Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  Drake grabbed half the heavy iron gate with both hands. “Benbow, Jasper, get the other side. Gilmartyn, help me. The rest of you make damn sure no one gets out that isn’t a soldier. Shoot anyone who tries to stop us; you got it?”

  The clock tower toppled with a loud crash, the bell clanging as the broken timbers fell. Screams and angry howls intensified, and shattering glass from the shops mixed in the chaos. Flames appeared in doorways, and Drake had hardly budged the gate when she spied a bloody form crawling out of the crowd. A filthy and starved-looking elph stood over him with a paving stone. The soldier on the ground looked up, and she knew him at once.

  “Emily! Help! Please!”

  Hayden? When did he sign on with the army? Without thinking, Drake drew a pistol and fired at the elph. She missed, hitting another in the back instead. Hayden vanished within the mob. Her brother’s gory hand stretched out from the churning mass.

  “Benbow, get the damn gate shut!” She thought, I’m going to regret this.

  She rammed her pistol into her belt and drew her knife. Then she ran through the gate and into the crowd. She kicked two elphs aside and dove for Hayden’s arm. Grabbing his sleeve and pulling, she scrabbled one-handed for better purchase. Everywhere, people were screaming in pain, anger, and fear. Smoke clogged the air as buildings caught fire. The smell of burning timbers mingled with the stench of unwashed bodies. Someone kicked her in the side. A rock crashed onto the cobblestones inches from her head. She felt hands groping for her pistol. She struck out with her knife hand without looking. Again she yanked on Hayden’s arm. Finally, she got a hold on him and pulled him to his feet. His relieved face was a mask of blood. One arm hung at a crooked angle. She staggered toward the gates but was brought up short by the gates swinging shut.

  “Benbow! Wait!”

  Benbow paused only to show her his ugly teeth by way of a smile and a farewell salute as the chains and locks were thrown into place.

  He’s taking a promotion. All this time, he waited. I gave him my fucking back! A fierce sense of rage and betrayal welled up inside her. If she could’ve willed the gates open, they would’ve swung wide fast enough to pin Benbow to the stone wall. “Goddamn you, Benbow! Open that damn gate! I’ll swiving rip your heart out and eat it if it’s the last swiving thing I do! My father’s Syndicate, you asshole! He’ll—” A numbing blow to the back of her head cut off the last of her threats.

  BLACKTHORNE

  NOVUS SALERNUM

  THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA

  TWENTY-FIRST OF MAITOKUU, 1785

  Clár Oibre Rúnda proved to be a swift and agile ship. Even after keeping to the Acrasian coast for a healthy distance, she made the journey to Novus Salernum in record time. They arrived on the evening of the twentieth, but since the harbor wasn’t open due to the city curfew, they’d dropped anchor and waited for morning several miles offshore. Upon arrival, Blackthorne accompanied Dylan Kask to register Clan Flounder’s ship Clár Oibre Rúnda with the assistant harbormaster. Dressed in borrowed clothes in order to play the part of a merchant of the middling sort, Blackthorne took charge of haggling. The standard negotiations resulted in a satisfying drop in harbor charges. He handed over the requisite fees, and no questions were asked. It was an auspicious start.

  So far, Blackthorne thought.

  “That was … expensive,” Dylan said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dock fee like that before. No wonder it’s standard practice to avoid overnight stays.”

  “We didn’t want an inspection, nor did we want an unsecured night-berth. We didn’t bring enough troops, and the Clár isn’t designed to be secure against malorum,” Blackthorne muttered as they made their way back through the crowds around the docks.

  “Understandable,” Dylan said. “But you-know-who won’t be happy.”

  Colonel Hännenen isn’t particularly happy about anything right now, Blackthorne thought. And he won’t be until his sister is home safe. “Everything has a price here. You know this. The extra fees mean that we do what we need without notice, and we can come and go whenever it suits us.”

  “I suppose I should be glad that we won’t be here for longer than two days,” Dylan said. “Where to next?”

  “The Broken Crown,” Blackthorne said. “I’m to meet with a friend of Councilor Slate’s. His name is Mr. Sparrow.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an assumed name at all,” Dylan said.

  Shrugging, Blackthorne said, “It is how these things are done. I can deal with the matter myself, if need be. Have you changed your mind about coming along?”

  “Absolutely not,” Dylan said. “It’s been years since I’ve seen anything of Acrasia.”

  Blackthorne nodded and paused outside their destination. There was a line outside the door and two Watchmen conducting an inspection of identification papers. He didn’t recall seeing a line outside a pub before.

  That is not a good sign, he thought. “In that case, watch our friend Mr. Sparrow. Tell me if you see anything strange. Particularly if he seems nervous.”

  “Will do,” Dylan said.

  When it came their turn, Blackthorne produced his falsified papers. Dylan handed over his own for inspection.

  “What’s going on?” Blackthorne asked the Watchman.

  “Nothing to worry about, mister. As long as you got your papers, and you do.” He gave the counterfeit papers a cursory check and handed them back.

  “Who are you looking for?” Blackthorne asked.

  The Watchman shook his head. “Was a big row a week ago. They’re looking for the one that started it. A writer by trade, I understand. Goes by the name Libertas. Writes about elphs being equal to humans. How war with Ytlain won’t solve nothing. Says the games were invented to trick the poor into suicide for the pleasure of the rich. Mad shit like that. You’re free to go inside.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” Blackthorne said, and kept his face as blank as possible.

  The Broken Crown smelled no different from all the other public houses in which Blackthorne had conducted various business since he’d entered the Academy. The main difference between it and the others was that the Broken Crown specifically catered to nonhumans. Not that such a thing was rare; it was only that Blackthorne hadn’t often frequented such places.

  At this hour, he and Dylan had their choice of tables. Instead, Blackthorne scanned the room and then headed to one of the occupied few. The man sitting there was wearing a grey coat and eating his breakfast alone. There was a blue sparrowhawk feather pinned to his collar, and he was positioned so that he could easily see the front door—a not-uncommon decision in this place. He didn’t look up.

  Blackthorne changed his posture, assuming a slight hunch and bending his knees a little in order to appear shorter, and tucked his hands into his breeches pockets. “Mr. Sparrow?” He lowered the pitch of his voice. “I understand we have a mutual acquaintance in the export business.”

  Mr. Sparrow finally glanced up from his meal and motioned for them to sit. “I am. You are Mr. Aldar, I presume?”

  “I am,” Blackthorne said.

  “I was told to expect you,” Mr. Sparrow said. “But the message didn’t mention a water sneaksman.”

  Dylan frowned, obviously getting the impression that he’d been insulted.

  He isn’t wrong. “Mr. Flounder is a good friend,” Blackthorne said.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware, but things have changed a mite bit around here. Watch are poking their beaks into things more often than people like. And more often than not, the Brotherhood follows right behind. Folks are growing more cautious. Perhaps I should start with him,” Mr. Sparrow said, and pointed at Dylan. “I don’t like Waterborne.”

  “I understand the need for more thorough circumspection. However, Mr. Flounder can be trusted,” Blackthorne said.

  “I’ve only your word for that,” Mr. Sparrow said. “And I don’t know you all that well.”

  “Your concern is that my friend is connected to the Brotherhood?�
�� Blackthorne asked.

  Mr. Sparrow shrugged.

  Blackthorne leaned toward Mr. Sparrow. “Since when has the Brotherhood worked with Waterborne magic practitioners?”

  Mr. Sparrow blinked and then gave Dylan another hard look.

  “Mr. Flounder, indulge me,” Blackthorne said without turning away from Mr. Sparrow. “Please give our friend a demonstration. Nothing too overt. We don’t wish to upset the patrons or draw too much attention.”

  Dylan paused and then nodded. Moving closer, he stuck his index finger in Mr. Sparrow’s ale mug and closed his eyes. After a while, its pewter surface began to sweat with cold. A frost began to form and spread onto the table’s wooden surface.

  Mr. Sparrow’s mouth dropped open.

  “That’s more than enough, Mr. Flounder,” Blackthorne said.

  Dylan withdrew his digit and leaned back. As he did, there came the tiny sound of ice cracking and melting.

  “May we continue?” Blackthorne asked. “My time is limited, and my patience has worn thin.”

  Mr. Sparrow nodded. The open fear in his expression didn’t abate, and he kept his gaze on Dylan as if the Waterborne weathermaster had drawn a weapon.

  “In addition to the … package that I have for your employer, I also have need of two wagons capable of handling a heavy load and four of your strongest men to assist. They will be required for a few hours. I will pay for your discretion. Can you accommodate us?” Blackthorne asked.

  “Mayhap I can,” Mr. Sparrow said.

  “And the price?” Blackthorne asked.

  “Hold on. Your … brothers have all been kainen.” Mr. Sparrow stopped eating and gave Blackthorne a hard stare. “You don’t look kainen.”

  Blackthorne frowned. “I was told the look of my sterling would be more important. I’ve had quite enough of—”

  Mr. Sparrow waved for a barmaid. “Let’s not be hasty. We’ll have a drink. Talk it over. What’ll you have?”

  “An Ytlainen porter would suit me fine,” Blackthorne said.

  Mr. Sparrow smiled, and his shoulders dropped just a little. He sniffed. “You’ve fine taste in ale, sir. However, porter is a bit too fashionable for folks around here. You’ll have to settle for plain grog or ale.”

  Blackthorne had his doubts as to the state of the water in this place. “Ale will be fine.”

  “Seems we can do business after all. Times being what they are, you can’t fault a man for being cautious.”

  “I suppose not.”

  Mr. Sparrow rested a stubbled chin on his hand and studied Blackthorne’s face again. This time, it seemed more out of curiosity than hostility.

  “The wagons belong to a friend, understand. Rent price isn’t mine to set. But I’m sure my friend is willing to give a discount in honor of certain political sentiments,” Mr. Sparrow said.

  Blackthorne nodded.

  Setting his wooden spoon on the table next to the empty pewter bowl, Mr. Sparrow reached into his coat and brought out a clay pipe. “A hundred will do.”

  “That’s impossible,” Blackthorne said. “I could buy what I need for that.”

  “But not the additional labor,” Mr. Sparrow said.

  “Mr. Flounder, we’re leaving,” Blackthorne said, and got up to go.

  “Come. Come. A counteroffer is customary.” Mr. Sparrow filled the pipe with tobacco and lit it with a match from the table.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t set the price,” Blackthorne said, pausing.

  Mr. Sparrow blew out a mouthful of smoke. “You not being what I expected, thought I’d start ahead of the price. No harm in a little profit on the side.”

  Blackthorne sat back down. “I can pay fifty.”

  “Fifty? Why, those wagons are practically new. And labor isn’t cheap—especially discreet labor.”

  “Right, sixty-five. That’s all I have,” Blackthorne said. “I can’t ask my employer for more.”

  “Sixty-five it is. See? Wasn’t all that bad, was it?” Mr. Sparrow leaned back against the bench and smiled. His missing teeth didn’t help to make his expression friendlier or more sincere.

  “Where are they?” Blackthorne said.

  “Begging your pardon, but I want to see the color of your sterling first.” Mr. Sparrow shrugged. “You got your instructions; I’ve got mine.”

  Blackthorne put a hand inside his coat, pulled out a leather folio, and carefully opened it, giving Mr. Sparrow only a glimpse of the contents.

  “Your money does have a nice shine.”

  As Blackthorne put away the folio, he caught Mr. Sparrow’s meaningful nod to someone across the room and pretended not to notice.

  Mr. Sparrow said, “You got permits? Permits will cost extra.”

  “Permits will not be a problem. Thank you for your concern.”

  “No trouble.”

  “The wagons?”

  “You in a hurry?” Mr. Sparrow asked.

  Blackthorne said, “I believe I did mention that time was of some concern.”

  Mr. Sparrow nodded. “Meet me at the coach house on Archer Street at half four.”

  Standing, Blackthorne shook Mr. Sparrow’s hand. “That will do.”

  As he and Dylan walked away, Blackthorne felt Dylan tug on his sleeve.

  “He’s not alone. I’d expect friends,” Dylan said.

  “I suspected as much,” Blackthorne said.

  “Why did he think you’d be kainen?” Dylan asked.

  After a pause, Blackthorne said, “Perhaps he’s used to dealing with another group of Slate’s associates?” One of Hännenen’s troops? A friend of Nickols? Who knows? Slate has other contacts. He doesn’t tell me everything.

  “Ah.”

  “There’s going to be trouble when we get there,” Blackthorne said with a frown, and held the door open for Dylan. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

  They headed to where Clár was temporarily docked. Climbing aboard, Blackthorne handed off the signal flag that granted access to the secure part of the wharf to Darius Teak. While Darius went about the business of posting the flag, Dylan piloted the ship to her designated berth. The whole process took several precious hours of daylight.

  While the ship was settling into her assigned berth, Blackthorne met with Katrin, Lieutenant Reini, and Natalia Annikki to review the plans for later in the afternoon. Jami Rautio would remain on board with Queen Suvi and Colonel Hännenen. Once the ship was moored, Blackthorne gathered his weapons and his false identity papers. Then he collected Kat and Lieutenant Reini and headed for the exit. Blackthorne wanted to test Kat and felt the situation would be safe enough to do so. If she proved a problem, it wasn’t too late to leave her onboard during the more intense operation. The next day would go much smoother if the authorities didn’t notice the weapons were missing until Clár Oibre Rúnda was long away with her prize.

  He nodded to the guard stationed at the secured dock enclosure’s exit. Kat followed behind with Reini. Both wore the clothes of a Waterborne ordinary seaman. As kainen, it would make them less noticeable or suspicious—particularly Reini.

  It wasn’t long before the rough-and-tumble public houses and warehouses of Old Mercatur Road gave way to more reputable dwellings. The sour saltwater and sewage stench of the wharf was left behind them. A warm wind ruffled the hedges lining the street as they made their way north. The comforting scent of burning coal heating the houses hung in the air. The crowds thinned as they traveled farther away from the markets.

  A black cat suddenly scurried across the road, and Katrin yelped.

  “Calm yourself,” Blackthorne muttered between his teeth.

  “I’m sorry,” Katrin said.

  “There’s no need to be nervous,” Blackthorne whispered.

  “No need at all,” Lieutenant Reini added, keeping his voice low. “We’ll be hauling stolen Eledorean swords without a permit. And the local authorities have a reputation for asking questions with nooses.”

  “Stop trying to scare me,” Kat whis
pered. “You weren’t Syndicate. Do you know what they do to nonmembers caught operating on Syndicate territory?”

  Reini grinned, traced a slow line under his chin, and raised an eyebrow.

  “That may be where it ends,” Katrin said. “But it most certainly isn’t where it starts.”

  Blackthorne didn’t see a need to interrupt. Katrin seemed to be holding her own well enough.

  When they were a street away from their destination, he signaled to Reini. Reini nodded once and dropped behind with a nonchalant glance into a shop window. Blackthorne and Katrin continued on. He hoped Reini wouldn’t run into any trouble on his own.

  Archer Street ran at an angle up a hill. In addition to the coach house where they were to meet Mr. Sparrow, the cobblestone street was home to a smithy, several stables, and a mail-coach office. The closer they got, the more intense the smell of horse dung and smithy coal became. The coach house was two doors down from the corner and consisted of three buildings set into a C shape, one of which had a steeple. All three buildings squatted behind a new iron fence.

  Blackthorne and Katrin walked the opposite side of the street. Blackthorne did everything in his power to project the appearance of a citizen out for nothing more than an afternoon’s stroll. He strode past the main entrance with no apparent intention of stopping, glancing at the trees and down several alleys as if he were a stranger taking in the sights. Katrin seemed to catch on to the ruse quickly enough. As a result, the knot in his stomach loosened.

  When the two of them had completed the circuit and reached the main entrance the second time, Blackthorne stopped at the empty archway bisecting the front building and peered through the gate. There was no one in evidence, but he knew better than to assume that was the case even if he couldn’t smell the guard’s pipe smoke from where he hid a few paces away.

  Speaking to the empty coach yard, Blackthorne said, “I’m looking for Mr. Sparrow.”

  A young man with a scant beard and a patched waistcoat emerged from the doorway to the left and stepped up to the bars from behind a pillar. He had a lit pipe in one hand. The stem appeared to have been chewed. “You Mr. Aldar?”