“What are you doing?” Asti shouted at his brother.
“Same as you,” Verci said. The ceiling crackled and creaked above them.
“Fine. You get him out, I’ll—”
“You’ll nothing.” Verci pointed to the stairway to the Greenfields’ rooms, blocked by the fire. “You can’t get up there.”
“Get him out! Maybe I can—” He got to his feet.
“There’s no chance, Asti!” Verci yanked him back down. A moment later the ceiling came crashing down in the middle of the workroom, bringing fresh flames from above. One timber knocked Asti on the arm. Verci grabbed the damp cloak and beat out the fire on Asti’s sleeve.
“We can’t leave them!” Asti shouted over the screaming blaze.
“No one is alive up there! We need to get out now!”
“But—”
“Help me!” Verci draped Win over his shoulder, and Asti did the same on the other side. They traced the steps through the black smoke, back out to the street. Julien came over and took Greenfield from them. They all hurried away from the blaze, dropping to their knees once they were clear. Asti took several deep breaths of sweet, cool air, while Verci hacked and wheezed next to him.
“Verci Rynax, how dare you . . .” Raych started.
“I’m fine, Raych,” Verci said, even if his cough belied that. He reached up and cupped her face tenderly. Her eyes welled up with tears.
“You are not fine, that was a stupid, reckless—”
“I’m fine as well, you know,” Asti said. He left his brother and went to where Julien had laid Greenfield on the ground. Asti knelt down and touched Win’s head and chest.
“What you think, Rynax?” Helene said, hovering over him.
“He’ll probably have a blazes of a cough, but I think he’ll live,” Asti said. He looked back up. Every shop and house on the east side of Holver Alley was on fire now.
Their shop was on the east side.
“Where is the blasted Fire Brigade?” Asti muttered.
“Don’t know,” Helene said. “Don’t think we can count on them now, can we?”
“Right,” Asti said. The crowd stood staring at the fire, people screaming or crying, but no one doing a blasted thing. “Julien, take Win to Kimber’s Pub over on Frost. Doc Gelson is usually deep in the cider over there all night. Hel—”
“Don’t think you can order me and my cousin around, Rynax,” Helene said, emphasizing her point by shoving his pack back in his hands.
“I’m not ordering, Helene!” Asti snapped at her. “I’m asking for help.”
“Asking sounds a lot different.”
“Blasted damn saints, Hel, the whole alley is burning down!” Asti’s guts were churning; he fought down the bile forcing its way up his throat.
Helene grit her teeth. “What you want, Rynax?”
“Get people away from the fire,” he said. “Make sure Raych goes.”
“I’m not gonna be your blasted runnin’ girl, Asti,” Helene said. “You know I’m worth more than that.”
“I know,” Asti said. “But I don’t need you putting an arrow in anyone tonight. Not yet, anyhow.”
“Right,” Helene said. Julien had Win picked up in his massive arms, looking to his cousin for her cue. “If you do, though . . .” She let it hang there.
“Wouldn’t call on anyone else.”
Helene nodded and went into the crowd, telling people to head over to Frost. People started shuffling away. Asti went back to Verci and Raych.
“Raych, get out of here, go over to your sister’s,” Asti said. “Come on, brother.”
“Where are you going?” she asked him, grabbing her husband by the arm.
“We’ve got a shop down on the other end, case you forgot,” Asti said.
Verci nodded, touching Raych’s hand. “Every crown we have is put in there.”
“Right,” she said, resigned. She glanced back over to the locksmith shop, now completely ablaze. “Don’t do anything else so stupid as that, though.”
“I’ll do all the stupid things,” Asti said. “Come on.” He raced down the alley. His brother was right at his heels. He didn’t need to look behind to know, he could feel it.
Holver Alley was a quarter mile long. If Asti ran full tilt, he could cross it in a minute. With the panicked crowd, the flames, the choking smoke, Asti had to fight for every step.
Every shop, every home, every building on the east side of the alley was on fire. Asti almost tripped over Missus Hoskins, who sat on the dirt with her grandchildren, all wailing and screaming while their house burned. Jared Scall, the butcher, was held back by three others while he desperately clawed toward his shop and house. His children were nowhere to be seen. A dark-haired street girl stood in the middle of the road, staring blankly up at the conflagration.
“Asti!” Verci shouted. He pointed to a wrought-iron balcony three flights up. Hexie Matlin, the crazy fortune-teller, trembled with her little dog clutched to her chest. The fire raged inside her flop, trapping her. She cried out for help, panic cracking her voice.
“We have to go—” Asti started.
“Asti!” Verci didn’t need to say anything else, it was all in his face. Hexie had been a good friend to their mother; they had known her all their lives.
“Fine,” Asti said. “But I promised your wife I’d do the stupid things.”
“I’m the better climber,” Verci said.
“Then figure out how I’m getting her down.” Asti gave a quick point up to Hexie’s balcony and then to the barbershop on the other side of the alley. With two quick bounds, he was up on the doorframe of the barbershop, and then scrambling up the windows, finding whatever handholds he could.
He reached the roof, forty feet above the alley. From up here he would normally be able to see most of the city of Maradaine, or at least the west side. But now smoke filled his vision, obscuring even the view of the North Seleth neighborhood. He could still see the alley below, the balcony across, and Hexie’s panicked face.
Verci came up over the edge of the roof, quickly getting his pack off.
“I told you to stay down there.”
“You told me to not do anything stupid.” He pulled out a rope and a gear-and-pulley device from the pack. “Trust me, I’m leaving that to you.” He tossed one end of the rope to Asti.
“What’s the plan?” Asti asked.
“You know damn well what the plan is,” Verci said. “Like the gig for Tolman five years ago.”
“Right.” Asti hated that gig.
He tied the rope around his waist and dropped his pack. He darted over to the far end of the roof. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve done in a long time.”
“At least a month,” Verci said. He held on to his end of the rope. “Go!”
Asti dashed across the roof and leaped off, sailing across the alley. A second later he crashed onto the balcony next to Hexie’s.
“You missed!” Verci shouted from the rooftop.
“Shut it!”
Asti climbed up on the rail of his balcony, the metal creaking under him. He jumped the few feet over to Hexie, who screamed when he landed. The balcony shuddered with his weight.
“Get me out of here!” she cried.
“That’s the plan,” he said, untying the rope from his waist. The balcony buckled again.
“Hurry!” She clutched her dog tighter.
“I really am going as fast as I can,” he said. He stood behind her, wrapping the rope around the both of them as he held her tight.
“Now, Asti!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. A loud crack came from behind them, and the balcony came loose on one side. The two of them lurched, and Hexie screamed again. Asti saw Verci working frantically with his device. He threaded the rope through it, and then coiled it around his waist.<
br />
“Blessed saints, forgive me my sins,” Hexie cried.
“You’d think you’d have seen this coming, Hexie,” Asti said. He wrapped his arms around her. The rope pulled taut from Verci cranking the gears on his device.
“I didn’t—I couldn’t—I . . .” Hexie stammered out. The balcony was about to give way. No more time.
“Verci, now!” Asti shouted, and he jumped. The balcony collapsed, crashing down to the alley below, onlookers scattering to avoid being crushed. Verci jumped over the ledge at the same time. He drifted down, while Asti and Hexie shot up, flying across the alley. Asti braced himself, both feet hitting the brick wall of the building with a hard sting. Hexie and her dog both cried out, but they seemed unhurt.
“Oh, blessed saints, blessed saints,” Hexie whispered.
Asti looked down to the ground. Verci started uncoiling the rope, controlling Asti and Hexie’s descent. His hands worked quickly, his arms straining, until they reached the ground safely. As soon as their feet made contact, Asti let her go, untying the rope around them. She collapsed to the ground, still giving prayers, her little dog running in crazy circles around her.
“Gadget worked this time,” Asti said as he freed himself from the rope.
“Of course it did,” Verci swiped back. He bent over Hexie. “Safe and sound, Missus Matlin?”
“Thank you, blessed saints,” she said. “Oh, thank you, boys. Your mother would be so proud of you.”
“It was nothing,” Verci said with a smile.
“It was nothing for you,” Asti said, elbowing his brother in the ribs.
“You promised to do the stupid things,” Verci said.
“Stupid promise,” Asti muttered. “You all right now, Hexie? We have to check our shop.”
“I’m fine, boys,” she said unconvincingly. She looked around at the fire and madness surrounding them.
“Our packs are still on the roof,” Verci said.
“Later,” Asti muttered. He grabbed Verci’s arm and pulled him down the alley.
The Rynax Gadgeterium hadn’t even opened yet. Not one customer, not one sale. They had bought the shop less than a month ago and had been working on getting it fixed up enough to open. They had put down most every crown they had to buy the place from Old Spence, and they still owed him quite a bit of silver. It wasn’t a great bargain, but it was better than owing money to one of the ankle-breakers in Keller Cove.
Old Spence had let the place become a wreck, and it had taken a lot of work on their part to make it presentable. Asti had figured it would only be a couple more days before they could open. The flops above the store were still unlivable, but when the shop was open, they planned to clean and fix them so they could move in.
The Rynax Gadgeterium was nothing but a burning husk now, a handful of beams and stones in the rough skeleton of a building, the sad corpse of their plans.
Verci stood agape in front of what had been their shop, not moving an inch as he stared at the smoldering remnants.
Asti’s blood boiled, a rush of mixed emotions, rage winning.
It took a moment for Asti to realize there was a cry from inside Almer Cort’s chemist shop across the street from the Gadgeterium. Cort’s shop wasn’t burning, but the door was broken open. Asti ran inside.
Five young toughs were in the shop. Two of them held Cort up against the wall, working him over. The other three were rifling through the shop, knocking over shelves and glass bottles. “Where’s your lockbox?” one of them shouted.
Asti charged right in at the two boys holding on to Cort. His building rage finally had a target, five stupid faces for him to hit. He launched at the one he figured to be the leader of this gang, grabbing the hooligan about the waist and ripping him away from Cort. That one dealt with for the moment, he kicked the other one in the knee.
“Run!” Asti shouted to Cort, who was still up against the wall, gasping for breath. Cort managed to stumble to the door of his back room. Asti turned to the hooligans.
Just a glance was all he needed to figure this bunch out. Street scrappers, every one, no real training. The closest two had knives. The other three, back by the shelves, didn’t have any obvious weapons. Asti knew he didn’t look too intimidating, given his short stature and wiry frame. If it wasn’t for the layer of unshaven scruff on his face, they might think he was just a kid. Still, they hung back, each one waiting for someone else to pounce.
Asti didn’t give them a chance. Since he was unarmed, he went for the closest one, the one with two knives. Asti needed those knives. The kid held his guard up, tried to slash at Asti. Wasn’t fast enough, and Asti dove in, taking the cuts on his arms. He gave two sharp punches at the kid’s shoulders. Before the others could react, Asti grabbed him by the wrists and spun him around. The knives clattered to the ground.
Asti was about to push the kid at the other armed one. Before he could, the hooligan swung back his head, cracking Asti’s nose.
Everything went red.
Chapter 2
VERCI DIDN’T KNOW HOW long he stood staring at the smoldering remains of his shop. He couldn’t even wrap his head around what was lost. Tools. Inventions. Every crown they owned, every ounce of work they had put into it. All gone.
Screams from Cort’s shop snapped Verci out of his reverie. Three boys ran out of the shop, screaming. They ran like they were on fire. They ran like death was after them.
Asti wasn’t next to him anymore. Verci hadn’t noticed him leave.
“Asti,” Verci whispered, racing into the shop.
Shelves were knocked over, bottles broken. The place was a wreck. A street boy was dead on the floor, two knives buried in his chest.
Asti was on top of another one, pinning him to the ground with his knees while pummeling his face. There was no struggle, no resistance. Just his brother pounding his fists into a senseless mass of blood and meat.
Verci grabbed Asti’s shoulder. Asti reacted instantly, spinning around and grabbing Verci by the throat. His face was twisted, covered in blood and ash, his eyes burning with empty rage. Verci clawed at his brother’s hand, trying to get it free of his neck. Asti lifted him up off the ground.
“As—” was all Verci could gasp out. He batted at Asti’s head, a futile effort. Asti wasn’t letting go. Verci was about to black out.
A hand appeared from nowhere and smeared a paste under Asti’s nose. A moment later Asti went limp and crumpled to the ground. Verci managed to land on his feet, woozy but stable. Almer Cort was standing there, a small man with a thick graying beard and wide spectacles. He wiped off his finger on the front of his leather apron.
“You all right?” Cort asked. Schooling had blunted his West Maradaine accent, but not eliminated it.
“Think so,” Verci said. “How long will he be out?”
“A few minutes.” Cort pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the gunk from Asti’s face. “Shouldn’t leave it there very long, though.”
“What happened?”
“Some rats cracked into my shop,” Cort said. “They were roughing me up when he came in and . . .” Cort looked at the two dead bodies on the floor of the shop. “He . . . he just went crazy on them.”
“Yeah.” Verci shook his head. Blazes. Not again. Asti had been getting better. “Night like this, could make anyone snap.” Cort ought to buy that.
“What’s happening out there?” Cort asked.
“Fire,” Verci said. “The whole east side of the alley.”
“Fire Brigade?”
“Haven’t seen them yet,” Verci said. “It’s insane out there.”
“It’s insane in here,” Cort said, looking down at Asti. “He going to go berserk when he comes to?”
“No.” Said it too quick. Too suspicious. “I don’t think so, at any rate.”
Cort picked up another bottle. “He gets this in his
face if he does.”
“He’ll be fine!” Verci snapped. “Think you can do something about the fire?”
Cort looked around at the broken shelves. “Nothing on a large scale. This building should be safe if the fire jumps across. Solid brick.”
“Small comfort,” Verci said. Asti groaned and stirred. “Hey, brother. You all right?”
Asti woke with a startled jerk. Eyes bulging, he clutched out and grabbed Verci’s shirt.
“Verci,” he said, looking around. “Where are we?”
“Cort’s shop,” Verci said.
“When did we—” Asti looked at his hands, covered with blood. “Did I . . .” He faltered, looking back at Verci.
“You did,” Verci said. “Some street rats were hurting Almer, and you . . . you got rid of them.”
“Not all of them,” Asti said. The mutilated bodies were still lying on the ground near them. He sat up, burying his face in his hands. “Blazes, brother, I don’t know if I can go through this again.”
“It’s all right, Asti,” Verci said, crouching down. “It’s been a crazy night. Anyone could lose it. Right? Anyone.” He signaled in Cort’s direction with his eyes.
Asti didn’t care. “There’s two dead bodies here, Verci! What are we going to do about that when Constabulary comes?”
“I can take care of that,” Cort offered. He opened up one bottle and poured a light powder on top of the two bodies. They both started sizzling, the flesh burning away. “We’ve got half the alley burning down, I can slip them into one of the burned buildings. Constabs won’t be looking too hard at two more corpses in this mess.”
“This ‘mess’ is our homes, our businesses, Almer,” Asti snapped. “Friends. Lives!”
“I know that!” Cort stalked over to the door, looking out at the wreckage across the street. “And snots like these boys tried to take advantage. You took care of it, Asti. I’m not gonna let you take a hit, get sent over to Quarrygate or something, for helping me. Least I can do.”
“We appreciate it, Almer,” Verci said.
Cort pulled on some heavy gloves and dragged the first body out of the shop.
The Holver Alley Crew Page 2
