The Palace Job

by Patrick Weekes

  The Palace Job: A Novel

  Published by Tyche Books Ltd.

  www.TycheBooks.com

  Copyright 2012 by Patrick Weekes

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9878248-6-8

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9878248-7-5

  Cover Art by Lili Ibrahim

  Cover Layout by Lucia Starkey

  Interior Layout by Tina Moreau

  Editorial by M. L. D. Curelas

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead would be really cool, but is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Author Biography

  Acknowledgements

  This novel would not have been possible without the love, support, and occasional head-smacking I received from a great many people:

  My mom, dad, and sister, for buying me every Hardy Boy book in existence, and then later every David Eddings book, thus ensuring that I grew up with a love for mystery and fantasy and a strong allergic reaction to sunlight.

  Pat Murphy and Karen Joy Fowler, who tirelessly worked through my "undergraduate who just read Ulysses" phase in Science Fiction Writing at Stanford, and who didn't mention to the department that I took their class three separate times.

  All the wonderful people at Strange Horizons, the science fiction webzine whose intelligent multicultural criticism gave me the nerve to not make Loch a white guy.

  My writing buddies from Clarion West, Second Draft, and the Penny Arcade Writer's Block, who critiqued not only this book but the additional 30,000 words that were quite necessarily cut from it—especially Jennifer Whitson and Miriam Hurst, who read multiple drafts and patiently pointed out when I was, as they say in better parts of the Net, Wearing No Pants.

  And of course, Margaret Curelas and Tina Moreau at Tyche, who took a chance on a heist caper in which a talking warhammer and a unicorn are important plot characters.

  Most of the good parts of this work, I owe to the great folks above. The clunky bits are all mine.

  — Patrick Weekes

  Dedication

  For the Damsel, whose love, humor, and compassion made me a better man:

  Thank you for helping me take pride in making people laugh.

  One

  The rulers of the Republic lived atop the great flying city of Heaven's Spire, their magnificent palaces soaring above the world. From their great manses in the sky came the laws and decrees that kept the country in motion, and the commoners on the ground could look up every morning and see their rulers overhead.

  The prisoners of the Republic lived beneath the great city of Heaven's Spire, scouring the lapiscaela whose magic kept the city aloft. For their terrible crimes, each man and woman served a life sentence, clinging to the pipes with only a mile of empty air beneath them. There was no chance of release, no hope of escape.

  Today, however, Loch intended to change that.

  "You sure this is the best way?" Kail asked. Like Loch, he clung upside-down to the pipes that anchored the lapiscaela in place, gripping a side-rail with one hand and his scouring broom with the other.

  Loch nodded, giving him a lopsided grin, but said nothing. She was a tall, dark-skinned woman, muscular enough that she hadn't needed the protection of the women's gangs when she'd arrived last month. Her only concession to safety had been the silence she had maintained since arriving. An old superstition among the Republic's criminals held that old magic in the lapiscaela would steal the souls of prisoners who talked near them.

  "Jeridan doesn't have what we need yet," Kail noted, "and we still haven't talked price."

  Loch shrugged. They had to move while they were still newcomers, watched carefully and checked for signs of resistance. And, frankly, if she had to clean a damn magical rock with a damn magical broom one more time, she was going to go crazy and jump.

  "Your confidence is inspiring, Captain. I'd follow you to the ends of the world if we weren't already in prison." Kail grinned sourly, his teeth bright white against his dark face, and swung himself upright. His leg-chain rattled against the pipes. "Whenever you're ready. No sense in putting in a full day's work."

  Loch pulled herself up, her scouring broom tucked casually under one arm, so that they stood atop the pipe grid. Around them, other prisoners scurried, dull gray in their prison worksuits and lit from below by the great magical stones that kept the city in the sky.

  A double grid of pipes secured the lapiscaela. During the day, when they caught light reflected from the great mirrors that hung along the rim of Heaven's Spire, the power of the enormous violet crystals held the city aloft, and the upper grid of pipes held them in place. At night, the stones sank down to rest in the lower grid, which held them safely while reserve-enchantments kept the city aloft until sunrise.

  It was vital that the lapiscaela remain free of dust or grime to maximize the absorption of sunlight. When the ancient magic that polished the crystals failed, the most dangerous prisoners in the Republic had been pulled into unwilling service in what had come to be called the Cleaners, scouring the lapiscaela with special brooms enchanted to clear away the toughest dirt without risking a damaging scratch to the crystal surface. It was said that in the Cleaners, a prisoner's broom was worth more than his life.

  Loch looked around, held her scouring broom out at arm's length, and let go.

  The broom clanged off the lapiscaelum they'd been assigned to clean, rang off the lower grid, and then fell into the distance.

  Kail shook his head. "That should get their atten—"

  "Broken chain!"

  Loch and Kail turned toward the call, as did every prisoner on the grid. The rattle of leg-chains and the slow grunts of labor went deathly still.

  "It's Soggs!" someone called. "South side. He's still got a grip!"

  Loch took the grid-path at a run, one arm grabbing the cross-pipes for balance as she dashed along the narrow surface, the other yanking on her leg-chain as it rattled and jangled behind her. Kail was close behind. The other prisoners watched them run by, some shouting encouragement, most silent. "Which rock? Upper grid or lower?" Kail shouted.

  "The Tooth! Lower grid!" Loch grimaced at the reply. The lapiscaela were irregularly shaped, like natural boulders. The Tooth was a jagged stalactite that hung down like a dragon's fang, its irregular shape so unusual that it necessitated a special frame to lock it into place. The Tooth had killed more men than any other stone on the grid. At the Cleaners, prisoners kept track of that sort of thing.

  Loch and Kail had almo
st reached the Tooth when their pipes hit a junction.

  "Guard!" Kail hollered. "We've got a man loose!"

  Loch hit the corner as if she hadn't seen it, and her leg-chain snapped taut with a metallic twang that echoed across the grid.

  Looking down, Loch could see Soggs—an older man, not a killer, probably in for something he wrote or said or sang—clinging to a tiny spur on the great violet stone. His leg-chain snapped and jingled as he struggled to pull himself up.

  "Guard!" Kail's voice bounced tinny echoes off the shadowed grid. "Switch me over!"

  There was no way Loch could reach Soggs, not if she kept an arm on the pipes, probably not even if she leapt and trusted in her leg-chain to hold both their weights. She gripped the pipes until her knuckles turned white, keeping a scream of frustration in check through sheer willpower.

  There were murderers and worse at the Cleaners. Soggs wasn't one of them.

  "Guard!" Kail hollered up to the observation level. "Move your damn ass!"

  In the maze of gray metal pipes lit from below by the vivid glow of the lapiscaela, the prisoners were completely alone.

  "It's too far, Loch." Kail gripped the pipes.

  Loch nodded, then extended a hand without looking at Kail.

  With a sigh, he handed her his broom. "Soggs! She's coming!"

  Soggs could see Loch through the grid of pipes between them. He looked into her dark eyes and nodded even as his sweat-slicked hands began to slip.

  When she leapt, her whole body stretched to a single line that shattered into pain when her leg-chain stopped her fall. Soggs leapt as best he could for the broom she held extended for him.

  He was perhaps a handbreadth short.

  If he'd had a foothold to give him purchase, he might have reached her, even with Loch stuck on the wrong pipe and too far away.

  Instead, one more prisoner escaped the Cleaners the only way he could.

  He was too small to see after a few seconds, but everyone kept looking. The grid was silent but for the soft tinkle of chains tapping the pipes, and the regular, rusty squeak as Loch swung back and forth, her shackle digging into her ankle and the useless broom clutched in both hands.

  Then Tawyer, one of the guards, slowly clambered down from one of the topside hatches, grunting as he hopped down. "You don't watch your tone, Kail, you'll spend the night dangling," he said easily. "Guards don't come down without a flying charm, no matter how you holler." He stepped lightly past where Kail stood silent and tight-fisted, then looked down at Loch. "So, your mute friend slipped, did she? Hey, Loch, you hold onto that broom or it's coming out of your hide!"

  Tawyer chuckled. "Don't worry, boy. You two are good workers. We won't let her fall." He unlocked Kail's leg-chain, locked it back onto another pipe, and gestured for Kail to help Loch. "Byn-kodar's hell," he added with a laugh that echoed off the silent grid, "I had money on her to catch the bastard!"

  Warden Orris huffed into the medical clinic where Prisoner Loch was being tended for cuts on her leg. Her hands and feet were shackled, as were those of Jeridan, a prisoner stocking supplies under a guard's watchful eye. Most prisoners hunched over a bit or shuffled when the shackles were put on, but Loch sat calmly, back straight, as a nurse applied the bandages.

  This had to be handled carefully, she thought. Too soft, and he'd ignore it. Too hard, and he'd snap right here. She gave him a look devoid of anger or curiosity.

  She knew Warden Orris didn't like her. It was probably her Urujar blood. Orris acted like he had Old Kingdom blood, and a dark-skinned woman who didn't act properly respectful would naturally put his back up. The fact that she was only half-Urujar would make him even angrier.

  Orris waved the nurse and the guard out of the room, then stood before Loch, waiting expectantly. Jeridan put tools on the shelf, his shackles jangling.

  "The guards tell me you lost a broom today," Orris finally said, pulling his jowly cheeks into a friendly smile. "Dropped your own and took someone else's to make up for it."

  Loch said nothing.

  "That's the story I heard, anyway. If you have a different story, I'd like to hear it." Orris gave her an encouraging smile.

  She still said nothing.

  "Loch, I want to help you here," Orris said, frowning. "I've tolerated this attitude... but that equipment you lost has to be paid for... one way or another." He tried a different smile this time. Across the room, Jeridan blanched and went back to stocking the shelves with jerky movements. His chains rattled more loudly.

  A long and silent moment passed.

  Orris wore a saber while at work, and he yanked the blade from the sheath now. It was a fine weapon, with a brass-plated guard, contoured mahogany grip, and a name worked into the blade in intricate calligraphy. He leveled it at Loch. "What happened to Soggs can happen to you! You will give me the respect I deserve!"

  After another long moment, Loch gave him a low bow and shot him the tiniest suggestion of a smirk. He glared at her, so intent on catching the look that he completely missed the quick motion that sent several small tools into Jeridan's prison worksuit.

  "Have it your way!" Orris shouted, and turned and left without a backward look.

  When Orris was gone, Loch grinned. Perfect.

  She tapped the metal frame of the bed gently, catching Jeridan's eye. She raised an eyebrow, and the other prisoner grinned, gave her a tiny nod, and went back to stocking the supplies as the guard and nurse came back in.

  Back in his own office, Orris growled and tossed his grandfather's calvary saber onto the chair. Stupid, getting flustered like that. He was in charge. He could take care of her if she wouldn't learn respect. But he couldn't kill her—the Voyancy was already going to investigate the death of Soggs.

  Orris hung his grandfather's sword back up and asked his secretary to send for another prisoner.

  Akus arrived a few minutes later, a burly man shuffling jerkily in the leg-shackles. He'd torn the sleeves off the gray worksuit, revealing ropy masses of muscle and knife scars along both arms. Orris should have disciplined him for damaging his worksuit, but the big man bowed low, then grinned and said, "Afternoon, Chief," and Orris decided to let it slide.

  "I need a certain woman to have an accident." Orris smiled. "She needs to live, and I'll have to dangle you for a night afterward, but it'll pay."

  Akus snorted. "Pay don't much matter. She's gotta live, you said?"

  Orris nodded. "But anything short of killing her is fine." He leaned forward. "Anything."

  Akus's mouth twisted into a broken-toothed grin.

  The guards carried truncheons in the dining hall, since the dining hall was the only place aside from their own cells in which the prisoners were left unshackled. If the truncheons failed, the warden could activate a single crystal and send eldritch beams of energy sizzling across the metal floors, driving the prisoners to their knees in agony.

  Riots ended quickly at the Cleaners.

  Loch and Kail were waiting in line when Akus walked up and, without preamble, slammed his elbow into Loch's shoulder. "Hey!" he shouted. "Watch it! You messin' with me?"

  "Watch yourself," Kail shot back. "She didn't—" Akus flung out an arm, and Kail staggered back. Kail grabbed for a sword that hadn't been at his waist since his old military days with Loch, then lifted a flimsy tin dining tray. He stopped when a guard's truncheon tapped gently on his shoulder.

  "Settle down, son," Tawyer said affably. "You don't want more trouble." Using his truncheon, he gently steered Kail away from Akus and Loch.

  "You messin' with me?" Akus blocked Loch's path as she tried to walk around him. "You say you're sorry real nice, maybe I'll forget about it." Seeing the crowd of prisoners slowly gathering around them, Akus grinned. "I like you breaking your vow of silence just for me."

  Loch's eyes narrowed to thin slits, and she looked back at Kail. Kail gestured minutely at Tawyer, and Loch gave him a tiny nod, then turned around to walk the other way.

  Akus's shove sent her crashin
g into a flimsy bench that shattered under the impact, leaving her face-down in a pile of broken wood. "Don't you walk away from me!"

  "Got what you asked for," Jeridan murmured as Kail stepped back into the crowd, which was starting to yell encouragement now. "But it's going to cost you."

  "I'm a bit shy," Kail said, not making eye contact, "but if you're interested in a wager..."

  "Always." Jeridan was in the Cleaners for winning a lot of money from very important people.

  As Loch pushed herself to her knees, Akus kicked her hard in the side. "You're not gonna say my name, now. You're gonna scream it!"

  "I'd take twenty at four to one," Kail said by way of opening.

  Loch struggled back to her feet, and Akus strode over, shouting for the crowd, and pulled her to her feet by her thick black ponytail. She lashed out as she rose, her fists bloodying Akus's nose, and then broke his grip and slammed a fist into his broad gut.

  Akus grunted and took Loch clear off her feet with a single backhand. She rolled and came up shaking her head.

  "You had your chance," Akus growled. "Pulling your hair's the least I'm gonna do."

  "Two to one," Jeridan countered. "And at least a hundred, or why are we even talking?"

  "Fifty at three to one. I'm no good for a hundred."

  "Five to two?"

  "I can do that," Kail said, and the two men shook on it.

  Loch lunged in with high, fast jabs, but Akus had his hands up in a brawler's guard, and Kail heard him laughing as the smaller woman pounded his arms ineffectually. Then he ducked down, wrapped his arms around her knees, and yanked up. Loch slammed back onto the metal floor with a hiss of breath and rolled away desperately.

  The crowd roared its approval.

  "I'm impressed by your confidence," Jeridan said conversationally. "But really, against Akus?"

  "Akus is the mighty oak," Kail said, "but Loch is the slender reed."

  Pausing to acknowledge the cheers, Akus grinned, then looked to the dining hall doorway. Warden Orris was standing there, a mad leer on his face. He gave Akus a little nod.

  As Loch pushed herself to her knees, leaning on the wall for support, Akus raised one boot to crush her spine.