Merovingen - Fever Season Part 17

"Huhn." Sergei wailed until Justice had climbed down into the coat, then unloosed her from the piling. He jumped lightly into his place at the rear, and took up his pole. "Where to?"

"Petrescu," Justice said over his shoulder. "The most direct route."

Sergei nodded, set his pole and the small, narrow boat nosed out into Archangel. "Heard ye sniff some, m'ser," he said, guilding his craft along close to the sh.o.r.e. "Something's going 'round. Could be bad."

Justice nodded, not really in the mood to talk. Sergei was one of the poleboatmen he had known the longest, and it had been a stroke of luck to find him waiting this evening. "Maybe. The change in weather might stop it."

"Could be," Sergei replied, planting his pole and letting the boat slide across the still water toward Borg.

It was never truly dark on the ca.n.a.ls at night-water held light and reflected it amazingly well. And with tonight's fog, the poleboat glided through a close, luminous cloud.

Lord and Ancestors.1 What the h.e.l.l am I doing out here? I hardly know Raj, and now I'm off on some fool's errand Lord knows where with something Raj considers highly dangerous. What's in those papers, anyhow? He snorted quietly to himself. Best not even ask that question. What 1 don't know could save me if I'm caught and questioned.

"So, how ye been doing in yer studies?" Sergei asked.

Justice shook himself from his thoughts and looked over his shoulder. "Sorry, Sergei," he said, roughening his voice. "Got a sore throat. Hurts to talk."

"Understand."

The trip proceeded in silence from there on. Palms sweaty despite the chill, Justice carefully watched the sh.o.r.eline. Past Borg, under Junction Bridge and into the Grand. The buildings on either hand loomed up, oppressive in their dark bulk.

There was little traffic now, save other poleboats and a few skips. Sergei hugged close to the buildings where the water was shallowest, the steady rhythm of his poling sending his boat along in practiced smoothness.

Bucher pa.s.sed, nearly unseen in the fog; then Spellman, though there were a few more lights s.h.i.+ning from windows at ca.n.a.l level. Justice tried to keep from looking up as the poleboat slid under the bridges-a quick glance under his eyebrows would have to suffice. Ambush, Raj had said. Maybe.

The Foundry stood to their left now. Justice had seen the ca.n.a.lers tied up in small groups around each of the bridges the poleboat had pa.s.sed; the Foundry-Pardee Bridge was no different. Five or six skips had cl.u.s.tered about the edge of that bridge and, in the silence with aid of the fog, Justice could hear the ca.n.a.lers talking. Their presence meant nothing: if an ambush did take place, he and Sergei could expect little help from the ca.n.a.lers. Sergei seemed to sense the urgency Justice felt, for he poled along at a pace a bit faster than what was normal.

As the poleboat glided under the Nayab Bridge, Justice could have sworn he saw several figures leaning over the bridge, watching as he went by. He drew a deep breath, surrept.i.tiously loosened his sword in its sheath, hoping Sergei had not noticed.

Sergei pulled a hard left at Fishmarket, fighting against the stronger Grand current. Justice sat up straighter, his eyes straining to see through the fog. He s.h.i.+vered, felt the sweat beginning to run down his sides. Hagen was coming up in a short bit to his right, and Raj had said that an ambush could come from Hagen Cut that lay opposite Petrescu.

But, no. Petrescu Cut opened before them, and Sergei brought the poleboat to an easy stop at the landing. Justice heaved a sigh of relief, stood, wobbled a bit, and reached out for the piling.

"Be a while?" Sergei asked, nimbly jumping up to the landing and securing the rear tie.

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Nancy Asire "Shouldn't be." Justice kept his voice rough. "Be out shortly. Wait, if you would."

"Ye got it."

Justice looked for the set of stairs he sought and walked toward them, the books he carried held in plain sight. Knees trembling, trying to appear to be only another dull student making a College-related delivery, he took the stairs two at a time, s.h.i.+vered once in the chill, and came to the second level landing.

To face the door that led to the apartment Raj's friend occupied. s.h.i.+fting the books to his left hand, Justice knocked softly on that door.

For a long moment nothing happened-no sound, no sense of movement on the other side. Justice's heart sank: what if no one answered? He could not even use Raj's pa.s.sword then.

He lifted his hand for a second knock, but a voice spoke from the other side of the door.

"Who's there?"

"Delivery from the College," Justice said loudly. He leaned closer to the door. "Rif just sings cute little ballads," he said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

Another long moment of silence. Then Justice heard the squeak and rattle of locks. The door cracked open a bit, and Justice had a glimpse of Denny's dark-eyed face.

A look of recognition flooded that face, immediately replaced by an expression bordering on fear.

"Who?" asked another voice, a female voice, from close beside Denny.

"I know 'im," Denny said. "He's okay. Gave the pa.s.sword. 'Sides, he's the one who saved my skin t'day."

Another pause. "Let 'im in, then."

Justice waited until Denny had opened the door wide enough for him to slip in. The interior was dark, lit by only one small lantern. Facing him was Raj's brother and a dusky-skinned woman clad ca.n.a.ler-style, who must be the Altair Jones Raj had spoken of.

NIGHT RIDE.

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Another Adventist, with a name like that. Lords! What had he stumbled into?

"Raj?" Denny asked, shutting the door, and throwing the series of locks. "Where's Raj?"

"Back at my place," Justice said, all too aware of the look he was receiving from Jones. He fell the weight of the sword at his side, remembering that these people might be as dangerous as the men who had followed Raj. "He asked me to bring you a message. He's all right. He was on the way to deliver some papers for a friend of his who's sick, and was chased by six men who kept him from his destination."

"d.a.m.n!" That was Jones. She s.h.i.+fted her compact body in the semi-darkness. "Never got through?"

"No."

"Where's them d.a.m.ned papers? He still got 'em?**

Justice extended the books. "Raj put the papers inside the book in the middle of the pile."

Jones s.n.a.t.c.hed the books, stood holding them to her chest. "Why'd he come to ye?"

"We had lunch today. I guess after I beat the thugs off Denny, he trusted me. He remembered where 1 lived, momentarily lost his pursuers, and came to me, looking for a place to hide. He knew you'd be worried about him, so he asked me to let you know he was all right."

Denny's face had brightened as Justice told his story. "He's all right, " Denny murmured. "He's all right."

Justice looked at Jones. "Raj had more to say. He wants me to let his sick friend know that-" He licked his lips. "- a.s.sa.s.sins might be loose, and they may try to make a move tonight. If not tonight, then very soon."

"Dammit all!" Jones' voice shook and she darted a glance over her shoulder into the apartment. She looked back. "Ye followed by anyone?"

"Not that I can tell."

"Come by poleboat?"

Justice nodded.

"Who brung ye?"

"A fellow named Sergei."

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Asine NTGHT RIDE.

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Jones thought for a moment, then nodded. "Good man." She hefted the books. "Papers is small. What'd ye bring these for'.'"

"My cover. 1 wanted everyone to think 'I was making a delivery from the College. That's what Sergei thinks too."

Denny was staring at the books. "Ye'd leave 'em here?"

"Raj said he'd return them." He met Jones' eyes. "And if anyone is watching me, I can't very well leave with books I'm supposed to be delivering."

Jones stared at Justice. "Where d'ye live?"

"Backside of Ka.s.s." Justice gestured to the books. "My address is inside."

"Anything more? When's Raj coming back?"

"He asked if he could stay all night at my place. He's afraid to go out. He'll leave in the morning."

"Huhn." Jones' dark eyes flickered in the lantern light. "When ye going back home?"

"Sergei's waiting for me."

The silence stretched out until it felt uncomfortable. "Ye mind me, now. Ye've done us a favor, an' ye done Denny one t'day. Raj, he'll pay ye back. An' me 'n. . . ." She gestured briefly "Ye take the straightest way back, hear? Don't stop for nothin'. Ain't nothin' worse'n t'be caught ca.n.a.lside when ye don't know the territory. Hear me?"

Justice nodded, his heart beating faster. "I planned to do just that."

"Good. Now, git. . .'fore the traffic clears off the ca.n.a.ls."

Justice met Jones' eyes for a moment, saw the unspoken thanks there, and nodded again. A touch came at his hand.

"An" thank ye again," Denny said, "for savin' me t'day. When y'see Raj ... tell 'im we'll figure out what t'do at this end."

"Git," Jones said in a friendly voice, brus.h.i.+ng Denny aside to unlock the door. "Go safe!"

Justice slipped out the door, heard it shut firmly behind, him, the rattle and squeak of locks loud to his ears. Drawing a deep breath, he trotted back down the stairs toward the landing where Sergei waited. The damp fog hit him in the face again and he s.h.i.+vered in the chill wind. Snow. The orderly change in seasons. Maybe snow would make things seem normal gain. Normal? Justice snorted a laugh, and looked carefully around, alert for the slightest hint of trouble. After tonight, he doubted he would ever take anything at its face value again. Sergei stood up as Justice walked out on the landing and began untying the poleboat.

The water slapped against the side of the boat as Justice crawled in. He drew the poncho closer, sneezed once, and thought of the medicine he had left at home. Sergei guided the poleboat back out into Fishmarket; Justice peered ahead into the murky darkness, and smelled a new rawness in the wind.

FEVER SEASON (REPRISED).

CJ. Cberryk The front door opened and closed again, and Mondragon leaned against the bedroom door frame, the pistol fallen to his side as Jones came down the hall toward him, waving a battered set of papers.

"Raj's all right, he couldn't get 'em through, but he's all right." As Denny arrived in her wake.

Mondragon let out a breath, felt the hall spin round, and held onto the doorframe until he had got another to steady him. Good news and disaster all at once. He had not killed the boy. Thank G.o.d, he had not killed the boy.

Jones held his arm, pulled him loose from the door, guided him back to the bed and sat him down. He put the pistol back into the reading rack of the nightsfand and swung one leg up onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows, trying to think past the ebb and flow of blood in his brain.

"Could be worse. Denny, get out of here. I've got to talk to Jones."

"1 don't want to."

"Denny, -" Jones clenched a fist, grabbed for the urchin, and Denny ran.

Mondragon coughed and recovered himself while Jones sat down on the bedside and pulled a blanket over him. It had been 179.

180.

C.J. Cktrryk h.e.l.l getting home again-pick up a criuple of Moghi's bullyfads to ride with them and see him up the stairs and watch the boat till Del and Mira showed, and Min came back with the d.a.m.ned pot, drunker than a sailor for sure. Thank G.o.d he had shed the knit hat and the padding and sopped off the powder with ca.n.a.lwater by the time they got to Moghi's, and looked no worse than a poor fool in a smelly sweater and pants three times too big and full of holes-with his face and hands and feet all splotchy with brown stain. He had had a bath since. He had had to have a bath. He was covered with bites from something in the clothes.

"f c'n try-" Jones started out predictably. She would, too. He had known that when she tried to worm his situation out of him. Raj was supposed to have gone into the Justiciary. Raj was supposed to have delivered a quiet message. Jones had double-crossed him, and said, cheerfully: Ain't no problem. What's he going to do? You got that paper out here.

"No," he said.

Odds were high it was a setup. That someone had gotten to Rosenblum. And G.o.d knew whether the papers they had risked their lives for were forged.

No, gut-ievel instinct said. If the men who had sprung the ambush were Tatiana Kalugin's, they might well have been blacklegs. If arrest with state papers was the game, if the game was hauling a band of fools into the Justiciary for questioning that would turn up the name of Anastasi Kalugin- then best those papers be real. And Rosenbium might or might not have been in on it. It was even possible that it had been House Rosenblum's own hired muscle, commanded by Constancy Rosenblum, trying to save his reputation at both ends-get the note and the papers back. Mondragon had feared some such move and tried to dissuade it with threats: the Families, and Rosenblum was from one of the Families, ran their own police actions.

Mondragon took the papers from Jones. He spread them out on his knees and looked them over. There was the Trade Ministry seal on them, that he had insisted on, though they were copies. There were the activities of the investigating FEVER SEASON (REPRISED).

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arm of the Ministry. There were the warehouse inspections, and the name of the inspector. There were the waivers granted regarding Nev Hettek s.h.i.+pments. And who had granted them.

If they were not real, whoever held these pages could force a comparison with the official record.

And there was, d.a.m.ningly often where it regarded waivers, the name of a certain inspector Nadya diNero. Who also had invested to the hilt with one Sulie diNero, who was into speculative investments on which one Anatoly Kuzmin, the Kuzmin, had had the notes, but Boregy's banking operation had done a lot of note-buying lately, offering the holders a small profit a month ago when liquid a.s.sets meant a chance of bigger profits on pre-winter cargoes.

Even a Merovingen gaming house was quite happy to sell a note. Or two. A little purchase no Boregy banker could have made, but a slightly raffish Boregy adherent might, without rousing alarms. Even a foreigner-Boregy might look to investments, of the slightly seedy sort his small allowance and duelist's resources made reasonable.

So the gamblmg house would reckon.

Rosenblum to diNero, diNero to a list involving inspections of cargoes, and the corresponding warehousing records, including Megarys. And all those waivers and variances, with names attached.

The Justiciary could be very rough in questioning, once it got on the track of evidence.

Even where it regarded high names.

And G.o.d knew, only those who knew what the connections were, knew how to doctor this list // it was doctored. If Rosenblum had known how. If someone had instructed Rosenblum how, Rosenblum would be a dead man before winter, as they covered their traces. And he had told Rosenblum that. He had told him if that started happening, Rosenblum had only one hope, and that was in going home to House Rosenblum, locking the doors, and admitting only a messenger who would give him a certain pa.s.sword . . . because his living to testify was desirable only to the side who wanted these papers.

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