Nothing worked.
“What about a series of smaller springs, working in concert?” Kennith asked.
Verci tried to visualize it. “I see what you’re saying. Like how eight horses could pull a carriage faster than just two. But I wonder if they can generate enough push.”
“Working together, they should,” Kennith said. “And not have so much torque that it shatters the clamp.”
“I can’t see how we can build that in two days, though,” Verci said.
Kennith nodded and went over to one of his horses. Edlan, his favorite. “You’re not out of a job yet, boy.”
“What about pure muscle power?” Verci asked. “Like a pedalcart?”
“You would need several people pedaling.”
“Or some serious gear work,” Verci said. Then an idea hit him. “Or—this might be it. We’ve been struggling about controlling or containing the spring power once it’s released.”
“Right, because you only get one shot.”
“Yes, but what if—” Gears and pulleys and machinery were already swirling and assembling in his head, making it hard to actually form words with the ideas he was having. “What if instead we focus on recharging the spring quickly within the carriage. With the pedal work!”
“Leg power, torqued with the gear work,” Kennith said. “I think I can see it working.”
Verci grabbed his notebook and started sketching. “And if you had two or three springs, then you could be charging one with the pedal while discharging the power of the next. It’d be complicated.”
“Too complicated to build in two days?”
“Likely, but until I can make a new boot, what else are we going to do?” Verci said. “We need some old pedalcarts. Where is Vellun?”
“You sent him to the market an hour ago.”
Verci noticed little Tarvis sitting in the corner, cutting away at a block of wood with his knife. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to see you guys being stupid. Why mess with this? Build a clever trap, that’s what I’d do.”
“Clever traps won’t help us here,” Verci said. “Those are what you have to keep someplace safe, like our defenses here.”
“I didn’t see any traps,” Tarvis said.
“You’re not supposed to,” Verci said. “Point is, we’re running a job out east, and they’re the ones who’ll have traps for us.”
Suddenly an idea hit him. A crazy idea, but an idea nonetheless.
“Kennith, you’ve got gardening tools, right?”
“Yeah,” Kennith said. “Over at the inn. Why?”
“Oh, we need to get them, and get to work. The kid has given me a huge idea.”
* * *
Asti helped Almer with carrying his crate of chemicals and Verci’s contraption back to his shop at the corner of Holver Alley and Rabbit. “This thing is actually pretty interesting,” Almer said of the device once they got in the store. “I should talk to Verci about making some modifications to it.”
“What sort of modifications?”
“Well, there are causes for, say, aerated or steamed medication. Something like this could come in handy. It’s not just for poison on a deadhand trigger.”
“Speaking of medication,” Asti said. “Should I be feeling like ants are walking on the inside of my skin right now?” That was an understatement to the sensations he was having.
“How bad is it?” Almer asked.
“I mean, I don’t want to claw my flesh off in a fit of madness, if that’s what you’re asking. Especially if you tell me it will pass in, say, an hour or so.”
Almer went behind the counter of his shop and took out a notebook. “I can tell you that, but I’d just be saying things to placate you. I honestly don’t know for certain.”
“You don’t know?” Now Asti felt his temper clawing up from inside his gut. “You gave me something and you don’t know what it’ll do to me?”
“Hey, Rynax, chemistry is more complicated than that. Every person’s body and mind is different. What that drug does to you won’t be what it does to Verci, and it certainly wouldn’t do the same to Helene or Josie. I got kicked out of the Apothecary Guild for even bringing this up.”
“That was why?”
Almer looked around sheepishly, and wrote more things in his notebook. “It was related to that.”
Asti had long known that Almer wasn’t a proper member of the Apothecary Guild—a fact that Almer tried to keep quiet, but Asti had figured it was the reason a man as gifted at chemicals as Almer would have a run-down west side shop.
“So what can I do?” Asti asked. “I imagine that I can’t keep taking doses of that stuff.”
“No,” Almer said. He tapped his charcoal stylus on the desk. “But did you feel it was helpful at first?”
“I didn’t slice Liora open, so I suppose,” Asti said.
“Right. Look, ever since the night of the fire, when you, you know . . .”
“Went feral and killed two boys right here?”
“Yeah, that . . . I knew that you had some real problems. And since we’ve been working on all this together, helping you out has been on my mind.”
“And so you gave me that drug. It’s not a cure.”
“Nothing is going to be a cure,” Almer said hotly. “Saints, the body is a bizarre balance of organs and fluids and we don’t know how much of it even works. Do you know what your pancreas does?”
Asti was a bit dumbfounded. “I don’t even know what it is.”
“An organ you have right here,” Almer said, pointing to Asti’s side. “I know what it is, but I don’t know what it does in your body, or why you need it. Nobody does.”
“What does—”
“My point is this, Asti. If I don’t know what your pancreas does, then I don’t know what this stuff does to your pancreas.” He held up the vial. “Good, bad, I don’t know. Is that making your skin crawl? I don’t know.”
“So what good are you—”
Almer tapped Asti in the center of his forehead. Asti fought down the urge to grab Almer’s finger and break it. “Now think about how anyone’s brain is so much more complicated and unknown. A lot more than your pancreas or heart. I know this stuff does something to your brain, but I’m not sure what. I’m definitely not sure why. But I’m doing what I can because I want to help you.”
Asti tamped down his anger. “I get that, Almer. I appreciate it, I do. But . . .”
“Don’t just give you things to drink without discussing it?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. What I gave you was what I considered a quarter dose. A test. We need to test these things, that’s how the science needs to work.”
Asti sighed. Almer deserved some truth if he was doing this. As much as he didn’t want to say it, he made himself push the words out. “Even if my brain wasn’t broken by science?”
“Magic or something like it?”
Asti nodded. It would be too hard to explain otherwise, how Poasian telepaths barraged his mind with psychic attacks until he shattered, creating the feral, animal beast in his head. It was nearly impossible to articulate it.
Almer gave a sly smile. “Let me tell you something I know, Asti. I’ve seen some things in my time, and magic—and things like it—can do some crazy things that defy the order of nature and science. But in the long run? Science wins.” He held his hand up in the air. “A mage can make something soar up high, but as soon as he runs out of juice . . .” He slammed his hand onto the counter. “Gravity. Science.”
“I don’t know if this makes me feel better or not.”
“It won’t. Look, the dose I gave you, it helped you out for a couple hours. The aftereffects should be about the same. I won’t give you anything to help with that, because—then you have one chemical hitting another
and . . . who knows what it’s doing to you. If you’re still feeling the same by around sunset, come back and we’ll talk.”
“Fine,” Asti said. Knowing that it should pass, that helped. “Thanks for today, though. I mean it.”
“Go on,” Almer said. “You’ve got things to attend to, and I might get some business today. Saints know none of this that I do for you all is cheap.”
“Well, make sure Josie gets you covered for your costs,” Asti said. “I’ll have a word with her if she’s being difficult.”
Almer frowned. “Do you trust her?”
“I trust that Josie will be Josie. She’s in this not out of some moral duty, but because this whole business has challenged her power and her stake.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got your sharp eye on her?”
“Sure, yeah,” Asti said. “If this is about money, I’ll—”
“No, it’s—” Almer shook his head. “I’m following your lead here. If you’ve got it, that’s good. I’ll see you later.”
Asti made his way up Holver Alley—the first time he had been in weeks. The husk of the Rynax Gadgeterium, across the way from Almer’s shop, had become marked up with paintjobs from a few different local boys. Asti noticed a Scratch Cat symbol, as well as a couple he didn’t know. They’d have to do something about that.
The rest of the Alley was much the same way: vandalized, burned-out husks or torn down, empty lots with exposed brickface of the Kenner Street buildings behind it. Plenty of shops, homes long gone. Plenty of dead friends and neighbors.
Until he reached the other end of Holver Alley, where it hit Ullen. There, just a bit away from the corner—right where Win Greenfield’s locksmith shop was, where Asti and Verci had lived in the Greenfields’ spare apartment, was a brand-new house. Bright and vibrant, surrounded by cinders and ash.
“How the bloody blazes did I not see this before?” Asti said out loud. Was this part of the plan behind the burnout? Was this house the first step in whatever the Andrendon Project was?
There were a couple of guys—masonry workers—laying out a walkway up to the front door. “Hey, oy,” Asti said as he came up. “When did this get built, and who owns it?”
One of the mason guys shrugged. “We’re not from here, pal.”
“Yeah, but who hired you?”
Another shrug. “Our boss tells us to come out here, do a job, we do the job. Ain’t your business.”
Asti felt the beast growling and stirring in his skull. “Who’s your boss?”
“Keep walking, pirie,” the guy said.
The beast woke up completely, and Asti had to bite his lip to keep it on the chain. It hit him a bit harder than he had expected, and he realized he had been standing, staring and fuming at the masonry workers for a minute, while they glared back.
“Something troubles you, Asti Rynax?”
Asti turned around to see Nafath, looking especially out of place in the middle of the street. Asti had never seen the man out of his shop, and with his milky-pale complexion and pitch-black coat and trousers, Nafath was especially singular in appearance. Asti almost wanted to laugh at the idea that this man was a fellow spy, since he was anything but inconspicuous.
“Are you following me, Nafath?” Asti asked.
“Hardly,” Nafath said. “I have my own business, you know. There is always hunger in these streets for the things I sell.”
“Spices or information?” Asti asked, brushing past him.
“Both, of course,” Nafath said. “Though I still have some of the former waiting for you.”
“I don’t need spices,” Asti said.
“You might be surprised what you need, Mister Rynax,” Nafath said. “But for now, I’ll leave you to that little thing seeking your attention.” He went off.
There was a tug on his sleeve. “Hey, you. You’re the Butcher, hmm?”
Asti looked down to the little boy who was pulling on his shirt. “The what?” The boy was familiar, now that he got a look at him. “What is it, Tarvis?”
“I’m Jede. Tarvis is my brother. You seen him?”
Asti nodded. The beast still howled, his skin still crawled with spiders, but he pushed that all down. It had taken the telepaths of Levtha Prison many days to beat him; he could hold up through this. “He said he got out of Gorminhut.”
“Me too. Just took me a bit.”
Asti pulled the kid away from the house, back out onto Ullen. “So you looking for him?”
“Or Miss Bessie. You know where they are?”
“I do, but it’s a secret, kind of.”
“Oh, the warehouse place with the Old Lady,” Jede said.
So much for secret safehouses.
“Yeah, you know it?”
Jede nodded. “I was gonna go looking for him there next.”
“Last I knew, your brother was there. But I need you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?” Jede didn’t look like he enjoyed doing favors.
“When you go there, tell my brother . . .”
“That’s the Baker?”
The Butcher and the Baker. Asti would have been amused if he wasn’t beating down the urge to stab everyone he could see and then peel off his own flesh.
“Yeah. Tell him to meet me at Kimber’s at five bells, so we can see the newssheet guys together. You got that?”
“Kimber’s, five bells, newssheet guys. Fine.”
“And make sure they feed you,” Asti called out, as Jede was already scampering away. His own stomach was empty. Maybe eating something would improve his situation. It probably wouldn’t hurt. He headed over to Kimber’s to do a bit of scientific research of his own.
* * *
“How much are these dresses going to cost?” Helene asked as they made their way down into Seleth proper. Gin was leading the way to his “friend”, while she and Mila trudged behind him.
“That’s not your worry,” Gin said. He had been annoyed with them most of the damned day, probably because neither of them were getting those blasted fancy accents or noble postures right. Blasted waste of time. But the day had been too much work, not enough food, and now they had to get their stupid dresses for the blazing party. But, according to Gin, they first had to get money from their creditor. Josie had gone off somewhere, but Gin knew where the creditor was and how to get the money. At least, that’s what he said.
“I worry,” Helene said. “Maybe we’re spending way too much of our shares on chasing this sewage. It’s not like this will be sure to have a payout at the end.”
“I thought some things were more important than a payout.”
“Principles are fine, but I also need to live.”
“Hel.” Mila nudged her as they walked, her head bowed down. “You’re armed, right?”
“Yeah,” Helene said. She was still walking with the hip-hanger and The Action under her coat. “Why are you acting strange?”
“I spotted a couple Scratch Cats walking the same way as us. And a couple others from that other gang.”
Helene glanced behind her, but didn’t see anything unusual. “You sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“I don’t know what we can do about that,” Helene said. “It’s a crowded street, they aren’t going to try anything.”
“That other gang was shaking Junk Avenue on a crowded street.”
That didn’t sound good. “And are you armed?”
“Two knives and a rope.”
“A rope is not a proper weapon.”
“Says you,” Mila said. “Killed Tyne with one.”
Helene rolled her eyes. “Gin, are we almost there?”
“Right here,” Gin said, coming up onto a block of narrow, cramped buildings. “I should go up by myself,” he said, getting a letter out of his pocket.
“I ain’t w
aiting here on the street,” Helene said. She glanced back down the street. Now she spotted the Scratch Cats. Four of them, cooling their boots on the front stoop just across the street.
“Me either,” Mila said.
“Fine. But let me speak.”
He led them through one door up a stairwell that was barely wide enough for one person to go up it. Julien probably wouldn’t be able to fit.
“How is a letter of credit different from a goldsmith note?” Mila asked.
Helene had no idea. This whole credit holder thing never made a blasted bit of sense to her. Apparently you paid some guy to hold your money so that you could tell him to pay someone else, or give you a bit of your own money.
Because holding onto your own money was just too sensible.
“Mister Kannic,” Gin called out as they entered the fetid-smelling office. All the window shades were pulled shut, so only the barest creeps of sunlight found their way in, not that Helene wanted to be able to see anything in better detail. She already saw that the desk in the corner had more than one half-eaten meal rotting away. Helene couldn’t believe that anyone who had access to large sums of cash would submit themselves to being in a room like this, unless Kannic was the type who liked this atmosphere.
A man with pocked skin and patchy hair came shuffling out from behind a curtain. “Yeah, what, what?” he asked, his accent indecipherable to Helene.
“I have a letter of credit . . .”
“Course you do, that’s why anyone comes up here.” He came closer, sucking on his own lip. “You need some coin to pay for this fine bit of business.” He nodded at Helene and Mila.
“No, I—”
“Hey, yeah, I get it, what. She’s a ripe plum, for definite.” He leered at Helene, and then looked at Mila. “Plum and peach, plum and peach. Well, indeed.”
“Please let me shoot him,” Helene said, reaching under her coat to put her hand on The Action.
“Hey, what, what,” he said, holding up his hands. “Ain’t my peach and plum. All for him, all for him.” He went back over to Gin. “Oh, yeah, now I got a look at you. I know you. Why are you out strolling with this plum and peach when we know you are more of a sausage man?”
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