Page 79 of Saint
“At this hour?”
“He’ll want to see me,” I said, keeping my hands in my pockets. The stone was still clutched in my fist like a coal fished from the fire.
The woman was wary, and she should have been. She was probably the only person in the house with the sense to be worried.
She stared at me for another moment. “Wait here.”
I caught the door with my hand, holding it open. “Tell him it’s regarding those silks he’s expecting.”
When I let go, the bolt locked and the footsteps trailed away, leaving me standing on the street alone. In the distance, the shops of the merchants’ district were beginning to show signs of life. The sound of water being poured into the street, a door scraping over the cobblestones. The pale light of morning was creeping into the city by the time the door opened again.
This time, the woman stepped aside to let me in. “May I take your jacket?” she asked, stumbling over the words. I doubted there was decorum for a meeting like this.
“No. I’m not staying long.”
Inside, the smell of baking bread and sizzling pork was already in the air. The candles at the top of the stairs were lit, illuminating the shadows of the house as the sun slowly made its way up the sky.
The woman set a hand on the carved wooden banister and began to climb. “Follow me.”
I took the steps behind her, eyes roaming over the gilded-framed paintings that hung on the walls. Scenes of the rye fields, the cliffs. Ships in the harbor. It was a version of the Narrows that wouldn’t exist much longer if Oliver Durant had his way.
A door at the end of the hallway was open and candlelight reflected on a glass case inside. I stopped in front of the threshold, examining the room. It was a study, the walls fitted with shelves that held books and leather folders and mullein boxes. The wood floor was covered by a handwoven rug edged in gold tassels. Nothing that could have been made here in Ceros, and that was the sum of all I needed to know about the man who sat behind the ornately carved desk.
Oliver Durant.
His wide face was wreathed in a thick beard that was too white for his apparent age. His hair was neatly combed, his tailored vest buttoned closed as if he’d been up and at work on his ledgers before the sun rose. I was sure he had. He set his hands on the arms of his chair, watching me like he was half expecting me to draw my knife.
The woman motioned for me to enter and pulled the door closed behind me. But Oliver didn’t take his eyes off me.
“And who the hell are you?”
I crossed the floor with patient steps, taking note of the room’s contents. The table against the far wall was set with a gem lamp and several trays of newly cleaned stones. He was a gem merchant who’d decided he had need of a gem sage. Maybe to vet the stones he was buying or to be sure any fakes he traded passed muster. That, or he was like the merchantsHenrik talked about, collecting sages to pick them off one by one. The fewer there were, the more power and security men like him held.
“My name is Saint,” I said, taking the leather chair on the other side of the desk. I set one foot on the opposite knee, leaning back into it. The soles of my boots were still covered in mud, a detail that Oliver hadn’t missed.
His eyes narrowed on me. “Where have I heard that name before?”
I turned the stone over in my pocket again. There was no telling. The merchant’s house, the Trade Council, the tavern. I’d lost track of which stories had traveled where. I didn’t care either.
“I have a problem, and you’re going to fix it,” I said.
“I have my own problems, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, you do. Because I know about your gem sage trade.”
He shifted in his seat, trying to keep his composure. But he was nervous, eyes darting around the room before they landed on me again. “So, you’re here to squeeze me dry before you report the contract, is that it?”
“It doesn’t serve my purposes for the Trade Council to know about your deal with Simon.”
“Then you want me to turn on the courier? TheLuna?”
“That won’t help me either.”
“Then what do you want, son?”
“To make a friend in the guild,” I answered.
He scoffed, finally releasing his hands from his chair and folding them over the buttons of his vest. “I don’t exactly make a habit of befriending people who threaten me.”
