Raych came back downstairs, now wrapped in a housecoat. “They’re fine up there. A little scared, but it’s fine.” She looked about the kitchen. “I thought you were going to—”
“Hide the bodies?” Helene knocked back to her. “Yeah, I’m not sure where to even begin with that, Raych.”
“We can’t just leave them here, we have to . . . you have to . . .”
“I have to?” Helene shot back.
“You are the one who . . .” Raych almost choked on the words. “Killed them,” she finally eked out.
“It was them or you.”
“I know,” Raych said. “I very much . . . I’m not questioning it. But . . .” She paced about for a moment and then dropped into a chair. “This isn’t something I . . . I don’t know what to do. This isn’t my world, Helene.”
Helene didn’t have time to deal with this sort of nonsense. “It is. It kicked through your door and forced itself on you. This is where we live, and this is our world. It burned us down, killed the people we love, and it came in here. You’re lucky you still have something. So spine up, because this is what we live in.”
Helene hadn’t realized how much that had been building inside of her until it flowed out onto Raych. And now Raych was crying.
“Oh, saints, don’t do that.”
“How . . . how can . . . how can you stand it?”
“What choice do we have?”
Raych was on her feet in a shot. “Didn’t we have a rutting choice?” she snarled right in Helene’s face, tears flowing. “Couldn’t we have taken that blasted money you all stole and gotten out of this place? Couldn’t we?”
Helene took a deep breath, not letting the anger in her belly rise up more. “You want to shout that a little louder? Maybe your sister didn’t hear you.”
“Maybe she should! Maybe she should know what kind of person I am, that I condone this sort of thing!”
Helene grabbed her by the shoulders, but resisted the urge to shake her. “Raychelle. I’m sorry you married into this blazes of a family. Believe me—”
Raych’s eyes narrowed and sharpened on her. Darts of steel, despite the tear pools at the corners. “Oh, I believe it. I see how you look at my husband. And I know the two of you—you have all the little things, all the history. You get him in ways I never will.”
“Maybe I do,” Helene said. “And I know what it would do to him if something happened to you. That’s why I came.”
Raych was calm again. “So what do we do?”
“We do what any honest businessperson would do in a case like that,” Helene said. “We call the Constabulary.”
Helene went out into the street, which was now quieter—no sign of any other gang boys at the moment. She went to the whistlebox on the corner—the door had long since been torn off, and it had been covered in paperjobs and paintjobs so may times that the original wood was nowhere to be seen. But the whistle itself was still there. Helene gave a quick blast, which should call any footpatrol or horsepatrol that might be in the area. Though surely they had their hands full.
She strolled over to the bakery idly, waiting at the door. In a few moments, Raych came to join her, resting her head on Helene’s shoulder.
After a few minutes, a pair of footpatrol came over, looking tired and drawn. “You make a call?” one asked. “You shouldn’t do that if there isn’t a situation.”
“There is,” Helene said. “Call for a bodywagon, and I want to talk to Lieutenant Covrane.”
The first one shook his head. “Covrane don’t work the dark.”
“Why do you need a bodywagon?” the second asked.
Raych spoke up. “Three hooligans broke into my shop here, tried to assault me or . . . worse. . . .” Her voice broke just a bit there, and Helene was sure it was no performance. “Fortunately my friend Helene here showed up with her crossbow.”
The first stick raised an eyebrow, signaling his partner to go in and check it out. “You just . . . carry a crossbow around?”
“It’s my right,” Helene said, holding it up for them to see. “Why I wanted to talk to Covrane. He’s familiar with it.”
“Huh,” the stick said, looking at the crossbow. “So you were just in the area, fully armed?”
“Yeah,” Helene said. “Helene Kesser, I live over on Ullen, over the goxie shop. Work the goxie shop, so I do business with the Rynaxes and their bakery. I was walking home up Junk when I saw the door was kicked open, so I went in. Three animals had her pinned on her kitchen counter, ready for . . .”
Helene found her own throat choking up.
“So I did what you do to wild animals.”
The second stick came back. “The boys, look like Crease Knockers by their signs. They’ve been all over the neighborhood tonight.”
“I noticed,” Helene said.
“This seems pretty clean,” the second said. “We can just call the bodyman in, take their statements, and be off.”
The first nodded, took out his whistle and blew a few trills.
“Have a seat, ladies,” the second said, directing them to a couple chairs he had brought over from the kitchen. “We’ll try and have this done as quick as we can.”
Helene nearly collapsed into her chair, and Raych did the same. It took a bit before Helene realized Raych was squeezing her hand.
“Hey, Hel,” she said quietly. “Thank you. I’m glad you were here.”
“I got lucky, Mila said—” The words crashed into Helene’s skull with realization.
Mila.
* * *
Jede was dead. Verci didn’t need Doc Gelson to tell him that. The Doc really did try his best, saints bless him, but there was nothing to be done, especially on a pub table.
Verci couldn’t do anything but sit in a chair and watch. He wanted to be out in the street, be at Asti’s side. Or be at the bakery, with Raych. He had no idea what was going on out there. The streets seemed quiet right now, best as he could tell. He pushed himself to take a look out the door, despite his foot.
“Are we all right?” Kimber was behind him, peering out into the darkness.
“As much as we can be,” Verci said. “You want me to fix that window?”
“You work with glass?” she asked.
He grinned. “No, but I can put some boards over it until you can get a glazier.”
“I appreciate it,” she said. “You don’t need to.”
“It’s what we do here. And I need to do something.”
Hemmit and Lin came over to the door, him supporting her. Her head had been bandaged up, and she seemed mostly all right. Hemmit still had a wineglass in his hand.
“Your brother is gone?” Lin asked.
“It’s his way,” Verci said. “Trouble in the streets, his people in danger . . . he’ll fight every sinner in the blazes to there to keep them safe.”
“And you too?”
“For me, he would tear this city apart, brick by brick.”
“I believe that,” Hemmit said.
“Mister Rynax,” Lin said. “I was thinking about Andrendon, and this house that’s been built. Tell me, are there any Circle chapterhouses in this part of town?”
“You’re talking mages?” Verci asked. “No, none that I’m aware of.”
She loosened the laces of her blouse, opening it up slightly to show a tattoo over her heart—a wolf head in red. “I know something of Mage Circles. Some are less scrupulous than others.”
Verci remembered that Pilsen suspected Treggin of being a mage. “You think they—that the house and the fire—that some Circle is behind it?”
“I’ve heard some whispers that some Circles—the smaller, less influential ones—have been forced out of their chapterhouses in neighborhoods in the east and north of the city.”
“So they’ll come west,” Verci said. �
��And might make some sort of a deal to get a new house on recently vacated land.”
“Something to look into,” she said, tightening her blouse up again.
“There’s one other thing, Mister Rynax,” Hemmit said. “Before all this madness, I told you there were two reasons I was interested in this story, and the two of you.”
“Right,” Verci said. “The change in districts on the map, so votes in North Seleth don’t matter.” And Verci imagined the fear and mischief in the streets also kept people from voting. That this happened tonight, maybe that wasn’t a coincidence.
“Well, they won’t, I would bet my ink,” Hemmit said. “But to me, they very much matter. You see, I’ve been asking around this neighborhood for the past couple days about who they were going to vote for Alderman.”
“Most probably said Lammart.”
“Several, indeed. But a name that kept coming up?” He raised up his nearly empty wineglass, as if looking disappointedly at it would cause it to refill. “Asti Rynax.”
If Verci had been drinking wine, he would have spit it out. “Asti? For Alderman? He’s never . . . he has no interest . . .”
“Which is why I wanted to meet him. It’s clear he’s looked at by some as an important part of this neighborhood’s community . . . a leader . . .”
“You’re off base,” Verci said, even though he found the idea strangely fitting and compelling. “We’re just a couple of folks who live here and—”
“And care about what’s happening. A man like Asti, a man who would write letters to every newsprint in the city? Maybe that’s a man who needs to be fighting for this neighborhood in a real way.”
“Maybe. But he’s not going to win, of course.”
“No, of course not,” Hemmit said, handing his empty glass to Verci. “But that’s something to think about for next year.”
Next year. That seemed so far away it felt pointless. Where would either of them be? Still chasing the Andrendon people? Working a bakery and the Gadgeterium? Locked up in Quarrygate? Verci had no idea.
He only just realized that. He couldn’t see where his life was going right now, and that was far more terrifying than anything else.
“Give our best to your brother,” Lin said. “And stay in touch.”
They went out into the night.
Verci stayed in the doorframe for a bit, looking up at the stars in a vain attempt to find some solace. “Kimber,” he said finally. “If you’ve got any tools—”
“Oy, help!” a tiny voice cried out. Out of the darkness, two figures stumbled toward the pub: tiny Tarvis, propping up Mila as best he could. Mila looked a fright, face bloody. Verci fought the urge to run out—he’d only hurt himself worse. Once they were in reach, he took up Mila. Once he had her, he could tell the injuries on her face were superficial. She’d get a good scar over her eyebrow, probably. But her blouse was torn and her shoulder was covered in black marks, like lightning.
“What happened?”
“Something of a scrap, Mister Rynax,” she said. She almost sounded like Asti. “Don’t worry, I gave pretty damn good as well.”
“Tarvis, stay here,” Verci said. “Just wait in the door.”
“I ain’t—”
“Just wait.” Verci brought Mila inside. “Can you walk?”
“Course I can,” Mila said. “But if the Doc is here, getting a look over wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Gelson,” Verci said, putting Mila in a chair. “Doc, we need you.”
Gelson turned his attention toward Mila, and then the room was filled with a soul-wrenching cry.
“Jede?” Tarvis was at the table, his tiny hands grabbing his brother’s crushed face. “Jede! Stop playing a trick, Jede, it isn’t funny!”
“Tarvis,” Verci said, stumbling over. “Tarvis, I’m so sorry . . . he . . .”
Still clutching Jede’s face, Tarvis looked up at Verci with flowing tears and white-hot fury in his eyes.
“Who?”
“I don’t know, some gang boys—”
“The ones out tonight?” He was fuming with rage. He took Jede’s blood-soaked cap and put it on his own head. “I’m going to show them.”
Verci tried to grab the boy’s arm. “Tarvis, wait, you should—”
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, kicking Verci’s broken foot. Verci fell over in agony. “None of you touch me! None of you stop me! I’m going to make them all pay!”
He drew out his knife and ran out into the street.
Verci stumbled to the door, calling after Tarvis, to no avail.
Doc Gelson came over to Verci, hand on his shoulder. “I’ll make some arrangements for the boy.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Verci said.
“And, saints, get off that foot, or it’ll never heal right.” He shoved Verci’s crutches into his hand.
Verci hobbled over to Mila. “How are you?”
She sat up woozily. “Doc says I’m a idiot, but I’ll be all right.” She stretched her arm a bit. “Hurt like blazes in the moment, but he says he can’t see anything wrong with it.”
“What happened to it?”
She noticed Jede before she answered. “Oh, saints and sinners. Did—Tarvis?”
“He’s gone.”
She slammed a fist against the table. “They’re . . . damn it!”
“Hey, I know—”
“No, Verci, they’re . . . they’re just little boys. They’re my responsibility.” She started crying. “Those blasted Scratch Cats and Crease Knockers, I’m going to—” She gasped and looked up. “We need to get to your wife.”
“My wife?”
Mila pulled herself to her feet, grasping at Verci, “Yes! Those boys said they wanted to get ‘that lady from the bakery’ as well.”
She started running, and Verci didn’t waste any time heading out the door.
Chapter 22
THE BASEMENT BUNKER BENEATH the bakery was still well stocked and furnished, fortunately. Asti helped Kennith into a chair, poured him some wine, and went about finding some tools to remove the irons. While he worked on that, he could hear things happening up in the bakery. The earhorns that drew sound from upstairs were open, everything loud and clear.
Things happening in the bakery involved Constabulary, bodywagons, and Helene answering questions. Asti thought it best to stay below and keep his ear open.
“You’re not going to help her?” Kennith asked.
“It sounds like she’s got it,” Asti said. “But if they take her off in the lockwagon, I’ll be on that as well.”
After nearly an hour, the sticks left.
“Stay here,” Asti told Kennith. “I’m going up.”
He came up through a trapdoor in the pantry, causing both Raych and Helene to scream when he came out.
“Saints above and below, Asti, tell me you haven’t been in there all night!” Raych shouted.
“No, of course not,” Asti said. “The way up from the bunker comes up in there.”
“How long you been down there?” Helene asked.
“Long enough to hear what you two went through.”
“Why were you downstairs?”
“Kennith got grabbed by the sticks. I got him clear, and he’s hiding down there.”
“Well, gear up,” Helene said, picking her crossbow up off the counter. “Because Mila got caught in the middle of things, Pilsen’s out there too, somewhere, and we need to find them. And maybe drag Ren Poller and his people through the streets by their ears.”
“You gonna do that on my account?” Mila was in the alley doorway, her face a mess of blood and bruising, her shoulder a spiderweb of black lines. “Thank saints you’re all safe.”
“Oh, saints, Mila,” Helene said, going over to her. “I should have held onto you, but when I realized I lost you, I was—”
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“It’s fine,” Mila said. “I know this looks bad, but I gave better than I got. Doc Gelson said I’m fine.”
“You saw the Doc? Did you see Verci?”
That question was answered when Verci raced in as fast as he could on a crutch. “Raych?” He went right to his wife and swept her up in his arms.
“Right behind me,” Mila said weakly.
Verci looked up from his wife. “Why . . . why are you all here?”
“It’s been a night,” Asti said.
“Kennith?” Verci asked.
“Safe. Downstairs.”
A few pounding knocks came from the floor.
“See?”
Mila nodded. “Jede’s dead, and Tarvis is out there, doing . . . I don’t know what. And Pilsen is in the wind. What should we do?”
“Sleep,” Raych said. “It’s late and we all should sleep.”
Asti shook his head. “We need to take care of our people. Gather and figure out what’s what.”
“We do?” Verci asked. “Can’t that wait until morning?”
“That might be best,” Helene said.
“Mila?” Asti asked.
“I’m exhausted,” she said. “But Tarvis—”
Asti looked at his people. All of them were in bad shape. Even Helene, who wasn’t obviously injured, looked like she had been shaken to the core. As much as he wanted to drive forward, figure out the next thing, he had to do right by them. They were his crew, he had to keep them straight and safe.
And they were here. Despite the madness of the night, and despite getting pinched or hurt, they were still here, still here with him. That gave him more peace than anything else he had tried in the past weeks.
“Right. Here’s the plan. Verci, go upstairs with your wife, get some sleep.”
“Lian is still up there,” Raych said. “Hal must be in a state.”
“All right. I can walk her home. Everyone else, go down to the bunker. It’s cozy enough for you all to flop out there for tonight.”
“And safe,” Helene said.
“But Tarvis, Pilsen—” Mila said.
“I’m going to take Lian home,” Asti said. “Then I’ll see if I can find Pilsen, and look out for Tarvis as well.”
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