The Holver Alley Crew

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Mila’s hand groped at the curtain behind her, grabbing the rope that held it open. With a flip of her wrist, she pulled it free. In one fell motion, she swung the rope around so it wrapped around Tyne’s neck, at the same time driving her knee hard into his crotch. He let go of her throat reflexively, and she pulled the rope tighter.

  “I know who you are.” She had both ends of the rope now, twisting them with every ounce of strength in her arms. He was on his knees, clawing uselessly at the rope, his face turning a beet purple. She leaned in and hissed in his ear. “You’re the man who killed my sister.”

  He stopped moving, and she kept her grip tight.

  He was flat on the ground, and despite the screams and the smoke and all the chaos, Mila’s world was silent, until a hand was on her shoulder.

  “Come on,” Helene said. “You got him.”

  “What about Asti?”

  “He can take care of himself,” Helene said. “But we still have a job to do.”

  “How are we getting out?” Mila said as Helene pulled her to her feet.

  “With four magic words,” Helene said with a wicked grin. She looked across the room. “Julien! Make a hole!”

  Julien was caught behind one of the gambling tables, keeping the press of people off of Gin. He nodded back to Helene with understanding. Suddenly his expression changed, every muscle in his body tensed. He picked up the table, and holding it in front of him, pushed his way through the crowd, mowing a path through the swells and nobles until he reached the stairwell. Helene and Mila ran up behind him, joining Gin in the safety of Julien’s shadow.

  “Did I see you just kill Mendel Tyne?” Gin asked Mila. “You lucky girl!”

  “Go, go, run!” Verci shouted to the others as they pounded up the stairs. He dropped his sacks on the ground and drew out four darts, spinning to watch the hole in the wall. No one came.

  “Verci!” Win called.

  Verci turned his head slightly toward Win, standing on the stairway, but never taking his eye off the hole. “What?”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Getting ready to pound out of here,” Verci said. “Load my sacks.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for Asti, covering our retreat.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until I say we pound out of here!” Verci snapped. “We’re giving Asti as much time as we can.”

  Win came down and grabbed the sacks.

  “Is Josie safe, Win?”

  Win stood for a moment at the bottom of the stairs. “We have her in the carriage, ready to go.”

  “That’ll do,” Verci said. “Get up there and be ready for us.”

  Win carried the sacks up the stairs. Verci turned his attention back to the hole in the wall. No one but his brother would get through. He just needed to get here soon.

  Chapter 31

  HELENE COULDN’T BELIEVE THEY made it out to the street. On some level, she never believed this was going to work. But the place was burning down, Tyne was dead, and she and Julien were out in the open night air. Smoke-filled, panic-stricken open night air, but they were out. Mila led the four of them over to the alley, away from most of the crowd.

  “Too many people out here,” Mila muttered. “And Brigade’ll be here soon. Don’t know if my cadre can flatten this.”

  “Think of some way to do it,” Helene said. “Our carriage is going to need to get through this in a click.”

  “I’d love to know how to disperse a crazed mob, Hel.”

  “You!” A shrieking voice pierced through the air. The crowd scrambled away from the source: Ecrain the mage, her hair smoking, her eyes red. A bony finger was pointed at Julien. “What did you do to me?”

  Julien froze with fear. “Hel . . .”

  Sparks sputtered out of Ecrain’s hands, like a dying bonfire. “I don’t know what you did. But you will suffer for it.” A bolt, like lightning, jumped from one hand to the ground. She approached them with a shambling limp, as if the entire left side of her body was numb. “All the Firewings will make you pay!”

  “Helene!” Julien shouted.

  “I think she’s getting her focus back,” Gin said.

  Helene drew up her small crossbow, bracing it with her other hand to stop it from shaking. Taking only a moment to aim, she shot a dart into the woman’s neck.

  Ecrain screamed, then tore the dart out. “Fine. I’ll kill the trollop first.”

  Helene reloaded the crossbow as fast as she could, while the sparks around Ecrain’s hand danced faster and harder.

  “Hel!”

  “Run!” Helene barked at the three of them. The shot was loaded.

  The sparks grew into a sickly green ball.

  Helene drew up her arm and snapped the shot. The dart struck true, buried in the woman’s eye. Ecrain screamed and dropped to the ground.

  Helene turned back to the other three, who still stood dumbstruck.

  “I said something about running, didn’t I?”

  They didn’t wait a second longer.

  Miles looked as bad as Asti felt. His shirt was soaked in blood, red footprints behind him. He didn’t hesitate when he saw Asti, charging full tilt, sword out. Asti was surprised he could move that fast. Asti barely blocked the thrust, Miles scoring a glancing slice along Asti’s arm.

  Miles kept up his furious attack, no banter this time. Pure rage, channeled into an onslaught of thrusts and kicks. Asti had no opportunity to counter; it took everything he had just to hold Miles off.

  The hallway was getting hazy with smoke, screams and cries in the distance.

  Asti ducked under a sword swing and darted down the hallway, closer to the office. He needed some distance to regain his bearings. Miles came at him, but he was ready. Sword up, he parried Miles wide and knocked the blade out of his hand. Miles grabbed Asti’s wrist—the one that had been broken—and wrenched it. An intense bolt of pain replaced the dull ache, and Asti screamed. He dropped his sword. Miles hit him in the stomach, and then in the chest.

  Asti punched back, only one arm strong enough to do any good. Miles didn’t falter.

  Miles struck again. Asti stumbled back, slipped in blood on the floor, and lost his footing.

  Miles picked up the closest sword. Asti tried to get to his feet, but Miles stepped on his broken wrist. Asti beat back the pain, beat back it all. Held down the torrent.

  Miles didn’t speak. He simply raised up the sword, ready to slam it down into Asti’s chest. Asti rolled to the left, the sword only piercing his coat, cutting open the soft lump of Cort’s pouch.

  Asti punched desperately at Miles’s knee, knocking the man back. His broken arm free, Asti pulled himself up and took out Cort’s pouch. Before Miles could stab him again, he threw the pouch at Miles’s chest.

  The pouch burst, gray powder covering Miles’s body. Miles coughed and swatted at the dust around him.

  Asti ripped one of the oil lamps off the wall and threw it.

  Miles lit up with a flash of blue flame, which sparked and shot over the hallway. Asti dove away, through the doorway into Tyne’s office.

  The place was still a mess, with five dead bodies sprawled over the floor. Memory washed across Asti’s mind. Something he saw on a paper, just for a moment. Something important.

  Asti stumbled over to the desk. The papers had been knocked all over the desk and floor. Quickly Asti looked through them, as well as he could with only one eye working properly. All business things, inventory, accounting, the usual things expected.

  Then he found the letter that had been in his face during the fight.

  He gave it a quick scan, noting the key words that had gotten his attention. “Thank you for the services rendered.” “Fire largely effective in acquiring property.” “Our mutual friends will proceed.” “Colevar and Associates.�
�

  He folded the letter and put it inside his jacket, and left the office.

  The blaze had spread. Smoke filled the hallway.

  Asti couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. There was nothing but black and death.

  Asti dropped to the ground, where the smoke was only marginally thinner. He crawled along, the pain in his arm piercing at him every time he put his weight on it. He held the injured arm close to his body and crawled using only the other one.

  How far had he gone down the hallway? Thirty feet? He couldn’t tell. Had he gone around the curve? Was he even going the right way?

  He didn’t know where the hole was. It didn’t matter. Any exit would do. Any sign of fresh air.

  The smoke was smothering, choking. There was nothing to breathe anymore.

  Verci had made it out. He had sacks full of money.

  He would be all right. So would Raych and little Corsi. They would do just fine.

  A few more feet. Not that he was going anywhere anymore. He dropped down flat, unable to move.

  Verci and his family would be good and safe. The neighborhood was avenged. Tyne’s Emporium was savaged.

  It would do.

  Despite the suffocating horror, for just a moment, he felt calm. His mind was at peace.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 32

  SMOKE POURED THROUGH THE hole in the wall. No guards were coming. Neither was Asti.

  How much longer?

  Verci was about to go back in for his brother when there was a smash of wood and glass upstairs. Someone had bashed through the front door.

  Instinct put his feet in motion, bounding up the stairs. He reached the top to see a handful of Tyne’s men storming through the front of the wine shop, all armed, all angry.

  Verci threw a wild spread of his darts. Nothing would likely hit them, but it would give them a moment of pause. He raced out the door and grabbed the back end of the carriage.

  “Now, Kennith!”

  Kennith didn’t hesitate, snapping the reins. The horses started off, far too slow for Verci’s taste at this moment.

  The first of the guards came out the door, grabbing at Verci’s leg. Verci snapped a kick at the man’s face.

  The carriage was moving faster now, heading out to the main road. Tyne’s men were keeping up, gaining ground. Verci scrambled up on top of the carriage.

  “We need to move!” he told Kennith.

  Kennith urged the horses, and they gained speed. “We have to wait until we’ve got a clear path!”

  “Let’s hope Mila did her job!” Verci shouted.

  “Get in place!” Ken said. They were now out in the main thoroughfare, passing in front of the Emporium. Smoke poured out of the whole building, and people were standing around dazed. Verci was reminded of the other night, when the alley burned down.

  He stepped out onto the carriage yoke, keeping his balance despite the jostle and kick of the carriage. “Ready!”

  Kennith grabbed the bell sitting at his seat and rang it, three sharp, penetrating peals. Some of the people stepped out of the streets. Up ahead a group of street boys perked up at the bell. One of them shouted, “Oy! Clear it!” In a moment the boys scrambled and pushed people away, and an open path of nothing lay ahead of them on the road.

  “Now!” shouted Verci, praying to every saint and a few forgotten Kieran gods, just for good measure.

  Ken pulled one lever, and the yoke dropped off the carriage. Verci jumped forward onto one of the horses at the same moment. He kicked it hard, and relieved of their weighty burden, the two horses were off like a shot. He turned back to see what happened next.

  As the carriage slowed Ken pulled the second lever, and there was a terrible snapping sound. Then the carriage surged forward, gaining speed like Verci had never seen. It quickly caught back up to him and the horses, forcing him to spur them on faster to stay ahead.

  The carriage kept going, nearly flying down Dockside.

  Kennith laughed, even though his knuckles were white from gripping the stick that controlled the wheels.

  “Spring power!” Verci shouted to him.

  “Spring power!” Kennith returned.

  Far in the distance behind him, the pursuing guards all lost the chase, heaving for breath, falling out of sight.

  A minute later, eight blocks away, the carriage slowed down. The spring engine that Verci conceived and Kennith built had run out of torsion. Verci stopped the horses and hopped to the ground. Kennith jumped down as well, moving quickly to reconnect the horses to the carriage.

  The door opened as Verci looked back.

  “Did we lose them?” Josie asked.

  “Think so,” Verci said.

  “Where are we?” Win asked from inside.

  “Deep in North Seleth,” Verci said. “Only a couple blocks from the safehouse.” He stepped away from the carriage, back toward Keller Cove.

  “Get in, Verci,” Josie said.

  “I have to find—”

  “Get in the carriage, Verci!” Josie snapped her cane on the floor of the carriage. “We don’t have time. Won’t be long before constabs look for whatever tore through the street.”

  “Don’t you tell me what do to,” Verci said.

  Josie gave a small sigh. “Either Asti made it, and we’ll see him, or he didn’t. Nothing you can do will change that.”

  Verci hated to admit that she was right. Asti didn’t want him running back for him. He wanted Verci to get out clean. Swearing under his breath, he stepped into the carriage. Ken was already back up on the driver’s seat. The horses were urged forward, going at a steady trot to the safehouse.

  The warehouse was simple and unadorned, nothing to distinguish it from the scores of others along the street. Wooden frame, white walls, large set of barn doors for loading. Josie handed three keys to Verci, letting him go and open the place up. “There’s a catch switch, knee high on the right side of the door. Make sure you toggle it before you open the door.”

  A minute later the carriage was in the warehouse, the doors shut behind them. The place really was quite nice on the inside. Stone floors, ample space, high ceilings. Workbenches along one wall, storage cabinets along another. A few wide tables on one end of the room. A metal stove in the corner. There was a wooden staircase leading to an oversight office. Verci looked around in surprise.

  “You wanted to set us up here, didn’t you?” he asked Josie.

  “If you pulled this off, you’d be a crew to back,” Josie said. “I’d be a fool not to get you out of that stable.”

  Win and Cort took the sacks of money out of the back of the carriage and loaded them onto the table. Verci went for the rest and found a full cask sitting in one of the seats.

  “Who stole a cask of wine from the merchant, boys?”

  “I didn’t steal it,” Kennith said. “I left a hundred crowns for it.”

  “Put it over in the kitchen,” Verci said.

  “The kitchen?” Kennith asked.

  “Over by the stove.”

  Kennith carried the cask over. Verci took the last sacks of money over to the table.

  “Let’s start counting,” he told the rest.

  Counting took a lot of time. As they counted, Pilsen, Mila, and Julien and Helene eventually arrived sometime around one bell in the morning.

  “Nice dress,” Verci told Mila when they came in. “You steal it?”

  “Yup,” Mila said, sitting down at one of the tables. She pried off her shoes and rubbed her feet. “That lady had some small shoes.”

  “You’ve got big feet,” Helene said, sitting next to her. “What’s the take?”

  “We’re double-checking,” Verci said, “But it’s over one hundred thousand crowns.”

  Helene and Mila both let out low whistles.

 
“That’s quite a pleasant evening, then,” Gin said. “You should all know that the pig of a man is dead.”

  “Who?” Verci asked. “Tyne?”

  “Tyne, indeed,” Pilsen said, grinning like a schoolboy with candy. “This delightful girl here choked every ounce of life out of him.”

  “Mila?” Verci asked. He looked at her. She gave every appearance of being more concerned about her feet than anything else. “You all right?”

  “Tired,” she said. “Where’s Asti?”

  “We . . .” Verci faltered. “He hasn’t gotten back yet.”

  “Oh,” Mila said.

  The whole room was silent for a moment.

  Josie broke it. “Julien, why don’t you roll that cask of wine over here. And there are some cups in that cabinet.”

  Quietly Julien brought the wine over. Helene and Pilsen got the cups. Verci cracked open the cask and served out some for everyone, including one for Asti.

  “What are we drinking to?” Win asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Verci said. “We finish the count, and then we’ll know what we’re drinking to.”

  Verci had a sickening feeling that when they did drink, there would still be one cup untouched.

  Chapter 33

  ASTI’S WHOLE BODY WAS shooting with pain. He was aware of that before he was properly awake. His arm was in agony, his face a swollen mess, his breathing heavy and labored.

  He was alive. That was the only way he’d be in this much pain.

  He opened his eye. Only one responded at all. He was lying on a damp floor in a dark room. The scent of smoke was still in his nose, more of a memory than a living odor.

  He tried to stand up. His whole body argued with the idea.

  “Hey, hey, slowly,” said a voice at his side. Older man. Two hands took hold of his shoulders, calmly and gently. Someone helped him sit up. “Didn’t know if you’d make it.”

  “I don’t remember . . . getting out,” Asti slurred.

  “You didn’t,” the man said. “I dragged you out.”

  Asti’s eye focused on the man. At first he didn’t place the face. There was something familiar. “Do you work for Tyne?”