Blood ties-- Thieves World 09 (21 page)

"Jubal," she said-more a statement than a question. He had been studying her covertly as she waited, and admired her spirit despite himself. Naked and alone, she showed no sign of fear, only curiosity. It was clear to him that this conversation would not be an easy one to control. Neither acknowledging nor denying his name when she uttered it, he set one of the two clay bottles he was carrying within her easy reach.

"Drink," he ordered. "It's better against the night chill than your blanket." She started to reach for the offering, then hesitated, her eyes going to him again as he settled himself in the thronelike chair.

"Aren't you supposed to taste this in front of me? A hospitable gesture to guarantee against poison? I was told it is a local custom." He took a long drink from his own bottle before favoring her with a mirthless smile. "I'm not that hospitable," he said. "The wine I'm drinking is of a notably better vintage than yours. I swore off that slop when I left the arena, and I don't intend to break that vow just to make you feel better. If you don't trust it, don't drink it. It makes no difference to me." He watched her quick flash of anger with amusement. Chenaya was indeed a Rankan noble, unused to being told that her actions were a matter of indifference to anyone. Jubal half expected her to throw the wine in his face and stalk off... or at least try to. The girl proved to be of sterner stuff, though. Either that, or she wanted this meeting more than Jubal had realized.

Defiantly, she raised the bottle to her lips and took a long pull. It was the coarse red wine given to gladiators.

"Red Courage," she said, using the gladiators' nickname for the drink as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, letting the blanket slip to expose one bare shoulder. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not shocked. I've had it before... and liked it. In fact, I've developed a taste for it and drink it often with my men."

Jubal shook his head.

"I'm not disappointed. Puzzled, perhaps. Arena slaves drink that swill because they can't get any better. That or they've never had anything to compare it to. Why someone who is highborn and raised to finer things would choose to drink Red Courage when there are more delicate beverages to be had is beyond me. Of course, you've always been one who preferred being coarser than is necessary." His words were intentionally insulting, but this time Chenaya seemed unmoved.

"I bow to the master," she smiled. "Who knows more of crudity and coarseness than Jubal?"

Unknowing, her riposte stuck Jubal in his most vulnerable spot: his vanity.

"I was born a slave," he hissed, leaning forward angrily in his chair, "and in that station crude living and no morals are a way of life. I learned to lie and steal and eventually to kill as a means of survival, not as a sport. I didn't like it, but it was necessary. Once I won my freedom, I did everything I could to rise above my beginnings... not far by noble standards, but as high as I have been able. I'm told I have a contempt for those below me who have not matched my efforts, let alone my success. That may be so, but I have more regard for them than for one who is highborn and wallows in the gutter by choice!" Jubal caught himself before he said more and inwardly cursed his lack of control. The purpose of this interview was not to show Chenaya how to get him to lose his temper. Such information could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Fortunately, the girl seemed more taken aback than alerted by his outburst.

"Please," she said in an uncomfortably contrite tone, "I don't wish to insult you or to fight with you. I... I made it known that I wanted to meet with you because I hoped we might work together."

This was more to Jubal's liking. He had anticipated this request when he first heard that she was trying to get in touch with him.

"Unlikely," he replied grimly. "I've had you watched since you arrived in town, as I do anyone who has the potential of influencing or disrupting the balance of power in this town. So far, your actions have been those of a spoiled brat: alternating malicious pranks with tantrums. I have heard of nothing that would give you value as an ally."

"Then why did you have me brought here?"

Jubal shrugged. "When I heard of your predicament, I thought perhaps the sudden demonstration of your vulnerability might shock you into thinking. Now that you're here, however, I see that you're still too full of yourself to listen to anyone else, or even talk to them instead of at them. Your value remains zero, however great the potential."

"But I have much to offer...."

"I have no need of a slut or a horse thief. The streets are full of them, and most are better at it and smarter about plying their trade than you seem to be." Jubal expected an angry retort to this, or at least an argument as to her value as an ally. Instead, the girl lapsed into silence, her thoughts obviously turning inward before she answered.

"If you are uninterested in me as an ally," she said, choosing her words carefully, "then perhaps I can impose on you as an advisor. You've been monitoring my actions, and know what I have and what I can do. But where I see strength, you will only acknowledge potential. Could I ask you to share your thoughts with me that I might leam from your experience?" The crimelord studied her as he drank from his bottle. Perhaps Chenaya was wiser than he had given her credit for.

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said in this meeting. Very well, if for no other reason than to encourage your newfound humility, I'll answer your questions."

The girl took another sip from her own bottle as she organized her thoughts, unconsciously grimacing as if the sour bite of the wine was no longer pleasant to her tongue.

"1 have nearly a dozen gladiators under my command and am currently recruiting more. I've always believed that gladiators, such as you yourself used to be, were the finest fighters in the Empire. Am I wrong?"

"Yes."

Jubal came out of his chair in a fluid motion and began pacing. "Every fighting force or school sincerely believes that its style is the best. They have to in order to muster the necessary confidence for combat. Your father trains gladiators, so you've been raised believing that a gladiator can defeat any three fighters without similar training."

He paused to regard her steadily.

"The truth is that there are certain individuals more suited to combat than others. Poor fighters die early, whether they're gladiators or soldiers. The survivors, particularly those who survive numerous battles, are the best by virtue of the process of elimination, but it's more a tribute to the individual than to the training."

"But my agents have been specifically instructed to recruit experienced gladiators," Chenaya interrupted. "Professionals who have survived numerous bouts. Doesn't that insure that I'll be getting the best fighters?" Jubal fixed her with an icy stare.

"If you'll allow me to finish, perhaps you will hear the answer to that question. I thought you wanted to hear my opinions, not your own." Chenaya wilted under his gaze, and nodded mutely for him to continue. The crimelord waited a few more moments, then resumed his pacing. "As I was saying, it is the individual's abilities that dictate how good a fighter he can eventually become. Training prepares him for a specific type of combat. Gladiator training is fine for arena-style individual combat, but it doesn't teach a fighter to watch the rooftops for archers the way he'd need to in street fighting, or to deal with maneuvering groups of fighters the way the military does. Then again, even military maneuvers are useless in some situations, like when the mobs were forming during the plague riots. Any training will be of limited value when taken out of its element.

"As for your so-called professional gladiators, I don't like them, and would never endanger my name and reputation by hiring them to represent me. Regardless of what you might think, being a gladiator is not a desirable profession. A soldier or a thief can have a long and successful career and see little, if any, actual combat. By the nature of his livelihood, a gladiator must risk his life in open combat on a regular basis. If you are a slave, as I was, it's a dubious way to earn your keep, but to choose it freely as your 'professional gladiators'

do is unthinkable. They are either fools or sadists, and neither are known to be particularly controllable."

"So you think I'm foolish to hire gladiators?"

"If that's your only criterion. At the very least I would advise that you look beyond training and arena records and study the individuals. Some of the men currently in your employ have questionable backgrounds. You might start looking into that before you place too much trust in them. Further, I would suggest that you find a trainer who can drill your troops in tactics more suited to the street than the arena. They'll stand a better chance of winning."

"I... I'll have to think on it," Chenaya said slowly. "What you say makes sense, but it's all so contrary to what I've been raised to believe."

'Take your time." Jubal smiled. "The time to think is be fore, not after you've committed yourself. Sending men into combat isn't a game." She looked at him sharply. "I think I hear a hidden warning in that last comment. I take it you've heard of my special talent: the fact that I never lose. It's not potential, and I should think it would count heavily in my favor as a leader... or an ally."

The crimelord averted his eyes as he sank into his chair.

"I've heard of it," he confirmed. "In my opinion, it makes you both arrogant and vulnerable. Neither of which are traits I would want in someone leading me, or guarding my back."

"But..."

"Let's assume for the moment that you're right.. . that you'll never lose. I'll contest that later, but for now we'll take it as a given. You'll win every contest. So what? Start thinking like an adult instead of a child. Life isn't a game. An arrow out of the dark that takes you in the middle of the back isn't a contest. You can retain your perfect win record and still be just as dead as any loser."

Instead of arguing, Chenaya cocked her head quizzically.

"That's the second time you've mentioned archers or arrows, Jubal. For my own curiosity, were you behind the arrow that nicked Zip?" Jubal cursed himself inwardly. He would have to stop underestimating this girl just because she was young. Her mind was quick to pick up unrelated conversational points and weave them into whole fabric.

"No," he said carefully, "but I know who was. The eye behind that arrow used to work for me, and unless her skills have degenerated badly since her departure, if his ear was hit, that was the target."

He noted the sudden lift of her eyebrow and realized too late that he had inadvertently given away the gender of the archer. It was time to steer conversation back to less sensitive subjects.

"We were speaking of your infallible luck. You seem to feel that if you never lose, you'll never fail. That kind of thinking is dangerous, both for you and anyone who sides with you. There is no such thing as an unstoppable attack or an impenetrable defense. Believing in one or the other only leads to overconfidence and disaster."

"But if I never fail in battle ..."

"... Like your attack on Theron?" The crimelord smiled.

"The attack was a success. We just chose the wrong target," she argued stubbornly.

"Spare me the rationalizations. Anyone who deals with magic or gods gets quite adept with excuses. All I know is that supernatural intervention exacts a price dearer than most intelligent people are willing to pay."

"Of course, you speak with the authority of one who has had a wide range of experience with gods and magic."

In response, Jubal swept his mask off with one hand.

Vanity made him conceal his unnaturally aged features from all but his closest associates, but at times like this his appearance could be far more eloquent than words.

"I have had one dealing with magic," he said grimly, "and this was the result. Years lost off my life was the price I paid to keep from becoming a cripple. While I do not regret the trade, I would think long and hard before entering into further bargaining. Does it ever occur to you that sooner or later you will have to pay for your luck... for ever dice roll that you do so casually to show off your so-called talent?"

The demonstration had the desired effect on Chenaya. She shook her head in mute admission, averting her eyes from the sight of the now-old man she had once cheered.

"Your noble birth gave you a natural arrogance," the crimelord continued relentlessly, deliberately leaving his mask off, "and your belief in your own infallibility has escalated it to proportions that try the patience and the stomach. You seem to believe that you can do whatever you want, to whomever you want, without regard to consequence or repercussion. Perhaps the most arrogant assumption of all is that you think that your undisciplined behavior is not only acceptable, but admirable. The truth is that people find your antics alternately amusing and offensive. If they either tire of being tolerant, or if you ever actually succeed in putting something together that is seen as a genuine threat, the real powers of this town will squash you like a bug, along with anyone who stands with you."

His taunting stung Chenaya out of her shock. "Let them try," she snapped. "I can

..."

Jubal smiled, watching her face as she stopped in mid-sentence, hearing her own arrogance for the first time.

"You see? And that's while you're sitting there in a blanket after being dumped in the middle of the bay. My guess is that whoever did it to you was merely annoyed. If they had been really mad, they would have dropped you farther out. Yet still you persist in feeling that it doesn't matter who you offend." Chenaya was hunched forward now, hugging the blanket about her as if it could ward off words and ideas as it had the chill. "Am I really that disliked?" she said without looking up.