The Quarrygate Gambit, page 2
“To drive forward and get it done,” Verci said.
“Capital advice. Drive on. We need to get there before it’s too late.”
* * *
“You’re late.”
Helene Kesser wanted to be annoyed at Jarret Covrane, she desperately wanted to, as he arrived at her front stoop a good ten minutes after the agreed upon time. Jarret had so many wonderful qualities, but being punctual to any planned rendezvous was never one of them.
She wanted to be annoyed, but something about his face tied all that up. She couldn’t get mad looking at it.
“There was—”
“One more call or such, I know. Julien already went ahead.”
“Do I have time to change?” he asked, crossing into the apartment. “Or do you want me to go in my uniform?”
“Be quick about it,” she said, though he was already taking off his coat. In the past months, more than a few of his clothes had managed to stay here, which Helene’s mother would have found positively scandalous. Helene didn’t care about scandalous, though, she just cared about this shop, the apartment over the shop, her cousin Julien, and most improbably, this Constabulary lieutenant who was hanging his uniform coat up in her front room.
How she had ever fallen so completely for this man was beyond her. And the fact that he apparently felt the same way for her. Her, Helene Kesser, lifelong North Seleth screwup who was known by half the crime bosses in West Maradaine as being one of the best crossbow slingers south of the river, and also known as too much trouble to ever put on a job. She had run in more heists than she could count, and burned more bridges than she could remember.
And despite that, this constable, an upstanding statue of a man, had fallen for her.
In no small part due to the fact that he respected a good crossbow.
“So what is this even about again?” he called as he splashed water on his face.
“We’re having dinner with a new importer Julien is excited about,” she said. “Brings in Waish and Kieran cheeses, and Julien wants to lock down a deal with him.”
Covrane came out, stripped to the waist. Saints, that took her breath every time. “So why doesn’t he just do that? He needs us?”
“You know Julien.”
“I do,” Covrane said. “When it comes to your shop, and especially the subject of cheese, he’s on top of it.”
“Contracts and numbers fluster him,” she said. “He gets really worried that without me there he’ll trap us in a bad deal.”
Covrane came in close. “So he wants you there, and you want me there.” He kissed her, the sort of kiss that made her want to move to more things, and there was certainly no time for them to do anything like that, at least not before this dinner.
She pushed him away before she would have to pull him to the bed. “Get dressed, fool.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile that made her blood rush. He quickly grabbed a shirt and coat and put them on, and he looked reasonably presentable. He still looked like a stick, even out of uniform, but nothing would change that.
“You’ve got to leave the belt here,” she said.
“If I must,” he said, taking off his patrol belt, with his handstick and crossbow, and left it on her table. “Ready?”
“What do you think?” she asked. “You haven’t said anything about how I look?” She had bothered with face-painting for this evening, and was wearing a nice dress that had been used for some scouting gig or another. It may have been the one she wore the night they robbed and burned down Tyne’s Emporium, designed with extra panels so Verci Rynax could hide the parts of a mini crossbow within it. She was not hiding any weapons tonight. All her crossbows were still in the apartment, safely away in their trunk. She hadn’t had cause to use them in months.
Not since the night with the Fire mages.
“You look incredible, as always,” he said, taking her gloved hand. She almost always wore the glove on that hand now, with the wooden insert to hide her missing finger. Not that the glove was any less conspicuous. But she preferred that was what people saw.
“Then let’s not leave him waiting,” she said. “I think we need to get out to the Little East.”
“Do we need a cab?” he asked as they walked out.
“Good luck flagging one down on this street,” she said. “Maybe walk to Keller Cove and catch one there, but—”
That was all she got out when some kid—some ratty street kid—just dashed through them both, snatched Covrane’s coin bag, and was off down the street.
Helene was already running after him, and Covrane was three paces behind.
“Thought you said we’d walk,” he called after her.
“Can’t let that gutter snipe pull that,” she said. Though when she was that kid’s age, she’d dared exactly this sort of thing plenty of times.
“I could put out a call—”
“No one would come in this patch,” she said. She thought Covrane would realize, even now, even after that big brawl in Saint Bridget’s Square a couple months back—saints, she was glad she hadn’t been nearby for that one—there were never many sticks in these blocks, and any whistle call would almost always go ignored. Especially at this hour.
She followed the kid around an alley, down a ways, and saw him slip into the back door of Kimber’s Pub. She was so intent on that she didn’t even notice Kennith Rill running from the other direction until she collided into him.
“Whoa,” she said, bouncing off the dark chomik man. She would have landed flat on her backside if Covrane hadn’t been right there to catch her. Kennith had stumbled back from the impact as well, caught and held stable by Jhoqull-Ra, the native-born Ch’omik woman he had been courting for some time.
“I—sorry, Hel,” he said, brushing himself off. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Likewise,” she said. But the fact that he had been running, too, running into the same alley from the other direction, that was just plain odd. “Why were you—”
“A jhikwi boy grabbed my bag and dashed here,” Jhoqull said. She glanced at Covrane and nodded her head deferentially. “Your pardon, officer.”
“Not on duty,” he said. “But we shouldn’t let those boys get away with either of our things.” He went for the door into the pub.
“Boys,” Helene muttered. Something did not sit right about this. She looked to Kennith, who was dressed in a clean suit, but that wasn’t uncommon on a night where he was driving the carriage for the North Seleth Inn. “Where were you two headed?”
“Heading to the Little East to have supper with her cousins,” Kennith said. “We were just on our way—”
“When the urchin grabbed a bag and ran,” Helene said. Saints and sinners both, she couldn’t believe it. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
“I—” Kennith stammered. Covrane and Jhoqull had already gone in. She sighed and followed, Kennith right with her.
The back door led through a corridor past the water closets to the taproom, which was surprisingly empty. That was an absolute sign that something hinky was up. The taproom at Kimber’s Pub was never empty.
“Where did they—” Covrane asked, glancing about.
“Something odd, indeed,” Jhoqull said.
“Saints,” Helene muttered. Raising her voice, she said, “Fine, you got us!”
At once, folks leaped out from behind the bar, from the kitchen, from behind tables, from everywhere.
“Surprise!”
Covrane, to his credit, jumped just a bit.
All around her, familiar faces. Kimber, smiling so broadly with such joy. Verci Rynax and his wife Raych, wheeling out a giant cake from the kitchens. Julien, grinning like an absolute fool. Almer Cort, Pilsen Gin, Vellun Colsh, and a dozen other faces she knew far too well. And more she didn’t, including Ch’omik folks who were likely kin to Jhoqull.
And Asti Rynax, leaning against the doorway, looking as happy as his face would let him express. Which was only a hair of joy above “not angry.”
“What is this?” Kennith asked.
Verci Rynax, looking far too smug, came up with a tray holding four glasses of wine.
“This is a celebration of each of you,” he said, handing them all their glasses. “From all of us, your dear friends and neighbors, to raise a glass together to you, and for you, and wish hearty congratulations and blessings on your respective futures together so we can mark the jubilant occasion of your impending marriages. So raise glasses high, one and all, to the engagements of Helene Kesser and Jarret Covrane, and Kennith Rill and Jhoqull-Ra of House Gheqham, daughter of Hejha-Cha, daughter of Kecelle-Amra!”
The crowd all raised their glasses and cheered.
Blazing Verci Rynax. Always a flair for the rutting dramatic.
Chapter 2
“SO RAISE GLASSES HIGH, ONE and all, to the engagement of Helene Kesser and Jarret Covrane, and Kennith Rill and Jhoqull-Ra of House Gheqham, daughter of Hejha-Cha, daughter of Kecelle-Amra!”
The crowd cheered, and Verci was quite pleased with how well the whole ploy had gone. Yes, Helene had figured out what was going on, but it was obvious she had just figured it out only moments before, so the whole affair was, by his definition, a masterful success. He actually would have been a little disappointed in Helene if she hadn’t.
“Really, what is this?” Covrane asked, still holding his wineglass like he didn’t know what to do with it.
“It’s a party, Jarret,” Helene growled. “For us. And Ken and Jho.”
“Do not be so loose with my name,” Jhoqull said. She grinned. “But you, Verci Rynax, I am impressed with your respect of my mothers.”
Verci leaned in. “I did have to make sure to get it right, or those cousins of yours over there might have had issue.”
“You don’t want them to have issue,” Kennith said. He grabbed Verci by the shoulder and pulled him in for an embrace. “Thank you for this, though.”
“There is the matter of my coin purse,” Covrane said.
“And my bag.”
“Asti!” Verci called out.
“Boys!” Asti called in return. The two street urchins came out of hiding from behind the bar, sheepish grins on their faces, giving Covrane and Jhoqull back their things.
“Sorry, mister,” the one kid said to Covrane.
Covrane crouched down and said, “Let’s make that the last time you do that, son, all right?”
Helene shook her head. “Whose idea was this?”
“This was all Julien’s idea,” Verci said, pointing to the big guy.
Julien came over, taking Helene’s hand and putting it on Covrane’s. “I just wanted to do something special for you two. I didn’t know how to do it, but Asti and Verci helped. And then when we heard that Ken and Jhoqull were getting promised . . .”
“Yes, who told you all that?” Jhoqull pointed to one of her cousins. “Deki-Ra, were you the one?”
“It was Suhi Anqra!” Deki-Ra laughed. “She wanted to know more about the echimbep you have spent time with!”
Verci chuckled. “She came to the bakery.”
“Speaking of,” Raych said, rolling out the fantastic cake she had made. “I think I may have outdone myself on this one.”
Covrane burst out laughing. “Of course. Late delivery of bread, indeed.”
“My apologies for the deception, Lieutenant.”
“Most accepted, Missus Rynax,” Covrane said.
Helene shook her head. “All this . . . really wasn’t necessary.”
Despite that, Verci was seeing the grandest smiles he had seen from her and Kennith for months. The two of them had suffered, probably the most, at the hands of the Firewings, and anything he could do to make their lives brighter, he would.
Verci had let them down that night. They—and Almer, who seemed much less troubled by his abuse from the mages—had fought to cover his escape, so he could rescue Raych. They had been captured and tortured for his sake, for his family, and he could never repay that debt.
But he would keep trying.
“Everything is necessary for you all,” he said. He looked at the assembled crowd: the friends who had been at the core of this crew—this family—who had fought to protect North Seleth, the neighbors whom they had helped, folks he had known all his life, and the new faces like Jhoqull’s relatives, and even Covrane’s mother and grandmother, quietly talking by the doorway. Verci could even swear he saw Enanger Lesk limping part way down the stairs, and then turning back up. He was amazed the man had survived. But he was amazed any of them had survived this long, given the odds.
“I just want to say one thing,” Verci said, taking a beer mug from the bar. “And then if anyone else wants to make a speech, they’re welcome, but we do have a few musicians here tonight who’ve promised to play something lively and danceable, and I imagine you’d all prefer that to my ramblings.”
“Yes!” someone called out.
“Go on!” Asti said.
Verci held up his mug and climbed up on a chair. “Just about everyone in this room, we all have been through some terrible hardship. The fire in Holver Alley. The riot on election night. The fight against the mages. Saint Bridget’s Square.”
Kimber muttered a quiet prayer and touched her forehead.
“And despite that, we are still here, and we have been blessed. Almer’s shop, recovered from the fire. This pub here, still standing strong. Kesser’s Meats and Cheeses. The Junk Avenue Bakery.”
“The Rynax Gadgeterium!” Julien shouted.
“We are here, we are standing tonight to celebrate these two couples, because we have been a neighborhood together. We have stood strong together. And we have lost a few friends, too, and I hope that their judgments were kind, and the saints are letting them watch us now. But we have all been very blessed to be able to be together. Blessings of neighbors, blessings of friends, blessings of family.”
“Are you crying, Verci?” Raych asked him.
He wiped the moisture from his face. “I just wanted to express how lucky I feel to be here with you all, and grateful that the saints have let an old th—” He remembered Covrane was here, and was still a constable. “And old scoundrel like me have such things. And thus—I’m sorry, one last thing—thus, Helene and Jarret, Kennith and Jhoqull, if you all can love each other even half as much as I love the people in this room, well . . . your marriages will be deeply blessed indeed.”
He looked to Helene, whose eyes were watered up. “All right, you fool, get off that chair. There’s apparently dancing to be done.”
* * *
Folks were dancing, people laughing, talking, eating, drinking. Asti was glad to see it all. And Raych had been right, she truly had outdone herself with the cake. It had truly been a success, which was all Asti could ask for.
The band had started out playing a few well-worn tavern songs, the sort any West Maradaine folk know by heart, and people sang along and danced. Then when the band took a break, a couple of Jhoqull’s family borrowed the instruments and played their own songs, which had the crowd completely stumped for a moment, until Jhoqull showed them how to dance to it.
“Quite unique festivities,” Covrane’s grandmother said in Asti’s earshot. “I’ve not seen its like.”
“Oh, I remember you throwing a few raucous dances in your day, Miss Josie,” Pilsen Gin told her.
“I beg your pardon?” Covrane’s grandmother asked. “You’ve taken yourself too familiar with me, sir.”
“Too familiar, that’s a laugh, you’re still that box-girl at heart who’d—”
Asti jumped up and pulled Pilsen away from the woman before he said something inappropriate. “Apologies, ma’am, he mistakes faces sometimes.”
“Hmm,” the grandmother said. “I need to find my daughter, wherever she’s gone off to.”
“She’s sitting over there with Almer,” Asti said, pointing to the table. Though, from Almer’s expression, Asti wondered if he was about to ruin the man’s hopes by sending the old woman over.
“Asti, why are your hands on me?” Pilsen said.
“Let’s get you over to the bar,” Asti said, guiding him to a stool. “Kimber, can we get a soft cider here? Or even some tea?”
Kimber nodded and came over. “Pilsen, let me get you something, you just sit right there.”
“Incredibly kind, madam, incredibly kind. Remind me why I know your face. Did you play Casseria in the production of The Hawk of Erien at the Whirly?”
Asti stepped back and found Vellun Colsh’s absurdly pretty face far too close to Asti’s. He must have dashed across the taproom.
“What are you doing to Pilsen?”
“I was getting him away from Covrane’s grandmother,” Asti said, lowering his voice and pulling Vellun to one side. “Saints, he thought she was Josie.”
Vellun sighed. “He’s been doing that more and more.”
“How bad has he been?”
“Honestly?” Vellun asked. “As long as he has a show, when he’s in performance, he’s fine. He’s tremendous. But the rest of the time, he’s . . . the only people he remembers, a lot of the time, are people from his youth. He thinks I’m Rendell a lot of the time.” Vellun’s voice cracked a little on that. Asti only knew Rendell’s name from Pop’s stories of the old days, Pilsen’s paramour forty years ago. Neither Pilsen nor Pop ever talked about how Rendell died back then.
“Sorry,” Asti said.
“It’s how it is,” Vellun said. “But it’s good to have him around people.” Vellun went and sat next to Pilsen.
A glass of wine was put in Asti’s hand.
“I didn’t think I needed this,” he said to Helene, who had put it there.
“Been watching you half the night,” she said. “And if anyone did . . .”
“I’m sure your future husband doesn’t need you watching me.”
“Pff,” Helene said. “He knows full well not to be jealous of you.”
“Thanks,” he said, going to his seat back at the table he had been alone at. Helene sat with him. “Should you be dancing?”
