A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (9 page)

I had barely spent an hour begging when a small, raggedy man approached me. His manner reminded me uncomfortably of Karl. He wore old, brown robes, stained with years of use. He had the same small, beady eyes.

Experience had taught me to be on my guard.

Without a word, he settled down a few feet away from me. I eyed him warily. He closed his eyes, took out a pipe, and started to smoke.

In those days, there were two types of leaves that people smoked. The first was called Angelherb. It was a small, brownish weed that sprouted in the cracks along buildings. When properly dried and crushed, it could be smoked for a brief, serene high that lasted anywhere from five to ten minutes.

After that, it made you violently sick.

I knew. One of the first things Thraugh showed me was how to roll Angelherb and smoke it without a pipe. The crash after the high was one of the most miserable experiences of my life.

The second leaf was called Devil’s Bane. It was closely related to Angelherb, but much rarer—and thus, more prized. Devil’s Bane gave you a clean, long-lasting high with no crash. When you smoked it, it was said that visions of otherworldly creatures came to your mind. You could hear them whispering in your ears.

Priests used Devil’s Bane on a regular basis. They said it brought them closer to Xune.

That, of course, was a lie. But because of the susceptibility of the general public, it allowed the Church to control supply of Devil’s Bane. They sold it only to their worshippers—and only enough for them to get the briefest high.

Devil’s Bane was notoriously addictive. Whereas Angelherb had a kind of self-regulating mechanism, Devil’s Bane had no such property. The Church leveraged that to extract money from the rich and increase its political power.

Angelherb and Devil’s Bane were both distinguishable by the smell of their smoke. Angelherb gave off noxious, poisonous fumes. Devil’s Bane had a sweet, slightly tart aroma.

From the smoke rising beside me, I could tell the man was smoking Devil’s Bane.

That made me both curious and cautious. A beggar on the street could not afford Devil’s Bane. Nobody in south Hallengard could. He must have stolen it—but eying him again, I could not imagine he had the deftness of hand or mind to pull off the caper. That meant he was somehow related to the Church.

Of course, there was also a third option. Alchemists in the city claimed to be able to refine Angelherb so that only the active ingredient remained. That was a load of horseshit. All they did was add scented chemicals to it that made the aroma somewhat reminiscent of Devil’s Bane. It was not quite a perfect match, but, oftentimes, gullible junkies did not know any better…

Until the crash took them.

But, the man beside me smoked in silence for a good, long while. If it had been Angelherb, he would have exhibited the symptoms long ago.

The man stuck his pipe out at me. “You want a puff?” he asked. His eyes were still closed.

I had never tried Devil’s Bane, of course. The offer intrigued me. I looked at the man, trying to determine if there was some way he could be masking the side effects of Angelherb.

When I decided ‘No,’ I took the pipe and cautiously inhaled.

The smoke was sweet and pure. It did not sting my throat as Angelherb would. In seconds, my world changed.

Colors became stronger. The day seemed less bleak. I felt strength gathering in my chest. It flowed out to encompass my limbs.

For a brief moment, I felt like I was floating. The constant worries at the back of my mind disappeared. I was freed from the shackles of poverty. The hunger in my stomach vanished. All I felt was a smooth, contented peace.

I brought the pipe back to my lips for a second draw, but had it jerked out of my fingers before I could.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” the man giggled. “You want more, you have to do something for me.”

A distant place of my mind went on high alert. That caution was immediately swept aside by the overwhelming desire for more Devil’s Bane.

My face felt warm and flushed when I turned toward the man. In fact, my entire body felt warm. I could not recall the last time I had felt this good.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, something simple, something simple,” he muttered. He took out a folded envelope from an inside pocket. He held it in front of him and examined the seal. “Can you read?”

I shook my head. It seemed better to lie. In truth, Magda had been teaching me my letters, and I was a quick study.

But, I also guessed that if the man valued discretion, he’d be more likely to trust the letter to an illiterate.

“Good. Good! It’s a simple task, my dearie.” He giggled again. “I will point out a man to you. He passes this street every day. You will follow him. You must not be seen. Do you think you can do that?”

I nodded.

“Now, this man, he’s a, hmm, a friend of mine. This letter—” he flourished it in my face, “—has to go to him, and him only. That is very important to me. But!” He jerked the letter back. “He cannot have it before nightfall. Do you understand? That is why I need you to follow him. Give this to him, at nightfall.”

“If he’s your friend,” I said, “why can’t you do it?”

The man gasped in shocked indignation.

“Oh, sweet boy,” he said. “Sweet, silly boy. If I had time to do it myself, do you think I would ask this favor from one like you?” He lowered his voice. “This letter contains important words.
Written
words. A message. Do you understand? My friend
must
have it, but only after the sun has fallen from the sky. You want more of this, don’t you?” He briefly crossed his eyes to look down at his pipe and rolled it around in his teeth. “If you do, return here tomorrow.
If
you deliver my letter—“ He held it out to me again. “I will give you as much Devil’s Bane as can fit in your pockets.”

The man lifted a flap of his cloak and showed me the compartments sown inside. My eyes widened.

Each one was bursting with dry, pure clumps of Devil’s Bane.

“Yes, sir,” the man giggled. “Yes sir, you like what you see?” He lowered the cloak. “As much as you can carry. All yours, if you do this favor for me. That’s not so hard now, is it? No. No, no, it’s not. It’s simple. Simple!”

“I can do it,” I said, reaching for the letter. The man was not simply offering me Devil’s Bane. He was offering me a fortune. If I could sell even a tenth of what he had… well, the lost dime paled in comparison to the money I could earn.

The man pulled the letter back just as my fingers brushed the sides.

“But!” he warned, “If you get caught, before nightfall, or somebody else sees the letter, you will lose
everything
you have. Do you understand?” His voice became harsh. “Do not disappoint me.”

He broke off. “Oh, oh, look! Here he comes! Here he comes! Over there, in the tall hat.”

I looked up and saw a man walking down the street with an arrogant strut. His upper lip was bare, but the rest of his jaw was covered by a thick, black beard. His mouth was twisted in what appeared to be a permanent expression of distaste.

The man beside me ducked and hid his face under one arm as his ‘friend’ passed. He ought not to have bothered. The man he wanted me to follow did not seem the kind to notice beggars.

My eyes trailed after him as he walked down the street. Here was a self-important buffoon if I’ve ever seen one. I looked back at my coconspirator, and discovered he had vanished. In his spot lay the sealed envelope.

I grabbed it and stuffed it into one of my inseam pockets. I’d learned the importance of having an abundance of little hiding places on your person my first week on the Hallengard streets. Every chance I got, I brought a little string to Magda and asked her to sew another one for me.

I looked up. The man I was supposed to follow was already gone. I wasn’t worried. His face was distinctive enough that I could pick him out of a crowd at a glance.

I turned and scaled the wall. Right foot, small crack. Left foot, protruding brick. I was on the rooftop in a flash, and I ran the way I had seen the man walking.

Sure enough, I found him strutting through the crowd on the other side. A baker hawking meat pies nearly shoved one in his face. He grimaced and stepped around the fat man.

As I followed him, my mind kept turning back to all the Devil’s Bane I was offered. It was a well-known fact that anyone could hire a street urchin to run some insignificant errand on his behalf. A ha’penny was all it took.

Why would the man offer me what amounted to more than a thousand times the price?

I ran, jumped, and climbed on autopilot. All the while, my mind struggled with the question. One answer was that this task was extremely dangerous—though how or why, I did not know. Another was that the Devil’s Bane was fake, and the man who offered it was trying to swindle me by hooking me with a pipe full of the real thing.

I valued caution over luck and miserliness over generosity. The more I thought on it, the less the offer made sense.

I settled down atop the edge of a roof, my feet hanging in the air, as the bearded man entered a brothel. I expected I would be waiting a while.

I took out the envelope and looked it over.

It was made of thick, brown paper. I held it up to the sun, even though I already knew I could not see through it. The flap was sealed with a blob of wax. There was no sigil imprinted in it, as would be customary in those times.

I fished out a small butter knife I had found discarded a week prior. I pushed it underneath the flap and eased it open.

I cringed when a piece of the envelope tore with the wax. There was no way of salvaging it other than finding a new envelope. And paper was much too expensive for me.

But, figuring what’s done is done, I shrugged and took the letter out.

I expected to find a written message inside. What I saw instead shocked me so much that I nearly let the wind sweep the sheet out of my hands.

There was a single ‘X’ in the middle of the page writ in blood.

I’d been in the city long enough to hear of such things. The secretive Black Brotherhood—also known as the assassin’s guild—sent out letters like these to targets who’ve had a hit placed on their heads. It was a warning, but also an offer:
Beat the price we’ve been given, and we will not kill you
.

Those who failed to do so died within twenty-four hours.

My mind reeled with the implications. For one, it meant that the Black Brotherhood was real. The most anyone could confirm of their existence came in whispers spoken in dark, hidden places. Revealing the Black Brotherhood’s secrets was a crime punishable by death.

Of course, everything about them might also be a hoax. Unscrupulous con men could be sending letters like this to extract money from frightened nobles. The rumors about the letters could have been planted by them long ago. A rumor that is repeated often enough frequently takes on the appearance of truth.

But I was not willing to rest on that assumption.

The more unsettling thought was that
I
was in possession of the letter.
I
had seen the red cross.

Had somebody put a bounty on
my
life?

Was the story about delivering the letter just some elaborate ploy to get it into my hands? Did the man who gave it to me simply rely on my curiosity for me to open it?

I heard a fluttering of wings behind me and jumped, spooked out of my mind. A raven cocked its head at me.

Caw! Caw!

“Stupid bird,” I muttered. I picked up a rock and expertly threw it a foot above its head.

The sudden movement startled the raven. It opened its wings and flew up in the air.

My rock connected with its skull.

It dropped back down, dead. Just to make sure, I walked over and wrung its neck, then hid it inside a nearby chimney. There was good meat on those bones, and I intended to bring it back to Magda to make a soup.

If
the Black Brotherhood was not coming to get me.

I went back to the ledge and scanned the crowd. No sign of the man I was following. Good. If he was still inside, that gave me time to think.

I crouched down and rocked on my heels, ready to spring away at a moment’s notice. If I saw so much as a shadow behind me…

Suddenly, the ludicrousness of my fear occurred to me. It made me laugh. I could not run from professional assassins. But, more importantly, if someone
really
wanted to kill me, they wouldn’t waste time or money going through the Black Brotherhood. I had nothing to my name. The letter with the cross meant nothing to me. There was no way I could afford to pay.

I doubted an organization as revered as the Black Brotherhood would even entertain the notion of wasting their talents on a kid. If someone wanted me dead, it wasn’t hard to accomplish. Nobody in south Hallengard would bat an eye if they found the body of a boy stuffed in the back of some alley.

This presented me with yet another choice.

If I were to assume that the Black Brotherhood was real, and that the man I was following really was a target, it meant that he had money.

I was supposed to give the letter to him at nightfall. If I delivered it earlier, as a warning, would he consider rewarding me for it?

I doubted I would see the man with the Devil’s Bane again. Why would he pay
me
, a nobody, after I had done what he wanted? I was a fool for accepting. Yet I could still make my choice about how I wanted to proceed.

I mulled over my options while seated on my haunches. I could throw the letter away and simply forget about it. I would avoid the street where the giggly man found me. I could pretend it never happened.

That seemed like the coward’s way out.

I could follow directions and deliver the letter at nightfall. I did not know the significance of waiting that long. Presumably, it would give the man less time to decide if he would pay off the hit.

Or, I could take my chances and find him now. I could give him the letter and hope he would reward me somehow for alerting him early.