The Wonder Engine by T. Kingfisher

Author:T. Kingfisher [Kingfisher, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Red Wombat Studio
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Nine

Sparrow smiled when she saw Slate. “You’re back,” she said.

“I said I would be.”

“Yeah, but you know how it is. Everybody says things.” She beckoned Slate into her stall. It was separated from the rest of the Shadow Market by heavy curtains which muffled sound. The milling crowd because a distant background noise, like water flowing over stones.

“So the people you’re asking about…” said Sparrow, sitting down at a low table. Slate sat across from her. “The ones with an interest in archaeology?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Big names, some of them.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

Sparrow quietly took a slip of paper from beneath the table and passed it across the table. Slate unfolded it.

Keep your face absolutely still. Keep it still. Don’t give her information to sell to someone else.

Three names she knew. Two names she didn’t. One surprised her.

The three familiar names were merchant houses. Their presence was honestly not particularly significant. They were silent backers of nearly every politician in the city, giving money to make certain that their particular business interests were never encroached. She’d have been surprised if they weren’t on the list.

She tapped one of the unfamiliar names and raised an eyebrow at Sparrow.

“Former head of the Courtesan’s Guild,” said Sparrow. “She spread a lot of money around.”

“Didn’t think archaeology was her style.”

Sparrow shrugged. “Doubt it is anymore. New one got elected last year. She’s been acting like Horsehead’s personal piggy-bank ever since.”

Slate worked very hard not to grit her teeth. “Boss Horsehead,” she said. “He’s not on the list.”

“Don’t think he cares about archaeology much. He wanted power, not artifacts.”

“Didn’t figure Horsehead for a war-monger,” said Slate.

“He ain’t much of one. Didn’t so much back the war as he was backin’ the people who backed it, if you know what I mean,” said Sparrow. She glanced at the curtain as if expecting eavesdroppers. “Horsehead always wanted to be a Senator. He wanted to marry into it, but when that went south—”

Slate hoped that the other woman didn’t see her wince.

“—he had to get to it another way. So he started bankrolling Senators. They needed money and he had it.” Sparrow scratched herself vigorously, reminding Slate vaguely of Grimehug. “They all know he holds the purse strings. Sooner or later he’ll call it on in.”

Slate nodded. “And the…err…the clocktaurs?”

Sparrow shook her head. “Dunno. That place is locked up tighter than a nun’s ass. They ain’t answering to Horsehead, I know that.”

Slate raised an eyebrow.

Sparrow laughed. “Come on, if Horsehead had an army, he wouldn’t waste it on a different town. He’d point it at the Senate and make hisself Boss of the whole damn place.”

Slate laughed at that, shortly. “You’re right there. Thanks, Sparrow.” She dropped a handful of coins in the jar.

“No worries. Those things give me the willies.” She shuddered theatrically.

“You and me both…”

“What I’ve always wondered,” said Sparrow, as Slate rose to her feet, “is how they’re giving them orders. They never send anybody out but a handful of gnoles, and you can’t tell me they’re doin’ it. Unless they are.

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