The King's Blood

Within a minute of stepping outside, he’d been soaked as wet as it was possible to be. Running now seemed pointless.
    The tulips in their bowl were vivid red. Several of the petals were lost, and as he came close, a gust of screaming wind whipped another free. Marcus watched it spin away on the surface of the flood: a tiny scarlet boat on a vast river. He pushed his way through the door.
    Pyk was pacing the room. Sweat beaded on her wide fore-head, but rain had cooled the room to the point that she could at least move. Yardem sat on a tall stool smelling like wet dog and looking at least as drenched as Marcus. No one else was present.
    “Bird came this morning,” Pyk said without preamble. “Sent from the holding company.”
    “Good it didn’t wait for afternoon,” Marcus said, wringing out his cuffs. “Did they decide to send a fresh auditor?”
    “Other people are going to start getting word of this in the next day or two, so we’re going to have to move quickly. There’s trouble in Antea. According to our man in Camnipol, someone tried to stick the Lord Regent full of knife-sized holes. They’ve closed the gates, and there’s been fighting in the streets ever since. Odds-on bet is civil war.”
    The words took a moment to resolve. Yardem’s wide brown eyes were on him, watching him understand.
    “I have a list of the contracts I want placed,” Pyk said, “but it has to be done today. Once the word goes out, the prices on grain and metalwork are going to head toward the sky. We may only have hours to do this, and so of course, this is the day we can wash all the ink off a piece of paper just by walking it down to the corner. God hates me, but we’ll do what we can.”
    “What about Cithrin?” Marcus said.
    Pyk scowled. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
    “The note doesn’t say. The chop is Paerin Clark’s, so he’s the one making report. She’s not mentioned.”
    “But she’s in Camnipol,” Marcus said, his voice growing hard. “She’s with him.”
    “She went there, but I don’t know how she stands. Safe, dead, or missing, he wouldn’t have spent space on the page for word of her. This isn’t gossip. It’s what will make us coin. He sent us what we need to help the bank, and now it’s ours to follow his lead.”
    “I’m going for her,” Marcus said. “You can work the contracts yourself.”
    “God’s sake, Wester,” Pyk said, “it’s Camnipol. It’s weeks from here on a fast boat and more over land. By the time you got there, it would all be done. Even the bird’s not going to tell us what’s happening there now. Maybe it’s resolved. Maybe the whole place is burned flat. Either way, our work’s here.”
    “I don’t accept that,” Marcus said.
    “I don’t accept being the only good-looking woman in a city full of bendy little twig men,” Pyk said, “but it doesn’t change the situation. The magistra’s in Camnipol and we’re here. If you want to take care of her, take care of the things that matter to her. And while you’re at it, do what you’re paid for.”
    Pyk lifted a handful of papers. Contracts. Letters of enquiry and agreement. Yardem cleared his throat and Marcus forced himself to take his hand off the pommel of his sword. For a moment, the only sounds were the rush of water and the howl of wind. Pyk walked across the room and held out the papers. Slowly, half against his will, Marcus took them.
    “This is dangerous work,” Pyk said. “No one sees these except you and Ears.”
    “Ears?”
    “She means me, sir.”
    “Ah.”
    “Nothing else you’re doing matters compared to this,” Pyk said. “Manage it well, and we’ll have enough profit to keep this place afloat the rest of the year. All of the contracts have the names of the people I want them going to. Don’t put them in anyone else’s hands. And get it done now.”
    Marcus paged through the contracts. He nodded.
    “We have something dry to carry them in?” he asked.
    Yardem stood. He held a leather satchel in one hand and a broad oilskin envelope in the other. Marcus took them, folding contracts into envelope and envelope into satchel. Pyk folded her arms, her eyes black and narrow and satisfied.
    “Don’t cock this up,” she said.
    “We’ll do what needs doing,” Marcus said. “Yardem?”
    “Coming, sir.”
    Marcus stepped into the storm. The raindrops cut at his face and stung his eyes. Yardem padded along beside him.
    “Ears?”
    “I think she’s taking a liking to