The Assassins of Consequence, page 14
He was not expecting to find Yessa, the Waterpath Orphan street captain who fed him information of what was going on in the gangs, naked in the bunk.
“Saints almighty!” she shouted as he came in, scrambling under the blanket. “The blazes are you doing here?”
“The blazes are you?” he asked, not letting any surprise or excitement show in his voice. “I don’t even know how you got in here.”
“Ain’t a room in this neighborhood I can’t get into. Can you give me my slacks?”
They were discarded on the floor. He scooped them up and handed them to her. “Why are you here, naked, and clearly not expecting me?”
“I was expecting someone else,” she said quietly. “I don’t have a private place of my own.”
“Is this a thing you do often?” he asked, putting down his papers on the table.
“Not very,” she said in a tone that made him immediately think she was lying. Not that she had built up much trust between them, but he knew she had far more to lose in cooperating with him. She had given him intelligence that had panned out. A good portion of the work in dismantling most of the Kemper Street Kickers had stemmed from information she had given him.
“Important work is done here,” he said. “That is the point.”
“Life isn’t all work, Lieutenant,” she said. “I have tried to show you that.”
“Never quite this directly,” he told her.
“If I let you take a tumble, could that smooth this over?”
“Not necessary,” he scoffed. “You don’t have your own flop?”
“How am I gonna afford that?”
“I presume you have money from things I shouldn’t know about.”
“Bah,” Yessa said. She had been holding her slacks all this time but didn’t seem to be in any hurry to put them on. She had sat up on the bunk, wrapping the blanket around her body enough for the demands of modesty. “Very little finds my pocket. We’re all scraping by.”
He didn’t have much response to that. He felt that himself, though he made a point to live frugal, so he could put more of his earnings into the work, into maintaining this place. For a moment, there was an uneasy quiet in the flop as she shifted under the blanket and he continued to lay out the papers he had brought on the table.
“Listen,” she finally said after a bit, but whatever she was about to say was forgotten when the door opened and someone dashed in, shutting the door behind her.
“Sorry, it took me forever to get out of the Turnabout, I had to deal with a situ—oh!”
The young woman was clearly a Rose Street Prince—her sleeve had been rolled down when she came in, but she had stripped down to her chemise in the time it took her to say that and notice Benvin was in the room. Her arm had the tattoo, including the captain stars.
“Well, this is interesting,” Benvin said.
“What is he doing here?” the Prince said as she got her blouse back on.
“It is his flop,” Yessa said.
“If I had known—”
“I didn’t know he’d be here,” Yessa urged, getting off the bed and clinging to the blanket. “Please don’t go.”
“You know what a risk it is for me even walking through here?”
“I know,” Yessa said, caressing her face. “All the more reason not to run off once you are already here.”
“Deena Traskin, Rose Street Prince captain,” Benvin said. “I’ve got files on every street captain in every gang in the neighborhood. I know who you are.”
“And you’re that lieutenant who’s trying to clean up the neighborhood. Yessa, girl, why are you even messing with this? Why are you here naked with him?”
“That was for you,” Yessa said sheepishly.
“He knows,” Deena said in a low whisper. “And now . . . are you snitching?”
“I’m working out my own,” Yessa said. “And with the winds blowing the way they are, you should too.”
Deena frowned. “We gotta be smart, girl.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“By snitching on your own?”
“It was that or the Quarry,” Yessa said. “He’s been all right.”
Benvin had heard enough. “I’m going to leave you ladies to yourselves.”
“And come back with a dozen sticks to crackdown the freak girls?” Deena asked.
Benvin sighed. “There’s nothing going on here that breaks any law that I’m concerned about enforcing. Just two people who want to enjoy each other’s company.”
He went for the door, and Yessa reached out and touched his shoulder.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “Thank you. Really.”
“Of course,” he said. “You have a safe night.”
“Listen,” Deena said as he was almost out the door. “It’s not a very safe night out there. Something big is going down in the south triangle of Dentonhill, and the word is already in the air about reprisal. Add in that, some folks are out of Quarry—”
“I know about those folks.”
“They are coming for the Thorn,” Deena said sharply. “They said as much.”
That got his attention. “You heard from one of them? Did Juteron come home?”
“Stories were told,” she said. “That’s all I can say.”
“That’s something. Thank you, Miss Traskin.” With that, he left them to their own evening, grateful that someone would have a nice night.
Because if what she told him was true, it was likely that by tomorrow night, the streets of Aventil would be washed with blood.
Chapter Eleven
VERANIX HADN’T PASSED OUT AT all, but his world did go gray for a bit. Lying on the ground helped, letting the pain stay with him, and keep him alert. He pulled up his shirt to get a better look at the wound. He wasn’t sure how bad it really was, but, saints, it certainly looked bad. He needed to get it under control, get back on his feet, get himself back to campus. Once there, he could—
He started to get up and then slipped back down.
“Blazes, no, I’m not going to be stopped here and now,” he muttered. “Get on your blasted feet, Calbert.”
The door of the empty tenement opened, and Veranix’s hand went to the empty quiver on instinct.
It was young officer Welling and a woman in a Yellowshield uniform at the door.
“Oh my saints and stars, it is him,” she said.
“Who is this?” Veranix asked, trying to force himself up.
“You asked for a Yellowshield I can trust,” Jace said.
“I was making a joke.”
“And I got my cousin Ferah. You’re welcome.”
“Oh, good,” Veranix said. “I’m getting to know the whole Welling family.”
“My name is Serrick, thank you,” Ferah said, kneeling down next to him. “Now stay rutting still so I can get a look at you before you bleed to death.” She put two hands on his chest and forced him back to the floor, and he had no strength to stop her.
“Well, I can’t pass up that offer,” he said.
“This is decidedly nasty,” Ferah said, her fingers touching at his side. “But the blade didn’t seem to reach any organs. How’d you manage this?”
“He kept the knife from killing me,” Jace said.
“Right, then let’s make sure it doesn’t kill him, either,” she said. She dug into her bag. “Let’s give you a slug of doph for the pain.”
“No,” Veranix said. “Pain will keep me here, keep me going.”
“I need to sew into you,” she said. “It’ll hurt like blazes.”
“Won’t be the first time. Head clear.”
“All right,” she said, pulling out a few more vials. She handed one of them to him. “Then drink this one when I tell you to.”
“What’ll these—”
“That’ll keep you alert, like a pot of tea horse-kicked into your face.” She opened another vial and poured its contents over his wound, which burned like a hot poker. She ignored his cry of pain and kept going. “But it’s going to turn your heart into a jackrabbit, which will send a lot more blood out the wound, which we don’t need.”
“I would think,” Veranix said, as his hands barely cooperated getting the first vial open.
“Jace, get next to him,” she said, taking out a syringe and glass barrel. She poured half the contents of another vial into the barrel, muttering something about going through her supplies. “Push the plunger when I tell you.”
“I shouldn’t—” Jace stuttered.
“When I tell you!” she said sharply. “That will thicken his blood, and I need to start stitching.” She pulled out her needle and thread. “Are you ready, Thorn?”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Veranix said, holding up the vial. “To your health.”
“Yours is the issue,” she said, as she readied the needle. “Drink.”
Veranix did as ordered, and she wasn’t kidding about the horse kick. He suddenly felt as if he had been running for an hour, yet also like he could keep running for the rest of his life. He could barely even breathe. Then there was a jab in his side.
“Push it!”
A cold flush washed over him in his side, and then there was the familiar sharp pain of a needle sewing up his skin. He had been under Kaiana’s needle several times, this was an old friend.
Was Kaiana all right? Did she get out safe? Did Delmin? Or Mila? Of course Mila did, she always would. But they were all saints even knew where, and he was on the floor in some abandoned Dentonhill flop, only not dying thanks to members of the Welling family.
A few whistles blew outside. “This way,” someone called from outside.
“Backup is here,” Jace said, getting to his feet.
That was troubling.
“Backup as in Lieutenant Benvin?” Veranix asked.
“No, it would be—”
“Oh, Jace,” Ferah said, her voice dripping with disappointment. “You can’t let Dentonhill officers find him.”
“But they’re—”
“They will bring me to Fenmere,” Veranix said. “You know they will.” His heart had already been running like a fox in an Itasiana chase, and the fear of what might happen, what he would have to do, what they would do to him if he couldn’t fight back . . .
“Give me a few minutes to finish,” she said. “Hold them off.”
“How?”
“Tell them who you are,” she said. “They all know Eddie. He might even be with them.”
“Eddie?” Veranix asked.
“Our cousin who works this neighborhood,” Jace said.
How many Welling cousins were there?
“I’ll just get out of here—”
“You stay put,” Ferah said, putting a hand on Veranix’s chest to stop him from getting up. “Jace, you go out there and tell whoever is out there that I’m in here treating a patient—use my name, hear?”
“Say that Ferah Serrick—”
“Say that YS Field Officer Serrick has a patient, and she’s claiming triage priority. You’re my officer of accountability.”
“Your what?”
“Saints, I thought you passed your exams. Just go, tell them.” Jace left, and she prodded Veranix’s arm, and then her fingers probed along his head. “Anywhere else you get hit?”
“About everywhere,” Veranix said. “What are you doing?”
“He’s telling them that I’ve claimed that your condition is dire enough that my treatment of you takes priority over their necessity to arrest you. You know how a church can give sanctuary and the constables aren’t allowed to go in?”
“Is that how it’s supposed to work?”
“Well, I made this room a church of medicine,” she said. “As long as you are my patient, they can’t take you. And naming Jace as the officer of accountability, means he’s already taken responsibility for my safety in your presence. So if you hurt me, he’s going to get in trouble, hear?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Presuming those Dentonhill officers respect that. Most of them are in Fenmere’s pocket.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly as she dabbed an ointment on his wound.
“I’m guessing he doesn’t bother to also put Yellowshields in his pocket.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it hasn’t trickled over to me yet. I do know that I’ve patched up a few park doxies and shop owners here in town that have nothing but kind words for you. But even if I didn’t, as long as you are my patient, that comes first.”
“Thank you.”
“The job is the oath,” she said. “Sit up so I can wrap that.”
Jace came back in, shutting the door behind him. “There’s seven Dentonhill constables, and they definitely think the Thorn is in here, and they definitely want him.”
“Do they know Eddie?”
“Only in passing. He’s apparently working the northern triangle right now.”
“And what did you tell them?” Veranix asked.
“That they got the wrong end of the handstick on this one. That she’s treating a civilian who was hurt when everything went wild out there. And once you can walk that I’m going to take you in for a witness statement.” Outside the door, several folks were coming into the hallway.
Veranix didn’t waste another second, drawing numina through the cloak to craft an illusion around him. The door flew open, and a half-dozen constables stood shoulder to shoulder.
All they saw was Ferah working on a man old enough to be her father, dressed in the simple brown trousers and vest of a shopkeep. Veranix even gave himself the appearance of spectacles, which might have been a little more showmanship than this subterfuge required.
“Saints!” he exclaimed, hoping he wasn’t overplaying his voice with either affect or accent. “Normally you can’t get a constable when you need one, now I’ve got a whole eight pins.”
“Who is this?” the constable in the lead asked.
“This is my witness,” Jace said after a moment of confusion. “He saw—”
“Damn, kid,” the constable said. “If he’s a witness, I don’t need you telling me what he saw. He needs to tell his story.”
“Without you feeding it to him,” another one of them said.
“He needs you all to clear out,” Ferah said.
“He’s a witness, we want to know what he saw.”
“I will walk him in and take his statement,” Jace said. “Surely the lot of you have something more you can do out there.”
“It’s madness out there, it is,” Veranix said, playing up the character he was portraying. “Just trying to walk home, and hooded fools in cloaks causing trouble.”
“You ain’t our house,” the constable said to Jace. “He should come to our house.”
“I ain’t even supposed to be here,” Veranix said. “Stupid kid couldn’t even deliver a package right, so I had to walk up through Dentonhill, and I’m walking home and this happens!” He pointed to the wound, which he had kept the same in the illusion.
“The Thorn do that to you?”
“Nah, nah. There’s craziness in the street, the guy in the cloak—is that this Thorn character—he’s fighting these bruisers, some other girl in a mask is in on it, there’s blades and slash, and I’m in the mix of it, and this kid pulls me out.”
“Hrm,” one of the constables said. “You see where the Thorn went?”
“I saw a knife in my face, mister. This town isn’t safe, and you people should be out there doing something about it! I’ve got some things to say to your captain, and—”
“Fan out the blocks,” the lead constable told the others. He leaned in to Jace and whispered something, gave a salute and left. Jace shut the door.
“Well, that was fun,” Ferah said once they heard the constables had left.
Jace burst out laughing. “I don’t know what that was, but—”
“Some old carny skills,” Veranix said. He kept the illusion up. “I think I can walk now.”
“You know how to change those dressings?” Ferah asked. “Twice a day until it stops seeping.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Veranix said as he got to his feet. “You have my thanks.”
“It’s the job and the oath,” she said, packing up her kit. She offered her hand to him. “But it was a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” Veranix said as he took it.
“I’ll see you out,” Jace said. “Just in case they’re watching.”
Veranix walked out with Jace. “So what did he whisper to you?”
“Take him to your own damn house and lose his statement,” Jace said.
“You’re a credit to your name, Jace Welling,” Veranix said after they crossed Waterpath. The constables had set up a barricade and checkpoints, but Jace had no difficulty getting them waved through. “Give Minox my best.”
“Try to be careful,” Jace said. “You really knocked open the hornet nest this time, you know.”
“I know,” Veranix said. “But someone in this neighborhood has to.”
He dropped the illusion, shrouded himself in the darkness of the night, and leaped off toward home, hoping that his friends had made it there already.
Colin reached the back alley behind the Old Canal, he and Cober carrying Terker, who had taken a blade to the gut back on Shade Street. Cober’s left eye was swollen over, he had his own gut wound, and that was only the worst that Colin could see. Colin himself was a mess of bruises and slashes, none of them so bad he couldn’t move—he was hurting, but he’d get his boys home. No boss could do less.
