Ravage the Dark: 2 (Scavenge the Stars)

by Tara Sim

  Amaya tried to ignore the ache in her chest as they ducked into a back room. Focus.

  There were no windows here, so Deadshot lit a lantern. The back room was wide yet cramped with equipment and bookshelves, tables crowded with half-finished experiments and hastily scrawled notes.

  Liesl peered into a barrel full of sand, even scooping up a handful and letting it trickle back down through her fingers. “There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s split up and search. Look for anything incriminating—letters, notes, coins.”

  Amaya wandered toward the corner farthest from Cayo. She came across a table covered in jars and beakers and vials, filled with herbs both dried and soaking in colored solutions. There was a stone mortar and pestle beside them, stained green.

  “Where’s that box of letters?” Liesl asked. Cayo pointed to the shelves, and she got to work on unlocking it.

  Amaya was riffling through a notebook when Cayo swore at full volume. Liesl whirled around to scold him but stopped at what she saw.

  He had opened a burlap sack containing a mound of brinies. The scallop-like creatures were already dead and beginning to molt, their outer flesh hardening and tinged with a golden hue.

  “This is it, then,” Liesl said. “This is where the counterfeits get made. Or one of the places, at least. Who knows how many alchemists are in on it?”

  Cayo stared down at the brinies, a hand over his mouth. Eventually he lowered it. “This… This isn’t the bag I delivered to him.” Relief made his voice shake. “But this doesn’t make sense. He said Deirdre isn’t his patron!”

  “Regardless, he must still be in on the plot. Maybe Deirdre’s not as involved as we thought.”

  “What do we do?” Amaya asked.

  “We look for any other evidence and leave. We’ll hand over everything we can find to Remy, who can report it to his senior officers.”

  Deadshot uncovered a workstation that had been hidden under a tarp, revealing a set of metal tools and a pile of black discs in the size of solstas. That in itself was damning, but even that couldn’t compare to what Liesl found once the wooden box on the shelf clicked open.

  “Here we go,” she whispered, pulling out a letter. “The fool didn’t even think to burn these.”

  “Who’re they from?” Deadshot asked.

  Liesl scanned the words, then looked at Cayo.

  His face hardened in understanding. “My father,” he said.

  Liesl nodded and handed him the letter. Amaya couldn’t help but creep closer, but the words were in Soléne, not Rehanese. She still recognized Mercado’s signature at the bottom.

  “It’s addressed to the Benefactor,” Liesl said grimly. “He says that he’s sent the latest batch of brinies as promised, but that he’s having trouble finding enough for the next batch.”

  Cayo looked up from the letter, barely concealed rage in his eyes. “That doesn’t make sense. If he’s making his own counterfeit money in Moray, why would he be sending the brinies here?”

  “Brinies are only found in the south,” Amaya said. Her father’s notes had said as much. “Maybe he can’t make it all himself, needs an alchemist to make it for him?”

  “Or,” Liesl said, already reading the next letter, “maybe it wasn’t even his idea to begin with.”

  “What?”

  Liesl read the letter out loud. “‘I’m tired of playing this game with you. I have done all you’ve asked and given you the recipe, so you must release me from my debt. I have done my part here in the city and have no more to contribute. Now I must watch Moray fall while you gloat half a world away.’”

  Amaya bit her thumb, remembering what Remy had told them about Mercado’s debts to the Rain Empire. To the Benefactor in particular. “In the currency exchange offices we only found records of money being sent to Mercado, and not the other way around. What if he tried to use the counterfeits to pay off his own debts, and when Deirdre realized it she demanded the recipe for herself?”

  Liesl nodded. “Which means the counterfeit money Mercado integrated into Moray didn’t only come from him, it came from the Benefactor as well. Mercado was paying off his debt by spreading it for them.”

  “Why?” Cayo demanded, the letter shaking in his hand. “Why would my father do that to his own city?”

  “Desperate men do stupid things,” Deadshot muttered. “He likely didn’t want to face the debt collectors, or a noose.”

  “Deirdre claimed she was going to use alchemy as a weapon,” Amaya said softly. “To reclaim Moray. Setting off an economic crisis would give her an opening.”

  “But that doesn’t line up with her comment about Gohmer,” Liesl grumbled, beginning to pace. “Or that she’s also working on a cure. And then there’s the fact that Florimond said his patron isn’t Deirdre. Could he be lying?”

  “What if she wants to start a war with the Sun Empire?” Cayo ventured. “They both want Moray’s trade routes. They want to profit off the casinos.”

  “No chance of that now that they’re flooded with counterfeits,” Amaya said.

  She finally met Cayo’s gaze. He was clearly shaken, but he still held himself solid and uncompromising. There were a thousand things left unsaid in his expression, but she read one thing clear enough: They had to put a stop to this.

  Then his eyes slid to a point over her shoulder and widened.

  It was all the warning she needed to drop and roll out of the way before a bullet crashed through the room. Amaya ducked behind a table and checked the others, but they didn’t seem to be hit. Cayo and Deadshot had both whipped out their guns, training them on the figure of the middle-aged man Amaya had seen earlier that night.

  Florimond shuffled inside, a gun shaking between his hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Liesl kept her calm, standing slowly and lifting her hands in a show of surrender. “Trying to expose what exactly you’re doing. Not a very legal trade you’re in, is it?”

  Florimond scowled. “That’s none of your business. You have no right—”

  Liesl continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You realize what your creations are doing to the city, yes? The fever, the overrun hospitals, the inflation of prices—”

  “Shut up!” Florimond jerked his gun toward Liesl, making Deadshot growl in warning. He glanced at Cayo with a curling upper lip. “Who even are you? Who sent you here?”

  “We should be the ones asking you that,” Amaya said, sliding a knife from her sleeve. “You’re working with Kamon Mercado, aren’t you?”

  Florimond’s jaw dropped, but he didn’t lower the gun or slacken his grip. “How…?”

  “Are you the Benefactor?” Cayo blurted. Florimond blinked at him, mouth working desperately.

  “N-no, I…”

  “Who is the Benefactor, then?” Cayo demanded. “Is it Robin Deirdre?”

  “Deirdre…” Florimond laughed, an unnatural sound. “Fucking Deirdre. She tried so hard to recruit me. I kept denying her. I couldn’t let anyone know.”

  “Deirdre is working with the alchemists to create weapons, isn’t she?” Liesl asked.

  His gun shook harder. “Yes.”

  “To reclaim Moray. To fight the Sun Empire.”

  Again that wild laugh. “No.” He swung his head from side to side, eyes wide behind his glasses. “She’s commissioning weapons, yes. But Deirdre isn’t an imperialist. Her family was once royalty in Chalier, and she wants to be royalty again. She’s trying to fight back against the Rain Empire. She doesn’t give a damn about Moray.”

  Liesl reared back, visibly unsettled. Deadshot kept her glare on Florimond, ready to act as soon as Liesl gave the command.

  “That’s not what she’s been saying to her business partners,” Liesl argued.

  “Of course it isn’t!” Florimond cried. “She’d be arrested in two seconds flat if anyone knew her true motives.”

  “Then how do you know what she’s actually planning?” Cayo demanded.

  “She wanted me to help with the cur
e,” Florimond whispered. “But I was already trying, and failing. I tried to find a cure. I did. I tried to undo what I’d done.” Florimond had grown deathly pale, his eyes round and wild. “I’m sorry. I tried. I’m sorry!”

  Unease pinched Amaya’s gut, the same instinct as encountering a rabid animal. “Don’t—” she began, but it was too late.

  Florimond reached into his pocket and drew out a small vial of silver liquid.

  “What are you doing?” Cayo asked, raising his voice as Florimond pulled the cork from the vial. “Stop! Stop!”

  Deadshot vaulted over a table to reach him, but Florimond had already tossed back the liquid, swallowing it with a gasp. The effect was immediate—he began to seize and cough, foamy spittle frothing at his mouth. Deadshot caught him as he sank to the ground, where he convulsed a few times before his eyes rolled back and he lay still.

  “Shit!” Cayo turned, gagging, as Liesl glowered over Florimond’s corpse.

  “The little cheat.” She grabbed the empty vial from his hand and sniffed it. “He had a contingency plan in case people like us showed up. He really couldn’t live with the consequences of his actions.”

  “The guilty always run,” Deadshot said.

  “Straight into death’s arms this time.” Liesl cursed and tossed the bottle aside. “We could have interrogated him more about Deirdre.”

  “But based on what he said, it sounds like Deirdre isn’t the Benefactor,” Deadshot said. “She’s using the alchemists against the empire to reinstate Chalier as an independent kingdom. Why would she be working on spreading counterfeit money in a land she wants for herself?”

  The muscle of Liesl’s jaw jutted out. “I don’t know.”

  “Does that mean…” Cayo seemed as if he were trying very hard not to look at Florimond. “Do you think he’s the Benefactor?”

  A moment of silence passed as they thought it through. “I suppose it’s possible,” Amaya said, “but why would your father be in debt to an alchemist?”

  “I don’t know, but we have evidence that Florimond was involved.” Cayo indicated the bag of brinies.

  “And we have evidence that something went terribly wrong here,” Liesl countered, gesturing to Florimond’s body. “Which will make the navy’s sweep a bit more complicated.”

  “Then we get rid of the body,” Amaya said. “There’s no blood. They can think Florimond ran off.”

  Cayo glanced at her, and she tried not to flinch. A girl who spoke violence like a language.

  “Agreed,” Liesl said. “Let’s get him wrapped in that tarp and make a trip to the harbor. We can theorize later.”

  Amaya stared at Florimond’s wide, milky eyes as nausea stirred inside her.

  Pray to the star saints for forgiveness and mercy, Amaya’s mother had once told her. The sight of death brings nothing but misfortune.

  What is gained is lost. What is lost remains lost.

  —KHARIAN PHILOSOPHER SANJAY KORAPA

  Standing in the pink light of dawn, Cayo fought down the urge to vomit.

  He had stood watch last night as the others rolled the wrapped body of Francis Florimond into the harbor, where it splashed grotesquely. Deadshot had weighed the body with rocks so that it would sink, and Cayo had to stifle hysterical laughter as he imagined what would happen if the navy found Florimond floating on the water.

  Cayo felt like a murderer. He hadn’t killed the man directly, but he had taken his own life thanks to their interference. He had seemed decent enough when they’d first met, but now, knowing he had been working for the Benefactor… That he might in fact have been the Benefactor…

  “At least we have evidence for the navy,” Liesl said as they walked back to the apartment, silent and solemn. “We’ll tip Remy off and they can examine the workshop.”

  “And then?” Cayo asked. “We’re still no closer to stopping the counterfeit production.”

  “We’ll have to stake out the other alchemists’ shops,” Liesl murmured, “keep watch over the Deirdre manor…”

  She went on, but Cayo tuned her out. It all felt hopeless. His father was a criminal who had betrayed his home. Cayo had no money for Soria, and now his second employer was dead, thanks to him.

  Everything was falling apart.

  Which was why, as he reported for work the next morning, he barely paid attention to Victor’s grousing. He performed his duties in a trance, transferring fish from net to ice, wondering if anyone in the fish market had helped his father deliver those brinies.

  A commotion by the docks lifted him out of the fog of his thoughts. Victor turned as well, frowning as a scuffle began near a handsome galleon. Cayo couldn’t hear what was being yelled, but he saw clear enough the naval soldiers trying to push irritated crew back onto the ship. A single word rose like a wave through the market: infected.

  People in the market were beginning to point and murmur. Cayo caught a glimpse of yellow cloth as the sailors tried to get past the soldiers, their shouts escalating to a fevered pitch.

  Then a shot rang out.

  The effect was instantaneous: The market erupted into chaos, peddlers and shoppers alike screaming from the noise and making a mad dash for the city proper. Cayo leaped out of the way, barricading himself behind Victor’s stall and trying to see what had happened.

  One of the infected crewmembers had shot at a naval officer and made a run for it. The officers brandished their bayonets, yelling for the crew to get back on board while a couple branched off to chase after the runaway.

  “He’ll get everyone sick!” Victor was yelling in Soléne, covering his mouth with his sleeve. “Kill him before it’s too late!”

  The runaway crewmember dove into the crowd, making it harder for the officers to shoot at him. He shoved others out of his way, making them yell and brush at their bodies as if he’d poured ants over them. Carts and stalls were knocked aside and overturned as the crowd fanned out to avoid him, pressing Cayo and Victor up against the nearest building.

  Cayo grunted as an elbow dug into his stomach, the smell of terrified people sharp and pungent over the fish. There was a gunshot, two, then more yelling from the docks.

  “They got him!” people were crying.

  Cayo could barely breathe in the crush of people. All he could do was keep his back to the wall and follow the stream as officers ordered everyone out of the market, heart thundering in the midst of the confusion.

  When he finally made it out of the market, he had to keep following the others or else risk getting trampled. As soon as the streets broadened, he stumbled into the nearest alleyway and retched, nearly tossing up his puny breakfast of seed biscuits.

  They had killed that man just for being sick.

  How long would it be until they started doing the same for every other infected citizen?

  Cayo shook so hard he could barely walk. He took a moment to collect himself, to breathe steadily in and out, before heading back to the apartment. There was no use finding Victor, not after what had just happened.

  Although no alcohol was in his system, he found himself weaving anyway, as if the ground refused to stay still. The sunlight seared into his skull, his stomach cramping painfully. A thread of panic laced through the streets as the news trailed after him, and he saw more officers running toward the market.

  He finally made it back to the apartment. His legs nearly gave out under him, and he had to lean against the wall a moment. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Damn it.…”

  He was cold and he was frightened, and more than anything he just wanted someone to be near him, to tell him things would be all right. He thought of Amaya and his yearning nearly choked him.

  But he couldn’t forget the look of hurt and betrayal on her face. The hateful words he’d said had come pouring from some diseased pocket of his mind, an angry boil festering in his heart. Perhaps he hadn’t actually forgiven her yet. Maybe he never would.

  She certainly wouldn’t forgive him after that.

  Taking a deep
breath, he opened the door and stepped inside. There was no sign of Amaya, but Liesl and Deadshot and Avi were sharing a pot of tea at the table.

  “What in the hells happened to you?” Avi demanded.

  “There was…” He pressed a hand to his clammy forehead. “At the harbor. They…”

  But before Cayo could explain, to put the horror into words, loud footsteps thundered up the stairs. The three at the table tensed, Deadshot reaching for a pistol as the front door to the apartment banged open. Remy, disheveled and out of breath, hurried inside as Liesl stood.

  “What’s happened?” Liesl demanded. “Does the navy know what we did last night?”

  “No—it’s—” He leaned his hands on his knees, too winded to speak. A bedroom door opened and Amaya rushed out.

  “Remy!” She took his arm, gripping a little too tight. “What’s wrong?”

  “Is it about the market?” Cayo cut in.

  “What happened at the market? I was at the billet, I—Cayo, you have to go to the hospital. Now.”

  An unpleasant jolt shot down into his stomach. “Why?”

  “I got a note from Mother Hilas to find you immediately.” Remy swallowed again, his eyes shining. “Soria. She—”

  Cayo didn’t wait to hear the rest. He shoved past Remy, out the door, down the stairs. His shakiness dissolved in a wave of adrenaline as he ran full tilt toward the hospital, following the scent of that cloying incense. He barely noticed the footfalls behind him, one or possibly more of the others chasing after.

  He kept hearing the memory of gunshots in his head, that loud, lethal echo.

  His mind was a constant mantra of no, no, no as he ran, pushing past the burning in his legs and lungs as he barreled down the incense-choked street and through the hospital doors. An administrative clerk jolted awake at her desk as he sped past, through the beds and the confused nurses.

  No, no, no.

  He barged into Soria’s room and nearly toppled to the floor. Mother Hilas and another nurse were inside, their words quick and clipped as they loomed over Soria’s bed.

  “Move,” he tried to say, but it only came out as a gasp. Mother Hilas turned and saw him, her lips drawn into a thin line.