River of Thieves

by Clayton Snyder

  "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, and led the way in.

  Torlc's 'humble abode' was anything but. Gilt-framed paintings, some I recognized by the styles—masters all—jostled one another alongside statuary painted in garish colors. Burgundy and gold crowded the place like too many people shouting, and the flooring consisted of thick carpet unmarred by piss or wine spills.

  He led us to a room deeper in, wide and tall, a long table of rare hardwood shining in the center, tall chairs arrayed around it. A feast occupied the table, more than fifteen families could ever afford in a year, heaping plates of pork and beef, roast poultry and rice, and such a variety of breads the commingling scents made my head spin. He entreated us to eat, and we fell to, subsisting on nothing more than small fish and hard biscuits over the past weeks.

  When we were satiated, we pushed our chairs back, and Torlc called for pipes, offering each of us one from a fine wooden tray. I could not fathom the wealth in this place, and I refused on principle. It is one thing to eat another man's already prepared meat, but the things here that could feed and clothe families—it made the food turn in my guts. I wondered how Cord could stand it.

  He sat back with Torlc, and the sweet smells of slipweed and tobacco filled the air. Silence passed between them for a time, until the big man finally spoke.

  "You have something for me?" Torlc asked.

  Cord nodded, pointed with the pipe stem toward the dock. "She's all yours."

  "And how can I help you?"

  "I need information."

  "What kind?"

  "Guard movements, dispositions, and the name of a good key maker."

  Torlc raised an eyebrow, and then turned his head, nodding to a guard standing in the shadows. I tensed, hands going to my daggers, but the man held only a small chest. He presented it to the fence. Torlc lifted the lid, revealing several small scrolls, tightly rolled and nestled into individual compartments. He lifted three and passed them to Cord, who secreted them into his jerkin. The guard withdrew at a wave from one of Torlc's pudgy many-ringed hands, and he and Cord resumed talking.

  "It's all very ceremonial, isn't it?"

  Lux was at my elbow, her breath smelling of beef and wine.

  "Wizards just pull it from your head, you know," she held out a hand, like someone gathering wool, then snatched at the air, drawing it back, "If they want it enough." Her face fell. "Sorry."

  I strained to hear her whisper.

  "I've not been right since the trials," she said.

  "They killed you," I said.

  She turned a cold eye on me and I felt I'd overstepped. But she let it lie.

  "It's something I had to do. You would not understand." I frowned at that, but she continued. "No, I mean no offence. There is pain, and then there is... what I have endured. What I do."

  I nodded, and placed a hand on hers. "I spoke out of line. My apologies."

  She squeezed my hand and something warm kindled in my stomach. I ignored it until I could sort it out later, and then looked to Rek for some indication of normalcy. He gave me an apologetic look and shrugged. He knew as well as I did that normalcy was a thing left far behind. The scraping of chairs across the wooden floor caught my attention, and I turned back to Torlc and Cord. They set their pipes aside and stood, embracing. When they separated, Cord turned to us.

  "Ready?"

  We stood, filing from the room. Torlc stayed behind, his guards guiding us to the exit. We stepped from the door, sea air cool and refreshing after the close heat of Torlc's home. Cord led us down rickety boardwalks that snaked between shanties. Fearful faces peered out, of all color and gender, adults and children. I could see the hunger in their eyes, the dirt smudged across their cheeks, yellow irises, painfully thin arms and legs.

  We moved deeper into the shantytown, the delta wet below the boardwalks. We crossed an open area, where the walk fell away but for a simple bridge, and Cord pulled the papers from his jerkin, letting them fall into the water and sink. When they'd disappeared, he pulled us into the shadow of the city walls, until we were against the brick itself. A simple grate stood before us, knocked into the masonry in a haphazard way.

  "Thank the gods for government work, eh?" Cord smirked, and motioned to Rek.

  The big man grabbed the sides of the grate and ripped it from the bricks with a grunt and a tumble of masonry, exposing a tunnel that ran into the city proper. Cord waved us through, and the afternoon light and as we punctured Midian, the passage temporarily eclipsed the afternoon light.

  Stuff This In Your Keyhole

  Midian was... well, Midian was a shithole. How else do you describe a city outgrowing its walls with little interest in improving on anything other than the lives of the wealthy? It was a teeming shithole though, and we exited the tunnel into a crowd of citizens wandering the craftsman's district. The guards above had no more noticed our entrance than a cow notices a fly, and we walked among the people as if we belonged there.

  The shops and workshops were middling-sized brick buildings, the sounds of hammer and awl, saw and rasp echoing from their walls. The smoke was thicker here, and the city smelled even worse up close—sweat from the press of bodies, smoke and chemical from tannery and blacksmith, tobacco from shoppers, and fish and spices from the inns scattered up and down the district. More guards walked the street, though most had a lazy attitude, weapons held in a desultory manner, armor ill-fitting or sloppy. Posters of Anaxos covered nearly every flat surface, likenesses rendered by someone with a flattering eye, and enumerating the king's every good deed.

  Cord led us down a side street and up a set of stairs attached to a two-story stone building set just a little way from the road, tearing down posters as he passed them. Squatters eyed us as we entered, Cord pushing the heavy wood door aside, then shutting them and the majority of the scents of the city out. The place was spacious and furnished, if sparse, and clean. An unlit fireplace stood against one wall, but we had no need to light it. Thankfully, it was still summer, but it always summer in the Veldt, some effect of an unseen enchantment, and one the kingdom exploited for years.

  "Vacation home?" I asked Cord.

  He smirked and plopped down on an overstuffed couch, setting his feet on a long table before it.

  "Why'd you throw away the papers?" Rek asked.

  "Ah, that's a good question," Cord said.

  Lux wandered over to a similar couch and flopped into the cushions.

  "You didn't trust him, you cheeky devil," Lux said.

  Cord nodded. "He would've had the guards on us in an hour. He's not just a fence, he's the most dishonest crook I've ever known. This'll keep 'em running for a bit. Besides, I know a couple of groups looking for that boat. He'll be tied up for days."

  I grinned. "You set the mages and the soldiers on him."

  Cord shrugged. "He's a fucker. They'll be here in a couple days, rough him up, piss in his wine. You know what they say—rats get uh..."

  "Stitches?" Rek supplied.

  Cord frowned. "I was gonna say dead, but you've always been a softy."

  "Now what?" I asked, breaking the conversation.

  "We need supplies. Various and sundry. Marvelous and wondrous."

  "How much of that slipweed did you smoke?" I asked.

  Cord held his hands apart about a foot. "Just a little."

  "Shit. Okay, you need to sober up."

  "Fuck sober. We need to move. Midian doesn't wait, and neither should we. We'll split into two groups. Lux—go with Rek. I need you to visit a woman on the south side. She's a genius with chemicals. Her name's Mere. Ask for the Hollow Hills special, but do not let her talk you into eating anything in the shop. She loves to experiment. Nenn, you're with me. We're going to visit a key maker just down the street."

  We left the building, splitting up when we hit merchant's row. We waited a bit for the other group to disappear down a side street before Cord led us down another alley. The walls narrow, the spaces empty but for the occasional vagrant. Some
called out to Cord, and he stooped to talk to them, slipping them a coin here or some morsel of food he hid in his pockets. In their hands, they held scraps of paper, and as I passed, one slipped one into my hand. It was a likeness of Cord, or at least I thought it was supposed to be.

  "You're famous," I said.

  Cord grinned. "Yeah, that's got to bug the shit out of Mane. I hope his chicken tastes like chicken assholes every time he thinks of me."

  "You ever think you're helping him?"

  "How's that now?"

  "Men in power need boogeymen. They need people to be pissed at something so they don't notice the robbery at home."

  Cord held up the flyer. "Backfired, didn't it? What this idiot did was let his fear get the better of him. He's made me a hero."

  "Hero doesn't sound right."

  "I'm a legend, Nenn. It's only a matter of time before someone builds a statue."

  I snorted.

  "I just hope they get the cock right," he muttered.

  As we moved among the denizens of the alley, he glad-handed and coddled, smiled and cajoled, and they responded like moths to a flame. Cord might have been a bastard, but he was a likeable one.

  Still, the closeness of the walls made me nervous. We couldn't afford a death here. The plan had a timeline, and in order to pull it off, we needed to meet it without distraction. Even Cord dying could set us back up to a week. Cord would have cursed me for putting that out there, so when the men with knives showed up at the end of the alley, I cursed myself and pulled my blades free.

  I shoved Cord behind me, and he disappeared behind a wall of the dispossessed. I was glad for their protectiveness toward their savior. I turned my attention to our would-be assailants, and gave them a grin. One on three isn't even close to fair. At least, for them.

  Two knives left my hands as soon as Cord was clear, sinking into tender throats, spraying the walls with crimson as the men fell, choking on their own blood. The third man, lurking behind the other two, stepped forward, and I saw why he'd lurked. It looked like someone piled muscle on top of muscle, making a small mountain of meat. Beady eyes peered from beneath a floppy haircut. He held a longsword, telling me he wasn't a genius, at least. Big blades are hard to swing in small spaces. I counted the advantage as mine.

  I stepped back, waiting for him to come to me. He stared for a moment, chest heaving. Maybe he wasn't completely dumb. I decided to test that theory.

  "Hey lumpy, this blade's pretty hungry. Looks like you could feed it for days. I mean, your buddies there are already sating my other knives."

  He looked down, face reddening, and back up. One leg moved forward ponderously, then he pushed off, and was moving faster than his bulk would seem to allow for. I waited, and he swung the sword. I slipped back, letting it hit the bricks to one side, and ran at him in a sudden rush, feet finding purchase on the wall. He looked up in time to see my blade come down, digging into his shoulder. He screamed and I used it to spin myself around, my last blade snapping out and coming across his throat, ripping windpipe and carotid. His sword dropped from nerveless fingers, and I landed on his back as he fell, riding him to the ground. I hopped off and sheathed my daggers.

  Cord emerged from the crowd, which melted back into the shadows. He chuckled.

  "My blades are hungry," he said, mocking me.

  "Hey."

  "Where did you learn that?"

  "I read," I said defensively.

  "Okay," he said, and pushed past me, stepping over the bodies.

  I stopped long enough to check them for sigils or markings. On each, I found an eagle tattoo on their right shoulder. I caught up to Cord.

  "Eagle tattoos."

  "Oh good," Cord said. "That was quicker than I'd expected."

  "What was?"

  "Mane knows we're here. Or suspects it. Those are his mercenary guard."

  "This is bad, right?"

  "Normally I'd say yes, but in this case, it means he's already paranoid."

  "How is that good?"

  "Paranoid people do stupid things."

  "Ah."

  He nodded and stopped walking. We'd arrived at the back door to a small shop. Cord rapped on it three times, then waited. After a moment, the door opened a crack, and a thin dark face peered out.

  "Cord," the man said.

  "Leck," Cord replied.

  "Cord."

  "Leck."

  "Cord," Leck was becoming agitated.

  "Lec-"

  "Sonovabitch. Do you have it or not?" Leck finally sighed.

  Cord rummaged around in his jerkin and produced a carved pipe.

  "Where'd you get that?" I asked.

  "Hm? Oh, Torlc had extras."

  "That's impressive. I didn't even see you steal it."

  "I am impressive. You hear that, Leck?"

  Leck sighed, and held his hand out the door. Cord stuck the pipe in it, and the hand pulled back, the door opening gently. We stepped into the dim shop. Every manner of mechanism and carving decorated the walls, the space filled with a vaguely persistent and annoying ticking. He led us to a set of benches where moulds and scraps of metal took up nearly as much space as carved birds, pipes, and flowers.

  "Your turn." Cord said.

  Leck held up a key—though unlike any I'd seen before. Four-sided, and each head had a different configuration of teeth. Cord took it and slipped it into his jerkin.

  "Whaddya need that for, anyway?" Leck asked.

  Cord shrugged. "You collect pipes, I collect keys."

  "Weird, but okay."

  A bell in the front of the shop jingled, and I peeked through the separating curtain. Two men, wearing simple leather armor entered. They carried short blades on their hips, and an eagle crest emblazoned across their chests.

  "Coming," Leck called.

  I moved to Cord's elbow. He was picking up various keys and slipping them into his jerkin beside the other.

  "What are you doing?" I hissed.

  "Lotta doors out there."

  "Okay, but we need to use one right now."

  "Ah. Guards?"

  "Two, in the front."

  "Then out the back it is. Like—"

  "Don't," I warned, as we made our way to the door.

  "Like poo," Cord finished.

  "Gods damn it," I swore as we slipped out the back.

  Camor's Puckered Asshole Has A Nice Ring to It

  Cord led us down the alley apace, juking left and pulling me after him into a space where the intersection of three similar-looking buildings formed an optical illusion of a wall. We sunk deeper into the craftsman district, and the sounds of running feet passed us by. We leaned against a wall, holding our breath until they'd faded, then continued on via a snakelike route that skirted, but never left, the quarter.

  For a short while, the sounds of shouting and citizens calling for help drifted to us. Cord clenched his jaw at the noise, but said nothing. He knew as well as I did to get involved now would just get us killed. When it finally stopped, we made our way back to the safe house. These alleys were empty, dirtier than the ones we'd passed through before. Foul-smelling puddles congealed on the cobbles and even the birds that scavenged the city found little of interest here. The walls were crumbling, and the whole area smelled of mold and disrepair. It seemed Anaxos was more concerned with keeping up appearances than keeping the city from collapsing on itself.

  As we walked, I stayed a rough step behind Cord, eyes on the dark places where anyone could just pop out and gut us. Anxiety balled up my stomach, and a sullen silence filled the alleys. Finally, I broke the quiet, just hoping to dispel the bleak curtain.

  "Do you trust Leck?" I asked.

  Cord shrugged, the motion twitching his jerkin. "As much as I trust anyone."

  "What if they put him to the question?"

  "They won't."

  "Why's that?"

  "He knows where the bodies are buried. Who do you think designs most of the city's locks? Besides, he's got a small fortune i
n that collection of his, and it's not all licit. Giving me up means casting light in his own closet."

  We turned a corner and passed into the craftsman's quarter once again, some distance from our safe house, but unnoticed. The street cleared of guards, and though some of the passersby still looked fearful, the general atmosphere had relaxed. As we walked through the crowd, Cord winked at a young lady with dark hair and almond eyes, her cheeks lighting in a blush. I opened my mouth to chastise him when he did the same to a man with a barrel chest and thick forearms. I watched, bemused, as the man blinked and looked away, and then we were past them.

  "You ever been in love, Cord?"

  "Of course. I usually fall in love at least once per city."

  "Not what I meant."

  "Oh, you mean the real thing," he was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Not enough time for all that. Besides, I'd be a terrible father."

  "Okay, then why all this? In the stories, when someone wants to teach someone a lesson, it's because they've been broken or betrayed, or their true love was killed."

  Cord made a face. "Anyone that needs an inciting incident to do the right thing probably wasn't all that good of a person to begin with, I'd think. What kind of books are you reading, anyway?"

  "Adventures."

  "Don't have enough of your own?"

  We turned another corner, coming on the safe house. My retort died on my lips. Rek and Lux stood around the stairs, waiting for us. Blood covered the front of Rek’s torso, and Lux's tunic had several tears in it outlined in crimson, none of which seemed to bother her.

  "What in Camor's puckered asshole happened here?" I asked.

  Lux looked paler than normal. "We were jumped outside the chemist's. Barely got away."

  "But you got the acid?" Cord asked.

  Rek grunted and handed over a small lead vial he'd produced from his belt. Cord grinned and climbed the stairs into the safe house.

  "A thanks would be nice!" Rek called up after.

  "Thanks for not breaking this!" Cord yelled back.

  Rek growled, and we followed him into the house.