Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  “I am,” Blackthorne said.

  “Said you was a rum one. Said you might be a bit early. Mr. Sparrow’s in the stable, making sure all’s ready, sir.”

  Blackthorne focused on listening and felt the familiar tingling on his skin. His stomach clenched in a fit of nausea just as the gates opened with a squeak. He had only just entered the courtyard when he brought himself up short. There are two others here. He felt Katrin walk into his back.

  “Something wrong, sir?” the young man asked.

  “I don’t believe I’m familiar with your friends,” Blackthorne said.

  The young man smiled. Blackthorne noted that he was missing his front teeth. “That’s just Pete and Bert. Long as you’re polite, you got nothing to worry about from them.”

  “In that case, they won’t mind if I wait here until they step into the coach yard where I can see them,” Blackthorne said. “It’s only polite.”

  Two men emerged from the side building. One had a broken nose. Both were armed. Neither looked the sort to worry much over manners even if they knew what manners were.

  “Well, then, is everything to your liking, your lordship?” The young man executed a mocking bow.

  “Not entirely, but it’ll suffice,” Blackthorne said.

  The young man laughed.

  Blackthorne continued through the archway, and as the gate clanged shut, he hoped Reini was in position. Too late to worry about it now. Blackthorne stopped in the center of the coach yard and slowly slid a hand under his coat. Then the man he knew as Mr. Sparrow exited the stables and sauntered toward them at a leisurely pace with both hands in his pockets.

  People who keep their hands hidden usually mean trouble, Blackthorne thought with a small amount of irony.

  “You got my money?” Mr. Sparrow asked.

  “I do, indeed. Where are the wagons?” Blackthorne asked.

  “How do I know you aren’t a Brotherhood spy?”

  Blackthorne sighed. “Now, what would a spy want with your wagons when so many are available around the wharf with a flash of a badge?”

  “Not the wagons he’d be wanting but the friend that owns it, and we both know it.”

  Blackthorne remained still.

  “I need confirmation you are who you say you are.” Mr. Sparrow’s eyes narrowed.

  “Again? I should have thought the watchword I provided in the Broken Crown as well as my friend’s credentials proof enough,” Blackthorne asked.

  Mr. Sparrow said, “Maybe we had a change of heart.”

  “It’s a bit late for second thoughts, isn’t it?” Blackthorne asked, straightening his posture and flipping the front of his greatcoat back.

  At the sight of Blackthorne’s drawn pistol, Mr. Sparrow’s eyes went wide. Pete and Bert went for their weapons.

  Blackthorne said, “I wouldn’t do that if—”

  A shot hit the ground near Pete or Bert’s feet. Both froze where they were.

  “Is that you, Mr. Reini?” Blackthorne asked.

  “That it is.” Reini’s voice drifted from the roof. “Lovely view from up here. There’s a young lady who probably should be warned to keep her shade drawn. She was somewhat distracting. I almost shot your man Pete’s nose off. Or is that Bert? Hard to tell, since I was left out of the introductions.”

  The shutters lining the second floor windows swung open with an echoing bang and now they bristled with the barrels of six muskets.

  A female voice called down. “Well, isn’t this something?”

  Blackthorne sighed. “Look. If you’ve changed your mind about dealing with us, that’s fine. Just let me speak to May Freely, and then we’ll go on our way.”

  “That depends. Do you know Erkki Jarvela?” the woman asked.

  Blackthorne paused. His heart beat three times fast while he tried to recall faces and names. He’s one of Hännenen’s men, isn’t he?

  Katrin cleared her throat. “Ah. I do. Well, I know of him, anyway.”

  “Tell me, girl, what color is his hair?” the woman asked.

  “Well, that’s a tricky question. See, in the summer, the sun bleaches it blond. Winter, it’s a light brown. So, I guess it’d depend on when you saw him last. He’s got a saber scar high up on the outside of his right thigh, though,” Katrin said.

  “Right, then.” The barrel of the woman’s musket vanished. “I’m coming down. Pete, Bert, put away those weapons and offer your apologies.”

  Turning, Blackthorne stared at Katrin as her cheeks grew steadily pinker.

  “I saw him in the bathing niches once. Not like I meant to. It was an accident.” Katrin looked away. “You going to tell Papa Slate?”

  Blackthorne turned so that he could see Reini and motioned for him to stay where he was. “I should think not,” he muttered to Katrin. I’m relatively certain he wouldn’t want to know.

  The woman who entered the coach yard was short and plump. Her brown hair was anchored to the top of her head in a round knot with haphazard pins. Loose curls spilled down her neck in willful bunches. Her skin was slightly darker than his own. Gripping the barrel of her fowling piece in her left, she offered a tanned, ink-stained hand to him.

  “You can call me May, Mr. Aldar.” May smiled. “Let’s finish up in my office. I’ve about had enough of shouting. Good thing the Watch is touring elsewhere right now, or we’d be up to our necks in bother.” She walked to the building on the right with a rolling gait and threw open the door. He and Katrin followed her inside.

  The entrance led to a narrow hallway and a simple staircase. To the right and left were closed doors. Blackthorne suppressed an urge to check them for enemies. As a result, the muscles between his shoulder blades tightened and wouldn’t let up until he’d reached the second floor and could stand with a wall to his back.

  “Sorry about the reception. Was expecting the Nickols boys and got you instead,” May said, leading the way to a cluttered room with shuttered windows. “The Watch and the Brotherhood have been on alert. There’ve been a few riots lately. It seems the people are growing tired of the wars.”

  Gazing around the room, Blackthorne began to understand why Slate had asked them to make space on the ship for one more.

  A printing press hulked in the far corner, and the air smelled of ink, reheated lead, and paper. Every flat surface was covered in paper. One-sheets hung from lines strung across the room like clean laundry. Their bold headlines declared the Regnum culpable for various atrocities. Each flyer pointed out the fallacy of the games as a pathway to citizenship, the lack of representation in the Senate, corruption in the Church, the need for equality, and the moral and economic effects of slavery. Each and every one was signed with a familiar name.

  He waited long enough for the door to shut, and they were assured of what privacy could be had. “You’re Libertas?”

  May turned from the closed door and smiled. “It’s possible that I might be.”

  It occurred to Blackthorne that May’s manner of speech had acquired a formality it hadn’t possessed in the coach yard. You aren’t the only one who wears disguises. “I thought Libertas was a man.”

  May said, “And I thought Libertas was a goddess.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m university-educated?” May asked, and shrugged. “Women are permitted education, Mr. Aldar, even nonhuman women—provided they’re able to pay the extra costs. This is Acrasia, after all.” Her friendly face acquired a sneer. The sarcastic expression vanished almost as fast as it appeared. “It’s possible you are supposed to believe that Libertas is male. It makes it much easier for someone like me to hide in plain sight.” She held out a hand. “You have something for me?”

  Blackthorne handed over the folded envelope hidden inside his shirt. She opened it and silently read the contents. Her full lips moved as she did so. At last, she reached the end and refolded the letter. “It’s always nice to hear from my former teacher. It’s heartening to know that he’s doing well where he is. However, I find I must
decline the invitation.”

  “You can’t,” Blackthorne said. “You said yourself that Novus Salernum is becoming far too dangerous.”

  “Others face danger,” May said. “Yourself, for example.”

  “Still—”

  “Please express my thanks and gratitude to your employer,” May said. She went to her wooden trays of type and ran her fingers over the metal letters. “No matter how attractive the offer, no matter how frightened I might be, I must stay and do my part. It’s too important. He has his role in this war, and I have mine.”

  “And what if words no longer suffice?” Blackthorne asked.

  She gave him a grim smile, plucked a letter from the tray, and held it up. “Then typesetter’s lead makes good bullets.” Returning the little rectangle to its tray, she continued. “Now that that is done, shall we discuss the wagons and labor? What do you need them for?”

  Blackthorne hesitated and then decided May might be of assistance. “We’ll be breaking into a military depot—one with a certain amount of security. We’ll need to get in, get out, and load everything onto our ship in broad daylight. All preferably without causing a great deal of notice.”

  “I see,” May said. “Then you’ll want Mr. Sparrow, Ian, Carl, and Mandy. They can be trusted.”

  Nodding, Blackthorne said, “Thank you. We’ll take one of the wagons now. I would like your people to meet us at the location with the other wagon at the appointed time. Afterward, I’ll need them to help us unload the cargo onto the ship.”

  May said,“I think we can accommodate your needs.”

  “Then we’ve an agreement,” Blackthorne said. He gave her the date, time, and locations.

  “That’s a secured dock,” she said.

  “It is,” Blackthorne said. “They’ll have to meet me in the loading area near the ship. You’ll have the second half of your fee once my cargo is safely onboard.”

  “Fair enough. Now let’s go downstairs,” May said. “We’ll have a look at the wagons.”

  Blackthorne was the last to enter the stable. Two large wagons with four horses hitched to each were parked in the coachway. Katrin was giving the lead mare of the first team a rub on the nose and dodged just in time as her harness-mate, a black gelding, craned his neck for a nip at Katrin’s leg. Unsuccessful at venting his temper, the black dipped his head and then bit the dapple mare on the shoulder instead. She gave out a startled grunt and jerked the bridle out of Katrin’s grasp. Blackthorne ended the quarrel by firmly steering the mare’s head away.

  “Are you sure about those two? If you ask me, it looks like they’ll tear each other apart long before pulling that wagon,” Katrin said.

  Mr. Sparrow walked over and placed a soothing hand on the black’s flank before speaking. “Always like this before a start. They’ll settle in fine once you get going.”

  Blackthorne inspected the wagon. “Will it handle the load?”

  May said, “Should be strong enough for your purposes.”

  Blackthorne nodded. “It’ll do.” After giving the harness a cursory check, he pulled out the leather folio and paid May in Acrasian notes. “That’s thirty-two sterling now and thirty-three at the dock for a total of sixty-five, plus an extra five for your trouble.”

  May’s smile broadened. “Pleasure doing business, Mr. Aldar. And good luck.”

  Blackthorne swung up onto the driver’s bench and gestured for Katrin to follow, but she was stopped by a hand on her arm.

  “One last thing,” May whispered, and bit her lip. “Would you mind taking a letter to our mutual friend? Can’t exactly send it Eagle Post.”

  “We wouldn’t mind at all,” Katrin said.

  May handed her a letter, and Katrin tucked it inside her shirt as Blackthorne had done. Once Katrin had climbed up next to him, Blackthorne shook the reins. The coach lurched as it pulled into the yard, and stopped. Blackthorne paused long enough for Lieutenant Reini to join them before racing through the archway.

  Blackthorne leaned toward her. “You should give me that letter. It’s dangerous.”

  She asked, “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I do.” Blackthorne frowned. “However, I told your mentor that I would get you home safe. In which case I would prefer to be the one bearing the majority of the danger.”

  Katrin said, “I’m good at hiding things. Don’t worry.”

  “All right,” Blackthorne said. He decided it wasn’t worth undercutting her confidence. “The letter is your responsibility.”

  “Thanks,” Katrin said, and then paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t draw my pistol in the coach yard. I … I froze. I won’t do it again.”

  Blackthorne considered what to say. He had to be careful. Much would depend upon her later. “By not acting, you did the correct thing. The situation may have escalated even further had you done otherwise. In any case, you spoke up at exactly the right time.”

  Katrin nodded.

  “Don’t be hard on yourself. No one knows how they’ll react in situations like that, no matter how much they wish or claim otherwise. It takes practice, like anything else. I have faith that you’ll do fine when you’re needed.”

  DRAKE

  NOVUS SALERNUM

  THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA

  “I feel like shit. No, I’m not drinking that. Get it away from me. It’s disgusting,” Drake said. Her refusal was uttered in a darkness so intense that she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. She ached in places she didn’t think possible. That was bad enough. What was worse was that she was afraid, and more than anything, she hated being afraid.

  Mal’s disembodied voice replied, “You’ve been injured. You should drink something.”

  “That’s what I asked for,” she said.

  “You need water,” Mal said. “Not alcohol.”

  “I’m a grown woman, not a child. I’m capable of knowing what I need and what I don’t,” she said. “Where are we? How long have we been here? Why is it so dark?”

  There was grit beneath her palms and cold, smooth stone against her back and buttocks. The air was chilly and ever so slightly moist. Somewhere, water dripped. As far as she could tell, she and Mal were hiding alone with a young woman and her baby. Due to the bits of conversation she’d been able to overhear while pretending to be asleep, Drake had found out that the woman was a former whore. The baby, a girl, wasn’t hers.

  Years of street harvester training taught Drake not to rely upon the obvious. Mal and the woman and the baby had been gone when she woke the first time. That had been very bad. However, she hadn’t had a chance to explore what she’d come to think of as her cage. Her swollen ankle had prevented her from doing much more than eat, shit, and sleep.

  At the moment, the woman and the baby were gone, which was good. The child’s crying made the ache in Drake’s head worse. Never mind the stink of its clouts.

  “You’re going to tell me you don’t know where we are?” Mal asked. “Weren’t you the one with the rough past?”

  There don’t seem to be any guards. This place is small and underground. It was difficult to think beyond the pain in her head. “We’re in a bolt-hole.”

  “We are,” Mal said. “A very expensive one. Solid rock all around. Don’t worry. There’s not a chance of malorum. The entrance is laced with silver. Get some rest. We’ll be here for a while.”

  “Light a candle or something,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Em,” Mal said. “I know how you feel about—”

  She snorted.

  “—the dark, but there are no candles or lanterns here. This place has rules, and we will abide by them,” he said. “Not my choice. But the rules are in place for everyone’s safety, including yours.”

  Not a legal bolt-hole, then, she thought. “Why aren’t we in your apartments?”

  Mal paused. She could hear him stop breathing. “Emily, can I trust you?”

  He used my name. “You’re serious.”

  “I’m very serious. More serious th
an I’ve been with you before,” he said.

  “That depends,” she said. “How much money is in it?”

  “Come on,” he said. “I know you aren’t as hard as you pretend.”

  “It’s a hard swiving world,” she said. “Everyone is out for themselves, no matter what they claim.”

  “Not everyone.”

  “Everyone that survives,” she said. “Or are you going to tell me that you sell your paintings and give the money away to the poor?”

  “I am the poor.”

  “See?”

  “Em, please. This is important.”

  “Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because I’m leaving Acrasia with Sondra and the baby, and I want to know if you want to come with me,” Mal lowered his tone to a whisper.

  Oh, Drake thought. This is not going to be a good conversation, is it?

  “There’s nothing left for you here,” Mal said.

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered, following his example. “You don’t know who is listening.”

  “We’re alone,” he said. “I know we are. I paid a great deal to make sure of it.”

  “Then why are we whispering?”

  “Em—”

  “More money can always be arranged,” she said. “You have to know that.”

  “The people that own this particular bolt-hole are people I trust with my life.”

  Oh, shit. Oh, damn his blood. He’s involved in something I don’t want to know about, isn’t he? She swallowed. Her throat was raw, and her head pained her worse than before. Her eyes burned with tears she didn’t want to cry. “I’m thirsty, damn you.”

  Invisible hands positioned a tin cup of water so that she could drink. The cup’s rim pressed against her cheek. “Give me that.” She pried it from his grip and sipped. The gritty water was warm and tasted flat. “Only you would buy a bolt-hole and not bring any whiskey.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then give me the bottle.”

  “After we talk.”

  “I can’t have this conversation without a strong drink, damn you,” she said. Perhaps more than one. Maybe even an entire alehouse full.