Once Called Thief

by Lexel J Green

  “No, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll keep him. He’s proved himself useful.”

  Invaluable actually.

  Zan-Naka leant back in his chair and rubbed his chin. He didn’t look convinced.

  “As you wish,” the Captain said. “But keep an eye on him. We still don’t know much about our Mulai friend. Although that is something I fully intend to rectify.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zan-Naka stared at him. Roon-Kotke waited for him to say something, but the Captain seemed lost in thought.

  “Uh, am I dismissed, sir?”

  “What? No. There’s one other thing… Have you settled your debts?”

  “Sir?”

  “Your gambling debts, Roon-Kotke. Twelve thousand crowns is quite a significant sum. Perhaps the debt weighs heavy upon you and it is affecting your performance? Gods, man. How did you lose that sort of money!? More importantly, how are you going to pay it all back?”

  “I’m taking care of it, sir.”

  “See that you do. I don’t want Hou-Mar’s thugs roaming near this fortress. I don’t want any distractions. We are close to clearing out all the gates and going home. To that end, I'm sending Rahi-Khun into gate twenty-two, so you and your team will wait for the locks on gate twenty-three to be opened. Technicians are working on it now. Use this spare time wisely. Rest up. Remember what I've told you. No more wholesale destruction. And for Arano's sake, no heroics. Keep it simple and by the book. You won't get another chance if you screw up another gate. You need this command to work if you're going to have any chance at restoring your family’s honour.”

  “Understood, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “Again.”

  “Beg your pardon, sir?”

  “You won’t let me down again.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  “Excellent. Then you are dismissed.”

  ***

  Ember met Roon-Kotke outside the Captain’s office and, as the Corporal emerged, he fell into step beside him. The flame-haired caster seemed rattled.

  “How did it go?” he asked, trailing Roon-Kotke along the narrow high-ceilinged corridor that led towards the Terminus.

  “As well as could be expected. I’m not as bruised and battered as I could have been, considering our mission was a spectacular failure.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. For what it’s worth, I think you made the right call. That sentry would have flamed one of us eventually. We were running out of solid wall to hide behind. Our options were limited.”

  “That’s not what the Captain said. He told me I should have fallen back. That was your advice wasn’t it?” The Corporal shook hid head. “I should have listened… Hard to believe you’re just a Caster, Cobb. You act as if you’ve commanded before.”

  “Me?” The position he once held in the Mulai legion known as the Old Hundredth seemed a world away, a lifetime ago. “No,” he lied, keen to keep his past a secret. “I’ve watched some great Captains and Colonels work; admired their strategies and tactics. Some of it has no doubt sunk in. I’m all talk. Pay me no heed.”

  “Gods, I just need a break. Just a straightforward mission, that’s all I ask. No bloody spiders or spouters or oconic sentries messing it up. Something simple. Like picking up a hundred Witching Jars on a quiet beach. Or finding an underground facility that’s completely deserted, the Weapon we seek just sitting there in the middle of it, a huge metal sphere waiting to be claimed. Then my only worry would be how to get the bloody thing home. The Weapon you’ve described sounds bigger than an oconic gate.”

  “If we do find another Weapon, I’ll bet that it won’t look the same as the one in the Hourglass. The stories say that no two were made alike…”

  “So it could be anything? We could already have missed it! Walked right by without even realising.”

  “I doubt that. You’ll know when you find one. The Weapon I’ve seen is… It’s almost alive, humming and pulsing, blackiron skin creaking. You can feel it before you even see it. A knot in your stomach. Hairs on your arms standing on end. A sense of unease. Like the world is somehow wrong. Felt anything like that?”

  Roon-Kotke shook his head.

  “Then the Weapon your Captain seeks is still out there somewhere. How many gates are left? Eight? Maybe the next one will be easier. Maybe the Weapon will lie inside and maybe you’ll be the one to find it.”

  “Or maybe the Captain was right. Maybe he made a mistake promoting me and I’m not cut out to be a leader.”

  “You’re doing fine. Just had some bad luck, is all.”

  “Pah! Han would do a better job than me. Hells, you’d probably be better…”

  “I told you. I’ve no desire to lead. Besides, as the big bad Mulai in these parts, who would follow me?”

  “Actually, I think Junn would.”

  “Aye, but the kid’s not all there, is he?” They both laughed. “Did you know that he’s trying to teach me to read the Kajjon symbols on Witching Jars? Doesn’t seem to take ‘no’ for an answer… So what else did our esteemed Captain have to say?”

  “He gave me a not-so-gentle reminder of why we’re here. Told me to stop blowing things up.”

  “Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

  “He also wanted to know how you were working out.”

  Ember let out a breath. “He doesn’t like me. Doesn’t trust me. I get that. I represent everything you separatists are fighting against.”

  “Not necessarily. I joined up because I want Ocoscona to be independent again. I want us to be masters of our own destiny, ruled from Ocos not the Briar. As part of the Empire, we’re losing our identity. We’re forgetting our history. But I don’t hate the Mulai. They’ve never done me harm. Can’t say the same for the Captain though. He lost family during the Annexation. His grandfather, I believe. So he bears a grudge against your clan. A bloody big one. Being a separatist for a Zan isn’t just about independence, it’s about revenge. So don’t do anything to piss him off.”

  “I’ll keep my head down.”

  “You do that. I need you for the next gate.”

  Ahead, Rahi-Khun Ghandhan strode down the corridor, fully armoured in her legion blues, a picture of a snarling wolf stencilled across her breastplate. Her squad trailed behind her, almost running to catch up. Ember caught her eye and then looked away. Then looked back again, annoyed with himself for acting like a child. He nodded at her as she passed. She smiled back at him.

  Ember and Roon-Kotke watched her leave.

  “Are you going to talk to her?” asked the Corporal.

  “No.”

  “Why not? There’s obviously something between the two of you.”

  “There’s nothing…” That was a long time ago.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “It’s complicated.” I’m married. At least, I was… “Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Secrets you don’t want to share, eh?”

  You don’t know the half of it.

  ***

  As the door clicked shut behind Roon-Kotke, Zan-Naka Mindhan pulled open a desk drawer and started to rummage through its contents. He pulled out a stack of papers and began to thumb through them.

  “Daode!” he shouted, even though his assistant stood only a few strides from him. The wiry Ocosconan scuttled to his side. He stood to attention, hair slicked neatly forward, sky-blue tunic buttoned up to his neck, a silver buckle gleaming on his collar.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Where do we keep the transit documents?”

  “In the other drawer, sir.”

  Zan-Naka slammed the first drawer closed and pulled open the second one. He lifted out another pile of papers. But instead of flicking through them, he held the pile out to Daode. “Find one would you. Fill it out.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Daode took the papers and began to search through them. “Are you going on a trip, sir?”

  “No,” said Zan-Naka as Daode pulled out the transit document he
was looking for and held it up. “You are.”

  “Me, sir?”

  “You’re going to the Briar. Today, as a matter of fact.” Zan-Naka opened another drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book, its pages held closed with a loop of black string. “As you know, I have information on everyone who serves under my command.” He tapped his finger on the book’s cracked brown cover. “This file tells me where my casters were born, who their friends are, where they live, how they'll fit in, what their strengths are. You, for example, I know that while your mother is Ocosconan, your father is a Mulai caster; and that you failed the Testing. Twice.”

  Daode shuffled uncomfortably, thin smile slipping, albeit just for a moment.

  “But this Ember Cobb…” Zan-Naka shook his head. “I hardly know anything about him. I don’t know what he’s done or what he’s capable of. That irks me, Daode.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So it’s time I filled in the blanks. That’s why you’re going to the Briar. I want you to find out everything you can about this Ember Cobb. Who is he? What has he done? What is his connection to our Lord Su-Zo? I want to know everything. I want a file on him.”

  “How will I do that, sir?”

  “Use your initiative, Daode. You do have some, I hope? Find Cobb’s friends. If he has any. Talk to old casters. Bar owners. Shopkeeps and landlords. Everyone leaves a trail if you look long enough. Locate that trail. Follow it and see where it leads. Find Trur-Gem, get him to take you to Meiwu. Use that transit document to gate to the Imperial capital and back. And be quick about it. I want some answers. I want my file.”

  “Are we questioning the High Lord’s orders, sir? After all, he sent Cobb here…”

  “Are you questioning my orders, Daode?”

  “No, sir. I would never…”

  “I should think not. You have your task. See to it. I’m assuming that you want to do more with your career than file papers and bring me tea?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

  “Yet, you’re still here.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Daode backed away. “I’ll find Trur-Gem right away. I’ll dig out Ember Cobb’s secret. You can rely on me.”

  6. TWO-FOUR-THREE

  STONE HAD THE FEELING he was being followed.

  He and Yali had rinsed off their muddy legs at the Rey Street water pump and had gone their separate ways. From what he knew about her, the old scrapper rented a two-penny coffin at the Su Community Hostel, a stone’s throw from the river. Basic lodgings. Cheap and noisy. Rows of coffin beds stacked side-by-side. Old tarpaulins for blankets.

  He slept somewhere better. Or somewhere worse. Depending on how you looked at it. Better certainly than sleeping out on the streets, shivering under a damp bridge or sneaking into an empty storage shed. But worse than that dingy top-floor room with the red curtains he'd shared with his mother seven months ago. Far worse than the house he'd grown up in, the little two-up, two-down with the whitewashed walls and the apple tree in the garden.

  Wet sandals stuffed into the basket on his back, precious silver belt buckle tucked into the front pocket of his trews, he crossed Rey Street and headed for home. He walked barefoot, but with a spring in his step, buoyed by his unexpected windfall. He threaded his way through the afternoon crowd almost unnoticed. Those who did see him either wrinkled up their noses in disgust as he passed or clutched their purses tighter, judging him a picker of pockets. He knew a few boys who could lift a bag of coins and not get caught. But Stone knew his hands weren't that fast, his touch nowhere near as light.

  Besides, he had no desire to break the law. Yali had saved him. Shown him a different path. For that he’d forever be grateful. She had also warned him to watch his back. Especially if he was carrying anything of value.

  It was why Stone had the feeling he was being followed.

  Turning onto Gonjan Way, he stopped and turned around, looking for anyone who seemed out of place. But not looking like he was looking. There was an art to it. Since he’d been working the mud, he’d developed a keen eye for detail. But Gonjan Way looked the same as it always did, sounded the same, stank the same — raw fish, smoke, the nose-wrinkling stench of river filth. Perhaps he was imagining things. Carrying the silver buckle in his pocket was certainly making him jumpy. He couldn’t shake the gut-tingling worry that someone was about to steal it from him.

  But who?

  Two men struggled past him, carrying a wooden table for a well-dressed lady in a blue and white striped frock. Behind them, Stone’s gaze flicked across the row of wooden stalls selling fruit, vegetables, bread, fish, pots, pans, coats, dresses, books and all manner of household doodads he had no need for. He watched a fella hefting sacks of flour into a hand cart and noted a ragged little girl, ignored by a man sporting a brown bowler hat. The man looked more interested in a pretty young woman at a nearby flower-seller, a housemaid judging by the grey dress and white apron she wore.

  A black carriage clattered down the cobbles, pulled by a cotton-white oconic horse. Stone stepped back towards the sidewalk to avoid it, eyes now focused on the other side of the street. He spotted a woman with an outrageous yellow hat, a bored-looking Justice, a napping street sweep, a governess pushing a pram. A gent in a smart black suit gave a grubby rat catcher a wide berth, while a scarlet-clad messenger boy rapped impatiently on a brown-painted door, waiting for it to open.

  The local pickpockets weren’t tracking him either. Stone marked two, the Rook’s boys, leaning up against a stone wall stickered with posters for musical hall shows, druggist's dyes and Sunshine Soap. The pair of them were too busy eyeing cooling penny pies on an upturned crate, hoping for an opportunity to snatch one. Between the tides, he’d often sit on the embankment and watch the people of Ocos come and go. He knew who belonged in the flow of Gonjan Way and who didn’t.

  So who didn’t?

  He was missing something.

  One last look, he said to himself. Just to be sure.

  The men carrying the table had gone. The stalls were still busy, their owners shouting out their best prices and hollering the benefits of buying their wares. The fella hefting sacks of flour was taking a breather, hands on hips; the man in the bowler still watched the pretty housemaid, afraid to approach. On the opposite side, he spotted the outrageous yellow hat, the oconic carriage, the Justice, the street sweep, the ragged little girl, the rat catcher, the posh old gent and the messenger boy. The pickpockets too, skinny as rakes, still watching the purveyor of pies.

  Wait.

  Wait just a…

  His eyes flicked back to the young girl, dirty-faced and barefoot, her black hair chopped short, ragged as the old cotton dress she wore. Not with the man in the bowler then and now scoping him from the opposite side of the street. He stared at her. She back at him. Stone watched her eyes widen, her mouth hang open slightly, then she ducked into the crowd.

  Her.

  She was following him.

  Yali had warned him he might be hunted. By beggars seeking a handout or a thief down on his luck, looking for easier and smaller prey. He walked quickly, resisting the temptation to check the cobbles for lost pennies. Veering onto the sidewalk, he skirted around a cluster of chatting ladies, his bare legs suddenly prickled in the chill as he dodged into the shadow of Gonjan’s three-storey buildings. He pulled his cap down as the wind picked up and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. He assumed the girl would still be following him. But he was prepared for such an eventuality. He planned to lose her in Two-Four-Three.

  Number two hundred and forty-three to be precise, the trading premises for Lif-Mar Hrardhan, grocer and provision merchant. The black-fronted store hung with pots and pans, baskets and buckets, new brooms stacked like a rack of old spears alongside a tin bath (one previous owner) and three wooden stepladders (reduced to clear). Billboards in the windows advertised the ‘finest foreign fruits’, gold vinegar and the gut-friendly marvels of soup-thickening pea flour.

/>   “Got anything for me today, scrapper?” shouted the bald-headed shopkeep from the doorway. Stone shook his head and walked over.

  “No. But I think I'm being followed.”

  “Then come in.” Lif-Mar smoothed down his white apron and beckoned him forward. “Come in, lad. Come in. Who stalks you?

  Stone chanced a look back at the street. “A little girl.” It sounded silly soon as he’d said it, so he swiftly added: “a lookout, most likely. I could be a whistle away from getting turned over by a couple of bludgers.”

  Lif-Mar surveyed the street, arms crossed. “Aye, I see her. Outside the tea house opposite. Recognise her too. She’s a spotter for one of the scuttler gangs, Kur Street perhaps or those ruddy Eeners. Bloody nuisances both. You’re right to be cautious.”

  “Has she seen me?” Stone backed further into the store.

  Lif-Mar looked out. “Don’t think so.”

  “Can I cut through the back?”

  “Of course, lad.” The shopkeep nodded, ruffling Stone’s red hair. “You know the way. I'll keep an eye out for you. Distract her while you scarper. Give my best to your ma…”

  Stone darted through the store and into the back, nodding to Lif’s assistant as he passed. Then he unlatched the back door, which led to the alleyway behind. Watching his step, for the ground was spattered with night soil thrown from the windows above, he charged down the narrow passage. Picking up speed, he ducked through the broken boards of a fence, ran up a wooden staircase and across the flat roof of a brush maker, waving to the women working in the yard below. He jumped down the other side, landing in another muddy back street, one of the few still unpaved in the city. It was a mark of the disinterest the ruling council had with these ‘inbetweens’ — the rundown, half-forgotten neighbourhoods squeezed between the larger Ocos thoroughfares. Out of sight, out of mind.