The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Colin had mixed feelings about spending his time in the Old Canal. It was a fine pub, no doubt, and he didn’t have any complaints about the quality of the beer or the sausage sandwiches. They were actually quite good.

  But it wasn’t the Turnabout, and he was the only Prince in the place. The rest of his crew stayed out, hiding up in the flop most of the time. They only came in when they needed something. This was noticed by the staff of the Old Canal, and the way they reacted approached frightened reverence. Colin would sit at a table in the back corner and be treated like a boss. They stopped even asking him to pay, often coming over to check if he needed anything else. Colin had always imagined that would feel great, but instead it was hollow and troubling.

  Someone sat down at his table with him before he even noticed they had approached. “I don’t need any—” he started.

  “Yeah, but I do.” A woman, hood half pulled over her face, but it didn’t hide the fact that her hair had been badly dyed. It looked like she had tried to make it black and landed on something more purple.

  “I know you?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Tyson, you know me,” she said. The voice wasn’t familiar, nor was what he saw of the face.

  “Not hitting the chimes,” he said. “Did we roll back in the day or something?”

  “Saints, no,” she said. She pulled back her hood a bit. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “Ain’t you got eyes, Prince?”

  “Sorry, I—” He tried to imagine what her proper hair color might be, how she’d look. Then it hit him. “Sotch?”

  “Say it louder, why don’t you?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” he asked. “Didn’t know I owed you the courtesy.” He should shout her name, if not pull out his knife and shove it in her heart.

  “You don’t, fine,” she said. “Was never any love between the Princes and the Rabbits, ’cept the pact, and we broke that.”

  “And look what happened to the Rabbits.”

  “Blazes, I know that, Tyson. You don’t think I know that?”

  “So why is this my problem?”

  She glanced around the room. “Because you know the Thorn.”

  Colin’s heart jumped in his chest. “Who told you that?”

  “Everyone knows that you threw in with the Thorn a couple of times. And the morning he wrecked the Trusted Friend, you took his cloak and ran off pretending to be him so the preacher could get him out.”

  “That’s some sewage.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s sewage; Keckin and I saw that with our own eyes.”

  “So, yeah, I helped the Thorn. Didn’t want him to get pinched by the sticks, especially since he was cracking on your skulls for breaking the pact.”

  “I don’t care why you did it. You can reach out to him.”

  “Maybe I can, what of it?”

  She leaned in. “I need to make some kind of deal. A truce or something.”

  “Truce for what?”

  “For me and the few Rabbits I’ve got left. We just want to be left alone. Blazes, we ain’t even in Aventil anymore!”

  Colin didn’t understand what she was talking about. Last he knew, the Rabbits were gone, and Veranix was back to knocking dealers around in Dentonhill. Was he hunting the Rabbits? He signaled to the barman for two beers.

  “So you’re saying you’re gone? Out of Aventil?”

  “We were, holed up way out in Benson Court,” she said. That was extreme. Benson Court made Aventil look like the estate houses in Callon Hills. “But the Thorn found us. He got Keckin and dragged him back here to make a show of killing him.” Anger cracked through her voice as her eyes welled up.

  Colin didn’t trust this story one damn bit. Nothing she was saying sounded like something Veranix would do. He’d certainly go after Fenmere and his folk, and effitte itself with that kind of tenacity, but he wouldn’t make a macabre display of it. And he never indicated that he was interested in finishing off the Rabbits, certainly not hunting them.

  It didn’t add up, but listening to Sotch was the best way to find out the truth. But not here. “You hungry, huh? They do good sausages.”

  “Yeah, course,” she said.

  He made like he was signaling for sausages, but actually he was telling the barman to get his boys.

  The barman nodded and bolted off.

  There might be something to this frightened reverence.

  “So you saw the Thorn, then? When he came after Keckin?”

  “Came after us,” Sotch said. “I saw a piece of him, you know? Like, we were holed up in our flop, and out of nowhere there was smoke and flashes of light, and then all of a sudden he swoops in. I just saw a figure in a cloak, swinging his staff. But that was how it was in the brewery, too. Before I knew it, Keckin pushed me into the chute—”

  “The what?”

  She growled and rolled her eyes. “Our flop, we had this chute that dropped down to the sewer. You know, to escape real quick? He threw me down and slammed it shut.”

  “Thorn’s a dangerous bloke,” Colin said. “Wanted to keep you safe.” He needed to keep her talking until his boys showed up.

  “By the time I got back up, the place was a wreck, they were gone. Plenty of blood, though.”

  “And you tracked it back here?”

  “My boys did, once we heard about the spectacle the Thorn had made. Did you hear?”

  “I heard Keckin was killed, that’s all,” Colin said. “The rest was just rumors.”

  Except Colin had seen Veranix, up on the rooftop, right around that time. He certainly could have done it. Why, Colin had no idea. It was stupid.

  Of course, doing something stupid tended to be Veranix’s usual method.

  “All right, so, let’s say I can reach the Thorn. What’s the offer?”

  “Offer is he leaves us alone, and we stay the blazes away.”

  Colin shrugged. “Might not work for him. You were the blazes away, and he came for you.”

  “I don’t know!” she said. “I have nothing, you hear? A few boys who were in my crew or Keckin’s, and that’s it.”

  “Hmm,” Colin said. “And how do I know this isn’t a trap?”

  “A trap for what?”

  “For the Princes. For the Thorn. I don’t know. You were working for Fenmere. Maybe that’s where your loyalties are.”

  “My loyalties are to my own lungs, and keeping them filled with air, Prince.”

  “All right, let’s say I get in touch with him, and he’s willing to talk it out with you. Let’s just say that. How do I set up a meet? And what do I offer that makes it worth his while?”

  “Church meet,” she said. “I’ll check in with you here tomorrow.”

  “No, no you won’t,” he said, as Kiggy and Vandy had come up towering behind her. “Boys, take her up and make her comfortable. Have Sella check her for weapons and then sit on her.”

  “Really, Cap?” Kiggy asked, as his hand came firmly on Sotch’s shoulder. “Keep her comfy?”

  “Gentlemen,” Colin said. “Treat her with the utmost of care.”

  “I’m going to slice your belly open for this, Prince,” Sotch growled.

  “It’s good to dream, Sotch, old girl,” Colin said. “Bring her up.”

  She made to bolt, but Kiggy and Vandy grabbed her arms and lifted her up. She couldn’t get any leverage to twist away, and her legs weren’t long enough to effectively kick either of them. Not that she didn’t try. Kiggy and Vandy carried her off while she screamed a series of creative invectives.

  The barman came over to Colin, bringing a fresh beer. “I appreciate that we could help you remove her with minimal disruption. We didn’t want a fight or an accident here.”

  “Of course,” Colin said. “A plate of sausages and mustard when you get the chance.”

  “Yes,
sir,” the barman said.

  Colin sipped at his new beer. Somehow, it tasted better than usual. Perhaps because he now had something to bring Old Casey and the other bosses that could get him back in their good graces, and hopefully back to Rose Street proper.

  Chapter 4

  THE STANDS AROUND the tetchball pitch were wild with fans from the University of Maradaine and Trenn College. Of course, the U of M folks greatly outnumbered the Trenn fans, but Veranix was still surprised to see scores of them hooting and hollering before the match even began. He couldn’t imagine that they would all trek up from Yin Mara just to watch a match. Maybe the Grand was a big deal to them.

  There was no ceremony approaching the pitch. Both teams just strolled in, waving and smiling, and then they set up camp on opposite sides, in the yellow out of bounds zone. As a coach, Veranix was forbidden, during the game, to step off the yellow onto the green.

  “All right, boys, warm it up!” Veranix shouted to the team. “Drop it down, work the legs!”

  The team got down on the ground and began their best attempt at the stretching exercises Veranix had been doing since before he could even walk. Some did it fine, others—like Blute or Hoovie—were just pathetic. Still, it was good to see all eleven drop down in unison and make a good effort.

  He glanced across the pitch to the Trenn team over on their yellow. Many of them were gawking, confused over just what the Mary team was up to.

  Good.

  “Hey, Vee!”

  Veranix glanced over to the stands, where Jiarna and Phadre were in the front row. They both wore full University of Maradaine uniform regalia. Jiarna even carried blue-and-white flags.

  “I thought you were going to work the social events,” Veranix said as he came over, trying not to shout despite the roar of the crowd.

  “We will,” Jiarna said. “This is part of it.”

  “You just want to watch the match, don’t you?” Veranix said with a grin.

  Jiarna raised a finger, as if to highlight her point. “I will have you know, we were both very torn with this match.”

  “How so?” Veranix asked. He turned to the squad. “Lower backs! Push it, Catfish, you can go further than that!”

  Phadre answered, “Trenn is to be our new home, so there was a real moral dilemma who we should root for.”

  “A real moral dilemma?” Veranix repeated dryly. “Are you kidding me?”

  “A brief moral dilemma,” Phadre said. “Then Jiarna pointed out we’ve yet to step foot on Trenn College grounds.”

  “Nor did we have anything in their colors,” she said, noting their team in orange and yellow. Some of the Trenn boys were trying to imitate the stretches, as if they were afraid the Maradaine team had hit on some secret. “I want to thank you, Veranix, by the way. We’re very grateful for use of the apartment.”

  “Right, well, be discreet,” Veranix said. “The woman I rent from is vigilant against any untoward activity in her building.”

  “Untoward?” Jiarna asked in mock outrage. “What do you take us for?”

  “Strangers who will set her off, that’s what,” Veranix said, noting that the Watcher for the match was taking a position near the Arm’s Circle. “Talk to you later.”

  The Watcher blew his whistle, and Tosler and the captain of the Trenn team ran out to the Arm’s Circle to talk to him. After a coin flip and handshake, they both came away. “We’re fielding first,” Tosler said as he returned.

  “Good match, all,” Veranix said as the team got to their feet, heading out to their places.

  “And the boys of the University of Maradaine are taking the field for the top of the first interval, strapping lads all,” a voice boomed through the area, clear and crisp. It took Veranix a moment to figure out where it was coming from, as it seemed to be everywhere and right next to him at the same time. A young woman—a magic student, Veranix realized—was standing up on a perched lectern right behind the Squad Line at the back end of the field. She was the one speaking, magicking her voice so everyone could hear her.

  As the team got in place out in the field, the Trenn team filled up the space between the Hold Line and the Squad Line, save their first batter, who took a place at the Tetch Rail. Tosler, in the Arm’s Circle, received the ball from the Watcher.

  “And Tosler’s getting ready for the first throw, while the first batter for Trenn College is Uston. Uston is at the Rail in good form, let’s see if Ottie can knock him from his game.”

  Ottie’s position was Rail, standing just a few feet from the batter. The Rail’s official job was to restore the Tetch Rail before the batter could score, but the unofficial role was to harangue the batter as he was trying to hit.

  Ottie gave some patter while Tosler stretched out his arm a bit. He then took his place in the Arm’s Circle, wound back and fired the ball past the Tetch Rail. The batter swung with everything he had, but missed the ball entirely. Blute, in position as the Wall behind the batter and in front of the Hold Line, caught the ball in both hands. He gave out a signature grunt.

  “No crank from Uston! He goes back to the Batter Squad while the next up comes along . . .”

  The second and third batters both swung no crank, but then the fourth knocked a solid hit.

  “Arpig’s hit sails high over the Arm’s Circle and— it does not clear the Jack Line! It’s far to the left, not quite in the yellow, so Pinter, U of M Jack Warder, is charging to it. Arpig is running to score, but Bool at Close Bumper is on his heels! Bool knocks Arpig down, but the boy from Trenn is not letting that stop him. Pinter has the ball and throws to Ottie, and Far Bumper Catfish has now jumped on Arpig as well. Despite having Bool and Catfish hanging on to him, Arpig is still moving to the Jack Line.”

  The Watcher blew his whistle. “The Rail is restored. No point!”

  “Tough break for Trenn. Still seven batters to go this interval, so they might still have a chance to score, but the U of M boys will not be making it easy for them.”

  Veranix strolled over to the stands, where Jiarna and Phadre were. “And you were doubting who to root for.”

  “Still early in the match, Vee,” Jiarna said. “Don’t get too cocky.”

  Delmin was trailing along with two other interim prefects, though they had made the most boring decision possible for their plans. The Endurance Run was going to be underway for most of the day, and the boys he had attached himself to decided that the best use of their time was to plant themselves at the finish line—right by the south gate of campus—and make camp so they would be there for the end of the race. Which meant sitting on the walkway of Lilac and Hedge for a good five hours.

  Delmin regretted being a part of this plan.

  He sat down on the empty crate one of the others had scrounged up. “So, anyone have any real trouble so far? I had a few boys from Pirrell try to start a fight.”

  “Really?” This came from Dannick, who was prefecting down on the first floor, and probably would be the one keeping the job come the autumn. “That’s more excitement than I’ve had.”

  “You’re telling me you’ve had no excitement?” Garibel asked Dannick. “Brother, I would trade you. Over in Gonners Hall, I have most of the team from Glennford. They’ve got no morals whatsoever.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “None whatsoever,” Garibel said.

  “Really?” Delmin asked. “What are they doing?”

  “I had to kick out no less than a dozen Glennford girls—adoring fans—out of the rooms. Most of them in their skivs or less.”

  “Blazes, I should have asked for Gonners,” Dannick said.

  “It’s a wastepit. And the whole campus is going to get that way, let me tell you.”

  “No, I’m sure . . .”

  “We have hundreds of athletes from twenty-four schools, men and ladies. All in their physical prime, and supervision is nea
r nonexistent. What do you think is going to happen, Dannick?”

  “Doesn’t sound that terrible,” Dannick said quietly.

  “Depravity is what it is, am I right, Delmin?”

  “Right,” Delmin said half-heartedly. “But at least we haven’t had any drug problems, am I right?”

  “Drugs?” Garibel asked. “I wouldn’t put it past them. They won’t slip by me, though. I know what hassper smells like.”

  Delmin slouched down and sighed. This was going to be a very long day.

  “Fourteen-Aught!”

  Many mugs of beer went high in the air, and then down the throats of the tetchball squad, a horde of other University of Maradaine students—boys and girls both—as well as Veranix. The beer of the Old Canal was passable enough, nothing to complain about. The place was packed to the rafters, and the barman and the rest of his staff didn’t seem to know if they should be thrilled or angry. At least, until Tosler threw down a fifty-crown goldsmith note. Then they seemed thrilled.

  “Where’s Pinter, where’s Pinter, that rutting bastard?” Tosler shouted. “Another pint for Pinter! This bastard hit a Triple Jack and scored six rutting points!”

  The crowd whooped.

  Veranix did the same, raising up his mug, but made a point to sip at it instead of slamming it down like everyone else.

  “Damn right!” Pinter shouted from his seat, wedged against the wall. “Thanks to Vee! He knows how to knock the stuffing out of the ball!”

  “Vee!” they all shouted, holding up the beers.

  “Saints, Vee,” Blute said. “Sit down and drink. And why do you have that rucksack on?”

  “It’s magic stuff,” Veranix said, winking. “Not to scare you or nothing, Blute, but you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Oh, saints, saints, Vee,” said Pinter. “Do a thing, pal. Like you did in the ceremonies.”

  “Do it, do it!” Veranix realized that several members of the Ovation Squad were part of the crowd here.