Ties Of Blood And Silver Part 5

"That Will Be Ten Pesos. Now."

My back had pretty much healed over, a few days later, when Carlos sent us out to work Lower City again. "If you don't appreciate sitting around on your lazy a.s.s while I go out and get supplies, you might as well make some money," he had said.

Actually, getting out suited me. Even a permanent state of fear doesn't prevent creeping claustrophobia; I'd been going a bit stir-crazy.

As we exited the tunnels, both of us squinting in the bright sunlight, Marie smiled up at me. "What sort of stuff do you want to do today, David?"

I hitched at my shoulderbag. "Not we. Not today."

For one thing, the area I wanted to go to was near the seedie reservation, and it wouldn't be safe for the two of us to be seen together there; Marie's and my descriptions were probably still circulating well around there, after that fiasco with the three inspectors.

For another, I could run faster by myself, if it came to that-and while I had no particular reason to doubt Carlos' a.s.surances that n.o.body suspected the ident.i.ty of the boy who had stolen van Ingstrand's brooch, taking Carlos One-Hand at his word would be incredibly stupid.

"You don't want to work with me anymore?" She looked as if she was about to cry; I reached out and ran my fingers through her hair.

"No, little one, it's not that. This is just for today. I'll head down into Middle City, toward the port. You head into the markets. Don't be stupid, but do be lazy. With all the money we've got these days, Carlos probably won't beat us, as long we come back with something. Just take the easy ones."

She sniffed. "You talk like I don't know the sharp edge of a blade from the dull one."

I wasn't too worried. Even if she slipped up, most suckers would let her go, rather than turn a cute littlegirl over to the Protective Society. "Get going; I'll meet you here just before sundown, if I can. If I'm late, wait for me about halfway down the path. I'll be in before it gets dark enough for tTant to be a problem."

"What are you up to?"

"I told you: I'm going to work around the 'port."

She sniffed. "Oh. Her."

"It has been a while since I've seen Gina."

"But you'll get some money, too?"

" 'Course. Get going, and-"

"I know. And be careful." She jogged away toward the markets, her feet kicking up sand.

There was another, more important reason that I wanted to be on my own for a while. Gina was only the minor one.

For Gina, I'd need to make some money. But I could take care of the major one without any.

I fondled the firestone ring I'd reclaimed from my stash. With a bit of luck, I'd end up making some money.

So I pulled a makeup kit, a new buzh tunic, and sandals out of my shoulderbag, stuck my makeup mirror on the boulder, and started putting on the color and pseudoflesh.

The sign outside the third in the row of low stone buildings at the edge of the port preserve read:

ELREN MAC CORMIER, EXCHANGER.

Fast Cash Currency Conversion Friendly Treatment BEST RATES IN THE CITY.

Our Motto: "If someone else says that he can do better by you, he lies."

It's always a bit tricky to work around an exchanger's place, and not usually a good idea. Exchangers and lifters are partners, at least in one sense; we eat from the same table. It's not polite-and it's always risky-to work where you eat.

But I knew Elren Mac Cormier only by reputation and by sight; we'd never done business directly.

Worth the risk, as long as I could keep the disguise up.

I ducked into the alley next to the building to adjust my makeup and work it out.Let's see... I could carry my age at anywhere from about thirty-five to fifty-five; for this, probably the younger the better.

Thirty-five, then-just into the frustration years of p.u.b.erty. That felt about right.

I shaved again, digging in the razor over my right cheekbone to add the kind of abrasion that a boy new to shaving might have, then put the razor back in my pouch and took out a half-empty tube of Skintight to remove the worry lines around my eyes. I rubbed more color in below the eyes to get rid of the dark hollows, then added a couple of layers of pseudoflesh to my cheeks-baby fat, they call it.

A bit of oil on my hair, a quick combing, and I was done. As I examined myself in my mirror, I had to agree that I looked like a buzh, but not like the same one who had stolen van Ingstrand's brooch: I was chubbier and a few years younger.

Good. A bit of nervousness, an occasional stammer, and a p.u.b.escent crack in my voice would help, but that wasn't quite enough. I straightened into a buzh's upright posture, then added a solid ten percent of crouch to allow for the nervousness of a boy selling one of his father's rings.

I stashed my makeup kit, my blade, and its sheath in my shoulderbag, stowed the bag under a heap of refuse, and waited quietly for a few minutes while the marks from the sheath's strap faded from my forearm.

As Carlos always said, most of the work is in preparation. Since I wasn't going to steal anything here, there was no need for the blade.

It was just as well that I left it; as I walked through the door, one of Elren's blocky guards frisked me, politely but thoroughly. He led me through a dark foyer into a windowless room, well carpeted, discreedy placed glows providing indirect lighting.

Elren Mac Cormier's office was nicely appointed. The floor was covered by a gorgeous black-and-gold rug. If it was a real Persian, it was probably worth hundreds of tweecies; even if it was a simulacrum, it would still be worth a lot.

The overstuffed visitors' chairs in front of her desk were large and deep, which spoke well for her sense of security-once seated in one of these, it wouldn't be possible to leap out.

The side and rear walls were covered by purple curtains; there could have been no other entrances to the room, or a dozen.

The guard gestured to one of the chairs in front of her ma.s.sive, stone-topped desk. "If you will wait here, young sir, the Exchanger will be with you in but a moment."

I took the Firestone ring out of my pouch and pretended to fondle it nervously while I waited. There could have been fifty peepholes-there was certainly at least one, although it wasn't necessarily manned right now-and I didn't need to excite any suspicions by searching the room for a safe or cache while I waited.

But there were half a dozen places in this room alone where there could have been a hidden safe, and there was no hint either of b.o.o.bytraps or of electronic warning devices.

Likely her safe-at least the one where she kept most of her money and her most valuable valuables-was in this room; it's rea.s.suring for an exchanger to do business near the cashbox.

I didn't like the apparent absence of both traps and alarms. I didn't like that at all. There should havebeen one or the other, depending on whether Elren spent her nights in the building or not.

The absence of alarms had to mean that Elren didn't live here at night. Alarms are only useful if you can go answer them when they go off; since she wouldn't dare go outside to answer an alarm for fear of t'Tant, that indicated that she didn't live here.

So there should be b.o.o.bytraps.

Unless she took all of her stock home with her? No, that didn't make sense, either; a successful exchanger wouldn't be able to carry a large stock of goods and money home and back every day.

The only thing that left was live guards, supplemented by a safe or two. I suppressed a nod. I should be able to beat live guards and pretty much any lock. And that would be it-a.s.suming, that is, that the brooch was still on the premises.

A large a.s.sumption, but one that I didn't have to commit myself to, not yet.

The curtains on the wall opposite me were pushed aside, and Elren Mac Cormier walked into the room.

She was a tall, middle-aged woman, with a short, sharp nose and neck-length hair that flipped about her face as she tossed her head nervously.

"Good day, young sir," she said, her calm voice contrasting with her twitchy manner. She smiled. She had : good teeth and gold inlays. Exchangers always have good teeth and gold inlays. "I believe we have not done business before. Am I incorrect?"

"N-no," I said, proud of the little stammer. "I've never done this-" i She raised a palm. "Please. Rest easy. Everyone has a first time, for everything." She ducked her head. "And I am both proud and pleased that you have selected me to handle your first exchanging. Is it the ring?" She seated herself behind the desk.

"Ring?"

A note of impatience crept into her voice. "The fire-stone ring in your hand." Elren Mac Cormier smiled.

A young buzh, selling an expensive ring-that looked promising, both for now and for the future. She c.o.c.ked her head, looking me over from head to foot, trying to decide whether it was drugs or s.e.x.

She would tend to lean toward s.e.x as the explanation: my eyes were clear, and my arms unmarked-and I was nervous enough to suggest that this was my first time.

"Yes. The ring. It's mine," I said, handing it over, "but I don't need it anymore."

"Of course." A little quarter-nod. s.e.x, she decided.

She donned a loupe and examined the ring carefully, then weighed it on her desk scale. "An adequate firestone, despite the tiny flaw. I can give you four hundred pesos, as gem and gold. Seven hundred, if you'll allow me to sell it openly, as-is."

She kept her smile to herself this time. It was a nice gambit, and she was pleased with herself: a buzh boy, selling a ring he'd stolen from his father, wouldn't want to take the risk of leaving the ring intact, particularly since he wouldn't trust the exchanger's discretion. Not a loosemouth like Elren, if he knew her reputation-not even a legendarily discreet exchanger like Benno, if this was his first time.

I kept my smile to myself, too. Elren wouldn't chop the ring up; that would decrease its value. Which was exactly what I wanted; it was just too pretty.Still, I had to stay in character. "I'd... rather you break it up. It... would bother me, if I ever saw the ring on anyone else's finger."

She nodded. "And so it shall be." She looked around the room and grimaced. "I'm sorry, but I don't have my tools here, or I'd pry the gem loose right now, and melt the gold down before your very eyes. I hope you'll trust me?"

"Of c-course," I said, honestly. Of course I knew she wouldn't break up the ring.

She reached down and turned a key, then slid open a desk drawer. A heavy drawer, from the sound of it. That boded well; if the desk was well secured, it probably meant that she kept it locked against pilfering by her guards. Which would mean live guards at night, instead of electronics, confirming my suspicions.

That would be easy to check.

She raised an eyebrow. "I a.s.sume you want cash, rather than trade?"

"Y-yes."

"Fine. Are hundreds acceptable?"

I nodded.

She smiled; definitely s.e.x. The Protective Society frowns on drug traffic among the lowers and buzhes for the same reason it frowns on lifting; drugs also tend to cut down on the take from legitimate business, like foodselling and Joy Street.

So, most drug dealings take place either in Joy Street houses that lowers can't afford, or in hidden corners of Lower City alleyways, the dealer providing the goods, the buyer quickly giving him the exact price, then rus.h.i.+ng away-not the sort of situation where you can wait around for change.

On the other hand, Joy Street houses don't mind making change; they're taxed by the Society, just like any other business.

She counted four hundred-peso bills onto the desk, then bid me a good day. "I hope you will return soon," she said. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you."

"That is kind of you to say," I said, straight-faced. Just what I had been thinking.

I tucked the bills into my pouch as I walked out. Now, all I needed was advice. Well, not quite all.

What I really needed was someone to talk to, someone I could trust.

I settled for Gina.

Gina brought a pair of icy-cold gla.s.ses of water back to the bed, dew beading their mottled sides. "I should charge you extra for this," she said, as she lay down beside me, propping herself up with pillows.

"This isn't an eatery."

Sun spattered through the barred windows and splashed on the bed, her long, so-blond-that-it-was-almost white hair shattering the sunlight into all the colors of the rainbow. She turned over onto her side to sip her water, posing gracefully, one leg folded slightly over the other, theother with toe pointed, accentuating the curve of her thigh and calf. Gina was beautiful. But I guess I'm prejudiced.

"I guess so," I said. "You clearly didn't enjoy yourself." I snorted.

She just smiled, and ran a long fingernail across my chest. "But maybe getting you a drink of water isn't all that much more effort." She set her gla.s.s down on the nightstand and curled up next to me, resting her head on my chest. "This cuddling will cost you an extra peso, though."

"Fine."

It was part of a game we always played; we never violated the unwritten rules.

The pretense was that this was always business, that she was just in it for the money. It had always been that way between me and Gina, ever since the day we'd met, several years before, when she'd caught me trying to lift her pouch, quickly doubled me over with a quick kick to the groin, and then offered not to turn me in in return for a half-peso.

Yes, just a half-peso. She could have taken my pouch, which contained more than twenty times that, and turned me in to the Protective Society.

But she hadn't. And any suggestion that she could have made more money off me than she already did was somehow forbidden.

Part of the game. Gina liked playing at it.

Which is why I trusted her now, I guess. If she turned me in for van Ingstrand's reward, she wouldn't have anyone else to play with. n.o.body else could have understood her; n.o.body else would have played.

"I've got a problem," I said. "Give you ten pesos for some good advice."

"How much for bad advice? And how do we decide on the quality-" She caught herself. "Wait a minute-you sound serious."

"Good."

She sat up, draping the top sheet around her shoulders. "You're thinking of leaving Carlos?"