Magic Lost, Trouble Found
Page 22

The music began. Drums and two other percussion instruments established a languid beat, and then the low, vibrant tones of a goblin flute joined with the melody. The tempo increased slightly to the pulsing rhythm popular for the current mode of dancing. The young goblin began to sing, his body moving in perfect time to the drums. It was a love song that only a goblin could love, full of seduction, deception, and betrayal with just a touch of death thrown in for good measure. But it wasn’t the words that held my attention; it was the singer, or more to the point, his voice. His rich tenor gave meaning to the song far beyond the words. As the music increased in energy and intensity, so did his voice and his dancing. If I hadn’t been acutely aware of what he was doing, I could have easily found myself enchanted.
Although he was not in the same class as Mychael Eiliesor, the young goblin was a spellsinger of impressive power and control. It wasn’t unusual for establishments like Tam’s to employ spellsingers—a little subliminal singing to compel patrons to order more drinks, or to convince them they’re having the time of their lives was fairly common. This goblin’s skill was a little much just to raise bar tabs. If he had wanted to, he could have done much more. But then, Tam had never been one for doing things halfway.
The song concluded, and we both applauded, Tam with more enthusiasm than I.
“He’s good,” I murmured.
“Yes, he is,” Tam agreed.
“Too good.”
Tam looked over at me, a slow grin playing with the corners of his mouth. “I offer only the best. My clientele expects it from me. If they want shoddy spellsinging, they can go down to the Troubadour.”
“I wasn’t talking about his singing. I meant what’s going on under it.”
“He wasn’t aiming at you, darling, so where’s the harm? Spellsingers have to make a living, too.”
He wasn’t aiming at me, but he easily could have been. And after last night, I was a little more sensitive about that sort of thing. Not to mention, a spellsinger that gifted could easily find work more suited to his level of talent and probably better paying, though I knew Tam wasn’t cheap. He paid his people well, and then some. The result was an intensely loyal staff.
“That was well worth the wait, Rahimat,” Tam told the spellsinger.
The young goblin looked pleased. “Thank you, my primaru. With your permission, we will perform it tonight.”
“You have my permission and my blessing.”
With a bow to Tam and another glance at me, the spellsinger turned and began speaking in low tones with his musicians.
Tam was standing by the booth. I hadn’t seen him move. “You wish to speak with me privately?”
I looked away from the spellsinger and stood. “I do.”
Tam slipped his long-fingered hand to the small of my back. “Kell has brought refreshments to my office.”
The narrow hallway leading to Tam’s private domain was lit by illuminator globes set into recesses in the wall. The resulting light was pale golden, and very flattering, the same as the lighting in the main room. Everything and everyone looked better in low, soft lighting. Throw in a couple of strong drinks, and even Tam’s hobgoblin bouncers would look irresistible. I’d always found the glow to be a little too perfect. I’m sure Tam had added a few magical touches to enhance the effect.
Tam opened the door and stood aside for me to enter. A warm caress passed over my skin as I stepped across the threshold and through his shields. Being on friendly terms with the proprietor helped. Tam made sure his shields knew I was always welcome. Trust was a wonderful thing.
A door was open behind the mahogany desk. Through it I saw the corner of a bed, with pale sheets spilling into a pool on the floor.
“You would welcome a few extra hours of sleep.” He didn’t ask it as a question.
“I would welcome a few hours of sleep, period.”
“That could be arranged.”
From the sound of his voice, that wasn’t all that could be arranged. “Tam, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The goblin went to a small sideboard in the corner and poured Nebian jasmine tea into a pair of gold-painted porcelain cups so fragile they looked like they would shatter if you looked at them wrong. I could smell the delicate floral brew. Nebian jasmine was rare, and importing it was prohibitively expensive unless you had the money or the contacts. Tam had both.
He handed me a cup, deliberately brushing my hand as he did so. “What is so important that you cannot spare a few hours for me?”
I slid into one of the two overstuffed velvet armchairs facing the desk. “I don’t have a few hours. I have a problem.”
“Don’t you always? You need to make time. Play is important.”
“Play is your business, Tam, not mine.” I took a sip of tea, closed my eyes and inhaled. Night-blooming jasmine. A moment of pure and complete bliss. It’d be nice if I could make it last.
“It’s also my business to make people happy.” His voice dropped to a low, suggestive purr. “What would make you happy this morning?”
“Other than a few hours of sleep, the same thing that always makes me happy. Knowing things that the bad guys want to keep secret.”
“Those aren’t the fun kind of secrets.”
“They are to me. Now more than ever.”
“I’m probably going to regret this, but is there anything I can do to help?”
“Without endangering yourself or your business,” I finished for him.
“That would be nice, but with you, it’s usually not possible.”
I paused before continuing, taking both my time and another sip, and sniff, of tea. “You heard about Simon Stocken?”
“I heard.”
I didn’t say how I knew, and Tam didn’t say how he heard. Tam would never betray me, and I extended the same courtesy to him. But at the same time, we didn’t share anything we didn’t have to. Our relationship operated strictly on a need-to-know basis. I think there are things about Tam that I’d rather not know; and I’m positive there are things about me that I’d rather Tam not know. It’s not a lack of trust, just good sense. I’ve always been a practical girl.
“I received a shipment of Caesolian red and some vintage liqueurs from him just last week,” Tam said. “I have two other sources, but they lack Master Stocken’s particular acquisition skills and attention to detail. I suspect my cellars will suffer before I find a suitable replacement.” His expression darkened. “If I can find one. Do you know who was responsible?”
“Why? Want revenge?”
“Possibly.”
“Sarad Nukpana.”
I like to give little gifts to my friends, and to myself. If Tam could somehow cut short the goblin grand shaman’s trip to our fair city, it would make a lot of people feel better—especially me.
Tam was silent for a moment. “More than a few individuals in the Goblin District would love to send Sarad Nukpana home in a large box, in small pieces. But just because they want it, doesn’t mean they’re going to volunteer to make it happen.” He regarded me soberly. “Is your interest professional or personal?”
“Both.”
Tam sighed. “Who hired you?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” Especially since I had become my own client.
He shook his head and took the chair opposite mine. “Are you willing to take some advice?”
“I’m willing to listen.”
“Find another case.”
“I’ve already been given that advice.”
“You’d be wise to take it.”
“Too late for that.”
“It’s only too late when you’re dead.” Tam exhaled slowly and settled back in his chair. “I heard his shamans paid you a visit last night,” he said.
“You’ve always said I need to get a social life.”
“Raine, you’ve never met him. I have. Trust me, this isn’t anyone you want to have notice you.”
Too late for that. “I hear he’s quite the nutcase,” I said.
Tam voice was steady. “He’s also brilliant, skilled, sadistic, and utterly insane. He’s a monster, Raine. Do us both a favor and walk away from this one.”
“I can’t. At least not without help.”
He was wary. “What kind of help?”
“Just information.”
“And you think I have this information.”
“It would certainly make my life easier—and possibly longer—if you did. The Khrynsani also paid Nigel Nicabar a visit last night.”
“What did Nigel have to say?” Tam asked.
“Not much, because he’s dead.”
That seemed to be news to Tam. “Nigel’s dead?”
“Bobbed to the surface just off the Grand Duke’s Canal this morning.”
The tiniest smile creased Tam’s lips. “You have to admit that’s not a grievous loss to the necromancer community.” He paused and the smile vanished. “You think I know something about this, don’t you?”
“I think there’s a better than average possibility.”
To someone who didn’t know him that well, Tam’s face was an expressionless mask. But I knew him that well. There was plenty going on behind those large, dark eyes, and most of it had to do with deflecting my questions.
“I have nothing to do with Nigel,” he said. “And even less to do with the Khrynsani. I have my vices, and while some are arrestable offenses, it’s nothing I would burn in the lower hells for.”
“Some people would say that’s open for debate,” I said. “I know you like to watch those you don’t want watching you. The Khrynsani definitely qualify.”
Tam waved a negligent hand. “King Sathrik’s throwing himself a party two nights from now. Someone has to see to the catering.”
“I don’t think Sarad Nukpana’s minions are here to make tiny sandwiches or arrange flowers, and neither do you. Try again.”