Echo in emerald, p.15
Echo in Emerald, page 15
part #2 of Uncommon Echoes Series
One of them approached as soon as we entered and shut the door behind us. He didn’t give me a second glance, but he murmured a greeting as he bowed low to Dezmen. Anyone who walked through that door accompanied by two echoes was bound to get the most solicitous attention. At the moment, we appeared to be the only customers on the premises, which also worked in our favor.
“Good afternoon, my lord. I’m Curtis. How may I be of service to you this afternoon?” the clerk asked.
Dezmen glanced at me, but I hung back. I was well acquainted with the place, but not with the people; there would be no benefit to me participating in the conversation. Dezmen looked back at the clerk and said, “I understand you buy and sell jewelry.”
“The very finest pieces at the very best prices,” Curtis replied. “Are you interested in purchasing? Or selling?”
“I’m interested in learning about someone who might have sold something to you.”
I watched as the clerk’s friendly face became more guarded. “Ah. That is unfortunate. One of the promises we make to our distinguished clientele is that we will not share the details of their transactions with anyone else. You understand.”
“Most admirable,” Dezmen said. “However, this particular client will not mind if you discuss his private business, since he is dead.”
Curtis tried not to look shocked. “My condolences.”
“I have reason to believe,” Dezmen went on, “that he visited your shop a day or two before his demise. I thought that if I could discover what transactions he concluded here, it might give me some clues as to how—and why—he ended up dead.”
Curtis appeared undecided. “What was his name, if I may ask?”
“Leffert. That’s all I know.”
Curtis seemed to search his memory but didn’t find a match. “He was here when?”
“About four weeks ago.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of property he brought in for us to evaluate?”
“None at all.”
The clerk shook his head. “Then—”
Dezmen leaned closer. “Let me describe him. He had fair skin and dark hair, and eyes that were very blue, so I am given to understand. He was high-spirited and impetuous. A little argumentative. If, say, he tried to sell you a brooch and you offered him a price, he might have loudly declared that you were trying to cheat him. If you offered him a second, slightly higher price, he would have accepted the offer without thinking it over. Then he would have laughed.”
I had drifted over to one of the bow windows, but I could hear the conversation clearly enough, and that detailed description made me glance at Dezmen in surprise. As far as I knew, Dezmen had never met poor Leffert. My guess was that someone at Wimble’s last night had described Leffert’s style of card play and Dezmen had adapted that information to conjecture about the man’s behavior in a pawnshop.
Curtis’s expression smoothed out. “Ah. I believe I know the gentleman you are referring to. I did not assist him that day. Let me fetch the proprietor.”
“Of course.”
Curtis disappeared through a heavy door that I presumed led to a room lined with safes that held an extraordinary bounty of jewels. Dezmen and his echoes merely waited. I leaned my head against the window glass, as if I was looking out at the street, but in reality I was checking in with the echoes. I slipped first into Red’s mind, then glanced slowly up and down the street. There was a steady stream of traffic in both directions, all of it purposeful and none of it alarming—women pointing and sighing as they peered through tall windows, men striding past with brisk urgency, people stepping in through shop doors or stepping out again. Two carts went by, the horses managing a light trot even through the knots of shoppers. The bright sunshine made it easy to forget that the day held an unwelcome chill.
I skipped up to Scar’s body and uncoiled myself from my easy crouch. Poking my head out from between the two buildings, I took in the scene from a different vantage point, but nothing seemed amiss from this angle, either. Bertie saw me, grinned, and waved. I waved back before ducking back into the shadowed alley.
I was back in Chessie’s head in time to hear a woman introduce herself to Dezmen. “Hello, I’m Eva Candleback. I understand you have some questions about one of my clients.”
I casually turned from the window so I could get a glimpse of her, because Eva Candleback was famous among my class of society. She was tall and white-haired, with a straight posture and beautiful hands. She had the air and manner of a noble, all elegance and refinement; there were many who supposed her to be some lord’s bastard who had succeeded so well at her profession because her family had backed her venture when she launched it forty years ago. I’d often wondered if she had an echo or two stashed in the back room or on the upper level. It would certainly give credence to the story.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Dezmen said, his voice as courteous as hers. “Yes. There was a young nobleman named Leffert who was here a few weeks ago—and who died shortly after his visit here. I am endeavoring to discover what he might have sold and whether or not it played some role in his death.”
“I remember the man very well, but he sold nothing at my shop.”
I saw Dezmen frown. “He didn’t like the price you offered?”
“No, what I mean to say is that he wanted to buy an item, not sell one.”
Dezmen glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to Eva Candleback. Buying, not selling? That hardly fit with our picture of a desperate rogue who had gambled too often or too deeply and needed to restore his finances. “And did he buy anything?”
“He did. A large amethyst ring set in a heavy band of gold. He was quite particular about the size of the gem—he said he wanted it to be so large it could be glimpsed from across the room. I had showed him several pieces of much higher quality, but he found them unsatisfactory. This particular item caught his fancy immediately and he purchased it without a moment’s hesitation.”
“Amethyst,” Dezmen repeated. “Perhaps he was a noble from Alberta who wanted to flaunt his heritage.”
“He certainly wanted to give that impression.” Eva Candleback’s voice was very dry. It was easy to deduce that she had not been impressed by the volatile young man.
“You found him very free with his money? He didn’t haggle over price or seem worried about funds?”
“Not at all. He had all the coins he needed and he instantly counted them out.”
“I believe you, of course, but this is not entirely what I expected,” Dezmen said. “Let me ask you a few more questions.”
I figured this could take a while and not yield much more information. So before he set out to try to murder the prince, young Lord Leffert had purchased some secondhand jewels to make it appear as if he were a noble from Alberta. That raised all sorts of interesting questions. Was he really from Alberta and determined to wear its colors so that everyone would know that the residents of that province despised the crown? Or was he from some other region of the Seven Jewels, bent on stirring up trouble that would then be credited to one of the western provinces? Was he a messenger or an anarchist? And who had funded him to take on either role?
As Dezmen and Eva Candleback continued to talk in low voices, I flung myself back into the bodies of my echoes. Not much happening down where Scar was skulking, so I bounced back over to Red. From her eyes, I peered toward the other end of the street, where a huge carriage was just lumbering out of view, and then glanced over at Candleback’s to see how Bertie was faring.
He was having a conversation with a couple of young men who appeared to have asked for directions because I saw Bertie point in the general direction of Amanda Plaza. Then his arm dropped down as if his hand had suddenly become too heavy to hold, and his mouth opened and shut three times before his head slumped forward. I saw the red stain spread over the front of his gray shirt before I saw the tip of the blade poking through from behind. Together, his two assailants lowered his limp body carefully to the ground. Bertie had never made a sound.
I leapt back into Chessie’s body and slammed down the bar that would seal the door. “Outside,” I said in a harsh voice. “Bertie’s been attacked. Two men are trying to break in.”
Dezmen and his echoes whirled to stare at me. “How—?”
“Red saw it all. She signaled.”
On my words, there was the sound of shattering glass as someone began smashing through the windows. The many small panes were held together with an iron framework, however, and it would take a little time for anyone to pry these apart far enough to squeeze inside.
Eva didn’t pause to ask questions, she simply pivoted on one heel, stalked to a bell pull hanging on the wall, and gave it several hard yanks. I heard the clamor of heavy bells pealing out from overhead and footsteps pounding down from all over the building. Three men burst through the connecting door, all of them brandishing short swords and knives as if they knew how to handle weapons. One was Curtis, the clerk who had greeted us when we arrived.
“What’s wrong?” Curtis demanded.
Eva waved toward the front of the store, where one assailant was breaking through the second window and another seemed to be tugging madly on the door, which rattled against the bar I had thrown in place. Two of the clerks ran forward with fearsome yells, and I saw one of them hack at the dirty fingers that poked through the broken glass. Someone yowled in pain but I couldn’t tell if he was inside or outside. Over the crashing and the shouting, another sound rolled our way—a cacophony of bells in all sorts of timbres.
“What’s that?” Dezmen demanded. He and his echoes had drawn back against the wall—not out of fear, I thought, but out of a prudent desire to stay out of the way of the people who were clearly more skilled in combat. I noticed that he had a deadly little dagger in his hand, and he held it like he’d used it before.
“All the merchants on the street have a pact to come to each other’s aid,” Eva replied. “When one of us sounds an alarm, the others ring their own bells to send the message up and down the row. In a moment, the street will be flooded with defenders.”
“That’ll chase them off,” Dezmen said grimly. “I’d like to catch one and interrogate him.”
I sank to the floor in my own out-of-the-way corner, hoping everyone thought I was too timid to take part in the battle that still raged at the front of the store. Curtis was wrestling with the heavy bar, while one of the other clerks panted behind him, waiting to leap out when the door was wrenched open. “Maybe Scar will stop one of them,” I said.
“That would be good,” Dezmen agreed.
I barely waited to hear his words before I flung myself into Scar’s body and came running out of the alley. I spent one quick moment taking in the scene outside the shop. The two assailants were still scrabbling at the windows, trying to find a way in, but suddenly one of them looked over his shoulder and started shouting. About ten men were pouring out of nearby storefronts, waving clubs and daggers and barreling down the street toward Candleback’s. The two thugs abandoned their attempt to break in and raced away, splitting up to draw off their pursuers. I saw one of them slip between two buildings close to where Red was stationed, but I didn’t have time to jump into her head and give chase, because the other one was headed straight toward me.
I charged directly at him with a yell of bravado. This close, I could see that he outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds and was wild with desperation besides. We collided with sickening force, our bodies hitting so hard that for a second I was sure we were both off the ground, chest to chest, breathlessly staring straight into each other’s eyes. He wasn’t somebody I knew, but in that moment I memorized his face so minutely that I would recognize him if I ever saw him again.
Then I felt a blade cut through my back like a sliver of fire. I gasped with the pain, too astonished to cry out or even try to jerk away. My feet hit the ground, then my knees, then my face, as I was suddenly too weak to keep myself from falling. My attacker, instead of lingering long enough to finish me off, sprinted away.
Terrified of losing consciousness, I flung myself into Chessie’s body and shot up from the floor with an inarticulate cry. Everyone in the shop whirled to stare at me—Dezmen, his echoes, Eva, and Curtis, who stood in a pose that suggested he was guarding the open door. The other two clerks must have rushed into the street to follow the marauders.
“What’s wrong?” Dezmen demanded.
I shook my head, trying to orient myself. My back was sore from where the blade had gone in, but I didn’t feel any wetness on my back, so I didn’t appear to have picked up a corollary wound.
“Scar and Red—are they all right? What’s happening?” I asked, shoving myself away from the wall and toward the door. Dezmen and his echoes followed as I pushed through the knot of people and stepped outside, looking around as if trying to piece together the last few moments of action.
Curtis gave us a quick update. “They’ve run off now—both men.”
“And no one followed?” Dezmen asked, his voice almost angry.
Curtis shrugged. “There’s always thieves and swindlers. We don’t try to catch them, we just chase them away.”
Eva had come out behind us and gestured at the prone figure of Bertie, motionless and covered with blood. “Who’s this? Someone who attacked or someone who defended?”
“Oh, no— Bertie!” I exclaimed. I was desperate to go to Scar but I couldn’t just step over the body of a man who’d been my friend for five years. I dropped to a crouch next to him and gingerly put my fingers to his neck. It wasn’t necessary. He was clearly dead. I gazed up at Dezmen, tears coming to my eyes. “My lord, he—he doesn’t have a heartbeat.”
Dezmen’s face set into a hard frown. “It appears these men are even more ruthless than we thought.”
Eva’s attention went from the body to Dezmen. “You know the people who were breaking in? Who killed this man?”
“No—but I know they were trying to find me,” Dezmen replied.
I couldn’t wait another second. I transferred myself to Red’s body and jumped to my feet with a faint shriek, pointing at the crumpled body that lay on the street. “Scar!” I cried, and began to run.
As soon as Red was launched toward Scar, I arrowed back to Chessie and let out another cry of dismay. In a second, we were both racing toward the fallen echo.
Red was only a few paces behind me as I reached Scar’s side and dropped to my knees to check the extent of the damage. I’d been able to feel the pull of the echo’s existence, so I knew the wound hadn’t been fatal, but I hadn’t been able to gauge how bad it was. But Scar gazed up at me, blinking and breathing. Blood had seeped out onto the street and stained the cobblestones, but there was no hint of red on the front of the shirt so the blade hadn’t gone all the way through. In fact, the wound was lower than I’d thought, and more superficial. It appeared to have entered near the bottom of the ribs and sliced sideways, with any luck missing the lung and any internal organs.
Please let me have this kind of luck.
“Let me have your scarf,” I said to Red, holding out an imperious hand. She gave it to me just as Dezmen and his echoes came skidding up and dropped to their knees beside us. Just what I didn’t want—witnesses to my battlefield ministrations. I didn’t want to pull off enough of Scar’s clothes to reveal a woman’s body.
“Is he all right? How badly is he hurt?” Dezmen demanded.
“Not sure. I want to bind him up and get him home. Then I can assess.”
“We need to clean that wound. Should we take him to Candleback’s? I’m sure they’d give us a room.”
“No,” I said sharply. “He doesn’t—he doesn’t do well with strangers gawping at him. I need to get him home and take care of him there.”
As I spoke, I was attempting to roll Scar to one side so I could wrap Red’s scarf around the wound. But with Dezmen watching so closely, I didn’t want to move from Chessie’s body to Scar’s so the hurt echo could sit up and make the maneuver easier.
“He’s too weak,” Dezmen exclaimed. “Here, I’ll help you.” He scooted around so he could lift Scar’s head and upper body from the ground.
By this time, we’d attracted quite a crowd, which made me even more nervous. Scar lolled bonelessly in Dezmen’s arms while I wrapped the scarf twice around the gash. Curtis was leaning over us. “Do you want to bring him to the shop? We’ve got water and clean cloths. And brandy, too.”
“Thank you, no, I want to get him home,” I said again. “But he can’t walk like this. Can someone hire a cart?”
“There’s a stand one street over,” Curtis said. “Shall I go fetch one?”
“Thank you, that would be most helpful.”
Dezmen carefully laid the echo back on the cobblestones, and Red leaned over to place her cheek against Scar’s. Her long hair fell forward in an auburn curtain, obscuring both their faces.
“I think a journey across the city, bouncing over road hazards, might well aggravate his wound,” Dezmen said in a low voice. “I think you’d be better off staying here for an hour or two.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, in an equally quiet tone. “But I know Scar, and I know how much he hates public attention. Trust me. He will be happier at home.”
Dezmen shrugged in silent acquiescence. “What do we do about Bertie? How do we get word to his family—to Jackal? Where do we take his body?”
At that, someone pushed through the crowd and dropped to a crouch beside us. I recognized Pherson, a slim, ageless man who’d been running errands for Jackal as long as I’d known him. It hardly surprised me that he was here; I’d have placed good money on the bet that someone with ties to Jackal had been loitering here on Cheater’s Row half the afternoon. It was a good place to pick up odd jobs and odder information.
“If you don’t mind, Chessie, we can take care of Bertie for you,” Pherson said diffidently. “You’ve got Scar to worry about, but I’ve got a couple of the boys here with me, and we’ve got nothing else to do.”
