by Jon Skovron
“As a thank-you,” she continued, her voice growing stronger, her expression growing firmer, “for the years of faithful patronage.”
“Not only are you the greatest actress of our age, but the most generous as well!” said Broom.
“Fine,” she said, her fists back on her hips, a haughty expression on her face. “I will perform this piece of garbage, but only for a limited run. Do you understand? Then I want some real theater. A role I can sink my teeth into.”
“Absolutely, my dear! After this show, they will follow you anywhere!”
She pointed down at him. “You better be right about that.” Then she spun around, her gown swirling, and stalked off the stage.
Broom clapped his seal hat back on his head and returned to the makeshift table, a satisfied look on his face.
“Is it always like this around here?” asked Hope.
“Usually,” said Broom. “I may have overdone it with the sighing, but sometimes with Lymestria you have to paint in broad strokes.”
“Is she really the greatest actress of the age?” asked Alash.
“She’s not bad.”
“Does she really have all those fans?” asked Jilly.
“Her breasts do, at least,” said Broom. “Now, I should probably begin preparing for tonight’s show soon. What was it you came here for again? Probably not to hear old stories about Little Rix.”
“I would like to know what happened to Old Yammy,” said Hope.
“Ah,” said Broom. “I’m afraid she’s been taken to the Empty Cliffs again. But this time, I’m not sure she’ll be coming back.”
“The Empty Cliffs?” Jilly looked pained.
“How awful,” said Alash.
“What are the Empty Cliffs?” asked Hope. “I’ve heard mention of them before.”
“It’s a prison,” said Broom. “A small bit of land maybe a mile across that juts out of the water off the northeast coast of New Laven. It’s perhaps a half-mile high, sheer cliffs on all sides. The top is flat and prisoners are simply left up there, with daily provisions delivered somehow. I never learned.”
“No need for bars or doors in a place like that, I suppose,” said Hope.
Broom nodded. “People used to come back. They would stay out there perhaps six months to a year, depending on the severity of their crimes. But about five years ago, we began to notice that no one was coming back anymore.”
“How many people do you think get sent there every year?” asked Hope.
Broom took a long drink from his jug. “It’s hard to say. They get sent from all over New Laven. And even from other islands. Hundreds, maybe?”
“If no one has left for over five years…,” said Alash. “Wouldn’t it be extremely crowded by now?”
“You’d think,” said Broom.
“Unless something was being done with them,” said Hope.
“Biomancers?” asked Jilly.
Hope took another drink from the jug, and this time the burning sensation felt appropriate somehow. She turned to Broom. “Do you know anyone who’s actually been on the Empty Cliffs?”
“I think Lymestria was sent there about seven or eight years ago. Back when she was first making a name for herself. An admirer got a little too familiar at the door. Wanted to actually feel the famously luscious bosom. She keeps a pistol strapped to her thigh for situations like that. Gave a warning shot. In his foot. Sadly, he turned out to be Lord something or other and had her arrested. She spent a year on the Empty Cliffs, and you can be sure that she learned her lesson.”
“What lesson was that?” asked Alash.
Broom winked. “Now her warning shots are through the head.”
“I would like to talk to Lymestria and see how much she remembers about the place,” said Hope. “Layout, personnel, that sort of thing. Would that be possible?”
“I don’t see why not. She’ll want something in return, but her demands are usually reasonable.”
Alash gave Hope a worried look. “I think I can guess what you’re planning, Captain.”
“Old Yammy helped me out of a desperate situation not once, but twice,” said Hope. “I owe her.”
“But, teacher,” said Jilly. “Nobody’s ever been rescued from the Empty Cliffs before.”
“Then it’s long overdue, wouldn’t you say?” asked Hope.
14
I still don’t like it here,” Filler said quietly as he and Nettles walked through the broken streets of Hammer Point.
Nettles gave him a sideways glance. “After all the places we’ve been to, you still hold on to that old rivalry?”
“Other places is other places,” said Filler. “This is still this place.”
Nettles sighed and let it alone. She used to feel the same way. A deep distrust that bordered on loathing for anything or anyone who came out of Hammer Point. As she looked around, it was easy to see how it started. Paradise Circle was no prize painting, but it had a certain seedy charm. The Hammer was a bleak and foreboding thing, scarred with endless gang wars.
The Circle had the advantage of the docks, it was true, but its truest advantage was its unity. A long succession of powerful ganglords who allowed no competition. They didn’t just rule by force, though. The wags of Paradise Circle were a headstrong lot, and they wouldn’t stand for simple bullying, no matter how nasty. The recent fall of Deadface Drem was a perfect example of that. People of the Circle had to believe that whoever was in charge was a true wag of the Circle. Someone who would stand for the freedom of the Circle and all its people against the imps and anyone who would take that freedom away.
Each ganglord brought something different to the Circle. Yorey Satin was before Nettles’s time, but she’d heard from old wrinks that his was a golden age of dance halls and fat, rich lacies to roll on nearly every corner. After him came Jix the Lift. Jix didn’t see much value in dance halls, and turned them into gambling houses and brothels. The lacies got scarce, but there was new money to be made at the tables and on your back, particularly from the sailors who came and went as often as the tides.
Jix had been a hard man, it was true, and not gentle. But he had been a true wag. Nettles’s parents worked for him, and when they’d been killed in his service, he made sure Nettles and her brother Mick had a place to sleep and a way to make money. At that time, they were too young to be thieves, boots, or whores, so they would “make mayhem” for him. That meant they would start a commotion in a public place to distract people from whatever crime was being committed around the corner by Jix and his boots. Often, Mick and Nettles (or Rose, as she was called back then) would act like they were getting into a fight in the middle of the market or in front of an imp squad, and by the time people pulled them apart, Jix was long gone with the prize. Nettles loved it. After all, not only did she get to punch her big brother without fear of reprisal, but she got paid for it.
But Mick grew tired of punching his little sister. Even when he punched his hardest, she would often grin and just punch him back, like it was a challenge. Mick wasn’t looking for a challenge. After a while, he started pulling other kids—innocent bystanders—into the fight. He would wail on them mercilessly until they screamed and begged him to stop. He didn’t even stop when Jix’s boots gave the all clear and it was time for them to slip away into the crowd. That was when Nettles understood that Mick just liked hurting people.
One time he beat a little girl so badly, right there in the market, that not even the imps could ignore it. They took him down to the Hole and questioned him. He didn’t give up Jix, which saved his life. But that didn’t mean Jix was happy with him for stepping outside the plan. So Jix took him off mayhem duties and put him on cleaning duties.
Jix let Nettles keep working, though. That’s how she met Tosh, before she was a whore, and Henny, when he still had his nose. The three of them together had been true artists of mayhem. Once they got their routine down, they could stir up a proper bit of controlled chaos in under five minutes, then melt away in se
conds. They became one of Jix’s favorite crews. On one occasion, they nearly started a riot right on the front steps of the Hole, all over a made-up rumor about an ale tax. Every imp in the station had been out there trying to calm the crowds. It got so ridiculous that Henny started to laugh and Nettles had to kick him in the balls to keep him from breaking character.
But while Nettles was getting known in the neighborhood, Mick was slowly becoming a monster. Maybe it was jealousy of his sister’s popularity. Or maybe it was a seed that had been planted since watching their parents get beaten to death during the dock riots. Or maybe he’d just always had a monster inside. That’s what happened when you were born in the Circle. The darkness got to you so early, it was hard to say what you would have been like otherwise.
“You sure this is the right thing to do, Nettie?” asked Filler, cutting into Nettles’s thoughts.
“You mean forming an alliance with someone in Hammer Point?” asked Nettles.
“I mean making a play for Paradise Circle. I get he’s your brother and he’s done terrible things to you. I get you don’t want to see him in charge of the Circle. But can’t we just help someone else do it?”
“Who?” asked Nettles. “Bertie Bull? Gander Shane?” She shook her head. “Those are the other two gafs making a play, and neither of them have been able to stand up to Mick. They’ve already lost too much face. If I want to make sure Mick doesn’t take over the Circle, I’ve got to do it myself.”
“But… I mean…” It was strange to see Filler arguing. Clearly, it felt strange for him, too. He struggled to put the words together. “It’s not what we came here for. We took Hope’s money and we said we’d come back with ships and wags to sail them. We said we’d help all them little girls.”
Nettles patted him on his broad back. “And we will, my wag. Once I’m in charge of the Circle, we’ll be able to give her as many ships and stouthearted wags as she needs.”
“Promise? When this is all done, we’ll do what we said for Hope?”
Filler looked like he really wanted to be convinced. Maybe he was just used to Red making all his decisions for him. Red, and then Hope. And now her. He always looked for confirmation from someone. So she gave it to him.
“I promise, Filler. After I take Paradise Circle, we won’t forget about Hope, or Dawn’s Light, or them little girls.”
Even as she said it, she felt the tiniest prickle of doubt. But she wasn’t accustomed to doubt, and shoved it down as hard as she could on general principle.
Palla’s base was a weaving mill in the northeastern part of Hammer Point. It was well after dark by the time they arrived. The mill was closed and all the workers appeared to be gone. But Nettles could see light coming from a room on the top floor.
“How do we get up there?” asked Filler as they approached the thick, closed double doors of the entrance.
“You don’t,” said a voice. “So piss on home before I shoot your big, ugly, easy-to-target head.”
Nettles squinted in the darkness, trying to see where the voice was coming from. “I’m a friend of Palla’s. I need to talk to him.”
“I know all Palla’s friends.” The voice was high-enough-pitched that it was either a molly or a young boy. “I never seen you around.”
“You weren’t at the storming of the Three Cups, then,” said Nettles. The voice sounded close, but a little high, maybe a sniper in one of the windows. But which one? It was a three-story building. Leaving out the top floor, which was all lit up, the first and second floors had five windows each. A good shot with a long barrel rifle could hit them from the center-most three on each floor, making for a total of six possible sniper positions. “Why weren’t you there?”
“Some of us had to stay behind to guard the mill.”
“In other words, you got left behind,” said Nettles. “Did you have to do the washing, too? Rinse out the bedpans, maybe?”
“I could just shoot you right now, right between the eyes.” The voice sounded petulant.
“In this light? I doubt it,” said Nettles. “Besides, even if you managed to shoot me, the powder flare would give away your position, and my wag here don’t take kindly to his friends getting shot.”
“Then maybe I’ll shoot him first.” The voice was starting to sound a little nervous.
Nettles smiled. “That would be a real mistake. Because I’m nowhere near as nice as he is.”
There was no response.
“Sounds like we might have a bit of a stalemate,” said Nettles. “So instead of a bunch of people dying, including yourself, why don’t you just go ask Palla if he knows a molly named Nettles? We’ll wait right here, patient and true.”
There was another pause. Then the voice said sullenly, “Door’s locked anyway. It’s not like you could get in while I’m gone.” There was a flicker of movement in one of the first-floor windows, and the sniper was gone.
After a moment, Filler said, “What if he was on the second floor? If he’d shot at you, I wouldn’t have been able to reach him.”
“Glad he wasn’t, then,” said Nettles.
“Pretty good bluff.”
Nettles grinned. “Thanks. Red ain’t the only tricky one, you know.”
A few minutes went by before they heard the locks shift and the door swung open. On the other side stood a boy of about fourteen. The long barrel rifle slung over his shoulder was almost as tall as he was.
“Well, look at you, tiny tom,” Nettles said teasingly. “Glad I didn’t have to kill such a precious little thing.”
The boy glared at her. “Piss off. Palla wants to see you.” He pointed at a staircase next to the door.
Nettles patted him on the head as she walked past. He looked like he was thinking of lashing out, but then glanced warily at Filler, who towered over him, and just bit his lip. Nettles smiled to herself. Some mollies didn’t like it when toms underestimated them. Nettles didn’t mind because the look of surprise on their face as she slipped a knife in their bilge was so sweet. That was the trouble with being known, though. In the Circle, nobody mistook her for harmless anymore. So she savored it in Hammer Point while she could.
Filler’s leg brace made climbing steps difficult, so they ascended slowly. As they moved, Nettles looked down at the vast open floor of the mill with rows of looms lined up neatly.
“You ever think what life would have been like if you did something normal, like work in a mill?” she asked.
“Not really,” said Filler as he patiently shifted his weight and swung his metal leg around to the next step. “What would be the point?”
“It’s not something I ever felt a need to try myself, mind you,” said Nettles. “But looking down there makes me wonder what kind of person could do it, sitting there day after day, without going completely slippy.”
They had finally reached the top step by then. Filler stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Then he said, “The sort that can’t take what they need, I suppose.”
“That’s probably true,” said Nettles. “I couldn’t see Alash fighting for his meals on the streets of Paradise Circle. Thank God he was born a lacy.”
Filler grinned and nodded. There was something wistful in his eyes that made Nettles a little curious.
“You ever think about what it would be like to toss a lacy like Alash?”
Filler’s smile widened and he looked down at his boots. “Maybe.” Then he looked back at Nettles. “Don’t tell me you haven’t.”
“Of course I have. It’s been ages since I bent a cock, and seeing his pretty face every day, a molly gets certain thoughts regular enough.” She made a face. “But he reeks of the marrying type, and you know how I feel about that foolishness. Besides, I’d probably break his poncey cock off at the root before I’d had my fun.”
They walked down the dim hallway toward the doorway with light spilling out of it. Nettles unhooked her chainblade, just in case the greeting wasn’t as friendly as she anticipated, then peeked into the room.
It was a large square space. Off in one corner, a few gafs sat playing at stones. In another corner, a few more were folding sections of woven fabric and packing them into crates. Palla sat in the center of the room at a big table, a ledger book open in front of him, a quill in his hand. Although he had the dark skin of someone from Aukbontar, he had lived in Hammer Point for over ten years now and dressed in a jacket and trousers like any other wag in downtown New Laven.
There was a moment in which Nettles was able to take it all in. But then Filler’s leg brace squeaked, and suddenly there were six guns pointed at her.
“Your boots have nice reflexes,” she told Palla.
He smiled and made a calming gesture with one hand. “They’re okay. You can relax.”
The gafs abruptly went back to what they’d been doing, as if they’d suddenly forgotten that Nettles and Filler were there.
Nettles nodded a thank-you to Palla and walked slowly toward his table. She still held her chainblade loose in one hand, just in case.
“How you been, Palla?”
He raised his hands in a shrug. “Some good, some bad. That is life.” He still had a trace of an accent, which Nettles found very pleasant to hear. She thought back on her earlier comment about the tragic lack of cocks in her life and decided that maybe once she’d gotten everything else she wanted from Palla, she’d get that, too.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the Briar Rose of Paradise Circle?” he asked.
Nettles tilted her head slightly, her eyes hard. “Not many know that particular nickname.”
“I know some people,” he admitted. “And of all the names I heard connected with you, that one struck me as the most fitting.”
“It’s a name you have to earn to use.”
Palla steepled his hands together. “Perhaps you have come with a way for me to earn it?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” She glanced around at his boots. “We alright to talk here?”
“These are my best and most loyal wags,” said Palla.
“So, I’m making a play to take Paradise Circle.”
