The Thorn of Dentonhill

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “But do they know that you are . . . you?”

  “That depends on just how angry Colin is.”

  “Who is Colin?”

  “Colin is my cousin, and he’s one of the Rose Street Princes.”

  “You . . . you have a cousin in the street gangs?”

  “Do you want to know all about that as well?”

  Delmin sighed. “No, I don’t. I want to get some sleep.” He pointed a stern finger at Veranix. “I want you to as well.”

  “Excellent idea.” Veranix could get on his feet again. He still felt weak as a kitten, but he was able to strip off his school uniform. “Kai told me you went to see her.”

  “She did?” Delmin’s voice cracked. “She mentioned me?”

  “You’re wondering why a rope and a cloak?”

  “It does seem, you know, specific.”

  Veranix shrugged. “Perhaps so. Perhaps they’re just the simplest things to do with the napranium.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you mentioned before that it’s soft. Too soft for weapons or armor, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, maybe it’s as simple as that. You can’t make armor from napranium, but you can make a cloak. You can’t make a sword, but you can make a rope.”

  Delmin scratched at the fuzz on his chin. “Might be just that. Can’t shake the feeling there’s something I’m missing.”

  Veranix shrugged. “Let’s sleep on it, and maybe we’ll think of something else.”

  Chapter 16

  SUNRISE CAME TO Fenmere’s home without incident. He rose from his bed and threw on his robe, cautiously waiting for the first bit of bad news to come rushing at him. Thomias wasn’t already knocking, so there wasn’t any major news.

  Fenmere sighed. He had actually hoped there would be some good news. That, perhaps, they wouldn’t bother waking him for. He went down to the dining room.

  Tea and bread were already laid out on the table, as well as morning presses. As Fenmere sat down, Gerrick came in from the back and joined him.

  “Morning, Willem,” he said with a nod of his head. “Sleep well?”

  “Somewhat,” Fenmere said after a sip of tea. “Any news this morning?”

  “Relatively quiet night,” Gerrick said, pouring his own cup.

  “No action from the Thorn?”

  “Didn’t say that,” Gerrick said. “Though it was . . . different.”

  Fenmere was intrigued. Gerrick wasn’t usually one for drawing out something for drama.

  “Not a hit on the dealers or dens?”

  “Not at all,” Gerrick said. “Some of our men had gotten a little . . . overzealous in their questioning of some shop owners on Waterpath.”

  “On the Aventil side?” Fenmere asked.

  “That was an aspect of their zeal, yes.”

  Fenmere nodded. It was best that his men didn’t kick up any dust in Aventil, but it was good to remind the gangs over there that they didn’t scare him.

  “Did they draw any heat?”

  “A scuffle with some Rose Street Princes.”

  “So what about the Thorn?”

  “The Thorn, apparently, showed up in the scuffle and sided with the Princes.”

  Fenmere scratched at his beard. “Where was this scuffle? Waterpath and Rose?” Gerrick nodded. “So you think the Thorn is a Prince?”

  “Possibly,” Gerrick said. “From the reports our men gave, the Princes were just as surprised by his appearance. Then constabulary broke it up.”

  “Really?” Fenmere asked. Thomias came in with a plate of eggs and fruit and put it front of Fenmere. “I’m surprised they even bothered.”

  “There’s a new lieutenant in charge of the neighborhood, and it appears that the Hallaran’s Boys are getting more aggressive with University—”

  “Yes, yes,” Fenmere said, taking a bit of eggs. “We don’t need to worry about that, other than it keeps the Aventil gangs distracted and divided.”

  Gerrick pulled a few papers out of his coat. “The Princes, and the rest of Aventil gangs, are united on one thing. They all worked through the night to disavow the Thorn.” He placed the papers in front of Fenmere. All of them slips from paperjobs, all variations on the same theme.

  “These are all over Aventil?”

  “Mostly on Waterpath,” Gerrick said slyly. “For what it’s worth, they’re practically falling over themselves to let you know that they do not ally themselves with him.”

  Fenmere liked that, a smile pulling at his mouth. “They’re afraid of what I’ll do to them. Good.”

  “Of course, sir, we aren’t any closer to retrieving the two items that the Blue Hand ordered.”

  Fenmere shrugged. “That’s important, of course. We don’t want to be seen as men who don’t fulfill their bargains.”

  “But?” Gerrick asked.

  “But if they don’t get their merchandise in time to do whatever magical, mystical thing they want to do, frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

  Gerrick frowned. “It took a lot of work to form the bond we have with the Blue Hand Circle. I’m not happy with them, but what they can give us still exceeds the usual mage for hire.”

  Fenmere scowled. Gerrick was right. “Especially if this Thorn is a mage. Are we set for the Three Dogs at the drop tonight?”

  “Everything is arranged, sir,” Gerrick said. “That is, of course, presuming he’ll show.”

  “He’ll show. I’ve got a hunch that, when you boil everything down, what he’s about is coming after me and the effitte trade. He’s not with an Aventil gang, I can tell you that.”

  “You’re sure, sir?”

  Fenmere nodded. “Look at what he’s doing, Gerrick. He’s drawing heat to Aventil, and he clearly doesn’t care what that does. Aventil gangs are a pain in the neck, but if there’s one thing they have in common, they’re all fiercely loyal to protecting the little patches of nothing they all have. This Thorn, he’s a different sort than them.”

  “If you say so, sir,” Gerrick said.

  “I’m well rested today, Gerrick. A good night’s sleep clears the mind wonderfully.”

  Veranix had slept fitfully, plagued with dreams of Colin telling him to get out of Aventil, his mother lying immobile on the ground, Nevin smashing his head against the wall. In the morning Delmin told him that if he had bothered studying, he’d know that intense nightmares tended to accompany the exhaustion of overdraining numina.

  Morning breakfast was filled with gossip and drama, as people talked about Veranix being found in the basement, and how some kid on the fourth floor swore he saw an ashaya in the water closet. Many people came up to Veranix and Delmin and asked them if ashayas were real or just old Waish legends. Delmin fell back on his usual answer of “There’s no proof, but there’s plenty of anecdotal evidence.” Veranix thought that was a polite way of saying it was a stupid old legend.

  Veranix couldn’t skip any of his classes today. He had been given more than enough latitude the day before, and he couldn’t push any further without causing trouble to his academics. That didn’t stop him from taking the journal with him to his classes to break its secrets.

  The process of decoding the journal was painstaking and time-consuming, converting strings of numbers into letters. Veranix felt it was worth it; the intelligence he was getting about Fenmere’s effitte operation was priceless. He learned about drop points, names of runners and sellers. Even if Nevin got his throat slit for failing, the basics of the operation wouldn’t change, not that much.

  Morning Magic Theory class gave him very little opportunity to work on decoding. Professor Alimen was on a tear about the numinic conductivity of gemstones and other minerals. Veranix tried to take a few notes, while focusing properly on the journal, figuring Delmin’s memory trick about singing robins c
ould get him through any exam. But then Alimen started writing numbers on the slateboard and doing mathematics. Not just sums and differences, but real, intense mathematics. With symbols Veranix didn’t even recognize. Everyone else was copying notes and asking questions—Delmin was fearfully engaged—and a deep panic set in Veranix’s stomach. This was going to be on end of term exams, and he didn’t understand it in the slightest. Veranix shoved the journal into his coat pocket and started copying everything on the slateboard into his own notebook.

  “Did you understand that?” he asked Delmin as they left the lecture hall.

  “For the most part,” Delmin said. “Though there were some equations I’m going to have to practice with.”

  “Equations?” Veranix asked. “Am I going to have to memorize those or something?”

  “Probably,” Delmin said. He must have seen the panic on Veranix’s face, as he patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, you’ll pass the exams. I’ll get you through it.”

  “Thanks,” Veranix said. Though between taking that exam and another brawl with Nevin, Veranix would rather take the fight. There he’d have a chance. If he learned more from Nevin’s journal, he might get the chance. “I’m going to skip lunch.”

  “Not even,” Delmin said, grabbing Veranix by the lapel of his coat. “I don’t think you understand the kind of damage you’ve been doing to yourself. You can’t skip any meals.”

  “But—”

  “No!” Delmin pulled Veranix toward Holtman. Lowering his voice, he added, “I swear, if you worked on studying half as much as you’ve put into that journal, you’d have full honors.”

  Veranix ate as fast as he could, and despite Delmin’s disapproving looks, went back to working on the journal. He reached a portion regarding the effitte delivery drops. Dates, times, and places. This he had to get decoded.

  “You’re not skipping history,” Delmin said.

  “I’ll come,” Veranix said. “But I may need to borrow your notes afterward.”

  Delmin all but pulled Veranix to the afternoon history lecture, where he pretended to take notes on the reign of Cedidore II, a king mostly known for his utter insanity, while decoding the journal. Professor Besker droned on about Quarantine and the Druthal Wall. Veranix remembered the circus performed next to the Druthal Wall, as going along the Sauriyal Canal was part of their usual travel circuit. The wall was nothing, a decayed pile of stone.

  He realized he was transcribing notes about a drop that was going to happen. He looked back at what he had written out to confirm. The drop was tonight at one bell after midnight, for one thousand crowns’ worth of effitte.

  “One thousand?” he whispered in surprise.

  “One thousand what?” asked the student next to him. He looked down at his own notes in panic, as if he had missed a key point.

  “Nothing,” Veranix said. “I just . . . nothing. Never mind.”

  “Shh,” Delmin whispered. He gestured to Professor Besker, who had paused briefly to note the disturbance Veranix had caused. Veranix smiled and gave a show of attention.

  “Opiska was freed, though mostly out of convenience,” Professor Besker went on. “The final piece finally broken off the shattered kingdom. Cedidore II willfully completed the work that Shalcer began out of incompetence.”

  Veranix scowled. It was a huge drop. He couldn’t figure out how much effitte that would actually mean, and then back to the street value of it. Hundreds upon hundreds of doses. Hundreds of people who wouldn’t get their brains melted. Hundreds of lives saved.

  Nevin was still alive, though, and he must know Veranix had the journal. He’d cancel the drop, for sure. Or be ready for Veranix. It’d be a huge risk.

  But if he didn’t cancel the drop, and Veranix stopped it, it’d be one thousand crowns out of Fenmere’s pocket.

  That was reason enough to risk going out there.

  He just needed to know where “out there” was, exactly. Last part to decode.

  Veranix went through, checking each letter carefully. O-s-c-a-n-a-p-a-r-k. Oscana Park. Made sense. North side of Dentonhill, relatively close to the docks, and far from any prying eyes that mattered. On the off chance Constabulary did catch someone, it was public property. Nothing to tie to Fenmere.

  Oscana Park was a big place, though. More letters. S-t-a-t-u-e-o-f. Statue of someone. The park was full of statues. N-i-y-o-l-c-d-w-s. Niyolcdws? That didn’t make any sense. Veranix checked through the last letters again. N-i-y-o-l-c-a-r-m.

  “Niyol Carm.” Veranix said upon completion.

  “What did you say, Mister Calbert?” Professor Besker’s full attention was on Veranix. As was the rest of the class. Besker tapped his walking stick impatiently while glaring up at Veranix.

  Veranix’s mind went completely blank. No suitable lie came to him. So he just told the truth. “I . . . uh, I said Niyol Carm.”

  “Niyol Carm?” Besker’s eyebrow went up. “Is there a reason you are a full seven and a half centuries behind the rest of us?”

  “It was . . . just something that crossed my mind.”

  “Yes, well join us in the part of history that we are studying today. The year we are on is 765. What is the era we are discussing, Mister Calbert?”

  “The, um, Centuries of Darkness and Light?”

  “An answer I find far too poetic for my taste, Mister Calbert. It would be correct if you were taking a Literature course, but sadly, you are not. We are in the Shattered Kingdom, Mister Calbert, specifically the Possession Wars. And in 765, who is the king of Druthal?”

  Veranix had been paying enough attention to answer that. “That would be Cedidore II.”

  The whole class gasped. “Is he right?” Besker asked, looking around, hobbling over to some other student in the front row.

  The student’s lip quivered as he answered, “No, Professor.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Besker said, slamming his walking stick on the poor student’s desk. “Cedidore II is the king of Druthalia Proper. And there is no kingdom of Druthal in 765, nor a king of Druthal. That’s why the era is called the Shattered Kingdom, Mister Calbert. Name the various countries that stood in place of the Kingdom of Druthal.”

  All eyes were on Veranix again. He dug through his brain to find something geographic. The only thing that came to mind was the full circuit of the circus, starting from the south of Druthal. “Scaloi, Yinara, Linjar, Kesta, Monim, Oblune . . .” The look on Professor Besker’s face was encouraging. “Acora, Patyma, Maradaine, Sauriya.”

  Professor Besker shook his head. “Congratulations, Mister Calbert. You have just named the current archduchies. Mister Sarren, perhaps you might have better luck.”

  Delmin gave an apologetic glance at Veranix. “Druthalia Proper, Free Opsika, Scaloi, Yinara, Linjar, Kesta, Monim, Oblune, Patyma, Acoria, Brellin, and the city-state of Monitel.”

  Professor Besker gave an impressed nod to Delmin. “Including Monitel was a nice touch. I’ll make a merit mark in your record. To balance out the demerit mark in Mister Calbert’s. To continue, Cedidore II put his five brothers in charge of the military in the different regions of Druthalia Proper, and these brothers all become key figures in untangling the royal lineages that follow for the next century.”

  Veranix closed up the journal and gave his full attention to the lecture. He didn’t need to figure any more out, not now. His leg bouncing, fingers tapping, he did his best to learn about King Cedidore II, the Shattered Kingdom, and whatever else he needed to know to pass exams. He didn’t need his marks dropping any further.

  Veranix did not sprint across the lawn to the south gate, as much as he wanted to. He had to know what else was going on tonight. He knew Colin wouldn’t want him to go out, but that was too bad. This was too sweet a cherry not to eat.

  He passed the gate and immediately found a street rat in his face.

  “What’s your
pleasure, Uni?” he asked. “What can we do for you?”

  “Not in—” Veranix started, about to brush the guy aside. Then he saw, this rat had his shirtsleeves rolled up, his Rose Street tattoo in full display. The Princes were at the gate. That was a good sign. Perhaps things had cooled since last night, and the Princes could push back and reclaim this block. Veranix coughed and began again. “Not anything much. I was thinking Rose & Bush.”

  “Fine choice, my friend,” the Prince said, all oil and charm. “Let’s make sure you get there proper, right?”

  “Proper?” Veranix asked.

  “Oy, there’s been trouble,” the Prince said with a nod, waving at Veranix to walk with him. They headed over to Rose Street. The action on the street was subdued, hardly anyone hawking from the curb. The Prince smiled and waved at one shopkeeper, who waved back tentatively. “That’s how it goes, you know. You probably heard one of yours was knocked and hassled out here.”

  “I think I heard something about it,” Veranix said.

  “That ain’t good for no one. We like the Uni boys, they do good business. Isn’t that right, Mister Ressitor?” He shouted this question out to a man sweeping at the doorway to bakery.

  “Very much so,” Mister Ressitor said. “You need a cake, Hetzer? You got a sweetheart who wants a cake?”

  “Girl I want don’t want a cake from me,” Hetzer said. “Uni boy, you need a cake?”

  “Not today I don’t,” Veranix said. He couldn’t help but smile. “When I do, though . . .”

  “I will make you the best cake.”

  “He sure will,” Hetzer said. “I’ll see you later, Mister Ressitor.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ressitor said. They walked on. As they approached the intersection of Rose Street, Veranix noticed many loose papers on the ground, strewn about and stamped on, all around the neighborhood.

  “He’s a good man,” Hetzer said. “Good cakes, really.”

  “Someone do a paper job?” Veranix asked. He bit his tongue as soon as the words came out.

  “That’s good, Uni,” Hetzer said, cackling. “That’s right.”