The Taste of Waterfruit and Other Stories (Story Portals) Read online

  Hu Lin returned, followed by several wary looking officers, ship captains embarked on Swift Shark for the conclave. They pressed into the room, those who could not fit spilling out into the passage beyond.

  Marya raised her hands wide and looked across the gathering. "My friends, I thank you for attending to my needs at this late hour. I wish to say publically that Hu Lin is the right choice to lead the Hai Do after I'm gone."

  Hu Lin frowned. "This is a more fitting topic for the conclave."

  Marya smiled. "But I shall not be at the conclave, Hu Lin. For I am old and tired." Then, quick as a snake, she snatched up her knife and plunged it deep within herself.

  A gasp rose up among the assembled captains.

  Katya lunged forward, and caught Marya in her arms and cradled the old woman's head in her lap. "Marya, what have you done?"

  "I've fixed everything," she whispered. "Your contract with Gao Jin has been fulfilled, though not in the way he intended. You did not kill me. And yet my death has been procured for your goddess by one of her servants." Her eyes flared for a heartbeat, held wide as the pain took her, and then her whole body eased.

  "Marya." Katya's throat closed painfully around the name as she gently cradled the old woman's still form. Katya was heartsick with grief. And yet she saw the wisdom at work here, felt the goddess's hand in this. It was like the taste of waterfruit: at once sweet and bitter. Shi'in must have brought this to pass.

  Else how would a dear old washer woman with only one eye have managed to see more clearly than anyone?

  Never to Heaven Go

  By Phaedra Weldon

  Katya balanced the throwing knife's small blade between her fingers as she focused on the target on the wall. Her skirts fell softly around her silk pants as she leaned her head to the right and then the left. A long braid of ebony hair slid its weight down the small of her back—a counter balance to the weight of the blade's hilt. The constant murmur of the inn's dinner crowd rose and fell as laughter rang out louder than the clanking of utensils on wooden plates and the clash of pewter steins on use-worn tables of thick wood.

  She pursed her lips and glanced to her left side. Galt, the innkeeper and her long-time friend, stepped into view just past the bar. He gave her a brief nod of his head and moved on out the door to the back and the store room there.

  The nod had been a signal.

  He had received her message to meet.

  "Aw c'mon there, Lady," said one of her opponents. "Don't make us wait all night. My dinner's gett'n cold. Jus' throw and lose."

  She refocused on the target—a mosaic painted on wood with a spiraling pattern winding deosil within—and then glanced to her left. "Really, Paddish," she said to the merchant who sold iron to the blacksmith's forge. Her weapons maker, Alessan, had set up this little wager after arguing with the upping of prices. Raw ore was at a premium with piracy on the rise. "Care to up the prize a third time?"

  "Jus' throw," Paddish whined.

  She looked at Paddish and smiled. "My wish is your command."

  Gasps came from the onlookers around her—the prize was already set high. Paddish was all hubris and bad teeth who had no idea with whom he'd challenged. If there was one thing Katya had in her life, it was complete and utter control of weapons. Any of them. All of them. Because she had control of her body. She'd already fixed on the target's center, calculated for the slight distance—Katya had hit targets much further than this, and in motion. Her muscles remembered the command from the vision in her mind's eye.

  Throwing—was only the execution of a preparation.

  She threw the knife without looking at the target.

  A roar of triumph moved as a wave around the room when the official called the shot—a clean hit. Not exactly on center—but close. She saw gold pieces being exchanged between hands on bets not sanctioned—but who was paying attention. She turned as Paddish ambled up to her. There was no malice in his eye—no—Paddish might look rough, but his heart was pure and his practices sound. He sighed as he held up an index finger with a long, jagged nailed backed up with black dirt. "You weren't exactly on the center."

  She nodded down to him. "And for that," she arched an eyebrow. "What say we adjust the deal—you lower the increase by seventy-five percent."

  He rubbed his chin. "A twenty-five percent mark up?"

  Katya rolled her eyes. "Paddish—where did you learn math? You increased the price of that ore by ten percent. For Alessan—"

  Paddish raised his hands. "Fine—if you’ll agree to three percent. I have to make a living too, Lady."

  "Deal," she said and moved away from the crowds now dispersing around the room. "I'll be checking up on you, Paddish."

  With a wave of irritation he shuffled back to his table and his now cold food. Katya gave the crowd a cursory glance before she moved into the shadows of the kitchen, grabbed a cloak she kept hanging on a nearby hook, and slipped outside to the storehouse.

  Galt was there, seated in the back, propped against a few crates that'd been delivered a few days ago. He drew air through a small cigarette of rolled spice cloves and watched her through his one good eye. On his other he wore a patch. "It's risky when you do that, Kat."

  "Risky how?" she said from the shadows. Galt knew her face well from all her visits to The Unicorn’s Horn—at least those visits she made in her own guise. Still, she kept to the shadows out of habit, almost unthinkingly. "Alessan’s prices go up and so do mine. I can understand the occasional jump, but when the suppliers get too greedy then something must be done. "

  "And what if Corrigan had been in the Inn and seen you throw like that?"

  "Why do you think I didn't hit a perfect score? He wasn’t there, but word will get back to him. It always does."

  "Exactly, Kat. Last week's nobleman's death by knife is still foremost in his mind. It was a professional hit, which means he’s not likely to find the true killer, but I’ve heard the pressure’s on him a bit on this one. I wouldn’t put it past him to look for a scapegoat, and the private guard of a recluse mage—especially a guard who is unusually good with a knife—might be just what he’s looking for."

  Katya made a less than lady-like noise. The nobleman had been her most recent job, not a week ago. She'd acted swiftly and quietly. The guard had no clues. But then, when it looked as if an assassin had acted, very little investigation was ever initiated. Someone had paid money to have someone killed—and if there was usually a good reason for it… "Corrigan’s not like that. He’s a good man."

  "I'm glad you have such faith in him," Galt said and blew dark smoke from between his lips then abruptly changed the subject. "You wanted to talk? Then talk. I'm a busy man."

  "I need your thoughts on something. A friend of mine—I’ve mentioned him to you before—is in the business you spoke of a moment ago.”

  Galt interrupted her. “Was this friend of yours involved in that nobleman’s death?”

  Katya looked at him in silence, not answering. After a moment Galt cleared his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. You couldn’t know the answer to that, of course, and even if you did you couldn’t tell me. It’s been on my mind, though, for some reason, and it just sort of slipped out.”

  She nodded, once, and continued as though he’d never spoken. “He met with a potential client earlier today." Katya herself had held that meeting, right there in The Unicorn’s Horn earlier that afternoon, but, as she usually did, she came disguised through both magic and makeup as a man.

  Galt looked over at her through a slitted lid. From a distance no one would realize he spoke to shadows. "He has concerns." It wasn't a question.

  She nodded again. "This client—” his name was Jal Akim, but Galt didn’t need to know that “—claims a man's servant stole a ring from him. He wants her killed. The servant, I mean."

  "No mention of retrieving the ring?"

  "He wants that returned as well, but my friend made it clear that he isn’t a retrieval service. The ring is t
he client’s problem." She gave a short sigh. "What troubles me is why hire an assassin to kill a servant? Why not demand justice from the servant's employer?"

  Galt pulled heavily on the cigarette, the ember edge flaring bright red orange. He paused a beat before he blew out the smoke. "Do you have an answer already—or are you wanting me to answer?"

  "Both. In my friend’s line of work, it’s hard for him to do certain forms of research, so I help out when I can. So, yes, I’d like you to answer. I can add that this client claims he confronted the servant’s master—the host with whom he was staying with. A Lord Marzug."

  "I'm not familiar with that name."

  "I thought I would speak with Jona tomorrow about Marzug."

  “On behalf of your friend.”

  “Of course.”

  Galt shifted and pressed the remaining cigarette into the sandstone wall to his right. The night sky loomed above them, a field of stars revolving around a perfectly round moon. "I take it this Lord Marzug refused him."

  "He did. Called him a liar—" she looked at Galt. "Or so the client says. He claims he saw her steal the ring."

  "If he truly saw her—" Galt said. "Then why not say something then? Catch her in the act? Shout and draw attention?"

  "Exactly. This just doesn’t add up. And my friend doesn’t want to just accept the assignment as it’s been offered to him. Not until he understands it better. "

  “An assassin with a conscience?” Galt smiled.

  Katya shrugged. “He’s my friend. Could he be that if he were nothing but a soulless killer?”

  Galt’s smile faded. “Point,” he said. The innkeeper straightened and moved back to the kitchen door. "In all my years I've never known a master not to take the word of a noble man—I am assuming he is such—over the word of a servant. You're right in searching deeper. On behalf of your friend. You said he’s not yet taken the job?"

  She shook her head slowly. "He said he would give his answer tomorrow."

  "Search well, Kat. For your friend. And let me know if you need anything else." Shouts and laughter issued from inside when he opened the door and disappeared through it.

  She remained a part of the shadows for some time before moving away, lest anyone be watching. Most would only remain behind a few minutes to see if the shadows stayed shadows before they left. Katya could out-wait anyone until they revealed themselves. When it looked at as if no one had tried to spy on them, she left. Jal Akim had not sent his own eyes back into the Inn.

  Katya moved along the shadows of Jakarr, over rooftops when necessary, and through buildings when curious. No one saw her, and if she were noticed, it was as nothing more than a passing chill. As an assassin, Katya was one of the best. She didn't take every job that came her way, but she was perfect in her kills. She had never missed.

  Katya returned to the small home she owned in the merchant area of the city. Once there, she slipped inside and moved quickly through her rooms to the back where a series of trapped spells revealed a set of stairs down. There were two basements. The lower of the two was where she kept a room for her weapons—this was also where she practiced her fighting moves. The other room served as a private area to practice her magical abilities. The upper basement she used as a place for meditation, where a bath was filled by a natural spring and heated by a small well of coal.

  She kept an area to sleep in here as well, feeling much safer in the hidden apartments of her home than above where she felt vulnerable.

  After stripping off her clothing she wound her braid up around her head and pinned it in place. Katya lit a series of candles—the only thing she kept of her life in service to Shi'in. Once the candles were lit she eased herself into the water in a single, graceful movement. She leaned against the bath's edge and let her mind replay the conversation with Jal Akim.

  You said you saw her take the ring.

  Yes. I saw her with my own eyes. But Marzug refused me—and that ring is most important to me and to my family. I must have it back before she sells it.

  I'm afraid you've been misinformed—it is not my trade to find stolen items—perhaps if you seek a retrieval—

  I want her dead, assassin, and he'd slammed his fist on the table, jarring the wine and goblets. I want her dead.

  Katya sighed and opened her eyes. Though she was relaxed, her senses were alert to the noises outside, the ones above, and the ones in her basement. All the questions she'd tossed around in her head now ordered themselves up for her to keep managed. Things she needed to know.

  What was the true value of this ring? Why would Marzug take the side of his servant? Why was Akim within this house? Why did he not try to stop her while she was in the act of the theft?

  And most important of all—who was Jal Akim?

  * * *

  "Lord Marzug is an acquaintance," Jona said as he and Lady Katya strolled out onto the rooftop veranda of his Jakarr home. Below rose the sounds of the morning market opening up with voices, calls, and the occasional squawk and blare of stock ready for sale and slaughter. "We have completed business on occasion. His ships are the fastest in Wenshi port, and also the best guarded." Jona leaned over toward her as they walked. "Pirates and all that."

  Jona was one of her more frequent clients—though most of his jobs included the protection of precious and expensive cargo and only an occasional death. She suspected she was not Jona’s only employee in such matters. But then, there was much she suspected about Prince Jona.

  He was the half-brother of the King of Kuhl and third in line of succession. In his mid forties, he was an attractive man, even by Katya's standards. Brown hair and eyes and a body kept in top condition for sword fighting, though Jona's court reputation was that of a lady's man, and his tastes ran more in the waters of intrigue than fighting.

  To Jona, Lady Kat was a blonde, with soft honey wheat hair and dark, rich brown eyes. Her skin was fair, and her lips thick and pink.

  Katya's own appearance was so far from this image she felt comfortable enough around Jona to seek him out for occasional information—even if he saw it as a challenge and a promise to one day bed her.

  The veranda was covered by a thick, green and brown tarp, trimmed in sculpted edges and stitched in gold with matching tassels. An iron table sat away from the edge, ladened with fruit and cheese, dried meats, and spicy cakes. Pitchers of cool water sat in the center, condensation running down the outside of the ceramic and pooling on the table. Jona took a seat on the left, Katya on the right. He took up a plate and speared a few slices of cheese and a small cluster of grapes. "So…my lady…care to share with me your concerns?"

  Katya refrained from eating and kept her gaze out on the city's rooftops, her eyes ever watchful. "Do you know of a servant of his named Edibe?"

  "Ah, yes, of course," Jona nodded as he chewed. He wiped at his beard and mustaches with a gold cloth and set his fork on the plate. "Yes—if you do business with Marzug, then you know Edibe. She is his most devoted of servants, and she's his scribe. He takes her everywhere with him and he trusts her explicitly."

  "So it would seem impossible that Edibe would steal."

  "Steal?" Jona turned a frown on Katya. "Never. Unless she were ordered to steal. And I believe she'd have a moral dilemma with such an order." He leaned his head to one side. "Please don't tell me someone has hired you to kill Edibe? I'm afraid if you did, Lord Marzug would stop at nothing to hunt you down."

  "There is someone who wishes her dead," Katya nodded. "But it isn't a job I've agreed to yet. Someone has accused her of stealing, and they insisted they brought up the injustice to Marzug. But he took the side of his servant and kicked this individual out of his house."

  "Ah," Jona nodded. "That would be Jal Akim, the physician."

  She snapped her attention to Jona. "You know of him."

  "I know he was in the home when Marzug’s son died. And when Marzug had him bodily removed from the estate, he raised a ruckus that irritated even Corrigan."

  Son died
? This was interesting. "Marzug's son died?"

  "Recently. The wake was two days ago. I learned this from some of the other servants in Marzug's house. His son, Joachim, had come down with some strange affliction while in Wenshi. The illness caused his muscles to contort and seize and he was unable to move, barely able to talk." He picked up his fork and speared a slice of pear. He eyed it for a few seconds before making it disappear behind his mustaches. "Jal Akim appeared when Lord Marzug brought his son home, and insisted he could cure the boy. Three days of this and finally," he swallowed, shaking his head. "Joachim died on the third night. That would make it…Sunday?"

  It didn't surprise her—the callous way Jona spoke about the boy's malaise and death. Jona was from a different world, and rumor was that he only chose to live among the peasants because it entertained him. And—truth be told—he knew he would never be king. But Katya knew a bit more about Prince Jona. He did more than dabble in intrigue, and the services he bought from her and from others were all designed to strengthen his family’s hold on the throne of Ankora. She believed Jona was the royal spymaster, among other things, and she knew that very little escaped his notice.

  "Jal Akim is a physician then."

  Jona shrugged. "He makes that claim, but, as they say, actions speak louder than words. He did not cure Joachim, and a man now aches in the city for the death of his son." He looked over at Katya. "Would you like to speak to Edibe?"

  "Is that possible?"

  "I have used her before, with Marzug's permission. But if she is your intended target…"

  Katya quickly shook her head. "I told you—I haven't agreed to the job."

  "I can arrange a meeting then—between the two of you. She wouldn't even have to know who you are—but she cannot die in this meeting. I must have your word on this."

  "And I have told you, Jona, I have not agreed to the job. She is safe from me, at least for now."

  It was an opportunity she wouldn't want to miss. To learn if Edibe had indeed stolen the ring, and why, and what it was that afflicted her master's son. She agreed to a meeting that afternoon. Katya had told Jal Akim if he didn't receive word after midnight it meant she wouldn't take the job. She had time—though she already suspected she had the wrong target.