The Holver Alley Crew

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  With quick motions, he touched each of the pipes. Water was running through them, some hot. There were probably furnaces in the basement. Another pipe was larger and felt empty. He placed his ear to it.

  “Twenty! Twenty on blue!” he heard. “That’s the winning spin. I’m so sorry, sir. Thank you, thank you. Place bets again, double on color, double on color.”

  The sound echoed from below. That clinched it. The gambling floor was definitely on a basement floor.

  “Three thousand on fifteen-red!” said another voice, an older man. Accent implying high privilege and from a northern archduchy. Possibly noble birth, at least educated.

  “Fifteen hundred on twenty-blue!”

  “Four thousand on five-no white!”

  “All bets in, all bets in, spinning!” the dealer called. Asti could hear the spinner whirling, the rattling of something rolling. “Five! Five on white!” A jubilant cheer.

  “Big winner!” the dealer called out. “I have a payout here!”

  A sharp step approached, and a deep voice spoke. “What’s the payout?”

  “Four thousand on a match with double-color,” the dealer said. “So that comes to . . .”

  “Thirty-two thousand crowns,” said the deep voice. “Congratulations, sir. If you will come with me, we will go see Mister Tyne.”

  Tyne was down there. The vault was down there. Asti was certain of that.

  Asti checked more pipes until he found another empty one, and heard two voices.

  “Blazes is that?”

  “Two duck plates, one rabbit plate, and three orders of bread. For Ecrain.”

  “That’s the second order.”

  “Where does it go, you know? Ecrain is so blazing skinny.”

  That clinched it—Ecrain was definitely the mage. Asti didn’t know a lot about mages, but he did know, the more they ate, and the skinnier they were, the more powerful they were. A powerful mage meant Ecrain was definitely Circled, though if they were working here, it was one of the more morally flexible Circles. Asti didn’t know which that would be, but it didn’t matter. This Ecrain was going to be a big problem.

  Someone was in the corridor. Footsteps stopped right outside the door. Asti crossed the room and got to the door just as whoever was out there started to open it. He took the handle and yanked it open as strongly as possible.

  “Where the blazes is the water closet?” he asked in his most belligerent voice. The serving girl stumbled from the door being yanked away from her. She looked up at Asti in confusion.

  “Sir, you . . . you shouldn’t be—” she stammered out.

  “I’ve been wandering up this hallway looking for the blasted water closet. You think you could put a sign or something. I don’t have all night, you know!”

  “Of course, sir, of course,” she said, her head bowed. She was a young girl, no more than eleven or twelve. Her skin was lightly golden, her eyes narrow. It occurred to Asti she was of mixed birth, part Druth, part somewhere eastern. Imachan, Xonoca, even Tsoulja. “This way, if you please, sir.” She cowered as she spoke, like she was expecting to be hit.

  “Thank you,” he said, suddenly feeling guilty for shouting at her. He wondered if she was the child of one of the “exotic foreign” women that Tyne specialized in.

  She led him out of the corridor back to the curtain. She stood back once they reached it, clearly refusing to cross through it to the dining hall floor. “Out there, there’s a green door near the entrance. That will bring you to it.”

  Asti gave her a coin and went back out to the dining floor. Once out there, two servers came over to him, with looks of troubled concern on their faces. He mouthed “water closet” and pointed to the green door. They both nodded, and one of them walked with him as he went over. Fortunately, they did not actually escort him into the water closet. The last thing he needed was someone watching him for this.

  “How did it go?” Verci asked when Asti returned.

  “That may have been one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life,” Asti said. “And I’ve been tortured by professionals.” He took a piece of bread from the basket on the table.

  “That bad?” Helene asked. For once she actually looked legitimately sympathetic.

  “Yes,” Asti said. “But like the man said, glowing blue and thick as honey.”

  “Lovely,” Raych said.

  Asti noticed the empty plates on the table. “Did you eat all the oysters?”

  “They were delicious,” Helene said.

  “I hate you all.”

  “What did you learn?” Verci asked.

  “Gambling floor, the mage, Tyne, and the vault are definitely below us,” Asti said.

  “We saw someone go down to the gambling floor,” Verci said. “There appears to be a password.”

  “Did you hear it?”

  “No,” Verci scowled. “They whispered it closely.”

  “The chef is not from Linjar,” Raych added. Everyone looked at her.

  “How do you know that?” Asti asked.

  She took a piece of bread from the basket. “This is a heavy bread, the dough enriched with cream and butter.”

  “It’s delicious,” Asti said.

  “It is, but it’s not Linjari. A Linjari bread is only flour, water, salt, and yeast. This bread is from a chef from an inland archduchy. Monim or Oblune.”

  “Are you sure?” Asti said.

  “I know bread,” she said.

  “She really does,” Verci added.

  “So . . . why would they lie about the chef?”

  “I don’t know,” Raych said. “I’ll tell you more when I have the shrimp.”

  “Does that help you?” Helene asked.

  “Every bit of information helps,” Asti said.

  “How about this, then,” Helene said. “Why is that guy looking at you?”

  Asti looked where she pointed. The guy in question was wearing a uniform of the Emporium. He was definitely looking at Asti. He was definitely walking closer. He was definitely . . .

  “Blazes,” Asti muttered.

  “What?” Verci asked.

  “Miles Kinter,” Asti said. “Formerly Druth Intelligence.”

  “Are you saying?”

  “Yes,” Asti said through gritted teeth as he forced his face into a warm smile. “I just got made.”

  “Asti Rynax,” Miles said as he walked up to the table, his hand outstretched. “What in all blazes are you doing here?”

  Asti stood up and took Miles’s hand. “Miles, I could ask the same.”

  “Had to go somewhere when I left the service,” Miles said. “Assistant head of security for Mister Tyne.”

  “Very nice,” Asti said.

  “I’d suggest something for you—Tyne is always looking for good heads—but if you’re sitting in here for dinner you must be doing all right.”

  “Pretty well,” Asti said.

  “I heard you were going into toys.”

  “Gadgets,” Verci said with a reflexive defensiveness.

  “Yes,” Miles said. “Your brother, if I’m not mistaken. Verlin?”

  “Verci.”

  “Of course,” Miles said. He grinned warmly, but Asti knew Miles—or at least the kind of man Miles was—far too well. He was humoring them, getting a read, and not buying a word they were saying.

  They were skunked.

  “Are we skunked?” Verci asked in the carriage ride back.

  “I think we may be,” Asti said.

  “We bailing, then?” Helene asked.

  “Like blazes we bail,” Asti said hotly.

  “But you said—” Raych started.

  “I know what I said,” Asti said. He was fuming. “Miles will figure that something is up, but there’s no way he can know what. He’d probably figu
re we are scoping the place as a first step to muscle into the territory, find out what kind of racket we could squeeze into the neighborhood.”

  “So what do we do?” Verci asked.

  “Play the part,” Asti said. “Let’s let them think we are some hot-blooded small-timers trying to make a mark in protection or street rattle or doxy trade or anything.”

  Verci nodded. “And the last thing they’ll think is that we’d actually try to crack their vault.”

  “Because it’s a crazy thing to do?” Raych asked.

  “Pretty much,” Verci said.

  “Verci Rynax, what kind of insane, godforsaken, stupid thought goes through your blasted mind that makes you think that I’d ever get behind such a stupid plan?”

  “Raych,” Asti said, as calm as he could make his voice. It still came out as a bark, startling her into silence. “What do you want to do? Don’t you want to stop Tyne? Make him pay for what he did? Keep him from doing it again to another part of our neighborhood? Kill more people we know? Kimber? Hexie? Your sister and Hal? There’s not a person he wouldn’t think twice about stepping on.”

  “And no one else crazy enough to go after him,” Raych said, her voice losing volume and confidence.

  “Except me,” Asti said. “And you can say it, Raych, and say it to my face, because I know damn well you think it.”

  Raych stammered, her eyes filled with tears. “That’s not what—”

  “You think it because it’s true. I am hair-ripping, bug-eating, elbow-deep-in-blood crazy. I know it, Raych. You’d probably be safer sharing a carriage with a hungry bear.”

  “Asti, you aren’t—” Verci started.

  “Yes, I bloody well am, brother,” Asti snapped.

  Helene spoke up, her cold eyes locked on Asti. “Are we talking that you’re a bit wild and unpredictable, or more that we’re going to have to lock you in a box before much longer?”

  “The box,” Asti said.

  “No, Asti,” Raych said, reaching across the seat to him, but holding back before she actually made contact. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as that.”

  “I’ve got all my springs wound up and ready to pop, Raych. Best chance we’ve got—best hope I have at all—is to hold myself together long enough for you all to aim me where my madness might do a small bit of good.”

  There was no sound for several seconds, save Asti’s own heavy breathing and the creaking of the carriage wheels.

  Helene finally broke the silence. “We’ve got a gig to plan, then, don’t we?”

  Chapter 21

  ASTI WAS BARELY ABLE to stand in the morning, the pain in his stomach was excruciating. Sleep had been in fits on the bench in the stable, with Helene regularly bringing him water and a vile-tasting brew Almer had left for him.

  Helene had surprised him, spending the whole night in the stable, keeping an eye on him. Verci and Almer had left almost as soon as they had gotten back to the stable, off to plumb the depths of the sewer system beneath the Emporium. Asti had wondered how much sleep she managed to get herself, between his moaning and Kennith’s tinkering in the back of the stable.

  “How bad are you?” she asked when the gray light of dawn came through the window.

  “I’ve been sicker,” Asti said. “There was a mission I was on—”

  “No,” Helene said. She touched his forehead. “How bad are you? Should I be getting a box ready?”

  “I can hold up,” Asti said. “I can get this job done.”

  “And then the box?”

  “And then the box,” Asti said. “Though I’d rather . . . I’m gonna put something on you, Hel.”

  “I thought Cort’s potion kept you from doing that,” Helene said.

  “That’s not what—”

  “I know,” she said, her voice low and warm. “What do you need?”

  “If it comes to that point, where I need to be locked up? If I’m just gone, and I’m not coming back . . .”

  “You want an arrow in the head,” she said flatly.

  He nodded. Verci loved him too much, he could never do that. Helene, he knew, only liked him enough to do him that kindness.

  “I’ll do it, but I’d rather it didn’t come to that,” she said, sitting down on the stable floor, her back to him. “After all, if I kill you, Verci would never speak to me again.”

  Asti laughed, but laughing tore up his insides more. Helene gave him more of Cort’s recovery brew, and he drifted into another doze.

  Julien arrived shortly after sunrise, bearing a basket filled with cheese, bread, and cured lamb. Asti risked eating some of the bread. He recognized it as Raych’s handiwork, light and crisp, and it made him feel far better than anything else he had tried.

  “Did you see Win last night?”

  Julien nodded. “Sat with him in Kimber’s all night.”

  “How’s he doing?” Asti asked.

  “He didn’t talk much,” Julien said. “Neither did I.”

  “That’s fine,” Asti said.

  “He eats slowly,” Julien added. “But he kept eating all night long. Four bowls of stew!”

  “His appetite is back,” Asti mused. “Did he say anything? Ask you anything?”

  “He asked me when he could go home. I didn’t know what to tell him.” Julien shook his massive head. “What’s home going to be for him, Asti? He can’t live at Kimber’s for the rest of his life.”

  “I don’t know yet.” Asti sat up on the bench, his guts flaring when he moved. “Verci and Cort damn well better find something in the sewers.”

  “I’m not gonna drink anything Cort gives me ever,” Julien said.

  “Wise plan,” Helene said. “Are we going to do something for Win, boss?”

  “We’re doing it, ain’t we?” Kennith called from the back. He came out, his leather smock covered in grease and dirt. “Isn’t this whole plan about doing right for everyone hurt in the fire?”

  “Yeah, but—” Helene faltered. “Where do we stop? I figure, we pull this off, we’ll have a fair pocket of scratch, sure, but where does that stop? We set Win up? What about everyone else?”

  “Do we try and rebuild the alley?” Julien asked.

  “Pff,” Helene said. “Alley was a hole.”

  “It was our hole, though,” Julien said.

  “And our people in there,” Asti added. “I don’t know yet. There’s . . .” He stopped. Pieces didn’t all add up. Missing connections. Something he wasn’t seeing.

  “There’s what?” Julien asked.

  “Not sure,” Asti said.

  Someone pounded on the door, four short, two long, one short. Kennith went and opened it. Mila strode in, holding up a hat full of silver.

  “I had a good night,” she said. “That’s a damn good perch, but I got a few ugly glares from the valets.”

  “They try and knock you?” Asti asked.

  “Nah,” Mila said. “But they made it clear not to get too close to the front doors. Or to wander down that alley. Could never get a good look in there. Verci and Almer are coming up the lane, by the way. I ran ahead because they stink.”

  “I’ll get some hot water,” Kennith said. As he went in back, the two of them came in. They were covered in filth and dirt, and the stench was awful. With his stomach the way it was, Asti almost threw up when the scent hit him.

  “I hope to all the saints that was worth it, Cort,” Asti said.

  “Wasn’t easy,” Cort said.

  “I’ve had enough of sewers for a long time,” Verci said. He pulled off all his sewer-soaked clothes, showing no care about any modesty. Mila gasped and turned around. He threw the clothes into a pile. “We should just burn these.”

  “Right,” Cort said. He tentatively followed Verci’s lead in undressing, giving a nervous glance to Helene, who was only smirking with a raised
eyebrow as she kept her gaze on Verci. After a moment of indecision he collected the clothes Verci dropped and retreated to the back of the stable. Kennith came back with a bucket, filled to the top with hints of steam curling off of it. Verci grabbed it and poured it over his head.

  “So what did you learn, brother?”

  “That Tyne is serious about his security,” Verci said. He took the sponge Kennith had silently offered and vigorously scrubbed at his hands and arms. “We found the trail of piss you left for us, just like Cort planned, and we found where the water closets from the Emporium empty out. Was not pleasant. It’s all lead piping, heavy brick masonry. Metal grating everywhere. Not a crumb of it is crumbling.”

  “No way in through there?”

  “Not really,” Verci said. “I do have some good news, though.”

  “We really could use some,” Helene said.

  “Is he dressed yet?” Mila asked, her back still to the rest of the room.

  “Not at all,” Helene said.

  Asti ignored the women. “What’s the news?”

  “The water closet pipes carry sound pretty well, long as you don’t mind putting your ear to them.”

  “Ugh,” Mila said.

  “Couldn’t hear much,” Verci said. “But I got enough to figure that the gambling floor is all along the western half of the building. The counting offices and the vault are somewhere in the southeast.”

  “That’s something,” Asti said, “but hardly good news.”

  “Ah, but I learned that underground, the eastern edge of the basement abuts another basement. A wine merchant from across the street.”

  “That is something,” Asti said. He went over to the slate board and started sketching out a rough map of the Emporium and the area around it. “We can’t do too much more scouting, you know.”

  “Not anymore,” Verci said.

  “Why not?” Mila asked, turning to the group and then quickly turning back when she saw Verci.

  “Calm down, girl,” Helene said.

  “He’s married!” Mila hissed at her.

  “Lucky wife,” Helene muttered.