Read Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 for Free Online

was something big and ugly and waiting inside
that warehouse—magic, and not the good kind. Quentin was walking into trouble
for the second time tonight. I knew it as sure as if it were me walking into
that trap. Curious. I had a knack for sensing certain things, but big bad
magical traps had never been one of them.
    “Does
Stocken’s warehouse have a back door?” I asked.
    “Of
course. And two side doors and a trap door over the water.” Phaelan said before
dashing across the street. I was right behind him.
    My
cousin drew his rapier as he neared a narrow space between two stacks of crates
that opened into the alley beyond. He looked through. I glanced over his
shoulder, a pair of long daggers in my own hands. It was all clear to the
waterfront.
    “Take
a right at the end of the alley,” he told me. “It’s the first door on the
right.”
    “There’s
something waiting inside.”
    “Not
a new shipment of Caesolian red, is it?”
    “Hardly.”
    “One
could hope.”
    There
were no guards posted by the small side door. Things were looking up. The
hinges were well oiled and opened without a sound. Even better. The warehouse’s
vast interior was dimly lit by lightglobes spaced at regular intervals along
the walls. Only some of them were activated, throwing large sections of the warehouse
into shadow. What we could see was only about a quarter full of crates, cases,
and casks, which wouldn’t be a sign of a healthy business in many parts of the
city; but Simon Stocken based his success on the quality of the goods traded,
not the quantity.
    Quentin
was nearing the door of Stocken’s small office in the back of the warehouse. I
resisted the urge to call out to him. Whatever the trap was, he had already
tripped it. Getting caught with him wouldn’t do any of us any good.
    Quentin
was completely oblivious to what he had just walked into. “Simon, I want
another twenty tenari and four bottles of Caesolian red, not a drop less.”
    Simon
Stocken didn’t answer. We soon found out why.
    A
shadow swung across one of the lightglobes, blocking it, revealing it, and
blocking it again. Along with it came a creaking sound I instantly recognized.
Quentin looked up. We all did.
    Simon
Stocken hung from a rafter outside his office, a halter of woven hemp tight
about his abnormally lengthened neck, hooked beneath the chin. His hands were
tied behind his back. He was quite dead.
    Quentin
had his daggers half drawn when the goblins stepped from the shadows,
completely surrounding him. Half of them were robed, the other half were
armored—all of them were familiar.
    Khrynsani
shamans and temple guards.
    Phaelan
leaned close, his lips next to my ear. “Didn’t we just leave this party?”
    Some
of the goblins opened lanterns and set them on crates, further illuminating
Simon Stocken—something I could have done without. When they had finished, a
figure robed in rich, black silk moved out of the shadows between two of the
guards and into the ring of light. So much for the reason behind all my
twitching and skin crawling. I still didn’t understand how I had sensed it, but
at least I knew why.
    I
also knew who the fancy robe wearer was. I’d had ample descriptions from
Markus’s agents.
    The
hood on Sarad Nukpana’s robe was back and I could clearly see his face. He was
only slightly taller than me, slender and compact beneath his robes. His gleaming
black hair fell nearly to his waist and was held back from his face with the
narrow silver circlet of his office. His features were elegant without
appearing weak, beautiful without sacrificing one bit of masculinity. The
reality of the goblin grand shaman didn’t match the stories and nightmares I’d
heard from others. But then the most beautiful serpents were the most
poisonous.
    There
were ten Khrynsani with him that I could see, and I was certain there were
more.
    “Sit
tight,” Phaelan whispered. “I’ll get some help. Tanik Ozal and his crew are two
blocks over at the