Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

Suri had her eyes straight ahead, back stiff. “Careful what you say around here, Hector. We’re tough and all, but this neighborhood is like one great big perimeter fence, and every part of it’s designed to protect Davri. It might not look like much, but she didn’t reach her position by playing fair.”

“Crime bosses are, at least, relatively predictable.” Vash strode along to my left, nose wrinkled. “Greedy, self-centered, generally dull people.”

“Hmm.” Karalti’s nose was working. “I don’t like this place. I can tell we’re gonna have to fight our way out.”

“There’s a good chance. Davri’s main gig is human trafficking,” Suri said. “She makes most of her money scouting girls to fill the hareems in Cloud City, but she owns every sewer cleaning service, nightsoil collector, tannery, and laundry under the Royal Quarter. Doesn’t sound like much, but those are services that receive contracts from the city – and not only this city, but other cities in the country. Slavery’s technically illegal in Dakhdir now, but in practice, indentured laborers do ninety-nine percent of the grunt jobs.”

“So Davri takes the contract money from the government and doesn’t have to pay anyone except her security,” I finished.

“Yep. And as long as she brings them girls and luxuries, they let her do it.”

Vash cracked his knuckles as a tall, thin man leaning against a wooden beam outside of one of the shops tracked us with his head. “She sounds like someone in dire need of facial reconstruction.”

“Seriously, don’t start anything until we know what we’re here for.” Suri shook her head. “Ask me again when we have a Warsinger.”

A tall, gold-capped fence was the first hint I had that we were approaching Davri’s home: that, and the dozens of guards stationed around the huge mansion-courtyard complex. The building had the shabby splendor of a Moroccan temple. The walls were intricately carved and tiled, the paving stones glittering with flecks of crystal. The gates opened up into a lovely courtyard with a tinkling fountain and floating mana-powered lanterns. No fewer than five guards held post outside of the gate: two with what looked suspiciously like shock batons, three with Bluesteel spears that radiated a sickly olive-green light. Repeating crossbow turrets were mounted on the building across the street.

Suri motioned us to let her lead, so we hung back behind her as she strode up to the guards. “Hoi. We’re here to request an audience with the queen. We have something of interest to her.”

The one at the front, a lean Fireblooded man with a bandanna and the cold, reptilian gaze of a hardened killer, arched his eyebrows. “You someone you think I should know?”

“I heard Davri is buying Sacharan artifacts. We just got back from the desert and have some leads,” Suri replied.

The man regarded her flatly. “As if I don’t hear that three times a week. Piss off.”

“Aksil referred us from the Tiger’s Den,” Suri said. “You might not know what you’re looking at, but he does.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Syndicate?”

“Dhul Fiquar.”

“I don’t see a tattoo.”

Suri half turned, and lifted her hair. There, between her hairline and the back of her ear, was a small inked rose punched through with a dagger.

The guard grunted, then turned to bang on the gate with his baton. A paunchy older man slumped across, eying us warily through the bars.

“Go tell the queen some Rose Knife slag has something she might want to see,” he said, before turning back to Suri. “Just you and the girl. Spear boy and Smashed-Face here can wait outside.”

“We’re a package deal,” Suri retorted. “Either we all go, or we’ll sell our goods to a museum in Vlachia.”

The guard eyed us. “No weapons in the compound. If she lets you leave, you get ‘em back.”

Vash turned out his pockets. “Not carrying anything worth your while.”

Karalti pulled out the pistol she’d been carrying, handed it over, and shrugged.

“You.” One of the spear guards jerked his chin at me. “Hand it over.”

Suri looked over her shoulder at me and winked. In Vlachian, she said: “These guys don’t speak Vlachian or Tuun. Might be a good idea for you to keep them thinking you can’t understand anything they say.”

I snorted, then grunted as if she’d given me an imperative. I tossed the Spear of Nine Spheres to him.

Suri nodded. “There. Don’t try anything funny.”

He bared his teeth. “Can’t help it. I’m a funny guy.”

We stood around for nearly fifteen minutes before the paunchy guy came back. He made a motion of his hand, and the lanky guy who’d done most of the talking nodded. “Right. Go in. I’d recommend you keep your hands where everyone can see ‘em.”

There were three more guards leaning against the compound wall on the inside, who stood and flanked us as we stepped over the threshold. The paunchy guy gave us the up-and-down. “Arms out. You all get searched.”

“Ugh.” Karalti scowled. “I shouldn’t have to do this. I was born to be more of a queen than this old witch will ever be.”

“Tidbit.” I held out my arms for the pat down, like I had so many times in the Army. “We need every lead on the Warsinger we can get. Just chill.”

Suri endured the search with the same stoic detachment that I did. Vash, on the other hand, wriggled and squirmed all the way through it.

“Hey, if you’re going to rub my chest like that, could you at least tweak the nips?” he jokingly asked in Tuun.

I glanced over. “Don’t give them any ideas, man.”

“Tell your pet mountain pigs to shut up, will you?” the guy patting me down snapped to Suri.

[Slums Captain has locked your Inventory! You can only access non-combat items.]

I frowned as the [Slums Captain] finished up. By Suri’s expression, I could tell the same thing had happened to her. “Alright, you’re clear to go.”

“It must be some kind of ability they have,” Karalti said. “I can’t get to any of my things.”

“Me either. I’m starting to take this Davri lady more