“I’m sure it is,” the Maire says.
“Is what?”
“His name. Hawk. Do you speak often? Because you seem to have a problem with clarity.”
The Maire lifts a spoonful of the creamy soup, blows on it, and tips it past his lips. Across the table from her, Glint grabs his spoon in a white-knuckled grip. His nostrils flare as he sucks angry breaths into his lungs. Myrrh extends her leg under the table and touches his shin with her foot. He jumps, catches her eyes, then makes a visible effort to relax.
Myrrh takes a bite of her soup to help him along. The taste is divine, bursting with herbs and garlic and some kind of springy meat.
“So this is where the story gets really interesting,” she says. “It had been three days since my father left our guesthouse in West Fifth, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I took my personal bodyguard”—she waves at Mink in the antechamber—“and went down to Rat Town to find him. As you can imagine, I was shocked by the squalor, but people there were so helpful. Half a day later, I was knocking on Glint’s door. And it turns out, he and my father had been talking about going into business together.”
The Maire rolls his eyes. “Wonder of wonder. And did you have any notion what kind of business this was? I believe I recently mentioned my son’s criminal enterprises.”
“Oh, well, my father was known to…hmm…get creative with his methods. But only when it would truly benefit people in need. And from what I’ve learned in the days since Glint promised to help me locate my da, your son shares the same altruism. I feel so fortunate. And frankly, besotted.”
She turns a cloying smile on Glint, trying to drag him out of his funk with the ridiculous act. He doesn’t look up from his soup.
“Ah,” the Maire says, spooning another bite of soup into his mouth. “But you see, in Ostgard, we don’t allow creativity in business methods. The city depends on the tariffs we impose and those who work outside the system only harm the poor workers.”
“But that’s just it!” Myrrh says. “It works so much better when the benefits go directly to the people who work so hard for them. That’s what Da always says, and he runs his businesses according to those principles. Back home, the people love him. They run out of their houses when his barges come to the docks. Once your son and I are married, I can’t wait to bring him home and show him off.”
Maybe she’s overdoing it, but the Scythe is getting more and more interested.
The Maire sneers at Glint. “So you’re planning to rescue the damsel by freeing her father. How’s that going?”
“Actually,” Glint says, sitting up straight, “I thought you might have an idea where we might find him. The Shield Watch does report to you, right? They wouldn’t imprison a man without trying him for his crimes, would they?”
Glint glares at his father.
His father smiles back.
“Wait! That’s right!” Myrrh turns wide eyes to the Maire. “You would know if anything terrible happened to my father, right? His name is Hawk.”
“We had a deal, father,” Glint says in a low voice.
“And I’m keeping my end of it.”
“How do I know that?” Glint’s soup splashes when he drops his spoon into the bowl. “Why should I do your dirty work without seeing proof you can uphold your end of the bargain?”
The Maire’s eyes narrow. “It’s proof you want? Care to escort your darling—and vapid headed—fiancée to Craghold? I think she’d find it interesting to learn what our city does to smugglers and crooks. Seeing as she wants to marry one.”
“Craghold, huh? It sounds like you’ve done great things with our ancestral home.”
“It’s secure and beyond the reach of my…adversaries. I find it quite useful as a place to store important things.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Myrrh asks, looking from one to the other. Craghold. So the Maire has converted their ancestral home into his private prison? She planned to bait the conversation until he gave up enough information for her to find Hawk. Has she succeeded?
She fixes her gaze on Glint, willing him to confirm. With the faintest nod, he speaks. “It’s nothing, darling. Just my father blustering about the home we left so that he could grow our fortune in Ostgard. He assumes you’d be aghast at the mountain weather. But I know you’re hardier than that, right?”
She looks down as if embarrassed by the praise. “If I were with you, it wouldn’t matter where we lived. We’d have to bring Da, of course.”
“Isn’t this adorable?” The Maire rolls his eyes.
Myrrh hikes up her dress to reach the thigh holster where she sheathed her dagger. She glances into the antechamber and catches Mink’s gaze. The assassin watches as Myrrh picks up her wine glass, takes two sips in quick sequence, and sets it back down. That’s the signal. Mink springs, knives flashing. Within heartbeats, she has a blade at the throat of one of the Scythe’s underlings. The other’s arm is pinned to the wood paneling, a long knife stuck through the wrist and out the other side. Blood spurts from the wound.
Myrrh jumps and knocks the Maire’s chair over backward. She falls down after him and lands with a knee on the man’s chest, her dagger at his throat.
“No!”
Relief spreads through her when Glint shouts. He’s fast. She knows how fast. An eyeblink later, his weight falls across her, shielding her from the Scythe’s quickly drawn sword.
The Scythe is loyal to the Maire’s family line. But not to the Maire himself, necessarily. To the family, as vowed under the old oaths of the crags. All these years, she’s faithfully executed the Maire’s commands, imprisoning and killing innocent people because her unbreakable oaths demanded it. During this time, she’s believed Glint to be dead or vanished. But tonight, the conversation has proved without a doubt that the Maire’s son is alive. More, he’s chosen a would-be bride to continue the family name.
She can’t strike Glint. And with the right convincing, it will be obvious she can’t strike Myrrh either. Not the future mother of her next oathlord.
Glint rolls slowly, jabbing Myrrh with elbows and knees as he does everything he can to defend her with his body. Beneath her, the Maire groans and feebly calls for help.
“Take command,” Myrrh whispers. “She’s yours by oath.”
“What?”
Myrrh speaks louder so the Scythe can hear. “Her oath is to the family line, not a single individual. You are the future of your household. More, you’ll never demand the cruelties your father has. She can choose you without breaking her vows.”
She feels muscles tighten in his back as he understands her plan. Slowly, his arms drop, still shielding her, but no longer upheld in defense.
“Tell your men they are not to attack us,” he says in a level voice.
“Dob. Relenz. Stand down.” The Scythe’s voice is full of more than command. Her tone practically drips with relief over being released from the Maire’s cruel rule.
Myrrh removes her dagger from the man’s throat. She was ready to kill him tonight to ensure that Glint was the only remaining heir to the family line. But it won’t be necessary.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE MAIRE SHOUTS through his gag—one of his expensive linen napkins—as Mink grins and scratches his neck with the tip of one of her knives. A drop of blood runs down to his collar. Almost immediately, his pupils dilate, and he goes limp but not completely unconscious. Susceptible to commands, able to stagger forward while supported by someone lending a shoulder.
The effects of the very light dose of nightbark coating Mink’s blade.
Myrrh steps into the kitchen as Mink unfastens the gag. The servants look up in alarm, sure that their master has come to punish them for some inadequacy in the meal.
“Missus?” says the servant who opened the front door. Remembering the disdain on his face when he first looked at her, Myrrh is tempted to say nothing. Let him be surprised when a band of hardened criminals arri
ves to ransack the place. But that’s just petty.
“You should leave the premises. All of you. It won’t be safe here in half an hour.”
“The Maire would not—”
“I’m not going to waste time convincing you. We’re taking the Maire with us. Feel free to watch us go.”
She spins on her heels and hurries back into the dining room. Mink and Glint have the Maire on his feet, his arms slung over their shoulders. He looks like a stumbling drunk. Steely gaze firm, the Scythe nods. Her presence will be enough to discourage questions.
“Your associates will arrive soon,” Myrrh says to the Slivers thief as they exit the front door. “Finish your work, and be out of the district an hour before dawn.”
He nods and shuts the door behind them, and then they’re alone in the streets, a small group of concerned family escorting the Maire somewhere he can sober up beyond the judging eyes of the city council. The Scythe trails behind with one of her underlings. The other, the man who suffered Mink’s knife through the wrist, disappeared at the Scythe’s command. Likely sent to bandage his wound and pass the word to the other blades in service to the Scythe. Their allegiance has changed.
Near the alley where they entered the district, Glint shifts the burden of his father onto Mink and steps toward Myrrh.
“Impressively done,” he says as he looks down at her. He’s standing close enough she can smell the sandalwood that seems to cling to his skin even after his days of imprisonment.
She swallows and shifts back. A flash of sadness crosses his face.
“What are your plans for him?” he asks in a low voice. “I have no love for the man. Quite the opposite. But…”
But it’s difficult with family. So she’s heard. Myrrh doesn’t remember her parents.
“I was prepared to kill him if necessary,” she says. “I won’t lie about that. Hawk’s life is worth twenty of his.”
“But you won’t.”
She shakes her head.
His shoulders sag in what looks like a mix of relief and disappointment.
At the storm drain, Myrrh crouches and hisses to the waiting Slivers men. Noble swings the grate open and clambers—agile despite his stocky build and advancing years—onto the street. His eyes widen at the sight of their captive. Myrrh might not have seen the Maire in person before tonight, but clearly the Slivers kingpin has.
“Help us get him down, and you’re free to take your pickings,” she says.
With a nod, he whispers low commands to his thieves. Moments later, the Maire is slumped in a heap against the tunnel wall, and the Slivers gang is skulking in the alley, peering nervously toward the well-lit street ahead.
Myrrh stands facing Noble, her feet planted and arms crossed. “Move through the streets alone or in pairs. Walk with purpose, and no one will bother you. Be gone from the district an hour before dawn.”
“And be discreet,” Mink adds, “or you’ll ruin opportunities for every sixing thief in the city.”
Noble nods.
“We square then?” Myrrh asks. “Glint’s free to go, and you have your loot.”
“Square,” he says.
With a nod, Myrrh climbs down the ladder. The looting will keep Noble busy for at least another few hours. Plenty of time to finish out her plan.
***
At the tunnel mouth, Mink grabs the hooded lantern and starts flashing a signal. On the next island, a hunched figure picks up the command and passes it to the next pillar. More low-level members of Glint’s organization will pass the word from there.
Myrrh bounces on her toes, fingers absently working the sign of the Queen of Nines, until she spots the light from a barge sweeping around the first downstream turn where the river starts its S curve around Maire’s Quarter and the Neck. She holds her breath as the shout travels over the water, the command for the oarsmen to paddle backward. The barge slows as it approaches the bridge. In the bow, her newly hired spotter, a down-on-her-luck smuggler from Carp’s Refuge, raises the lantern high and calls directions to the man at the tiller. The central openings in the bridge are easier for downstream traffic to navigate through, but Myrrh didn’t want to attempt to bring the Maire across any of the gaps.
She winces when the nose of the barge grazes the retaining wall, but a quick correction on the part of the tillerman rights the barge and slides it into the gap. The vessel is moving too fast for conversation as the spotter passes. Myrrh settles for a nod of approval. When the center of the barge is directly below the exit to the storm drain, Mink laughs and throws the Maire down onto the deck. He lands in a heap, oblivious to his surroundings. Myrrh smirks when she imagines his reaction once the nightbark wears off. By then, her bargemen will have the man restrained and imprisoned in the cabin.
It’s a long journey down the Ost, onto the wide sea beyond the Port Cities, and along a sheltered course of island hopping to a particular debtor’s colony near the Hevish Archipelago. She’s learned a lot of geography over the past few days of planning this operation. It should be an interesting journey for a man who’s known nothing but obedience all his life.
Her new bargemen will need to exercise self-restraint to avoid harming the man who imposed the tariffs that kept them in abject poverty all these years. But she thinks they’re up to the task. Especially now that she’s offering them eighty percent of the profits from future trade. The recently refitted barge is currently loaded with Inner Kingdom goods. She bartered them from Jak in exchange for the rest of the spice haul. This first cargo won’t make her new crew rich, but it’s a start, and with the coin they earn, they’ll be able to stack the decks for a return journey.
It’s the beginning of her smuggling empire, just one of the things she has planned for her future.
With the Maire taken care of, Myrrh steps back and shakes Mink’s hand. So far so good. Now to wait for vessels to get them out of Maire’s Quarter. Glint’s people should have already started moving toward Rat Town, but she hopes to make it there in time to catch at least some of the action.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
UNFORTUNATELY, GLINT’S people are too fast. By the time she strides into Rat Town, velvet dress dragging in the mud and followed by a bewildered Glint, there’s a trail of Slivers thieves sprawled in the streets. Most are still alive, clutching their heads as they regain consciousness or wrapping bandages around sliced-up limbs. When they spot Glint, they raise hands in additional surrender.
The taverns and gambling dens that served as bases of operations for the Slivers syndicate now blaze with light. Like exterminators evicting vermin, Glint’s people throw anyone who argues out into the street. Guards with arms the size of ships’ masts now stand over the entrances.
After a few blocks spent shuffling forward and gawking, Glint finally stops in his tracks.
“How?”
She shrugs. “It was your plan.”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
From a long pocket stitched against her rib cage, she pulls out the paper with his notes on the Slivers dens and defenses. Glint steps under a lantern to read.
He swallows.
“Yes, it was in your locked drawer.”
“Then you found the letter from my father. That’s how you put things together.”
“And the locket with a picture of your mother. I thought it was a girlfriend you hadn’t mentioned.”
He chews his lip and looks down. “I don’t want to think about how you felt when finding this stuff.”
“Angry. Betrayed. Fortunately, I got a chance to vent already, back when you were tied to a chair.”
“I”—he shakes his head—“what’s the use of another apology? I can’t even forgive myself. Anyway, you used my notes to organize a strike. But Slivers is a massive syndicate. Too big for us to take on.” He watches another Slivers thief get shoved out onto the street. “Or so I thought.”
“The Slivers syndicate is no different than your organi
zation. Without leadership, the underlings just aren’t capable of organizing.”
His eyes widen with sudden understanding. “And their leaders are currently picking through my father’s possessions. Oblivious to what’s going on here.”
“Exactly.”
“What happens when they return? We don’t have the resources to hold both Rat Town and Lower Fringe. I assume the situation with the recruits from Porcelain Hand is tense, at best.”
“They won’t return, at least not with any ability to lead.”
A brief flash of guilt tightens Myrrh’s chest until she remembers the things Noble said about grubbers. He was willing to trade Hawk’s life for the mere chance to punish Glint for a birth he didn’t choose. Noble’s inner circle is no better. She’s worked in Rat Town long enough to know that.
“Explain.”
“Noble was insistent that I supply his team with glimmer. Rumors about the advantages it’s been giving your organization have spread, it seems.”
The guilt must be clear in her voice because Glint touches her arm. He jerks his hand away when she stiffens. The gentle smile that had teased the corners of his mouth vanishes. Myrrh has to look away to keep from reacting. Until Hawk is free, emotions are just a distraction.
“Sorry,” she says. “Jumpy tonight.”
“And you still aren’t ready to forgive me.”
“I’m working on it.”
“So the glimmer…you changed the dose?”
She nods. “Four times what we use. That should be enough, I assume.”
He glances toward the eastern sky. A few hours until dawn still. “I imagine so. When the sun rises, they’ll be glimmer-blind.”
“Whites, as you called them, right?”
“Unable to handle sunlight without extreme pain. Even lanterns will be difficult. You made some powerful enemies today, Myrrh. I wonder if I should send people to ambush them on the way out of Maire’s Quarter.”
Mistress of Thieves (Chronicles of a Cutpurse Book 1) Page 18
