The Black Bouquet

"Because I thought that no one would expect it to happen there, and I was right about that much, anyway. Besides, if the place had been standing in your day, you would have wanted to rob it, too, just to prove you could."

"Perhaps," Nicos sighed. "That wouldn't have made it the smart thing to do."

"Actually, I wonder if the law is hunting me with such zeal only because it was the Paer. Maybe the person who owned the box is pushing them."

"That would mean you robbed somebody rich, powerful, or both."

"Of something he valued highly," added Aeron.

"Making it even more dangerous."

Aeron shifted in his chair, trying to make himself more comfortable, and in so doing, discovered he was already stiffening up. He stretched and twisted in what would probably prove a futile attempt to forestall the process. His spine popped.

"Ordinarily," he said, "I wouldn't sweat over the Gray Blades. If they were my only problem, I could dodge them until they moved on to other matters. But avoiding them and the Red Axes at the same time… well, at least I won't be bored."

"That's what's important," said his father with heavy sarcasm. "Still, it's a shame you couldn't reach an understanding with Kesk, though it's no wonder, after you sneaked onto his home ground and kicked two of his bravos around."

"I only sneaked in a little way, and I imagine he thinks guards who let themselves get taken by surprise deserve their bruises. But you're right, more or less. Once Tharag let it slip that Kesk pla

"You're positive the bugbear told the truth?"

"Yes," Aeron replied. "I could feel it. If you'd been there talking to it, and Kesk, you would have, too."

"Mask forbid that I ever come anywhere near that demon-spawn. Say he did want to murder you. Do you think it's just because you turned down his offer to join the Red Axes all those years ago?"

"That's probably part of it. He really seemed to want me after I stole that barge-load of spices. It plainly offended him when I said no, and he's the kind to hold a grudge. But I reckon there's more to it."

"What is it, then?"

Aeron frowned, pondering, until an idea came to him.

"You said it yourself," he said. "I robbed someone rich, powerful, or both-so much so that even Kesk Turnskull is leery of his wrath. So instead of using members of his own gang to grab the loot, he hires a freelance operator he hates and plans to kill him and his partners when their work is done. That way, nobody can trace the swag to the Red Axes."

Nicos nodded and said, "That makes sense. What are you going to do now?"

"Sell the prize to somebody else. Imrys Skaltahar, maybe. They say he keeps plenty of gold on hand, enough to buy even the most valuable loot without the thief needing to wait on his coin. I think it may be wisest to dispose of the lockbox quickly, and I wouldn't sell it to Kesk even if I could figure out a way to make him deal fairly. I'm not so suicidal as to seek to kill him, but I can keep him from getting what he wants. That'll be at least a little revenge for Kerridi, Gavath, and Dal."

"Skaltahar isn't going to buy the coffer just because you promise that what's inside is valuable."

"You're right," Aeron agreed. "That's the difficulty. Warding spells or no, I have to get the cursed thing open."

Wherever he went, Kesk liked to stride arrogantly, his head bare and sneering tanarukk face on display, his battle-axe in his hand, and several of his henchmen swaggering along behind him. He enjoyed watching the common herd blanch and scurry to get out of the way, relished it when even Gray Blades chose to give him a wide berth.

By the same token, he disliked creeping about muffled in a shabby cloak and hood, and he positively despised rapping on the little twin-paneled door at the rear of the great house, as if he was some sort of tinker, peddler, or beggar.

No one answered right away, which blackened his mood still further, if that was possible. He felt a growing urge to chop down the door with his axe, which he never relinquished even on those rare occasions when he found it necessary to wear a disguise. But then the portal cracked open. A human, only half dressed, his feet bare and his tawny hair uncombed, peered down at what he likely thought a peculiar shrouded figure, taller and even thicker built than a dwarf, but shorter than an elf, waiting in the alley.

"Yes?" the servant yawned.

Scowling, Kesk lifted his head, pushed back his cowl, and finally had the satisfaction of seeing someone flinch. Since it was the only pleasurable moment he was likely to experience on his visit there, he tried to savor it.

"His nibs is expecting me," he said.

The human gave a shaky nod and replied, "Yes. Please, come with me."

At first, they traversed the service areas of the mansion. It was late enough that the servants and slaves had extinguished most of the lamps and candles, and with only a couple exceptions, they lay snoring on their cots and pallets. Kesk knew they'd rise with the dawn to resume their labors, and he experienced a swell of contempt for anyone trapped in such a dreary life. Truly, as he'd often thought, most people were no better than sheep and deserved whatever the wolves of the world cared to do to them.

Eventually his guide conducted him into the section of the house where the master spent his days. The furnishings had a fussy, delicate, pastel quality that made Kesk's skin crawl. He understood that many folk would have considered them "elegant" or "beautiful," but to the extent that he cared about such effete matters at all, he preferred clashing primary colors and bold, simple designs, a taste he shared with his orc ancestors.

The servant tapped on a door.

"Come in," a reedy voice replied, whereupon the flunky ushered Kesk into a lavishly appointed library and workroom.

The decor was of a piece with that seen elsewhere in the house. Carved crystal flowers stood in milky porcelain vases, and a fabulously expensive blackwood clock with golden hands and numerals hung on the wall, its gilded weights dangling beneath it.

Dressed in a tasseled nightcap, slippers, and a quilted satin dressing gown, the owner of all that luxury lounged on a plush velvet divan, a scroll in his lap and a glass of pale wine on the stand beside him. Though well into the afternoon of his life, the smallish human had a boyish, apple-cheeked face that flashed a smile when he saw who'd come to call on him.

"Kesk!" he said. "My dear fellow. I was just about to give up on you for the night."

"Do you have to use my name in front of the help?" Kesk growled.

The servant flinched as if he expected Kesk to reclaim his anonymity by butchering him on the spot. Actually, the idea did have something to recommend it.

"It's a little late to worry about concealing your identity," said the man on the couch. "As far as I know, you're the only tanarukk in Oeble. In any case, Cohis is discreet. Aren't you, Cohis? He'll prove it by ru

The lackey hastily withdrew and the man said, "Show it to me."

Kesk felt awkward. Almost embarrassed. He wasn't used to such feelings, and it made him angry.

"We hit a snag," he said.

The human arched his eyebrows and asked, "How so? I know one of your minions made off with the prize. It's the talk of the town."