Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2)

by Matthew Colville

  Gowan wasn’t used to seeing Teagan look anything other than bemused, relaxed.

  “You have to kill someone again?” he asked.

  Teagan shook his head and sat down lifelessly at the kitchen table. Definitely a bad sign. They only sat at the table when they were eating or arguing.

  “I’ll get you some bread,” Gowan said. “That’s ready.”

  The bread was good. Gowan was a professional cook and not a cheap one, but in this rare instance it gave little comfort.

  “Hm,” Gowan said, watching Teagan munch the bread mechanically.

  Teagan noticed the man he loved was worried. He made a show at enjoying the bread. “It’s good,” he said.

  Gowan threw another roll at him. “Don’t patronize me,” he said. Teagan snatched the bread roll out of the air.

  “I took something to Dom I should have done myself,” he said. “I think I was a coward.”

  “Took what to Dom?” Gowan asked.

  Teagan explained.

  “That’s madness,” Gowan said. “He can’t ask you to go up against the count. That’s the castellan’s job. You’re just a watchman.”

  Gowan was smarter, older, and better bred. Normally Teagan would feign offense at a comment like ‘just a watchman,’ but this was different. Neither of them was joking.

  “But I’m not just a watchman,” Teagan said. “That’s why the priest asked me. He wouldn’t have asked anyone else, but he knows I used to be a ratcatcher.”

  “Well what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Means I’m not a normal watchman. I’m better with the sword than any of them.”

  “You’re one of the best,” Gowan said tentatively. He was trying to cheer Teagan up.

  It didn’t work.

  “I did the wrong thing,” Teagan said. “Someone needed my help, the kind only I can give, and I dropped it on Dom.”

  Gowan knew better than to argue. “And now you’re worried something’s going to happen to him.”

  “No,” Teagan said. “Now I’m certain something’s going to happen to him.”

  He slumped in his chair and looked at Gowan watching helplessly. Which was how Teagan felt right now. He threw the roll back at Gowan.

  “Shit,” he said.

  Chapter Seventy-five

  “Can we not just kill the man?” the count asked.

  “He’s gone into hiding too,” Garth said. “All the better to hold out against us.”

  They were alone in the room with the bound star elf. The figure was manacled to the wall, with special silver bindings. It looked like the eight foot tall being’s hands and feet had been dipped in metal. Its head was covered in a similarly smooth metal mask leaving no room for its mouth or nose. It didn’t need to breath. It was otherwise naked. Night, stars, shifted on its skin.

  Thin glass tubes twisted around him, leading into veins and arteries. The glass caked black with dried blood, leading to vials and beakers on a nearby table. There was so much dust now, there’d be no need to bleed him again for weeks.

  Neither Garth not the count thought much of the living demigod in the room with them.

  “Damn him for being so stubborn. Who’d have thought it?”

  “He’s the Truncheon,” Garth said. “It’s his job. He’s not the smart one.”

  “No, that was supposed to be me. But I don’t feel very smart at the moment. Does he have no family we could torture? Friends we could boil? Send him a ball of matted hair and teeth.”

  “Wouldn’t know where to send it. Maybe we should make a deal,” Garth said.

  “Would he accept a deal, do you think?” the count wondered.

  “Only one way to find out. Are you keen to keep throwing our men at his?”

  “No,” the count said. “But neither am I keen to make an offer when we have the advantage.”

  Garth admitted this was not traditional. “Strange time to bargain,” he said, “but we didn’t count on the Midnight Man putting up this kind of fight.”

  “Damn him,” the count said. “This would all have been over weeks ago were it not for that slug.”

  “Maybe we offer a deal and use the opportunity to flush him out.”

  “He’d see through that,” the count said.

  “You’d see through that,” Garth corrected. “He’d fall for it.”

  “I’m not convinced. He’s been acting uncharacteristically intelligent lately.”

  “I think he’s counting on the Hart finding us first.”

  “Hah! I take back what I said, he’s uncharacteristically stupid.” The count leaned against a workbench and admired the captive star elf. “The Hart will die of old age before they come within a mile of this place.”

  Garth suddenly went quiet. Put his hand on Apostate.

  “What kind of deal…,” the count began.

  “Shut up,” Garth said sharply. The count complied, deferring to Garth’s instincts.

  “Come on in,” Garth said.

  Heden and Domnal walked into the room from the dark hallway beyond.

  “Garth,” the count warned.

  Garth’s mind raced. “He’s told no one,” Garth reasoned. “Otherwise the ragman would be here instead.”

  The count looked at Domnal. “And who in all Orden is this?”

  “By all the gods,” Domnal whispered, looking at the bound Star Elf. His gaze went from the shackled demigod, to the glass tubes, and then the alchemical worktable. “The night dust,” Dom said, eyes wide.

  “He’s a watch captain,” Garth explained. “Not even a special.”

  “Hah!” the count laughed on seeing Domnal with Heden. “Hahah! What is this?” He looked at Heden. “Why in all Orden would you bring…is this some kind of insurance? You brought the weakest, most feeble defense possible? Afraid I’d hesitate? I’d sooner spare a rabbit.”

  “You’re not in a position to spare anyone,” Heden said.

  “You’re ah,” Dom said, tearing his gaze from the celestial in the room with them. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Idiots,” the count shook his head. Garth looked from Heden to Dom with suspicion. He could tell something was up.

  “Garth, kill them both. Well, the priest at least. The watchmen I leave to your discretion.”

  Garth appeared to be ignoring the count. “You fought well,” he said. “You surprised me with Zaar’s little present. Won’t happen again.”

  “I know,” Heden said.

  Aimsley stepped out from behind Domnal. “Hey Garth,” he said.

  Garth took a step back, not out of surprise, but caution. His internal arithmetic factoring the situation upward.

  “Welcome aboard,” Heden said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I didn’t have a fucking key,” the polder hissed back, nodding at the silver medallions around Heden’s and Dom’s necks.

  The count looked back and forth between them.

  “Does this present a problem, Garth?”

  “Nno,” Garth said, but there was hesitation.

  “Kill them both then,” the count said, seemingly bored. If it was an act, it was a good one. “Leave the watchman alive, he may be useful.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Garth said, peering at Aimsley. Aimsley smiled back at him.

  “Why not?” the count asked, suddenly appearing interested.

  “This is Brick’s fixer,” Garth nodded to Aimsley.

  “Brick…,” the count said, and stopped. “This is his counter-move?” He looked from priest, to thief, to watchman. “This is the best he could do?”

  "You didn't think of this," Garth said, taking his eyes off Aimsley to glance at Heden.

  Heden raised his eyebrows.

  “Take care of them,” the count said, “and then we’ll take care of the Truncheon.”

  “Mmm,” Garth said, unconvinced. He looked at Dom. “We kill these two and we’ll have to kill the watchmen too.” Domnal swallowed, but stood his ground.

&nbs
p; “You willing to take that risk?” Domnal said. Heden and Aimsley looked at him, watched him stand his ground against one of the deadliest men alive. “You kill me, a Watch Captain, inside the ragman’s fortress? You think you’ll get to make any deal with him after? You got enough of your little black dust for that?”

  Domnal standing up to Garth, doubling down on the count’s threat, was the bravest thing Heden had ever seen. He looked back to Garth.

  Garth’s eyes flitted between the two men and the polder before him. Weighing options.

  “He has a point,” Garth said.

  The count shrugged, bored. “Kill them all, and we leave here. Let the ragman stew,” he said calmly. He still believed he was master here. Everyone else in the room was ignoring him.

  Garth pursed his lips, unsure of the wisdom of this order, but prepared to carry it out.

  “This isn’t how I thought your story would end,” Garth said, resting his hand on the pommel of Apostate.

  Aimsley saw the move to violence, and played his trump card.

  “I don’t work for Brick anymore,” the polder said.

  “There, you see Garth?” the count said. “Neither of them work for anyone, please get rid of them.”

  Heden was watching Garth. But Garth was watching Aimsley. The assassin looked confused.

  “You’re with…,” Garth said to the polder, nodding at Heden.

  Aimsley shrugged. The gesture expressed the possibility that the thief and the priest were working together, but that this could be a temporary state of affairs and in any event, it wasn’t important to the little man.

  “Garth,” the count insisted, staring at his fixer.

  Garth sniffed. Looked around the laboratory. Considered how much the night dust had cost them. He ignored the count and turned back to the polder.

  “Not the Brick,” he said.

  Aimsley shook his head. “Nope. Not with anyone anymore. Fuck ‘em. They’re not worth it.”

  Garth nodded. Whatever was happening, it was between the two master thieves. Heden and the count were both bystanders.

  “Garth will you please kill this pious sack of shit for me?” the count said, pointing at Heden, his voice raised.

  Heden watched and waited.

  “Brick ever keep his word?” Garth asked the polder.

  “Only if it suited him,” Aimsley said.

  “This one’s the same,” Garth said, crooking his head to the count.

  “What?” the count squeaked. Heden noticed he was breaking.

  “Never had to work for it,” the polder observed.

  “Garth what the fuck is going on?!” the count demanded.

  “Everything handed to them. Easy,” Garth said.

  “Not like us,” Aimsley said.

  “No. We have to work for it,” Garth said.

  “Every fucking day,” the polder nodded. Heden noticed Aimsley wasn’t shaking, wasn’t sweating.

  Garth nodded, satisfied, as though a code word had been given. He looked at Heden.

  “This was your idea,” he admitted. “I underestimated you.”

  “Garth what do I pay you for?” The count hissed. A nearly invisible tension rippled across the master thief’s body. Heden almost missed it. He was sure the count didn’t see the reaction. “I’m ordering you to….” The count demanded.

  “No,” Garth said, and took a step back, leaned against the wall. His frame long and lean, in that pose, he reminded Heden of Teagan, the watchman. Easy confidence.

  “What!?” the count howled. His voice now a nervous screech. “What did you say to me?”

  Garth smiled, widely, sincerely, and looked at Aimsley like they were friends. To Heden, such a human expression looked unnatural on the master thief’s face.

  Aimsley glanced up at Heden, flashed him a half-smile, as though to say ‘see? I told you.’ When the polder looked back at Garth, he nodded. Aimsley took a couple of steps back and tugged on Domnal’s vest, pulling the watch captain back.

  Aimsley and Domnal stood against the wall.

  “I said no,” Garth said, his grin widening. He looked like a wolf. “Kill him yourself.”

  “This should be fun to watch,” Domnal said.

  “Garth,” the count said, clenching his fists. “I’m telling you….”

  “You’re not telling me a fucking thing,” Garth said, and the words sounded strange, unrefined, coming out of his mouth. “You want the priest dead, you kill him. I want to see you do it.”

  The count was breathing rapidly. He was nervous. Something was happening inside him, something was breaking.

  “I’ll get Ladros,” the count said, and made a move to the door.

  There was a blade at his throat. Apostate. Heden remembered Garth had been trained in Capital, where the world’s best swordsmen gathered. Well, Heden added, except Teagan. Teagan was maybe the best Heden had ever seen and apparently derived his technique from years of campaigning. He wondered what would happen when Teagan’s long sword and Garth’s rapier met, who would win?

  The count leapt back from the blade into a kind of half crouch, afraid of the blade and what it could do.

  “What are you doing?” he asked Garth desperately.

  “I want to see you do it,” Garth said, and his voice dripped with oil. He savored this moment. “I want to see you kill him. I want to see you try,” he sneered.

  The count tried his best to master himself. He drew his rapier, and turned to face Heden.

  “I’ll deal with you after this,” he said to Garth, his voice calm now, but his body shaking. “I started at the blade when I was six,” he said, trying to assure himself more than anything. “I can handle a priest.”

  “So what are you waiting for?” Heden asked.

  The count lunged toward Heden with nothing but fear propelling him. How long had it been since the count had needed to use any weapon?

  Heden batted the sword away with his left hand, and delivered a right cross to the count, smashing down into the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling across the floor.

  “Uuunnghh,” the count wheezed, and whimpered. “Ahhngh,” he moaned. His jaw was broken.

  “Get up,” Heden said.

  “I surrender,” the count said, the words mush.

  “That was quick,” Domnal said, relaxing. Everything now appeared over.

  “Get the castellan,” Heden said.

  All three of the other men in the room, Garth, Aimsley, and Dom, at the same moment, said “What?”

  “The ragman can do what he wants with him,” Heden said.

  “Have you gone spare,” Aimsley hissed. “What was the point of all this?”

  “He hasn’t killed anyone,” Heden said. “If he hangs, it’s at the king’s bidding.”

  “Heden think about what you’re doing,” Garth said. “You’ll be a wanted man. The entire guild will turn against you, and he’ll be free tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have to live with your conscience,” Heden snapped, “I have to live with mine.”

  “Is he serious?” Garth asked Aimsley.

  Aimsley looked at Domnal. “Yeah, he’s serious,” the watch captain said.

  Aimsley sighed, and stood next to Heden. “I’m with him. It’s stupid, but the count goes to the magistrate.”

  Garth grabbed a marble of night dust. Showed it to Heden. “We lost thirty men, brown, blue, green, yellow, black. Because of this. He murdered half the guild with these….”

  Garth stopped talking, he was looking at Heden, but not paying attention to him. The count lay gasping on the floor at his feet.

  “Fuck it,” Garth said, and dropped the marble, letting it fall into the count’s mouth.

  The count gagged on it. Before he could spit it out, Garth stood over him.

  “For the Black,” he said, and kicked the count in the jaw.

  The marble exploded in the count’s shattered mouth.

  The count squealed in pain, the sound a high-pitched whine coming from his clo
sed lips.

  “Black gods,” Aimsley said, looking from Heden to the count. Witness to one of the most ruthless executions he’d ever seen.

  The count breathed in, and the night dust went into him.

  His body thrashed. He gibbered, as the night dust began ripping him apart. Aware of what was happening. Unable to stop it.

  “Cavall’s nutsack!” Dom said.

  The count lurched to his feet, pulled by unseen strength.

  Everyone in the room was trying to stay as far away from him as possible. Domnal stood in the doorway, ready for instant flight, but unwilling to leave Heden behind.

  With a supreme act of will, his last, the count plunged toward a crate stuffed with straw, dug his hands into it, and pulled out two fistfuls of night dust marbles. Lifted them up over his head.

  “Fuck,” Heden said, too late.

  The count crushed the marbles in what was left of his hands, and let the dust run down his face.

  The night dust, two dozen doses of it, pulled the count’s body apart. Bones cracked, skin went black, cracked, and then boiled. The thing he was becoming was unlike any deathless Heden had ever seen.

  “Nikros and Cyrvis preserve us,” Garth whispered. The revenant was between him and the exit.

  “Heden!” Aimsley said. “Should we run?!”

  Heden spoke a prayer, a layer of black smoke burned off the thing that was the count, but no more. It would take ten priests to stop this thing.

  Garth drew Apostate and stabbed at the revenant. The blade did nothing, but the thing that had been the count reacted. It reached out a long-fingered, black-clawed hand and grasped Garth by his leather armor, lifted him effortlessly and slammed him into the ground with such force the assassin was momentarily stunned.

  The count, or his corpse, distracted by Garth, Heden dashed forward to the star elf. He put his hands on the creature and prayed to Cavall.

  Nothing happened.

  Aimsley stabbed the revenant in the back with his twin dirks. The creature ignored him.

  Heden turned his eyes to the heavens and called out.

  “Lynwen!” Heden shouted, and prayed again. The manacles dissolved.

  The eight-foot tall elf fell to the floor. A moment passed while the battle raged behind Heden. Garth and Aimsley both trying to hold back the count long enough to give Heden a chance.