Snowtear Page 4

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “Some more so than others. You’re young, yet. I’ve seen snows so high they eclipsed the porches of those Saffrom mansions. Many a cycle back, for sure, but nonetheless. Anything besides the coat? How you liking the boots?”

  “They’re grand,” Riken said. “I’ll need a hat, as well, and a belt.”

  Toma rubbed his cleanly-shaven chin and scrutinized Riken’s head and waist. He counted off the fingers on his hand a few times for reasons lost on his customer. Finally, with a proud smile, he said, “A wide-brimmed pattern for you, I think.”

  “Take emphasis away from my small head?” Riken asked.

  “Perish the thought,” Toma said as if insulted, though his reddened cheeks told Riken he’d guessed correctly. “Come back in a week. I’ll have everything ready. Till then, take that black bearskin over their on the line. It’s about your size.”

  “My thanks,” Riken said, walking to the opposite end of the showroom to a line of ten or so coats strung along the wall. He slipped the heavy garment on, then turned to gauge Toma’s approving nod.

  “Like a glove,” the man said. “One of mine, of course, not that glorified seamstress Garth Jety.”

  “You’re the best, Mon Bagenn.”

  “I’ve been in this business for three and a half cents, I don’t need you to tell me that.”

  “My apologizes. Prentice about?”

  “Go,” Toma said with a frown. “Come back in a week.”

  “Good day, shopkeeper.”

  “And to you,” Toma said with a friendly bow.

  Feeling almost himself again in his fine borrowed coat, Riken walked the crowded street of Merchants Row, taking in the glorious city he so loved. He had work to do, but what was life worth if you couldn’t take a few precious moments every once in a while to enjoy it?

  Swathed in a thin layer of fresh snow, Winter Moon sparkled. Only being late fall, it would be a few months before the heavy storms came, suffocating the city in the annual ten feet of powder, driving most indoors for the duration of the cruel Southeastern winter. That would come later, for now Riken’s adopted home seemed the embodiment of all things good and clean and beautiful.

  The light morning snowfall had desisted for the time being. A fulgent sun snooping just over the frosted crests of the mountains cast hospitable rays on the roofs of the numerous homes nestled on Pristinus’s slopes. The great mountain range encircled the entire city, a perfect natural barricade that had ensured Winter Moon’s protection since its founding. Apart from hazarding the deadly mountains, the only path into Winter Moon was a narrow valley through the range to the east that ended at the Frozen Sea, and only Crystalline, the floating city, had means to navigate such inhospitable waters

  Merchants Row, like most of the commercial districts east of Crafters, was made up of mostly log buildings. The scent of redwood gave the air a sweet, spicy tinge. The dual-storied shops were lined end to end for over fifty yards. Most had low awnings in bright colors. Only a few were without glass in their wide windows. At night, pyrons lit tall, four-branched streetlamps along the sidewalks.

  Presently, a goodly amount of folk traversed the streets. All the men wore brilliantly-colored robes or tunics or shirts made of fine fabric under warm overcoats. Silk dresses, thick wool bodices, and dyed cotton tunics adorned ladies with primped, flowered hair. Their pace was leisurely as they perused the selections of a dozen and a half shops. Some had servants trailing dutifully behind, arms stacked with packages. Most of these had little else of importance to do, so they occupied their time here, or at a theatre, or in some swank inn drinking imported wine and wasting more food than their servants ate in a week.

  Riken smiled at a young socialite passing by. She had on a resplendent, gold dress with satin frills at the hem and cuffs. Her hair was up in a huge bun with curly, blonde strands hanging down. She was attractive to be sure, but he wondered what she looked like at night after she stripped her face of the mountain of paint. He nodded his head in greeting, but the prim girl must’ve seen something of interest beyond him as her eyes never deigned to meet his. She did manage a half-look back when she caught the tail end of the name he called her under his breath.

  As much as he envied their lifestyle – all parties and dining and loafing in ritzy mansions, the very best of everything – Riken cared little for such people. Watching an elderly lady pass by carrying a tiny ball of black fur that might’ve been a dog, he figured that if he were to want a real conversation, he’d do better to engage the skinny manservant bringing up her substantial rear.

  “Good day to you, Mon,” Riken said to the manservant.

  The young man didn’t respond. Riken figured he’d been trained against it, but the affronted look from the old woman he’d shunned in favor of her employee was the more worthwhile response, anyhow.

  Already devastatingly bored with the citizens, Riken turned his attention back to the city itself.

  His gaze ambled from the cobblestone streets, over the gabled roof of a two-story log building with rose-tinted windows, and rested on the breathtaking vista of the prodigious city before him. Buildings and structures of all heights, girths, and designs jutted from a vast sea of stone and wood and leaves. Down the gentle gradient from his position on Merchants Row, Riken saw the looming steeple of a Church of Fire holding vigil over its quarter. Past Crafters Row sat the Arena, where all the best competitions were held. It was a colossal, circular erection of white stone that had taken over a cent to construct. City limits ended at the Orchard, a forest of fruit trees stretching from the foot of the southern mountain all the way to its northern cousin. The line effectively separated the small farming community beyond from its urban kin. From where he stood looking down upon it, Winter Moon, with its numerous Rows, looked as if some great being had scooped a giant cotton field into a bowl, wholly intact.

  Reaching the end of Merchants and passing onto Renton, Riken pulled his overcoat tight to ward off a sudden, strong breeze. The chill brought him out of his ruminating, reminding him of impending business.

  The prospect wasn’t too pleasing. The Ullimars had paid him well enough thus far, but this job had yet to provide the coin necessary to keep him comfortable for more than another month. Just his luck, dealing once again with dim-witted criminals. If they could just be half more intelligent, he might’ve extended this job into another week. As it was, he’d have to start lining up something new in a hurry.

  The mother had let it slip. Back at Jatta Marllig’s home, the old woman had said something about making enough coin for all of us. She’d caught herself before saying “us”, but the look on Jatta’s face had spoken volumes.

  “Damn it all,” Riken mumbled, stepping off the sidewalk to cross the street. Nice to have his powers of deduction so thoroughly taxed, otherwise they might get rusty.

  He supposed he could drag it out for awhile longer, just watch the house a few extra days after he got the evidence he needed, milk the Ullimars for another week’s pay. They could afford it. That was bad business, though, and Riken had a name to uphold. He didn’t get the high-paying jobs he did from slumming. People knew his reputation as one of the best, and he planned on keeping it that way. Finding Sage Ullimar so soon could only boost his standing. Wouldn’t Hammer Ulrich hate that?

  Might even tell him myself, Riken thought, absolutely loving the idea. Most considered Hammer Winter Moon’s premiere Handler. Most, not all. Riken being one of the “not all”.

  Besides, one lyn a day, while nice, was hardly worth the effort. Riken was more excited at the lofty agreed-upon sum he’d earn when he carted young Sage back to her doting parents on the morrow.

  Chapter Five

  He watched Jatta’s house for two days.

  Hulking in the dark corners and crevices of Sorrow, Riken sat center stage for five brawls that spilled out the Last Chance, one ending in a man walking away minus two fingers on his left hand. He witnessed a woman in tattered clothing beat
ing her child in the middle of the street with a wooden spoon. He lost count of the times people had thrown garbage directly from their front porches to mingle with the muddy snow and horse manure. He even saw a naked drunk vaulted out a second-story window by a whore he’d stiffed. Doubly stiffed? Stiffed, then stiffed?

  What he didn’t see, much to his mounting dismay, was the slightest sign of Sage Ullimar anywhere in the vicinity of Jatta Marllig.

  Optimism had never been a close bedfellow of Riken’s, so he wasn’t wholly surprised that his hunch failed to see fruition. Still, he wasn’t partial to being so wrong. Something was going on with the young servant girl, of that he had little doubt. But if she’d kidnapped Sage and was hiding her inside that house, she was doing a damned excellent job of it.

  In the last two days, he’d seen Jatta exit the house only four times – twice to buy food, twice to visit a Church of Earth. The food outings were uneventful. Following the girl out of Sorrow into Wynta Row where a Church of Earth for the poor folk resided had garnered odd outcomes both times.

  On each occasion, Jatta had walked alone through the crowded streets, head down, seeming to let her feet take her where they would. She’d remained within the stone walls of the doddering church for almost an hour, while Riken, caring little for the ancient religion, tarried outside. Upon exiting, her eyes had been red and wet. The first trip, she’d sat down on the steps and continued her weeping for another ten minutes before venturing home. On the second, she’d cried so long and hard that Riken had almost been moved to go to her. He hadn’t known what ailed the girl, but she’d looked so utterly helpless and miserable that it pained him to remain hidden and spying.

  “What in the Seven Layers vexes this girl?” Riken asked himself from behind a moldy barrel in an alleyway looking out to the Marllig residence. She wasn’t a kidnapper, he could be reasonably certain. Somehow, though, she was tied to this whole ordeal. Why else had Sefen lied about her? What was he missing?

  Not completely ready to give up his watch, Riken decided to call upon Uther. If the giant lug could manage to hide properly, he could watch the house for a couple days while Riken explored other options.

  Uther lived on the south end of Sorrow with his mother and younger sisters. Though he made enough coin doing odd jobs and prize fighting in the Arena, he had no plans to leave the miserable Row. His mother, bearing down on the low end of her last cent, had taken ill some cycles back and wasn’t expected to recover enough to care for herself. The sisters, five of them, didn’t have an inkling of an occupation between them other than whoring or thieving, so most of his coin went to keep them as well. If Uther knew of their shady dealings, he didn’t let on, and he’d never once refused them anything they desired. Riken had chastised his friend on that folly on many an occasion, but Uther, gentle and trusting to the core, would hear nothing on the subject.

  The house was large by Sorrow standards. The one worthwhile thing Uther had done with his earnings was to move the family from the one-room shack his father had built four cents back. Most dwellings in Sorrow were of mud or flimsy lumber, but the house Uther had built thirty cycles back was sturdy redwood. Had anyone else had the gall to construct such a structure in this Row, it would’ve met flame before the last log had been set. People knew Uther, though, and that acquaintance carried with it the knowledge that no one messed with the man’s family if they were partial to retaining all their limbs or breathing of their own volition.

  Half a block from the house, a sudden commotion disrupted Riken’s progress. He looked over his shoulder and saw, through the congested street traffic, a hapless man caught in the midst of a frenetic, brown cloud.

  Riken smiled. The Swarm, people called them. A group of ten or so pubescent pickpockets so proficient in their craft that they could pick a pair of full-grown adults clean to the bone in the time it took regular folk to draw a couple breaths. Like a pack of devious wolves, they descended on a target in a cloud of snatching, punching, thieving hands. The namesake swarming effect was swift and total, rendering any defense futile. They were there and gone before a victim realized he’d just had his ass handed to him by pint-sized children.

  “Got them another one, huh?”

  Riken turned away from the mayhem, and saw Uther coming out onto his enclosed porch. He wore only a thin nightshirt and linen pants, no boots. He seemed unfazed by the nippy wind.

  “Got to admire that kind of precision,” Riken said. “Hope they never mark me.”

  “What you got they’d want?”

  “Presently? Enough to get your big ass doing my bidding.”

  “Think so?” Uther asked, rubbing his bearded jaw line.

  “I need you to watch Jatta’s house for a couple days.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Just tell me what you see.”

  “Presently? A scrawny little runt don’t know he’s three steps from a beating.”

  “I’d worry if I thought you could count that high,” Riken said.

  “One…two…”

  “Easy,” Riken said, shuffling backward as Uther approached. Always better to err on the side of caution, even if you thought he was joking.

  “Just hand over the coin, twig,” Uther said.

  “Sticking with that one, huh?”

  “Got a nice ring to it.”

  “Just don’t let her see you,” Riken said. “If she is hiding something, I don’t want her spooked.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Not completely sure yet. Few things don’t add up to my way of thinking. Someone’s jerking me around, and I want to know why.”

  After Riken had been allowed entrance to the Ullimar home and seated in the great room, a tipsy Marr Ullimar said, “Mon Snowtear, tell me you have good news. I’m out of my mind. You haven’t any idea what it’s like to lose a child. Please.”

  The lady of the house wore a satin dress of deep lavender that caressed her body so well it might’ve been painted on. Her hair was slightly disheveled, as if she hadn’t gotten around to primping it in a few days, but, if anything, it only enhanced her allure. She seemed so genuinely distraught that Riken hardly had the nerve to tell her he wasn’t much closer to finding Sage than he’d been six days ago.

  “I’m making great progress, Min,” he said, cursing himself when he saw the subtle glint of hope in her eyes. “But it’s early yet.”

  The glint faded. “You said you needed something.”

  “Aye, I was wondering if I could speak with Anastasia again. I forgot to ask her something last we spoke. Is she about?”

  “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Let me see.”

  The breadth of her search began and ended with calling loudly for Beatrix. The elderly maid answered the summons, submissively appearing at the archway leading back to the foyer.

  “Aye, Min,” Beatrix said.

  “Beatrix, dear,” Marr said. “Mon Snowtear requires further assistance from Anastasia. Can you please call her in here?”

  “Ana didn’t come in today, Min.”

  “What? Where is she?” As she spoke, a dash of the wine in her goblet spilled to the marble floor. She made no acknowledgement.

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Min.”

  Marr Ullimar turned to Riken, shaking her head. “My apologies, Mon Snowtear.”

  “No trouble, Min,” Riken said. “Would you happen to know where she resides?”

  “Beatrix?” Marr asked.

  “Aye, Min,” Beatrix answered. “I can take Mon Snowtear there if you like.”

  “Very good.”

  Riken bid goodbye to the lady amid sorrowful pleas to find her daughter as soon as possible and bring her home. When he took her hand, he couldn’t help but notice the tremble. He broke contact quickly but respectfully. Holding her anguished gaze was terrible.

  He left Marr Ullimar to her grieving and her wine.

  In the foyer, Beatrix told him to wait while she got her overcoat, then they left the h
ouse.

  “She’s taking this hard,” Riken said as they walked down the street.

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Losing a child is the worst thing that can happen to a person,” Beatrix said.

  “You know from experience?”

  “I lost a daughter to sickness.”

  “My apologies.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  The old lady walked with an air of confidence uncommon to her station. Only her plain servant’s robe distinguished her from the rest of Saffrom Row’s late afternoon crowd. Her white hair was pulled in a tight, flawless bun, fitting the rest of her appearance perfectly. She seemed a woman who took no small measure of pride in keeping a respectable guise, as if she were more than the lowly servant she played by day. When she spoke, it was with all the character of a politician addressing court.

  “You’re close to finding our Sage?” she asked, turning her head toward him.

  “I believe so.”

  “Truly?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’ve no more idea where she is than last I saw you, have you, Mon Snowtear?”

  The forcefulness of her words gave him a measure of pause. He wasn’t used to his word being so bluntly questioned. A single look into her narrow gaze told him she wasn’t one to mislead.

  “I have few leads,” he admitted.

  “Hmm,” was all the response he received.

  “Where are we going?” he asked after they’d traversed a few blocks in silence.

  “Chastity.”

  “A nice Row for a servant.”

  “She moved there only recently.”

  “How does she afford it?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You talk an awful lot, you know,” Beatrix said, turning a corner at a swift pace Riken was having trouble keeping up with.

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “Ever hear of silence being a virtue.”

  “Never been very virtuous.”