Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  Blackthorne caught the scent of burning tobacco as the older guard used a tinderbox to light his pipe.

  The younger guard laid a hand on his pistol and took several steps toward Blackthorne. “Mister, this here is a restricted area. So you can get back up on that wagon of yours and keep on going wherever it is you’re going.”

  Assuming a subservient attitude, Blackthorne also altered his speech—slowing and softening it with drawn-out, rounded vowels. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean no trouble. I seem to be lost,” he said, holding up a slip of paper and pretending to read from it. “Do you know where Hodge Lane is?”

  “Hodge Lane?” the younger guard asked. “That’ll be the Hodge Lane in Jester’s Court? Or the Hodge Lane in Perryston?”

  “There are two?” Blackthorne asked.

  The older guard spat and then sighed. “From down south, are you?”

  “How’d you know?” Blackthorne asked.

  The older guard let out a disgusted harrumph, rolled his eyes, and muttered something about country bumpkins over the pipestem clenched between his teeth.

  Blackthorne flipped the paper scrap over and squinted. “Oh, there it is. Yes. Jester’s Court.”

  “If it’s Jester’s Court you’re looking for, you’re a good ten miles in the wrong direction,” the older guard said. “You need to go south and—”

  Annikki eased from the corner of the building and positioned herself behind the older guard without his noticing. She moved with a silent grace that matched Reini’s. Just like Reini, she was strangely difficult to focus upon. Blackthorne’s gaze kept sliding away from her—not that he wanted to concentrate upon her. Doing so might give her away, but he found even keeping his awareness of her in his peripheral vision difficult.

  In one quick, smooth movement, she looped a leather thong around the older guard’s neck. At the same moment, he let out a startled gasp.

  The younger guard began to turn. “What the—”

  Stepping between the younger guard and the sight of Annikki’s attack, Blackthorne punched the younger guard in the throat. Then he grabbed the choking man, placed a hand across his mouth, and slowly eased him onto the ground, where he stepped on his neck.

  With that done, Blackthorne again signaled to Katrin. Then he spied the bloodstains on Annikki’s clothes.

  “I thought I said to handle the situation quietly and neatly,” he said.

  She shrugged. “No one screamed.”

  “And where’s Reini?” Blackthorne asked.

  “He stayed behind to clean up the mess,” Reini said from the roof. He lowered himself onto the makeshift table and then hopped down. He scraped the remains of the guards’ lunch from his boot onto the cobblestones and addressed Annikki. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  With everyone accounted for, Blackthorne turned his attention to the bodies. Dragging the guard he’d killed by his feet, he deposited the man next to the crates and propped him up against the building.

  “Are you implying I should thank you?” Annikki asked Reini.

  “It was your mess I was cleaning,” Reini said, grabbing the second body under the arms.

  “Whatever makes you say that?” Annikki asked, and took the dead guard’s feet.

  Hefting the body, Reini asked, “And I suppose those two guards bled all over the side of the building by themselves?”

  “It could’ve been a tragic toenail-clipping accident. You never know what an Acrasian might do,” Annikki said. “Who am I to judge if they decided to use their knives upon themselves instead of their meat?”

  “They were eating bread and cheese,” Reini said.

  “The ginger one had a knife,” Annikki said.

  “It was dull,” Reini said.

  “You actually took the time to check?” Annikki asked.

  Katrin asked, “Are korvas always this noisy when they flirt?”

  “Just get the door open,” Blackthorne said, and waved her on. “Be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”

  Kneeling in front of the door, Katrin reached inside her jacket and produced a rolled piece of black cloth. She paused to examine the rectangular block of steel with its doorknob and keyhole. “The army sure does trust its Syndicate contracts. Wish I’d known that when I lived here. My whole brood would’ve lived high,” she muttered to herself. “This place is begging to be hit.”

  “I’ve an idea,” Reini said, holding up an iron ring with a key on it. “How about you use this?”

  “Where did you get that?” Katrin asked.

  “It was in that guard’s pocket,” Reini said, and pointed to the older guard. “Makes sense. He’s the guard in charge, after all.”

  “How do you know he’s in charge?” Annikki asked.

  Reini pointed to the embroidery on the bottom of the older guard’s sleeve. “Corporal.” Then he pointed to the younger guard. “Private.”

  Katrin reached out for the key. “Let’s see if it fits.” She placed the key in the lock and turned it. Then she opened the door with a flourish.

  It was at that moment that Mr. Sparrow and his three friends arrived with the sound of rattling wagon hardware.

  “Right on time,” Reini said.

  “Reini and Katrin, you’re with me,” Blackthorne said. “Annikki, you stay here. Get the wagons in position. Arrange them to cut down on the time it’ll take to load them. I’ll send Katrin out when we’ve got access to what we need.”

  Annikki nodded. She turned to Reini. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Reini said. “You too.”

  The interior of the warehouse was a big open space with an arched ceiling and large wooden support posts. It smelled of gunpowder and oiled steel. Most of the building’s contents were piled, stacked, or otherwise organized to the right and left, creating a broad open space in the middle. Both sides were sectioned off into shallow niches lined with shelves and racks. The first few areas consisted of foodstuffs, but soon those gave way to racks of rifles, ammunition, and cannon. Blackthorne couldn’t help thinking that the building was relatively empty for a military depot—that is, until he noted the racks of dusty wine bottles and good cheeses. The last third of the building consisted of a walled-off area and a narrow hall to the left. The door to that section was padlocked.

  Once more, Katrin assumed a position on the floor next to the lock. “I don’t suppose you have another key, Viktor?” she asked. “I’d like to know if you’re going to spoil my fun.” She untied and unrolled the cloth bundle.

  “Not this time,” Reini said.

  Katrin slid a couple of delicate tools out of the pouch. “This looks like the same style lock Julian used to teach me my trade. That can’t be. It was an old model back then.”

  Reini peered over her shoulder. “Well?”

  “I give it a count of twenty, and that’s being generous.” She turned her head and grinned.

  “Twenty seems a long count,” Reini said.

  “Fifteen, then,” she said. “Here we go.”

  Blackthorne paced, trying not to listen to Reini’s counting. When he reached fifteen, Blackthorne heard the lock snap open. Katrin took the hardware off the chain and pushed the door open.

  “Ha! I’ve still got it,” she said, and then gathered her tools.

  Reini helped her get up off her knees. They both stepped back.

  “I don’t know; I almost reached sixteen,” Reini said, teasing.

  “I’d have done it in ten,” Katrin said. “Only, I’m not used to working with a nosy korva staring over my shoulder, is all.”

  Stepping to the open door, Blackthorne was brought up short by a soft noise. He noticed that Reini froze at exactly the same time. They both turned to the source of the sound. When Blackthorne focused, he thought he could make out what sounded like an animal panting.

  “Get inside and close the door,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “What?” Katrin asked.

  “Do it. Now,” Blackthorne whispered.

 
“It’s a dog,” Reini whispered.

  Blackthorne blinked.

  “Oh, that,” Katrin said. Once again, she reached inside her jacket. “I’ve got this.”

  Reini said, “Here it comes.”

  A large black-and-tan mastiff loped into view. Its black nose seemed to have been pushed into its jowly face. It gave the impression of being anything but friendly. It lowered its head and let out a deep, rumbling growl.

  Katrin slowly knelt down. “Hello, sweet puppy. Who’s a good dog? Are you hungry?” She held out a treat that looked like dried meat.

  The dog didn’t approach. It remained where it was and continued its threat. Blackthorne did his best to remain perfectly still. He didn’t care for dogs, particularly big ones. He kept his hand on his knife, ready to draw it.

  “Shy one, are you? Here,” Katrin said. “I’ll put it on the floor for you.” With a steady hand, she scooted the treat across the floor.

  The beast sniffed the air over the tidbit.

  “Go on. My friend Darius made it special,” Katrin said. “And it’s all yours, boy. Looks like you won’t even have to share.”

  Slowly, the mastiff went to the treat and lapped it up with a great, sloppy tongue. It appeared to enjoy the flavor for a few moments before settling onto the floor and yawning, displaying a distressing number of teeth. Then the dog stretched out, closed its eyes, and stopped moving.

  “You poisoned it?” Reini asked, clearly disturbed by the idea of harming an animal.

  “It’s asleep,” Katrin said.

  As if to reassure Reini, the mastiff let out a wet snore.

  “Oh,” Reini said. “Good.”

  Katrin said, “You’d swear you two had never broken into a building before. Anyone with any sense keeps dogs. That is, if they want to keep their belongings.”

  The interior of the locked room revealed an ink-stained desk littered with ledgers and various recipes. A bottle of ink and a shaker of sand rested on top, along with several goose quills and a penknife. The other half of the room was crowded with long wooden crates. Blackthorne snatched up a nearby crowbar and pried open the nearest. Even in the dim light, he could see it contained what they’d come for.

  Katrin reached inside and pulled out a scabbarded blade. The other swords let out a few clanks as they resettled. Reini took the sword from her and drew it. A look of awe spread across his plain face.

  “It’s water steel, all right. So beautiful,” he said. “And light. It weighs nothing.”

  Blackthorne said, “Katrin, get the others. Let’s start loading.”

  Katrin nodded and left, stepping carefully over the dog.

  That thing is going to be a problem, Blackthorne thought. But he didn’t want to risk moving it.

  Reini began to knot the water steel saber to his belt.

  “Put it back,” Blackthorne said.

  “Why?” Reini asked. “It’s an Eledorean blade. I’ve a right to it.”

  Blackthorne said, “Because you’re nonhuman in Novus Salernum, and nonhumans do not carry weapons within the bounds of the Regnum—not without a very expensive permit. One that you do not possess. In any case, such a thing will draw attention. And attention is something we cannot afford.”

  “In that case, I suppose it can wait until we’re back on the ship.” Reini reluctantly returned the sword.

  “Sooner we start, sooner this is over with,” Blackthorne said, moving into position and lifting an end of the crate.

  Reini grabbed the opposite end and lifted it from its former resting place. Mr. Sparrow and the others entered the room and shifted around so that Blackthorne and Reini could get past with their load. Blackthorne indicated the crates with a sideways nod. He let Reini be the one to walk backward. Blackthorne stepped over the sleeping mastiff and felt his balls clench in defense as he did so.

  The loading took up the estimated hour, but at long last, the crates were in place. The dog slept through the entire process. After making sure that all was put back to rights—he had to demand that Annikki replace the bottle of wine she’d stolen—Blackthorne told everyone it was time to leave.

  “Reini, Annikki, you’re both with Mr. Sparrow’s load,” he whispered. “In case he gets any ideas.”

  Nodding, Reini tapped Annikki on the arm, and they both climbed onto their assigned wagon. Mr. Sparrow, Ian, Carl, and Mandy assumed places on the back. They drove off.

  Blackthorne waited for Katrin to go before using the key to relock the warehouse door. With that done, he returned the key to the dead guard’s pocket and then tossed the assassin’s token onto the body. At last, he boarded the wagon and took the reins from Katrin.

  She gave him a crestfallen expression. “I wanted to drive the team.”

  “Maybe later,” Blackthorne said, disengaging the brake. He made a clicking sound with his tongue in the back of his throat and urged the horses to move with a flick of the reins. Ever since he’d learned of his daughter, Lydia, his orders to protect Katrin had acquired a certain intensity. He wasn’t certain what to do about it.

  Katrin was unusually quiet on the journey back to Clár Oibre Rúnda. He had the feeling that she was holding her breath. He found himself doing the same. With the midday meal finished and curfew shortening their day, the people of Novus Salernum flooded the streets in an attempt to finish their duties before dark. The ebb and flow of wagons, riders, and pedestrians slowed the return journey more than Blackthorne had hoped. He watched the crowds for signs of trouble.

  A wealthy woman made her way down the street in a blue silk dress. She entered a shop with the hood of her pale gray cloak pulled down to shade her eyes. A few strands of long blond hair escaped from beneath the velvet. Next, he spied a fat gentleman wearing gold rings, exiting a coffeehouse. He was hatless and his wispy hair blew in the wind as he stumbled. Two urchins darted out. One walked into the man and a second child passed behind. Both were gone in an instant.

  “What are you laughing at?” Blackthorne asked.

  Katrin motioned to where the gentleman had been. “That was what Julius used to call a ‘bump and tumble.’ The older child walks into their intended victim—bumps him, see. At the same time, the smaller brood member cuts the man’s purse from the opposite side,” Katrin said. “They did it perfectly. Julius would’ve been envious.”

  “Who is Julius?” Blackthorne asked.

  “He was my Brood’s Guardian. You know, the leader,” Katrin said. “I wonder if he’s still alive.”

  “How old was he?” Blackthorne asked in a fit of uncharacteristic curiosity.

  “Twelve, I think,” Katrin said. “He wasn’t sure. Thing is, after a certain age, the Syndicate starts to take notice. If they think an orphan is good enough, they’ll recruit you. If not, well … there are no grown-up freelancers.”

  As they began to approach the northern part of the harbor, the rotten-nut stench became stronger, until it overpowered the normal wharf damp and old-fish smell.

  “What is that?” Katrin asked, holding her nose.

  Blackthorne shouted over the rattling of the wagon. “Coffee barge lost its cargo in the north canal a few days ago.”

  Half the reason Novus Salernum was a prosperous port was the natural harbor formed by Pafioro Bay. The other reason was the system of canals connected to the sewage system. It rained a great deal in northern Acrasia. The canals kept the city from becoming a disease-ridden bog.

  They crossed a bridge that took them out of the Gibson Road area and spanned one of the canals, and came to a line of people, wagons, and horses at the gates to the northern warehouse district. Dockmen, ships, and barges of various shapes and sizes were all around. Beyond the first set of docks squatted ten warehouses in a chaste row, each painted prim white and trimmed in red and black.

  Church Tithing Warehouses, Blackthorne thought. He gave the darkening sky a worried look. It’s getting late.

  A wagon loaded with wine barrels joined the unmoving line behind them. It wasn’t long before s
everal wagons filled with various goods did as well.

  “Wonder what the holdup is?” Katrin asked.

  Torn between sending her to find out and keeping her at his side, Blackthorne decided to wait. Whatever was ahead, they couldn’t leave. They were now boxed in. He hunched under his dripping tricorne and hoped they would get to the ship before dark. They’d not rented their berth for another night. Hännenen was eager to get his sister far from Acrasia. Blackthorne was suddenly glad of having taken the precaution of the second wagon and hoped the alternate route was less congested.

  The Gibson Road clock struck the hour.

  Katrin frowned. “How did it get to be three already?”

  Out over the bay, a large bank of menacing storm clouds clustered. The city’s population began its rush for the gates or the safety of home against the setting of the sun. Alehouses and shops not licensed to remain open after curfew ejected clientele and shut their doors. Two Wardens arrived at the checkpoint. One remained among the crowd. The other strolled down the growing line. Periodically, he shouted to those waiting to prepare their identification documents.

  Blackthorne’s hands tightened on the reins.

  “What do we do?” Katrin whispered.

  “Nothing. You have your papers and I have mine. We wait,” Blackthorne said. “But if anything happens, you are to abandon this wagon and run. Do you hear? Make your way to the ship however you can. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Why can’t we run together?” Katrin asked.

  He couldn’t tell her that the Wardens might be there for him. He was afraid she might do something loyal and stupid. “I may need to distract them,” he said, “in which case it will be safer if you are far away from me.”

  “I won’t leave y—”

  “Do not argue with me,” Blackthorne said in his coldest tone.

  “But—” She stopped as the Warden walked past without even glancing in their direction.

  Blackthorne hissed, “You will do as you’re told, or you’ll never go on another of these assignments. It won’t be my word that bars you. It’ll be your father’s.”