Of Sand and Malice Made by Bradley P. Beaulieu

Author:Bradley P. Beaulieu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2016-08-16T11:31:18+00:00

Çeda entered a shisha den along the Trough and found Brama sitting on the far side of the long front room. He was lounging on pillows, leaning over the table speaking with some Malasani harlot with a chain running between one of a dozen earrings and her nose ring. She was Brama’s age, sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. As Çeda wove between the piles of pillows and the few patrons drawing breath from snaking shisha tubes, the girl reached out and brushed one of Brama’s curly brown locks behind his ear.

They were not friends, Çeda and Brama, but through her haze of exhaustion she still felt poorly about what had happened between them after he’d stolen Osman’s purse from her. She also felt a pang of guilt for coming to him unannounced. This couldn’t wait, though. It had to be done tonight.

“Brama,” she called as she drew near.

Brama turned to her, clearly annoyed, but when he saw who it was, his expression hardened. “What do you want?”

“I need a favor, Brama.”

“A favor?”

Çeda’s eyes flicked toward the girl. “A favor.”

“I’m not inclined to grant favors, Çeda, least of all to you.”

“Consider it business, then.” She took the cinched leather purse from the pouch at her belt and tossed it through the air. She hoped it would be enough. She’d filled it with the last of her coin, plus a bit from Kadir, who hadn’t had much on him when she left him.

Brama caught the purse with a snap of his hand. “What’s this?”

She bowed from the waist. “Enough money to gain me an audience with his Highness, I’ll wager.”

Brama weighed the purse in his hand, glanced to the Malasani girl, then to Çeda. “Order some tea, my lovely. I’ll be back presently.” The girl smiled like some moon-eyed calf—it was so forced it made Çeda want to gag—but as soon as Brama’s back was turned she stared daggers at Çeda. When they’d reached the alley behind the den, Brama spun to face her. “Now what do you want?”

“I need a lockslip. I figure after what happened between us you wouldn’t want to do it yourself, but you know others.” It wasn’t exactly what she was after, but she couldn’t very well go straight at him. “It’ll pay well, Brama.”

“Go to Osman if you need someone.”

“Osman doesn’t need to know anything about this.” She pointed at the purse he still held in his hand. “There’s more for the one who takes up the job. And gold to follow, assuming things end well.”

As Brama stared, his expression softened from naked distrust to calculated nonchalance. She hid the relief spreading through her. He was interested, and that was by far the toughest step.

He seemed to take more note of her—her eyes, her hair. “You don’t look well.” He hoisted the purse up. “Is it to do with this?”

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

Brama laughed wickedly. “Tell me another secret, Çeda. You look like a scrap of leather that’s been worried by the foulest hounds in all the desert.

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