Part 9 (1/2)
”And just what do you think you're doing?”
Donald's heart jumped at the unexpected voice. He looked up, startled, to find a tall silhouette filling the open doorway. He sat up straight in his chair, and let one hand drift back to his sword hilt.
”I wouldn't,” said the voice, and Donald moved his hand away again. He just had time to realise it was a woman's voice, and then he winced as the room was suddenly full of light, throwing back the gloom. His eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness, and he studied the newcomer warily. She stood just inside the doorway, holding up a storm lantern in her left hand. She was tall for a woman, easily five foot nine or ten. She had a tousled head of reddish-brown hair, falling in great waves to her shoulders. Her face was a little too broad to be pretty, but her strong bone structure gave her a harsh, sensual look that was somehow much more impressive. She wore thick mismatched furs under a battered but serviceable cloak. There was a sword on her hip, and her right hand held a throwing knife.
”I asked you a question,” she said calmly. Her voice was deep, smoky, a.s.sured. ”What are you doing here?”
”My name is Donald Royal. I'm looking for Madelaine Skye; I have some business to discuss with her.”
The woman looked at him sharply, and then put away her knife with a quick, practiced motion. She moved over to the desk, put the lantern down, and studied Donald carefully.
”I'm Madelaine Skye. What do you want with me?”
The office seemed warmer and more comfortable with both its lamps lit. Donald Royal sat in the visitor's chair, which was just as uncomfortable as it looked, and studied Skye curiously while she talked. Having finally met her, it was easy to understand why Jamie had stayed with her for so long. Normally, Jamie's att.i.tude to women had always been love them and leave them, and given the kind of women he usually went around with, it was hardly surprising. But Jamie and Madelaine Skye had been partners for almost three years, and this was undoubtably due to Skye. She was a dynamic yet very feminine woman, with enough energy in her to run a small generator. Donald had no doubt she'd made Jamie an excellent partner. He just wondered what the h.e.l.l she ever saw in Jamie in the first place. He suddenly realised Skye was talking about the case she was working on at present, and he listened more carefully.
Information about the outlying farms and settlements was always hard to come by, Skye said, but of late it seemed to have dried up to the bare minimum. This had to be partly due to the recent storms, but even the esper network was having problems getting answers. Skye had been approached by Councillor Darkstrom, on a purely unofficial basis, and asked to look into the situation. She and the Bloodhawk were going out to Hardcastle's Rock to lead the official investigation, but Darkstrom had wanted her own, separate enquiries made at this end. Apparently she didn't trust some members of the Council.
Darkstrom hadn't said anything more than that, and for the money she was offering, Skye hadn't felt inclined to press her. So she started digging, and straight away she began hearing strange tales about the Hob hounds. From what Skye had been able to gather, it seemed the hounds were somehow being steered away from the farms and settlements. Communications had been all but sabotaged to keep a lid on this, but still the word had got out, in certain quarters at least. The men involved in the herding had gone to great pains to stay anonymous, but there was no doubt as to who and what they were. Empire agents. Why the Empire should want to protect the outlying settlements wasn't clear as yet.
Donald frowned, and leant forward. ”But what has all this got to do with Jamie's death? Where's the connection?”
Skye shrugged. ”Beats me. Jamie and I had already broken up before I took on this case. I'm not sure what he'd been up to lately; I've been . . . out of touch for a while. But it seems Jamie had been paying visits to a certain well-known doctor. Leon Vertue.”
”The body bank doctor?”
”You got it. And everyone knows Dr. Vertue has solid links with the Empire.”
”Maybe we should have a quiet word with him,” said Donald slowly.
”We could try, but I doubt he'd see us.”
”He'll see me. I'm a Councillor.”
Skye laughed. ”You think he'll give a d.a.m.n, with his connections?”
Donald scowled, and nodded reluctantly. ”All right, we'll have to approach this by a more devious route.
We need someone who'll talk to us about Vertue's setup; someone who might know what Jamie was doing for the doctor.”
”I know just the man, an old drinking companion of mine. A s.h.i.+fty little b.u.g.g.e.r called Donovan Shrike.
He still owes me a few favours. But even so, the kind of information we're looking for is going to cost money. Lots of it.”
”I have money,” said Donald shortly. ”Where will we find this informant?”
”At the Redlance.”
Donald grinned suddenly. ”Is that rat hole still there? I thought the Watch cleaned it up years ago.”
”It's under new management these days, but by all accounts it hasn't changed much. Except for the worse.”
”Very well. Let's get going.”
Skye raised an unplucked eyebrow. ”You want to go now? This evening?”
”Of course. The longer we leave it, the more likely it is the trail will get cold. Let's go.”
”Wait just a minute. What makes you so sure I'm going to work with you? All right, you're Jamie's grandfather, and I know your reputation. I suppose everyone in Mistport does. They teach it in the schools these days. But that was a long time ago. I can't run a case and look after you at the same time.”
”I can look after myself.” Donald stood up, unlaced his purse from his belt, and threw it down on the desk. It landed heavily with a solid-sounding thud. ”There's a hundred and fifty, in gold. As a retainer.
You're working for me now. Is that acceptable?”
”Gold is always acceptable. And I was . . . fond of Jamie. All right, you've got yourself a deal. Just try not to get in my way too much.”
”I'll try,” said Donald. ”Now can we please get a move on? I don't want to be caught out on the street when night falls.”
Skye sighed, and got to her feet. She picked up the purse and laced it to her belt, then smiled suddenly at Donald. ”I always wondered where Jamie got his stubbornness from.”
Donald Royal hadn't been inside the Redlance for over twenty years, and was astonished to find the place hadn't changed at all. It was just as ratty and disgusting as he remembered. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and urine and a.s.sorted drugs, and the unrelenting clamour hurt his ears. It was a wonder to him that anyone in the packed crowd could hear anything in such a bedlam. He made his way slowly down the stone stairway into the tavern, followed closely by the cloaked and hooded figure of Madelaine Skye. For reasons best known to herself, she had insisted on pulling her hood all the way forward so that it hid her face. Donald had decided not to ask. He didn't think he really wanted to know.
No one paid him any attention as he made his way through the crowd to the bar. Donald felt just a little annoyed about that. On the one hand, the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself, but then again there was a time, not that long ago surely, when his entrance into a place like the Redlance would have stopped everyone dead in their tracks. He smiled sourly as he forced his way through the press of bodies. It was only to be expected, after all; half the people here hadn't even been born when he was busy making himself a legend. He stopped as Skye suddenly tugged at his arm and pointed out Pieter Gaunt, the new manager of the Redlance. Donald headed towards him, and was somewhat mollified when Gaunt recognised him immediately.
”Well, Councillor, this is a pleasant surprise,” said Gaunt cheerfully, shaking Donald's hand just a little too firmly. ”What brings the famous Donald Royal to the Redlance? Looking for a little something to warm your old bones, perhaps?”
Donald stared coldly at Gaunt. He didn't like the man's condescending tone in the least. ”I'm looking for Donovan Shrike. Is he here?”
”He might be. Depends on what you want with him.”
Donald looked steadily at Pieter Gaunt, and something in the old man's eyes took the mockery out of Gaunt's face. For a moment, something of the old Royal legend lived again, and Gaunt felt a sudden chill shudder through him. He remembered the things he'd heard about Donald Royal in his heyday, and somehow they didn't seem so unlikely anymore. The dark grey eyes locked unrelentingly onto his, and Gaunt swallowed dryly.This man is dangerous , he thought suddenly, and fought down an urgent need to call for his bodyguards. A cold sweat beaded his forehead.
”I want to see Shrike,” said Donald Royal. ”Point him out to me.”
Gaunt started to nod agreement, and then the old man's hold over him was broken as one of his bodyguards stepped forward to stand between him and Royal. Gaunt tore his gaze away, and leant back against the bar as the tension drained slowly out of him. He looked again at Donald Royal, and saw only an old man in a shabby cloak, but still he s.h.i.+vered as he remembered the dark grey eyes that had held him so easily.That man is still dangerous . . .
The bodyguard stabbed Donald in the chest with a stubby finger. ”When you speak to Mr. Gaunt, you speak politely. Got it?”
Donald looked at him warily, taking in the man's great size and musculature. Madelaine was nowhere in sight. ”This is a private conversation,” he said politely. ”I don't see any need for you to get involved.”
”Tough. You looking for trouble?”
”No,” said Donald, ”I'm not looking for trouble.”
”Good. Because you're leaving; right now.”
”I haven't finished my business yet.”