Raj ran a hand through his hair and took another drink. He was out of Kamat now; he did not have to endure the agony of seeing Marina every day, or of listening to the innuendos and outright accusations she brought against Tom.
Lord and Ancestors! Marina, pregnant.
By Tom.
Jones was like to kill him.
If the rest of his enemies did not get to him first.
Tom would no more give drugs to Andromeda Kamat than he would fly; Raj was certain of that. Living as he had in House Kamat, and having Marina confide in him as she used to, he had learned more about what went on in the mansion than he cared to know.
Andromeda Kamat was taking deathangel, diluted in brandy, in an effort to see her dead husband. Raj had seen enough swampies suffering deathangel flashbacks to recognize what affected the matriarch of House Kamat... had seen enough to advise the House physician that this was what had Andromeda Kamat in its grip.
Afterward, Marina had told Raj the entire dark story, adding that one of the retainers in House Kamat had provided the deathangel.
A newcomer by the name of Kidd.
No one knew where Kidd hailed from, only that he was a new face and new name in the House.
And Andromeda Kamat's valet.
But the person Marina accused of providing the deathangel to Kidd, who, in turn, gave it to her mother, was none other than Thomas Mondragon. She had arrived at this conclusion through a twisted trail of logic: Kidd was a stranger; he had given the drug to Andromeda; and when Marina had wanted to know where Tom lived, Kidd had taken her there with no hesitation at all. Therefore, she had concluded, he must know Tom, and since he did, Mondragon (in her eyes) had become the obvious supplier of deathangel.
Raj's hands clenched on the mug. Damn that Kidd anyway! He would give a lot to find out where the fellow came from. If he could do that, he might be able to prove to Richard Kamat that Mondragon was innocent, and let Mondragon know what was going on with Marina. There was a hint in Kidd's speech pattern that spoke of Nev Hettek and, on a leap of logic of his own, Raj was very much afraid Kidd could be Sword of God.
He was fairly sure Mondragon had never seen Kidd, so Tom would not be aware he might have a new enemy in town ... as if he needed any more. If there were only some way Raj could get Mondragon in a position to see Kidd. . . .
Kidd always ate supper at John's, the canalside tavern where Raj and Justice had first come to know one another, but getting Mondragon to have dinner at John's was totally out of the question. Raj contemplated luring Kidd over to Petrescu on some errand or another, then discarded that idea as equally stupid. If Kidd knew where Mondragon lived, it was entirely possible he knew Raj had lived in the same apartment ... or at least the same building.
Sweat broke out on Raj's forehead. Everywhere he turned, he came face to face with the Sword. And being Mondragon's friend hardly assured him of a long and peaceful life.
Back to Kidd. He could easily describe Kidd to Mondragon, his perfect memory calling up Kidd's face, speech, and mannerisms, but that was a far cry from having Mondragon actually see him.
"Hey, Justus."
Raj looked up from his mug; a student stood next to Justice's chair, a young man Raj vaguely recognized.
"Have you got my portrait ready yet?" the student asked.
"I'm getting it framed," Justice replied. "Should be ready in a day or two,"
The student smiled broadly. "Marvelous! That's really going to make my mother happy. You know something, Justus . . . you're damned good. I can't believe how much it looks like me."
Raj saw a flush creep up Justice's neck.
"Thanks."
"Drop me a message when it's ready, will you? I'll stop by and pick it up."
"Fine. And if I'm not here when you come over, tell Hilda who you are. I'll make sure she gets it to you."
"Thanks again. I'll see you later."
The student nodded at Raj, turned and left.
"Who's that?" Raj asked.
"Gregor Talens. He's a second year student in literature. He saw some of my artwork at a party one time, and asked me to do a portrait of him."
Raj sat up straighter.
A portrait.
And Kidd would be at John's tonight. Raj drew a long breath. "Say, Justice, would you mind doing me a favor? It'll only take about an hour."
It was late afternoon when Rhajmurti finally got free of the College. He was still not sure what he would say to Justice regarding the possibility that Krishna was dealing drugs again, but it was a subject he knew needed further discussion.
As for Krishna, Rhajmurti had all but written him off as a complete and utter fool. Single-handedly, Krishna was ruining his privileged life, along with his chances for the future. The young man possessed a streak of self-destruction Rhajmurti had seen in other hightowners, stemming perhaps from their idle life, and their knowledge that they would always be provided for.
He shook his head and entered Hilda's Tavern, looking for Justice at his usual table.
"Greetings, Father," Hilda said from her spot behind the bar. "Huntin' for Justus?"
"Yes." Rhajmurti glanced at the empty table again, but Sunny was its only occupant, curled up in a chair, fast asleep. "Have you seen him?"
"He just left, Father, him an' his friend, Raj. Not all that long ago, either. Said somethin' 'bout goin' to John's for dinner." She lifted an eloquent eyebrow. "Now what John's got that I ain't is beyond me."
John's? Rhajmurti rubbed his chin. A rather rough place, but one many students frequented, for the food was not bad, and it was cheaper than a lot of other taverns.
"Thanks, Hilda. I'll catch up with him there." Rhajmurti turned to go, then glanced over his shoulder. "Have you seen Krishna?"
Hilda made a face. "That 'un I don't want to see. Been downright surly lately, he has. Ye'd think he had nothin' better to do than insult honest folk." She took out a wet rag and began wiping an already spotless bartop. "Must be my karma, Father, for me to have to put up with the likes of him.''
Rhajmurti struggled to keep the smile from his face. "He'll be graduating before you notice, Hilda."
"Huhn. Not soon enough for me. And knowin' my luck, I'll get another one just like 'im. You tell Justus to watch himself canalside. It's damned rough down there. They's been trouble—"
"I'll tell him."
The walkway on second level Kass was crowded at this time of day with citizens off to do last minute shopping, or out to dinner. Rhajmurti joined the flow of people walking up and down the wooden walkway, his path cleared for him by virtue of the saffron shirt he wore that marked him priest.
Crossing Kass Bridge to Spellbridge, Rhajmurti paused to talk with two priests he knew, then headed toward the steps that led down to canalside. It was good that Raj had moved in with Justice, though the heir of Nev Hettek's House Takahashi could be something Justice might find difficult to deal with. Nevertheless, the two young men seemed to get along well, and it was high time Justice had a male companion who was nearly his age.
But John's? Riffraff and radicals. Rhajmurti hoped it was momentary lapse of judgment—not young Takahashi's influence.
The interior of John's Tavern was dimly lit as usual, for its proprietor saved on oil for his lamps like every other canalside businessman. Justice stood outside the door, Raj at his side, taking a good, long look at the gathered clientele. He seldom came to John's unless his cash was running low, for the crowd that gathered here was far rougher than that which patronized second-level businesses.
He checked his dagger in its sheath at his back, and felt the reassuring weight of another small knife strapped to the inside of his left wrist. Carrying such arms was not totally unreasonable, especially looking back on the fight where he had met Raj and Denny. And Raj seemed uncommonly nervous.
Nothing inside the tavern seemed amiss. Justice turned and lifted one eyebrow in Raj's direction, indicating things looked normal enough. He was clad in his usual black shirt and pants, his Coll
ege sash the only mark of color. Raj had followed his example, only his clothes, upon close inspection, were of finer quality and new, not showing the wear of Justice's. Like Justice, Raj carried two knives, one worn openly and one concealed; in addition, he carried his slingshot.
"Now who is it we're looking for?" Justice asked, leaning close to Raj's ear.
"A nondescript fellow. You'd not notice him . . . he'd disappear in a crowd. I'll let you know if I see him."
Justice shrugged and led the way into John's, watching the faces turn as customers looked up to see who had joined them. Finding nothing threatening in the two students, John's patrons turned back to their drinks or dinners.
"Ain't seen ye in a while," John said, nodding to Justice from his place behind the bar. "Where ye been?"
"Studying, mostly." Justice looked around and found a free table. "We'd like dinner—silverbit and greens—and two beers."
"Ye got it," John said. "Enjoy."
As John turned away to take their order to the kitchen, Raj led Justice toward a small table at the rear of the room. It was a dimly lit position, but one situated so that anyone sitting there would have a good view of everyone else in the tavern.
"Now, tell me again what it is that you want me to do," he said, leaning across the table as Raj sat down across from him.
"Not much. I just want you to get a good look at this man ... a good look. Then, after we've gone back to Hilda's, I'd like you to do a sketch of him."
"A sketch, I take it, that will be good enough to let someone who's never seen him recognize him later."
"Right."
Justice sighed quietly. Such a drawing would tax his talent; it was one thing to sketch someone while looking at the subject, and another to reproduce that person accurately from memory. The mind often did strange things: a nose could become a little too long, hair might turn a shade too light or dark, or the bone structure of the face could be just enough off to change the total combination.
Why? he wanted to ask Raj. What are you up to now? And how dangerous will it be for us?
But he kept his questions to himself and patiently awaited dinner.
Raj, meanwhile, was carefully looking at the tavern's patrons, his expression now one of idle curiosity. Justice admired his friend's ability to look totally disinterested when he was the exact opposite.
"I don't see him," Raj said quietly, "but he'll be here. He's always here for dinner."
"Maybe John knows him," Justice ventured.
"Maybe. But I'll bet he doesn't know what I want to know." Raj's dark eyes were steady in the lamplight. "I'm sorry, Justice. I know you're dying to be let in on what's happening here. I don't think I can tell you without involving you in things you really shouldn't know . . . that could be dangerous for you."
"Oh, well. As I've said before, don't enlighten me any more than necessary to keep me out of trouble." He patted his belt pouch. "What about this? I've got my pocket sketchbook and a pencil. Think I can sketch him here?"
Raj shook his head."Not if he's who I think he is. He'll be primed to notice anything unusual going on around him. Hypersensitive, if you know what I mean."
"Well, shit. I'm an artist, a student. I'm always sketching."
"Maybe somewhere else and some other time. Trust me, Justice. This one you'll have to do from memory."
A waiter came to the table and set down two plates of steaming silverbit and two mugs of beer. Justice reached for his belt pouch, then stopped as Raj shook his head.
"This one's on me. You're doing me a favor."
He subsided back into his chair and watched the tables around him as Raj paid for the meals. The usual group of customers filled John's—students mixed in with canalers, poor shop owners, and other men who looked much rougher. Justice cut up his fish and began to eat.
And caught, out of the corner of his eye, a familiar face. Krishna!
Lord and Ancestors! What the hell was Krishna doing in a dive like this?
"Raj, don't turn around. Krishna's here."
Raj lifted both eyebrows. "What's he doing canalside? Way he acts, you'd think he couldn't breathe the air down here."
"That's what I'd like to know. He's been gambling a lot lately. Maybe he's wasted his allowance again and has to live frugally." He took a drink of beer. "I don't like it, Raj. For some reason, his being here bothers me more than it should."
Krishna had not seen Justice or Raj in their dark corner, and took a table on the opposite side of the room. He had dressed down for this trip canalside, leaving his expensive shirts and weapons back at Hilda's. That, in itself, rang an alarm bell in Justice's mind. That Krishna Malenkov, duelist and hightown bully, would be seen anywhere without something to mark his station .
"How many blacklegs did you see on your way down here?" Justice asked Raj.
Raj lifted both eyebrows. There was a sudden spookiness about him. A hint of panic. "The usual number, I'd guess. I wasn't really paying attention. Why?"
"Just wondering. Keep on your toes."
"Ummmm," Raj acknowledged through a bite of fish. Panic faded. Then his eyes narrowed. "There," he muttered, pointing slightly with his chin toward the door. "That's him."
Justice looked up at the man who had entered John's. As Raj had said, there was not one outstanding feature on his face: he was dark-haired (but then so was nearly everyone else in Merovigen), clean-shaven, dark-eyed, of medium height, and walked with no telltale gait. Yes, this man would indeed disappear into a crowd.
Stilling his breathing and trying to calm his mind, Justice set about memorizing every feature of the man he watched. Now that he looked closer, he saw the subtle differences that made this man's face unique to himself. His jaw was slightly longer than normal, and his left eye had a slight tilt to its outside edge, as if a scar puckered the skin. The light was dim enough in John's that Justice could not see the scar, but he thought it was there.
The man stood a moment in the doorway, scanning the crowd. Justice and Raj both busied themselves with their meals, keeping their faces averted. Evidently, the fellow saw nothing that disturbed him, for he nodded to John and walked across the room, his pace neither too slow nor too fast. The man was a perfect medium: his looks were unremarkable, and none of his gestures or walk would stick out in someone's memory.
Justice watched the fellow's progress across the room, his mind focused on anything that could aid him in reproducing the man in a sketch. Then, he nearly choked on his fish.
"What's wrong?" Raj hissed, leaning across the table.
"Damn!" Justice swallowed heavily. "He's going to Krishna's table!"
Raj sat absolutely still now, his attention riveted to the table where Krishna Malenkov sat. Justice felt his heart pounding in his chest. What the devil was the connection between Raj's mystery man and Krishna?
The fellow sat down, nodded in a friendly manner to Krishna, and the two of them sat talking quietly, no more out of place in the surroundings than anyone else. The waiter delivered Krishna's meal, took the other man's order, and walked off.
"What the hell's going on?" Raj asked. "How does Krishna, of all people, know K—that man?"
"I don't know." Justice finished off his fish. "That's what bothers me. First off, Krishna doesn't belong here. The Krishna I know wouldn't be caught dead in such a lowlife place. And now, he's sitting there, dressed like the rest of us, talking to someone you think important enough for me to do a sketch of." He met Raj's eyes. "What, in the Angel's name, have you got us into now?"
Raj shook his head. "Nothing, I hope. If we sit tight, and don't draw attention to ourselves, nothing should happen."
"Nothing should happen," Justice echoed. "Why doesn't that reassure me?"
"Damn. Don't be obvious, Justice, but look what's going on now."
Justice watched Krishna's table from the corner of his eyes. Krishna had slipped a small packet onto the table, subtly enough that no one would have noticed if they had not been watching. The other man ignored the p
acket; then, slowly, he leaned closer to Krishna, set his elbow on the packet, and started drawing it toward him.
"Mind if I join you?"
Justice jerked his attention away, saw Raj's face go white, and looked up into the dark eyes of Father Rhajmurti.
"For Rama's sake, Father," Justice said, "sit down quickly! Please!"
A puzzled look crossed Rhajmurti's face, but he drew out his chair and sat with no comment.
"Did anyone notice you come in?" Justice asked, keeping his head averted from Krishna's table. Raj was doing all the looking now, his face gone very still.
"I suppose so, but I've been here before." Rhajmurti watched Raj for a moment. "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure," Justice admitted. "But whatever you do, don't turn around. Krishna's here, and I don't think he's up to anything honest."
Father Rhajmurti drew a long breath. "Drugs?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know. I think so. I think he's making a delivery right now. He doesn't know Raj and I are here, and it's Rama's own blessing that he didn't see you come in."
Raj, meanwhile, had not taken his attention away from what was going on at Krishna's table. "He's delivering something," he said in a near whisper. "It's a packet of some sort."
"What's wrong with that boy?" Rhajmurti growled. "He's going to ruin himself!"
"Whatever you do," Justice pleaded, "don't stop him."
"I wasn't planning to. That wouldn't be the brightest thing to do right now."
Justice felt his face go hot. "I know. I just don't want him disturbed . . . him or the man he's with."
"Who's with him?"
"I don't have any idea."
Rhajmurti lifted one eyebrow. "For someone who's obviously hip-deep in possible trouble, you know remarkably little." He glanced at Raj. "And you, Rigel? How much do you know?"
Raj's eyes fell. "A lot that I can't tell you, Father."