The Thief Who Pulled on Trouble's Braids by Michael McClung Read Free Book Online Page A

was quality, and none of it at bargain prices. But I wasn’t looking forward to telling Corbin’s lover he was dead. I needed something.
    A few minutes later, Raven-hair, face remotely serene, ushered me into the ground floor apartments of the owner of the Dream, Estra Haig. The same taste that had furnished the Dream’s parlor had turned a more intimate, cozy eye on the private rooms. Everything was sunlight and creams and pale pastels, crystal and blonde wood and greenery. Pleasing textures.
    She was sitting at a small table in a beige silk dressing gown, the remains of her breakfast laid before her. She was a well-preserved, striking woman in her late forties. The morning sunlight that streamed in from the glass window showed high cheekbones and delicate crow’s feet, long nose, strong jaw, and the loosening skin of her neck in equal measure. I wouldn’t look that good at her age. Hells, I didn’t look that good at my age. Even without all the scars, I wouldn’t look that good.
    She turned her grey eyes to me and smiled. We knew each other, slightly. Not enough to be chummy. If I was here with news about Corbin, I could read in her face, it wasn’t anything she’d be pleased to hear. She had the look of someone bracing for bad news.
    “Amra. Sit. Have you eaten?”
    “I’m fine, thanks.” I sat. “How are you, Estra?”
    “Well, thank you.”
    “Listen. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. Corbin’s dead.”
    She went rigid for a moment, and that haughty, aging, beautiful face went taught and still as a mask. She closed her eyes briefly.
    “How. Tell me how.”
    I told her. About the commission, and about the Elamner. About the toad. She asked to see it, and I showed her.
    “So this is what he died for,” she said, and looked at it a long time before handing it back.
    She asked the kinds of questions that nobody really wants to hear the true answers to. How did he die. Was it quick.
    I didn’t varnish it. I told her what Kluge had told me and what I saw. She asked if Corbin’s fixer had anything to do with it, and I told her I doubted it. Then the questions dried up, and she just sat there, hands in her lap, staring off into nothing. She didn’t cry. This one wouldn’t cry.
    “There’s something else. Corbin was some sort of nobility. The black sheep, I guess.”
    “I know.”
    “Then you can guess that there will be heat coming down from the family. Heads are going to roll, Estra. Watch yourself, all right?”
    “I have friends who will see it as their duty to shield me from any unpleasantness. But thank you for your concern.”
    We sat there for a little while longer, in a silence that was uncomfortable for me. I don’t think she even noticed I was still there until I rose to go.
    “What are you going to do now?” she asked.
    “Me? I’m going make the Elamner pay.”
    Her eyes grew hard. “See that you do. If you need anything, come to me. Just… see that you do.”
    I nodded. “Give me a little time before you start looking for other, uh, alternatives, all right?”
    She smiled, without a trace of mirth. “You take as long as you need, Amra. Corbin was fond of you. He trusted you. I see that the feeling was mutual. Take the time you need to do it right. But if you cannot do it for one reason or another, tell me. So that I can make arrangements. Are we agreed?”
    “Yeah. That’s fair.”
    “What will you do with that horrid statue?”
    “I’m not sure yet. Melt it down, maybe. Maybe sell it. Maybe drop it in the Ose.”
    She nodded, face expressionless. “If you need to… dispose of it, Amra, I would be willing to take care of it for you. It’s the least I can do.”
    “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I do.”
    I made my way out. There were worse people to have in your corner than Estra Haig. She wielded a sort of influence in Lucernis. Her contacts spanned all classes, from brute killers to Privy Court judges to noblemen to the heads of some of the merchant families.