The Blinding Knife
Page 67
Kip heard the words, but suddenly they lost meaning, blew apart into irrelevance. The art on one of the white cards was different than he’d remembered. Or maybe because he’d been studying miniature portraits of all the cards, he simply hadn’t noticed. Heaven’s Finger. It was a dagger: white, veined with black, with seven colorless gems gleaming in the blade. It was the dagger Kip’s mother had given him. He was stunned.
Hearing Grinwoody whispering something in Andross’s ear, Kip looked up quickly.
“Hellfang,” Andross Guile said. “You’ve seen it. Not the card. The real one.”
It was a shot right in Kip’s big soft stomach. He started. “I—No, what are you talking about?”
“Hellfang is its other name. Marrow Sucker. The Blinder’s Knife. You’ve seen it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Kip said nothing, but he realized the last part wasn’t to him. Grinwoody said, “He jumped when he saw the card, my lord. Definitely recognition.” He made no effort to hide the smugness in his voice.
He’d been set up. Andross Guile had been playing him these games all this time simply to lure Kip into a false sense of security, complacency. Kip had played the White deck twice now, and the card had never come up. Andross Guile had been content to play him again and again so that Kip would be off guard when it did. All that time so that Kip would give an honest, startled reaction if he had seen the knife before. It had all been a trap.
“We’ll talk more, when you’re ready,” Andross Guile said. “I know your mother stole it. I know she wanted to give it to Gavin, maybe in return for him making you legitimate. I want to know where it is and what my son knows about it. In return, I offer you the girl. Think about it. Not only will you get someone to warm your bed, which, face it, you have no hope of otherwise, but also a drafter’s contract is worth a lot of money over the course of her life. Your tuition has been paid, but you have no other income. Maybe you can beg some scraps from Gavin, if he remembers you, if you want to be a beggar. Otherwise, tendering her services is the only way you’ll be able to keep from having to find a sponsor yourself. All for a few bits of information that I’m going to find out regardless. If I learn it from somewhere else, you get nothing.”
Kip was out of his depth. Playing his wits against Andross Guile was like playing Nine Kings with only two cards against an expert with a full deck. Kip’s cards were Ignorance and Stupidity. Not winners.
“I’ll see you in a week,” Kip said. “Have Teia’s papers ready. I intend to win.”
Chapter 50
As soon as Kip got out of sight, he ran. He took the stairs down to his level and ran until he was within sight of his barracks.
There was a man standing outside the barracks. “Hello, sir,” he said as Kip approached.
“Uh.”
“I’ve been told to tell you that Lord Andross Guile wishes to reward you for your fine play. You’ve been given your own room. Your things have already been moved. Would you like to follow me?”
That old, decrepit, infuriating spider. He was magnificent. He’d just played a Scry and looked at Kip’s hand. For one moment, Kip couldn’t help but admire how well played it was. How better to go through all of Kip’s possessions than by helping him move? And how could Kip object? He was getting a better room, for nothing.
So Kip did the smartest thing he’d done all day. He went upstairs—without making some excuse to first go into the barracks and check to see if the dagger was still in the chest five beds down. If they’d stolen it, it was already gone. If it was still there, he’d only be tipping them off. He’d come back later.
His new room wasn’t large, but it did have a bed with new sheets and a warm blanket, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a small window to the outside. There was a lock on the door. The servant handed him a key. Nice touch.
The people most likely to steal from him doubtless already had a copy.
“Thank you,” Kip said. “Tell Luxlord Guile I was left speechless by his generosity. Tell him nice Scry.”
“Nice… try, sir?”
“Nice Scry.”
“Scry. Very well, sir.”
The man waited near the door, and Kip realized he was supposed to give him a tip. “I’m terribly sorry,” Kip said, “but I don’t have any money.”
The man glanced around the room, as if to say, Awfully nice room and situation you’ve got here for a pauper. As if to say, Liar.
Kip flushed. “Thank you, now goodbye.” He nearly slammed the door on the man’s face, suddenly angry, deeply embarrassed.
But as the door closed, he realized that Lord Guile had done this, too. He had plenty of slaves who could have brought Kip to his new room. Slaves weren’t tipped, and the use of slaves so that your guests didn’t have to worry about tipping was a courtesy often shown between the rich. Lord Guile was reminding Kip of his poverty, of his tenuous position. Rubbing his nose in it. Reminding him how badly Kip needed Teia.
Kip didn’t know much about the economics of it, but he did know that some drafters never pledged themselves to any satrapy, instead being supported privately. Those lords or merchants then sometimes rented out the services of their drafters to whoever needed them—mercenaries. For those who couldn’t afford the time and money it took to invest in developing a drafter, it was a bargain.
But… Teia’s talent was worthless, wasn’t it?
Or priceless, in the right quarters.
Gavin, Father, would you please come back? I’m afraid I’m going to do something awful here.
It was too late to go find Teia. She’d probably be done with her shift by now, but Kip couldn’t stay here. He wasn’t tired anyway. And he had four hours before his midnight training time with her and Ironfist.
He left the Prism’s Tower and walked into Big Jasper. As he crossed through a market, he swore that for a few steps everyone’s gait was synchronized, one, two, three steps all simultaneous—then it passed. He must have imagined it. A few people looked at each other, then went back to their business. In half an hour, he was back in front of Janus Borig’s door. He knocked and waited patiently. He saw shadows shift on the rooftops nearby. Guards? The traps slid open, and he saw her peer out.
“Where can I get a deck of black cards?” Kip asked.
She laughed. “Back so soon. You see? I told you you’re smarter than you thought. Come in. Come in.”
Chapter 51
“You know I don’t like to start fights,” Karris said.
Gavin froze with a bit of rabbit stew on its way to his mouth. Clearly not an opening that boded well. He made a noncommittal noise. He and Karris were eating alone tonight in their little tent not far from the beach.
The weeks had passed in a blur of meaningful work and renewed friendship and fruitless searching and quietly growing dread. The Tyreans had landed in wonder and tears. The Third Eye’s people had provided an enormous feast—and Gavin had put the Tyreans to work immediately. Within days, he had a plan and a routine. As much as possible, he handed over power to Corvan Danavis, supporting his decisions, deferring to him publicly, and bolstering the man until the Tyreans were almost as likely to turn to Corvan to settle disputes and give guidance when Gavin was there as when he was gone.
Hearing Grinwoody whispering something in Andross’s ear, Kip looked up quickly.
“Hellfang,” Andross Guile said. “You’ve seen it. Not the card. The real one.”
It was a shot right in Kip’s big soft stomach. He started. “I—No, what are you talking about?”
“Hellfang is its other name. Marrow Sucker. The Blinder’s Knife. You’ve seen it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Kip said nothing, but he realized the last part wasn’t to him. Grinwoody said, “He jumped when he saw the card, my lord. Definitely recognition.” He made no effort to hide the smugness in his voice.
He’d been set up. Andross Guile had been playing him these games all this time simply to lure Kip into a false sense of security, complacency. Kip had played the White deck twice now, and the card had never come up. Andross Guile had been content to play him again and again so that Kip would be off guard when it did. All that time so that Kip would give an honest, startled reaction if he had seen the knife before. It had all been a trap.
“We’ll talk more, when you’re ready,” Andross Guile said. “I know your mother stole it. I know she wanted to give it to Gavin, maybe in return for him making you legitimate. I want to know where it is and what my son knows about it. In return, I offer you the girl. Think about it. Not only will you get someone to warm your bed, which, face it, you have no hope of otherwise, but also a drafter’s contract is worth a lot of money over the course of her life. Your tuition has been paid, but you have no other income. Maybe you can beg some scraps from Gavin, if he remembers you, if you want to be a beggar. Otherwise, tendering her services is the only way you’ll be able to keep from having to find a sponsor yourself. All for a few bits of information that I’m going to find out regardless. If I learn it from somewhere else, you get nothing.”
Kip was out of his depth. Playing his wits against Andross Guile was like playing Nine Kings with only two cards against an expert with a full deck. Kip’s cards were Ignorance and Stupidity. Not winners.
“I’ll see you in a week,” Kip said. “Have Teia’s papers ready. I intend to win.”
Chapter 50
As soon as Kip got out of sight, he ran. He took the stairs down to his level and ran until he was within sight of his barracks.
There was a man standing outside the barracks. “Hello, sir,” he said as Kip approached.
“Uh.”
“I’ve been told to tell you that Lord Andross Guile wishes to reward you for your fine play. You’ve been given your own room. Your things have already been moved. Would you like to follow me?”
That old, decrepit, infuriating spider. He was magnificent. He’d just played a Scry and looked at Kip’s hand. For one moment, Kip couldn’t help but admire how well played it was. How better to go through all of Kip’s possessions than by helping him move? And how could Kip object? He was getting a better room, for nothing.
So Kip did the smartest thing he’d done all day. He went upstairs—without making some excuse to first go into the barracks and check to see if the dagger was still in the chest five beds down. If they’d stolen it, it was already gone. If it was still there, he’d only be tipping them off. He’d come back later.
His new room wasn’t large, but it did have a bed with new sheets and a warm blanket, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a small window to the outside. There was a lock on the door. The servant handed him a key. Nice touch.
The people most likely to steal from him doubtless already had a copy.
“Thank you,” Kip said. “Tell Luxlord Guile I was left speechless by his generosity. Tell him nice Scry.”
“Nice… try, sir?”
“Nice Scry.”
“Scry. Very well, sir.”
The man waited near the door, and Kip realized he was supposed to give him a tip. “I’m terribly sorry,” Kip said, “but I don’t have any money.”
The man glanced around the room, as if to say, Awfully nice room and situation you’ve got here for a pauper. As if to say, Liar.
Kip flushed. “Thank you, now goodbye.” He nearly slammed the door on the man’s face, suddenly angry, deeply embarrassed.
But as the door closed, he realized that Lord Guile had done this, too. He had plenty of slaves who could have brought Kip to his new room. Slaves weren’t tipped, and the use of slaves so that your guests didn’t have to worry about tipping was a courtesy often shown between the rich. Lord Guile was reminding Kip of his poverty, of his tenuous position. Rubbing his nose in it. Reminding him how badly Kip needed Teia.
Kip didn’t know much about the economics of it, but he did know that some drafters never pledged themselves to any satrapy, instead being supported privately. Those lords or merchants then sometimes rented out the services of their drafters to whoever needed them—mercenaries. For those who couldn’t afford the time and money it took to invest in developing a drafter, it was a bargain.
But… Teia’s talent was worthless, wasn’t it?
Or priceless, in the right quarters.
Gavin, Father, would you please come back? I’m afraid I’m going to do something awful here.
It was too late to go find Teia. She’d probably be done with her shift by now, but Kip couldn’t stay here. He wasn’t tired anyway. And he had four hours before his midnight training time with her and Ironfist.
He left the Prism’s Tower and walked into Big Jasper. As he crossed through a market, he swore that for a few steps everyone’s gait was synchronized, one, two, three steps all simultaneous—then it passed. He must have imagined it. A few people looked at each other, then went back to their business. In half an hour, he was back in front of Janus Borig’s door. He knocked and waited patiently. He saw shadows shift on the rooftops nearby. Guards? The traps slid open, and he saw her peer out.
“Where can I get a deck of black cards?” Kip asked.
She laughed. “Back so soon. You see? I told you you’re smarter than you thought. Come in. Come in.”
Chapter 51
“You know I don’t like to start fights,” Karris said.
Gavin froze with a bit of rabbit stew on its way to his mouth. Clearly not an opening that boded well. He made a noncommittal noise. He and Karris were eating alone tonight in their little tent not far from the beach.
The weeks had passed in a blur of meaningful work and renewed friendship and fruitless searching and quietly growing dread. The Tyreans had landed in wonder and tears. The Third Eye’s people had provided an enormous feast—and Gavin had put the Tyreans to work immediately. Within days, he had a plan and a routine. As much as possible, he handed over power to Corvan Danavis, supporting his decisions, deferring to him publicly, and bolstering the man until the Tyreans were almost as likely to turn to Corvan to settle disputes and give guidance when Gavin was there as when he was gone.
