Swords & Dark Magic - By Jonathan Strahan Page 0,22

out a critical fact.

Hagop asked, “If he signed it that way won’t he get nervous when he realizes that it’s gone?”

We all considered him with widening eyes and galloping hearts. Elmo growled, “If the little shit goes bugfuck we’ll know for sure that it’s real.”

“Silver lining.” Goblin grinned but there was sweat on his forehead.

I pushed the parchment across to One-Eye. “See if that’s tagged so he can trace it. Then see if there’s a way he could tell who’s been handling it.”

“You going to put it back?”

“Hell, no! I’m going to bury it somewhere. It could come in handy someday. The Lady wouldn’t be pleased if it fell into her hands. Speaking of forgetting. Goblin, fix it so Hagop has no recollection of the parchment. The Captain saw him hanging around the Limper’s carpet. Questions might be asked.”

“I’ll have to work on you, too, then. You were seen hanging around the carpet, too.”

I expect a lot of guys took the opportunity for a close-up look. But fear streaked down my spine, reached my toes, and cramped them. “Yeah. You’d better.”

Both wizards started to get out of their seats. Goblin said, “We’ll need to shove those memories down so far that only the Lady’s Eye could find them.”

I had a thought. “Hang on. Wait a minute. Hagop, go get Zhorab.”

Markeb Zhorab had been something else before he became a tavern-keeper. His face alone recalled several desperate fights. And he was a sizable man, often mistaken for the bouncer. But his past had left his courage a little sketchy.

He asked me, “You wanted me?”

“I have something I need done, not traceable to me. I’m willing to pay.”

“Risky?”

“Possibly. But probably not if you do exactly what I tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

I showed him the rescript. “I need an exact copy calligraphed by a professional letter-writer who has no idea who you are.”

“What is it?”

“A wanted poster. But the less you know the better. Can you do that?”

He could, once we finished talking money. I did not offer enough to make it seem like I was worried. With all the practical jokes that went on around us, I hoped he thought I was putting something together. He asked, “How soon do you need this?”

“Right now would be especially good.”

Zhorab brought my copy. And the original. “Good enough, Croaker? He couldn’t match the parchment.”

“It’s fine. I want it obvious that it’s a copy.” I paid the agreed sum. I handed back the copy. “Hold on to this. Later on Goblin will tell you when to give it back. There’ll be another payment then.”

Elmo grumbled, “If we can ever get the self-righteous asshole into this place.” Playing to the practical-joke angle.

Puzzled, Zhorab folded the copy and went off to bite his coins.

Elmo wondered, “Think he had more than one copy made?”

I said, “I’m counting on it. The more there are the better. Now let’s get to the forgetting.”

I said, “I don’t know. I forget. It must not have been important. Look. I need you guys to help me dig for info on Tides Elba.”

Grumble, grumble. Chairs pushed back grudgingly.

I said, “It has to be done.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

I asked, “Hagop, do you read the local language?”

He shook his head. Once we were a few steps away, Elmo said, “I’m not sure he can read anything.”

I grunted. “One last beer.”

Inside, the Dark Horse was swamped in speculation about what might be afoot. A sizable faction did not believe that Tides Elba existed. Old hands, who had been through the long retreat from Oar to Charm, thought that the Limper had made it all up.

When asked my opinion, I said I never heard of Tides Elba and we had only Limper’s word that she existed.

Aloe was a city-state. It was a republic, a formula common in its end of the world. It was prosperous. It had the time and money to maintain civil records, which are useful for levying taxes, calling men to the colors, or imposing a corvée.

Aloe kept those records in a small, stone-built structure. Our advent spread consternation.

Surprise arrival was of no value. Nothing jumped out. There were records aplenty, stored according to no obvious system, to keep us busy for days.

Elmo said, “I’ll put out a call for men who can read this stuff.” He barely managed himself, sounding out the characters.

Silent walked in. Before I could put him to work, he signed, “Wait!” and did a slow turn to make sure there were no stinky men in brown hiding in the rafters. Then he signed,