The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Veranix dropped down to do his lower back stretches. “Thought about it, but I can’t see how do to it without it being unwieldy. Bow and staff don’t hide well.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “I’m going to bring the cloak and the rope in a rucksack and keep that on me, just in case.”

  Delmin gave him a disapproving look.

  “Something happens, I want to be on it.”

  The look didn’t change.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “What’s the plan after the match?”

  “No clue,” Veranix said. “Whatever the squad does, I’ll do.” He wasn’t too keen on that. Tosler was a decent enough sort, but the idea of spending the evening in the company of the whole squad filled him with dread.

  Someone pounded on their door. “Hey, Maries! Your boys are going to swallow dust on the field tonight!”

  Veranix popped onto his feet and threw the door open, to find four boys—tall, muscular boys—gathered outside the door. They were just in shirtsleeves and slacks, so he couldn’t determine what school they were from.

  “What field?” he asked. “I mean, saints, if you’re going to spin the sewage, I need to know for what.”

  “In the quint, you clod,” the one in front said. “Just you watch, Maries.”

  “The quint?” Veranix asked. “The blazes you all leering about for that? Quint’s a one-man event.”

  “That it is, Mary,” the boy in front said, flexing his arms. “And Pirrell University is going to sweep that up, just like everything else.”

  “Fine,” Veranix said, refusing to let this tosser bait him. “In the meantime, I’m going to go to the water closet.”

  He pushed his way past the group, only to have a hand grapple his shoulder. “Don’t you walk off on us.”

  Veranix twisted out of the clod’s grip easily, stepping back and turning to face them. “Are you trying to start a fight?”

  “Vee,” Delmin warned from the doorway.

  “It’s fine, Del,” Veranix said. “I’m not going to fight these guys.”

  “Oh, the Mary thinks he’s too good for us?” the Pirrell leader asked.

  “You know I’m not one of the athletes, don’t you? I’m not doing the quint or anything else.”

  “Then what the depths are you doing here?” The big guy moved to shove Veranix, which he easily dodged just by shifting his body. The big guy stumbled and bumped into the far wall.

  “I live here,” Veranix said, taking another step back. “And I’m going on with my day now.”

  He took two steps toward the water closet when the brute did exactly what he had expected.

  “Vee!” Delmin shouted.

  Veranix was already lunging to the side and dropping his head, so the bruiser’s punch sailed through empty air. With a quick pivot he was behind the boy, who seemed genuinely confused that Veranix hadn’t been clobbered.

  “What are you, a rabbit?” he asked.

  “Certainly not.”

  As Veranix suspected, the three still behind him made their move. They were as loud and slow as a broken wagon, so when they came to grab him, he had dropped down in a split and rolled back between their legs. He popped back up as they cracked into each other’s skulls.

  “Gents, I do really need to get to the water closet,” he said.

  “You’re going to get such a creaming!” the leader shouted, and he charged down the hallway, arms in a wide tackle.

  Dodging that was too easy.

  “Delmin,” Veranix said calmly as he slipped past the guy. “You are the interim prefect, yes?”

  “Yes,” Delmin said cautiously, as two fists came flying at Veranix’s head from opposite sides. Veranix flattened himself against the wall, and the two boys managed to punch each other.

  “When you report on this, which I’m sure you will—”

  Veranix dodged another wild punch, and then another, and then a third—guiding the group’s leader to punching his own friend in the face. Three of the four down, only the leader still standing.

  “Make sure you note that I didn’t lay a finger on them.”

  With that, he blew on the leader’s face, sweetening his breath with enough magic to turn that blow into a gale force. The guy bowled over onto his friends, the four of them now in a pile on the floor.

  Delmin laughed out loud. “I suppose that’s technically true.”

  Veranix winked back at Delmin. “I wasn’t kidding about the water closet. Gentlemen, it’s been invigorating.”

  Lieutenant Benvin had taken to sleeping in the apartment over the Broken Spindle, a taproom on Violet Street that was favored by some of the Waterpath Orphans. It wasn’t their “official” pub where their captains and bosses would congregate, but it was close to where their “territory” met the Knights’ and they kept a close eye on it.

  Benvin had acquired this apartment a month before, paid out of his own pocket, even though it was for Constabulary operations. He had tried to explain why he needed it to Captain Holcomb, but the captain didn’t care. He wasn’t about to hand over an extra pence to clean up this neighborhood.

  So Benvin got the apartment on his own, and made it the special operations center for his squad, away from the stationhouse. They were the only ones who knew about it, and they kept copies of all their files and work here. There had been enough mistakes with crucial documents back at the stationhouse: “filing errors” and “cleaning accidents”. Corruption or incompetence, it didn’t matter. Benvin wasn’t going to take any more chances trusting the fools he was surrounded with.

  Of course, the apartment was a shabby hole. No water closet—just a backhouse in the alley below and weak pump spigot in the room. There was no proper stove, just a countertop with a metal plate drawing heat from the Spindle’s oven. With enough time, it could get a teapot to something resembling hot enough for tea. Benvin even had a teapot, tea, and honey, but only because someone in the team had brought them over from their own place. Benvin didn’t remember who it was, but he was grateful for them as he waited for the water to heat up.

  Someone knocked on the door. There were only a handful of people who would: his crew, the landlady, and one other. Benvin grabbed the crossbow off the bed—he had slept with it loaded next to him, a stupid thing to do—and went to the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Blazes, stick, just open.”

  It was the one other. Benvin lowered the crossbow and opened the door. Yessa—one of the Waterpath Orphan captains—slipped in and slammed the door behind her. She glanced nervously around the room, as if expecting some sort of ambush. Then she took a good look at him—in shirtsleeves and skivvies, crossbow in hand—and chuckled.

  “You’re having an interesting morning, Left.”

  Benvin scowled at her, putting the crossbow on the rickety table. “You here for tea, Orphan?”

  “If you’re offering.”

  Benvin grabbed his trousers off the end of the bed and pulled them on. “Once the water gets close to hot.”

  “Didn’t know I was staying all day.”

  Benvin took a good look at her while he grabbed his shirt and put it on. There was a smart young woman under the dingy hair and Orphan scars on her face. A better neighborhood would have had a school for her as a child, and she might have ended up one of these Uni kids instead of an Aventil ganger.

  “Doubt you could. Your ‘crew’ would notice you gone, huh?”

  “Crew, bosses, everyone else,” Yessa said, sitting on the bed. “But I could always make excuses.” She leaned back on her elbows, giving him a look that he could only categorize as lascivious.

  Yessa had gone from spitting at him to making advances rather quickly, as soon as she had begun feeding information to him about gang activity. Benvin could not pretend that he wasn’t tempted b
y the idea, but the potential problems it would cause outweighed any carnal benefits. Even still, the sticky heat of the unyielding summer had led her to wearing a sleeveless blouse with the bottom tied off to expose her stomach, sweat dripping down her chest . . .

  Benvin straightened up and turned to the teapot plate. “No need for that.”

  “All business,” she said with a sigh. “At least pour me a tea.”

  Benvin found two cups—all the cups were clean, probably thanks to Jace or Tripper—and poured out the weak, lukewarm tea. “You staying safe?”

  “I’m fine, Left, but thanks for pretending you care.” She sipped at the tea. “You signaled for me, so what do you want?”

  “Body was found last night, a Red Rabbit named Keckin.”

  “Keckin?” She shook her head. “Thought him and Sotch left town.”

  “Aren’t any Red Rabbits around anymore,” Benvin said.

  “Just the ones you’ve got locked up,” she said. “Which is a good chunk of them. The rest, though, they all went to ground. You know that.”

  “So why is Keckin dead now?”

  “Blazes if I know, Left. I guess somebody found where he was hiding.”

  “That’s right,” Benvin said. “Pretty sure it was the Thorn.”

  “Really?” She sounded very skeptical.

  “Four arrows in the man, thrown from a rooftop. Seems pretty much like the Thorn.”

  “He was beefing with the Rabbits, that’s what cracked them. You think he’s hunting the last of them?”

  “You tell me. What are they saying about the Thorn?”

  She sighed. “Nothing new. We’ve been over this. He ain’t tight with the Orphans, and we ain’t giving him cause to tussle. Let him fight it out with Fenmere, or hunt down Rabbits.”

  “So you think he is the one hunting them?”

  “Do I think so? Sure.” She took a slug of her tea. “But that’s just my gut telling me that, same thing you have going on.”

  “Right,” Benvin said, drinking his weak tea. It really was awful, just a hair above the room temperature, which was sweltering hot. “He isn’t just hunting them. Like I said, Keckin had four arrows in him. The bodyman in the stationhouse said they were hours apart. Marks on his wrist show that Keckin was tied up. The Thorn didn’t just hunt and kill him. He tortured him.”

  “Blazes,” Yessa said quietly. After a moment, she finished the tea and tossed the cup over to him as she hopped off the bed. Benvin caught the cup ably. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Anything comes up with the Thorn . . .”

  “I will let you know,” she said. “Especially if he’s in league with the Princes.” They had had this conversation several times, and she was clearly tired of it. Though this time there was a hint that she was spooked.

  “Good.”

  “You might want to steer any of the Uni crowds away from Vine south of Clover. I hear Dogs and Kickers are pressing on each other again, so that could be a spill.”

  “That ain’t news,” Benvin said.

  “I hear it’s a bit more heat than usual, but who knows.” She sighed heavily. “I’ll tell you if I hear anything about the Rabbits. I can tell you one thing, if Keckin was just killed—especially killed like you said—Sotch is probably running, and running hard.”

  “If she’s still alive,” Benvin said. “Stay safe out there.”

  She winked as she went to the door. “Always do. Except when you ironed me.”

  Whisper Fox House was far to the north and west of the campus, amongst a row of other Gentlemen’s Social Houses, right at the border between the Ladies’ College and the rest of the University. On the other side of the walkway, of course, were the Ladies’ Social Houses. This whole area was the part of the University for the privileged, from noble families to scions of newer money.

  Rich kids who weren’t accepted into the Royal College of Maradaine, mostly.

  Social house events were a fairly good way to spend an evening, especially when it was a joint event with a Ladies’ House and Gentlemen’s House.

  An older man in a dark gray suit stood at the front stoop of Whisper Fox House, apparently not letting the morning heat perturb him at all.

  “Are you calling upon anyone?” the man asked when Veranix came up the stairs.

  “I am,” Veranix said, used to the formality in approaching the houses when there wasn’t an event. There was a list of who would be allowed in, but Veranix was on the list. “Veranix Calbert, here for Mister Tosler and the tetchball squad.”

  “Absolutely, Mister Calbert,” the suited man said. “Mister Tosler will be pleased to see you.” He opened the door and let Veranix in.

  Veranix had been through here enough times over the summer to find his way to the dining room, which is exactly where Tosler and the rest of the squad would be at this time. And they all were there, gathered around the long table, eating an absurdly bountiful breakfast, with three gray-skirted women serving them.

  “Calbert!” Tosler shouted, standing up from his place at the head of the table. Tosler had always been friendly, staying in touch with his friends in Almers after he left the dorms to join Whisper Fox. He had been the one who had asked Veranix to coach the team. “Glad to see you here!” He crossed over and clasped both of Veranix’s shoulders warmly.

  “Calbert!” many of the boys called out, all while stuffing their faces with eggs, sausages, biscuits, butter, jam, and all sorts of other delights. All eleven of the squad—including Tosler—were already dressed for the match. Uniform for tetchball was a pullover jersey—in University of Maradaine blue and white—with matching short trousers and high stockings, along with fingerless gloves and page caps. If Veranix didn’t already know the whole squad, he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

  “Have you eaten?” Tosler asked, gesturing to an empty chair.

  “I can always eat,” Veranix said. “Thank you.” He had already had a Holtman breakfast, but that was shabby fare in comparison.

  “Issie! Plate for Calbert!”

  Veranix sat down while one of the servant women brought him a steaming plate of eggs and sausages. “So are we ready for the match?” he asked them all.

  “Are we ready, boys?” Tosler asked.

  “Woo-ha!” was the unanimous response.

  “You’re going to be there, right, Calbert?” This came from Ottie, a lean fourth-year who was eighth or ninth in line for a Barony, who played the Rail on the tetch field.

  “Damn right I’m going to be there,” Veranix said. “You think I would miss your matches after all the work I’ve done with you?” Taking a bite, he raised his voice so everyone could hear him. If he wanted to attach himself to whatever exploits these boys would get into over the course of the games, they had to all love him. And they all liked him fine, but it was time to add a bit more to the show.

  “I mean,” Veranix went on, “it’s not like today’s match is going to be all that exciting, because you boys are up against Trenn College. I mean, come on, Trenn? Weak-legged cabbage eaters, that’s what they are.”

  There was a general cheer.

  “Really, boys, if there’s someone I feel bad for, it’s Deeds.”

  “Why me?” Deeds asked. Good kid, second-year, built like a horse. Played Triple Warder.

  “Because not one of those goose-armed chipmunks is going to even hit past the Jack Line, so you’ll just be standing bored by the Triple all damn game!”

  More laughter and cheers.

  He pointed to a group of four others: Hoovie, Chippit, Needle, and Marmot, whose positions were in the Double zone. “I don’t want you guys getting too restless, though. Just because nothing is coming to you doesn’t mean you can start playing cards out there, hear? Got to keep up appearances.”

  Those four all laughed.

  “Stay sharp, so w
hen we’re on the batting line, we crank it every blasted time. I want to see some Triple Jacks. I want to see some six-pointers. You hear?”

  They all cheered.

  Veranix tucked in more to the breakfast. “So you boys already have the victory party planned?”

  Tosler chuckled. “Blute has a blazes of an idea.” He pointed to the bull of a boy at his left, who played the Wall.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Blute swallowed the mass of food he had just shoveled into his maw. “I call it the Aventil Amble. Though by the end it would be the Aventil Stumble.”

  Veranix wasn’t sure he liked the sound of this. “How so?”

  “Ten pubs, all through Aventil. We go to each one, do a pint, and move on to the next one. I got the path all worked out: the Old Canal, the Rose & Bush, the Shady Lady, the Broken Spindle, the Myrmidon—”

  “Blazes, that’s where I’ll be down for the count,” Veranix said.

  “You need meat on your bones, Calbert,” Ottie said. “Then you can keep up.”

  Blute had continued his list without stopping. “And then finally the Turnabout.”

  “Did I hear you right?” Veranix asked. “You all want to go into the Turnabout?”

  “It’s a pub, ain’t it? Public house.”

  “Students do not go into the Turnabout,” Veranix said. They had to know it was a Rose Street Prince hangout. A group of Uni athletes going in would probably start trouble. A group of thoroughly sauced Uni boys would surely cause a small riot.

  “They will tonight!” Tosler shouted. “All right, gents, finish up! We’ve got a match to get to.”

  Veranix continued to eat, but his stomach was already churning. Staying close to this group might get him in a whole different mess of trouble. Colin had made it very clear that Veranix should never go into the Turnabout. If that old Red Rabbit could tell he was Cal Tyson’s son, surely there were some old salts among the Princes who could spot it. Especially if they saw him near Colin.

  Veranix shook it off. The Turnabout was the end of the Amble, and it was unlikely these boys would actually make it all the way there. Worst case, he would beg off before they reached the Turnabout. The other pubs were no problem, as far as he knew. Almost no Princes, and certainly no Colin.