Third floor. Halfway there. Then all he’d have to do was run like blazes until he got to a place where he could blend in with the crowd. He hadn’t heard a whistle call, so the sticks hadn’t been brought in yet. He could outrun a few hired guards on open ground.
Second floor. The rope shimmied. Verci looked up. One of the guards was leaning out the window, holding onto the rope. He looked quite vexed, and he turned his attention to the clamp lock.
Verci wasn’t worried. He had designed the clamp lock so it would be very hard for someone to release it if they didn’t know how it worked. There was almost no way—
The rope suddenly came free, and Verci fell the rest of the way to the alley below. He tried to roll with it, but he wasn’t ready. When he hit the ground, he heard a gut-wrenching crack from his leg.
Running like blazes wasn’t going to be much of an option.
* * *
Mila kept her position on the walkway, hawking her flowers, as she saw the guards running throughout the building, up and down the stairs. She watched while Kennith moved the carriage down the street, and when she saw Asti and Win come out of the alley, she gave Kennith the signal of where to go. The carriage hit the mouth of the alley, and Mister Gin made a bit of a scene so folks on the street would notice him instead of Asti and Win crawling under the carriage.
It all went surprisingly well. She had to admit, when Asti explained the basics of the plan, she had no idea how the blazes it could work. “You’d be amazed what people don’t notice,” he had told her. “They’re mostly in their own business. The average folk on the street won’t give a damn, especially if you give them something loud and shiny to pay attention to.”
He was right, and Mister Gin’s performance was certainly loud and shiny.
She looked back up top for Verci. She didn’t spot him, but did see guards on the floor he had been on. She scanned along the length of the building, no sign of him.
“Flowers of the season!” she called out as she quickly walked toward the other end of the building, and the mouth of that alley. She hoped that Mister Gin heard her giving the code for someone in the wind, and managed to follow along.
“Flowers of the season, just half a tick,” she called again. She made it down the half a block, and could see into the other alley.
Verci was climbing down a rope on the outside of the building, plain as a wart on Hexie Matlin’s face.
“Saints, sinners, and idiots,” Mila muttered. If no one on the street had noticed him, the guards up top certainly had. In an instant, they had undone the clamp lock holding Verci’s rope.
As Verci fell, she couldn’t help but be annoyed. It had taken her an hour to figure out how to unlock Verci’s clamp lock.
Verci hit the ground hard and badly.
“Violets! Fresh flowers of the season, and violets!”
“Turn the carriage around,” she heard Mister Gin call out. “I think I need to buy some flowers.”
“Oy, he’s—” someone called out from high up. Then a grunt. Mila glanced up to see the guard leaning out the window, now slumped over. Helene must have taken care of him. Verci, in the alley, was attempting to pull himself to his feet. She wanted to run over and grab him, but she knew that she had a little too much attention on the street. Mila had to play her part, like Asti and Mister Gin had told her. Draw focus. Keep eyes off the real action.
“You want some flowers, mister?” she called back. “You have a sweetheart to surprise?”
“How about I make you my sweetheart?” Mister Gin said, stumbling over to her. Mila spotted what he was trying to do, if her instincts were right. She took a few more steps over, even though it meant taking her eyes off Verci. She had to pray that Helene would keep him sighted, keep him safe.
Blazes, Helene would snipe every guard in that place to keep Verci safe. Not that she’d admit it.
“You’ve definitely got a sweet flower I’d like to get my nose in,” Mister Gin said. Kennith had the carriage turned around, trundling over to the other alley.
“That’s not what I’m selling, and you should be ashamed of yourself for that.”
“Who said anything about selling?” He was now in position right by the main doors of the Pomoraine.
“Right, because you probably have no crowns anyway,” she said.
“How can you say that, I’ve got—”
Three guards burst through the doors, the first two crashing into Mister Gin. Mila did her bit by crying out in surprise and getting in the way of the third. He crashed into her, knocking her stock of flowers onto the street. Three guards all stumbled and fought to get back to their feet, with Mister Gin doing his damnedest to hang onto the two of them while acting like he was just drunkenly groping.
“The blazes is your problem?” Mila shouted. “You just crash into—”
“Leave it!” the third guard yelled, running around the corner. “Where’d he go?”
“What?” Mila asked.
Mister Gin was being hauled to his feet by the other two guards. “What the blazes are you doing, old man?”
“There’s no need for that language,” Mister Gin said, wagging a disapproving finger at the guards. “The saints would not approve.”
“Saints don’t approve of lechery, either,” Mila snarled at him. “Who is paying for my flowers?” She punctuated that by shoving a hard finger into one of the guards’ chest.
“What, girl?” he asked. “Where’s the scad?”
“He’s gone,” the third guard said. “Whose carriage is this?”
“It’s mine,” Mister Gin said, dusting himself off. “A man comes through town for a bit of merriment . . .”
“Shut it, old man. Open this carriage.”
“What authority do you have—”
“Oy, chomie!” the third guard—obviously the superior here—shouted at Kennith. “Open your carriage or we’ll get the sticks to do it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Kennith grumbled out. “Do not presume to speak to me.”
“Call in the sticks,” the third guard said to the other two. “All of you hold until they get here.”
“I will do nothing of the sort,” Mister Gin said, heading over to the carriage. “You have no authority to detain me.”
“You want to see if we can detain you, old man?” one guard said, getting in close to Gin.
“Oh, yes, let’s,” Gin said. “Let’s see you doing that when the Constabulary come.”
“You there!” Mila yelled to a passerby. “Get to a whistlebox! These men wrecked my flowers and are going to beat up an old man!” This was a blazes of a bluff—the last thing Mila wanted was for the Constabulary to actually come.
“We’re protecting this place from—”
“Puffed-up popinjays is what you are,” Gin said.
“Open up this carriage, chomie,” the lead guard said. “Or you’ll all find out what we’re authorized to do.”
“Sticks are our friends, codger,” another whispered. “They won’t mind if we bruise up an old drunk and his chomie.”
“Which one of you is going to pay for my ruined flowers?” Mila shouted, turning to the main guard. “You smashed into me, trampled my goods, and I demand you pay me thirty-five crowns for the lot!”
“Thirty-five crowns?” He shoved Mila right in her face, pushing her to the ground. “Obber, open up the damn carriage. If the chomie gives you trouble, crack his rutting skull.”
Whistle calls now pierced the air. Wouldn’t be long for the sticks, not in this neighborhood. Obber pushed Mister Gin to his partner, and swaggered over to the carriage. He hesitated a moment at Kennith’s glare, but still grabbed hold of the carriage door and opened it.
No one inside.
“Look under!” the leader said. Mila saw a Constabulary horsepatrol riding up the street. She decided this was a fine m
oment to use the best weapon in her arsenal right now: tears. She let out a horrific wail.
“Nothing under the carriage, boss,” Obber said.
“Shut her the blazes up,” the boss said. He went over to the horsepatrol. “Evening, Officers.”
“What’s the situation?” the constable asked, getting off his horse.
“We had a break-in here,” the boss said, pointing to the building. “These two interfered with our attempt to apprehend the thief.”
“What thief?” Gin asked. “I was just trying to court this pretty girl when these lunks came barreling into me!”
“Aaannd. . . . Tra—tra . . . trampled my flowers!” Mila forced out through her fake sobs. “They ruined me!”
“And broke into my carriage,” Kennith added. “Violated my rights, Officer!”
“Oy, oy, everyone just calm down,” the constable said. “Where’s this thief?”
“He was in the alley, but he’s gone.”
“Hmm,” the constable said, looking down the alleyway. “Nowhere to go but out here, it seems. Yet he got away, you say?”
“He must have!” the boss said.
The constable looked into the open carriage. “But he didn’t go in there.” He glanced up at Kennith. “This was open when I arrived, it’s no violation for me to look inside.”
“I know my rights,” Kennith growled.
“You’re gonna have the right to be pinked up in a cell at the stationhouse if you don’t trap your mouth, son,” the officer said.
“Who is gonna pay for my flowers?” Mila shouted, hoping the officer would pay more attention to her and less to the carriage.
“That isn’t my problem, little girl,” the officer said. He glared at the three guards. “Why don’t you get back in there, where your authority begins and ends? I’m sure you’ve got some mess to handle.”
“Officer,” Mister Gin said, pulling himself away from the guards. “If you have no objection, I’d just like to get in my carriage and head home.”
“Hmm,” the officer said. “And where is home?”
“Over on Henterfield,” Gin said.
“North Colton,” the officer said with a nod. “I don’t suppose you have any identification on you?”
Gin dug through his pockets, pulling out some papers and loose goldsmith bills. “There you are, Officer. Mister Davian Allarn. Says so right there.”
The officer glanced at the papers, grunting. “This is how we’re going to settle all this, then. You three, get back in your building.”
The guards still hadn’t moved.
“If you failed your job and a thief got away, it’s not your problem anymore. One of you wants to come to the stationhouse to make a statement, that’s just fine. Constabulary will search out your thief.” He did not sound like they would actually put much effort into it.
“You, cider-breath, are going to give this twenty-crown note to the flower girl.”
“Why would I—”
“Because I said so, and someone should pay for her stock, and you’re the one with crowns falling out of your pocket.” He took the note from Mister Gin’s papers and handed the rest back to him.
“But—”
“And, you, girl, are going to take this twenty crowns and get the blazes out of my sight.” He threw the money on the ground at her.
“My stock was worth—” Mister Gin was continuing to argue with the constable, so she trusted his judgment and took her cue from him.
“You’re gonna be glad with twenty crowns, and that’s that. All of you, get the blazes out of here.” He took out his handstick and pointed it at Kennith. “Specially you. Maybe you shouldn’t take jobs in this part of town, hmm?”
“Fine, fine,” Gin said, getting in the carriage. “It’s been a soured night, anyway. Take us home, driver.”
Kennith made a noise and snapped his reins, and the carriage started rolling away.
“Girl,” the constable said, his attention now on her. “Take your money and get out.”
Mila snatched up the note, and made some show of salvaging her tray of flowers, giving the officer one last glare before stalking off.
A block away, Helene came out of an alley and started walking with her.
“That was harrowing,” Helene said.
“How long did you watch?” Mila asked as they strolled at a quickened pace.
“Until the stick sent the carriage away.”
“Verci made it in?”
“Asti had to carry him, but yes,” she said. “That was far too close.”
“Let’s get back home to the safehouse,” Mila said. “I am done with this neighborhood.”
* * *
The secret compartment under the seats of the carriage had been designed for one person to hide comfortably, or for two people to squeeze in if they had to. For three people to be crammed in there was excruciating, at least for Asti. Especially since the beast in his skull was still whispering to him.
It wasn’t howling to be let loose anymore, but it whispered.
You failed Verci.
Verci was curled up in the compartment, his elbow jammed into Asti’s ribs, while Asti also had Win’s knees in his back. Neither one of these things made quelling the beast any easier, especially with Asti’s head pressed against the wall of the compartment.
You could have saved him.
Asti hadn’t gotten much of a chance to look at Verci’s leg, but it looked horrible as they loaded him into the carriage. Asti was pleasantly surprised at how well Verci was bearing the pain he must be in, especially crammed in this tiny space. Even if he wasn’t making any noise, Asti could feel the cold, clammy sweat on his brother’s brow.
This is your fault.
Pilsen gave a series of knocks indicating they were in the clear. Asti undid the latches and the secret compartment sprang open. He, Verci, and Win all tumbled out into the back of the carriage.
“Well, this has been thrilling,” Pilsen said. “You’re all lucky that Kennith and Mila have sharp eyes.”
“Ow,” Verci said loudly. “Ow, sweet saints, ow.”
Pilsen looked down. “Great saints, son. You aren’t supposed to bend your foot in that direction.”
“How bad is it?” Verci asked. His face was horribly pale. Poasian pale. And his curly mop of dark hair was soaked in sweat. Asti looked down at his brother’s leg.
There was no doubt it was broken. The foot was twisted at an unnatural angle. Now he truly was amazed Verci wasn’t screaming. He certainly would have been.
“Win, help me get him up on the seat.”
“I can barely move my—”
“Now, Win!”
Win scrambled up and helped lift Verci up onto the carriage seat. Once Verci was in position, Asti half climbed out the window to see Kennith. “What’s our time to the safehouse?”
“Just a few minutes,” Kennith said. “We’re already in Seleth, and the streets are clear.”
“Don’t spare the whip, hmm?”
“Should I go to Kimber’s? Find Doc Gelson?”
Asti considered that for a moment. Verci probably would need the old drunk, that was certain, but they also needed to get whatever Verci found back to the safehouse, back to Miss Josie.
He couldn’t let that get in the way of what Verci needed.
“Yes, get there,” he said, pulling back in. He stripped off his coat from the job and grabbed a spare shirt from the secret compartment. Changes of clothes were always kept in there. “Pilsen, Win, get Verci’s shirt changed. Pants will have to stay. Take his bags, whatever he got, back to the safehouse. Have Miss Josie start to look at it.”
“I did get something, but I’m not sure—”
“Later, Verci,” Asti said. He saw Verci was starting to have tremors. This was not good. “In a moment Ken
nith is going to pull up in front of Kimber’s. I’ll haul Verci out and get him to Doc Gelson.”
“But—” Win started.
“Safehouse, boys,” Asti said. “We’ll meet up with you later.”
The carriage came to a halt. Asti looked out the window—Kimber’s Pub, Asti’s occasional second home. And almost the first home for Doc Gelson, who spent most nights pickling his head in Kimber’s cider. Asti kicked the door open and pulled Verci out.
“I can put weight on the good one, brother,” Verci said.
“All right,” Asti said, signaling to Kennith to drive on. Kennith wasted no time, and neither did Asti bringing his brother into the pub.
“Some help here!” he shouted. “Doc?”
Kimber—sweet, warm-faced Kimber—was the first one to react. She raced out from behind the bar, knocking over two glasses in the process.
“Asti, what happened?”
“He fell, hard,” Asti said, deciding the best course was to give an honest account, if lacking in detail.
Kimber got on Verci’s other side and held him up. “Let’s bring him to the cot in the back. Then I’ll drag Gelson out of his stupor.”
They laid him out on the cot, and Kimber went off to get Gelson.
“She didn’t press you further,” Verci said weakly.
“She knows better,” Asti said. “Blazes, she’s—”
She’d seen the beast, seen Asti in his full red-eyed, pure murderous insanity. Seen exactly who he was and what he was capable of. She saw that, and hadn’t chased Asti away. That was pretty incredible.
“Did you see who else was out there?” Verci asked.
“I wasn’t really looking.”
“Ren Poller. With a couple Scratch Cats.”
“Blazes,” Asti said. Ren was Nange Lesk’s right-hand man, and the Cats were the gang Lesk and his crew had been using to try to get a grip on North Seleth. Lesk was in Quarrygate, thanks to Asti—or Asti’s beast, more correctly—but it was clear that the rest of the crew hadn’t broken up at all. Ren would definitely want to poke his poxy nose in their business, especially if he saw that Verci had broken his leg. He would make it his mission to know the hows and whys and wheres, and he’d put every Scratch Cat out to sniff around. Asti was going to have to warn Mila and Helene. They’d probably get it worst.
Lady Henterman's Wardrobe Page 4
