The Holver Alley Crew

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “—Go armed,” Verci finished.

  “I hear that,” Helene said. She finished tightening the trigger screws on her crossbow. The bells of the alarm wires jangled. Someone was approaching the stable. Helene immediately cocked the crossbow and loaded it. Verci pulled out three darts from the bandolier.

  Asti stepped up to the door. Loud footfalls, crunching on the gravelly walk, approached at an even pace.

  “Sticks?” Verci asked in a low whisper.

  “Always possible, but they usually sneak or charge.” Asti listened carefully. “One person, not trying to hide their approach.”

  “Someone actually coming to the inn’s stable?” Verci shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Shush,” Asti said. He gave a few quick hand signals to Verci, who drew two darts and got to one side of the door. Asti pulled a long knife out and took the other side. The footsteps came right up to the door. Then a few loud, sharp knocks.

  “Sticks don’t knock,” Helene whispered.

  “Kennith,” Asti whispered. “Ask who it is.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you are supposed to be here.” Asti was always amazed how some people missed the small but obvious details.

  Kennith gingerly walked over to the door. “Who’s there?”

  A woman’s voice returned. “It’s Raychelle Rynax. Is . . . are my husband and his brother in there?”

  “Your wife?” Asti whispered.

  Verci shrugged and opened up the door, and with a swift movement grabbed his wife and pulled her in, slamming the door shut.

  “Oh!” Raych squealed.

  “Why is your wife here?” Asti snapped. “Why does she know where here is?”

  “He told me,” Raych said.

  “You told your wife where the base was?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Raych demanded, getting up close to Asti.

  “You never tell someone who isn’t part of the gig where the base is, especially right before the gig goes hot!” Asti stormed away.

  “How am I not part of this, Asti?” Raych asked. “You drag my husband into some shady business, I’m part of it, too.”

  “Feh,” was all Asti could bother to say to her.

  “Why are you here, love?” Verci asked.

  “Well, you all are going to be working this ‘gig,’ and it’ll be a long night.” She smiled weakly and held up the wicker basket she was carrying, which Asti hadn’t noticed until now. “Is anyone hungry?”

  “Blazes, no,” Asti said. “Never eat before a gig.”

  “Are you kidding?” Mila came out from the stalls, dressed for the gig. Raych’s eyes went wide, as the girl was wearing a high skirt, cut stockings, and a half-laced blouse.

  “Asti, what are you doing having this . . . child . . . dress like a common street whore!” Of course Raych would blame him.

  “That’s her disguise for the gig, Raych,” Verci said calmly.

  “And this poor girl is just skin and bones,” she said. “Really, Verci, you should be more aware of such things.” She put her basket on one of the tables and pulled out a loaf of bread, tore off a chunk, and handed it to Mila. “I have cheese and lamb in here as well, and plenty.”

  “Cheese?” Julien’s whole face lit up. Asti sighed. There was no stopping this now.

  “Three kinds, Julien,” Raych said warmly. “I knew you were here.” She started spreading cheese on the bread.

  “Thank you, Missus Rynax,” Julien replied, a childlike smile of contentment on his face.

  “And you, Helene?” Raych asked, her eyebrow up. “Do you want anything I have?”

  “If there’s something I want, ’Chelle,” Helene said, leaning over the table, “then I’ll take it.”

  “Can we move forward, please?” Asti asked. “We need to get out there soon.”

  “By all means, Asti,” Raych said. “You’re not hungry, then?”

  “That’s not the . . . a bit of lamb, please, thank you . . . we do need to go over things one last time.”

  “Go ahead, Asti,” Mila said, folding a hunk of lamb into her bread before cramming it into her mouth.

  “Fine. Our primary spot to strike is Ginny and Hicks. If they aren’t taking Ginny, then our secondary is Stokes and Hicks. Tertiary—”

  “Tersha-what?” Julien asked.

  “It means third,” Helene whispered.

  “Why didn’t he say third?”

  “Third is Keeley. If none of those are viable, we need to make this a chase. But that shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll start at the customhouse gate and track the carriage from a block away. Verci and Mila will be at the strike spot.”

  “You’re with her,” Raych said.

  “That’s the plan,” Verci said.

  “While she’s dressed like that?”

  “That’s part of the plan. The whole idea is to distract the carriage driver and escorts with what they think is a scuttle between a doxy and a jake.”

  “And you’re the jake?” Raych laughed.

  “It was either me or Asti,” Verci said.

  Raych looked back at Mila, then raised an eyebrow at Asti. “Probably for the best, for her sake.”

  Asti let that go. Stay focused. “Helene took a room on the top floor of a doxy den half a block away. She’ll have line of sight on me, the primary and secondary, as well as the customhouse. We change hit spots, she’ll send a message by arrow.”

  “She’s gonna shoot at us?” Mila asked.

  “I won’t hit you,” Helene said. “Probably.”

  “Julien and Kennith are over at Yenks and Wheeler, waiting for the signal from Verci. When the carriage comes down, Verci and Mila do their bit to stop the carriage. Helene takes out the driver. Verci and I take out any other escorts. Verci fires the signal.”

  “Green flash in the sky, like lightning,” Julien said. He had been repeating it all afternoon, like a prayer.

  “Then I pound the escape carriage to the spot,” Kennith said.

  “Verci and Julien crack the carriage, Julien unloads the statue onto our carriage, Kennith bolts.”

  “And we all scatter to the winds,” Verci said. “Meet here by one bell after midnight.”

  “When will you be home?” Raych asked.

  “We’ll have to do the drop and then split the cash. Probably four bells. Maybe five.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll have some tea on for you.”

  “Lovely,” Asti snapped. “Is everyone done eating? We need to get to work.”

  The carriage emerged from the customhouse gate. Asti had to admit Kennith wasn’t kidding about the thing. The carriage was a steel-skinned beast, trundling its way down Wheeler, pulled along by eight straining draft horses. The animals were probably the largest horses Asti had ever seen, but even they could barely manage to get the carriage up to more than a creep. They might as well have driven it with oxen.

  Asti crept back in the alley. The speed of the carriage was perfect. If it didn’t take the route they anticipated, they could easily move to a secondary position, stay ahead of it. At that pace, one could walk alongside the thing, just like the four armed men were doing.

  Asti scowled. Four outside escorts. He hadn’t anticipated that. He had hoped that they would have preferred discretion to security. He hated guessing wrong. At least they weren’t in uniforms. Private mercenaries, in cheap vests and coats. Nobody that the sticks or marshals would get too ruffled over.

  He stayed hidden in the shadow of the alley, waiting for the carriage to pass. At its pace, he was able to get a good look at the small window on the side as it went by. It was open, and there was definitely one man inside besides the driver.

  Six men total to take out and take out quickly.

  It could be done, but he hated having to change plans on the fly.
>
  As soon as the carriage turned onto Ginny, Asti ran back down the alley to Stokes Street. The carriage was moving right on track, right to the position. Extra guards aside, it couldn’t be going more perfectly. Asti tore his way around the corner. He would get into position, and as soon as the carriage came into sight, Verci and Mila would stage their fight, which should distract all the escorts, and Helene would take her shot. He and Verci could easily take out the four outside escorts with knives and darts. Everything would work.

  He was so focused on seeing it play out in his head, he took little heed of his surroundings as he ran to the next alley. He whipped around the corner and barreled flat into a well-dressed gentleman. Both of them went down, falling over each other onto the cobblestones. Asti scrambled to regain his footing, about to mumble an empty apology, when two sets of large hands grabbed him and lifted him off the ground.

  “How dare you?” the gentleman said from his position on the ground.

  The two large men, clearly bodyguards with the gentleman, slammed Asti against the wall, pressing him on the cold brick.

  “I’m very sorry,” Asti said quickly. “It was a complete accident.”

  One of the bodyguards released Asti, going to help his master to his feet. The other bodyguard did not budge, holding Asti hard against the wall with just one meaty arm.

  “Accident caused by trash such as you stampeding down the street,” the gentleman said. His accent was as westtown as Asti’s. Hardly matching his clothes. His back to Asti, he waved off his bodyguard’s further assistance, dusting off his coat.

  “Very true,” Asti said, sounding as contrite as he could manage. “Now if you would be so kind as to let me—”

  “Someone should teach you to respect your betters,” the man said, turning around, and Asti finally saw his face. “Don’t you have any idea who I am?”

  Asti grinned, despite the sudden burning rage that ignited in his gut. “Oh, yes, sir. I know exactly who you are.”

  It was Fire Brigade Chief Holm Yenner.

  “Then you should know well enough to—” was all Yenner managed to say before Asti’s foot connected with his nose. Blood poured out of Yenner’s face, but Asti didn’t have any chance to enjoy the moment. The bodyguard, still holding him with one hand, punched him across the face. The man’s fist was almost as big as Asti’s face, and Asti had no leverage to roll with the punch. His ears rang.

  Despite his blurred vision and fogged mind, Asti’s hands went into his coat and came out with two knives. Before a second punch could come, he stabbed both blades deep into the arm holding him. The bodyguard screamed and dropped Asti.

  Asti landed on his feet, still dazed from the blow. Instinctively he jumped forward and rolled away, anticipating the other bodyguard to come at him. It was a good plan, but one of the two men grabbed his foot and yanked him up by it.

  “Stupid!” one of the bodyguards said. He dangled Asti by one ankle.

  “True,” Asti said. He drew out two more knives. Despite being upside down, he still could tell where his enemies were. He stabbed wildly at the man holding him. The knives found their mark, sinking into the man’s belly. He let go, and Asti fell headfirst onto the street.

  Then everything went red.

  Chapter 12

  “DO YOU SEE ASTI anywhere?” Verci whispered. The carriage approached, extra guards walking with it. The job was half-skunked already, then. No, it had to be fine. Asti would have given them a high sign if he thought they needed to pull out. Verci couldn’t see his brother anywhere, though.

  “No,” Mila whispered. She glanced over her shoulder, just the barest turn of her head. Verci was impressed, she made it look like a demure act, a natural teasing ploy that a street doxy would do to rope in her client. Anyone seeing the two of them as they stood outside the pub would have presumed they were exactly what they were playing at. She looked back at him, running her hand up his arm. “He wouldn’t just skip, right?”

  “Never,” Verci said. “Blazes, Asti drives forward even when he should skip. Always drive forward, he says. He’s probably just staying out of sight until he strikes.”

  “So the four guards?”

  “Asti and I can take them.” He leaned in and whispered, making a show for anyone who might be watching. “But just in case, you can defend yourself, yes?”

  “Look at the belt of my skirt,” she whispered back. She stepped away so he could admire her, playing her part just like a real doxy would.

  “You hiding a knife in there or something?”

  “No, it’s a rope,” she said, giving a fake playful giggle as she came closer. “I can have that off in a couple seconds.”

  “A rope?” he asked.

  “I’m better with a rope than anything else,” she said, running a finger down his chest.

  “If you say so,” he said. The carriage came closer to their spot on the corner. “They’re just about in position. Ready?”

  “Make it look good,” she said.

  “Just roll with it,” he said. He pushed her away and swung his fist at her cheek. He only glanced her, he knew, but she threw herself to the ground like she had been clobbered. “That’s what you get!” he shouted. Helene would hear that and take her shot. He hoped Asti was in position to strike.

  “Oh, dear god and blessed saints,” Mila cried. “He’s going to kill me!” She scurried backward farther into the street, forcing the carriage to stop.

  “Oy!” one of the walking escort shouted. “Get your whore out of the road!”

  “Who are you calling a whore?” she cried at him.

  “You’re the whore, you stinking—” was all he got out before she jumped at him. Predictably, the other three guards starting laughing.

  The small window to the back of the carriage was open. Verci dipped his hand into his vest and grabbed two darts. He threw just as he heard the sharp twang of Helene’s crossbow. His darts hit true, taking out the man in the back. From what he could hear, Helene’s shot was just as accurate.

  “What the—?” one of the other guards said, looking around. Verci drew out two more darts. Mila had her rope belt off and wrapped it around the neck of her guard. Verci was impressed again. He threw his darts at the other guard on his side. The two on the other side, Asti would make short work of. Time was critical right now. Seeing Mila had her guard on his knees, clawing futilely at the rope choking him, Verci took out the pouch Cort had sold him and tossed it into one of the street lamps. It quickly caught fire and burst, sending green sparks high in the air. Julien and Kennith would be racing up in a moment, and now it was just a matter of getting the carriage open. The two little windows were still open, so they must have successfully taken out everyone inside. He walked over to the carriage, quite pleased at how smoothly everything went.

  He had only taken two steps when the other two guards charged at him, rapiers drawn.

  “Whoa!” Verci yelled, jumping and rolling out of the way. He regained his footing a few paces away from the men, coming up with a full spread of darts in both hands. He threw fast, but both men were ready for him, ducking out of the way. Surprise gone, Verci was losing any advantage he had in the fight.

  “You ain’t pinching us, rat,” one of the guards said. Both of them were coming in at him with their swords, and Verci’s only option was to keep dodging. Where the blazes was Asti?

  One sword came in close, Verci twisting his body so it just missed skewering him. The guard thrust too hard, clearly thinking he was getting a killing blow. He passed Verci, showing his unprotected side. Verci grabbed the sword arm with one hand and punched the guard in the kidneys with the other. The other guard came in, and Verci pushed the two into each other.

  The escape carriage came around the corner. Verci needed to end this, regardless of what had happened to Asti. He drew a dagger and plunged it at the guard who still had his back to him. Th
e man twisted away, so he was only stabbed in the shoulder. He screamed and pulled away, taking the knife with him.

  Verci swore under his breath. He didn’t need screams just now. But he did need the knife.

  Verci wasn’t able to get away before the other guard was on top of him. Verci fell back, desperately trying to keep the sword from penetrating his body. He grabbed the guard’s wrist, attempting to force the blade away, but the man was stronger than he was. Verci kept stepping back, keeping the guard and the sword away, until his back was against the wall of the pub. He got his other hand on the guard’s neck, but couldn’t do anything more than hold the man back.

  “Mila,” he croaked out. He didn’t dare glance over to see what Mila was doing. If she hadn’t already saved him, she had good reason.

  His arms started to give. The sword inched closer to his gut.

  An arrow struck through the guard’s throat. He dropped down in front of Verci. Verci took a deep breath. That was far closer than he had wanted.

  Kennith and Julien were at the carriage, Kennith showing Julien exactly where the seam of the door was. Julien took his prybar and shoved it in as hard as he could. Mila had finished off the last guard.

  Verci pushed the dead guard with his foot and joined the others. He looked over to Helene’s sniping location and gave a small wave. “That could have gone better.”

  “Where is Asti?” Mila asked.

  “That’s a very good question,” Verci asked. “You got it?”

  “Not yet.” Julien struggled, pulling with all his might as the veins in his massive arms bulged.

  Verci grunted. He clambered up to the front of the carriage, peering into the darkened window. He couldn’t see anything in the cabin. With one hand, he dug out the small vial Cort had sold to him. He gave it a squeeze and a shake and tossed it in the window. It started giving off a sickly glow.

  “Clever, Cort,” Verci muttered. He could see the latch now, holding despite Julien’s efforts. Holding, but barely. Verci pulled out a short stick from another pouch. He gave one end a twist and pulled it out, telescoping it out to a five-foot-long pole. He slid the pole through the window hole, carefully aiming it toward the latch. He just needed to knock it a bit.