Stealers' Sky

"Women, eh? The woman on the wharf?"

Walegrin grunted and spun his mug between his fingers. He preferred not to talk about women. His father had been killed because of a woman -killed and thoroughly cursed. Walegrin wasn't certain that he'd inherited the curse; his half-sister, Illyra, said he hadn't. But even S'danzo Sight couldn't say for certain where ordinary bad luck left off and a curse began.

For Walegrin, the dividing line between luck and curse ran straight through Chenaya Vigeles. Chenaya was the sort of woman a poor man dreams about: beautiful and wealthy, sensual and wealthy, eager and wealthy. When Molin Torchholder said the palace needed eyes and ears at the sprawling Vigeles estate, Walegrin volunteered. Even then Chenaya had a reputation that would have given a wiser man pause. And that led to the question: Was it bad luck or stupidity that catalyzed a curse?

Chenaya took a fancy to him, much as a breeder fancies a particular bull or stallion at the stalls. She'd taken him to her bedroom and given him experiences he could never afford on the Street of Red Lanterns. For a week, maybe two, but certainly no more than a month, Waleg

The battle lines were drawn and Waleg

The word came a month ago, in the midst of the awkward investigation into the midnight assassination of the Torch's estranged wife and Chenaya's father.

Be my eyes, my ears, again.

This time Walegrin risked his carefully nurtured patronage with Sanctuary's most powerful bureaucrat. She'll kill me, he'd argued, which, though true, wasn't the real reason he feared Land's End. He knew he wouldn't mind dying if she took him upstairs first. The Torch hadn't pressed the issue, and Chenaya had yet to cross Walegrin's path, but the commander couldn't talk to a woman without thinking about Chenaya. He was as jumpy as a cat on a griddle.

Thrusher knew about Chenaya. There wasn't a man in Sanctuary who didn't know something about the legendary Chenaya. Thrusher even knew about Walegrin and Chenaya. He'd asked for details at the begi

They finished the pitcher and returned to their patrolling. Their camaraderie was broken for the moment. The afternoon was an endless succession of circuits along the wharf and past the customs and storage houses. The big black ship had pulled in all but one of its hoists. The fish merchants were up at the palace making private transactions, but in general the fish stayed to themselves. Cross-culture brawls were the exception rather than the rule.

The big black ship might stay in the harbor a week or more, but after the first day few paid any attention to it. Walegrin returned to a commander's duties. Once a day he went over to the caravan gate to inspect whomever the other officers might have recruited. Walegrin pointed out that the recruit would receive the same wages as a soldier in the Rankan army-five soldats a month, less expenses-but he never said the recruit was, joining the Rankan army. Business wasn't brisk, but the ranks were starting to fill. The third watch, formerly made up largely of Zip and his semi-feral commandos, was reinstituted. The two existing watches were reorganized. Thrusher went to the new unit and Walegrin found himself training a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant named Wedemir.

Wedemir was short and dark, like Thrusher, but with a round face and flat forehead that fairly shouted Wriggly. He gave his age as twenty-two, the same age Walegrin was when he jumped from soldier to officer. Walegrin judged that the man was young for his years. At the very least Wedemir wasn't burdened with the shield of distrust that Walegrin had carried through his teens and twenties. There was no faulting Wedemir's record. He'd been on the barricades through the worst of the anarchy and seen things, no doubt, that he'd never told his dose-knit family.

"My father's Lalo, the artist," the boy said defensively as he and Walegrin left the barracks on a get-acquainted patrol.

Walegrin grunted. Wedemir's mother was Gilla. His younger brother died in the False Plague Riots and his sister waited on the fish in the palace. Walegrin knew all that and more from the Torch's dossiers. For the moment, the commander was more interested in the movements of a woman coming from the Justice Hall toward the West Gate. He led Wedemir, still prattling about his family, toward the practice ground where Thrusher was explaining the difference between right and left to the newest recruits.

"I don't think they were ever very happy about me joining. Not that they'd ever say anything outright ... Well, my mother wouid, but not my father ..."

The woman turned. Walegrin caught a glimpse of her profile before Thrush's recruits came between them, not long enough to be sure if the woman was Chenaya or not. Probably not. Chenaya had little cause to come to the palace, and when she did she was usually dressed for war.

"Something wrong, Commander?" Wedemir asked.

Waleg

"Wait here, I want to get something from the tower room."

"Can't I get it for you?"

"Gods below, you're not my servant, you're an officer in the R-" Walegrin caught the untimely word on the tip of his tongue. Just that morning the prince had proclaimed a reduction in the hearth tax without once mentioning Ranke or the Emperor. Whatever they were officers of, it wasn't the Rankan army anymore. "Just slay here!"

Wedemir froze on the spot. Walegrin took the tower steps two at a time. What he wanted was another glimpse of that golden hair to tell him which way not to go with Wedemir. He leaned out over the railing. The men on duty looked with him and at him. The commander spotted his quarry arguing with a water seller. The angle was still bad; he couldn't see her face.

"What're you looking for?" one of the soldiers asked.

Walegrin gripped the rail with both hands and thought fast. "I was looking to see if there were crowds gathering anywhere. Problems. Disorderlies. Don't want to bore my new lieutenant."

"It's as quiet as a clam," the second soldier confirmed, still sca

"But there's been complaints coming in all day from the Uptown. Something died, from the sound ... er, smelt of things. Nothing serious, though, an' it's not going anywhere so I haven't sent anyone," the first soldier added.

"Something died?" the commander asked.

"We had at least four people come down here since dawn to say that they can't stand the smell. We got nothing more than that. Nobody's seen what died, they just say it smells worse than the charnel house going fulltilt."

The golden-haired woman headed west. Uptown was east.

"We'll check it out."

Walegrin would have gone Uptown regardless of the gold-haired woman. The soldiers in the tower had been recruited from the men who came to Sanctuary to work on Molin's walls. To them, Uptown was just another quarter.