by Tara Sim
“That could be the case,” Liesl said slowly, “or else we’re missing some crucial connection.”
“What do we do now?” Amaya asked as Avi hauled the man over his shoulder, grunting at his weight.
“I was hoping for a different outcome, but I suppose a name is better than nothing. We’ll just need to find this gambler and see if he knows more.” Liesl took a deep breath. “And while we work on that, there’s someone else I can set my sights on.”
Amaya’s stomach squirmed. “Basque.”
“Adrienne,” Liesl corrected. Deadshot took her hand, and Liesl gave her a small smile. “While we search for the distributor of the counterfeit money, we might also be able to find out where they took my sister.”
If only we could see each other’s worth, The death of our demons, a new star’s birth.
—KHARIAN SONG
Cayo hid a yawn in his elbow, grimacing as it allowed a fresh wave of fish stink to enter his mouth. It was dawn at the docks, and Victor was going through his business ledger as Cayo set up the fish on ice, their own little routine.
He’d been doing this for a week now, but it had only gotten marginally easier. He still dropped fish, misjudged how much ice was in the bucket, and got lost during deliveries. Victor barked at him when he messed up, clapping his hands to make Cayo hurry and muttering to himself in Soléne. The man didn’t know that Cayo’s Soléne had been returning to him more and more and that he could actually understand what the fishmonger was saying, curses and all.
But Cayo was determined to keep at it. Just the other day he had visited Soria and noticed the difference the treatment was making, the way she was able to stay awake longer, the way she coughed less frequently. He still had to make up the difference for the treatment’s cost, but if he found a way to keep making payments, then maybe… maybe she really could be cured.
Besides, it was now a matter of principle. Yesterday he had walked into the apartment to find Deadshot handing Avi a couple of coppers.
“What’s that for?” Cayo had asked.
“We had a bet that you wouldn’t last a week at the fish market,” Avi had explained. “I had the utmost faith in you, though. This one didn’t.” Deadshot smirked.
“Take a bath before we start training,” Liesl had told him, not even looking up from the news sheet she was reading. “You smell like a merman’s balls.”
“Do mermen have balls?” Avi asked.
Amaya, drinking tea, had looked Cayo up and down. “So? How does it feel, working with fish all day?”
He recognized the sting of a barb when he heard one. Cayo had tried to meet her stare, but in the end he’d muttered something about washing up and escaped to his bedroom.
He held a fish in his hand now, gazing at its pale underbelly. He imagined Amaya sinking a knife into its flesh and scraping out its insides, repeating the process for hours on end. Day in and day out. For seven years.
On board his father’s ship.
“Where you gone?” Victor clapped loudly beside Cayo’s ear, making him jump. “Move!”
Cayo kept his head down as he piled the fish onto the ice. Customers were beginning to trickle in, the first rush before the midmorning lull, which was usually when Victor made him do deliveries.
His task done, Cayo stood and stretched out his back. Between working at the market for hours, followed by training, followed by running to the hospital to see Soria before visitation ended, he was completely exhausted. By the end of every day he was usually out as soon as his head hit the pillow. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been this tired.
He took refuge behind the stall, sitting on his usual stool and bracing his elbows on his knees. Victor typically dealt with the customers, not trusting Cayo’s shaky Soléne to get him through an encounter. Cayo was all too happy to let him, giving himself an opportunity to people watch.
He’d noticed more sailors and visitors entering the harbor with those green squares pinned to their clothes. Cayo wondered what happened to those who didn’t pass inspection, if the quarantine bays were full and if the infected were now being forced to turn back around.
Victor swore suddenly. Cayo immediately thought it had something to do with him, but Victor was glaring at a woman browsing the eels nearby. She was tall and willowy, and wore a fine pink dress that flared over her hips. Her brown curls were nestled under a wide-brimmed hat, her hands covered in gloves of white lace.
Cayo didn’t see what the fuss was about. He had seen plenty of women like this in Moray, out for a stroll under Rehanese-style parasols. But the girl who worked the stall beside theirs was also glaring at the woman.
“Who is she?” Cayo asked her. He needed an excuse to practice his Soléne.
The girl blinked at him. “How should I know?”
“Everyone seems to be… I don’t know… targeting her.” The other vendors made a show of putting on wide smiles for her, exchanging pleasantries as she passed, but as soon as she turned away their faces fell into scowls.
“We don’t need to know her name to know she’s part of the nobility.” The girl crossed her arms, a defensive pose. “A beautiful, rich traitor.”
“I don’t understand. What makes her a traitor?”
“Chalier was incorporated into the Rain Empire because of people like her.” The girl turned and spat. “They got to keep their precious wealth while the military stormed in, beating and herding the rest of us.”
Cayo bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of Moray. Now that the prince was dead, what would become of his home? Would it be incorporated into the Rain Empire due to the cowardice and greed of the gentry? Would his father be at the forefront of that movement? And what about the Sun Empire, who had always wanted possession of Moray and its trade routes?
“Surely it’s not just the gentry’s fault,” he said. “The empire was the one taking your land.”
“The empire took our land, but the gentry takes things from us all the time.” Her crossed arms tightened. “My friend got ash fever a few months ago. She tried to be admitted into a hospital, but they were already full of the infected upper class. They bribed the city officials to close off the hospitals just for them. So we cared for her as best we could.” Her eyes shone as a tear fell over one freckled cheek. “She was evicted from her apartment—too sick to work. She died on the streets before we could find her.”
Cayo averted his gaze. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He swallowed, his throat tight and dry. “My sister has it, too.”
The girl gave him a look of sympathy, one he didn’t deserve. “Then you should understand our hate.”
He did. He felt it now, reminded of the injustice of who received treatment and who was left to suffer. The most vulnerable members of society were essentially being told their lives didn’t matter. That if they couldn’t pay for medicine, they were already as good as dead.
But as the woman came to Victor’s stall, as she smiled and pointed with a delicately laced finger at which fish she wanted wrapped up, Cayo couldn’t help but yearn for a time when company like hers was normal. When he had been ignorant of the division between the classes, when he could escape into the crowd and pretend to be common for a night.
Then he wondered what Amaya would think of that. Cayo cringed, suddenly embarrassed for himself. She saw him as a child of privilege, something that had once angered him, offended him—but it was true. He had been a part of the problem. Probably still was.
He could work to undo it all his life, but it wouldn’t change the devastation it had caused. Money, debt… it ruled the world, and the rich were content to keep it that way.
Victor let his smile fall as soon as the woman moved away. He snapped at Cayo. “You, go to this address.”
Cayo reluctantly took the square of paper ripped from Victor’s ledger, then perked up when he recognized the address. It belonged to the alchemist, Florimond.
Maybe I can ask him for a part-time position again, he thought with prickling excitement.
>
And that would mean more money for Soria and a way to investigate the alchemists—and potentially help find a cure. Smiling, Cayo hefted the sack of fish over his shoulder and took off, the sun warm against his back.
He passed a residential street, watching a woman beat the dirt and dust out of some rugs outside her home. When the street fed into the main thoroughfare, he stopped cold.
A checkpoint had been erected in the middle of the street. Citizens were lined up before the contingent of military guards, whose jackets were a dark blue trimmed in white. An officer was examining paperwork at the front, granting citizens access to the other side once they cleared inspection.
Cayo ducked around the corner and pressed his back against the wall, pulse racing.
He had forgotten his forged paperwork in the apartment. Liesl was going to murder him.
That is, if he didn’t get thrown in jail.
But if he didn’t get to the other side of the street and make this delivery, Victor would assuredly fire him—and he would lose another chance to convince Florimond.
Cayo gently knocked his head back against the wall. “Shit.” There was only one thing he could do, and that was use the cramped, dark side streets to evade the checkpoint. It would take him much longer, and he would certainly get lost, but it was either that or a jail cell.
Heaving a nervous sigh, he pushed away from the wall and found the nearest alley. He was well acquainted with the alleys in Moray, and the ones in Baleine were no different; they ranged from harmless to foul, from laundry hanging out to dry to mounds of trash and… worse things.
The sounds of the crowd disappeared the deeper into the maze he went. He kept his eyes on the ground, not wanting to step in anything he’d regret. Which was how he ran into the three people he least wanted to see.
They jumped down from a balcony, blocking off his escape routes. Cayo tensed as they closed in, tightening his grip on the bag of fish.
“Well, well,” said the short boy. “We were waitin’ for folks to come by to escape the checkpoint, but this’s an unexpected treat!”
“Yeah, I think we’re fast becoming friends,” the girl sneered. “You’re not stalkin’ us, are you, pretty boy?”
“I should be asking you that,” Cayo said tersely, making sure to keep his eye on their positions. Liesl had instructed him to always be aware of his opponent’s body, the way they moved, how even a twitch could give away what they were about to do.
“You know the routine by now,” said the short boy, crooking a finger. “Hand it over.”
“I haven’t gotten paid for the day.” They didn’t have to know he had some niera in his pocket right now, still short what was owed to the hospital.
“Gotta have something,” the tall boy said. “What’s in the bag?”
“Buried treasure,” Cayo said flatly. “What does it smell like? It’s fish.”
“Fetch a nice price at the market,” the girl directed to the short boy. “And make a good dinner.”
“No need to tell me twice.” The boy grinned, his incisors sharp. “C’mon, friend, let’s do it the easy way this time.”
Cayo slowly lowered the bag to the ground. The three pickpockets smiled, but their expressions turned to surprise when Cayo raised his fists.
“Oh, you don’t wanna do that,” said the tall boy. He actually looked pitying.
“Nah, let’s see what he’s got up his sleeve,” said the short boy, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet as he lifted his fists as well. “Let me have it, pretty boy.”
He and Cayo circled one another. Cayo’s heart tapped a nervous rhythm against his breastbone, but he couldn’t stop to wonder what in the hells he was doing; he had to prove that he could handle himself, that he was capable of learning and adapting.
He was too slow to evade the punch that connected with his jaw.
The other two hollered as Cayo staggered back, touching the spot where the boy’s knuckles had barked against his jawbone. Pain lanced up his cheek, a sharp ache that momentarily wiped his mind blank.
“Whew!” The boy shook out his hand. “Again?”
Cayo dutifully raised his fists, and the boy laughed in approval. The other two thieves cheered him on as they circled once more, Cayo trying to drive out the ringing in his head in order to focus on the boy’s small yet stocky frame.
A slight twist in his torso. Cayo stepped to the side, avoiding the boy’s jab, and rushed in with an uppercut that sank into the boy’s stomach.
“Oof!” The boy stumbled backward, wheezing with laughter. “Gettin’ better!”
Cayo gritted his teeth at the patronizing tone, then immediately regretted it as pain shot across his jaw again. Making use of the distraction, the boy came at him with a quick series of punches, catching Cayo in the chest and arm as Cayo attempted to hook his foot around the boy’s ankle. It was a move he had practiced with Amaya, much to his despair, as it involved quite a lot of physical contact.
But even though he managed to hook the boy’s ankle and knock him off balance, the boy quickly turned them around and got Cayo pinned under him. Cayo growled and tried to break free, but the boy might as well have been made of brick.
“Nice try!” the boy said, cheerful. “You almost got me!”
Then he sank his fist into Cayo’s stomach, repaying him for the earlier hit. All the breath rushed out of him as the boy rooted through his pockets and took the niera for himself. Cayo curled up on his side when the boy climbed off him, saliva dripping from his open mouth.
“Thanks for the fish!” the girl called as they ran off. “Better luck next time!”
Their laughter echoed down the alleyway as Cayo struggled to his feet. The bag was gone; his money was gone. He would have also said his dignity was gone, but that had been handed over a long time ago.
“Damn it.” He held his throbbing head in dirty hands. What good were these training sessions if they weren’t paying off? If he still got jumped and taken advantage of?
Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do what has to be done.
Usually his voice of reason sounded like Soria, which was why the memory of his father’s voice came like a douse of cold water.
They had been sitting in his father’s office at home. Kamon Mercado had been pacing, furious, while Cayo had sat slumped and hungover in the chair before his desk.
“I’ve given you everything,” his father had seethed. “Anything you could possibly want, and this is how you repay your family? By going out and gambling away our money, drinking yourself to death, whoring yourself out to whomever you like?”
Cayo had sank farther into the chair, wishing his drinking had brought him death.
“You’re going to fix this,” his father had said, pointing a stern finger at him. “Whatever it takes, Cayo, you’re going to do it. Not only for this family and our reputation, but for your own self-worth. Do you understand?”
Cayo had mumbled something about it being too hard.
“Don’t give me excuses. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do what has to be done.”
In the present, Cayo sighed and dropped his hands. He supposed what needed to be done was return to Victor and explain what had happened.
But first, he had to take a risk.
When Cayo walked into Florimond’s strange shop, the man was dealing with a customer. Cayo waited near some shelves, an arm wrapped around his torso as he swayed on his feet. As the customer left, she gave Cayo a nervous look.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the older man barked in Rehanese. “Coming in here caked in dirt and bruised like rotten fruit. You’ll scare away my customers!”
“S-sorry.” Cayo shuffled forward, and the man adjusted his glasses.
“You’re Victor’s delivery boy. Where’s my fish?”
“I, uh…” Cayo shifted, suppressing a wince. “As my appearance would suggest, I was robbed.”
“Robbed.” The word was flat, emotionless.
“They took my money,
as well as your fish. I’m really sorry.”
“So instead of returning to Victor to get it sorted, you came here to track filth into my store and tell me there’s no delivery?”
Cayo flushed. “I…”
He remembered all the times he had gotten in trouble in Moray: with his father, with the Slum King, even Soria. Cayo had developed an entire retinue of excuses and methods to find the fastest, easiest route out of punishment, and he frantically searched through them now.
His eyes began to well with tears as his lower lip trembled.
“I… I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick and warbling. “I couldn’t stop them, and I just thought you should know what had happened.…”
Florimond took a step back at Cayo’s sudden display of emotion. “Well, that’s—”
“I’m trying so hard to make money so that I can take care of my sister. But what I make isn’t enough, and now these thieves have stolen all I have and your delivery, and I’m afraid…” His breath hitched, and this time he didn’t have to feign the agony in his words. “I’m afraid I’ll be fired, and that I’ll lose her!”
Florimond was visibly sweating as Cayo sobbed, perhaps a little too loud to be believable, but the man seemed convinced as he frantically waved his hands through the air.
“It’s fine, it’s fine! I’ll send along a note to Victor and tell him not to fire you, you can’t help it if there were thieves.”
“But even then, what I make with Victor isn’t enough,” Cayo mumbled, sniffing. “If I can’t find a way to provide for my sister, she… We’ve already lost our parents.… She’s the only one I have left.…”
Florimond sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in the back. Cayo did his best to look as miserable as he felt.
“You asked me last time if you can help me out around the store,” Florimond muttered. “I can’t pay much, but if it’ll get you to stop blubbering, you can come work a few hours each week. But you’ll have to move heavy boxes and other such grunt work. You don’t touch my experiments.”
