Lady Henterman's Wardrobe

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Seven people—all in dark clothes—had come in from every direction. At least one from a door Verci didn’t even know was there. And none of the usual alarms had gone off. What happened to the janglewires in the sewers?

  Helene was bringing up her crossbow when Asti hissed at her. “Drop it!”

  “You would be wise to listen to him, Miss Kesser,” the man who had spoken said. Verci thought he looked familiar.

  “These guys ain’t sticks,” Helene said.

  “No, they’re rutting Druth Intelligence,” Asti said. He turned to the man who had spoken. “You come to finish the job that Liora couldn’t, Major?”

  Now Verci recognized the face. This was the man who had helped him onto the tickwagon the other day. “Major Grieson?”

  “Major rutting Grieson,” Asti confirmed.

  “Asti, it’s good to see you,” Major Grieson said calmly. He wasn’t armed—at least not obviously so—but the other six were ready with crossbows, short swords at their hips, and who knew what else. Verci didn’t see a way for them to fight their way out of here.

  “Don’t give me that,” Asti said. “You’re the one who washed me out.”

  “And look what you’ve done. Restarted criminal enterprises, terrorized a member of the peerage, left a trail of bodies all over Maradaine.”

  Raych’s whole body was trembling as she clutched tighter to Verci. “Are we being arrested?”

  “These people don’t arrest anyone,” Asti said. “Do you, Major? It’s either throw them in a hole or kill them outright.”

  “If it comes to that,” Major Grieson said.

  “You don’t want us dead,” Asti said. “Else you and your boys here would have mowed us down as you came in. So you want something.”

  Grieson pointed to Treggin. “This man is a person of interest for us. We’d prefer to take him alive to question.”

  “Oh, and what about what I prefer?” Treggin asked.

  Grieson snapped his fingers, and one of the agents cracked a vial in his gloved hand, and waved it in front of Treggin’s face. Treggin’s eyes rolled back and he slumped down, insensate. Almer let out a low, respectful whistle.

  “We were questioning him,” Mila said. “You could wait your turn.”

  Grieson laughed a little. “I like you, Miss Kendish. You’ve got the same spirit we saw in Asti five years ago.”

  “Leave her be,” Asti said. “Now that you’ve knocked him out, what, you want us to give him to you, and you’ll just walk away?”

  “Something like that,” Grieson said. “And then I would encourage you—all of you—to forget about your other enterprises and go back to living lives of honest decency.” He turned to Verci. “That is what you want, isn’t it Mister Rynax? Missus Rynax?”

  “Yes,” Raych whispered. She was still shivering, terrified. With good cause.

  “And I’m prepared to be magnanimous about that,” Grieson said, waving to his men to lower their weapons. “Case in point, Mister Rill is currently being pursued by local Constabulary—though of course, that’s certainly a case of mistaken identity. I know they think all Ch’omiks look alike.”

  “And?” Asti asked, looking over at Kennith.

  “And that problem can just vanish.”

  Asti seemed to take this in. “Go on.”

  “I don’t see Missus Holt here, but I imagine she—”

  “I don’t care what she wants,” Asti snapped.

  Grieson nodded, looking around. “Yes, of course. Clearly some files need to be updated. But perhaps Mister Cort would like his Guild certification reinstated.”

  “And?” Helene asked.

  “Don’t be greedy, Miss Kesser,” he said.

  “I’m not,” she said. “Clearly you could kill us all, or put us in a hole and throw away the hole. But you want to make a deal. So what else is on the table?”

  “And what do you want, Miss Kesser? A payout? Your own little cheese and charcuterie shop to run with your cousin?”

  “Really?” Julien asked.

  Helene held up a hand to Jules. “Maybe.”

  “And you, Mister Rynax?” Major Grieson turned to Verci. “There’s an empty shop just a few doors down from here. A perfectly good location for the Rynax Gadgeterium. We could arrange ownership transfer, even use your current property and debt as collateral for it, so it feels like something legitimate.”

  That rang some janglebells in Verci’s head. “And we would want to get rid of the current property, right?”

  “I would think it was the proverbial Chain of Saint Deshar on your necks.”

  Asti gave Verci a signal. Play along.

  “Right,” Verci said, squeezing Raych’s hand. “And what about the bakery?”

  Realization clicked on Grieson’s face. “Ah, of course. I can’t guarantee anything there, but I can at least . . . negotiate the safety of this business.”

  “That’s all nice,” Asti said. “But why would you bother?”

  Grieson turned back to Asti. “Because, you see, Asti . . . you’ve fallen into some troubling business, though I know that it was for good reasons. You and your associates don’t deserve Quarrygate . . . or worse, Fort Olesson. After all, impersonating an Intelligence officer is a Crime Against the Crown.” He said this looking at Verci with a hint of threat in his eyes.

  “They don’t,” Asti said. “Whatever horror show you have planned for me, let them all lead clean, happy lives.”

  “Horror show?” Grieson said. “Asti. I want you to enjoy your retirement. You’ve been through too much at the hands of the Poasians.”

  Here Asti half sprang on Grieson. “Right? Thanks to you all selling me out to them.”

  “That was Liora, Asti. You know that.”

  “She told me it was orders. She told me it came from Major Chellick, verification Six-five-six-nine-one-two-nine. Authorization by Standing Order Nineteen.”

  This seemed to give Grieson pause. “She told you this when?”

  “Two days ago.”

  Now Grieson sprang, grabbing Asti by the collar. All his men brought up their weapons in a snap. “You spoke to Liora Rand two days ago. In Maradaine?”

  “Of course, she—” Asti’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t know?”

  “Where?”

  Asti backed off a little. “You didn’t know that Liora was Lady Henterman? She said she was running a Black Rat op on Henterman.”

  Grieson gave a whistle to his men and signaled them all to leave, pointing to Treggin. They scooped him up and took him off, leaving Grieson alone with the crew. He sat down in a chair and indicated for Asti and the rest to do the same.

  “You’re going to debrief me on everything that happened with the Henterman house—tonight and the lead-up. Everything with Liora. And then you will all keep your traps shut and forget you ever heard the name Henterman.”

  “Why?” Asti asked.

  “You’re questioning this?”

  “Gifts from Kierans, as the saying goes. You could just kill us.”

  “Trust that it doesn’t suit my needs,” Grieson said. “And I can suit yours as well.”

  “And we get our deals?” Helene asked.

  “You want the cheese shop?”

  “Rent free,” Helene said.

  Grieson nodded. “And Misters Gin and Colsh?” Gin was still asleep, and Vellun had been quiet this whole time. For a moment, he looked like a lost lamb, eyes wide. Then in an instant, everything in his face turned canny and clever.

  “We need the deed for the West Birch Stage, an enterprise set up in the name of the West Birch Players, with a fully funded honorarium for a troupe of players to put on six shows a year, including commissioning new plays.”

  That made Grieson blink. “Done. And you, Miss Kendish?”

  “I’m not sure,”
Mila said.

  Asti spoke up. “RCM. She starts in the autumn.”

  “What?” Mila asked.

  “I can’t do RCM,” Grieson said, as if this was the thing that was a step too far. “I can manage University of Maradaine.”

  Asti nodded in acceptance.

  “Wait, you’re sending me to college?” Mila asked. “I didn’t even go to regular school.”

  “You’ve got the brains for it,” Asti said. “If you want it.”

  For a moment she looked like Asti had told her she could fly if she flapped her arms. Then, quietly, “Blazes, yes, I want it.”

  “Fine, done,” Grieson said. “Now talk. And remember that I’ll know if you leave anything out. I know your blasted tells.”

  Asti nodded and started the story. Occasionally Helene or Mila interrupted with some detail he didn’t have, but for the most part, he led the narrative. When Asti talked about the small statue Liora stole, that triggered a memory in Verci, and he could see Helene and the rest had the same reaction. Helene even grabbed Julien to stop him from speaking.

  Then Asti talked about what happened in the wardrobe. His voice cracked as he described, in detail, how Liora put him under her control with a few words.

  “Did you know about that?” Asti asked Grieson hotly.

  Grieson nodded. “When you came back from Levtha, our own telepaths checked you out. They said—they suspected there was some sort of trigger embedded in your mind, but damaged somehow. They weren’t sure it could work. But we knew it was too much of a risk to keep you in the service.”

  “Why didn’t they fix it? I know the service has—what did you call them—psychic surgeons? Why didn’t you fix me?”

  “Asti,” Major Grieson almost reached out, but then pulled back. “They said your mind was too damaged, and what remained from the Poasian’s botched job was too fragile to further work on. They said—” He faltered.

  “What did they say?” Verci spoke because he saw that Asti couldn’t right now.

  “They said they were amazed he could function at all.” Grieson turned back to Asti. “I know you’ve got a caged beast in there. According to my experts, that’s all you should be. Yet you—the real you, Asti Rynax—prevailed. We don’t even know how.”

  “Lucky me,” Asti said. “Are we done?”

  “We’re done,” Grieson said, getting up. “I’ll honor it all. One more thing, though—”

  “Yes, we’ll stay quiet,” Asti said. “Don’t worry.”

  “Not that.” Grieson looked at all of them. “Liora Rand is an Enemy of the Throne. If you ever see her again, kill her on sight.”

  “I would have done that anyway,” Asti said. “Why tell me that?”

  Grieson leaned in and whispered something to Asti, and then saluted them all, and left.

  As soon as he was gone, Raych collapsed into a chair, weeping.

  “Are you all right?” Verci asked her.

  “Not really,” she said. She looked over to Asti. “This means you’re done, right? This madness, all of you? No more gigs, no more nights like this. You’re done.”

  Asti was staring off into the air, and when he spoke, it was flat and emotionless. “You heard the man. We’ll get the Gadgeterium. We’ll all get what we need. Straight, honest lives.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Helene spoke up. “We’re not going to talk about how that tiny statue she stole sounded a lot like the big one we stole right after the fire?”

  “It does?” Asti asked.

  “You never saw it,” Verci said. “But, yeah, it did.”

  Asti was still disaffected. “And we never knew who we were stealing it from or for.”

  “The Old Lady would know,” Kennith said.

  “Are you going to ask her?” Helene asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Asti said. “We don’t know. And we’re not going to be able to do anything about it now.”

  Asti was definitely in no state to continue right now. Verci needed to pull everyone off of this. “Nothing we can do about that now. Let it drop, we’ll figure out if it’s important later.”

  “As for tonight?” Helene asked. “We don’t exactly have our cushy ‘honest lives’ deals yet.”

  “Sleep, all,” Asti said. “I presume down here is fine for everyone?”

  All nodded, and started settling in. With everyone’s attention elsewhere, Verci came over to his brother.

  “What did he tell you there?”

  Asti smirked, and looked about the room for a moment. “He said that Liora was honest about one thing: Intelligence is full of rats. Including her. The only person he’s confident isn’t . . . is me.”

  Chapter 30

  THE SAFEHOUSE WAS ONE of many hidden throughout Maradaine, every one of them a real sanctuary where she could hide out for days, weeks even, stocked with food, water, medical supplies, and anything else she might need.

  Liora Rand was not wanting for a place to hole up and lick her wounds.

  As wounds went, she had a real beauty. Liora had her share of scars, and had taken plenty of beatings, but she had never been shot with a crossbow bolt that went clean through her arm. This was a new kind of pain. It was only the makeshift tourniquet and unflinching force of will that let her get this far, instead of passing out in the boat.

  She worked her way inside and threw all the latches and alarm bells, as best she could with just her right arm. Not that she expected company, but she had already underestimated Rynax and his people. No need to be lazy. She sat down at the worktable where the medical supplies were, lighting a lamp and setting what she needed on the table.

  Before she went any further, she reached into the jacket’s inner pocket and took the ugly idol out. Horrible little thing. Acserian, Nathan had thought. She knew better.

  She couldn’t possibly get her jacket and blouse off with her left arm in the state it was in. Blazes, the jacket and blouse might have been the only things keeping the arm attached. Didn’t matter. She found a knife and sliced the cloth, peeling the garments off her.

  That was a mistake. That hurt almost as bad as the shot. There were quite a few doses of doph in her kits, but she couldn’t take those, not yet. As much as she wanted to drink them all, sail into oblivion, that wasn’t an option right now. Bear the pain. For a bit longer.

  She craned her neck to get a good look at the wound but it was too hard. Taking a mirror out of the kit, she held it up and looked around.

  It looked like a huge mass of flesh had been torn out, almost to the bone. An inch to her right, it might have taken her arm off completely. As it was, it was a miracle she hadn’t bled to death.

  If she had been anyone else, she’d probably have to resign herself to never using her left arm again. But she was Liora Rand, and she had resources that almost no one in Maradaine had. She just had to handle it until she could get to them.

  Using her good arm, she cleaned and bandaged the wound as best she could, and wrapped it up. Slinging her left arm, she made her way to the water closet to wash the rest of herself. Time to scrub Lady Henterman away.

  “You’ve had something of a day, haven’t you?”

  Liora had been startled by the voice, even though she knew exactly who it was.

  “You have anything better to do but skulk after me, Major?” Liora asked, peeling off the rest of her outfit.

  Major Silla Altarn, looking crisp in her proper Intelligence Uniform, sighed as she came over to the door of the water closet. She had been sitting on the bed as if she had spent the whole night there, waiting patiently. “I have many better things to do. But you’ve made something of a mess.”

  “A mess?” Liora said. “I did what you asked, and it was time for Lady Henterman to vanish, anyway.”

  “Did you?”

  “Got that monstrosity,” she said, po
inting to the idol on the table.

  “And?” Major Altarn asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  Blazes, this woman was a stickler for specifics. “I have his seed growing inside me. Are you happy?”

  “No, I’m not. Your exit was noisy. People took notice.”

  “Only Asti Rynax—”

  “There are people who still regard Rynax as credible. And his brother—resourceful bastard.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Pretended to be one of us. Mentioned you by name. That was a tie we didn’t need Henterman—or anyone else on the list—to know.”

  “Not my worry. I’m going to move on, yes?”

  “If anyone starts digging, there’s a limit to how much I can shield you—”

  “You’re a bloody mage, Altarn,” Liora said. “I’m confident that you—”

  Liora suddenly found her whole body pinned against the wall. Altarn still stood on the other side of the room, holding up just two glowing fingers.

  “And I’m your superior officer,” Altarn said, moving in with an angry scowl.

  “That doesn’t count if I’m not really in Intelligence,” Liora said. “You can’t pull rank on me when we’re committing treason.”

  “Your arm is a mess,” Altarn said, stepping away. With a wave of her hand, Liora was released from the wall.

  “I noticed. I need to see Crenaxin.”

  “I’m aware, I’ll arrange it. Can’t have you going on your next mission not looking your best.”

  “Thank you,” Liora said. “Sooner would be nice.”

  “I’m sure. But first, we should take care of the precious gift inside you,” Altarn said, placing her hand on Liora’s waist.

  Liora shuddered a little bit. “We need to see him first? He’s a creepy bastard—”

  “Respect, Liora,” Altarn said. “You know how he is about respect.”

  “Fine,” Liora said. “Lord Sirath is a creepy bastard.”

  “That he is,” Altarn said. “But he serves the interests of the Brotherhood, and so will you.”

  * * *