Exiled Queen, The

by Cinda Williams Chima

  She doesn’t have it, Han thought. She’s done.

  “I’ll be right back with the rest of it,” she said, jackknifing to her feet and turning toward the door.

  The sharp’s hand snaked out and grabbed the girlie around the wrist, jerking her toward him. “Oh no you don’t,” he growled. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until you pay up.”

  The girl tried to yank her hand free. “I don’t carry that kind of money around. I got to get it from my room.”

  Boudreaux stuck his face in close to the girl’s. “I’ll just come with you, then,” he said, licking his lips and looking her up and down with a greasy smile. “If you don’t have the money, there may be a way you can earn it out.”

  The girlie spat in his face. “In your dreams, you scummer-sucking, limp-nippled, gutter-spawned—”

  “Do you want to go to gaol?” Boudreaux growled, brushing away the spit and giving her a bone-rattling shake.

  The girl stiffened. Han could tell from the ropy scars on her wrists and ankles that she’d been in gaol. He guessed she didn’t want to go back.

  “I’ll call the guard,” Boudreaux threatened, his voice rising. “I got rights.”

  Before Han could put two thoughts together, he was standing next to their table. “Hey, now. Just a friendly game, right? No need to get the guard involved, is there?” He slapped the sharp on the back and punched him in the shoulder, grinning like a country boy deep in his cups.

  Boudreaux glared at Han, unhappy with the unexpected intrusion. “It’ll be friendly as long as the girlie pays up. I got rights.”

  “You can work something out.” Han swung around to face the girl, and nearly fell over from surprise.

  It was Cat Tyburn, who’d replaced Han as streetlord of the Raggers. She stared back at him, frozen. Han blinked, looked again, and she was still Cat. She’d changed, and not for the better. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her at first.

  She’d always been thin, but now she was skin and bones, like a razorleaf user. Her eyes seemed to take up half her face, and they were cloudy and dull—likely from drink and leaf. She’d always been proud, but now she looked beaten down. There were holes in her ears and nose where her silver had been, and her silver bracelets and bangles were gone also. All of it lay in front of the sharp.

  Her face said that the last person she expected to see in the world was Han Alister.

  Han grabbed Boudreaux’s arm to steady himself and cover his amazement. As he did so, he slid a spare deck off the table and into his pocket, his mind working furiously.

  What was she doing there? Cat had been born in the islands, but as long as he’d known her, she’d never strayed far beyond the few blocks that made up Ragmarket. Why would she leave when she had a good gang, good turf, and a good living?

  More important, how could he help her out of the mess she was in? It sure wouldn’t do her any good to land in a Delphian jail.

  He could accuse Boudreaux of cheating, but he’d long ago learned to keep his mouth shut in a tavern unless he knew the clientele. For all he knew, he was surrounded by Boudreaux’s best mates.

  Cat still stared at Han like he’d crawled out of the grave and given her a cold cadaver kiss.

  “C’m over here, girlie,” Han slurred, taking her elbow. “Le’s you and me talk.” Her body went rigid under his hand, but she allowed him to tow her out of earshot of the pock-faced sharp.

  When they were at a safe distance, Han suddenly sobered up.

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

  “I could ask you the same question,” she retorted.

  “I asked first.”

  Cat’s face shuttered tight. “I had to leave Ragmarket.”

  “Who’s streetlord, then?” Han asked, stumbling into speech. “What about Velvet?”

  “Velvet’s dead,” Cat said. “They all are—or disappeared. No need for a streetlord in Ragmarket now.” She shivered, her ragged nails picking at her coat. “They came right after you left. Killed everyone. I’m alive because I wasn’t there.”

  “Who came?” Han asked, because it seemed expected, though he already knew.

  “Demons. Like the ones that did the Southies.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  Han’s mouth was dry as dust. “Did they — were they looking for me?”

  “Like I said, I wasn’t there.” Not an answer. “I didn’t know where you’d gone. I thought they’d hushed you too.”

  Bones. He left death behind him even when he went away. No wonder Cat was jittery.

  “I’m real sorry about Velvet,” Han said. “And — everything.”

  She just looked at him, eyes wide, shaking her head no.

  “Come on, girlie!” Boudreaux roared. “You two gonna talk all night or what? I want my money.”

  Han waggled his hand at the sharp to quiet him and leaned in close to Cat. “How much do you owe your friend over there?” he whispered.

  “Why?” Cat demanded with her usual charm. “What business is it of yours?”

  “I don’t got all night,” Han said. “How much?”

  She looked around the room, as if seeking escape from the question. “Twenty-seven girlies and some change,” she said.

  Hanalea’s blood and bones. Han had money, but not enough to pay off her debt and still get to Oden’s Ford. And he didn’t mean to beggar himself paying off a cheating needle point.

  Han tilted his head toward Boudreaux. “He’s cheating, you know.”

  “He is not!” Cat hissed, looking over her shoulder. “I’m cheating him.”

  Han knew not to smile. “Well.” He rubbed his chin. “He’s doing a better job.”

  Cat’s hand crept to the blade at her waist. “The thieving dung-eater. I should’ve known. Well, we’ll see how he looks without his—”

  “No.” Han put his hand on her arm to stay her. “I’ll play for you and win it back.”

  Cat jerked away from him. “Leave off, Cuffs. I don’t want your help. I got into this myself, and I’ll get out of it my own way.”

  “By cutting his throat?” Han shook his head. “In Ragmarket, maybe. You don’t want to get into trouble so far from home.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to owe you,” she said.

  Well, that he could understand. “You won’t owe me. I’m the one owes you a blood debt.”

  Again, she shook her head wordlessly, swallowing hard several times.

  “Let me do this,” Han said. “Please.”

  “Anyway, the needle point’s done,” Cat said. “He won’t play. He said so.”

  “He’ll play me,” Han said, pulling out a bulging purse and waving it under her nose.

  Cat’s eyes went wide again. She swept back her hair, trying to act offhand, like she saw that kind of plate every day. “What if you lose?”

  “Trust me. I won’t. I’m better than him,” Han said, looking into her eyes and willing her to believe him, though he had no idea why she would. “Just play along with me, all right?” he said. Facing away from the gambler, he prepped for the game, moved money around, stacked and stowed his cards while Cat watched, all squint-eyed.

  “All set. Come on,” he said, possessing her arm and strutting back to Boudreaux’s table like he was the cock of the yard. “I’ll cover the girlie’s debt,” he said to the sharp. “If you play me.”

  “Play you?” Boudreaux said disdainfully. “Nuh-uh. I told you I was done. If you want to pay what the girlie owes, go ahead, boy. If you even got the money.”

  “My da’s a trader,” Han said, conjuring an aggrieved expression. “I got plenty of money. See?” He plunked his full purse on the table, in the process knocking over the sharp’s glass of ale, spilling the remains. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “Don’t know m’own strength.” He plucked Boudreaux’s handkerchief out of the sharp’s pocket and mopped clumsily at the spillage.

  Boudreaux’s greedy eyes fastened on the purse. It was much more than Cat owed. “Well,” he said, wedging
himself back in his chair, “mayhap I can stay a little longer.” He snapped his fingers at the server. “Bring me another ale,” he said with a toothy smile.

  Han handed the sopping handkerchief back to Boudreaux and settled into the chair opposite the sharp. It figured. He had no trouble swaying a mark these days, now that he was out of the game. It was easier to believe in a sixteen-year-old with a wad of cash than a twelve-year. It was that lack of respect as a lytling that had forced him out of sharping into slide-hand and rushing on the streets.

  Now he was better suited to the con. He could play the role of the son of a trader, out on his own for the first time. A warm and loaded mark for sure.

  “You sit here, girlie,” Han said, patting the seat of the chair next to him and leering at Cat. “Bring me luck.”

  Cat perched on the edge of the chair, angled away from Han like she might catch the itches. Her hands twisted together in her lap, her face hard and inscrutable.

  “You deal first, boy,” Boudreaux said blandly. Typical sharp. Let the mark win first, to encourage him to bet bigger on the next round.

  Han shuffled the cards, at one point losing hold of them, spilling them onto the table. Careful, he thought. Don’t overdo it. He scooped them up and reshuffled them with the bleary, intense attention typical of the very drunk.

  It was easy enough to win the first round. Boudreaux folded, shaking his head mournfully, before there was much money on the table.

  “Ha!” Han crowed, closing his hand over Cat’s. She flinched as if stung, and he let go. “You’ve brought me luck already.” She just looked back at him, unsmiling.

  Why, Alister, why do you get yourself tangled up in these things? Han thought.

  Now Boudreaux dealt the cards, and won, though Han didn’t allow much money to go out before he called for display. After that, it was back and forth a few times, and at the end of it, Han was ahead by ten girlies. He continued to play the drunken fool, loudly celebrating his good fortune and boo-hooing when he lost.

  Han hadn’t even mucked the deck so far. The handkerchief was out of play, and Han ruined Boudreaux’s sleight of hand by insisting on cutting the cards before the deal. Plus he was naturally lucky at cards.

  As Mam had always said, Lucky at cards, or lucky at life. One or the other. Not both.

  Boudreaux’s enthusiasm waned along with his winnings. Cat just sat there scowling, as though Han were playing with her money.

  Time to finish this, Han thought. I’ll teach the sharp a lesson, send Cat away with her money, and go to bed. The deck came back to him, and this time he seized it in a sharp’s grip and mucked it good during the shuffle. Boudreaux made the cut, and Han remade the deck during the deal. He watched Boudreaux’s face as he scanned his cards. The sharp cradled his hand close to his chest like a baby, and Han knew he had him.

  They bet and raised and bet and raised, and soon there were stacks of girlies in the center of the table. The sharp asked for one card, and Han handed him the demon card that would seal the deal. Han fanned his cards within the shelter of his hands, peered at them, licked his lips nervously, and matched the sharp’s bets every time.

  Cat kept looking from Han to the stacks of money at the center of the table, twitching the way she did when she was nervous. If he lost, he’d be in the hole big time.

  But he wouldn’t lose.

  By now several patrons had wandered over from the bar to watch the action.

  “What about her silver?” Han asked, waving his hand at the pot as the wagers mounted. “Put that in and I’ll match it in girlies.” He grinned over at Cat.

  Boudreaux pushed Cat’s studs, bangles, and earrings into the center of the table. “Display,” he said, spreading his cards on the table. “A demon triple, red dominant.” He looked up at Han and grinned a wolfish grin.

  It was a fine hand. A very fine hand. That hand would beat just about anything. Except: “Four queens, Hanalea leads the line.” Han displayed his cards on the table and sat back, watching the sharp.

  For a long, charged moment, Boudreaux said nothing. He stared down at the table like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Reaching out his thick forefinger, he stirred the cards in front of him as if they might reveal something else.

  The flatland sharp opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish, and it took several tries before any sound came out. “That—that ain’t right!” he bellowed, slamming his hand down on the table, putting his replacement ale at risk.

  Han briskly raked his winnings into his carry bag and tossed it over his shoulder, leaving enough girlies on the table to pay Cat’s debt. The key in such situations was a quick getaway.

  Boudreaux’s piggy eyes narrowed with rage. He slung out an arm and took hold of Han’s shirtfront. “Not so fast,” he hissed.

  “Let go!” Han said, trying to pull free.

  “You’re a cheat!” Boudreaux shouted, producing a large curved knife from under his coat and pressing it against Han’s throat. “A cheat and a thief and a fraud.”

  The onlookers surrounding the table stepped back a pace.

  The blade was a nasty surprise. Most sharps and card muckers were cowards at heart, which was why they chose that mode of thievery. But Boudreaux outweighed Han twice over, and Han knew from experience that there was nobody more furious than a cheat cheated.

  Han thought of the flash under his shirt, the knives at his waist, wondering if he could reach either or any without getting his throat cut.

  “Now,” the sharp said, his florid face inches from Han’s, his beery breath pouring over him, “give over the bag, boy, and I might not cut off your ears.”

  Focused on the blade under his chin, Han didn’t quite follow what happened next. Boudreaux yelped and disappeared, hitting the floor hard enough to dent it. His knife spun across the room, nearly beheading a miner snoring softly at the next table.

  Han threw himself back, out of danger. Boudreaux flailed about on the floor like he had the spasms. And behind him, deftly avoiding his flying limbs, was Cat, a garrotte twisted around Boudreaux’s throat.

  Oh, right, Han thought. Cat was a deft flimper, as well as a demon with a blade.

  The sharp’s face turned red, then blue, and his eyes bulged out alarmingly. Cat bent low over Boudreaux, crooning to him, some lesson she wanted him to learn.

  Boudreaux’s flailing diminished, became less organized.

  “Cat!” Han shook off his astonishment and put his hand on her shoulder. “Leave him go. You don’t want to swing for him.”

  Cat looked up at him, blinking as if surfacing from a trance. She let go of Boudreaux and sat back on her heels, stuffing the garrote into her pocket.

  A commotion at the front drew Han’s attention. A clot of brown uniforms filled the doorway, colors of the Delphian Guard. Han swore, knowing he’d stayed too long. He stood slowly and pulled Cat to her feet. Keeping hold of her hand, Han began backing toward the rear door, but a bristle-bearded miner the size of a small mountain stepped into their path.

  “You’d best stay, boy, and take what’s coming to you for what you done,” he growled, grinning as though he personally were looking forward to the show.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Han complained, the refrain of his entire life. It was just his luck to get mixed up in a barroom brawl in a strange country and get tossed in gaol. It would mean a quick end to his career as a wizard sell-sword for the clans. He’d let down Dancer, who’d have to travel on alone. What was the last thing Dancer had said to him before he went up to bed? Stay out of trouble.

  Han closed his hand around the hilt of his knife, looking for the clearest path to the door. Then slowly he released his grip. He might get through the door, but he wouldn’t get away clean with Dancer upstairs and his horse in the stable.

  Cat pulled her hand free and drew her own blades, keeping them hidden flat against her forearms.

  “What’s going on?” one of the brownjackets demanded. He wore an officer’s scarf knotted aroun
d his neck, in unfamiliar flatland colors. He pointed at Boudreaux, still on the floor. The sharp rubbed his bruised throat and sucked air in great gasps. “What happened to him?” the officer asked.

  Han opened his mouth, but the miner beat him to it. “That cheating thiever Mace Boudreaux got beat at cards for oncet. Turns out he’s a sore loser. He jumped the boy what beat him, and we had to settle him.”

  To Han’s astonishment, heads nodded all around.

  “Who settled him?” the officer persisted.

  “We all did,” the miner said, glaring around the room as if daring someone to contradict him. “We all joined in.”

  It seemed that Cat was not the only one who’d lost money to Mace Boudreaux. He wasn’t getting much sympathy from this crowd.

  “Where’s the boy what beat him?” the guardsman demanded.

  For a moment, nobody spoke, but then Han’s miner gave him a shove forward. “This is the one,” he said. “He done it.”

  The brownjacket looked Han up and down as if he couldn’t believe it. “Good at cards, are you, boy?” He raised an eyebrow.

  Han shrugged. “I get by.” He felt rather than saw Cat moving up beside him. Just like the old days, when Cat had his back.

  The brownjacket grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’d like to buy you a drink, then,” he said, and the rest of the patrons whistled and clapped and stamped their feet.

  It just goes to show you, Han thought. You never know who’s in the room when you get into a fight.

  It was a struggle to get out of there after that. Boudreaux recovered and slunk away unnoticed. Han had to turn down a dozen offers of drinks or he’d have ended up under the table. Cat retreated to a corner, seeming to disappear into the shadows, but every time he turned to look, her eyes were fixed on him.

  Probably wants her money, he thought.

  It was near closing time when he finally extricated himself from the crowd of well-wishers and joined Cat at her table. Fishing into his carry bag, he withdrew a handful of girlies and counted them out.

  She watched, saying nothing. Han didn’t expect effusive thanks, but still. Cat usually had plenty to say.