The Holver Alley Crew

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Let’s just talk hypothetically,” Verci said. “As one scientific philosopher to another.”

  “Oh, science,” Cort said. With a chuckle he hopped up on the counter. “I don’t think I really see you with the Uni boys, discussing theories and lessons.”

  “I could have done quite well at University, given the chance,” Verci said defiantly. True, he hadn’t done much proper schooling, not since he was ten and his father dragged him out to “earn something and learn something” as he had said at the time, but his marks had always been strong.

  “Done quite well cracking dormitory locks, perhaps.”

  “Almer, help me out here,” Verci said.

  “Fine, fine. What are your philosophical thoughts, Scholar Rynax?”

  “This is a mistake,” Verci said. Annoyed, he went back to the door.

  “Verci, Verci, sorry,” Almer said. “I’m just . . . it’s been a rough few days.”

  “That it has,” Verci said. “Asti said you found proof the fire was deliberate.”

  “Oh, it was, no doubt. Even showed it to a Brigade officer, who said he told some inspectors. All time and no crowns in that.”

  “No help?”

  “Inspectors came. Bastards wouldn’t even listen.” Almer grunted. “Said I shouldn’t be bothering decent folk. Knocking my hand, they were.”

  “Sorry ’bout that,” Verci said. “Asti said the Fire Brigade chief had come into some money recently as well.”

  Cort grunted. “Yenner? Did he? That explains that.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, after the inspectors, I went to the Brigadehouse to talk to that decent fellow again. He told me Yenner up and quit the day after the fire, bought a new house over in Keller Cove, and hasn’t been seen since. They don’t even know who’s the chief right now.”

  “Bastard,” Verci said.

  “It’s all a loss, anyway,” Cort said. “There’s a bunch of vultures, you know, buyers and reps from Whatever and Whoever, dropping coin on the empty lots.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard,” Verci said. “We’ll probably sell ours.”

  “Money’s good,” Cort said. “I don’t need to sell, but they’re sniffing me anyway.” He shook his head. “So what do you need?”

  “Hypothetically.”

  “Hypothetically, what do you need?”

  “Imagine it’s night, and you’re on one street corner. You have somebody waiting for you, a few blocks away, wanting to know real quick that you’re there, and you’re ready for them.”

  “A signal.”

  “Yeah,” Verci said. “Something quick, though, so the guy waiting for it will see it, but it won’t stick around for someone else to gawk at.”

  “I get you,” Cort said. He hopped down off the counter and went in the back. A moment later he came back with a couple of clay jars and squares of cloth. He laid out the squares and began scooping small spoonfuls of powder onto the cloth. “These will do the trick, I think. Won’t do nothing until they catch fire. Say, from a street lamp.”

  “And if one did throw it in the street lamp?”

  “You’re gonna get a green flame that will shoot up, a good hundred feet or so. Real fast and hot. Someone’s looking, they’ll see it flare. But it’ll be quiet.”

  “No burst or pop?”

  “Or boom,” Cort said. “Most things like this would boom. That would get everyone’s attention. No, unless you’re looking for it, saw it out the corner of your eye, you might think there was some strange lightning or something.”

  “In theory that should work quite nice,” Verci said. “How much?”

  “Nothing today,” Cort said. “Far as I’m concerned, I still owe you and your brother a debt.” He tied off the cloth into small pouches. “That’ll do?”

  Verci thought about the plan. Cort probably had a dozen other things he could use, if he knew exactly what he needed. There was one big snare he kept coming up with—if he was going to have to see inside the armored carriage, he’d need light. “Don’t suppose you have a way to make a tiny lamp?”

  Cort grinned. “How tiny?”

  Verci held his fingers a few inches apart.

  Cort looked at the door, as if expecting someone else to be listening. “You didn’t get this from me.” He went into the back and came out with a vial of light purple liquid.

  “Is that effitte?” Verci asked. He had no idea Cort dealt in that. That was something sure to bring the sticks on his head, or more likely the eastside bosses who owned that market.

  “Not exactly,” Cort said. “It’s a key ingredient to this, though I seriously doubt many people know it can be used in this way.”

  “In what way?”

  “It’s reactive to heat and motion.” He held it up gingerly, only using the tips of his thumb and forefinger. “You squeeze it, warm it with body heat, and shake it, and it becomes luminescent.”

  “You’re joking.” Verci saw no humor on Cort’s face. “Almer, you could make thousands of crowns off this.”

  “I could, if the glow didn’t die out after a few minutes. And if it didn’t require smuggled substances to make.”

  “What do I owe you for this?”

  “Also nothing. Except you and your brother keep your ears open, you know?”

  “Always do,” Verci said. “If you hear anything else about Yenner, or . . . anything else . . .”

  “I’ll let you or Asti know,” Cort said. His face reddened, his jaw clenched. “No point in bothering with anyone else.”

  Mila imagined everyone was staring at her. She knew that wasn’t true, but even with new clothes—old clothes from Miss Kimber, actually, but new and clean for Mila—she couldn’t help but think she was a street rat girl pretending like she belonged sitting at the long tables outside the Wheeler Street Tavern. She even imagined they were watching her eat. She told Asti as much.

  “It’s pretty common to feel that,” he said. “Every time I’m working a gig, I’m constantly noticing someone looking at me, and thinking, ‘Did he just make me? Am I skunked?’” He pushed his half-eaten Heckie pie across the table. “You want that?”

  “You’re not hungry?”

  He shook his head. “I only ordered it to blend in.”

  Mila was ravenous—she always was—and greedily took it. It was greasy and tough, but she didn’t care.

  “So what am I doing here?”

  “We’re checking out the routes the wagon will take.”

  “But why me?”

  “Because I—here, humor me. Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Mila sighed and closed her eyes. “Now?”

  “Now, there are a few guys sitting at the farthest table. You saw them before, right?”

  “Yeah,” Mila said.

  “Now, imagine those guys, and pick which one is the best one to rob.”

  Mila opened her eyes to glare at Asti. “Really? That’s what you’re asking?”

  “Look at me,” Asti said, meeting her with a hard gaze. “Which one?”

  “The guy in the green cap,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because he bought cider for the whole table, and his purse is still bulging. Plus he’s had at least three himself. He also has stubby legs, so I could outrun him.”

  “Why not the old man? You could outrun him.”

  “Sure, with his missing leg,” Mila said. “But he also has a hook for a hand, and you don’t want him even getting a chance to swipe at you with that.”

  “And which one is the best mark to shake a hat at?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “What do you think?”

  Mila turned her head to get another glance at the table. Asti reached across the table and held her head in place. “Just
look at me.”

  She slapped his hand away, but didn’t turn back. “Gray coat.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, he just . . . has the look, you know? Like he’s got guilt he needs to purge.”

  Asti smiled. “And that’s why you’re here.”

  Mila didn’t believe him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I can do.”

  Asti nodded. “You’re right. Also, your pop was a good sort. He worked the grocer over on Ullen—”

  “I know what he used to do,” Mila said. She didn’t want to talk about her father. Or any of her family.

  “Fair enough.” Asti seemed to take the hint. “So behind me is the customhouse gate. We figure the thing is going to head east from here, so what’ll it take?”

  “Probably this street here.” She pointed off to the right.

  “That’s Dockside. You’d be right, except Tyne’s Emporium is down that way. Even late at night, the street would be clogged in front of it. So then what might it take?”

  Mila sighed and rolled her eyes. “The next one over there.”

  “That’s Ginny. What else could it take?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s what we need to figure out. Sun’s about to set. Ginny is our best bet, so you’ll take a nice walk up and down it. Be unobtrusive.”

  “Un what?”

  “Unob—just try not to get noticed.”

  “Then say so.”

  “Pay attention to people on the street. Where it gets crowded at night. Where it doesn’t. Find the best spot on Ginny to make the carriage stop. Get it?”

  “I think. What’ll you do?”

  He got up from the table. “Check other routes. We’ll meet up at the stable tomorrow morning, figure out our plan.”

  “Hey, wait!” She didn’t realize he was already leaving.

  “What?”

  “Um . . . where am I sleeping tonight?”

  “You mean you don’t . . . blazes, you don’t have anything.”

  She wondered why Asti could sometimes seem so smart, and yet miss such obvious things.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll make sure you have something at Kimber’s. I’ll take care of it.”

  “By ‘take care’ you mean . . .”

  “It’ll be paid for. You need to stay sharp, and that means sleep. So I’ve got it.”

  Mila let her eyes go wide, giving her best “thanks for the crown” look. “That’s so sweet, Mister Rynax, buying me dinner and my room for the night.”

  He shook his head. “Oversold it.”

  “Just so we’re clear, Mister Rynax, that room you’re getting me better blazing well be a different room than the one you plan to sleep in.”

  “Saints, girl. Of course it is.”

  Mila couldn’t help but be wary of those “of courses.” Even so, she was starting to believe that Asti really wasn’t trying to roll her. “So I’m off to scout it.”

  “See you in the morning.” He left the table and went off down the street.

  She would go scout the street in a minute. For the moment she had to deal with the serious business of finishing the Heckie pie. On top of that, the man in the green cap was looking like he was getting ready to leave in a minute. Asti was right about one thing: she did know how to spot whose pocket was the best to pick.

  Verci had returned to Hal and Lian’s house for dinner at eight bells—late, Lian had pointed out—with a satchel full of materials he had scraped together for Helene’s crossbow. His plan had been to get a quick bite, have a few spare moments with his wife, and go back out to the North Seleth Inn.

  Hal had quite neatly sabotaged that plan.

  “Off again?” he asked when Verci picked up his satchel. “Where you going at this hour?”

  “I—” Verci faltered. “No, I’m not going anywhere. It’s just, I . . . got a commission to build something. And I have my tools and such in my satchel.” As soon as he spoke, Verci knew it was a stupid thing to say. He should have just said, “Yes, I need to go meet Asti about something.” Or even, “I just was getting something from my satchel.” But now he was stuck.

  Stupid Hal and his stupid questions.

  Verci never had been good with thinking of things to say quickly. That’s why he preferred just not getting caught anywhere. Hal caught him.

  “So what do you need to build?”

  Lying, at this point, was futile, at least, lying outrageously—if he was stuck building the crossbow here, it would reach a point in the process where what he was building would be undeniably obvious. Though he had learned his lesson of offering too much information to Hal.

  “It’s a crossbow. For someone from the neighborhood.”

  “Really?” Hal’s eyes went wide. “You know how to make one?” The man appeared to be shivering with excitement.

  “Yes,” Verci said. “I’ve made a few of them before and—”

  “Verci.” Hal spoke with an intense, hushed voice. “I know I would never be able to help you, but I would really love to just watch while you worked.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Lian called from the kitchen. She walked over to the two of them, carrying the pot she had been scrubbing. “I, for one, would love to see you do some work, Verci.”

  Verci glanced over to Raych, nursing Corsi in the chair in the corner. She just gave him a wry smile, as if to say, “You’re on your own here.”

  “All right,” Verci said, putting the satchel on the floor. He sat down in front of it and started sorting through his supplies. There were a few things in the satchel he did not need Hal seeing.

  Over the next three hours Verci only managed to do one hour’s worth of work on the crossbow. Every time he picked up a tool, every time he attached a piece, every cut he made—each action earned a question from Hal. Sometimes two questions. Sometimes the same question asked multiple times. Verci answered each one with as much patience and reserve as he could manage.

  At some point Lian came in from the kitchen and observed the pile of sawdust, wood scraps, and other detritus that had accumulated on the floor. “You are going to clean that up, yes?”

  “Of course I am,” Verci said. He looked to his wife, dozing in her chair with their sleeping babe in her arms. “Tell her, Raych.”

  “Of course he is,” Raych said.

  Lian leaned over to her sister. “I’m glad he’s doing something . . . productive. But I’m not here to be his cook and maid, you hear?”

  “Yes, Lian.” Verci looked at her pointedly, the glare he’d used to use to scare off street rats before they’d spoil a gig. “I will take care of it.”

  Lian stepped away, looking more than a little spooked. “Fine. Hal, you should come to bed. You have a job to go to in the morning, you know.”

  “Yes, of course, dear.” Hal got to his feet and brushed the sawdust off himself. “Though I would love to—”

  “Hal.”

  He glanced at Lian, then back to Verci. “You’ve still got some work to do here, yes?”

  “A bit.” Verci was more than eager to get Hal out of his hair, and in no way did he want to encourage him to stay just a few more minutes. “I’ll get this cleaned up. Go on with your wife.”

  Hal nodded and went up the stairs with Lian. Raych pulled herself out of her chair, Corsi still held in one arm.

  “You should go up with your wife soon, too, you know,” she said with a warm whisper.

  “Soon,” he told her. He picked up the crossbow, checking the tension on the cords. “Half an hour or so. Including cleaning up.”

  “Such a good husband.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Working so hard.”

  Spring tension on the trigger was off. “Yeah, well, Helene needs this in the morning, so she has time to get used to it.”

  �
��Oh, Helene does, does she?”

  Verci heard the tone in his wife’s voice. That tone couldn’t be good. He looked up to see her eyebrow arched, her face cold.

  “Yes, Helene. Asti brought her and Julien in on this. I told you.”

  “No, you didn’t mention that,” Raych said, her voice a blizzard.

  Verci got to his feet. “Now, look, Helene is an excellent marksman.”

  “Woman.”

  “Excellent,” Verci said, straining to keep his voice from rising. Last thing he needed was for Hal and Lian to hear this. “And we need her skill on this gig.”

  “Skill?”

  “I mean with a crossbow, Raych.”

  Raych bit her lip, tears forming at her eyes. Then she started laughing. “Sorry, I couldn’t keep it up any more. It’s just so fun watching you squirm.”

  “Raych!”

  She giggled some more. “‘I mean with a crossbow.’ You’re so cute.”

  “You’re horrible,” Verci joked.

  “And you love me,” she said, kissing him. “I’ve seen how Helene Kesser looks at you, Verci. I know what she’s thinking.”

  “Do you?”

  She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I’m usually thinking the same thing.”

  Verci’s blood heated up. “This can wait until morning.”

  “Oh, no.” Raych put her hand firmly against his chest. “You finish your work. And clean up.” She went to the stairs. “Just don’t take too long, all right?”

  Verci didn’t waste any more time getting the job done.

  Helene preferred to hunt early in the morning, but that hadn’t been an option. Verci hadn’t shown up with the new crossbow until after nine bells, and then there was another hour wasted arguing with Asti about why she needed to take some time getting to know her new equipment and not spend it scouting travel routes for the blasted wagon. Then it was another hour to walk to the eastern edge of the city and slip into Carol Woods.

  Strictly speaking, Carol Woods was private property, and Lord Carol would prosecute trespassers if they were caught. Helene knew from experience, though, that Lord Carol was never particularly vigorous about having the woods patrolled. The key to not getting caught was being smart about what to hunt. There was no way to sneak back into the city with a whole deer carcass, although Helene had heard plenty of stories of boar poachers.