Greatshadow by James Maxey Read Free Book Online Page A

the map, he’d do it discreetly.
    The fishmonger rarely went out at night. He was up at dawn every day to buy the night’s catch. As Infidel came within sight of his warehouse on the western edge of the bay, all the windows were dark. I guessed he’d gone to bed. Then I noticed a single dim light in one window, no brighter than a candle. As I focused on the window, I thought I could hear muffled voices. But the voices fell silent as Infidel stepped onto the gangplank leading to Bigsby’s door. The plank squeaked; the candlelight went dark.
    As Infidel neared the door, I noticed that something was off. Specifically, the door was off its hinges. It was merely leaning in the frame, the wood around the lock and hinges freshly splintered. Infidel didn’t notice this detail. Instead, she paused a few feet away and kicked, cracking the door in twain. The halves fell into the room, clattering loudly as Infidel stomped inside.
    The door that Infidel had entered led to the room that served as Bigsby’s office. Bigsby sat on short stool next to an empty pickle barrel he used as a desk. He was scribbling in the ledger he used to record the day’s trades. An extinguished candle sat beside the ledger, a plume of pale smoke rising from it.
    He stared at Infidel, slack-jawed. His face was covered with sweat; dark stains seeped from beneath his armpits. He looked terrified, but this wasn’t fresh terror. His clothes had been soaked before Infidel had kicked in the door.
    “C-can I-I-I... can I help you?”
    “I’m here for my map,” said Infidel.
    “Y-y-yuh-yuh... uh... huh?” All the blood was gone from Bigsby’s face, apparently taking with it the capacity for coherent speech.
    Infidel stalked forward. She slammed her fist on the barrel, which all but vaporized in a spray of splinters. She reached for Bigsby.
    “I don’t... I don’t... I don’t...” Bigsby’s voice fluttered as her hands slowly neared. I thought he was about to faint.
    As her hands reached his throat, Infidel sighed. Her mouth relaxed from its menacing snarl as she stared down at Bigsby’s frightened face.
    She stepped back and crossed her arms.
    “Look,” she said. “I’m having a bad day. Let’s pretend I didn’t just kick in your door and start over. Stagger gave you a map. I want it back. It’s rightfully mine; I killed the last guy who owned it.”
    Bigsby wiped sweat from his eyes as he contemplated this bit of mercenary logic.
    Infidel continued: “I’m willing to pay a reward for the map. We’ll call it a finder’s fee.”
    Bigsby swallowed hard. His eyes kept darting from Infidel toward the door on the side wall. I’d been in this shop a hundred times; there was nothing behind that door except for a small porch, and stairs leading down to the dock where he traded with the pygmies. Was he thinking of making a run for it?
    As I looked at the door, I felt a strange sensation, like the hair on my neck rising, if I’d still had hair, or a neck. I could barely hear a faint, distant buzz. I watched Bigsby’s eyes. He wasn’t thinking of running. He was afraid of whatever was lurking on the porch.
    He whispered, not looking Infidel in the face, “I’m sorry, b-but I don’t know anything about a m-map.”
    “We both know you’re lying,” said Infidel, cracking her knuckles. “I’m trying to be nice, but I’m prepared to be nasty. Don’t be stupid.”
    The Bigsby I knew wasn’t stupid. Nor was he all that brave. Which made his next move all the more shocking. On the short stool, he barely came up to Infidel’s waist. This meant that the hilt of my bone-handled knife, sitting in the boot-sheath, was at the level of his bent knee, on which his hand rested. It took only a fraction of a second for his hand to dart out and grab the knife. He thrust it upward into Infidel’s belly, shouting, “I’m sick and tired of being bullied!”
    The knife had the expected effect, ripping a button from my old shirt as it slid along her