Lady Henterman's Wardrobe

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Saints and sinners, brother,” Asti whispered. “This is rutting genius, you know this? We could make a pile of notes—straight, square goldsmith notes—selling this.”

  “I know that,” Verci said, pulling the chair back upright. “That’s why we’re going to get the Gadgeterium open.”

  “I’m with you,” Asti said. “And I wouldn’t have been able to pull off faking this job without the work we did fixing up the old place.”

  “All right, before you go to sleep, what’s the plan tomorrow?”

  Asti took the last bite of Ken’s concoction, whistling from pain and delight as he finished. Then he came back over to the table as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “So, it’s clear that the Lord’s private study, here on the second floor—that’s something important. Extra security measures like you wouldn’t believe. Win’s absolutely right about those study doors. Five separate locks. And one of the house guards is always on that hallway.”

  “Just one?”

  “That I’ve noticed.”

  “So who goes in there?”

  “I imagine just Lord Henterman, but he hasn’t come back from . . . whatever it is. Hunting trip, I think I heard. There’s a special secretary—like his aide-de-camp, totally separate from the house staff. At least, that’s what I hear, I haven’t seen that guy either. Maybe Win or Julie has, but . . .”

  “You don’t get to talk to them much there.”

  “Not much. I took lunch with Ottick and a few other trade staff, and Julie and some of the other kitchen folk were there. But we steer clear.” They must be working Julie hard, because he barely said a word—even when he ate Kennith’s Ch’omik stew—and then fell asleep on the floor.

  “Hel is worried about how he was doing.” Really, she had spent half the day pacing and fretting, when she wasn’t doing everything she could to make sure Verci was comfortable. Which only made Verci more uncomfortable. He had been of half a mind to send her back to Seleth to help Mila, but he needed someone here he could count on in case of trouble. Vellun didn’t qualify, not yet, and Kennith . . . he didn’t want to have to count on Kennith if it involved going out in the streets. If there really was a crisis, he’d need Helene.

  “Near as I can tell, he’s doing fine,” Asti said. “Looked happy, others talking well with him, that sort of thing.”

  “Right,” Verci said. “So, the study?”

  “I got a look along the outside, and there’s a window. Trying to get up to it from the ground will prove challenging. There’s a clear view of it from all over the grounds, the walls beneath have some ivy creeps that look like bileworth.”

  Verci groaned. Bileworth was nasty stuff, a rich household’s dream. Looked like beautiful ivy with small orange flowers, very tasteful. But grab hold of it, or even brush it too hard, and it oozed out a vile, noxious sap. One whiff would usually force violent retching, and once the sap was on your skin, it was nearly impossible to get off. Many a burglar ended up quivering on the ground in a pool of their own vomit and filth, a disgusting package for Constabulary to pick up, thanks to bileworth.

  “Bileworth usually doesn’t grow naturally,” Verci said. “You think there’s a house mage?”

  Asti shook his head. “Not that I’ve been able to tell, and that’s a big expense. Even for a lord like Henterman. More likely it was a one-time hire.”

  “Still, that’s something we need to know about.”

  “Eyes open. If there is one, it couldn’t be too secret. The kitchen staff would know for sure. I’ll check with Win and Julie.”

  “All right, other ways in. Above?”

  “That’s what I’m going to look into tomorrow,” Asti said. “Above it is the Lady’s chambers. Her bedroom, salon, sitting room, water closet, baths, and wardrobe.”

  “That’s a lot of chambers.”

  Asti just shrugged. “Nobility. What can you do tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure, honestly. I’m supposed to go see Doc Gelson to recheck the foot. But there’s no way I—”

  “No, do it. That’s important. Can Helene help you get out there?”

  “Oh, I’m sure she will,” Verci said. Hel was being far too helpful, downright hovering. He knew she felt responsible for his accident, and if he didn’t actually need her help through this, he’d have told her to shove off.

  “While I rot in here,” Kennith said.

  “This is what I need from you tomorrow, Kennith. Take a scope and get on the roof. Start to learn these streets, between here and the manor house. When it’s busy, where the clogs are, where the constables are running the crossways, all of it. Can you do that?”

  “So we can make escape plans?” Kennith asked. “If I can get a carriage out here, that might be useful.”

  Asti pointed to the both of them. “Talk with, what’s his name? Vellun? Have him help you with that.”

  “Right,” Kennith said.

  Verci was starting to feel a twinge in his foot. Almer’s concoction was starting to wear off. “Hand me that vial over there,” Verci said. “Time for another belt of that stuff.”

  “How is it?” Asti asked.

  “This? It’s pretty horrible going down. But then you don’t feel anything and it’s bliss,” Verci said. He measured out just a capful of the stuff and swallowed it. “Almer said not to take too much, it’s dangerous.”

  “Well, don’t,” Asti said.

  “I won’t,” Verci said. “We never got mixed up in effitte or other nonsense, not going to let this take me.”

  “All right,” Asti said. “I’m claiming some floor space in the sitting room, and Hel will have to cope with that. I need to sleep, or I’ll be a wreck at work tomorrow.”

  “Saints, Asti. You almost sound like a respectable, honest man.”

  “Don’t worry,” Asti said, winking as he went up the stairs. “That won’t last long.”

  * * *

  Mila was woken by someone pounding on the back door of the goxie shop. She glanced around. The rest of her boys were all sleeping.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “It’s Conor, Miss Bess. Open up, but quick.”

  She opened the door. “What’s wrong? If the baker woman has a message . . .”

  “Naw, but something’s happening on Junk, and it’s coming to the bakery. Youse gotta come quick.” Conor looked spooked, which wasn’t common for him. If whatever was happening hit him in the gut, it was probably a big problem.

  First she had to get her boys safe.

  “Peeky, Enick, eyes on the rest. Get them moving and out of here.”

  “Where to, though?” Enick asked. “Where we got now?”

  Mila thought for a bit. “Head to the warehouses on Junk. Don’t break into any, but stay low.”

  “There’s no scraps or begging in that spot!”

  “And no one looking for anyone, either,” she hit back. “It’s just for a bit. Raid the larder here before you go.”

  “You don’t have to tell us that, Miss Bessie.” The place was devoid of bread, cheese, and pickles in moments.

  Mila would pay Helene back. Probably.

  “Show me, Conor,” she said, and let him lead the way.

  Over on Junk, a passel of toughs were standing in front of the shop two doors down from the bakery. Might have been Scratch Cats, but Mila thought they were something else. Three were at the door, and through the window, Mila could see two more talking to the shopkeep.

  “They’ve been working their way down,” Conor said. “Thought you should know before the bakery.”

  “Those the boys that hit you all last night?”

  “Not all of them, but you see that one with the strange eye?” Mila noted one of them had an eye that looked the wrong way.

  “He was there?”

  “Definite
ly him. Maybe one or two others.” The boys inside the shop came out, one of them counting coins and dropping them in a sack.

  “Good enough,” Mila said. The boys were moving on from that shop to the grocer next door. “You run to that house I told you about. Tell them I said someone’s working a shake on Junk Avenue.” She remembered Kimber’s note, and dug it out of her slacks. “Give them this as well. You got that?”

  “Got it,” he said, and tore off.

  Mila unhooked the rope from her belt and went over to the bakery door. Missus Rynax and her sister were hard at work, putting out loaves and rolls. Mila stuck her head in.

  “Missus Rynax, ma’am,” she said calmly. “Lock the door for a few minutes.”

  “What, why?” she asked, coming over. She looked down the street. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing you have to worry about,” Mila said. “I’ve sent word, and I’ll deal with this.”

  “But—”

  Mila shook her head. “Lock the door.”

  “You’re just a little girl. Get Asti, get Helene. Or Julie . . .”

  “They’re nowhere close right now. I can handle this.”

  “Just—”

  “Door, Missus Rynax.”

  Mila stepped away, and Raych shut the door, latching it.

  The gang of boys came out of the grocer and started to move on the bakery. Mila brought her shoulders up, holding the rope with as much menace as she could muster.

  “Move along, gentlemen,” Mila said. “This place isn’t for you.”

  The boy taking the center of the group looked her up and down. He had a good seven inches and two years on Mila, and a deep, ugly scar across his cheek. “Who the blazes are you?”

  “I’m the one telling you to move along.”

  “You gonna make us, sweetling?”

  “I ain’t seen you boys in these streets before,” Mila said, avoiding the question. She couldn’t fight all five. She wasn’t Asti. “Do you know who owns this bakery?”

  “Someone who’s gonna pay us,” Cheek Scar said.

  “Yeah, so open up!” Lazy Eye shouted.

  “This your boy?” she asked Cheek Scar.

  “We’re all together,” Cheek Scar said. “We’re all here.”

  “This one smacked around my boys,” Mila said. “And now you’re going to try to muscle a bakery that’s owned by the Old Lady?”

  “What do I care about that?” Cheek Scar said. “Who cares about some old lady?”

  “Oh, saints and sinners,” Mila said. “You did a shakedown of Junk Avenue—right in North Seleth—without clearing it with the Old Lady? What kind of idiot are you?”

  “What’s she talking about?” the Waishen-haired one asked.

  “You all ain’t from North Seleth, are you?”

  “I don’t care who she is, I’m breaking the window with her head,” Lazy Eye said. He took two steps toward her, and Mila whipped out with her rope. She got it around his neck and pulled tight, kicking him in the knee. He dropped down and she yanked him back.

  “Don’t,” she said to the other four as they made to move on her. “Not unless you want him dead.”

  Lazy Eye clawed at the rope, but he couldn’t get a grip on it.

  “You ain’t that hard, slan,” Cheek Scar. “You wouldn’t kill him in the street.”

  “You know nothing about me, or this street.” She leaned in closer to Lazy Eye. “You worked with some Scratch Cats yesterday, didn’t you? Smacking my boys about?”

  “Yeah?” Lazy Eye didn’t seem sure if he should be proud or afraid.

  “Idiots. You muscle in here—” She yanked hard, forcing Lazy Eye to make horrifying noises. “You thought no one would notice? No one already owned this street?”

  “That ain’t what we were told.”

  “Oh, who told you that?” she asked. Now she had something. “Same folks who put you on my boys?”

  “Your boys? Those kids?”

  “My boys, gents,” she said. “Eight of them you doled out pain to. Should I give him eight times over, make us even? What do you think, Lazy Eye?”

  “Guhh—”

  “That’s what I thought.” She looked at Cheek Scar. “So I think you boys need to learn some manners. You got some coin out of your shake game?”

  “What’s that to you?”

  “That coin, that’s your walkaway money. You all can go back to your flop with it in your pockets right now. Or you can have a problem, and have no money.”

  “You think you—”

  “Five clicks, and Lazy Eye won’t be spending any money.”

  “And then the four of us drop you, little girl.”

  The shop door opened behind Mila. Damn and blazes. Raych must have caved.

  “All of you do what she says, or you’ll be having bolts for breakfast!” Raych roared.

  Mila turned to see Raych carrying a monstrosity of a crossbow, which seemed to hold ten bolts at once. It was the most beautiful thing she could hope to see.

  “Calm down, lady,” Cheek Scar said.

  Mila released Lazy Eye and kicked him over to his friends. “You heard the baker. Take your walkaway money and clear off this block.”

  The other boys helped Lazy Eye to his feet and moved away, while Cheek Scar stayed, staring for a few moments.

  “I’m gonna remember you, little girl.”

  “Do that,” Mila said. She had an idea, and this was the best place to try it out. “And tell Treggin that Miss Bessie wants a word.”

  “He don’t talk to street slan like you,” Cheek Scar said.

  That clinched it.

  “Then tell him I’m coming,” Mila said.

  Cheek Scar spat on the ground and went off with the rest of his boys.

  Once they were around the corner, Raych lowered the crossbow. The hard expression melted into fear. “The baby isn’t the only one who needs his skivs changed now.”

  Mila laughed despite herself. “That was rather brilliant, Missus Rynax.”

  “Mad, it was,” Raych said. She pulled the crossbow trigger, to no effect. “Verci could never get this thing to work.”

  “Well, it worked well enough,” Mila said. “For now, at least.”

  “What is going on?” Raych asked.

  “I can’t rightly say,” Mila said. “I’m going to find out. I’m going to keep my boys on your block.”

  “That’s just a patch on a bleeding wound, my father would say.”

  “It’s all I have for now,” Mila said. She coiled the rope at her belt. “I’ve sent word, but Verci is crosstown, working—well, working things out with Asti. But I’m sure once he knows what’s happening here—”

  “He’ll do what his brother tells him to do.”

  Verci’s wife knew him pretty well.

  “This is all about protecting the neighborhood.”

  Raych’s jaw tightened. “I’m sure they’ve gotten you to believe that. Blazes, I bet they even believe it.”

  Mila wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Verci said—he said this shop has hiding places. If something goes wrong . . .”

  “My sister, the baby, and I will lock down, don’t worry,” Raych said. “Don’t fret about me, just get my husband back home.”

  Mila nodded. There was nothing else she could do or say. It wasn’t like Verci listened to her. And it certainly wasn’t like he could pop back over to North Seleth any time he wanted. Not in his condition.

  * * *

  “You didn’t need to do this,” Verci said. Helene was pushing his chair over to the tickwagon stop. The wheels rumbled over the cobblestone, making his body and leg tremble to an unpleasant degree.

  “What, like Vellun was going to get you over to Gelson’s office?” Helene asked.

  “I didn’t need the
help,” Verci said, but that wasn’t true at all. He would have barely gotten out of the safehouse, let alone on the tickwagon, across to Seleth to see the doctor, and now back to the tickwagon. He was pleased with the chair, and he and Kennith had done an excellent job building it—it was great for getting about the safehouse. But the wheels didn’t agree with these roads, and there were too many little steps to navigate along the way. It couldn’t be done alone. And Helene was right, Vellun would not have been as good of an assistant. He was an eager pup, but Verci found him a bit dim.

  “We’re only a few blocks from the bakery. We came out this way, sure you don’t want to stop in?”

  Verci did want to, he wanted to see his wife and child, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea. Raych already didn’t approve of this whole venture, so for him to pop in for a few minutes would be too painful for her. And for him.

  “No, we need to get back. We need to—”

  “It’s fine,” Helene said, pushing him a little harder toward the tickwagon stop. She brushed off the couple of swells who tried to shove campaign pamphlets into Verci’s hands, though they ignored her. The wagon was coming up as they approached; she must have spotted it. “I know what you mean.”

  Waiting and watching while Julie was in the household had been hard on her. She had grilled Asti on a hundred things before he begged off and sent them away. Today he was going to slip into the Lady’s chambers. That was what he had tried to make clear to Helene—he was taking the risks, and Julie and Win were just there for support if needed.

  Helene waved down the wagon, which pulled to a stop. Helene helped Verci out of the chair to get up in the wagon. Gelson had changed the bandages for a proper brace, and had listened earnestly while Verci discussed the idea of building a device that could hold his foot in place while it healed. It was the first time Verci had spoken to the man while he was something resembling sober, and found him engaging, even charming. The new brace meant Verci could put a little bit of weight on his foot, enough to climb up in the wagon with Helene’s help.