The Assassins of Consequence, page 9
“You broke out of the Quarry?” Tooser asked. “How the blazes did you do that?”
A couple more Princes sat down. “What, he broke out?”
“How’d you do it?”
“Easy, easy,” Deena said, waving them down. “Let the boy breathe.” That was when Jutie noticed she had captain stars on her arm. She must have moved up since he’d been gone.
“I didn’t so much break out,” Jutie said. “As I was in the right place when a breakout happened.”
“I heard word of that,” A Prince Jutie didn’t know said. “A few real blockers blew out the wall, something like that? Like some real nasty fellows.”
Jutie told the story quick of how it all went down, and was interrupted with questions again and again, as more beers and strikers were brought to him.
“Listen,” he said when a fourth beer was brought. “Those five, they all got a grudge against the Thorn. We need to warn him.”
Everyone went a bit quiet.
“What’s wrong with you all?” he asked. “Listen, where’s Colin, he’ll know—”
The silence shifted to awkward looks, everyone suddenly paying attention to the ceiling or the floor.
“The blazes?”
“Listen, Jutie,” Deena said. “We’re not exactly square with the Thorn and . . . and Colin . . .”
“Colin betrayed us, Jutes,” Tooser said. “I wish it weren’t so, but he stood right here, in front of all of us, and admitted to it.”
“What?” That was rutting impossible. “What did he do?”
“Broke the truce, crossed Waterpath with his arm showing.”
Tooser added. “Went to some of Fenmere’s boys and beat them to the rutting bone.”
Deena scowled at Tooser, and then said. “Made a whole mess of trouble for all of us here.”
“So where is he? What happened?”
“They burned his stars off,” Deena said. “And he walked out of here, started his own patch of misfits, but with the Thorn by his side.”
“We gotta let them know—”
“Jutie,” Deena said fiercely. “We don’t gotta do anything for that traitor. And the Thorn is not one of ours.”
“No, he—”
“Maybe once, we saw him as an ally. But he’s with Colin, and they are not with the Princes. But you are, aren’t you, Jutes?” She took his hand and squeezed.
“Of course I am,” he said, though he was still very confused. How could Colin, of anyone, betray the Princes? And with the Thorn? They had a new gang here? He had had too many beers already to think through all this clearly.
“We’re real glad to hear that, Jutie,” she said. She looked up and nodded.
Two pairs of hands rested on Jutie’s shoulders.
“Juteron,” someone said from behind. Jutie couldn’t turn around because the strong hands were keeping him in his chair. An old man came around into his view—one of the Basement Bosses, but Jutie wasn’t sure which. Giles? Nints? “We’re really happy to see you come home. And the Turnabout, the Princes, they are your home, yes?”
“That’s what’s on my arm,” Jutie said, though only because he knew it was the smartest thing to say. He needed to keep his head about him, especially now.
“So happy to hear it. So why don’t you come down with me, and you can tell Vessrin and the others everything that’s happened to you. We want to hear every detail.”
“Sure, sure,” Jutie said, standing as the two bruisers behind him let him get up. “Happy to.” He’d never been asked to talk to the bosses before, and, right now, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew the score.
“Good,” the boss said. Blazes, which one was he? “We need you safe and out of sight for a while. Until things cool down. You understand.”
“Sure, sure,” Jutie repeated. He had no idea what this was all about, but he’d tell the bosses everything they needed to know.
“Deena,” Giles-or-Nints said. “Take a crew and make a pass around Cantarell Square. Just in case there’s any noise out there.”
“On it,” she said, getting to her feet. She signaled to some folks and they went out. Tooser gave Jutie one last wave as he left with her.
“Let’s go, Jutie,” the boss said. “And we’ll have a good, long chat.”
As they took him down to the basement, Jutie started to wonder just what went down with Colin and the Thorn, and where they were right now. He was a Prince, loyal to the mark on his arm, but even still, Colin was his cap, and he knew the Thorn was the right sort. What could have made Colin turn against the Princes, start his own patch? If Jutie had been out, would he have stayed like Tooser and Deena? Or would he be next to Colin, elbow to elbow in whatever fight he was in now.
“And as you go off into your evenings, to your homes, your families, or whatever else you might have planned, take with you, not just the blessings of Saint Julian, who stands watch over your souls in your troubled days, but hopefully the wisdom he imparts. Take with you the choice of peace. There is no end to what you can accomplish if you put peace, and your capacity to open yourself to it, at the forefront of every choice you make. Blessings be with you.”
This was Reverend Pemmick’s typical ending for evening services, and every night he hoped to reach certain members of the congregation with it. Every night there were a few youths from the so-called Knights of Saint Julian, a gang that had evolved from a former reverend’s personal muscle. That reverend had, apparently, not taken his vows as seriously as most of the clergy of the Church of Druthal.
Tonight there was a typical scattering of the Knights among the congregation, and a few representatives from the other gangs in Aventil. Pemmick knew most of them by name, learned each of their struggles as best he could, and offered whatever counsel he felt comfortable with. If he could get any of them to move on to a stable, law-abiding life, that was a victory, of course, but the best he let himself hope for was comfort and a chance at absolution for their souls.
It was what everyone who walked through those doors deserved.
Today there was an uncommon visitor, hanging in the back of the pews during his sermon, and staying there as many filed out. Uniformed members of the Constabulary rarely sat in, and this lieutenant had never taken the time. As more folks left—though Pemmick did note that Fortill and some of his closest crew were hanging back—Pemmick approached the lieutenant cautiously.
“Always grateful to see someone new come in for worship,” he said. “Or are you here for reasons beyond your own spiritual guidance?”
“I’ll accept guidance from wherever it might come, Rev,” Lieutenant Benvin said. “Though I can tell you, listening to that speech, I don’t know if you have it to give.”
“You take issue with a message of peace?”
“Issue with the idea that we have a choice,” Benvin said. “Too often, the choice is made for you.”
“I am aware. But every day we can choose to try.”
“That what you’re up to with these washes?” he asked, gesturing to Fortill’s group. “Or the Thorn?”
“I tend to every member of the faith who comes in here,” Pemmick said.
“Please have the decency not to insult my intelligence,” Benvin riposted, pointing a jabbing finger. Pemmick saw Fortill jerk forward at that, but only a bit. Good. The boy was learning patience, awareness, even through his hot temper.
“Would you have me deny that to any member of this community?”
“I would have you not harbor or protect the lawless.”
“I would argue that the laws of Druthal do not supersede the mandate of the church. ‘Souls come be—‘”
“ ‘Before the standing of man, for the judgment of God and their saints will stand forever, while mortal man must struggle his finite time.’ ” Benvin sighed. “I do know my studies.”
“Very good. And that is why you came? For further study?”
“Listen,” Benvin said. “For what it’s worth, while I would just as soon iron the Thorn and have him face the justice of the bench and throne, I do know what isn’t justice.”
“And that would be?”
“That would be getting killed by the folks he put down before. The five who just escaped Quarrygate.”
“Former enemies escaped the prison?”
“So, if you see him, Rev,” Benvin said. “If he comes to you for . . . spiritual guidance. Let him know that trouble is coming his way. And either way, I’ll still see him soon.” Benvin gave a casual nod of his head and put his cap back on as he left.
Fortill scurried up. “Rev, you sure you don’t want us to give that stick what for?”
“Fortill, the man is doing his job and serving the community, in the way that his ethos tells him he must. As do I, as do you.”
“I don’t rightly know what that means, Rev.”
“That means he is being the best good man he can be, as I strive to help you be.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Fortill said. “But that stick shouldn’t be giving you business, no. Not for.”
“He was not,” Pemmick said. “You can do me a service, though.”
“Name it, Rev, the Knights are here for you.”
They said that so often, and Pemmick wished it brought him comfort.
“Some dangerous fellows have escaped from Quarrygate. Let me know if you hear word of their whereabouts or intentions.”
“Sure thing, Rev,” he said. With a wave, he signaled his crew to head out.
Pemmick went to the Absolution booth, in case anyone came seeking the rite from him. It would also let him be prepared in case Veranix Calbert came to him tonight, for either guidance or aid. Regardless, in the quiet moments of the evening, Pemmick would continue to focus his prayers for the saints to aid the angry, blessed young man on whatever troubles he faced tonight.
The Old Canal was the pub the Sons of Tyson used as their clubhouse, but Colin had Veranix wait with Mila up in a flop above a sew-up office while he gathered his folks up. This seemed to be the real home for the Sons of Tyson, and where Colin and few others would crash for the night. Mila paced about nervously, having put down the sacks she had brought along as part of her plan.
“You all right?”
“Yeah,” she said. Even through her Rose masking, though, her face told a different story. Why was she spooked? This was her plan. “What is this gang to you?”
“They’re Colin’s,” he said.
“Yeah, but, they’re called the Sons of Tyson. I take it that’s your old family name. You and Colin.”
“Our dads were the Tyson Brothers back in the day, I’m given to understand,” Veranix said. “Not too unlike your Rynax friends.”
“So it’s a name that means something to you. These folks in the Sons, they’re literally fighting in your name.”
“It’s not like I’ve ever been Veranix Tyson, if that’s what you mean.”
She moved around to force him to face her; he hadn’t even been aware that he had been avoiding looking right at her.
“My point is, these folks, they didn’t just bond together under Colin. It’s not his legacy that excites them. It’s yours.”
“I don’t have a legacy,” Veranix said. “I don’t even know what you mean.”
“Of course you do, don’t you—” She shook her head. “You didn’t grow up on these streets, right?”
“I grew up on the road,” Veranix stressed. “Town to town, city to city.”
“Legacy, family, it’s everything. Do you know why Asti Rynax first trusted me, instead of chasing me off? Because he knew who my father was. My name, my legacy opened that door.”
“I’m not—”
“And he—your cousin—he acknowledged you, the Thorn, as his kin. That you come from here. That’s what matters to them, and why they gather under his banner.”
“It’s a street gang, not a duchy.”
“It’s the same to them.” She took his hand and squeezed. “I’m saying this because in a moment, Colin’s going to bring them in here, and they’re going to do a thing you need. I saw how they looked at you in the Canal.”
“And that’s the idea, right?”
She nodded. “They’re going to let you lead them. That’s a serious responsibility you’re going to take on.”
“What are you—” Veranix did not understand. “This was your plan.”
“You remember Tarvis? Peeky and Nikey?”
He nodded. The kids in Seleth who had helped them out when Veranix had been exhausted and they needed a place to rest. “They called you Miss Bessie, right?”
“They were Bessie’s Boys. I was supposed to be in charge of them, to lead them, and I failed. Some got killed, some got hurt, and some went to whoever would take them. I lost them, and most of them lost each other, because I didn’t take care of them.”
“So what are you telling me to do?”
“Take this seriously. Take them seriously. Some of them could get hurt tonight. Or killed. And you ‘ve got to lead them, and that means being a leader to them.”
“I . . . no, that’s Colin’s job. I can’t . . . he’s the chief of this gang. I’ve got to give him that authority.”
“But—”
“He’s already lost so much protecting me. It’s Sons of Tyson because he’s protecting me. He stood up against the Princes, broke the truce, all that . . . for me. If anyone is Bessie, it’s him. And I’m . . . I don’t know. Tarvis.”
She laughed at that.
“Far from.”
Colin came into the loft with about two dozen folks, almost all of them with a burn scar on their arm or cheek to match Colin’s burnt Prince tattoo. Former Princes or Orphans or Kickers or what have you.
“It’s really him,” one of them whispered.
“Told you,” another said.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Veranix said, using a hint of magic to alter his voice. “Rose and I have a plan to hit one of Fenmere’s top captains, and hit him hard, but it’s got to be tonight. And I can’t do it without you all.”
“We’re with you, Thorn!”
“I appreciate that,” Veranix said. “And Colin, I’m happy that you’ve brought your people here to help out with this. Couldn’t be done without you.”
Colin looked a bit perplexed. “We do what we need to, right?”
“We do,” Veranix said. Then he understood the point Mila was trying to make, what she was trying to tell him. He had to take care of these people, like they were his own. They were about to go fight for him out of loyalty to Colin, loyalty to his family name, loyalty to an idea of what Aventil had been. He had to pay that loyalty back. “So when we go in there, there’s going to be Fenmere’s drugs, there are going to be ledgers and papers, and there’s going to be cash. Here’s how it’s got to go. The drugs will need to be destroyed.”
There was an air of disappointment in the room at that. Not clear if some of them wanted the drugs to sell themselves, or to use them. Either way, Veranix wouldn’t have that.
“Destroyed how?” one asked. The woman who had been sitting at Colin’s right arm in the Old Canal.
“Rose and I will handle that,” Veranix said. “We’re also taking the books and ledgers. But the money, that’s all yours.”
That got nods and murmurs of approval. Especially from Colin.
“So you say you got a plan,” Colin said. “Big part of that plan needs to be to make sure grief doesn’t come back on us, or across Waterpath at all. Because as soon as any crosses the ’path, the other gangs will know it was us and all crack down together.”
“Got that covered,” Mila said. “No one will know that the Sons of Tyson helped us out.”
“Or blame it on any other gangs in Aventil,” Colin stressed. “Any fire poured on them will flash back on us.”
“Or that either,” Mila said, picking up one sack, dumping its contents on the floor. “Like I said, there’s a plan.”
She picked up the other sack and dumped it out as well, making a messy pile of University of Maradaine school uniforms.
“Suit up, kids, you’re going back to school.”
Chapter Seven
KAIANA DID NOT ASK QUESTIONS—nor did she even want to ask—about how and from where Mila had managed to steal a few dozen school uniforms with only an hour’s notice. When Delmin pressed, Mila made it clear that this had not been something she had just come up with off the top of her head.
“First off, the security of the campus launderers is pathetic,” Mila had said. “The staff is constantly just picking up dirty uniforms and bedding, dropping off clean ones, and no one pays them any mind, nor are they paying serious mind to their inventory. There’s a lot of assumption with anyone going in, picking up, dropping off, that they’re supposed to be there. You throw on a work smock and grab a bundle of clean uniforms, no one questions you. So I’ve been building up a stock in case we needed them.”
“Yes, but . . . why did you think we’d need them?” Delmin asked.
“You never know what might be useful. And uniforms are a terrific tool for anyone planning a job. Someone’s wearing a uniform, most people see only that. They don’t remember faces, just someone in a school uniform. Perfect anonymity.”
Despite that assurance, Kaiana felt as conspicuous as all blazes wearing a Ladies’ College uniform as she left campus out the east gates into Dentonhill. She was a still a brown-skinned girl with Napolic features, and no anonymity of a uniform would hide that.
It did not help having a tiny Delmin in her coat’s breast pocket.
“I need to study this more, because this is fascinating,” Delmin said as she walked. “I’m carrying a good ten pounds of boom powder, and I weigh about a hundred thirty pounds, yet clearly neither I nor what I was holding in shrinking still maintain that weight.”
