The Holver Alley Crew

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “The community has suffered, my friends. Suffered a grievous blow, a wound deep into our collective side. Is this wound fatal? It feels like it.”

  Kimber led Asti to the pews and sat him down, then took a spot next to him.

  “Oh, my friends, it feels like we would never recover from this injury. Each morning, every morning for the past week I have walked through Holver Alley and, my friends, I have wept. Wept at the devastating loss that has been suffered. The loss of life and of livelihood.”

  A wrenching sob burst forth next to Asti. He turned to find Win Greenfield sitting next to him, tears streaming down his face.

  “But we must remember that there is always hope in any tragedy. Those who live should honor those who died, by doing everything they can to strive, to rebuild. To make the best out of what they can be. Else all this pain will have been to no end.”

  Another hand took hold of Asti’s. Win grabbed it and held it tightly and looked at Asti, eyes pooling up.

  “Asti, I—” he whispered.

  “It’s all right,” Asti said. “Neither of us has to say a thing, right?”

  Win nodded. Asti looked back to Kimber, who gave him a little smile and nod. Asti couldn’t help but smile back.

  The smell of Asti’s flop almost killed Verci the moment he walked in. “You actually sleep in here?”

  “I’ve slept in worse,” Asti replied, staying at the window, not even glancing at his brother. “But I don’t sleep much. I’m here to work.”

  “Right.” Verci fought down the bile rising up his throat. “How’s that going?”

  “Eh,” Asti said. “A few days of observation is nothing. The place is a fortress, I can tell you that. I don’t think we could have picked a harder target in Maradaine.”

  “The King’s Palace?”

  “Please,” Asti said, finally turning away from the window. “I could get in there while clapped in irons.”

  “Quarrygate Prison?”

  “Getting in is simple.” Asti winked. “Out . . . that would be a challenge.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Verci asked.

  “Still far from one,” Asti said.

  “Where’s the crew at?”

  “Mila has a flop above a barber’s right by Evans, but she also has a crash in an abandoned mill with her Bessie’s Boys.”

  “That what she’s calling them?”

  Asti shrugged. “It works. The Kessers rented one of the whitestones on Kenner. How about you and Raych?”

  “We’ve . . . moved into an apartment on Junk Avenue. Above the bakery.”

  Asti raised an eyebrow. “Renting from the Old Lady?”

  “Indirectly.” Verci shrugged. He wasn’t sure how Asti would take this. “Josie pretty much cleared out of there, locked down most of her rooms.”

  “She said she would.”

  “With her not there, Mersh left town . . . I think she sent him away. And he came to us . . .”

  “Mersh came to you?”

  “I think Josie had him come to us. But he offered it to us, and Raych thought . . .”

  Asti snorted with laughter. “Raych wants to run the bakery? Did you tell her that it’s, you know, not a real bakery . . .”

  “It’s a real bakery!” Verci snapped.

  “Yes, Mersh actually bakes, and what he bakes is always very good. But he didn’t have to actually, you know, run it. Like a real shop.”

  “He ran it pretty well.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t have to actually do real business, turn a profit.”

  “Well, neither do we!” Verci had his back up, and he knew it, but sometimes Asti really pulled his strings.

  “True,” Asti said. He bit at his lip for a moment. “No, you’re right, you’re right. We probably should have some kind of front. Or at least you and Raych should. If we’re going to be making debt payments on our lot, we don’t want too many questions about where that money is coming from.”

  “I know that,” Verci said. “Raych is actually quite excited.”

  “Good,” Asti said. “That’s real good for the two of you.”

  “So what’s the next step?” Verci asked.

  “Well, we’ve got to get some other looks at this place. Mila is on the street level, where she can see around the back.”

  “You think she’s up for that?”

  “Girl knows how to shake the hat,” Asti said. “She does that on that corner, gets a good view, with her boys keeping watch for trouble for her.”

  Verci glanced out the window at the corner Asti indicated. “There weren’t any serious hatshakers there already?”

  “A few old saucers, who usually get chased away by the valets in the evenings.” Asti glanced back. “They aren’t making a stink about claim. At least, they haven’t yet, and if they do, they’re nothing Mila can’t handle.” Verci had to agree with that. They were old men, all bones and beard, long since broken with rotten cider.

  “Point,” Verci said.

  “Besides, what kind of crazy hatshaker would claim the alley outside Tyne’s place?”

  “So let me get this straight,” Verci said, struggling to put the ideas buzzing in his brain into words. “No one would set up serious shop rattling the hat out on Tyne’s alley there because it would be dangerous and crazy and possibly get Tyne’s attention?”

  “Exactly.” Asti looked like he didn’t even know why he was in this conversation.

  “And that’s why it would be perfectly safe for Mila to set up shop there?”

  Asti sputtered. “Yes, of course it is!” Verci sat down on the bed, ignoring the fact that it was disgusting, and spread his arms as if to invite Asti to explain his reasoning. Asti looked back out the window. “It’ll be safe because she’s not gonna muscle in or anything like that. She’s just a scrappy girl trying a different corner. As long as she doesn’t make too much noise, Tyne’s thugs won’t care.”

  “Fine,” Verci said. “She’s the one who figured out about the mage, isn’t she?”

  “She overheard something,” Asti said. “I figured there was a good chance of it already. We’ll have to figure out how to deal with that.”

  “All right.” He didn’t like Mila being the one most in harm’s way. He didn’t like anyone in harm’s way.

  “You’ve got something else to tell me, don’t you?”

  Verci was showing it on his face. “I had a bit of a thing with Lesk.”

  “Define ‘a bit of a thing.’”

  “He knows we did a job for the Old Lady.”

  “What he knows—or thinks he knows—doesn’t matter.”

  “And he wants a slice.”

  “He doesn’t get one.”

  Verci bit his lip. “He’s got quite a few people with him. And he’s made Larton’s Bath and Shave one of his places.”

  “Is that where he twisted you? Larton’s?”

  Verci nodded. “He’s implied he’s got other places in his coat.”

  Asti scowled. “He’s just a distraction. Focus on this job.”

  “All right. What else do we need to do?”

  “We need to look inside, of course.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “The way anybody else does,” Asti said. “We’re gonna get dressed up in our best and take our girls out for dinner.”

  Verci was surprised at that. “You’ve got a girl?”

  Chapter 19

  “ARE YOU COURTING ME now, Rynax?” Helene’s dark eyebrows arched, her whole face betraying her amusement.

  “Of course not,” Asti said. Though he had to admit, now that Helene was bathed and dressed in new clothes—a tight purple blouse and vest with matching slacks—she looked more than good enough for a man to want to court her. The sitting room of the Kessers’ new apartment was sparsely fur
nished, but it was clean and bright with sunlight, overlooking Fawcett Avenue just a few blocks away from Holver Alley. Helene looked oddly at ease, even relaxed, as she lounged back on the lone chair in the room.

  “You’re asking me to a fancy dinner,” she said. “Sounds like courting.”

  “Sure does,” Julien said from the kitchen. The big man was sitting on the floor, spreading soft cheese over a huge chunk of bread.

  “Julien, what are you doing to me?” Asti asked. “This is about business.”

  “Courting business.” Julien giggled.

  “Eat your cheese,” Asti grumbled.

  “We live right over the cheese shop!” Julien said with wide-faced glee.

  Helene gave Asti a bittersweet smile. “The little things that make us happy.”

  “I never knock good cheese,” Asti said. “In all seriousness, this is about scouting the job.”

  “Never been much of one for scouting, except for finding the best nest for the job.”

  “I need your sharp eye, Hel,” Asti said.

  “Speaking of, you can give back the scope you pinched anytime.”

  “You’ll get it back,” Asti said.

  Helene leaned forward. “So right now your plan is to walk right through the front door of the place we’re hitting and pay for dinner for two?”

  “Four,” Asti corrected. “Verci and Raych will be there as well.”

  “Isn’t that romantic?” Helene said, her smile turning impish. “And the baby?”

  “The logistics of that aren’t my problem.”

  “You’re slipping, Rynax.” Helene shook her head. “We’re really hitting Tyne where it hurts by putting crowns in his pocket.”

  “We need to get a good look at the inside, Hel.”

  “Fine, fine,” she said. “Tonight?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “All right, then. I told you I’m in on this whole job.”

  Asti smiled. “Never doubted it.”

  Helene’s face fell a little. She glanced over to Julien, and then beckoned Asti closer. “There’s something you need to know.”

  “Nange Lesk is spreading his fingers? And he wants to try and pull you and Julien in?”

  “You knew?” Helene’s face, for once, looked worried.

  “I suspected. He’s been butter-or-bashing his way around the neighborhood. For me and Verci, it’s been the bash.”

  “You figured he’d give us the butter?”

  “What did he offer?”

  Helene rolled her eyes. “Running the Honey Hut. The man’s an idiot.”

  “I presume you politely avoided giving a direct answer?” Asti asked.

  “That’s the best strategy with him. I don’t want to think about it. He makes my skin crawl. Let’s just do what we have to for the job.”

  “Good, let’s go,” Asti said.

  “Go already?” she asked. “It’s hardly one bell in the afternoon.”

  “Right, which only gives me six hours to get you in a proper dress, not to mention suiting myself up.”

  “Dress?” Helene shrank in her chair. “I really have to, don’t I?”

  “Got to look the part.”

  “What do I do?” Julien asked, still gorging on the cheese and bread on the floor.

  Asti came over to the kitchen and crouched down in front of Jules. “You know what I need you to do? Go over to Kimber’s tonight and sit with Win Greenfield. Talk to him, make sure he’s doing well.”

  “I can do that,” Julien said.

  “Good,” Asti said. “Come on, Hel.”

  Helene grumbled as she got up off the chair. “Stupid dress.”

  “What a dress!” Raych exclaimed. She took hold of the yellow and white elaborately embroidered satin dress with a plunging neckline, inlaid corset, and lace collar, all of which Verci had been assured was the very thing all women of substance were wearing this spring. “Verci, that . . . you didn’t steal this, did you?”

  “Of course not,” Verci said. “Stealing a dress would just be pointless. You can hardly get the dressmaker to size it first before you steal it.”

  “How did you size it?” Raych asked.

  “I was asked your measurements and I gave them.”

  “How do you know my measurements? I’ve never been measured for a dress like this.”

  “I know every inch of you, love,” Verci said, moving closer to his wife. He gently placed one hand on the top of her head. “Height, five feet four inches.” He ran his hand down her dusky hair to the nape of her neck. “Neck, twelve inches around. Shoulders, eighteen inches across.” His hands moved around to her chest. “Bust—”

  “Stop.” She laughed. “All right, Verci, I’ll go put this on, and we’ll see how good you are.”

  “You’re going to look beautiful, regardless,” he said.

  “Keep up with the butter and cream,” she said. “Just because I’m letting you take me to a fancy dinner doesn’t mean I approve of your latest criminal enterprise.”

  The carriage had been an issue. Asti knew full well they had to arrive as well-appointed as possible, give the full appearance of being people with money, if not birth and substance. Tyne’s Emporium really only cared about money. That meant driving up in a carriage or cab. Asti had considered the cab, but that meant a cab number that someone could track down, if they were so inclined, and a driver with no loyalties who could be easily bought or beaten into saying where he had picked up his fare, what they had said, names dropped, and so forth. Not worth the risk. That meant getting a carriage from Kennith. He had quickly repainted the North Seleth carriage so it bore no identifying marks to lead back to the inn, so that hadn’t been an issue. The issue was in the driver.

  “You telling me I can’t drive the carriage?” Kennith paced around the stable, shaking his head in frustration.

  “Sorry, Kennith,” Asti said. “It’ll have to be Almer.”

  “Why does it have to be me?” Almer asked. He was sitting over at one of the workbenches, mixing up some foul-smelling concoction.

  “Because you look wholly unremarkable,” Asti said.

  “While the Ch’omik would stand out,” Kennith snapped.

  “You would,” Asti said. “Look, Ken, that’s just something we’re going to have to face here. This is a public scout. Something skunks, or at least pulls the line, there’ll be questions. Questions like, ‘Oy, didn’t their carriage have the dark-skinned driver? I wonder how many Ch’omik carriage drivers there are in West Maradaine.’”

  “Bound to be a few,” Kennith muttered.

  “I’ll tell you how many, Ken,” Asti said. “There’re four, and two of them work for Tyne, one is an old man with one arm who drives Hennimore Cab 432, and there’s you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I make a point to know these things!” Asti shouted.

  Verci stepped forward, putting a hand on Asti’s shoulder. “Point is, Ken, that one question brings a handful of thugs pounding on that door. Then we’re skunked for certain.”

  “Fine. Almer drives,” Kennith grumbled.

  “I hate driving,” Almer scowled. “Horses don’t like me.”

  “You’ll do fine,” Asti said.

  “Don’t crash it,” Kennith added.

  Verci stepped forward again. “Ken, I’ve made some sketches I want you to take a look at.”

  “Sketches of what?”

  “Of that spring drive we talked about.”

  “You’re crazy. That’ll never actually work.” Kennith bit his lip for a second and then shrugged. “Let’s have a look.” He and Verci went over to the back table.

  “Over here, Asti,” Cort said. Asti headed to the mousy man.

  “What are you working on?”

  “You wanted to k
now about underground paths into the Emporium. This’ll help us find one.”

  “Really? How?”

  Cort held up the rancid-smelling liquid. “Drink it.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” He handed it to Asti. “It’s pretty awful, so knock it back fast.”

  Asti brought it to his lips and his gag reflex kicked in. He bit back the bile in his throat and, holding his nose, threw the noxious concoction down his throat.

  It took every bit of strength he had not to vomit.

  “Gah,” was all Asti managed to say once he could breathe again.

  “Now make sure you use the water closet when you’re in the Emporium,” Cort said. “Much as you can. It won’t be easy.”

  “Why won’t it?”

  “Because that stuff is going to make your piss like honey. Or maple syrup.”

  “What?” Asti shouted.

  “Also it’ll be blue.”

  “WHAT?”

  “And glow in the dark.”

  Asti had no response to that.

  “You should also know that you won’t be able to stand to for a day or two,” Cort said, waving a hand in the direction of Asti’s crotch. “Hope you didn’t have any plans along those lines.”

  “He doesn’t now,” Helene’s voice came from the back stables.

  “Shut it, Hel!” Asti yelled back. He wasn’t sure who to strangle, her or Cort. “How the blazes will this help?”

  “You’re going to go into the Emporium and piss in their water closet, get it?”

  “And it’s going to be glowing, blue, and thick.”

  “Right,” Cort said. “Making it easy to find and track in the sewers. Bright, shining goop leading back to the source.”

  “These are the things you think of, Cort?”

  “I’m also trying to think of a way to deal with the mage problem you mentioned.”

  “You have anything on that?” Verci asked. “My best idea is avoid the mage and pray.”

  Asti chuckled. “That plan never works. Anything you got, Cort, I’d love to hear it.”

  Kennith spoke up. “Probably the best thing to do is find some way to take the mage out of the action before things get started.”