The Quarrygate Gambit, page 1
Praise for Marshall Ryan Maresca:
“[The Way of the Shield] is a compelling, convincing work of fantasy, and a worthy addition to the rich tapestry that is the works of Maradaine. Pick it up, give it a try—you won’t be disappointed.”
—Sci-Fi and Fantasy Reviews
“Veranix is Batman, if Batman were a teenager and magically talented. . . . Action, adventure, and magic in a school setting will appeal to those who love Harry Potter and Patrick Rothfuss’ The Name of the Wind.”
—Library Journal (starred)
“Maresca again gives us a book that is just a pleasure to sit back, read and enjoy. Have fun with it.”
—Speculative Herald
“The perfect combination of urban fantasy, magic, and mystery.”
—Kings River Life Magazine
“Marshall Ryan Maresca is some kind of mad genius. . . . Not since Terry Pratchett’s Ankh Morpork have we enjoyed exploring every angle of an invented locale quite this much.”
—B&N Sci-fi & Fantasy Blog
“Maresca’s debut is smart, fast, and engaging fantasy crime in the mold of Brent Weeks and Harry Harrison. Just perfect.”
—Kat Richardson, national bestselling author of Revenant
“Maresca offers something beyond the usual high fantasy fare, with a wealth of unique and well-rounded characters, a vivid setting, and complicatedly intertwined social issues that feel especially timely.”
—Publishers Weekly
DAW Books presents the novels of Marshall Ryan Maresca
Maradaine
THE THORN OF DENTONHILL
THE ALCHEMY OF CHAOS
THE IMPOSTERS OF AVENTIL
THE ASSASSINS OF CONSEQUENCE
*
Maradaine Constabulary
A MURDER OF MAGES
AN IMPORT OF INTRIGUE
A PARLIAMENT OF BODIES
*
Streets of Maradaine
THE HOLVER ALLEY CREW
LADY HENTERMAN’S WARDROBE
THE FENMERE JOB
THE QUARRYGATE GAMBIT
*
Maradaine Elite
THE WAY OF THE SHIELD
SHIELD OF THE PEOPLE
PEOPLE OF THE CITY
*
AN UNINTENDED VOYAGE
***
THE VELOCITY OF REVOLUTION
Copyright © 2022 by Marshall Ryan Maresca
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by Lila Selle
Stone archway by James Wagg/Trevillion Images; woman by Denis Prokofev/Shutterstock
Gear ornament courtesy of Shutterstock
Edited by Sheila E. Gilbert
DAW Book Collectors No. 1934
DAW Books
An imprint of Astra Publishing House
www.dawbooks.com
DAW Books and its logo are registered trademarks of Astra Publishing House
All characters and events in this book are fictitious
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
ISBN: 978-0-7564-1760-4
First Edition, November 2022
Contents
Praise for Marshall Ryan Maresca
Also by Marshall Ryan Maresca
Title Page
Copyright
Maps
Prelude: Arrests of Jubilation
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part One: The Baker’s Dozen
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part Two: The Quarrygate Escape
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Three: The Ward Twelve Project
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part Four: The Rynax Family
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgments
Prelude
Arrests of Jubilation
Chapter 1
ASTI RYNAX’S PLAN WAS GOING perfectly—every piece was in place, every one of his people were exactly where they were needed to be, doing exactly what they should. But there were so many details swimming in his head that as he crossed through the back alley to Frost Road he didn’t even see the kid with the knife until it was right at his throat.
“Your coin, old man!”
“Old man, really?” Asti asked.
“You heard me!” the kid snapped. “Hand it over or I—”
“I mean, I only just turned twenty-seven,” Asti said, keeping his voice even. Being called “old” was quite upsetting. “That’s not really old at all, son.”
“What are you on about?” the kid said, pressing his knife up on Asti’s chin. “I told you, coin! Or I cut you!”
“See, you already showed me you don’t want to,” Asti said. “Else you’d just cut me and search my pockets as I bled.”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I,” Asti said. “I mean, who even taught you? You’re not even holding it right.”
“What?”
Asti didn’t have time for this, but it really was just sad. No form, no technique.
“Look,” Asti said, taking the kid’s wrist and twisting it away from his neck. “You don’t want me to be able to do that. And you let me for a couple reasons.” The kid cried out and dropped the knife, which Asti caught in his off hand.
“Hey, ow!” the kid said as Asti kept his wrist in the lock.
“See, right, that hurts a lot,” Asti said. “You got too close, and that means you had nothing to thrust with, and I could reach past your knife and grab you. Part of the point of having a blade, especially in a situation like this, is you’re able to keep the other person at a distance. They don’t close in on you because they don’t want to get cut.”
“The blazes are you on about?”
“I’m talking about technique, son,” Asti said, releasing the kid and pushing him up against the brick wall. He looked at the blade, checking its edge with his thumb. Dull and nicked. “Did you really just grab any knife you could find and come out to an alley? Honestly, who does that?”
“I was just—”
“Look at this, all wrong,” Asti said, showing the kid the blade. “Especially if you get in close, put it at someone’s neck. You do that, you can only swipe fast to slice my throat, and this blade has no edge for slicing at all. At best you’re going to scratch up someone’s neck and just rise up their temper. Then you’re in for it.”
“What—”
This kid really had no idea what would happen if he rose up Asti’s temper. The beast in his skull, it was simple to keep it held by a chain right now. He kept that thing in check every day, through fights or catastrophes where it howled to be let loose. While it wanted to gut this boy open were it allowed, Asti had no trouble holding it down. Certainly he saw no need to hurt this kid, who clearly had no one to teach him anything.
Asti threw the knife down the alley and drew out one of his own. “See, this one, I’ve kept honed.” He put it in the kid’s palm and then wrapped his fingers properly around the hilt. “Feel that, feel the weight in your hand like that, you’ve got a good grip.”
“I don’t—”
“And now—” Asti grabbed the kid’s wrist and twisted. “See, you don’t let go, you’re still in control. Someone’s got you like this, you throw a solid punch—you do know how to punch, don’t you kid?”
“What is happening?” the kid asked, tears coming to his eyes.
“Saint Senea, I just want some standards,” Asti said. “Is no one teaching you this—where are you coming from, kid?”
“I—”
“This alley isn’t your patch, is it? I know most of the boys your age around here on sight.” Blazes, he had some of them scouting for him right now. He shouldn’t be wasting time with this. “Where are you from?”
“Benson Court?”
“Your people didn’t teach you any of— Saints above, kid.” He took a step back, taking a few coins out of his pocket. “I got somewhere to be right now, but you take this, you go back home for the night, stay out of North Seleth altogether, hear? You’re going to get hurt doing this.”
Asti put the coins in the kid’s hand, only about a half a crown’s worth in total, nothing really. The kid just stared at his hand. “What is happening?”
“Tomorrow, eight bells in the morning, you meet me at Kimber’s around the corner, and I’ll show you how to really use that knife.”
“I’m keeping this knife?”
“Yeah, but don’t try anything until I show you, you’ll hurt yourself,” Asti said. “I need to move, kid. Eight bells!
Asti went on his way, the kid still standing dumbfounded as he left the alley and turned onto Frost. The sun was nearly set, the golden-red light drawn out over the cobblestone, drenching the street in warmth. For the most part, things had been good in this neighborhood over the past few months, and tonight the plans he and his brother Verci had been toiling over were coming to fruition.
“Final target is in sight, Mister Rynax,” one kid said as he ran up. “We got boys keeping eyes on each one of them.”
“Good work, kid,” Asti said. “Get back out there and make sure everyone is getting steered where they need to, hear?”
“Heard, boss,” the kid said, and he ran off. Asti went into Kimber’s Pub, a place that wasn’t quite a home to him, but served as one enough times that he was comfortable with it. And it was the best place for this plan to go down. And unlike the last time he set up something to shake down here, this one shouldn’t end with any broken tables or glasses.
At least not too many.
“Asti Rynax, there you are.”
Asti was surprised to find Khejhaz Nafath, the Poasian spice merchant and double-crossing spy, here in Kimber’s Pub. This was exactly the sort of place that Nafath never came into; Asti had barely even seen him out of his spice shop. And this was the absolute last place he needed to have this man right now. Nafath was an unpleasant sort on a good day when Asti wanted information out of him. Here and now, when Asti had a plan in motion, it was beyond inconvenient.
“Why are you even here?”
“I am hearing things, Asti Rynax, that make me very worried.”
“As am I, and it’s your voice,” Asti said.
“I think you may be in danger.”
“I’m pretty much always in danger, but it’s nice to know you care,” Asti said. Nafath had taken more of a focused interest in him in the past months, usually while keeping a respectful distance, and never before coming out to find him like this. Asti didn’t like it, but he didn’t deny that Nafath was usually worth listening to. “I don’t have a lot of time, so how pressing is this?”
“I am not sure,” Nafath said. “I hear whispers, they rarely come with timetables.”
“Tonight I’m busy,” Asti said. “If all goes well, then come meet me here tomorrow at eight—make that nine—bells, and you can tell me all about it.”
Nafath thought on this for a moment, and then two other people came down from the room upstairs. He must have thought better of being in close proximity to so many Druth folk, and stepped away. “Tomorrow. But be wary, Asti.”
“Always am,” Asti said.
In the taproom, Kimber was shaking her head at Asti. “What did he want?”
“I neither know nor care,” Asti said. “The important thing is he’s not ruining the plan.”
“This plan of yours better not wreck my place,” she said.
“I will be here in the morning to help you clean,” he said. “I’m expecting some meetings at eight and nine bells, respectively, but beyond that, I’m all yours.”
Her usual warm smile turned a little sad. “You actually believe that, don’t you?”
“Should I—”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Help me move the tables where you need them.”
“Of course,” he said. He glanced to the door as it opened. Almer Cort, the chemist and apothecary, followed by actors and con men Pilsen Gin and Vellun Colsh, came in, dressed and ready for tonight. Perfect. “We better hurry. Verci and Raych will be here soon.”
Kimber rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe she agreed to this.”
“Agreed?” Asti said. “She insisted.”
* * *
Verci had not been prepared for how heavy the crate was going to be. He certainly couldn’t carry it alone, and since the contents were so delicate, he wouldn’t dare.
“Easy, easy,” Raych said as she was lifting her end. “Just a little further, and . . .”
“Is it in place to slide it?” he asked, sweat already on his brow. He had no idea it would weigh this much, or how Raych didn’t seem to be struggling as much as he was.
“And there,” she said, letting her side down on the back of the cart. “Go ahead.” He pushed—saints how could it weigh this much—and slid it so it rested comfortably in the back of the cart.
“You couldn’t get a horse to pull it?” Raych asked him as she came around.
“There was no way to get one without drawing more attention,” he said. “People would wonder why we got a horse for this.”
“People are going to wonder why you’re pulling it, either way, dear,” she said.
He sighed. “So I have to pull?”
“You most definitely have to pull, my love,” she said with a laugh. She kissed him on his cheek as she threw a tarp over the crate. “That will only make it a little less conspicuous.”
“You should go on ahead, then,” Verci said.
“Nothing of the sort,” she said. “I am walking right by your side, not taking my eyes off this thing. Besides, you will look conspicuous all by yourself, it’s just your nature. You always look like you’re up to something.”
“Fair,” he said. He often had been up to something. He still was, frankly, though not as blatantly in recent days.
“I’ve thought about it. If I’m walking with you, I can keep a hand on the crate, make sure it doesn’t slide or bump, as that would be—”
“A disaster,” Verci said.
“And absolute disaster. Plus—”
“The cover is making deliveries for the bakery,” he conceded. “With you right with me, that’s a lot more believable. Though hopefully no one asks.”
“Better get moving, Asti is waiting.”
Verci took off his vest and handed it to her. Wouldn’t do to get it grimy and sweaty before the plan tonight. He was of half a mind to take off his shirt completely.
“Don’t even,” she said, clearly knowing what he was thinking.
“I can’t be looking like a pig,” he said.
“It suits me that you’re not looking too handsome tonight,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “Even tonight, I wouldn’t want anyone else swooning over you.”
He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her in, kissing her. “You’re the only one I want swooning.”
Her eyes danced a bit as they met his. “Oh, if only we had a bit more time right now.”
“We’ll make a bit of time later,” he said. “Our own celebration.”
“I like the way you think, Mister Rynax,” she said.
“You damn well better, Missus Rynax,” he said, and lifted up the handles of the cart and pulled it out into the street. Raych chuckled quietly to herself as they went, keeping her steadying hand on the crate, as promised. He wasn’t sure if that would really help, but it was comforting—everything about her was comforting—to have her there walking alongside him tonight. He was glad to have her with him here, just the two of them, while her sister watched little Corsi for the night.
He was so lost in those thoughts he barely even noticed when Lieutenant Covrane walked right in front of him.
“Evening, Rynaxes,” the constable said, with a tip of his cap. “This seems like a lot.”
“It certainly is,” Verci said.
“Quite a sizable crate you’re hauling,” he said. “What’s that all about?”
“Breads for a few of the inns and pubs along the dock roads,” Verci said.
“At this hour?”
“You would be astounded the demand for fresh bread for the suppers,” Raych said.
“And you load it in a crate like this?”
“It actually keeps the warmth and moisture in balance,” Raych said. “I would not have any bread of mine be dry or soggy.”
“I guess you wouldn’t, ma’am,” he said.
“We need to be moving,” Verci said as Covrane leaned in as if to smell the bread. He would not get that smell from the crate, and the whole game would be ruined.
“I imagine Helene is waiting for you, Lieutenant,” Raych said. “She’s probably quite eager to see you.”
“And I her,” he said with a grin. “I should be off, and won’t keep you.”
He went off, and Verci started pulling along again. “Well done.”
“Thank you.”
“We would have been skunked if he took a proper whiff of the crate.”
“I imagine so,” she said. “But what did your father say about a job getting ‘skunked,’ as you say?”
