The Fall of Ventaris by Neil McGarry, Daniel Ravipinto, Amy Houser Page A

froze in her tracks, only barely stifling the startled shriek that bubbled up in her throat. Her hand twitched toward her dagger, but just in time she saw the red cap and held back. She hadn’t seen Antony since that fearful day she’d met with Uncle Cornelius, but there was no mistaking that chin scar and those huge hands. She eased her hand slowly away from the weapon. Draw steel before the second-in-command of the Red and she’d dance with Mayu within a heartbeat. She composed what she hoped was a politely attentive look.
    “Antony,” she said, after her heart had resumed its normal pace. “How good to see you again. What does the Uncle need from me?” She even sounded calm, thank the gods.
    Antony swept his cap from his head with a massive paw and bowed slightly, glancing about as if afraid of prying eyes. “I am here of my own volition,” he said diffidently, “and my appearance should not in any way imply a connection to anyone I may work for.” He frowned, as if coming to the end of a script and uncertain of his next line. He coughed into his hat and placed it back on his head. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said finally.
    Strange and stranger, she thought. She couldn’t imagine what business Antony would have with her that did not involve Uncle Cornelius. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk in private?” He nodded and she led the way up the stairs, which creaked under his weight. As she was unlocking her door she glanced at the red hand painted on the sill. Everyone in the Shallows knew that mark signified protection by the band of thugs and murderers known as the Red. She hoped it also meant protection from the Red.  
    Antony closed the door behind them and scanned the room as if expecting an ambush. Here was a man with fighting instincts, and she wondered briefly if anything she could do might wean him away from the Uncle and into her service. Then she regained her sanity and instead lit a candle and gestured for him to sit.
    “I was about to have a cup of wine. Would you care to join me?” He nodded briefly, taking a chair on one side of the splintered wooden table she’d inherited with the apartment. The chair creaked beneath his weight, but held. She lit a few more candles and brought out two wooden cups and a clay flagon of wine. Not an impressive vintage, but she hadn’t expected to host a redcap that day. And it was still vastly better than the cup she’d shared with Tyford. Antony seemed to have no complaints, and as he drank she settled on a bench opposite him.
    “What can I do for you?” She sipped calmly, as if she had such visitors every day.
    Antony toyed with his cup, absurdly tiny in his massive hands, looking desperately uncomfortable. “I, uh...my Uncle said that you might be able to do something for me.”
    “Any friend of the Uncle’s is a friend of mine.” It seemed the safest thing to say.
    “Do you know Julius?” he asked, looking anywhere but at her. She took another drink to buy time for thought. There was a man named Julius who ran the dice game in the back rooms at the Grieving Bier, and she seemed to recall hearing he was Grey, although she had never spoken to him. “He has something of mine and I need it back,” Antony went on. He finished his wine in a single swallow and thumped his cup onto the table. “I need it back now .”
    She tried to hide her surprise. Antony was clearly upset with Julius, which could only mean that Julius was being uncooperative. She could not imagine why any man would be so foolish as to refuse a high-ranked member of the Red. “What is this thing?” she asked warily.
    “Rosamile’s ring. She’s my fiance, Rosamile is, and I’d finally saved up for the perfect ring. Gold with a black stone, engraved with her name on the inside. Rosamile’s not lettered but she can read her own name, and there it was.” He fiddled with the frayed cuff of his tunic. “It was my own fault. We were celebrating, me and some of my boys,