Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html and broke half a year ago afford to buy all those war supplies? Or hire every cutthroat, sellsword, pirate and bar-brawler between Kreyen and Rand; he'd noticed evenings in the Knotted Worm had been more sedate recently. It didn't take a god's brains to figure out that Brahvnikian money was involved. The Benai is probably acting as conduit for funds. The Benai Saekrberk was considerably more than the central abbey-temple of the Honey-Giving One—only Brahvnikians would worship a bear, and a fatbear at that —and the closest thing Brahvniki had to a government. It was also the largest deposit bank on this end of the Mitval—Arkan Sea, he reminded himself. Six months ago, Arko had had a powerful enough presence in Brahvniki to gain entrance to the Benai for inspection tours. The inspector, a military type from the Arkan embassy guard, had always come back three sheets to the wind on the Benai's famous distillate, cursing the Benaiat Ivahn as a senile dodderer and a crashing bore; but at least he'd got in. Then the Yeolis had taken back the nearest seaport, Selina, and now the Benai, politely but effectively, said no. And Arko had done things to offend some of the most powerful private citizens of Brahvniki. Matthas had two reasons to curse Edremmas Forin, one of the two Arkans who'd worked their way onto the Pretroi , the Brahvnikian council of merchant princes, and also happened to be his, Matthas's, spy boss. How could he be so stupid as to stand up in council and spout that verse of the Thanish goatherd song about diddling girl-children to Mikhail Farsight, considering how rich, the little Zak bastard is, how Zak feel about kin, and how many daughters he has. The whole city had heard about it, making Mikhail an enemy of Arko for life. The other reason to curse Edremmas: he was dead. Not that the two were unrelated; he'd been killed on the street, in broad daylight, by an assassin good enough to cut him almost in half. Mikhail and all four daughters had just happened to be passing by, and the assassin had just happened to commit suicide while in the Benai's custody, so no one could ever prove who'd hired him.And so I have to break in a new boss. A Mahid this time, Eforas Mahid, oh joy. Who because he got blown off course, but mostlybecause of those slow-as-constipation paper-shuffling donkeys in the Marble Palace, has taken six fikkenmonths to get here. Not that I wasn't running things all right, but fessasriff-raff like me aren't qualified to request Imperial funding . His payroll was half promises, right now.Thank Celestialis the rubber price went up ——- Matthas pulled out the latest note from his agent in the Slaf Hikarme. "Megan Whitlock and Shkai'ra Farshot will be arriving on the rebuiltZingas Vetri soon after the spring breakup." Ice was still solid on the upper Brezhan; that meant a half-month hence, halfway between equinox and summer solstice. "This office was instructed to arrange for a draft of 1,500 silver Dragonclaws from the Benai Saekrberk to the liquid capital account." Not exactly tavern-wenching money—and yes, itwould be wenching, forthose two. It had worried him for a while, that kinfolk of Mikhail and the like up the river in F'talezon had even greater resources. Involvement against Arko from that quarter, if it weren't in place already, would be disastrous. This Whitlock was thick as thieves with all the other Zak big fish here, and was known to have a grudge against Arko. She and her mate-in-the-ultimate-perversity Shkai'ra (who could even conceive what two women did in bed?) were the hands-on type, adventurers.Ten-to-one they're the F'talezon connection, or at least part of it, or at least cognizant of it . Their coming was an opportunity, he saw. Out-of-town merchants were less well-protected than resident ones, and these two had a reputation for taking risks and keeping low company, even by local standards. Knotted Worm regulars, when here. He glanced with a smile at another of the objects in his secret drawer: a glass vial of clear liquid. How much the Empire had gained in its history, by the total honesty this Imperator of drugs elicited.That's what I love about this job , he thought.I don't just have
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html to ferret out information. I get intrigued . But this required aid from his superior, the Mahid. Eforas, old boy, he thought that night, creeping by midnight to the embassy for his appointment,you are about to have the pearls of my wisdom, thrown before you . All Mahid looked the same. It wasn't only that they were a clan or always wore black—onyxine, they called it, a glorified term for black—or had sworn the same oath, that of ultimate loyalty to the Imperator of Arko, whatever he asked. They all seemed to have the same mind, too. It was like the Press in Arko, the huge black rattling machine that spat out thePages and other reading material: it worked when a lever was pulled one way, didn't work when it was pulled another way, always worked exactly the same way and produced the same product, over and over and over. You got the impression that if any part were jolted slightly out of line, the whole thing would come to a smoking halt. Its the training, of course, Matthas thought,their having to think no thoughts but the fifty Maxims and strangle dogs when they're kids and so forth . One could feel sorry for them. He wasn't sure which he disliked more, though: the young ones, with their boundless energy and their limitless hate, some still having the misfortune of being handsome; or the old ones with their faces of carven stone, who over the years had brought Mahidness to a fine art. Eforas, it turned out, had come out of the mold a middle age ago. It remained to be seen whether he'd combine the virtues of youth and age, or the vices. Matthas vaguely wondered, as he seated himself in the back office of the Arkan embassy, what Mahid women were like.All in onyxine aprons , he thought.With those same dead fish eyes, saying "Child, the will of the Imperator requires you to eat your turnips . …" Eforas had the usual Mahid bearing, straight and stiff as a rod, and a face incapable of expression. The two nodded to each other. "Your report of activities since Edremmas's demise,fessas ," the Mahid intoned. Typical of Mahid, to emphasize the inferior caste. Matthas drew out his notes, and began.Ihave to pretend I'm talking to a machine , he thought, as even his most amusing and bizarre anecdotes passed one by one without bringing even a flicker of a smile to Eforas's deathly blue eyes. His deductions about Yeoli financing, which he'd thought were quite astute, actually, didn't bring even a nod of approval.Machines don't laugh, or praise , he reminded himself, whether it's deserved or not . He forged bravely ahead to his request: funding to secure the owner of the Slaf Hikarme for truth-drugging. "Fessas," the Mahid interrupted. "Did you say 'she'?" "I did, sir," Matthas answered firmly. Mahid understood that syntax better than just yes, he'd learned. "Then I am given to understand this Megan Whitlock is a woman?" "She is, sir." "Now how can you reconcile the ownership of said merchant house by said person, and the fact that she is a woman?"
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