Dark Gods Rising (11 page)

Scooting back on the settee, Simta slapped her legs together and grabbed at her cup.

“Enter,” Calto called.

The priest who had shown her in earlier bowed gracefully to Calto. “I apologize for the interruption, My Lord, but your next appointment is here.”

Calto nodded stiffly. “Of course, Brother Dargot. Please let them know I will be with them in a moment or two.”

Simta strangled a cry before it reached her lips. She was on fire, and now there would be no quenching it.

After bowing again, the priest left. Calto rose and escorted Simta to the door. “My apologies for getting carried away, dear Simta. It was inappropriate of me to touch you in such a manner. Forgive me.”

Simta threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. Calto hesitated for a moment but pulled her close, returning her passionate kiss before pulling himself away.

“You will watch, Ani?” Calto stroked her cheek lightly.

“Yes, Calto, yes.” She stepped away, her knees weak, her breathing raspy, and allowed herself to be ushered out. She would do anything to be in the manipulative bastard’s arms again. Love and respect be damned. The man knew how to kiss.

* * * *

When Simta arrived at the run down shack Lady Anithia Morlon called home, she thought it a disgrace— only one step above where her father kept farm animals. How could Calto allow such a travesty for his sister-in-law and niece? She tried to peek through the slat boards over the front window, but it was too dark inside. She knocked.

“Are you lost, your Ladyship?”

A deep, almost melodious male voice sounded from behind her. Simta released the catch fastened about her wrist, freeing a knife for quick use. If there was more than one man she would do the same with her other wrist knife.

Turning slowly, she smiled, soft and delicate. “No, I’m here to consult with a woman named Anithia.”

An older man, tall, with a care worn face, smiled back at her. His clothes were not those of a beggar but not fine enough for complete respectability. At least he was clean. “You have no need of your blades today, Lady Morthanhi. The gods walk with you in your search.”

Simta stiffened. “Have we met, good sir? For I do not recall giving you my name, and the Downs are not a place I usually frequent.” Was he following her? Was he part of the danger Calto spoke of?

He shook his head and chuckled. “It’s good you keep your wits about you girl, but you don’t need them with me. If you seek for Ani, try the wharf. Be careful and keep true to your penance, Simta. The gods smile upon your efforts.”

Simta’s mouth dropped open. Her cheeks grew warm. Had she been such a harlot that all knew of her crimes? Even here? Or was this some spy of Charmaine’s, stalking her to make sure she kept her trillion wifely vows even before the marriage took place.

The man held out his hand to her. “Forgiveness starts from within. How do you propose to get on with your life when you refuse to let go of your guilt?”

Frowning, Simta absently took the man’s hand. Blue eyes so intense she thought they saw into her soul beckoned her forward. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Have you been spying on me?”

Instead of answering he squeezed her hand gently. Warmth and a feeling of hope and love, traveled up her arm. It spread throughout her body. Simta felt like a cloud, light and unfettered by earthly cares.

“Remember, she is by the docks, Lady Morthanhi. Watch your way.”

Simta blinked and found herself standing a block from the wharf. Ani’s home, the man, they were both gone. Somehow, she had blacked out and lost time, but how when she had entirely forsaken drinking. Impossible, but she didn’t remember leaving the Downs. Was the man somehow involved?

Simta thought a moment while unclasping the second knife’s fastening about her wrist. She might no longer be in the Downs, but the wharf was little better. She tried to bring the man to her mind, but the more she tried to remember his face the harder remembering became. His features were fading from her mind but not the feeling of peace he had given her. Had he been god touched? No, of course not. There was no such thing as god touched, and for all the pain and suffering she had seen, and despite her time serving Trelsar, she wondered if there were really any gods at all outside those residing in Hell. Most likely the magic she had seen about Calto and his knights when they battled Malaria had been only that, magic, and not godly influence at all.

Someone tugged on her coin purse. Cursing her distraction, Simta’s knives dropped down into her hands. She placed one against the thief’s throat and the other at his groin before realizing who she was about to cut.

“Selnac? You old codger! Get your hand off my purse.” Simta scowled as she studied her mentor. The old man was getting careless and slow if she had caught him even while distracted. She replaced her knives.

“Simta? Is that you?” His craggy features twisted into lines of shock. “You look…um…different.”

Sighing, she waved his comments away. “I know I’ve changed, and so have you. I shouldn’t have felt you tug on my purse, especially when I wasn’t paying attention.”

Selnac gave her a sheepish smile. “Ah well, I’m getting older, and I haven’t had a decent partner since you left. I miss having someone young, pretty, and nimble to help me on occasion.”

Smiling, Simta remembered those days well. It was Selnac who taught her to thieve when she was still a young girl. If it had not been for her family’s high profile she would have continued skulking about with him, but as she grew into womanhood things changed— mainly her. She felt a twinge of guilt. He had taught her to be his partner, expected her to take him with her up the ladder, but she had not. Instead, she had left him on the bottom rung still begging for scraps.

Opening her purse, she fished out a gold five rugdle coin. Taking his hand, she pressed it into his palm. “This is for Mother Brood and her lostlings. When I’m given my next allowance, I’ll seek you out and give you another. For now, I must keep what remains. I’ve an important errand.”

Selnac’s face lit with happiness. He was a thief, yes, but she knew he didn’t prosper from it. His clothes were patched, hanging like rags on a scarecrow, and his body unadorned of gold or silver. Even his weapons were old and scarred. No, for as long as she had known him most of Selnac’s ill-gotten gains went to Mother Brood and her street children. If not for him, Mother Brood’s children would have starved, although she once heard another thief, Glace, gave her part of his take on rare occasions.

“You’re too kind.” Selnac bowed politely. The coin disappeared from his hand. “So what errand brings you to the wharf?”

Simta paused. How much could she tell him of her mission?

“I’m looking for someone. A friend.”

“Hmm,” Selnac said thoughtfully. “What kind of
friend
of yours hangs around the wharf? I thought you gave the old life up?”

Simta frowned. Yes. Why was Anithia here? Neither this place nor the Downs were somewhere highborn women frequented, and Ani must be highborn despite her living arrangements or Larson wouldn’t have married her. Anything less would have been a disgrace. “I’m not sure. All I know is she is nearby, and I need to find her.”

Selnac glanced around. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but might I suggest an extra set of eyes? I’ll not intrude upon your business, nor will I tell others of it.”

Glancing around the busy docks, Simta pretended to be looking for something specific. She counted five men who acted as if they were not watching her. Not good. She had dressed too well for this area even though it was heavily patrolled.

“Yes, I would like your company, old friend. I seem to be attracting undo attention.”

“Glace and I will follow at a discreet distance.” Bowing, Selnac backed away, once again acting the beggar.

Simta walked down to the waterfront, marveling at the strange and curious sights greeting her at every turn. Dozens of languages flew through the air. Fabrics of gold, cobalt blue, blood red, dozens of colors, adorned the bodies of foreign sailors, although some sailors wore barely anything at all. And their ships! Many didn’t look like they could float. Other’s looked like they might fly.

“Let go of me!”

Simta turned in time to see a woman being dragged up a ship’s plank by a half-naked sailor. Although she had never met Anithia, this woman matched her description.

“Look what we got here, Chai,” the sailor called up to his mate. “A pretty little blond thing looking for work at one of Grace’s uptown shops.”

“I got work for ‘er all right,” Chai rejoined. “Bring ‘er up an’ we’ll haul ‘er below deck. I’ll put ‘er ta work, right away. Or better yet, I bet she’d fetch a fine price overseas.”

The two men laughed as the woman struggled to break free. Neither of the sailors were local stock. They didn’t wear shirts or shoes, only short pants and sashes for their knives. Their bald heads, gold earrings, and necklaces gleamed brightly in the midday sun. Simta hurried to the boarding plank.

“You! Unhand my cousin or I’ll have the watch on you!” Simta stomped her foot upon the plank, shaking the boards.

When the woman’s head snapped around Simta saw her flushed face was contorted with both fear and rage. Before Simta could say anything more, the woman slammed her heel into the arch of her captor’s foot, her hand shot upward into his jaw, then doubled into a fist which plunged down fast and hard into the man’s groin.

The sailor gave a strangled cry and doubled over, releasing the woman.

She shoved him from the boarding plank.

The sailor hit the water with a splat. When he came to the surface, and Simta had not thought he would since few sailors knew how to swim, he spluttered and screamed in an unknown language.

Rushing to the plank, she grabbed the irate woman by the arm, dragged her back to the dock, and ran. Her blade appeared like magic in her hand, slashing from side to side as two men who had been following her leapt into her path.

From the corner of her eye, Simta saw a flash of steel. A man howled. He screeched. Then he shifted.

Simta’s heart froze. A morpho, one of the hellborn who owned no real shape. Its skin turned a lavender blue, its eyes became large and yellow. Sharp pointy pin teeth snapped and clacked when it roared, slashing at the air.

Something warm trickled down her leg. The horror of the night Malaria died played back in her in mind, the blood, the entrails, the smell of death.

“Hey, lady— whoever you are— we need to get out of here now!”

Simta jumped when the woman jerked on her arm, pulling her away from the unfolding riot. They fled through the panicked crowd, jostling, pushing, and tripping their way out. It seemed forever before they stopped to catch their breath.

“For a noblewoman, you sure are aggressive,” the woman panted. “Where did you pull those knives from?”

Simta blinked. Knives? She looked at her hands. Both blades were out. When had the second one appeared?

Simta trembled. Were the hellborn coming back for her? Is that what Larson had meant when he told her they sometimes came back? Sweet goddess. What was she going to do?

“Are you going to be okay?” The woman rubbed Simta’s arm, her face concerned.

“Yes. I–I have a great fear of those things. I’m sorry.”

“You? Afraid of them? How can you say that when you were ready to take on a ship full of over-sexed sailors for me? By the way,” she narrowed her eyes, “my name’s Anithia, frequently called Ani, and I’m pretty sure you don’t look like any cousin of mine. What are you doing down here?”

Anithia placed her hands on her hips, apparently wary of her savior. Simta approved. Her charge possessed good survival instincts.

Simta shrugged her shoulders. Technically they were related, if distantly. But maybe through this good deed for Calto they would end up sister-in-laws. “I’m Simta, and we are related in a way, through friendship. I was looking for you. I knew your husband.”

Stiffening, Ani dropped her hands to her sides, balling them into fists. “What kind of
friend
?”

Simta scowled. “A strictly unromantic kind if that’s what you’re implying.”

How dare the little tart accuse her of such misdeeds. Simta admitted she’d had more than her share of lovers but never a married man. Even she was not so low.

Anithia’s brows raised, her face became blank. “What?”

“I did not have an affair with your husband.”

Anithia blinked and shook her head. “I wasn’t accusing you of screwing him. My husband was a knight of the Order of the Staff and the Sword. I meant, are you one of his crazy demon hunting friends— one of
Anothosia’s faithful
.” Anithia sneered. Her eyes shone anger and revulsion.

“No, I’m not, but your husband saved my life. I’d be a lost soul in the pits of Hell if not for him and his bro— another knight’s intervention. Why do you hate them so?”

Anithia’s eyes softened. Her face relaxed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to‒I mean‒I don’t hate anyone.”

Anithia seemed lost for a moment, the steam of her anger exhausted.

Simta tried again. “I’ve come to repay my debt to your husband for his sacrifice.”

Anithia frowned while looking around her. “I–I need to go. You don’t owe us anything. You helped me back there, and that’s enough.” She turned to go.

“Wait! Lady Morlon. A job! I have a job for you!” Simta couldn’t let her leave without helping her somehow.

Anithia stopped. She turned her head. “A job? What kind of job.” Her voice sounded wary, skeptical.

“I…ah…need a lady in waiting. An attendant.” Simta’s father would kill her for this. She already had three personal servants. He would probably make her pay for Anithia of her own pocket, as if her purse was not small enough. Her allowance was scant, and the money she had earned through theft and blackmail dried up and blew away during her year at the temple. Her gift to Selnac had been three quarters of her money.

Anithia raised an eyebrow. “Your lady in waiting?” Anithia shook her head. “I’ve seen the women who work for the nobility, and I’m nowhere near refined enough. I have but one dress to my name, and you’re looking at it.”

Simta studied her closely. The dress seemed to have been of a fine quality once, but was reduced to a faded blue with a patch on the elbow and the lace a dingy gray. The woman was clean, neat, her physical beauty striking, but again, she was three meals shy of being presentable. Most ladies in waiting were from lower nobility, not from the streets.

“I’m not nearly so refined as my peers,” she tried.

Anithia stiffened and then nodded. “No, you don’t talk refined. Even so, thank you Lady—?”

“Morthanhi, Simta Morthanhi.”