by Neil McGarry
“And the blackarms did nothing.” It was not a question.
Lysander uttered a bitter little laugh. “They’d never lift a finger unless the Shallows were threatened. As far as they were concerned, letting the Deeps burn would clear out some low-city trash. So yes, they did nothing.” He drank some more. “Nothing at all.”
She was silent for a while, letting him feel that anger, then spoke up. “How did you save the Belfry?”
He looked at her as if only then remembering she was there. “Have you heard of a firebreak?” She shook her head. “I hadn’t either, but luckily someone down there had, or else we might all have died that night. Lots of people were still alive, grabbing up their children and belongings, wondering where to go. We knew the Red and the blackarms would keep us out of the Shallows, so some headed for Wharves, figuring it was safer to be nearer the water than the fire. I tried to get the Tenth Bell Boys to follow them, but that would mean abandoning the Belfry, and we’d fought so hard to keep it. We’d lose everything.”
She knew that feeling well. She’d felt it when the Atropi had struck at her the summer before, and it had led to her own retaliatory strike the following fall. She wanted to say something, then, to share the moment with him, to speak with him about his life before in the very worst part of Rodaas. But she did not, too worried that if she did the spell would be broken and Lysander would say no more.
He went on, lost in memory. “We could feel the flames climbing the hill and some of the boys started to panic. I knew I needed to get them doing something. So when we saw people running towards the fire, with axes and clubs, we grabbed what we could and followed. Some were gang members, some were just regular folks, but they all looked as if they knew what they were doing, so we followed, and as we did, others started following us. We ended up at a point half-way up from the Narrows, but still far into the Deeps. By the time we arrived, there were hundreds of us, and a crowd of Deeps folk already there, smashing and tearing at the buildings. They’d already pulled down half a block.”
She suddenly understood. “They were clearing a no-man’s land before the fire arrived. Taking away its fuel.”
He nodded. “Someone had made a choice. They’d decided to sacrifice some of the Deeps to save the rest of it. As the ones we’d followed arrived, they started knocking down shacks and carrying the debris away from the fire. The biggest and strongest were smashing down the buildings with axes and clubs and the smaller ones were picking up planks and pieces and whatever and clearing them away.”
She shook her head at the scope of it. “It must have taken all day.”
“And all night. Once more folks arrived, things went faster. Some of us, like me and the other boys, were sent to fetch more folk to help. I ran longer and farther that day than I ever had before. I didn’t have the breath to tell people what was going on; I just grabbed them by the arm and dragged them to the break.”
“But it worked.”
“It worked. By dawn, we stood at the edge as the fire approached, all of us dirty and tired and bruised and bleeding. It looked for a long while like it wouldn’t stop, or that the flames would just jump the gap and roast us all. But they didn’t. That night we stood at the edge of Mayu’s deepest hell and watched it burn.”
Duchess had rarely heard Lysander speak like this before, and on impulse she took his hand. She said nothing for a long moment, thinking on what it must have been like—faced with a seemingly unstoppable force that threatened everything you were and had—
She suddenly realized why Lysander had told her this story.
He wasn’t watching her reaction, though. “We were lucky,” he was saying. “The Belfry was at the edge of the break, but it survived. A lot of other places didn’t. The Outsiders lost both their place and a lot of their own that night. We ended up letting them stay at the Belfry, until they tried taking it from us. That’s when the problems between the Outsiders and the Tenth Bell Boys really started...” He trailed off when he noticed her thoughtful expression.
“You think P started a fire,” she said, her throat tight. “But it’s one he can’t let burn.”
Lysander sighed. “Fits, doesn’t it? If you let it go its own way, it’ll run wild. You can’t control it. You can’t direct it.”
To name a thing is to have power over it. A shiver ran through her and once again she was at the precipice beneath the hill, but in her mind’s eye, beyond lay not the void of the pit, but Lysander’s great fire.
“But what do you do,” she asked, almost choking on the words, “once you have a fire cornered like that?”
Lysander looked at her with troubled eyes. “You wait for it to die.”
PART TWO
SISTER
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening below, then voices, then boots upon the stairs. Duchess lurched to her feet, nearly dropping the pack in her fright. If they found her here, Great Mayu...
She hurried across to the secret door as quietly as she could, feeling that at any moment the office door would swing open and the Uncle would be there with a lantern in one hand and a knife in the other. She’d left the small door open, thank the gods, and she slipped through and pressed it closed just as the office door swung open. One hand clutched the rungs of the ladder with panicky strength, while the other still held the pack. She was afraid to climb down, afraid even to breathe lest she be detected. The secret panel was so thin that any tiny sound might give her away.
“She’s on the move,” came the Uncle’s voice, and a spear of ice jabbed her in the belly. They knew she was here. Duchess closed her eyes and offered a prayer to Mayu for a quick death.
Chapter Eleven: Among thieves
As eleventh bell rang out, Duchess pressed herself further into the shadows of the old arch and tried to be patient. She failed.
The chimes went on, as seemingly endless as her vigil. At least the Shallows were quiet at this time of night, save for a passing drunk or two, and her current position afforded her an excellent view of her target’s doorstep. Those two facts were the only good news she’d seen in days.
The walls of Lysander’s firebreak were everywhere. True to her word, she’d fruned her responsibility for the disaster on the Coast Road, and in no time at all her reputation had gone from questionable to laughable. Her marks were now worthless, she was certain, for even Nigel had given up on her. He’d flagged her down just outside her apartments and nervously mentioned that she need not bother with any favors he might have asked of her. “No need to worry on my account,” as he’d put it. It wasn’t like there was anything she could do for him anyway. Hadron and Lepta were the least of her worries.
She was certain that, somewhere, Hector was dancing a jig of glee. When he’d given her the gray cloak, he’d warned her that her reputation was only as good as her last job. And now there was finally someone even lower on the Grey than he.
She shifted from one side of the crumbling stone arch to the other, which helped with the circulation in her legs but did nothing for her mood. She yawned and stretched and tried not to doze off again. Her dreams had been getting steadily worse, the figure in gray tatters now joined by the sounds of quarrels slamming into wood, the sight of Lidda lying face-down in the mud, and the sad earthen mound that was all that marked poor Toby’s grave.
Yet in that tattered figure lay her best hope. Pete the Pearl’s benefactor had orchestrated her fall from grace and in doing so had given away the game. Suddenly Cecilia Payne’s research had become very important, indeed.
Duchess had many questions regarding P; to buy the answers, she needed to find her father’s lost diaries.
The more she thought about what Savant Terence had said, the more certain she was that he was right. Uncle Cornelius’ silence regarding the savant’s offer for the diaries was telling, as was the price her father had paid to release the Deeps gangs during the War of the Quills. The Uncle had always been more than he’d appeared, somehow both a beast and a careful thin
ker. Even so, what would the leader of the Red do with the writings of a scholar? And why would he think them worth turning the city on its head?
Perhaps she’d know the answer once she stole them back.
She smiled when she heard the scrape of boots and the jingle of keys. There was at least one person in Rodaas who still might be willing to do her a favor.
Finn was still fumbling with the lock to his apartment when he caught sight of her. Instinctively, his hands went up to defend himself—reasonable enough, when someone was sneaking up on you in the Shallows. He cut an intimidating figure, between raised fists and the woolen red cap he wore, though the effect was spoiled by the smoothness of his face; he was no Antony.
When she pulled back the hood of her cloak his eyes narrowed. He angrily snatched the cap off his head with a nut-brown hand, revealing a mass of black curls beneath. “You,” he muttered.
“Me,” she replied calmly. “You’re late.”
“You’re keeping track of me now, is that it?”
“I like to know about the people who owe me favors.” The last time she’d seen him, she’d helped him gain the red woolen cap he still held in his hands, which had saved his life from Preceptor Amabilis. Working for Uncle Cornelius might be hazardous, but it was safer than smuggling steel to Deeps gangs on the preceptor’s behalf. She just hoped he remembered that.
He went back to his keys. “Then I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Opening the door, he turned back to her. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to come up.”
“That’d be lovely.”
His apartment was tiny, even more so when she knew he shared it with another redcap. The space was barely sufficient for two bunks, a small table under a hook-hung lantern and a splintery wooden chair.
Finn sat down heavily in the chair, shaking his head.
She took a seat on one of the bunks. “Long day?” She’d started watching Finn’s door sometime after sundown, expecting him within the hour. Instead, almost five bells had rung out before he’d arrived.
“Of course.” He paused. “You haven’t heard, then.”
She was certain there were quite a few things she was no longer hearing about, and she didn’t care to be reminded. “Heard what?”
He smiled, clearly happy to know something she didn’t. “Uncle had me watching the riot, in case things really got out of control.”
She blinked. “Riot?”
He nodded. “Started around noon and they only just got it under control. A bunch of beggars showed up for the radiants’ midday ceremony.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “From what I heard, someone started rumors that the radiants were giving out food. And with how things have been going on the Godswalk...”
She nodded, having seen for herself how hard the Evangelism had made things on Rodaas’ beggars. “What happened?”
“They swarmed inside and took over the Halls of Dawn. When the radiants tried to throw them out, they fought back. Someone pulled a knife and the folks there for worship started running every which way. From what I saw, at least one person got stabbed and three or four more trampled.”
Such madness, in Temple of all places, hadn’t been seen since the War of the Quills. She shuddered. “Where were the Saints in all of this?” The blackarms assigned to Temple were renowned for their diligence; under their commander, Takkis, there was scarcely a shoving match in the district, much less a riot.
His eyes narrowed. “You hadn’t heard? Takkis was just moved up to Garden, to replace Siccarius. Took most of his best people with him, too. The poor lieutenant they left in charge had no idea what to do.”
Gods, even the redcaps were better informed than her. When Minette had mentioned Sicarrius’ removal from Garden, Duchess hadn’t considered who’d succeed him. But why Takkis? The man had caused the empress a good deal of trouble by arresting Castor and ensuring his indiscretions were known to all and sundry. It made no sense for the court to reward the man with a promotion.
And the timing...if it were part of the Evangelism, whichever faith had made the move had planned it to a nicety. What better time to orchestrate a bit of chaos for the radiants than when the Saints’ master was away? “If the Saints didn’t set things right, who did?”
Finn shook his head. “That was the strange part, and maybe what the Uncle was interested in.” He glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’d have expected the blackarms from Scholar’s or maybe even the Whites to show up, given how close Temple is to Garden. But it was Galeon and his Wharf Rats that broke it up.”
Stranger and stranger, for even Ophion and his Brutes would have been closer. The Wharf Rats would have had to cross the entirety of the Shallows to reach Temple and the Godswalk. None of it made any sense.
Finn sighed. “So yes—I’ve had a long day. If you don’t mind, can we just get to what you want so I can get some sleep?”
“I won’t waste your time.” She smiled. “I need to get into the Uncle’s office.”
He gaped. “Do you have any idea what Uncle Cornelius does to people who try to steal from him?”
“I can imagine well enough, thank you, but I don’t plan to find out. That’s why I came to you.”
“Well, if you’re expecting me to steal from the Uncle, you can forget it.” Finn crossed brawny arms. “I like my job and I like my life. If I help you I’ll end up losing both.”
“It seems to me you wouldn’t have either if not for me. The Uncle wasn’t particularly happy with the Deeps gangs being armed last summer, and I seem to remember Amabilis wanting to tie up any loose ends in connection to that bit of nonsense.”
Finn frowned. “So it’s blackmail, is it?”
Duchess threw up her hands. “Finn, when have I blackmailed you? Last summer you gave me a small bit of information in return for my saving your life, which seems a generous trade on my part.” She leaned back, choosing her words carefully. Finn was not a stupid man, but if Darley could sway him, so could she. “I was there for you then. Now I need you to be here for me.”
He grimaced. “You sound like Darley,” he muttered darkly. “Why do you even want to steal from anyone? Everyone knows you and that Domae woman are already making more coin than you can spend.”
“I’m not after coin,” she replied. “The Uncle has something of mine, and I want it back.”
He scoffed. “If the Uncle has something, then it’s his, not yours. You’re better off just replacing it and getting on with not dying.”
“It’s quite irreplaceable, I’m afraid, which is why I’ve come to you. By all reports you’ve become a valued member of the Red, and I would never ask you to jeopardize that. All I want is some information. Nothing more.”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of information?”
“I just want to know where the Uncle keeps his valuables.”
He laughed. “Oh, is that all?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Finn. I’m guessing most of it will be in his office, right?” Finn shrugged. “Anything you know would be useful.”
He frowned and fidgeted under her gaze. “He has a safe built into the wall behind his desk. Everyone in the Red knows that.” Finn spoke as if each word were an effort. “That’s where we put the protection money we collect every week. But it’s never left open for long, and you’d never pick it anyway. It’s secured with one of those puzzle locks.”
Duchess winced. During her time with Tyford she’d studied locks both mundane and magnificent, but she’d had her falling out with the old thief before he’d taught her how to deal with puzzle locks. If her father’s diaries were in the safe, they might as well be a million miles away. Still, it was useful information. “Finn, you said the safe is never left open for long. So you’ve seen it open?”
“Sure. When we bring back the coin, the Uncle counts it, then it goes right inside. There are always a bunch of us bringing in payments, so it stays open all morning until the collections are done.” He shook his head. “Bu
t the Uncle sits right at his desk the whole time. Even a shadow couldn’t slip past him.”
That didn’t sound promising, but she didn’t want to give Finn any excuse to stop talking. “Just how large is this safe?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know for sure, but not very. A box maybe two feet on a side.”
She tapped her chin with one finger, considering. Her father’s journals, standard for all scholars, were tall books bound in leather, thick and heavy. One would barely fit in such a space, much less two or more. But of course she hadn’t seen them since she was a little girl, so perhaps she was misremembering. Still...
The first and only time she’d been in the Uncle’s office he’d been writing in a ledger of some sort, a book he’d set aside before speaking with her. Not a scholar’s diary, to be sure, but something that might be stored in the same place. “Finn, where does the Uncle keep his ledgers? I was once in his office when he was using one, but I didn’t see where he put it when he was finished.”
