Ruler of Scoundrels

by Carrie Summers

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ruler of Scoundrels

  Book Two

  Chronicles of a Cutpurse

  Carrie Summers

  Chapter One

  STREWN ACROSS A table in The Queen’s Dice, shards of glass twinkle in the lamplight. A dark pool of blood spreads across the battered floorboards. Myrrh can’t stop staring at the stain, its sticky surface marred by a single footprint.

  After a deep breath, she turns to the mistress of the house. Sapphire, a sturdy woman with a raised scar across her chin, stands behind one of her dealers, a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are hard. Uncompromising. This violence happened under Myrrh’s watch in Ghost syndicate turf. It’s Myrrh’s responsibility.

  Myrrh closes her mind to the smell of blood and hardens her jaw. “You should probably get that cleaned up before it dries.”

  Sapphire narrows her eyes. “You needed to see what happened here.”

  The woman’s tone is just short of defiant. Myrrh feels her nostrils flare, and she forces her hands into her pockets to show the proprietor she won’t be intimidated. She edges around the blood and steps toward a wall where a wrought-iron symbol dedicated to the Queen of Nines hangs askew. She feels the stares of the dealers and the bartender. They’re pretending to be interested in a game of dice on the opposite side of the room.

  “I assure you I’m capable of understanding a report without being subjected to the grisly scene. You do realize I came into leadership of the Ghost syndicate by skill rather than chance, don’t you?”

  “However you gained control of the turf isn’t my concern. The welfare of my business establishment is.”

  Myrrh sighs as she turns back to the woman. “Why don’t you start by telling me what happened?”

  Sapphire hesitates, seeming off-balanced by Myrrh’s sudden change of tone. After years of working with the Slivers syndicate, she’s probably more used to threats than being asked for her side of the story.

  Myrrh calls across the room to the bartender. “Hey, can you get us an ale and whatever Sapphire is drinking? On me.”

  He blinks as if unsure.

  “Or do I need to do it myself?” Myrrh prompts.

  The man’s chair squeals as he pushes back from the dice game. Returning her attention to Sapphire, Myrrh gestures toward an empty table, eyebrows raised in question. After a moment, the proprietor nods. They pull out chairs and sit in tense silence until the drinks arrive, a pewter mug with overflowing foam for Myrrh and a modest tumbler of whiskey for Sapphire. Myrrh drops a silver piece onto the table, the coin settling with a click. The bartender’s practiced hand sweeps it away.

  Sapphire lays two fingers on the bartender’s arm before he walks away. She flicks her eyes toward the spilled blood. “You can start on that now. Fetch Becky to help.”

  The man rounds the bar and pushes through a swinging door that squeals as it opens. His gruff voice echoes in the back rooms. Meanwhile, the dealers—five in total—lean close to one another and whisper over the dicing table. One, a woman, glances at Myrrh with open curiosity while a man with slicked-back hair glares her way.

  “The rest of you scat,” Sapphire calls.

  They hesitate until their boss lays hands on the table and threatens to stand. With disappointed snorts, they abandon their game. More glass crunches under their feet as they file through the room to the back door. Once they’re outside, Sapphire gets up and drops the bar into place before returning to her seat.

  “It’s been a decade since someone was knifed in my establishment,” she says bluntly. “I never liked Slivers’ methods, but I can’t argue with their results.”

  Myrrh takes a swallow of her ale, sets the mug on the table with a clack. “And you blame me.”

  Sapphire shrugs, allowing Myrrh to draw her own conclusions. Myrrh studies a line of foam sliding down her mug as she considers her response. Should she attempt to defend herself? Ask questions? Either option would make her look weak and inept. She decides to hold her silence.

  The bartender returns, trailed by a wan-faced scullery maid—Becky, it seems—who blanches at the sight of the blood. Ignoring her hesitation, the bartender drops a set of rags over the rapidly drying pool. He raises an eyebrow at Becky. The girl swallows and falls to her knees beside the bucket she carried into the room.

  For a while, the only sounds in the gambling hall are the splash of water and the scratching of the scrub brush’s bristles. The bartender stands over the girl, monitoring her work and occasionally stepping behind the bar for more clean rags.

  Finally, the proprietor of the gambling den snorts in amusement. Myrrh blinks, not sure what’s funny about the situation.

  “All right, you got me. I had to test your mettle, see what the new boss of Rat Town is made of. But no, I don’t blame you for what happened here. Your men performed well. Got the fight stopped before anyone got killed. And considering the situation, that was quite a feat.”

  “Ghost syndicate doesn’t have a strict hierarchy,” Myrrh says.

  Sapphire’s brows draw together while she runs a finger around the rim of her glass. The smell of wet wood impregnated with years of spilled liquor rises from the floor and finally starts to overpower the stench of blood.

  “Not sure I follow your change of subject,” the proprietor says.

  “You called me the boss of Rat Town. Said the security assigned to your establishment were ‘my men’. But the syndicate’s decisions are made by a council, not a single person.”

  “Well, claim what you will. According to everyone I’ve heard tell it, only one woman calls the shots in your new syndicate.”

  Myrrh takes another swallow of her beer and wonders if she should ask why no one’s helping poor Becky.

  “But I didn’t send Wren to fetch you just so I could see your reaction,” Sapphire says.

  “Wren?”

  “The little orphan girl.”

  Right. The urchin who came knocking at her safe house door. “So what is this about then?”

  Becky casts a nervous glance in their direction, prompting the bartender to nudge her hip with his toe. She jerks, nearly knocking over the bucket of red water.

  “In case you’re wondering,” Sapphire says, “I caught Becky here pinching coins from one of the tables. The way I see it, my patrons have a right to enjoy their gaming without being pickpocketed. Especially when the thief is lucky to have honest work under my roof. But we’ve all made mistakes at one time or another. Isn’t that right, Becky?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the girl says as she scrubs harder.

  Sapphire smirks and winks at Myrrh. “In any case, I didn’t send for you just because there was a brawl. It’s about who came looking for the fight. And why. The Queen’s Dice had a prior arrangement w
ith the Slivers syndicate, as I’m sure you’re aware. I admit to being surprised to see Noble back here. Especially given his new…condition.”

  Noble. The former leader of the Slivers syndicate, the gang that Myrrh and her associates recently ousted. Yeah, Myrrh can see why his reappearance might cause problems.

  “So it’s true?” Myrrh says. “He’s a White? I never got confirmation.”

  “If by that, you mean blinded by glimmer in all but the dimmest light…eyes shining silver…yeah, I’d say he’s a White.”

  “I expected him to turn up in Rat Town eventually,” Myrrh says. “Sorry it brought trouble to your establishment.”

  Sapphire shrugs. “Long as you make it right with extra security until he’s been dealt with, we’re good.”

  Myrrh keeps her face even. It’s been hard enough to find thieves willing to take on security gigs as it stands. As former freelancers, the members of Ghost syndicate are accustomed to heists and smuggling and blackmail. Guard duty is boring.

  When Slivers controlled the territory, it was simpler. Syndicate members didn’t have a choice in their assignments. But that’s not the sort of organization Myrrh founded.

  “It will be hard to find the muscle unless you’re willing to pay out a larger percentage of your profits.”

  Sapphire glares, but Myrrh holds firm. She’s pretty sure the proprietor’s spending half of what she paid under Noble’s organization.

  “I could increase the allowance as long as the situation is temporary,” Sapphire says after a moment.

  “Then I’ll figure it out.”

  Sapphire taps a finger on the table. “So. Noble’s not happy with you.”

  “I imagine not.”

  “He was throwing around a lot of nasty threats. I’d be wary. He still has heavy support in this district. Lots of thieves and sellswords lost their livelihoods when you ousted Slivers.”

  “They’re welcome to work for Ghost syndicate as long as they agree to our rules.”

  “I’m not the audience you need to reach with that message,” Sapphire says.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “The way you talk about the syndicate, I’m not surprised people call you the boss. It’s clear you make most of the decisions.”

  Myrrh doesn’t respond. A cool swallow of ale slides down her throat.

  “Anyway, when Noble started mentioning a bounty for your head, that’s when blades came out. I’ll give you credit. He might have support after so many years spent running Rat Town, but you have your own loyalists. A shift worker from the smelters took a nasty slash to the arm when he threatened one of Noble’s lackeys. That’s when your security stepped in and started throwing the Slivers crew out the door.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Five, counting Noble.”

  “Any others glimmer-blind?”

  Sapphire shakes her head. “Just the kingpin. He wears a hat low over his eyes. Can’t seem to look directly at candles without pain. I’m not surprised he’s got a vendetta.”

  Myrrh takes a deep breath. Maybe she should have listened to Glint and ambushed the Slivers leadership before they learned she’d slipped them a glimmer overdose and taken over their turf. But that would have meant going against her word. Sometimes, details mattered.

  The reminder of Glint brings a tightness to her chest that eases when she takes another deep drink of ale. No doubt he would have good advice on how to deal with Noble’s reemergence. Probably delivered close to her ear in a low voice. She grits her teeth at the involuntary shiver the thought prompts.

  Myrrh needs to avoid distractions like Glint. She has a syndicate to run. Kids like Nab need her protection, especially with the city trembling in fear over the turmoil in Maire’s Quarter. Plus, she has to figure out what’s going on with Hawk. Why he came out of Craghold so…changed.

  And right now, she needs to conclude business with Sapphire and The Queen’s Dice. Ideally followed by a nice date with her pillow.

  “You comfortable with my people denying Noble entry tomorrow night?” she asks.

  Sapphire slugs back the last of her whiskey. “Please.”

  “The guards will be here at dusk then.”

  “There’s another thing,” Sapphire says.

  “Oh?”

  “A man. Never seen him before. He spoke to me once things quieted down.”

  “What about him?”

  “He said he wanted me to give you a message.”

  “Another threat?”

  “I don’t think so. He came from downriver. Some place called Glenhaven.”

  “It’s about halfway between here and the sea.”

  “If you say so,” Sapphire says with a shrug. “Anyway, he heard of Ghost syndicate and was, as he said, intrigued. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Like I said earlier, anyone who wants to abide by the syndicate rules is welcome to work for us. We send word through the taverns every evening. New gigs and what they pay.”

  “I think he’s looking for more than a stray job here and there. He asked if you would meet him here tomorrow. Around midnight.”

  “If he’s interested in the syndicate, he can ask any Ghost member. I’m sure plenty of them enjoy throwing dice at your tables.”

  Sapphire presses her lips together. “If you don’t mind me saying, the man had an air about him. Seemed to be more than a common thief. I’d figure out what he’s about if I were you.”

  The woman’s serious tone grabs Myrrh’s attention. She gets the sense Sapphire wouldn’t keep pressing if she didn’t think it was important.

  “In that case, no, I don’t mind you saying. And I’ll try to be here.”

  Myrrh plants her palms on the table and stands. Before she can step away, Sapphire touches her wrist. “Then I’ll drop you another bit of honest advice. You shouldn’t walk around Rat Town this late alone.”

  Myrrh shrugs. “I’ve never had a problem.”

  The silence stretches out.

  “Look,” Sapphire says, “I don’t know you well enough to care one way or the other about your safety. But I do care about Rat Town. Regardless of Slivers’ flaws, they kept order around here. Don’t kid yourself into thinking Ghost syndicate would hang together without you. They’d collapse the moment you got knifed in an alley, leaving us in a much worse situation than we had before. So if you care about anyone down here and want to see them live until next Rhemmsfest, quit being careless.”

  After a moment, Myrrh sighs. “Fair enough. Got anyone who could escort me to my residence?”

  Sapphire smiles crookedly. “We secure more bets in a night than any gambling house in Rat Town. Think I sit on that much coin without plenty of my own muscle to guard it?”

  The woman nods toward one of the walls, no doubt catching the eye of someone at a hidden peephole.

  “A man will meet you outside,” she says.

  Chapter Two

  MYRRH’S CURRENT RESIDENCE hasn’t really changed from when Slivers used it as a safe house. From the outside, the place looks as ramshackle as any Rat Town construction. Warped siding has been slapped over a rickety skeleton, everything splintery with age. Up top, the mist-cloaked second story looks ready to blow away in the next strong wind.

  Myrrh steps onto the creaking stoop, glancing at the crust of mud that splatters the walls almost to window height. The escort Sapphire provided, a man who looks ready to collapse under the weight of his own muscles, gives a concerned grunt. No doubt he’s thinking about how Sapphire won’t be pleased to learn he let Myrrh enter a death trap.

  “You can go now,” she says as she raps on the door. A pattern of five knocks, then two. Tomorrow, the signal will be different.

  A piece of wood slides aside at face level. Graves, the man keeping watch on the front door of the safe house, peers out. He looks strangely nervous, eyes flitting. Did gossip about Noble’s threats make it back here already?

  “Who’s t
here?” he asks.

  Myrrh rolls her eyes and presses her face closer to the light. “You sixing well know who. I just left an hour ago.”

  “I—”

  She glimpses the panic in his eyes and realizes his question was meant to give her a chance to escape. Legs suddenly tense, she glances to the side and gets ready to jump off the step.

  “Your guards do a terrible job, you know.”

  The wild thumping of Myrrh’s heart slows when she recognizes the voice. Glint. Then it starts to speed up again at the thought of seeing him.

  Graves’ eyes vanish, swept aside and replaced by a darker, more intense pair.

  “Mistress?” her escort asks, stepping closer but avoiding putting weight on the creaking steps.

  “It’s fine,” she says. “My friend appears to have forgotten his manners in his desire to humiliate my loyal associates. But he means me no harm.”

  The door opens. Lit from the side by the warm glow of a lantern, Glint bows. He’s dressed in merchant’s garb, finely tailored silk with a loose-collared shirt.

  “You have mud on your shoes,” Myrrh comments. “Kind of spoils the disguise. I hope you aren’t planning on any late-night soirees in Maire’s Quarter.”

  He smirks as he tucks away the dagger he likely had pressed to Graves’s back. Released from Glint’s grasp, the sentry looks both uncertain and angry.

  “I truly won’t harm her,” Glint says to Sapphire’s man. “Thanks for accompanying her. I have no desire to see my lovely former associate beset by ruffians.”

  Myrrh shoves past Glint, out of the damp Rat Town night and into the warm scents of the safe house. Her footsteps falter when she notices the Scythe, a hardened fighter sworn to defend Glint with her life. The woman leans against one of the dark-paneled walls, a flat expression on her face.

  With clear reluctance, Myrrh’s escort turns to go as Glint swings the door shut. The latch engages, snuffing the faint shouts and thumps that pepper Rat Town by night.

  If the safehouse looks run-down from the outside, the interior is anything but. Behind the shabby disguise, hardwood planks and stone pillars defend syndicate secrets. Velvet drapes hang over windows, and oil-lamp chandeliers cast a warm glow over the rooms. The storerooms are empty now, looted by Glint’s people after they helped Myrrh take down Slivers. Eventually, though, they’ll be full of Ghost syndicate riches.