The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Not all the squabbles turned out so nice as your claiming Orchid, Tyson,” Frenty said. “Lost a couple captains and lot more Princes.”

  “Arrick, I remember,” Colin said. “So that’s what you’re looking for, hmm? Draw some blood on Sotch and whoever?”

  “You got a problem with that?” Vessrin said. “It seems the only one making examples of the Rabbits is the Thorn. How’s that look on us, eh?” Vessrin’s claw of a finger poked Colin in the chest. “Blood was taken, blood’s owed. Prince blood.”

  Colin looked down at that finger, still touching him in the sternum. He felt like he should be scared, Vessrin giving him so much guff, the other bosses staring knives at him.

  But there wasn’t an ounce of fear. Fear meant he respected these men, and he wasn’t feeling much of that right now. He’d obey them, like a loyal Prince, but if this was how they were going to talk to him, after all these years, he didn’t owe them an ounce more of himself than that.

  “Whatever you need, Vessrin,” Colin said. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “What crew is going to help Colin, Nints?” Vessrin asked.

  “Cabie’s,” Nints said. Cabie was a decent bird, well-earned stars on her arm, though she and her crew worked out by Branch, holding the line again Hallaran’s Boys. Like Colin, she stayed out there and never came around to the Turnabout no more. Now Colin wondered if she had soured someone’s beer like he had.

  “Well, send somebody to fetch Cabie,” Vessrin said. “Then she and her crew can join you and yours, and you’ll drag the last of those Rabbits to a special place we’ve got for them.”

  “Where’s that?” Colin asked.

  “Cabie’ll know.”

  This plan was sounding increasingly stupid. One thing to just kill Sotch and her boys. Colin didn’t have a beef with that. Blazes, even Sotch might agree it was fair. But to bring them to some other place, so Vessrin or whoever could mess with them? And bring them through the streets, while it was crowded with Uni folks for the games?

  That was all kinds of idiocy.

  But Colin was a loyal Prince.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s get to it.”

  Vessrin patted Colin on the cheek. “I knew—I told all these boys—that we could count on you, Colin. Glad I was right.”

  Two spirited tetchball matches made for a cracking afternoon. Jiarna almost felt guilty, that she was supposed to be “working,” in terms of this drug-busting business of Veranix’s. She didn’t really understand why Kaiana and him were so devoted to this fight, but some things didn’t necessarily need a point. She understood it was important to them, that it was a calling, and that was enough. She had spent the last four years in academic devotion, and done that entirely for its own sake. Now the fruits of that labor were ripening. In a month she and Phadre would be engaged in deeper study of scientific and mystical connections with Professor Salarmin at Trenn College in Yin Mara—possibly the second greatest mind in Druthal on the subject.

  She had to admit, as much as she loved pure academia and science, there was something visceral and exciting about being a part of Veranix’s team.

  Veranix might be academically dim—few men were her peer the way Phadre was—but she wouldn’t deny the sight of him charging after Jensett like a sinner from the blazes had stirred something in her. Nothing she would ever act on, not having also met Phadre. But the prospect of having another moment like when she and Phadre saved the campus made her heart hammer in her chest.

  In the meantime, the tetchball had been a solid thrill. Pirrell had roundly trounced Erien; it wasn’t even fair. Two triple jacks, almost a dozen doubles, and the poor Erien players were at a loss to even pull down a runner. Shame the Pirrell boys were a bunch of uncouth rowdies. They may be great players, but they were a long way off from being the Gracious Gentlemen of Study and Sport that, in her mind, college boys ought to be.

  Astonic had given a good match to the High Academy of Korifina, and that one had been tight and thrilling. Both teams had outstanding fieldwork, barely letting a point on the board in every interval. Korifina squeaked it out at the end, and Jiarna had cheered her throat raw the whole time. Frankly, she hadn’t cared who won, it was a fantastic match to watch.

  “Where are we to, now?” Phadre asked, hooking his arm into her elbow.

  “That is an excellent question,” Jiarna said. “There are several social houses throwing parties tonight. Grand Sable, again. Silverlight. Twin Moons. I think the Twin Moons is most promising.”

  “And why is that?” Phadre gave her a wry smile. “Is it because they have a cask of Fuergan whiskey?”

  “No, it’s because they’re specifically hosting today’s event winners. So that part will draw the most diverse crowd, making it more likely to find information about the drug sales.”

  “And the whiskey?”

  “Well, we’ll have to blend in, darling,” Jiarna said. “This is a burden I accept.”

  Twin Moons was a Gentlemen’s Social House, and one where Jiarna had found their parties rather enjoyable in her time, and not just because the Twin Moons boys tended to have impeccable taste in imported whiskey and tobacco. Twin Moons, as opposed to more raucous houses like Whisper Fox, imposed a level of academic excellence. Their boys had to maintain top marks, even though a majority of them studied law or literature or some other useless thing. They were engaging boys, for the times when she had craved distraction, but little more. Still, heads above most of the other social house boys.

  “Is that Jiarna Kay?” one Twin Moons boy called out as they approached the front stoop of the social house. “Why the blazes are you still here? I heard you received your letters.”

  “Of course I have,” she said. She recognized him, but his name completely escaped her memory. “But it’s the Grand, I wasn’t going to miss that.”

  “Who’s this lucky one on your arm?”

  “Phadre Golmin,” Phadre said, offering his hand to the boy.

  “Caspar Caldermane.” Caspar, that was it.

  “Caldermane?” Phadre asked. “We’re booked on a Caldermane carriage to go to Yin Mara.”

  “My uncle is that Caldermane,” Caspar said. “Not that I probably won’t be headed to work under him once I letter up. Yin Mara? You’re leaving Maradaine, Miss Kay?”

  “Trenn College made us a glorious offer for teaching and research,” Jiarna said.

  “You’re going to be bored to tears, dear,” Caspar said. “Have you been to Yin Mara before?”

  “Never,” Phadre said.

  “It’s a village compared to Maradaine. An absolute village.” He shrugged. “But pass me your travel plans. I can get you the luxury package for regular cost.”

  “I wouldn’t refuse that,” Jiarna said.

  Caspar smiled and waved them inside. “Let’s get you both set up, shall we?”

  In moments she and Phadre both found whiskeys in one hand and cigarros in the other. “See?” she said to Phadre. “Blending in.” Plenty of others—students from every corner of Druthal—were clustered in the Twin Moons sitting rooms, while musicians in the corner played a jaunty number on viol and clarinet. Caspar went off to get a taper to light their smokes.

  “If we must,” Phadre said lightly. “Is he all right?”

  “Caspar?” she asked. “He’s fine, for a boy who will never be burdened with worry in his life. But he’s got a solid head.”

  “Not the type who’d get mixed up in effitte, though.”

  “No, true,” she said. “But he is the type that would mop up for his mates if they did.”

  “Every social house needs one of those.”

  Caspar came back with the taper.

  “So who were today’s winners, Caspar?” she asked their host as he lit her smoke up. It was good tobacco, not Little East corner den stuff.

  “U
of M won the oars in the river, of course.” He pointed to one clutch of boys in one corner, also Twin Moons men.

  “Well done,” she said, taking a draw on the cigarro.

  “I can’t claim anything there. Pirrell and Korifina took their matches in the tetch,” Caspar said.

  “Knew that, we were there.”

  “You went to tetch instead of oars?”

  “Tetch is my game.”

  “Fine. What else? That girl from RCM is the front placer in Floor and Beam so far.” He pointed to the honey-skinned young woman talking to one of his brethren. “Hey, Royal!”

  She turned to them. “Is that what you call me?”

  “You’re our guest,” Caspar said. “People want to say hello.”

  “Oh, I’m being shown off,” she said. She extended a hand to Jiarna. “Emilia Quope.”

  “Charmed,” Jiarna said. “Jiarna Kay, and my friend—”

  “Phadre, Phadre Golmin.” He put out his hand with a bit too much enthusiasm for Jiarna’s taste, though she could hardly blame him. Miss Quope definitely had an allure.

  “Phadre and Jiarna?” Her eyebrow went up sharply. “We have a mutual acquaintance.”

  “Do we?” Jiarna asked. “Who is that?”

  “Veran Calbert? No, Veranix. I met him last night, and . . . you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find him?”

  “He’s very busy tonight,” Phadre said. Jiarna sent a sharp elbow into his side.

  “Busy with?” Emilia asked. She stared pointedly at Phadre.

  “Didn’t ask,” Jiarna said quickly. “Who can keep track of that boy, you know?”

  “Who, indeed?” Emilia said absently. “If you’ll excuse me.” She made her way to the front door.

  “Eh, is she leaving?” one of the other partiers—part of a loutish-looking group—shouted at Caspar.

  “Ain’t yours or mine to bother,” Caspar snapped back. He turned back to Phadre and Jiarna, indicating the loutish group with a nod of his head. “Blokes from Pirrell won the Quint and Archery today. Blighters.”

  “Good day for Pirrell, though,” Phadre said.

  “Doesn’t mean they aren’t a bunch of blighters,” Caspar said. “We’ll give them theirs soon enough.”

  “Right,” Jiarna said. “If we beat Korifina and they beat whoever they play tomorrow.”

  “You’re talking tetchball again, girl.”

  “What do you mean, then?”

  He nearly gasped. “Oh, blazes, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “What are you talking about, Caspar?” she said.

  “Nothing, nothing. Look, you’re going to be teaching at Trenn, so I understand—”

  “We’re not faculty yet, man,” Phadre said. “You planning a prank on the Pirrell boys or something?”

  “Oh, saints, no,” Caspar said, though the look on his face made it seem like now he was considering it. “All right, lock your jawboxes on this, hear?”

  “Locked,” Jiarna said.

  “There’s a plan—the Twin Moons and Grand Sables from the various schools are putting this together. Night after tomorrow at midnight—”

  Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around Caspar and lifted him off the ground. “U of M!” the owner of the arms shouted.

  Caspar just hooted in return. The arms’ owner—a beefy sort who probably was one of the rowers—leaned in on Jiarna and Phadre. “I’ve got to steal this one away for a bit.”

  “Steal away,” Jiarna said, sipping at her whiskey. It was, indeed, quite fine.

  “What do you think that was?” Phadre asked.

  “Not sure, but it might be worth finding out.”

  “As part of our investigation,” Phadre said with a wry smile.

  “Absolutely,” she said, though she hardly convinced herself of the sincerity. “Let’s mix it up, see if we shake anything.” She pulled a draw off her smoke. “But we should make sure we dance before the evening is done.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Phadre said enthusiastically.

  She kissed Phadre on the cheek, and moved into the crowd. One eye, still, she kept on Caspar. She couldn’t shake the feeling that what he was about to tell them would be quite interesting.

  Erno Don held the last note of his song a bit longer than he ought to have, but the ladies in the crowd at this Dentonhill shanty bar loved it. None of them really noticed that his throat cracked a little at the end, but that was the kind of rot-beer place this was. They were all deep in their cups or half-tranced on effitte.

  “Thank you kindly,” he said. “I’m going to yield the stage now. A wandering minstrel never outstays his welcome. But if you, well, would like to seek me later . . . you know where to find me.”

  He sauntered off, nodding and waving to the crowd, over to the manager at the bar.

  “Not bad,” the barman said. “You could do a bit more, another half-crown.”

  “One set a night, brother,” Erno said. “I’ve got to keep my throat filled with silver. That means I use it sparingly.”

  “Your call, if you’d rather have silver in your throat than your pocket. Beer?”

  “I told you, brother. I need to protect my throat. I’m heading up.”

  “Sleeping already? It’s pretty early.”

  “I said nothing about sleep. I’m heading up. I won’t be sleeping for hours yet.”

  The barman nodded. “Of course. Have a good night.”

  Erno went out and around to the iron stairs that led to the rented rooms above the bar, whatever it was called. The bars in Dentonhill were much the same, regardless. So were the rented rooms.

  His room was at the end of the hallway, right over the alley. He noticed the door was open a little as he approached. That was hardly a surprise. He was expecting there to be company waiting for him.

  Three of them, in fact. Standing around like a bunch of meaty goons, which is just what they were.

  “You’re a bit impatient, Bell. I was going to come over to your place.”

  “Sorry, Erno,” Bell said. “We’ve got a tip about the last of the Rabbits, including that slan Sotch, hiding out in Aventil. Time to move.”

  “Oh, if we’re hunting Rabbits, then I can see why you’re so excited.” Erno went over to the trunk by his bed and opened it up, taking out all the gear for his costume. “Don’t forget, you’re paying for the show, not the kill.” Bell had already tried to run around on him over paying the full fee, just because the stick Left hadn’t been killed. Didn’t matter, Bell still got the results he really wanted.

  “Whatever you need, Erno,” Bell said. “What you’re doing is worth the price.”

  Erno got on the cloak, hood, and bow. “Then what are we waiting for? The Thorn is ready for his performance.”

  Veranix watched from the top of a tenement building as the Glennford kid went down the alley. True to his word, there was the seller—a young woman in a work skirt, leather apron, and shirtsleeves. She looked respectable enough, could easily walk on campus looking like she worked the staff, or even blend in as a student, especially this week. She certainly didn’t look like she used. That made a big difference.

  The buy went quick and clean, and the kid skittered off. Veranix kept an eye on him just long enough to make sure he got back to the main street, and that Kaiana grabbed him by the elbow and escorted him back to campus.

  So the tip was solid, and the idea that this woman was a seller who brought stuff on campus was credible. His first thought was just to dive in and take her down. She didn’t look like a fighter—she wasn’t obviously armed—and Veranix could take her out of commission and divest her of stash in moments.

  That would be easy, but wouldn’t change anything.

  He needed to learn more of what she knew. That meant getting her to talk.

  Fortunately, his reputatio
n on the streets lately was that of a heartless killer.

  He leaped down to the alley, willing the rope to wrap around a chimney pipe as he dropped. He dove down to her, unshrouding just as he closed the distance, and grabbed her by the front of her shirt and apron. In the same moment, he willed the rope to pull him back up to the edge of the tenement roof.

  She startled, but before she could even properly scream, he had her dangling four stories above the cobblestones. With the rope anchoring him to the roof, he held her out at arm’s length, her legs thrashing uselessly in the open air.

  “Thought we could have a word,” he said.

  Terror in her eyes transformed to anger, and she produced a knife from underneath her apron.

  “By all means, stab me in the arm,” he said coldly. “See how well you fare after that.”

  She hesitated, knife still poised.

  “Drop it.”

  She scowled, but obeyed.

  “So you’ve been selling to students,” he said. “Didn’t word get around that I don’t like it when you cross Waterpath?”

  “Hey, they came to me,” she said. “I didn’t cross anything.”

  “And how did they know to come to you, hmm?”

  “Word gets around, and these kids want to tan their skulls, who am I to say no?”

  “Well, now I want something,” Veranix said. “Where does your supply come from?”

  “Like I’m gonna spill to you.”

  “Spill?” Veranix let the rope go slack just for a moment, so they dropped almost a foot. “You want to talk about—”

  “All right!” she cried out. The shirt he was holding her by was starting to tear. “There’s a basement den, alley next to the barber shop on Allison! The dealer boss hangs out there!”

  “Thank you kindly,” Veranix said, and let her go. She screamed as she plummeted to the ground. Just before she landed, he reached out magically and grabbed hold of her. She hovered mere inches above the ground for a moment, and then he let her go again.

  “Ah!” she cried out as she landed face first on the stone. “You boke by doze, you bastad!”

  “All part of the service,” he called back, and giving her a jaunty salute, he shrouded and leaped off to Allison Street.