“In fact what?” Kaiana said. “I need to know if I’m in any danger if someone comes hunting through here.”
“I can barely sense any trace from you at all, Veranix. It’s like, when you use them, it masks your numina signature. Oh, stop that stupid grin.” Veranix forced his face to take a more serious expression.
“Wonderful,” Kaiana said. “Now both of you get out, I have work to do.” She handed the small notebook to Veranix.
“What’s that?” Delmin asked.
“Oh, I took this from the strongbox of an effitte dealer,” Veranix said. He thumbed through its pages. It was full of notes and tables, but none of it made any sense.
“I didn’t want to know that,” Delmin said, shaking his head. “All right, Vee, for the purpose of pure intellectual research, I’m going to read up on the different Circles that operate in Maradaine, and see if I can figure out why, hypothetically, one would want a numina-enhancing cloak and rope.”
“And you should rest,” Kaiana said. “I don’t want to see you sneaking your gear on tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Veranix said. He held up the notebook. “I’ll just try and figure this out.”
“That?” Kaiana said offhandedly. “It’s written in one of the old Army codes. My father used to use them all the time. Now go before Master Jolen comes hunting for me.”
Veranix smiled as he went to the door, Delmin right behind him. “You’re a beautiful person, Kai.”
“Oh, shut it. Scat.”
Chapter 11
IT WAS WELL into midday when Colin woke in the flop he’d crashed at the night before. The Rose Street Princes had four main flops, and most of the boys and their birds would sleep at whichever one they were close to when they got tired. Colin had spent the night rolling dice with a few loaded marks he had met at the Turnabout, and when he was done, he was far too tired to head back to his usual pad in the basement under Kessing’s shop. The flop above Hechie’s barber was right next to the Turnabout, and served just fine, even though Colin always found it a bit too crowded for his taste. The Princes were all family, but he never liked trying to sleep right next to one of his mates rolling with his bird. There were always at least a dozen people at the flop over Hechie’s, if not more than a score, and about any surface flat enough to lay out on had someone dozing there.
Colin had slept far later than he should have. He grabbed his boots and quietly went over to the door. He was more than a little disgusted at the number of people still sleeping on the floor as he went out to the half-broken wooden staircase in the alley. These boys really should be out doing something useful, pulling in a little scratch. He at least had a pocket full of silver from last night’s dice.
He sat down on the top of the stairs and pulled his boots on. The sun had burned off all the rain from the night before, and the day was already bright and oddly warm for this early in the spring. He didn’t have a cap with him. All his caps were over at Kessing. He frowned up at the sun as he went down to the street.
Rose Street was quiet for midday. Usually there would be plenty of his boys out there, working the crowd, arranging cart rides, doing what they could to scrape together a few crowns. The few Princes he saw were standing about in front of the Turnabout, doing their best to look inconspicuous. Colin was about to get angry, until he noticed the constabs. At least five of them, in uniform, strolling along Rose Street. Colin had never seen five constabs at once on Rose Street in his life, not even during the Cassada Rumble.
Colin went up to the boys. “Blazes is going on?” he asked.
“Geh,” Hetzer said. “Some Uni boy got seriously grabbed and thrashed by somebody. Word is it was Hallaran’s Boys, but they say no. So the sticks are out putting on a real good show.”
“Oy,” Colin said. He fished a coin out of his pocket and gave it to Jutie. “Go get me a striker, would you?” Jutie took the coin and went into the Turnabout. Colin rubbed the stubble on his face as he looked over the rest of the crew. “So, the colors are out, we keep it clean today. No knocking, keep the cart rides honest. Blazes, someone really thrashed a Uni boy?”
“Thrashed hard, I heard,” Hetzer said.
“Even still, one Uni boy getting thrashed wouldn’t really bring them out like this.”
“That ain’t all,” said Tooser, a tall, skinny bloke whose head was covered in scars. He grinned like a dog expecting a mutton chop. “I heard there was all kinds of noise over in Denton.”
“Noise in Denton ain’t our noise,” Colin said. “Unless it was an Aventil gang that made it.”
“Don’t know,” said Tooser. “Word is, it’s the Thorn.” He said this with awed reverence.
“The Thorn?” Colin asked. His teeth started to itch. “What do you mean?”
“That’s what they’re calling that wolf who’s been smacking on Fenmere. Thorn in his side.”
“I know that, Tooser. So what did he do last night?” Colin asked. He already knew he wasn’t going to like this.
“Tore up the Dogs’ Teeth, is what he did!” Tooser said, his eyes wide with excitement. “Gave those Denton effitte tossers a real smack in the face!”
“Yeah!” Hetzer said. “That’s doing it!”
“Ain’t right,” Colin said.
“Ain’t right?” Hetzer got up close to Colin. “The Thorn is driving the nails into Fenmere, which we should be doin’!”
“We can’t drive nails into Fenmere, boys,” Colin said, pushing Hetzer away. “He’s got all the hammers.”
“He might have the hammers, but we’ve got the Thorn!” Hetzer said.
“Thorn told them to keep their junk on their side of Waterpath,” Tooser said with a nod.
“He . . . what?” Colin couldn’t believe his ears. “Look, boys, I know this sounds like a real good dustup. It ain’t. This is bad news for the Princes, and bad for Aventil. Fenmere gets the idea the Thorn is one of us, he’s gonna roll any truce and pound across Waterpath. We’ll be the ones under the hammer.”
“Why would he do that?” Hetzer asked.
“The Thorn has hit him this hard, he’ll do what it takes to dig it out. We’ve all heard the stories about ’94.”
“Stories from scared old men,” Hetzer said. “What we gonna do, give Fenmere the Thorn?”
Colin swatted Hetzer across the head. Hetzer got his back up, his hand to his knife. Colin hissed at him. “Don’t be stupid, Hetz. We can’t give him the Thorn. He ain’t a Prince, unless one of you ain’t telling me something.” All the boys shook their heads. “Right, we can’t give what we ain’t got.”
Jutie came out of the Turnabout with the striker. Colin took it from him greedily. Famished, he bit into the crispy bread. The thin sliced lamb and potatoes inside it were hotter than he expected, and he exhaled sharply to keep from burning his tongue.
“All right,” he said between bites, “We ain’t going to worry about what happens in Dentonhill, unless Fenmere’s goons come and give us trouble. It’s not a thing until it’s a thing, you know?”
“Old Casey and the others won’t like that,” Tooser said.
“Then Old Casey can talk to me. I’ve got boots on the stones right now.”
“So what’s the plan, Col?” Hetzer asked. He sneered at Colin, challenging him. Colin knew Hetzer was itching to make street captain. Hetz had the spirit, but not the head, for it. Colin took another bite and wiped the sauce from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.
“You want a plan? First, forget about this Thorn business.”
“But, cap . . .”
“Another thing,” Colin said. “We’ve given up too much ground at the south gate. Other boys are catching the Uni traffic, getting business should be ours.”
“I heard Old Casey said—” Jutie started.
“I don’t give a blazes about Old Casey!” Colin snapped. All the boys stepped back a
bit. Even one of the constables across the street perked up, glancing over at them. “I’m saying, pass the word to other street caps. Tell them we’re taking it back. I wanna know when Uni boys are coming in the neighborhood.”
“Rustle them?” Tooser asked.
“When the Uni and the sticks got their eye over here?” Colin asked. “You crazy?”
“We take good care of them, right?” Hetzer said. With a bit of a bitter sneer, he continued, “Nice and friendly, like we always used to. Show them a good time, the right and proper way. And they’ll slip scraps of silver for our hospitality.”
Colin nodded. “That’s the way. Go get about, then,” he said. The boys headed off in different ways. He finished the last bites of the striker and went into the Turnabout. He needed a drink now.
“Oh, cousin,” he muttered to himself, “why you have to be that stupid?”
Excused from classes, Veranix spent part of the afternoon alternating between trying to decipher the journal’s code and reading up on war history to find out more information on those codes. It was little use to him. He had figured out the concept behind the code, but cracking the key of it involved math that was beyond him.
Parsons had been good at math, he could have figured it out. Not anymore.
Veranix grabbed the journal and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. He jogged across the lawn, making no attempt to hide the fact he was heading to the carriage house. It was only three bells after noon, the sun was still high, and if anyone asked, he was thanking the person who saved his life.
Kaiana was not around when he came into the carriage house. He decided to wait until she came back. After a few minutes of pacing around, he got restless. He stripped off his jacket, shirt, and boots and cleared away a space on the wooden floor. His whole body still ached, and he needed to attend to it.
Gingerly he began going through the series of stretches his grandfather and mother had taught him since before he could walk. He worked his way through the whole cycle and, despite the pain of doing it, it helped with the aches and stiffness. The last step of the series was a handstand, to test the strength of his shoulder. The knife wound had been bad, but he could bear the pain, at least for a minute. He got back on his feet, flexing his arm back and forth.
Taking one of Kaiana’s gardening tools as a makeshift staff, he then moved on to the balance exercises, climbing on top of the stable wall. He was up there on one foot, leaning back as far as he could without falling when Kaiana came in, a heavy-looking sack over her shoulder.
She dropped the sack on the ground with a resounding thud. “You know, it doesn’t help my reputation to have a shirtless student hanging around in here.”
“Maybe I want to ruin your reputation,” Veranix joked. He jumped and flipped backward, tossing the hoe in the air as he went. He landed on a handstand, catching the hoe with his feet. His shoulder screamed out, muscles on fire, but he held up. He would not let his arm buckle, no matter how much it hurt.
“Right,” Kaiana said, taking off her straw hat and hanging it by the doorway. She started pulling off her gloves and boots, putting them on top of the sack. “You lose me, and I don’t know what you’ll do.”
“I’d figure out something,” Veranix said, struggling to hold his position despite the pain in his shoulder. “Maybe someone from the girls’ college would like the danger of being my helper.” As soon as he said that, he got Kaiana’s glove thrown in his face. He toppled over into one of the stalls.
“Helper?” Kaiana asked calmly. “Is that really what you want to call me?”
“Confidante?” Veranix tried, sitting up. He managed to avoid hurting himself further in the fall.
“Better,” she said. She grabbed a bucket and went over to the water pump in the corner. “So why are you here? You better not be thinking of hitting the streets tonight.”
“No, not at all,” Veranix said. He came over to her as she filled up her bucket. “I thought I’d come over here, and devote some time to stretching and practice, you know, so I stay sharp and don’t get hurt when I do go out next.”
“Right.” Kaiana didn’t sound convinced.
“And I wanted to spend time with my good friend, who I rarely see outside of running off to the streets, or when she’s patching me up from my fights, or . . .”
“Oh, blessed saints, Vee,” she said, glancing back at him. “Just say, ‘Kaiana, I can’t decode the journal. Please help me.’”
“Am I that obvious?” he asked.
“Yes.” She took a cloth and soaked it in the bucket. Wiping the dirt off her face and arms she added, “The journal is sitting on top of your jacket over there.”
“Can you do it?”
“Maybe.” She wiped her hands off on her skirt and picked up the book.
“You’re the best,” he said. She was already sitting on the ground, nose-deep in the journal. “You know . . .”
“Back up there,” she said, pointing to the stable wall. “Practice.”
Memory sparked, and Veranix found himself talking with a Racquin accent. “Practice, yes. Always practice. Or fall and die.”
She burst out laughing. “What was that?”
“What my grandfather would say.” He slipped into the accent again. “Practice and train. Muscle and bone.”
“Where was he from?” she asked.
“Kellirac,” Veranix said, trying another handstand on the bad arm. It hurt too much. “Though he was a baby when his parents fled from the yashta.”
“What was the yashta?”
“Some kind of civil war in Kellirac.” There was more to it, of course, but Grandfather—and every other old Racquin in the circus—was always tight-lipped on the subject. Whatever the yashta was, it was too terrible to speak of, even though it was the main reason the Racquin were in Druthal. Veranix had given up asking by the time he was ten.
Kaiana must have sensed that he wasn’t going to talk about it, either. “Fine. Practice. Quietly.”
Veranix spent the next hour running through his old routines, making a point of doing them without magical aid. Kaiana worked in silence, getting up to light lamps and fetch ink and paper.
“You’re putting all your weight on your left arm,” she said after a while.
“I took a knife in my right shoulder, Kai.” Veranix jumped down to the floor. The wound was throbbing, but he kept himself from showing any signs of pain. Back in the circus days, he had done shows with broken bones. He could hold up through this.
“Still, be aware,” she said.
“Thanks for the tip.”
“I don’t want you getting killed out there,” she said. “Practice more.” She kept working, scratching figures with focused concentration.
Veranix went down to the Spinner Run, grabbed the cloak, and came back up.
“The blazes are you doing?” she asked when he emerged.
“You said to practice,” Veranix said, putting on the cloak. Again he felt the sudden rush of numina course through his body. “Let’s face it, I’ve been mostly using this thing on instinct.”
Kaiana scowled. “Fair enough.”
Veranix focused numina back through the cloak, willing himself to disappear. “Can you see me, Kai?”
She looked up at him, her narrow eyes squinting. “Sort of. You’re the same color as the wall behind you, so if I didn’t know you were there, I might not notice you. But looking for you, knowing you’re there, I can make out your shape.”
Veranix didn’t like that. He kept the image through the cloak, and quickly bounded across the room, doing his best to make each landing as soft and quiet as possible. He ended ten feet away from Kaiana, and right when he hit the ground, he whispered a bit more numina into his voice.
“Now?” he asked, the sound of his voice coming from the other side of her.
“Now,” she look
ed up again, in the wrong direction. “Now I can’t . . . where did you go?”
“Here,” he said, touching her shoulder.
Kaiana grabbed his hand and yanked, pulling his body into her as she brought her knee up. She knocked the breath out of him, and he dropped to the ground, his illusion of camouflage vanishing.
“Sorry about that,” she said, though she didn’t sound apologetic.
“Blazes, you’re strong. You . . . you should come out there with me,” he said between gasps.
“No, thank you,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Only my pride is seriously hurt.”
“That was a good trick, though.”
“Thanks.” He thought of something else he might be able to do. As he had the other night in Inemar, he focused the numina on changing his appearance. He kept the changes subtle, making his face a little thicker and older, his hair darker. This was a different experience. He had to keep his focus on it, as always, but with the cloak it was more like holding his arm in a pose, instead of holding his breath.
“How do I look?”
“Ordinary,” Kaiana said. “Is that what you were going for?”
“Not specifically,” he said. “But maybe that’s what I was thinking about. Looking like a guy you wouldn’t look at twice.” With another tweak of the numina, he changed the appearance of his clothes from the University uniform to the street clothes of a typical Aventil artisan. Plain and uninteresting. He went to the door.
“What are you doing?”
“I was thinking I might go get some dinner,” he said. “It is almost six bells.”
“You promised me you weren’t going to go out there tonight!”
“I’m not!”
“Veranix, you go out there with that cloak on—”
“Just the cloak, Kai.” Veranix put his hands up defensively. “Promise you. No weapons, no rope. No trouble. I just want to find out what’s going on out there. All right?”
The Thorn of Dentonhill Page 14
