As they ran into the shadows, Sandis pulled one of his shirts out of his bag and threw it over Bastien. Black ashes, these people ruined all of his clothes.
Police whistles pierced the night air.
Rone glanced back toward the burning building.
He’d failed again. That stranger would have killed him had Sandis and her numen not shown up. He would have taken all of the vessels, and it would have been Rone’s fault for not realizing he’d been followed.
Worse, the man in black was still alive.
Sandis grabbed his elbow and pulled him down the road. Kaili and Rist were already at the end of it, Kaili waving frantically for them to follow. Her pale face shone like the moon. Hopefully she hadn’t reopened her wound.
Running. Right.
Picking up his feet, Rone peered one more time at the fire behind him.
Watching his mother’s old flat go up in flames only served to remind him of how much he was going to miss her.
“Set him over here.” Kaili placed a tattered blanket on the cement floor in the hallway of the makeshift living space Rone and the others had retrieved her from roughly twenty-four hours earlier. The light was darker than dim, thanks to the shortage of lamps burning in the underground tunnel, but it was out of the way and, for now, safe.
Rone tried to set the unconscious Godobian down as gently as he could, but his shoulder pulled as he did, and Bastien sort of flopped onto the blanket. Rone kicked up a corner to cover the vessel’s manhood.
Wincing, Rone rubbed his shoulder—the same one that had been crushed in that sewer collapse three years ago. The one Sandis had fixed. Apparently carrying dead weight halfway through the city was bad for it. Rolling his neck, Rone stepped back and examined the rest of their new hideout.
The other misfits who occupied the underground tunnel were spread out, quiet, and kept to themselves, from what Rone could tell. Rist and Kaili’s offshoot of the tunnel was sizable, if dark, comprised of a wide but short hallway, an old storage room, and a large closet. The fact that the others hadn’t crept in during Rist and Kaili’s time away meant Rist had probably done a good job marking his territory earlier. Some of the walls still had hooks and nails in them, perhaps to hang orders or damaged goods returned from the warehouse. An abandoned wheeled cart acted as a sort of door.
“Get some rest, wherever you can,” Kaili murmured. She rolled her shoulder, as if unable to believe her back had healed. “We don’t have much, but—”
“It’s fine. This is plenty,” Rone said.
Kaili offered Rone a small smile before slinking off into the larger room, where Rist brooded like a thundercloud. Rone felt much the same way.
Twice. Twice now, Rone had fallen to this stranger. And he hadn’t just lost by a few points—he’d gotten pummeled. If Ireth hadn’t come galloping in . . .
It occurred to him that the stranger hadn’t seemed surprised to see Rone uninjured, his leg completely healed. How long had the guy been watching him?
Grumbling, Rone pushed his hand back through his hair. His shoulder tightened in protest. Kneading his fingers into the muscles at the base of his neck, Rone ventured toward the smaller room, moving past the Godobian in the hallway.
Sandis sat on the floor, her eyes heavy, her knees pulled to her chest. She’d lit one of the candles from his pack and placed it on a shelf jutting from the wall. Her skirt had crinkled around her hips, exposing most of her legs. Smooth, flawless legs. The candlelight flickered across them and danced in her tired eyes. She simply stared at it, as though lost in thought.
Pulling his hand from his neck, Rone lingered in the doorway. “You okay?”
Without looking at him, she nodded. A few heartbeats later, she said, “Thank you for carrying him.”
Rone glanced behind him to where Bastien slumbered. He tried to wake the guy, but he was out cold. Would be until morning, maybe afternoon.
He sighed. “Thanks for saving me. I’m sure you wouldn’t have minded if that guy had taken me out.”
She turned to him, her brows drawn together, giving him the sort of look that punched him in the gut.
Black ashes, she could knock him out faster than the stranger.
“How could you say that?” she asked.
Rone straightened. “How could I not?” When the look didn’t relent, he added, “God’s tower, Sandis. I sold you. I abandoned you. You lost Ireth . . . It’s a wonder you talk to me.”
She hugged her knees closer to herself. “Your mother . . . You had to save her, Rone. I understand that.”
“Then why do you treat me like . . . like some kind of executioner?” His voice was a little too loud for the quiet place. He took another step into the room, his heart beating too fast. “Like I’m only here out of necessity? God’s tower, Sandis. I’m trying—”
His voice hitched on that last word, and his mouth snapped shut to swallow the sound of weakness, the sound that threatened to reveal the hurt that clung to his insides like leprosy. He rubbed his eyes, reasserting control. When he dropped his hand, Sandis was looking at the candle again, only her eyes glistened with tears and her fingers gripped the folds of her skirt, knuckles threatening to pop. The sight bruised him too deeply to be borne. Black ashes, when had he become so soft?
“I tried to apologize,” she whispered.
“I’m not talking about that.”
She didn’t respond.
Crouching at his bag, he grabbed his last set of clothes and stepped back into the hallway. “Get some sleep.”
“But where will you—”
Rone shut the door behind him, pulled the shirt over his head, and lay down on the cement floor across from Bastien.
He didn’t sleep well.
Bastien was still out when Rone finally got up for a meager breakfast in the morning. He dug his fingers into the stiff muscles around his bad shoulder, trying to loosen them up, but immediately stopped when Sandis stepped into the small space between the two rooms, combing her fingers through her tresses. She was pale, droopy eyed. Unrested. Nightmares. Rone knew it instantly. At least they hadn’t been horrid enough to make her scream again.
Kaili, full of color and energy thanks to the amarinth, scrounged up a few apples—if Bastien didn’t wake up soon, maybe Rone would eat his.
He had just taken his second bite of the first fruit when he noticed their numbers. He asked, “Where’s Rist?”
Kaili swallowed her own mouthful. “He left about an hour ago.”
Rone paused before taking his third bite, a spike of panic lancing him. “What? Where?”
Kaili blinked. “To look for a job. He had a lead with a smelting company before—”
“Are you kidding me?” Rone dropped the apple and crouched down, forcing his voice to lower. “We. Are. In. Hiding. He can’t go to work! What if he’s followed? Black ashes and hellfire.” A headache sparked behind his eyes. “We don’t know what happened to the stranger. We don’t know if he lingered, ran, or actually got hurt. There are too many unknowns in this situation. Rist leaving is a huge risk. Did he at least take back routes?”
Kaili turned to Sandis, as if expecting her to save them from Rist’s idiocy. Sandis looked just as alarmed as Rone felt. “I don’t know. He was hoping to . . . pick up more medicine for me, too.” Her voice drifted.
Rone cursed again. “How far away is he?”
Kaili considered. “The smelting factory is about a forty-five-minute walk.”
He cursed a third time.
Apparently three was the charming number, because Kaili bristled. “What? Kazen doesn’t know where we are, and that man is dead—”
“He’s not dead.”
Kaili gaped.
Rone rubbed his eyes with his middle finger and thumb. “I don’t know how injured he is, but looked to me like he cleared the window. Our best bet is that he’s too crispy to be looking for us today.”
Sandis put a hand on Kaili’s knee.
Rone rolled his lips together. Thoug
ht for two seconds. “We should leave anyway. There are too many witnesses down here. I know a few places that rent on cash alone, no papers. Places easy to abandon. Maybe the warehouse next door has space until we find something better.”
Kaili hugged herself. “We don’t have money to—”
“I’ll cover your expenses, okay? But Rist has to forfeit the job.”
“We can only hope,” Sandis said, much softer than he’d been speaking, “that you and Rist aren’t targets. Kazen wants you, yes, but Bastien and I can host larger numina. If Kazen’s attention, and this stranger’s, is focused on us, Rist will be okay.”
Kaili paled, then reached back as if to feel her script. “Kuracean is only a level lower than Ireth.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Sandis said, “One level matters, where Kolosos is concerned.”
She tensed then. Squeezed her eyes shut.
Rone tensed, too.
“Sandis?” Kaili asked.
To Rone’s relief, Sandis relaxed a second later. “Nothing. Just a headache.”
She was getting good at lying.
“I-I don’t know when he’ll get home.” Kaili dropped her hand. “If he gets hired, maybe not until after dark. We can’t leave before then; he won’t know where to find us. I can look into the warehouse—”
Rone shook his head. “No, we’ll stay here. Hole up.” He sighed. “I don’t think our cover is blown yet. If Kazen’s lackey had followed us a second time, he would have already carried Sandis off with him.”
Kaili asked, “Why Sandis?”
“She’s the lightest. Easiest to carry away.”
Sandis averted her eyes. His guilt grew thorns. He couldn’t stay here idle all day. He just couldn’t. Maybe . . .
Rone nodded, paused. “But there’s something I can do while we’re waiting.”
Both women looked at him.
“The Riggers might have information about the stranger.”
Kaili frowned. “You just said we should lie low.”
“I also would like to know more about our enemy and, Celestial willing, find us a new hideout where a hundred or so mobsters can stand between him and us.” Rone tried to keep the annoyance from his voice, but judging by the way Kaili’s eyebrows tensed, he hadn’t done a very good job.
“There’s always the cathedral,” Sandis suggested, mouselike. “If we’re careful, we can take a day there.”
He rubbed his eyes. “When will Bastien wake up?”
“Soon.” Sandis’s voice was quiet, her eyes focused on the Godobian.
“Your ammo?”
Her gaze switched to him. “I have plenty. But Rone—”
“You’ll be fine, then. Only one entrance to guard.” He stood. They would be fine. As for Rist, Rone could only hope. When he got back, they’d all be in danger, but Rone had until nightfall, if Kaili was right.
Rone desperately wanted to feel useful. If nothing else, he could buy medicine and clothes. At least he had confidence in his bank account.
The dawn had only just begun to break up the dark blues of the sky when he emerged on the street, using the same grating in the alley Rist had used to get them down there. He made sure he wasn’t seen before venturing to the main road, noting that he still smelled, faintly, of smoke. Better than sewage.
The sun had risen by the time he reached the three-story boardinghouse on the corner in the heart of the smoke ring. People already milled out in the streets, some dragging screaming children, others pushing their way through the masses to get to work. A young girl set up her newspaper stand, getting ready to hawk the day’s stories, and a carriage pushed through the masses, the driver cursing out those who crossed in front of him as he pulled back on his horses’ reins.
It struck him how normal the boardinghouse looked. A little rundown, but most buildings around here were. Sludge dropped by years of rainfall stained the sides of the place, and nearly every room with a window was unlit.
The bit that ruined the illusion was the darkly dressed man loitering near the narrow set of concrete stairs off the back of the property. The guy looked like he spent all his time doing pushups and eating steak.
The man noticed him approach and folded his arms, accentuating a large chest beneath a shirt that barely fit him. If this guy got angry, he’d likely lose a button. Yet when Rone got within a few paces, the guy’s stance relaxed.
“I need to speak with your boss.” Rone kept his voice low, his eyes trained on the guard. He had to be all confidence and determination with these people.
To his relief, the man nodded. “Jase Kipf has been greened,” he said, whatever that meant. “Go down the stairs. Rufus will help you from there.”
Rone slipped by the guard and took the stairs down. He opened the door at their base, only to meet two more men just as large as the first. The one with the darker complexion said, “I know you.”
“I hope so. Your friend said Rufus would take me to Sherig.”
The lighter-haired brute grinned. He was missing two teeth, and one of his canines was gold. “This way, then. I trust you don’t have any weapons?”
Rone checked his pockets. He was fairly certain the amarinth didn’t count as a weapon, and it was spent anyway, so he merely nodded. It would seem the Riggers were still grateful for the loot they’d raked in, because they didn’t check for themselves.
Rufus opened a side door and led Rone into the maze. It felt as though they were taking more left turns than before, and indeed, the door Rufus eventually opened didn’t reveal the “throne room,” but a small lounging area where Sherig reclined on a threadbare sofa. A cigar was tucked between her lips, and she was reading a book Rone recognized—the same romance novel he’d purchased for his mother for their journey to the border.
Huh.
A trio of red-eyed mobsters sat around a small round table, playing cards. Another snoozed in the corner, a half-empty, unlabeled bottle nestled in the crook of his arm.
Sherig glanced up from her book and grinned. “Well, well, well, look what the cat coughed up. Better make it quick; this story just got interesting.”
Rone folded his arms as Rufus retreated back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “Duke taking his shirt off?”
Sherig snorted and sat up, patting the cushion next to her. “You look like you got into a tussle. You got another tip for me, boy?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Rone came closer, suddenly self-conscious about the bruising around his nose. He chose to stand rather than get too comfortable with the woman who could order her underground army to draw and quarter him at any moment. “I’m hoping you have information for me.”
Sherig frowned. “I see how it is. And what do I get in return?”
Rone grumbled. He had some cash on him, but not a lot. “How about the fact that I didn’t take any of Kazen’s loot?”
The woman shrugged. “What do you want to know? I’m in the middle of a real good scene here, Jase.”
“I’m trying to find the name and location of a fighter-for-hire type. I’m guessing he’s around thirty-five years old, tall and thin. Really pale, with black hair. Knows seugrat impossibly well.”
Sherig opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, pondering. A few seconds passed before she said, “He doesn’t use the old style, does he?”
The question surprised him. “I’m . . . I’m not sure.”
“Pat. Pat!” Sherig shouted at one of the card players. “Go get Snuffs.”
The youngest man at the table laid down his cards. “Aw, come on, I’m about to win.”
“No, you ain’t,” chimed in the man to his left. “I can see yer cards.”
Pat growled and threw his hand on the table. “He’s sleeping anyway,” he muttered as he slipped out into the hallway.
Sherig wasn’t one for small talk—she returned immediately to her novel, as if Rone weren’t there. He didn’t mind. He took the opportunity to study the room—a shelf of cigar boxes, a few board games of all things, so
me dried fruit. There was a metal loop in the floor near the gaming table that looked like a hidden door of sorts—
“Don’t get comfortable with the place,” Sherig said without looking up from her book.
Rone frowned. “I take it you’re not up for playing hostess, should Sandis and I need it.” He didn’t mention the others. It would be easier to earn Sherig’s hospitality with two than with five, and if Rone got it, he’d figure out some way to weasel Bastien, Rist, and Kaili into the deal. He stupidly felt responsible for them, too.
Without looking up from her page, Sherig said, “I’ll have no grafters among my men.”
“I can make it worth—”
She interrupted the lie. “That was the law long before I ever took over, Rone.” She met his eyes. “There is a thick line that divides us from them, and mob law is the one law I will not break. Don’t ask me again, or I’ll break your fingers.”
Rone swallowed his irritation. “All of them?”
She didn’t respond, so Rone turned his eyes to the ongoing card game until Pat came back with a balding man whose tanned skin whispered of southern heritage.
“Snuffs”—Sherig set her book down again—“didn’t you once talk about some mercenary fellow who knows old-style seugrat? Maybe two years ago?”
The man paused for a moment, confused, then snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, Verger. That the one?”
“Hell if I know.” She turned back to her book.
Rone offered his description of the stranger, and when Snuffs started nodding, a spark of hope ignited in Rone’s gut.
“Sounds like the guy. Creepy fellow, real stoic?” Snuffs shuddered.
Rone nodded. “That’s him.”
“Name’s Verger. Scary guy. Wouldn’t want nothing to do with him myself, but Bens hired him out a couple times for touchy stuff.” The Rigger said the name Bens like Rone was supposed to know who he was. Another Rigger, he assumed.
“Competent guy, though. Doesn’t feel pain, I swear it. Doesn’t feel anything—the few times I saw him get injured, he reacted like a statue, but the guy moved like the wind.”
Doesn’t feel anything? Could this Verger have an amarinth? But no . . . Sandis had shot him, and the wound hadn’t healed—he’d still favored his bad arm back at Rone’s mother’s flat. Whatever it was that made the guy so unfeeling, it wasn’t Noscon magic.
Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2) Page 20
