The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “What about it?” Hotchins asked.

  “We make sure the Rabbits know that Orchid, between Bush and Waterpath, is pure Prince territory. They’ve done a bit of creeping onto one side of that street. I bet there’s a couple flops that are Rabbit holes. So let’s get a few tight crews together, head over to Orchid, and flush them out.”

  Hotchins shrugged. “It’s a start.”

  “What’s a start?”

  Colin looked up to see Lieutenant Benvin at the doors of the Turnabout, with two of his men at his elbow.

  “You locking up Red Rabbits for peddling effitte and the like, that’s what,” Colin said. He grabbed the vial of Red still sitting on the table. No point trying to hide the thing from Benvin, better to take control. “Look what they’ve got out there.” He threw it over to Benvin.

  Benvin caught it. “This supposed to be effitte?”

  Hotchins looked at Colin like he was ready to punch him in the neck. “Something like it, Left.”

  Benvin held up the vial to a lamp, while the two other sticks chuckled. “Wrong color, but it does have the look of it. But how can we prove this is something the Red Rabbits are peddling?”

  “I just told you, Left,” Colin said.

  “You told me this came from the Rabbits,” Benvin said, crossing over to the table. Every Prince in the place—not that there were many—tensed up as Benvin sat down with Colin, Jutie, and Hotchins. “But who the blazes are you, Tyson? Just some gutter-born Rose Street Prince. A thug and a cheat. Why does it matter what you tell me?”

  “I ain’t—”

  “A liar?”

  One of the other sticks looked around, “Like there’s a Prince who isn’t a damn liar.”

  “Hey!” Jutie was on his feet. “You can’t come in here—”

  “Pardon me?” Benvin snapped. “Is this some sort of private club? Is your name on the lease, boy?”

  Jutie was silent, hard-eyed at all the sticks.

  “What is your name, boy?”

  “Juteron Higgs, stick. And I live on Rose Street.”

  “Sit down, Higgs. Don’t give us a reason to drag you in the lockwagon tonight.”

  This was clearly happening, so Colin waved to the barman for a few beers. “So what are you here for, if not to lock up Princes? You drinking?”

  “Is it smart for me to drink?” Benvin asked.

  “Up to you. You and your men can have beers and strikers like anyone else. Ain’t a private club, after all.”

  “I’m trying to figure out why I’m here, Tyson.” He held up the vial of Red again. He noticed that one of Benvin’s men stayed at the main door, and the other wandered over to the back. No way out without kicking through one of them. “Why’d you target the Rabbits?”

  “Me?” Colin didn’t know what the left was on about, but he got a raised eyebrow from Hotchins.

  “Near as I can tell, this whole business about the Rabbits being in league with Fenmere, dealing effitte, or whatever this junk is—that all came from you. You roped the rest of the gangs in, and the reverend. And me. I almost swallowed it.”

  Colin leaned in and lowered his voice. “You know what you swallowed, and who gave it to you. And who saved you.”

  “Right.” Benvin’s voice boomed. “Let’s none of us forget, the Rabbits poisoned me last night. Everyone here clear? They meant to poison the reverend, saints know why, but they got me. But your man Tyson, he pulled me out of there.” He grabbed a beer away from Colin as the bartender delivered it. He got on his feet and addressed the room. “So raise your glasses, Princes. Because when this lieutenant is there to lock each and every one of you away, you can thank Colin Tyson for saving his life.”

  “You did what, boy?” Hotchins asked.

  “Made sense in the moment,” Colin muttered.

  Benvin gulped down the beer and sat back down. “So you start the rows, you save a stick, you get the neighborhood in a state, and I’m still trying to figure out why.”

  “You’ve got quite the imagination, Left, if you think I’ve got that kind of power.” Colin now felt the heat of the Princes staring at him, especially Hotchins. There wasn’t much to do besides laugh it off. “I’m just a Prince.”

  “You’re geared, if you think Colin started this, Left,” Jutie said. “I told him about the Rabbits.”

  “Did you? Well, now, Mister Higgs, how did you know about it?”

  “Heard it from the Thorn himself, right after he skirted you in the alley.”

  “Right after he—” Benvin’s eyes went wide. “You!”

  Benvin lunged at Jutie, but Colin kicked at the stick’s chair, knocking him over. Jutie slipped out of his grasp and jumped to his feet, drawing out his knife.

  “Jutie, run!” Colin shouted.

  Jutie made a line for the door, but Benvin’s man drew his handstick and came at him. In a flash the two of them collided, falling onto the floor. Jutie cried out, but before anyone else could move, he was back on his feet. Two steps and he was out into the night.

  And the stick was on the ground, blood pouring out his chest.

  “Arch!” Benvin shouted, going to his man. The stick was convulsing, far too much blood already on the ground for him to live.

  The one at the back door came running over. “I’ll call the Yellowshields!” he said, going out the front. Whistles cut through the air.

  Then the stick was still.

  Benvin turned, red-faced, to Colin. “You are going to pay for this, Tyson.”

  Colin held up his hands. “I didn’t touch anyone. You can’t lock me up for being in the room.”

  “I will get you, boy. I will haunt you until you are in Quarrygate for life.”

  Two footpatrol sticks ran in, and their faces dropped when they saw the dead man.

  Benvin was up, all business, “One of you, put out the call to the whole stationhouse. Every man on foot, horse, or wagon is to go All Eyes for Juteron Higgs, Rose Street Prince. Arrest on sight for the murder of Officer Arch Nathons.”

  Colin felt a meaty hand grab his shoulder. Hotchins. “Get down in the basement, Tyson.”

  “But, Jutie—”

  “Get down there, now, and stay there. He’s in the wind. And you’re in the hole.”

  Sotch found this evening to be truly lovely, despite the unpleasantness of the past few days. Her Red Rabbits had held their own against bastards from every damn gang in Aventil. The Thorn had tried to rattle them, even. But she and Keckin kept their folk together. Even when skulls were getting cracked and sticks were throwing folk in the lockwagon, they got their people out of there and back to the brewery.

  The place made for a good flop, better than the last few places they had used. Cuse, the boss’s nephew, was put out by having twenty-some odd Rabbits crashing down in the place. His work had been cordoned off, mostly in the basements and the vats. He insisted the crews keep away from his stuff, and Sotch and Keckin made sure they complied. As long as they stayed away from the windows, since the fact they were crashing down in the brewery had to stay quiet. Surely some Orphans knew, of course, but it was crucial word didn’t get back to Fenmere. Not yet.

  And it wouldn’t for a while, not with Bell tied and bagged like a hog in the corner of the office. He had long stopped struggling and grunting, but Sotch could still hear him breathing.

  As she lay on the bedroll, Keckin’s warm body her pillow, she had to admit that having Fenmere’s man just a few feet away, powerless to do anything, gave her a blazing rush that beat anything effitte or the Red could do. The only reason she wasn’t pouncing back onto Keckin was that she had already exhausted him.

  “Should we feed him?” Keckin asked idly.

  “I’m not in any rush,” she said. “He’s a bit of a doughy man, don’t you think? Easy living, suckling off Fenmere’s teat. Missing a few meals won’t h
urt him.”

  “Go roll yourselves,” Bell grunted.

  “Already did.”

  “I heard.”

  There was a knock on the doorframe—the office didn’t have a proper door, of course—and Cuse stepped in. Thin little weasel with thick spectacles and greasy hair. It was a good thing he was so blasted clever. He’d never last a night as a regular Rabbit. Sotch shifted the blanket to make sure she and Keckin were covered. “What do you need?”

  “I’d like to grab a few of your boys for tomorrow,” Cuse said. “I need a bit more raw muscle to finish the project.”

  The project. Sotch didn’t like this personal sewage Cuse was reveling in. He was being given a blazing lot of latitude, on his uncle’s orders. But this thing of his drew too much heat their way.

  “We talking smack around muscle or lift and carry?”

  “Mostly the latter,” Cuse said. “But, frankly, if the cadets or the Thorn get in my way, I wouldn’t mind a few boys with knives in my pocket.”

  “I thought your pockets were full of tricks,” Keckin murmured.

  Cuse grinned, far too proud of himself. “Last night’s was pretty good, but that was over two hundred crowns’ worth of material in one vial.”

  “You’re a little loose with Rabbit crowns, Cuse,” Sotch said, getting to her feet. She grabbed her trousers off the floor and put them on.

  “None of you will be lacking in crowns in a few weeks. Most of those vats are brewing the Red. That will more than pay off my other materials.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “And after tomorrow, my project will be done. So you won’t have to worry.”

  “What’s his project?” That came from Bell in the corner.

  “Don’t mind him,” Keckin said. He grabbed his boot off the floor and threw it at Bell’s head.

  Sotch had her vest on. “Let’s get you some muscle, eh?”

  Sotch led him down the office steps to what had been the brewery’s warehouse and dock. Most of the crews—hers, Keckin’s, and anyone else who was hiding from the lockwagons—were crashed out in there. About twenty Red Rabbits in all.

  “All right, Rabbits,” Sotch called out to them as they came in. “Cuse here needs, what, four or five of you?”

  “Four or five, yes.” Cuse’s attention was on one of his own boxes by the warehouse door. His supplies were all over the blasted place. “Strong lads, preferably.”

  “Strong lads,” she echoed. “Any of you want it?”

  Cuse was now completely enthralled with the contents of the box, and Sotch could hear something rattling in there.

  “Is that supposed to do that?” she asked.

  “Only if—” His eyes darted around the room. “The Thorn!”

  Sotch turned in the direction he was looking, but saw nothing. “What are you—” was all she got out before an arrow went into her arm.

  She fell down. Cuse had already leaped behind a crate as another arrow struck the ground, hitting exactly where he had been a moment ago.

  “The Thorn is here!” she screamed out, flailing to get her hand around the wound, blood gushing everywhere. “Get him!”

  “Where?” Someone shouted, only to get an answer in terms of an arrow in his knee.

  “Somewhere up there!” another Rabbit said, pointing up.

  Twenty-odd Rabbits drew weapons—blades, darts, and knucklestuffers—but none of them really knew where danger was coming from other than up. No person, no bow, no anything to be seen as the source of the arrows.

  Suddenly the crate Cuse had hidden behind slid away, crashing into a couple Rabbits. Cuse was exposed, and another arrow flew down from somewhere in the rafters. It missed him by hairs, and he responded by throwing a bottle up, up to the roof, which burst into purple smoke.

  “Are you stupid?” Sotch yelled at him, as she tried to stop the bleeding. The damn thing hurt like blazes; she could barely lift her fighting arm.

  “It’s fine,” Cuse said, and as he did, a figure—no more than a shadow—dropped down from the purple smoke. It was almost insubstantial, like a shimmer in the air, save for the fact that the purple smoke seemed to stick to it like tar on the fingers. It landed like a cat in the middle of the warehouse floor.

  “Get him!” Sotch shouted, and the closest Rabbits converged on it—on him, the Thorn.

  One immediately had his knife knocked from his hand, and then went down like he was hit across the head. From the shape of the shimmer, it was clear the Thorn was armed. A staff.

  Two more Rabbits were dropped.

  The Thorn moved through the crowd of Rabbits, making a line toward Cuse.

  Cuse threw something else at the Thorn, who knocked it away easily, sending it at a far group of Rabbits. They screamed as it burst in a ball of ice and snow, trapping them.

  Cuse ran out of the warehouse. “Hold him off!” he shouted.

  “Rolling saints, stop him now, you bastards!” Sotch yelled. She could barely manage to get on her feet, her arm in agony. The side of her body was covered in blood, but she wasn’t going to let her Rabbits get beat. A few more jumped at him, one getting clocked down to the ground. The rest managed to grab hold of something, even if it looked like so much smoke and haze.

  A wave of something purple pulsed off the Thorn, knocking those Rabbits off of him. Sotch felt it herself, a slam to her chest, bowling her back off her feet.

  Whatever the Thorn did, though, changed him back from haze and shimmer into a man again. He swung the staff around in a wide arc, putting down the next closest Rabbits.

  “I’m going to eat your bones!” Keckin shouted this, running in with nothing but trousers and two long knives. Keckin knew how to use those knives, though; that’s why he was a captain. Hard, fast slashes, aiming for the Thorn’s arms and legs. The Thorn jumped and flipped out of the way, barely staying away from Keckin’s lethal assaults.

  “Get the bastard, baby!” Sotch shouted, pulling herself over to the crates to give her something to hold on to as she got on her feet.

  The Thorn leaped up high—higher than a man possibly could, but he clearly had sorcery on his side—and hurled something at Keckin. More magic. Keckin parried it with his off hand, but it must have still hurt him. He cried out, the knife flying out of his hand. It skittered onto the ground a few feet away from Sotch.

  The Thorn landed on the ground, slamming his staff into the chest of the Rabbit closest to him. His hands like lightning, he put the staff up and drew his bow again.

  “Give up, Jensett!” the Thorn shouted, an arrow aimed at Keckin. “I’ve no quarrel with the rest of you.”

  “You’ve a quarrel with me, Thorn,” Keckin snarled. He held up his knife, ready to strike. Even from that distance, Sotch knew he could do it: dodge the arrow, step in close, and cut his enemy. Keckin was one of the best knife fighters on these blocks.

  The Thorn fired, and Keckin moved like a viper. But the Thorn hadn’t aimed at him, it was one of the other Rabbits coming up on his flank. The Thorn slid out of the way of Keckin’s attack, but Keckin managed to get a piece of him. It wasn’t much, little more than a scratch, but it was enough to make the Thorn cry out.

  “You still bleed and scream like a man,” Keckin taunted. He spun on his heel and made another strike, right for the Thorn’s heart.

  The Thorn just flicked his wrist, and Keckin stopped dead in the air. With a dismissive wave, Keckin went flying against the wall.

  Sotch glanced around the warehouse floor. Nearly two dozen Rabbits, and every one was on the ground. Moaning, wailing, or utterly out of their senses.

  She let herself drop back down to the ground and stretched with her good arm to get Keckin’s knife. It was pointless, as the Thorn just strode past her, kicking the blade away as he went by. “Stay down.”

  Sotch wasn’t about to do that, forcing herself
to follow him into the brewery.

  “Cuse Jensett!” he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the place unnaturally. “No one left to save you!”

  Cuse, for his part, stood at the far end of the brewery, the cockiest of grins on his face. “Then I’ll have to save myself.” He held up a metal ball in each hand.

  The Thorn had another arrow nocked, but before he fired, Cuse knocked the two balls together.

  The response was like lightning, leaping from the balls and hitting points around the brewery. The whole place lit up. Lightning danced around the whole room. The Thorn took his shot, and as the arrow was released from his bow, the lightning all converged on the Thorn. He screamed out and dropped to the ground.

  The lightning dissipated, and the Thorn was still on the ground.

  Cuse was also on the ground, an arrow protruding from his leg. He was swearing and screaming, while the Thorn was completely silent.

  The Thorn was still breathing, though. That should be corrected.

  “Leave him, Sotch,” Cuse snapped as she approached. “How bad off are you?”

  “Quite,” she snarled back. “So is everyone else.”

  He tried to get himself up. “I have something in my lab downstairs that’ll help us. Can you get there?”

  Sotch felt like she would fall over any moment. “What is it?”

  “A green leather case. It’s right on my table.”

  “I got it.” Keckin came over, clutching his chest. He was wheezing, like he could barely draw breath, but he was moving faster than the rest of them. He touched Sotch softly on her back. “You’ll be fine.”

  Cuse crawled over to the Thorn. “Thought you were so very clever, didn’t you? Didn’t think that being the biggest source of numina would make you a target, did you?”

  Keckin returned quickly with the case, kneeling next to Sotch. She still had the arrow in her arm, and only now did she realize the amount of blood she had trailed across the room. “What do I do, Cuse?”

  Cuse looked over at them, and his face fell slightly. He probably presumed he’d be treated first, but wasn’t going to argue. “Get the arrow out of her arm. Then put the orange powder in the wound and touch it with the copper strip.”