Lady Henterman's Wardrobe

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “We think. Or he’s connected somehow. The point of this is to find out exactly what his role was.”

  She had gone over to the kitchen and come back with a cup of tea. “So how are you casing it? Obviously not you, with your leg like that.”

  “Asti was doing the legwork inside with Win and Julien.”

  “Oh, Verci,” she said. “That’s just not right. Poor Win isn’t made like Asti is. Or Julien, sweet man.”

  “They’re doing fine. Blazes, Win is thriving, strangely. But Asti was discovered today.”

  She sat in the opposite chair. “Sounds like you’re covering for him. He made a mistake, yes?”

  “In a way, but . . . the woman, the lady of the household. Somehow, it’s her.”

  “Her who?”

  “Her.”

  Understanding dawned on Raych’s face. While they never truly discussed the particulars of what had happened to Asti that broke his brain so badly, they had talked about how he had been betrayed by his partner. The “infamous woman” Raych had called her.

  “That woman? From the Islands? But how . . . she’s a lady married to the lord?”

  “I don’t fully know,” Verci said. “I know she’s skilled, she’s dangerous—she’s everything that Asti is, but as a woman. And not broken.”

  “And you know this for certain?”

  “She came for us,” Verci said. This was a moment in which Verci thought it best to minimize the full truth to his wife. She didn’t need to know about the knife to his throat. “I don’t trust her, but she seems to want to hire us, or use us . . .”

  “For?”

  “She says to spy on the Lord Henterman, that’s her mission, but . . .”

  “You don’t believe it.”

  “There’s no reason to believe her, but I think we have to use her.”

  “And you have to stop her.” For a moment Verci wasn’t sure if Raych was confirming his feelings, or giving him an order.

  “You mean—”

  “That woman wrecked your brother. If that translates to even half of what I would do to someone who hurt Lian—”

  “I have an idea. I saw the crossbow in your hand.”

  “Right,” she said. “I get where your head is at.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do,” Verci said. “I’m not sure what I can do.” He pointed to his foot.

  She got up from her chair and came over, grabbing his face. “You are going to use that brilliant rutting head of yours, and you’re going to take care of it. Because you have to. Saints know Asti will not be able to.”

  “He’s awfully riled—”

  She kissed him once, stopping him from speaking. She did it again, getting Verci awfully riled himself.

  “Listen to me,” she said quietly. “You’ve got a blind spot when it comes to your brother. I know he’s the one who comes up with the plans and drives things forward and all that stuff you always say. You need—I need you—to be the calm head. You need to see all the pieces moving.”

  “Like the gears in a machine,” Verci said.

  “Right,” she said with a softer kiss. “And her gear is going to grind deep into his. You’ve got to be the one ready for it. Do you know what you need to do?”

  Verci thought for a moment. He had a few ideas, but they all involved doing a lot of building in the next few hours.

  He looked up at her eyes, seeing the love and fear deep in them. “Does this mean you approve?”

  “Never,” she said. “But I accept.” And then she kissed him again.

  Chapter 17

  HELENE SLEPT BETTER THAN she imagined she would, given the circumstances. Maybe it was just having Julien nearby, knowing he was safe and happy. He really seemed to be loving this kitchen job. She half wondered if, in another set of circumstances, he could have gotten a job like that ages ago, straight and clean, and none of this business would have happened.

  None of that mattered. Everything had happened, and she had to live with it.

  “Let me make one thing clear to you,” she told Julien while they ate breakfast. “No matter what else happens, if you have to choose between being safe, and keeping the rutting plan afloat for Asti Rynax, you choose yourself.”

  “But if I don’t have to—” Julien started.

  “Just listen to me. Choose yourself.”

  “We said we would be with him in this,” Julien said. “We gotta get these people. We said we would. They killed Gram and destroyed our home.”

  “Ain’t nothing we do will change those things,” Helene said. “But in the end, we take care of each other. So I’m telling you—”

  “I ain’t that addled, Hel,” he snapped. “I get what you’re saying. Just don’t like it.”

  “If Asti gets dragged down under—”

  “Then we reach down and pull him up,” Julien said sharply. “He did that for us after the fire, and he didn’t have to. Ain’t no one wanted us, and I know that’s my fault.”

  “It’s as much mine,” Helene said. Julien probably could have gotten plenty of jobs cracking skulls if Helene had let him. But she knew that couldn’t be his life. Not anymore. Bruiser work had already busted his head, made him a portion of the man he might have been. She wouldn’t lose another drop. Not for any crowns, and not for Asti Rynax.

  “We got each other in this,” he said slowly. “But Asti, Verci, the rest. Still family. I remember that.”

  “Fine, fine,” she said. “You need to be getting over there.”

  “I do,” he said with a grin. “Today we need to do the tomatoes, and the summer jelly. All these foods for the Feast of Saint Jontlen.”

  “Who came up with that?” she asked him. “These are things only rich people could possibly do.”

  “It looks really tasty, though,” he said. “Maybe we should try to do our own, smaller version or something. With the family.”

  “Julie,” she said gently. “That night we’re going to be working the gig. At the house. Remember?”

  “Right,” he said, giving that little nod he always did when he had forgotten about something. “You’re going to be there, right? But disguised, like at the Emporium?”

  “Probably not the same disguise,” she said. She let out a groan. “I need to get over to the safehouse, so I can be taught how to be a proper lady.”

  “Be safe,” Julien said, giving her a grand embrace.

  “Always am,” she shot back.

  They left the flop together and parted ways in the street, him heading out east, her to the west.

  It was an absurdly hot, muggy morning, and she surely looked out of place wearing the coat she had on. But she also had both the hip-hanger and The Action under her coat, as well as two quivers’ worth of quarrels at her back. To these East Maradaine and Inemar dandies, she probably looked like a right scary piece, trouble in the making. That felt good, and people gave her a wide berth all the way to North Seleth.

  “Where are you strolling to, Moonlight?”

  This was called out to her as she came into Saint Bridget’s Square. Even though it came from behind her, a good pace away, she knew whoever said it was talking to her. She turned on her heel, walking backward to keep her pace, expecting to see someone like Ren Poller ready to give her sewage.

  She was not expecting a Constabulary lieutenant.

  “You got a question, left?” she shot back.

  He headed over to her. “I think I asked. Where you strolling to?”

  She stopped walking. “Why you asking?”

  He came right up to her. “Because you stand out, Moonlight.”

  Normally this would be the sort of thing that she’d give someone a thumping for, but even she wouldn’t dare that on a constable. Especially this constable. There was something about his eyes, his demeanor, the jaunty way he walked ove
r that made his approach charming.

  “How is that?” she sent back at him.

  “Long coat, hot weather,” he said. “You armed?”

  “Ain’t I got the right?”

  “And I got the right to ask,” he said. “Especially since you aren’t a knife or club kind of girl, I gather.”

  “No,” she said. “Far from.”

  “What are you carrying?” he asked.

  She pulled back her coat and showed him the hip-hanger.

  “You’re not walking with it loaded,” he said.

  “Because I’m not stupid,” she gave him back. “I see the way your boys carry their gear. Miracle half of them don’t shoot themselves in the foot.”

  He nodded and flashed a grin at her. “I’ve seen a few of those among the cadets.”

  “So can I go?” she asked.

  “Depends where you’re going.”

  “My flop is a block or so that way. But I might stop at Kimber’s for a cider.”

  “Bit early for that.”

  “Not with my throat this dry.”

  He gave her a bit of a nod to walk, but kept with her as she went. “So this neighborhood is your patch, hmm?”

  “Born and raised, for the most part. Though I’ve been out and about in the wide world for a time.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “So which is it?”

  “Which is what?”

  “See, I can only think of a couple reasons for a lady like you to be carrying quality crossbows—yeah, I saw the other one—on her person. So are you the type who’s gonna start trouble, or the type who stops it?”

  “I like to think I’m the one who stops it,” she said, but not entirely sure why she was saying it. She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t charging away from this stick, beyond the fact that it would look even more suspicious. And this stick was clearly thinking of her suspiciously.

  Or maybe he was thinking of her elsewise. Elsewise thoughts were certainly creeping into her brain, despite herself. And he was giving her that sense. She had enough experience with men in these streets giving her that sense.

  “Let me see that other one,” he said.

  She moved over to the side of the walkway, leaning against the wall, and pulled The Action out from under her coat. “Careful with her.”

  “It’s a her to you?” he asked, taking it from her. He held it with some reverence, checking its weight, holding it up to his eyeline.

  “She’s a good girl to me.”

  “Where’d you get this one?” he asked. “Never seen one like that.”

  No need to lie. It wasn’t worth it. “Rynax. He was opening the Gadgeterium, but it burned down a few months back. He does some work on his own.”

  “Bakery man,” the stick said. “I met him. Good bloke.”

  She took a look at his badge. “Covrane,” she said in a bit of a purr. “So, Lieutenant Covrane, you in the market for a new crossbow?”

  He pointed to his on his belt. “City issued. But they might be looking to place an order, you never know.” He gave it back to her. “That’s a serious weapon, miss . . .”

  “Kesser,” she said. “Miss Kesser. And I’m a serious girl with it.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Bounty hunter?”

  “I’d need papers for that, wouldn’t I?”

  “To do it proper,” he said.

  She chuckled to herself. It would be a far more interesting cover than slinging goxies.

  “I might have to look into that,” she said. “Legit papers and everything.”

  “Legit would be good,” he said. “Now, you came from east of here. Where were you coming from?”

  “Inemar,” she said. She almost bit her tongue as soon as she said that. This was still a stick, even a cute one. He was working her. “I got a muscled bloke over there who I like spending the occasional night with.”

  “He got a name?”

  “He does. And a wife. So I ain’t gonna wreck that for him.”

  “You usually carry your weapons when you go see him?”

  “Like I said, he’s got a wife,” Helene said, giving Covrane a wink. She put the crossbow back under her coat. “Can’t be too careful. Now I’m gonna go get that cider. You wanna join me, that’s your business.”

  “Another time, Miss Kesser,” he said, tipping his cap.

  She nodded back, and started walking again at a measured pace. She probably should get to the safehouse, but now she should take a roundabout route. Make sure this stick wasn’t on her tail.

  As she came into Kimber’s, it hit her. He had recognized Rynax from the bakery. This was the one who had the sketchbook, the picture of Kennith. This was the trouble.

  And she had half walked into it, like an addled schoolgirl.

  “What are you doing here?” Asti was at one of the tables, nursing his own cider and looking through some papers.

  “Same as you, getting a cider,” she said, signaling Kimber and sitting down.

  “You need to get to the safehouse. You’ve got two days to learn how to fake being a lady for the gala.”

  “It’s got to be me?” she asked.

  “Who else am I going to take to this?” he asked, just as Kimber came over with her cider.

  “Take to what?” she asked pointedly.

  “One of those things you don’t want to know about,” he said. On another look from her, he added, “It’s not like that.”

  “Definitely not,” Helene said.

  “I just didn’t know you were the take-people-to-things sort of fellow, Asti,” Kimber said. “It’s nearly nine bells. You wanted to know.” She left before Asti could say thanks.

  “You know she’s—”

  “Yes, I know, Helene,” Asti said. “Saints even know why. She even has me go to Saint Bridget’s with her every once in a while.”

  “So you are the take-people-to-things sort of fellow.”

  “I’m the wrong-in-the-head and she-could-do-better sort of fellow,” Asti said. He picked up the papers he was looking at, his hand trembling.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “Not even remotely,” he said. Grinding his teeth, he said, “I have to go meet with her, figure out the full plan. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “No, no, I need you—I need you to be ready for the party. I’m going to need you . . .” He hesitated for a moment. “Hel, listen, right now, Verci’s off the board. Mila’s a great kid, but she’s learning and still fresh as all get out. And lately something about the Old Lady—”

  “You never really trust the Old Lady.”

  “Yeah, but in the past week or so she’s . . .” He shook it off. “Maybe it’s just my busted skull.”

  “Even busted, your skull is usually on the game,” Helene said. “She has been arguing your plays a bit more lately.”

  “And maybe they’re bad plays. Saints know, I’ve been rutting it up.”

  Helene couldn’t argue with that. “But you’re seeing that. Eyes open.”

  “Yeah . . . I need a clear head, and good open eyes.” He tapped on the table. “That’s why I need you, Helene, to keep this all on course. Feet on the ground, head in it. Because I’m not sure I can be at the reins. And if it ain’t me or Verci . . .”

  “Then it’s me,” Helene said, not sure what else to say.

  He gathered up the papers. “Get to Pilsen.”

  “Sure,” Helene said. She had to do this, and do this blasted well. For herself, for the neighborhood, for Julie and Grandma. For Asti and Verci Rynax. “Once I finished wetting my throat, hmm?”

  “Yeah.” He looked over to Kimber, and then back to Helene. “And tell her . . . tell her to pray for me.” He drank down the rest of his cider and went off.

 
Kimber came back over. “He’s getting worse, isn’t he?”

  “He’s Asti Rynax,” was all Helene could respond. “Worse is where he thrives.”

  * * *

  “I wear the gown to go to town and never frown while looking down.”

  Mila repeated the phrase—again—not hearing any difference in how she said it from how Mister Gin said it.

  She could definitely hear a difference between how she said it and how Helene did. Helene’s was especially bad.

  “Hel, you aren’t even trying,” Mister Gin said.

  “Can’t we just do the same thing we did at the Emporium? Where I don’t bother?”

  “No, you have to pull this off.”

  “We’re not even sure what we’re each supposed to be doing,” Helene said. “Go to this feast, play at being nobility. We can’t even do our accents, let alone behavior.”

  “We have to learn about manners and bowing and all that, don’t we?” Mila asked.

  “Yes, most likely,” Mister Gin said with a sigh. They had been at it all morning, and while Mila felt she was getting it, this process still seemed somewhat hopeless. “I have to basically give you a year’s worth of finishing school—and a lifetime of indoctrination—in two days.”

  “Finishing school?” Helene asked. “I don’t even want to know about that.”

  “Let me think,” he said. He got up from the planning table and went to the stove for more tea. “I don’t suppose there’s anything stronger than cider in here?”

  “You’d have to ask Josie,” Helene said. She paced about, heading by the door to the stables. “What are those two up to in there?” Mila had been around when Verci arrived in the morning on his crutches, with Almer in tow, and then sent Almer off. Ever since then he had been holed up with Kennith, sending Vellun out to shop for supplies.

  “Verci said he had to do a lot of building,” Mila said. “He’s got a plan.”

  “Everybody has a plan,” Helene said.

  Mister Gin came back over. “All right, table accents for now. Mila, you at least have the fundamentals for it. Helene, I . . . we’ll figure it out.”

  “So what do we do now?”