Julien could happily eat goxies all day long. Which was probably why he cooked them with such love.
One of Mila’s annoying brats had delivered a note, supposedly from Asti, but Helene couldn’t be bothered to figure out what it said. It was in his stupid code that only Verci could crack. Though she would have to go and face Verci sooner or later. She wasn’t sure what she could say to him when she did.
“Helene?” A woman was calling her.
Helene looked up to see someone leaning through the window, and it wasn’t Mila or Josie.
It was Raych Rynax.
“What do you want?” Helene asked.
“I . . . I don’t rightly know,” Raych said. “Verci was—”
“I know, he got hurt. I saw it.”
Raych scowled hard at her. “My husband is at the bakery now, and something has spooked him. He said you needed to come get your order of rolls. And you’d need Julien to help you carry them.”
“We do need more rolls,” Julien said.
“Jules, we get rolls every third day. That’s tomorrow.”
“I know that,” Raych said. “So obviously Verci meant something else.”
“Something’s wrong and he wants us both,” Helene said. “But he didn’t tell you, hmm?” She might have been a bit too coarse with that, giving Raych a look that would normally start a fight. Helene couldn’t quite help herself from trying to raise this woman’s dander up. Raych Rynax always got hers up just by existing. The woman was too pretty—just enough Acserian in her face to make her exotic—to the point where she didn’t fit in North Seleth.
“He couldn’t speak freely. My sister is at the store right now. Helping out because of his foot.” Raych leaned farther in the window. “I don’t know what it is, but he was sitting outside, and then hobbled in as fast as he could on those crutches, just to tell me to come get you. So whatever trouble you’re all mixed up in—”
“We’re all mixed up in, Raychelle,” Helene said. “Don’t act like you aren’t part of it, and that you don’t benefit.”
“I don’t—”
“Why do you have a bakery right now?”
Raych fumed, thin-lipped. “Even still,” she said with hard punctuation. “There seemed to be some urgency.”
“We’ll be right out,” Helene said, closing the window.
“We’re not supposed to close the shop,” Julien said.
“I know that,” Helene said. “And so does Verci. There must be a reason he’s asked for us to come right now.”
Julien shook his head. “It isn’t right.”
“Then you stay. He asked for us both, but you stay.”
Julien bit his lip. She rarely saw him so burdened with a decision.
Finally Julien said, “We need to help Verci and maintain our appearance. I will stay.”
“All right,” Helene said. She handed him the keys to the lockbox. “Remember, five ticks per goxie. And a crown is?”
“Twenty ticks, I know,” he said. He quietly added, “Haven’t made that mistake in a long time.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, taking off her apron and putting on her green cap. “Don’t stay open past three bells.”
“But—”
“No exceptions.” She went to the alley door. “Lock—”
“Lock it behind you, I know.”
Helene went out to find Raych waiting at the mouth of the alley.
“Where’s Julien?”
“He’s staying. Someone needs to keep the shop.”
Raych didn’t give her any push on that, and they started walking at a heavy stride toward Junk Avenue. That suited Helene just fine; no need for idle chatter with Raych.
“Now this is interesting.”
Poller stood in the walkway, with his whole crew shoulder to shoulder. That skinny drowned rat Kel Essin, the bald bruiser Sender Bell, and of course Ia. Rutting Ia.
Helene took Raych by the arm and pulled her across the street.
“Where you going, Kesser?” Poller asked, walking into the street with the rest.
“Going to none of your business.”
“She thinks this isn’t our business,” Poller said.
“She’s with Rynax’s wife, walking to the bakery,” Essin said. “They’ve got something working.”
“It’s called bread,” Raych spat at them. “She works a sandwich shop, they need bread.”
“Don’t talk to them,” Helene said. “Don’t even look.”
Poller jumped in front of them, and in a breath all four boxed them in.
“What’s the story?”
“Story is get out of the rutting way, Poller,” Helene said.
“Or you’ll call a stick?” Essin asked.
“Your cousin isn’t here,” Sender added.
“I don’t need my cousin,” Helene said. “Back off.”
“What are the Rynaxes up to, Kesser?” Poller asked. “What’s the Old Lady up to?”
“Back off.”
“Ain’t no one seen the Old Lady in weeks. She’s off the table. Or is she?” He leaned in close, so she could smell his rotten teeth.
“You think you’re scaring me, Poller?” Helene said, though Raych had wrapped her sweaty palm around Helene’s wrist. She was probably terrified. “You’re a two-pence nothing. A lapdog for Nange, cooling his heels in Quarrygate.”
“He ain’t going to be in the ’gate forever,” Poller said.
“Nope.” Sender put his hand on her shoulder. Helene pushed it off.
“And we’ve been making more friends,” Poller said. “We can’t have plans screwed up by your boys.”
“Roll your rutting hand, Ren,” Helene said. “Step off or we scream.”
“Scream,” he said. “You think I don’t have this block locked down?”
“You don’t have anything.”
“I’ll ask again. What are the Rynaxes up to?”
Ia grabbed Raych. “Maybe the wife will tell us, sjat?”
“Get your hands off her,” Helene said. “Now.”
“Or?”
Helene shot a quick punch into Ia’s nose, and another one into the center of her chest. That was enough for her to lose her grip on Raych, who scrambled away. While Ia staggered back, a hard punch came at Helene’s back, knocking her to her knees. Sender laughed, straddling her.
Helene flipped over and pounded him in the tenders. It was his own fault for presenting them so prominently to her. He bent over double, and she didn’t let up. She grabbed him and squeezed his tenders as hard as she could until she felt something pop.
Sender fell over with a sickening gasp.
Helene turned to Poller, who stood agape in the middle of the road. “I’ll ask again. Do you think you’re scaring me?”
“No wonder you’ve thrown in with the Rynaxes,” he whispered. “You’re just as crazy.”
“Let’s move, Helene,” Raych said. “Before the Constabulary comes.”
“They ain’t gonna come,” Essin said, his hand shaking as he pointed accusingly at Helene. “But Treggin is going to hear about this!”
Helene had no blazing idea who Treggin was, but it was clearly a name Essin wasn’t supposed to say. Poller smacked him across the head and told him to shut it. She didn’t waste any time hearing more—these bastards had already eaten up enough of her day. She grabbed Raych’s hand and bolted to Junk Avenue.
They were out of breath when they reached the bakery, not stopping until they were inside.
“The blazes?” Verci said when they came in. The man was sitting behind the counter, his bandaged leg propped up. He looked adorably pathetic like that, wearing a baker’s apron over his shirtsleeves.
“Verci—” Raych gasped. “Those terrible—and she—”
“What happened? Are you all ri
ght?”
“Fine—but—”
Helene caught her breath. “Lesk’s crew gave us some hassle. I gave them some back.”
“What’s this ruffianary?” A woman who looked like a pudgy version of Raych came over, her eyebrows judging Helene. This must be the sister. “Is this the woman with the rush order?”
“Yes, but it’s all right. Raych explained some things to me on the way,” Helene said. “As long as I get my rolls for tomorrow, I’ll be fine. But we should go over my accounts?”
“Yes,” Verci said, pulling his leg off the counter. “Raych, you’ll be all right? I should go over the accounts with her in the office in the back.”
Raych looked hesitantly between him and Helene for a moment. “Yes, I suppose it’s important that you do that. Just don’t be too long about it.”
“Never, love.”
She leaned in and kissed him. “And be careful,” she added in a low whisper. Presumably so her sister wouldn’t hear.
“Always.”
Verci led Helene through the back, his usual calm reserve melting as soon as they were through the doors. “Where’s Julie?”
“He stayed to work our shop. Thought it was important to maintain the cover. And Lesk’s crew, they’ve got a fly in their nose about us—”
“Can’t worry about that just yet. We’ve got a bigger problem.”
“Is it Asti? Because I don’t know why you’d call me—”
“Asti is scouting something out east with Mila. Didn’t you get a note?”
“You know I can’t read that code you two use.”
“Fine,” Verci said, leading her to the back alley doors. “We need to find Kennith and get him locked down in the safehouse, and quick.”
“Ken? Why?”
“Because there’s a Keller Cove stick who’s got some sketches. Witness reports from the night of the Tyne fire.”
“Sketches of who?”
“You, me, Asti—but vague enough not to matter. But Kennith—”
The chomie stood out in a crowd. “I’m with you. Let’s go.”
Chapter 8
AFTER WALKING THROUGH EAST Maradaine, Asti and Mila found their way to Tully Road, a ring wrapping around Flynn Lake. The largest and most opulent of the East Maradaine manor houses all were on Tully Road, backed up to the lake.
Every one of them also had fifteen-foot walls around the property with steel gates and multiple guards at each one.
“There’s no sneaking in, hmm?” Mila asked once they had done two laps on Tully. Asti still wasn’t sure which house was Henterman’s, though he had eliminated a few of the options.
“At least not in the front,” Asti said. “Especially not you or I. Verci, if he were in form—”
“Not for a couple months.”
“I’m aware of that,” Asti said.
“And the houses all protect each other, in a way. Can’t sneak through the back without coming from the lake, can’t get into the lake without starting on another house’s grounds. Rather clever.”
Asti nodded. “There are two points of access to the lake itself—the creek in and creek out. Those cut through these properties, and could be weak points that can be exploited.”
“But we have no idea if the lake shore is watched inside—”
“Right now, it’s all just information,” Asti said. They walked past the house with the inbound creek, approaching its gate. This was now the third time they passed it, and any guard worth the crowns he was paid would have taken note of them. Time to do something or move on. A loaded cart of goods was pulling up to the gate, and an empty cart was being let out. “Fair amount of activity here.”
“Loaded carts entering each time we passed,” Mila said. “None of the others have anything like that.”
“All right, keep walking, make toward the main road.”
“We’re leaving? But—”
“For the moment. I have a theory, and I want to test it. Follow along.”
They neared the main road; the empty cart came clopping up toward them. Asti waved to the driver.
“Good day to you, sir,” Asti said, using his best north country accent. “Business is treating you well?”
“Well enough,” the driver said.
“I hate to trouble you, but we’re walking back to Inemar. My cousin’s feet are killing her, and we would appreciate a ride.”
“We’ve been walking all day,” Mila added.
“I’d appreciate an extra half-crown in my pocket,” the driver said.
Asti knew that a man like he was pretending to be wouldn’t give up a half-crown very easily. “Would you settle for six ticks?”
“Fine,” the driver said, waving them up. “You looking for work?” he asked once they were settled in the cart and paid up.
“Does it show?” Asti asked.
“You wouldn’t be out here unless you were working for these swells, or were hoping to. And if you’ve been walking long enough for her feet—”
“Clever man you are.”
“What sort of work are you looking for?”
“I’m a handyman by trade,” Asti said. “And Bessie here is a cook’s girl. Sadly, no place that we’ve talked to is looking for either role.”
“Did you try Henterman Hall there?”
Perfect.
“Is that where you came from?”
“Just delivered as much flour, honey, and salt as I sell to the University. Seems like they’re having something of a grand ball in a few days.”
“Oh, they are?” Asti said. What was it Tranner had said? Henterman uses any excuse for revels. “Is it for Saint Jontlen Day?”
“I suppose,” the driver said. “I mean, who else but the swells bothers to celebrate Saint Jontlen Day?”
“How do you celebrate Saint Jontlen Day?” Mila asked.
“I thought you were a cook’s girl,” the driver said.
“The places I worked never did Jontlen,” Mila said.
The driver shrugged. “Well, since you say that, sir, it makes sense. Because they’re clearly going to be making cakes, and when I arrived another cart was unloading pigs. Like thirty. So I guess they are doing the Bloody Feast.”
Mila looked like she was going to ask about that, but Asti waved her down. No need to make the driver more suspicious. He’d explain it later.
“So they’re making preparations,” Asti said.
“That’s how it seems to me, but I don’t think much on it,” the driver said. “I hear they do that from time to time. Good for business, though.”
“Absolutely,” Asti said. “Very helpful, don’t you think, Bessie?”
She glared at him. Clearly his shushing waves had not been appreciated. “Quite.”
Now they knew where, and there might be a way to just be let straight in the front door.
* * *
Verci was in the safehouse, and the last thing he wanted to do was go back to the bakery. The idea of puttering around on his crutches while other things were happening almost made him ill. Raych would be unhappy with him if she knew that. She thought Asti was pushing him, forcing him to be a part of this plan.
It wasn’t completely untrue. He wouldn’t be doing this if Asti wasn’t involved, but he wanted these bastards to pay for what they did to Holver Alley just as much as Asti did. Once that was done, he would be more than happy to live a simple life of baking and gadgets.
Right now, at least, he could work on his new chair with Kennith. That was fun. Kennith hadn’t been happy when Verci and Helene had pulled him out of the inn’s stable and brought him back to the safehouse. Verci wasn’t sure if it had really sunk into Kennith’s skull how much danger he was in.
“How long will I have to hide out in here?” Kennith asked as they were attaching the wheels.
�
��I don’t know. Might be a while,” Verci said.
“Ha!” Josie came down from the office. “I got pegged by the sticks in ’03. Why do you think I never show my face in public?”
“Damn and blazes,” Kennith growled. “I ain’t staying in hiding that long. I’ve got my own job. I’ve got my garden. Peppers and okra.”
“What’s okra?” Helene asked. She was mostly hovering over Verci, but not contributing. Verci suspected she was in as much of a hurry to get back to the goxie shop as he was to the bakery.
“Ch’omik vegetable. I grow it every year, starting with seed stock from my father, just like my peppers.”
“I remember that sewage you made with your peppers,” Helene said. “You can keep the okra.”
“Here’s the thing about okra, Verci,” Kennith said, ignoring Helene. “Harvesting it is like a gig. You got to do it just in the right moment, or it gets hard and tough. And then it’s no damn good.”
“I understand,” Verci said. “Let’s just wait a few days, maybe the lieutenant will get bored.”
“Still, go check on my garden.”
Verci pointed at his foot.
“Fine,” Kennith said. For a moment, he looked over at Helene, and then at Josie. Sighing, he said, “I’ll get Almer to do it.”
“Probably wise,” Helene said.
“Hel,” Josie said, coming over closer. “Tell me about your little run-in with Poller and his folk.” She limped her way to the table and sat down. Verci never knew exactly how she had hurt her leg. It was possible he was looking at his future.
“Ain’t much to tell,” Helene said. “He tried to give some hassle to me and Verci’s piece of butter—”
“Can we not call my wife that?”
“And after things went too far, I smacked that Bardinic slan in the face, knocked Sender in the tenders—ha—and got Raych the blazes out of there.”
Helene sounded collected about the whole thing now, far from the half-panicked mess she was when she got to the bakery.
“You shouldn’t be risking your hands in a street brawl, girl,” Josie said.
“I should get in a high window and keep an eye for Poller, that’s what I should do.”
Lady Henterman's Wardrobe Page 9
