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it. Any day now, we're going to have more jobs than we can "
A knock on the door interrupted him. With a "told you so" wink, Kerrik flung open the door. "Ah, Ser
Warkan. What may we do for you today?"
Warkan comes direct from Royal Security, and is one of those somber, solid, honest types of no certain
age, the ones whose job it is to see that everything runs smoothly and legally. We'd worked for him
before, quiet, no-publicity but nicely paying jobs. "There's a mage," he said with no preamble. "Flashy
sort, wealthy. Name's Garrith Kundin, or at least that's the name on the records. He bought the old
Renten place outside the city, and he's been busy restoring the estate and rebuilding the horse breeding
facilities."
Kerrik and I glanced at each other. "Let me guess," I said. "He's gained too much wealth too quickly."
Kerrik finished, "And you think that he's into something dark or you wouldn't be coming to us."
Warkan frowned. "Weknow he is: Just haven't been able to prove anything, that's all."
Of course all magicians in the kingdom must be licensed, the same as with us shifters, and no honest
Practitioner complains about it. Ever since the Power Wars pretty much wiped out the Lartai Fields back
in '81, there have been strong legal bans on the dark side of magic.
"I see where this is leading," Kerrik said, as casually as if we weren't hurting for a job. "You want us to
get in there and find you that proof."
"Exactly."
Sitting around our desk, khaffik mugs in hand, we got down to details, terms, risks. And with every
word, I began to get more and more uneasy. Contrary to public belief, shifters can't just shift out of
injuries; if you've been stabbed as hound and shift back into human, the wound's still there. And yes, we
certainly can be killed, just like anyone else. This Kundin sounded like a nasty type, the sort who would
think nothing of using magic to enslave or torment others. According to what Warkan was telling us,
Kundin had an alarmingly high rate of employee turnovers or downright employee vanishings. And
rumor had it that he was getting money from certain sources in exchange for not harming said sources.
Ah yes, and rumor also said that shifters, as well as Kundin's employees, had been disappearing, though
that didn't mean anything too serious, let alone that he was involved. We do tend to be a peripatetic lot,
mostly because shifters tend to learn some awkward secrets, not always by chance. Still . . . there's
always this danger: Stay shifted too long in another form, and you may forget your rightful shape. The
thought of a human ending up as a hawk or bear, with no remembrance of any former life . . .
Rumor, after all, is sometimes based in truth.
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But before I could voice my objections, Kerrik said, "Can do." Utterly ignoring my frantic signals, my
dear husband leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Ser Warkan, you've got yourself your shifters."
* * *
That's Kerrik for you: In a word, reckless. Oh, his heart's in the right place, even when he's literally
someone else, and I do love the man. But a little forethought added into his makeup really would be nice.
As soon ask for the wind to be a rock.
When we were alone, I exploded, "Are you out of your we have a partnership how could you "
"Money, love. Remember it? That pretty, shiny stuff we're almost out of?"
"Don't get cute, Kerrik." As his face instantly became a child's wide-eyed face, I snapped, "I mean it!"
He dropped all silliness. "And I mean it. Jazi, I'm going there and I'm going alone."
"You can't! Dammit, the danger "
"Horses," was all he said in reply, tapping me on the nose with a forefinger.
Right. Kundin was breeding horses. And I . . . I have an allergy that won't let me go anywhere near the
beasts without starting to sneeze madly.
"See, Jazi? Has to be me alone."
I wasn't buying that. Turning away, I pretended to be very busy shuffling papers. Kerrik's arms closed
about me from behind, but I went boneless and slipped out of his embrace.
"Hey, love," he cajoled, "I'm not an amateur! I'll be careful."
And I was a garden snake.
I mean that literally. I was getting so angry at his cockiness that I needed to cool off a bit outside, sliding
out the window into the garden below.
Wrong move. While I was out there, slithering through the grass and fuming, something large flapped
away overhead.
Kerrik.
Come back to me, love,I thought, along with some less printable things. And then I added,Alive, and
in your rightful shape, dammit.
I waited.
The day passed, and I waited some more.
Another day passed, and finally I sighed to hide my uneasiness, and went down to the market square to
see if there was any news.
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Oh, there was news, all right: Kundin had just bought himself a brand-new horse, a shining black stallion
like none anyone had ever seen.
I bet.
He'd bought the beast from Ashaqat the Horse Trader, a stocky more-or-less honest little man.
Ashaqat, when cornered by me, admitted that yes, he'd known it was no true horse he was selling, but
that Kerrik had sworn him to secrecy. "Kundin didn't argue," he said. "Just paid my price right off. Didn't
like my rope halter, though: Threw his own onto the, uh, horse."
Oh. No. "His own halter didn't have iron in it, did it?"
Ashaqat blinked in confusion. "Yes. Think so." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]