You’re going to get everyone killed or arrested.
“Shut it,” he said out loud.
Drop the rest, kill Liora. That’s all that matters.
He pushed that voice down to the back of his skull. He wasn’t going to let it control him.
Asti took one last look around the house, satisfied with what he had done. Then he switched back to his normal street clothes. No hunting, no prepping for a fight. Except for taking his belt with the knives, and the bandolier with the darts. He wasn’t about to leave Dad’s weapons behind. Despite the warmth of the day, he put on his checkered coat to cover up the weapons. He didn’t need anyone giving him too much hassle for walking about Colton armed.
He walked to The Gentle Shepherd with purpose, but taking a roundabout route, ducking through alleys. If he had a tail, he didn’t spot it, but he had to have lost it if there was one.
Hopefully Win would be there. He honestly wouldn’t blame Win for not wanting to hear what he had to say.
He made it there by half past six bells, and waited on a barstool with a cider to cool his nerves. Seven bells came and went, and for a bit, he thought Win wasn’t coming. Twenty minutes after the bell, Win came in, still in full aspect as Ungar. He even wore a gentleman’s cap, taking it off as he entered. He took a seat next to Asti, but first gave far more regard to the barman. Once he had his own beer, he gave Asti a bit of his attention.
“You seem cooled off.”
“Somewhat,” Asti said. “What happened—”
“Does it matter?”
“It does, Win,” Asti pressed. “Look, that woman. Lady Henterman? She and I have history.”
“You have history with a noblewoman?”
“No, Win, she—” He lowered his voice a bit more. “She’s not really a noblewoman. She’s—she’s an agent in Intelligence.”
Win raised an eyebrow. “So why were you trying to kill her?”
“Because she . . .” Asti’s hand shook. “You know I’m not quite . . . right, you know?”
“I remember,” Win said. “Raychelle talked to us at length about it when you first moved in.”
Asti wasn’t aware of that. Win had never let on back in the days of renting the apartment over his shop.
“Right. Not to go into details, but that’s because of—”
“We’ve all had trauma, Asti,” Win said icily. “We don’t all attack people for it.”
“It’s her fault, though. She did it to me, and when I saw her—”
“Fine,” Win said, taking a sip at his beer. “Look, Asti, I know you’re under a lot of pressure, and you want . . . you want some measure of justice. I feel the same.”
“So we’re in the same cart, still.”
“Are we?”
“The plan has changed, but we still have things working. We still need to—”
“You need Julie and me to stay in the house?”
“Yes.”
Win nodded. “I will. In fact . . .” He paused, pursing his lips. “Look, I know that you and Verci . . . the two of you pulled me out of that fire, you’ve been there for me all this time.”
“Of course, Win.”
“But my life has had a hole in it, and, frankly . . . I need to change it. Maybe being Mister Ungar can let me find some . . . solace.”
“What are you saying?”
“I like the work. It’s honest.” Win quickly put his hands up. “I mean, I’m not like the rest of you. I’m not made for this kind of . . . gig. We both know that.”
“Of course, Win. I . . .” Asti took another drink. “I understand completely. We all want to get clean. If this is a path for you, I want you to be happy.”
Win smiled. “Good. But that means—”
“However we do this plan, we make sure it doesn’t burn you with it.” Asti said that with pure conviction, but he wasn’t entirely sure how he could pull it off. He still wasn’t sure what the plan was going to be. Maybe it shouldn’t involve Win at all. Maybe he couldn’t be trusted in a pinch. “Go up to the flop we used for the Pomoraine. Everyone else should be there. I’ll be right up behind, and we’ll work out the rest.”
Win drank up his beer and dropped a coin on the bar.
Asti waited a bit longer, finishing up his cider.
You’re going to get everyone killed or arrested. They’re all trusting you.
“Shut it,” he muttered into his mug. He wasn’t going to let that beast whisper him to death. He was going to beat it. Beat Liora, beat Henterman, beat them all.
* * *
There had been a couple Scratch Cats in the Birdie Basement, mostly drinking wormwood swill and hooting at the girls on the stage. Mila had taken quite a bit of pleasure in kicking them out. She was surprised that the goons of the Basement were right with her when she did it. There was no chance Josie had had the chance to alert them that Mila should have authority. She just acted like an authority, and they listened.
The manager of the basement—a short woman of undeterminable foreign birth—came over to Mila after the Scratch Cats were kicked out.
“She send you?”
Mila raised an eyebrow. “You already know the answer.”
“Those boys we need to keep out?”
“For the time being,” Mila said.
“You tell her, right. That we’re good with her?”
“I’ll make sure she knows,” Mila said. Looking around for a bit, she decided to add, “And mop the floors, it’s vile.”
Mila went back out into the hot afternoon, walking like Josie had told her. Chin high, almost a strut. She made her way over to Kimber’s, keeping an eye out for her boys or any of Lesk’s folks.
The outfit and Josie’s advice did have an effect. People were giving her way as she walked, like she had never seen before. A couple even tipped their hats to her.
Her hat. Josie had mentioned it had been hers. Maybe people recognized the look, and were respecting it? Anything was possible. But it felt good.
That feeling evaporated when she went into Kimber’s. Kimber raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you in a play?”
“Just here on business,” Mila said, doing her best to keep her facade up. “Can I get a cider and some supper?”
“Soft cider,” Kimber said. Glancing about, she leaned in and added, “Is this one of those Asti things I don’t want to know about?”
“It not unconnected,” Mila answered. There was someone she noted in one of the corner tables, alone, head deep in his bowl of stew. “I’ll be over there.”
She didn’t wait for Kimber’s response, and sat down with the man she was pretty sure was Kel Essin. Skinny waste of a man, looked like he was coming down from a bad dose of effitte.
“Mister Essin,” she said calmly.
“I know you, girl?” he asked. His eye was already twitching.
“We’ve never met, but you did something to my boys yesterday. So I have some concerns.”
“Your boys? I don’t know what you—” He started to get up.
Mila’s mind raced. What would Josie do? What would Asti?
She grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into his chair. If he had weighed more than a gust of wind, she’d never have been able to do it.
“Who do you think you—”
“I’m Miss Bessie,” Mila said. “And your boys went and stomped on my boys, so we’ve got a ruckus to settle here.”
“I ain’t got a—”
What was it Mister Gin had told her? Establish contact and dominance. Eye to eye. Mila still had her hand around his wrist, so she drummed her fingers on it, all while staring hard into his eyes. “You’ve got a ruckus, with me and with the Old Lady.”
“I ain’t a guy you talk to about this,” he said, pulling his arm free. “I ain’t what you think.”
“I think
you’re a lieutenant with Lesk’s guys, trying to prime this place for him to come home to.” That was a load of sewage she just said, but she made it sound strong. “I think you’ve got the ear of people.”
“I ain’t got—”
“I’m getting real tired of hearing what you ain’t, Essin,” she snapped. He startled a bit at that. “Let me make something clear. Your folks have pushed on my boys, on Junk Avenue, here on Frost, and the Old Lady noticed. You’re going to pull yourself and yours south. Pull everything back to Elk Road.”
“Why would I—”
“Because if you and your crew are lucky, the Old Lady might let you all keep Elk Road. For the right price.”
“She can’t—”
“You’re going to say what the Old Lady can’t do?” Mila spoke in a low growl. “Is that you? Or is that Treggin?”
Essin went pale. “It’s Treggin. He’s gonna—”
“No, he ain’t. Whatever you are about to say, he ain’t.” Mila was enjoying this far too much. Essin was almost quivering. “So here’s what else you’re going to do. Tonight, nine bells at the Elk Road Shack. I’m going to come there with some of mine, and we’re going to have a little parlay. Treggin better be there.”
“But—”
“Now scat.”
Essin sat dumbly for a moment, than bolted to his feet and went out the door.
Kimber came over with stew, bread, and cider. “What in the name of the saints was that, girl?”
“The things you don’t want to know about,” Mila said.
“Things I don’t want in here, understand?” Somehow Kimber made Mila feel like a child with just the tone of her voice.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Eat up,” Kimber said. “I’m sure you need it.”
Mila dug into the stew, her mind now twirling on how she was going to meet the bluff she just pulled on Essin. She had set a parlay, and now she had to show up with the juice to match it.
Chapter 15
BEING STUCK WITHOUT THE chair had been a challenge. Verci ended up crouching in the stoop, looking like a vagrant for the better part of an hour. Colton was not a neighborhood to look like a vagrant in. One person came over tentatively, not sure if he should call a constable or a Yellowshield. Verci had managed to convince him that he was indeed fine, and that his friend had gone for a carriage and he would be on his way shortly. The clean shirt and the faked South Maradaine accent helped sell it.
Helene arrived with the carriage—and Kennith and Vellun along with them. With their help, he got into the carriage, where Helene spent a bit too much time fussing to make sure he was comfortable.
“I shouldn’t have left you there alone, you’ve had a . . . are you thirsty, or . . .”
“I’m fine, really,” Verci said. Though he did like being able to sit with his leg up again. And he hadn’t eaten much today. Something probably should be done about food, but that wasn’t a priority right now. “We need to position ourselves to intercept Julien.”
“Go on Flynn,” Helene said. “That’s the route he’ll take.”
“You’re sure?” Kennith asked.
“Julien doesn’t like learning too many new routes anywhere,” Helene said. “He takes the one he knows.”
“All right,” Kennith said, moving up to the driver’s seat.
“Hey, Vellun,” Verci said. “You know how to drive this, if you have to?”
The young man smiled a little emptily. “’Fraid not really, sir.”
“Then get up there with Kennith and learn.”
Vellun frowned and went up top, closing the carriage door on Verci and Helene.
“Am I punishing Kennith?” Verci asked.
“Nah, they’re cream and honey,” Helene said. “You thinking we need to have Vellun drive?”
“I’m thinking a Ch’omik man stands out in the streets. A Ch’omik driver, triply so. We shouldn’t be putting Kennith at risk.”
Helene nodded. “All right, I kept my trap shut back in the house because I saw you two eye twitching at each other, and I figured you had a plan,” she said. “But what the blazes are we doing?”
“We’re playing along with this idea,” Verci said. “We wanted to run the party, and now we can, so . . . still a plan.”
“And this lady that Asti has history with?” She shook her head. “Look, I know there’s stuff about Asti’s past he don’t talk about. But I can see a tinder show that’s about to burn down.”
“Yeah,” Verci said. “You know how Asti isn’t, you know, quite in his skull?”
“You mean those episodes where he went barking mad?” Helene asked. Verci must have made a look, because she added, “You think no one talked about that? Kimber was there when he tore into the Lesk gang, and Almer couldn’t shut up about it.”
“Yeah.” Verci sighed. “Well, short version is, that lady is why.”
Helene let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll gladly shoot her, given the chance.”
“Asti might resent that.”
She shrugged. “If I get my shot before him, he can cry in his cider.”
The carriage came to a stop, and they could hear some voices. Then the door opened, and Julien got in. Helene grabbed him in an embrace. “Are you all right? Everything good?”
“I know something went wrong,” he said. “Asti did . . . you know what he did?” He seemed shook.
“Asti got burned, that’s all that matters,” Verci said. “But part of why you’re in there is so we have a backup in case of something like this.”
“Yes,” Julien said. “They like me. They say I do good work.”
Helene jumped on that. “They’re nice to you in that kitchen, yes? No one treating you badly?”
“No, it’s very kind,” Julien said. He started talking about the kitchen, and Helene was completely engaged in his stories. Verci sat back and shut his eyes.
As soon as his eyes were closed, he saw Liora Rand with her knife at his throat. He sat up and shook that off. He had to admit, that woman was everything Asti had said she was. Capable, charming, and extremely dangerous. He knew exactly who she was and what she was up to, but yet he felt some sympathy for her.
She was going to be one step ahead of them, whatever they did. She knew Asti and thought like him. However they played this, they had to keep that in mind.
They trundled through the neighborhood to Low Bridge, eventually reaching the apartment they used in the Colevar gig. Getting up to the apartment was a blazes of a problem, as there was no real way to do it without calling much attention. Julien ended up carrying Verci up the stairs while Vellun and Kennith brought the carriage around back.
The place was cramped with the three of them up there, and even more so once Vellun and Kennith arrived. They did have the sense to come with beers and strikers for everyone when they came up. Verci took that happily. Food in his stomach and washing something down his throat made a world of difference.
Win came up, dressed like an underbutler, and said polite hellos. A few minutes later, Asti arrived. He pressed his ear against the door. “I doubt we’re being watched or followed, but on the off chance of that, it’s not likely that whoever Liora has is good enough to listen in here with no notice. So we have a bit of time to talk.”
“You mind telling us the full truth about what’s going on?” Win asked.
“I will,” Asti said. “Short version, everyone—it turns out that the lady of the house is an old partner of mine. She’s pretending to be—”
“We all figured that part out, idiot,” Helene said. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to work with her,” Asti said. “Use that to our advantage as best we can, but we have to keep the rest of the crew isolated. As far as Liora knows, our crew is me, Verci, and Helene.”
Kennith nodded. “Makes sense. And is
your plan to act like we were just planning to rob Lord Henterman?”
“Believable,” Verci said. This was probably the best plan to go forward, as long as Asti could hold it together with regard to Liora Rand. Asti’s temper—or whatever was in his skull beyond that—was the real dice roll in this plan. “The main thing is, we don’t trust her, obviously. And she won’t trust us.”
“So we have to expect a double cross from her, and she’s sure to do the same. All we have to protect ourselves is hiding who we all are and what we’re really after.”
Win nodded. “So Julien and I need to stay in the household, working our jobs and our covers. Are you sure we’re safe with her?”
“As long as we don’t let her suspect you two, you’ll be fine. Julien, you can’t go back to the other safehouse. So this apartment is where you’ll stay now.”
Julien frowned. “Helene, are you staying here?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Hel, I need—” Asti started.
“Sure,” she said firmly.
He fumed a bit and then said, “Fine, but I’m going to need you to come back to North Seleth in the morning, Hel. We’re going to need to work with the Old Lady and Pilsen a bit.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Here’s the one thing we have right now.” He pulled out the invitation from his coat. “We have an invite to the party. That was exactly what we wanted. We’re in. So at the party, it’s you and me going in.”
“What, like I’m your escort?”
“Exactly,” Asti said.
“How do I always end up with that job, Rynax?”
“We still need to hash the details,” he said. “But the rest of us will go back to Seleth tonight to lay the groundwork with Josie.”
“And I should stay there,” Verci said. “I’m too much liability on this whole thing, Asti.”
“Maybe,” Asti said, squatting next to him. “Which puts you on par with me.” He tapped on the side of his head.
“You can hold it.” Verci was certain of that. He had held it together enough to talk it through with Liora, even as she held a knife to Verci’s throat. Asti had to be able to keep his troubles in their cage, or they might as well scrub the whole thing.
Lady Henterman's Wardrobe Page 18
