such that it is," Denth said with a sigh. "We're not generally a clever lot. Otherwise, we'd probably have selected a profession without such a high mortality rate."

"Like the profession of princess," Tonks said. "Good life-span, those. I've often wondered if I should apprentice myself to one."

Vivenna frowned as the two men chuckled. Lemks wouldn't have broken under torture, she thought. He's too well trained. Even if he had broken, he wouldn't have included both the real pa.s.sword and the false one.

"Let's go," she said, standing.

"Wait," Tonk Fah said, spoon to lips, "we're skipping our meal?"

Vivenna eyed the red-colored soup and its bobbing crustacean limbs. "Definitely."

Siri stood in the dark black bedroom, wearing her s.h.i.+ft, looking out the window. The G.o.d King's palace was the only structure in the Court of G.o.ds higher than the surrounding wall, and the bedroom faced east. Out over the sea.

She watched the distant waves, feeling the heat of the afternoon sun. It didn't bother her. While wearing the s.h.i.+ft, the warmth was actually pleasant, and it was tempered by a cool breeze blowing in off the ocean. The wind teased her long hair, ruffling the fabric of her s.h.i.+ft.

She should be dead. She had spoken directly to the G.o.d King, had sat up and made a demand of him. She'd waited all morning for some kind of punishment. There had been none.

She leaned down against the windowsill, arms crossed on the stone, closing her eyes and feeling the sea breeze. A part of her was still aghast at the way she had acted. That part was growing smaller and smaller. I've been going about things wrong here, she thought. I've let myself be pushed about by my fears and worries.

That wasn't her. She didn't usually take time to bother with fears and worries. She just did what seemed right. She was beginning to feel that she should have stood up to the G.o.d King days ago. Perhaps she wasn't being cautious enough. Perhaps punishment would still come. However, for the moment, she felt as if she'd accomplished something.

She smiled, opening her eyes, and let her hair change to a determined golden yellow.

It was time to stop being afraid.

Lemks coughed quietly. His face was streaked with sweat, his skin clammy and pale, and he occasionally gave a whispered mumble of delirious ramblings.

Vivenna sat on a stool beside his bed, hands in her lap. The two mercenaries stood with Parlin at the back of the room. The only other person present was a solemn nurse-the same woman who had informed Vivenna in a quiet voice that nothing more could be done.

Lemks was dying. It was unlikely that he would last the day.

This was the first Vivenna had seen Lemk's face, though she'd often corresponded with him. The face looked... wrong. She knew that Lemks was growing old; that made him a better spy, for fewer people looked for spies in the elderly. Yet he wasn't supposed to be this frail stick of a person, shaking and coughing. He was supposed to be a spry, quick-tongued old gentleman. That was what she had imagined.

She felt like she was losing one of her dearest friends, though she had never really known him. With him went her refuge in Hallandren, her secret advantage. He was the one who was supposed to have made this insane plan of hers work. The skilled, crafty mentor that she had counted on having at her side.

He coughed again. The nurse glanced at Vivenna. "He goes in and out of lucidity, my lady. Just this morning, he spoke of you, but now he's getting worse and worse..."

"Thank you," Vivenna said quietly. "You are excused."

The woman bowed and left.

Now it is time to be princess, Vivenna thought, rising and leaning over Lemks' bed.

"Lemks," she said. "I need your help; you need to pa.s.s on your knowledge. How do I contact your spy networks? Where are the other Idris agents in the city? What are the pa.s.scodes that will get them to listen to me?"

He coughed, staring unseeingly, whispering something. She leaned closer.

"... never say it," he said. "You can torture me all that you want. I won't give in."

Vivenna sat back. By design, the Idris spy network in Hallandren had loose organization. Her father knew all of their agents, but Vivenna had only ever interacted with Lemks, the leader and coordinator of the network. She gritted her teeth, leaning forward again. She felt like a grave robber as she shook Lemks' head slightly.

"Lemks, look at me. I'm not here to torture you. I'm the princess. You wrote me a letter earlier. Now I've come to you."

"Can't fool me," the old man whispered. "Your torture is nothing. I won't give it up. Not to you."

Vivenna sighed, looking away.

Suddenly, Lemks shuddered, and a wave of color washed across the bed, over Vivenna, and pulsed along the floor before fading. Despite herself, Vivenna stepped back in shock.

Another pulse came. It wasn't color itself. It was a wave of enhanced color-a ripple that made the hues in the room stand out more as it pa.s.sed. The floor, the sheets, her own dress-it all flared to vibrant brightness for a second, then faded back to the original colors.

"What in Austre's name was that?" Vivenna asked.

"BioChromatic Breath, princess," Denth said as he stood, leaning against the door out. "Old Lemks has a lot of it. Couple hundred Breaths, I'd guess."

"That's impossible," Vivenna said. "He's Idrian. He'd never accept Breath."

Denth shot a look at Tonk Fah, who was scratching his parrot's neck. The bulky soldier just shrugged.

Another wave of color came from Lemks.

"He's dying, princess," Denth said. "His Breath is going irregular."

Vivenna glanced at Denth. "He doesn't have-"

Something grabbed her arm. She jumped, looking down at Lemks, who had managed to reach up and take hold of her. He was focused on her face. "Princess Vivenna," he said, eyes showing a bit of lucidity.

"Lemks," she said. "Your contacts. You have to give them to me!"

"I've done something bad, princess."

She froze.

"Breath, princess," he said. "I inherited it from my predecessor, and I've bought more. A lot more..."

G.o.d of Colors... Vivenna thought with a sick feeling in her stomach.

"I know it was wrong," Lemks whispered. "But... I felt so powerful. I could make the very dust of the earth obey my command. It was for the good of Idris! Men with Breath are respected here in Hallandren. I could get into parties where I normally would have been forbidden. I could go to the Court of G.o.ds when I wished. The Breath extended my life, made me spry despite my age. I..."

He blinked, eyes unfocusing.

"Oh, Austre," he whispered. "I've d.a.m.ned myself. I've gained notoriety through abusing the souls of others. And now I'm dying..."

"Lemks!" Vivenna said. "Don't think about that now. Names! I need names and pa.s.scodes. Don't leave me alone!"

"d.a.m.ned," he whispered. "Someone take it. Please take it away from me!"

Vivenna tried to pull back, but he still had a hold on her arm. She shuddered, thinking about the Breath he held.

"You know, princess," Denth said from behind. "n.o.body really tells mercenaries anything. It's an unfortunate-but very realistic-drawback of our profession. Never trusted. Never looked to for advice."