She Who Waits (Low Town 3) by Polansky Daniel

Author:Polansky, Daniel [Polansky, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2013-10-30T18:30:00+00:00

23

I dropped the boy back at the bar and spent most of the rest of the afternoon catching up on my rounds. Generally I’m one or two steps up above direct hand-to-hand transactions, which is to say that I sell things to people who sell things to junkies. The upside of not having anyone work for me is that I don’t have to pay, trust or talk to anyone. The downside is much of the grunt work falls on my shoulders. I could pawn it off to Wren, of course, but in general I preferred not to have him carrying anything that could set him up for five years in the poke. The hoax knew not to bother me of course, and Black House generally didn’t display much interest in anything as petty as a narcotics transaction, but then again, you never knew. If a rival decided to set me up for a fall, or there was just some rookie guardsman who hadn’t learned who staked his retirement fund – well, Adeline would never let me hear the end of it.

It was two or three chilly, not particularly interesting hours padding my way around Low Town. A few dozen bartenders and street hustlers, the occasional pimp and fixer. Most of them meant nothing to me, cogs in the mill, the end product a few tarnished pieces of gold. One or two I would have gone so far as to call passing acquaintances. Yancey had been right, they wouldn’t miss me when I was gone, nor would I lose any sleep when I made it to the Free Cities wondering whether Tam Half-Eyed was still able to pass out joints of well-cut dreamvine to deaden his patrons’ wits while his tame whores ran through their pockets. All the same, I went through the motions with particular meticulousness. It wouldn’t do to give anyone the sense that this was the last time they’d see me, that anything was any different from the hundred other times they’d scored off my stash.

I came back to a slow late afternoon at the Earl. The place was almost deserted, two old men playing a confused game of chess beside a roaring fire, a handful of other drunks sipping their way into nostalgia.

Wren sat at the counter, picking the burrs out of a suspiciously familiar looking bag of dreamvine. Next to him sat the rest of his makings, fine leaf tobacco, a twist of paper. He knew what he was doing – I’d taught him well. Or badly, depending on how you looked at it.

Adolphus leaned against the other side of the bar. He started when he heard the door open, his face guilty enough to get him hung in front of the most impartial tribunal in the Thirteen Lands. Adolphus was not strong on deceit – I made up for his slack, though.

‘She’ll be at market for hours yet,’ Wren said, trying to calm him, voice smooth, fingers nimble. ‘She’s got to buy dinner for the rest of the week.

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