Page 59 of City of Stone and Silence

Oh, Blessed. Now he decides to get protective? “What exactly makes you say that?”

“Don’t—” At my expression, he pauses. “You’re too young.”

I glance at the doorman, who’s leading us the length of the hall. He’s busy making small talk with the guests as we pass, not paying us any attention. I keep my voice low anyway.

“There are probably girls my age working here,” I tell him. “If Isoka hadn’t gotten us off the streets, I could have been working here by now. So please spare me your moralizing.”

He blinks. “Sorry.”

“Besides, you’re not much older than me.”

“That’s…” He purses his lips. “I suppose not.”

Blessed above. This is not an argument I want to have, and especially not now. I look over at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but he just looks thoughtful. Even if I was prepared to read his mind, this place is crowded enough that I don’t want to risk opening my Kindre senses. So I swallow whatever I was going to say next and follow the doorman, and we finally break out of the crowd at the far end of the hall, where a wide stairway leads to the second floor.

Upstairs, another narrower hall is fronted by many doors. What’s going on behind some of them is obvious from the muffled moans and cries, and I blush in spite of myself. At least, I note, Garo has the grace to do likewise. Other doors are quiet, but a strange, sweet smoke hangs around them in a haze.

At the end of the hall, a pair of double doors are carved with a stylized whale bearing a long, whorled horn, picked out in gold leaf. The doorman pushes them open a fraction of an inch, speaks quietly, and then beckons us forward.

“Master Thul is very busy,” he says. “So don’t waste his time.”

He pushes the door open. Inside is a spare drawing room with a low table and cushions. The walls are lined with shelves bearing a row of clay pots, beautifully stained and ancient looking. In contrast with the hall downstairs, everything here has the quiet, understated solidity of truly expensive craftsmanship.

Sitting behind the table is a middle-aged man, powerfully built but running somewhat to fat. He has an Imperial cast to his features, but his hair is a startling blond, which speaks to an iceling ancestry. He wears a simple gray robe, and his dark eyes seem permanently narrowed in suspicion.

When I’d poked around to find out who Isoka worked for, years ago, I’d heard stories about Borad Thul. Few of them were complimentary. The child of a prostitute and an iceling sailor, he’d grown up in the Sixteenth Ward, just like we had. After doing a stint as a galley rower in the last war, he’d come back with a lot of money and taste for creative violence. His takeover of the lower wards—and in particular what had happened to the bosses of the incumbent organization—was the sort of thing people talked about in whispers.

“So you’re the little sister,” he says. At a nod from him, the doorman slips out. He glances at Garo. “Who’s this supposed to be? A bodyguard?”

“Something like that,” I say. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“I was curious. Isoka doesn’t like to talk about you, you know. Some of my men thought you might have died, or that she’d sold you for a whore.”

“My sister takes care of me,” I tell him, a little stiffly. “She was supposed to visit today, and she hasn’t come. I think she might be in danger.”

Thul gives a braying laugh. “So you charged to the rescue? You’ve got balls, little girl. I like that. Do you have the same stick up your ass your sister does?”

Garo bristles. I put a hand on his sleeve to restrain him. Thul notices, and laughs again.

“I would like to know where Isoka is now,” I tell him. “And if you have any idea what might have happened to her.”

“What happened is that she made the wrong enemies,” Thul says, “and left me with a heap of trouble to clean up. If you see her, you can tell her I’m rotting pissed off.”

“What do you mean, the wrong enemies?” My heart double-thumps, my guts squeezing. “What happened?”

“Best I can tell, she and her man Hagan were having themselves a rut in a little place on Bleak Street. Next thing anyone knows, someone’s kicked down the door, Hagan’s dead, and there’s blood everywhere.”

“What?” I take a half-step forward. “Have you tried to find her?”

“’Course I tried. You let someone take out one of your bosses, next thing you know they’re coming for your scalp. But we asked around.” He leans back. “People who live in the building said it was the Immortals who grabbed dear old Isoka.”

The world seems to go slow and strange for a moment. My ears are ringing. “The … Immortals?”

“I’m guessing she got careless. Or else she pissed off rotting Kuon Naga. Either way, it’s bad for business. And now I’ve got to find a new ward boss.”

“Where did they take her?” I say. “The Immortals.”

“Who rotting knows?” He shrugs. “Does it matter? Ward Guards are one thing, but I’m not stupid enough to go up against the throne. Or Naga, which amounts to the same thing.”