Thieves' War

by Clayton Snyder

  I resurfaced from that other place. A part of me ached from the demon’s touch on my heart. A part of me just wanted to go home.

  “I don’t know what you wanted. The demon left before I could question him about your item. I’ve failed,” I said into the dark.

  Fela appeared from the black, walking a slow circle around me. Where she drifted into visibility, her skin became translucent. I saw the fine bones of her skull beneath her flesh.

  “Did you?” She asked.

  “Enough riddles,” I said.

  “You’ve returned my possession, as asked.”

  I looked at my arm, the mark on the stump. “Am I yours, then?”

  Fela laughed, the sound like fine glass breaking. “Oh, daughter. Everyone is mine in the end.”

  She disappeared. I stood, alone again. She whispered as the dark closed in, her lips close to my ear, her breath a wisp of a breeze against my neck.

  “Our bargain is fulfilled.”

  Bow Chicka Bow Wow

  I sat upright, gasping, cold still clutching my limbs. The room was empty, and I was stark naked. A woman couldn’t even die with dignity around here. I looked down, at the scars that decorated my body. At the moles and freckles and bruises. At the smooth and whole flesh and ran my fingers over it.

  My left hand came forward, unbidden and I nearly jumped out of my fuckin’ skin. It was unlike anything I’d seen before, and I inspected my arm with a morbid detachment. It was white bone, as though my arm had been stripped to the skeleton. A frame of silver rods and cables etched with runes I couldn’t read supported it, and bands of gold, etched with the same writing, wrapped the bone itself every few inches.

  I flexed the fingers experimentally, waved the arm around. It felt natural, though it looked otherwise, and I abruptly stood from the bed, searching for clothing. My things lay piled on a nearby stand, and I pulled on the trousers and tunic, the belt for my blades, and my boots. I stretched and took a deep breath. Whatever else Fela had done for me, I felt good. Like myself again. I checked myself one last time and left the room.

  I opened the door and stepped out. Rek sat beside the door in a chair, dozing peacefully. I laid my hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, still groggy, blinked.

  “Hi Nenn.”

  He closed his eyes, took a breath. Two. Then leaped from the chair, a full foot back.

  “MOTHERFUCK1,” he screamed.

  Two more doors opened, and Lux rushed out, naked as a summer sky, Cord from another room, equally nude. Lux’s hands lit up with arcane power, and heat lit my belly. It was immediately extinguished as a naked Cord rushed me, wrapping me in an embrace and lifting me from the ground.

  “NENN!” he shouted.

  I squirmed, trying to free myself. I was doing my best to avoid his flopping parts as he crushed me in a bear hug. Lux let her power go and gave me a smirk while I struggled.

  “Lemme down! You’re squishing me!” is what I tried to say. What came out was “’Emme down! U’re quishing me!”

  Cord laughed and let me go, and I immediately backed away, beside Rek.

  “Blech. Bleecch,” I said.

  Cord tipped his head. “Are you okay?”

  Rek pointed. “Um.”

  I nodded. “Pants. For the love of the gods, pants, you aardvark.”

  Lux snorted a laugh, and Cord managed to look embarrassed, disappearing into his room long enough to throw some clothes on. I gave Lux a look, and she grinned, then turned to do the same. She paused in the doorway long enough to catch me watching her go and shot a wink over her shoulder before disappearing inside.

  “I’ve uh, got something to do,” I said, and followed her.

  The door closed behind me, and I heard Rek mutter. “More like someone to do.”

  Only a single candle lit the room. I looked to the bed where Lux reclined nude. Her pale skin glowed a soft gold with the flame, her hair spread across a pillow. I shed my clothes and climbed onto the bed, straddling her. I felt her heat, and my head dipped, taking a pink nipple into my mouth, rolling it around with lips and tongue. She moaned, hips raising from the bed, and pulled me to her. Our lips met, and we kissed, fire in our mouths, between our legs.

  When the kiss ended, she pulled me close.

  “Missed you,” she whispered into my ear.

  “You too,” I said.

  The rest was slick heat and sweet taste, fire and water and flesh and soft cries in the dark.

  When we reappeared, Cord took me in a gentler hug. He held it for a moment, and then Rek took his turn.

  We made our way to a spacious dining room, taking up places around a table while Rek bustled in the kitchen.

  “Arm?” Cord asked.

  I pushed up my sleeve, and he whistled.

  “Nice,” he said.

  Lux leaned in, inspecting the runic script. “Hm. I’m not exactly sure what these do. They’re similar to old Tvint writing. Some of it keeps the contraption together and working.”

  “The rest?” I asked.-

  I was having trouble concentrating. The smells coming from the kitchen were making my stomach rumble in a horrifyingly loud fashion.

  She shrugged. “A lot of wibbly-wobbly magic-wagic type stuff.”

  “Scholarly,” Cord said.

  “You read it, then,” she quipped.

  “I just want to know if she’s going to be suddenly possessed, or you know… explode.”

  “Explode? I don’t wanna explode,” I said.

  “You won’t explode,” Lux said, patting my arm. “Probably.”

  “What?”

  Rek dropped a plate of flat cakes in front of us, a tub of butter, and a jar of some sort of preserve. He added another plate heaped with bacon and poured us cups of coffee. I was already half-through the first flat cake, having smothered it with strawberry jam and butter. I shoved two pieces of bacon in my mouth and chewed furiously.

  “What is this?” Cord asked between bites.

  “I call them Rekflaps2,” Rek said.

  Cord choked and spat the cake on the floor.

  “Little unfortunate, isn’t it?” Lux asked.

  “What would you call them?” he asked around a mouthful.

  “Heaven,” I mumbled, and took another.

  “You made ‘em in a pan, right?” Cord asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What about panflats?”

  “What about shut up so I can eat?” I said and grabbed another.

  They fell to, and before long, we’d emptied the plates. I leaned back, and Cord lit his pipe.

  “Gods bless the Aunties,” he said.

  We all nodded in assent. I finally felt like a human again and stared out the cottage window. The day hadn’t yet broken but was crisp with the smells of wildflower and sea, and fresh cooking. I considered my new arm and thought maybe Cord had a point. I’d been desperate to make the bargain. I just wondered what the long cost was. I looked around the table.

  “I missed you all. But I want you to know that if I lose my shit because of this fucking arm, you’re to cut it off me or kill me. Got it?”

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, then as one, they agreed.

  “You’re a real downer sometimes, you know that?” Cord asked.

  “And you’re a dangerous lunatic sometimes. But we’re family.”

  “Aye,” Rek said. “To family.”

  He raised his cup and we joined him.

  “To family,” we echoed.

  “What’s it like out there?” I asked, after everyone had time to rest.

  “A shitshow,” Rek said.

  Cord nodded. “There’s a saying in old Vignon. What doesn’t kill you will likely leave you crippled and bitter.”

  “What a weird time to bring that up,” Lux said.

  Cord sighed in exasperation. “What I’m saying is that the city is practically crippled at this point. It’s certainly angry and bitter.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” I asked.


  “We make it worse, of course.”

  “How?” Rek asked.

  “I’m assuming we can all agree the why is moo now?” Cord asked.

  Rek and Lux nodded. I held up a hand.

  “Hold up just a fucking second. Did you say it’s a moo point?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “It’s moot.”

  “No, it’s moo. Like a cow’s opinion. It doesn’t matter. It’s moo.”

  “You are shitting me,” I said.

  “I would never shit you. You’re my favorite turd.”

  I threw my hands up. “Anyway.”

  “Anyway,” Cord agreed. “Before they fucked off—presumably to resume their role as a thorn in the Triad’s side, the Aunties were kind enough to drop off our evening wear.”

  “We’re still doing this?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I know it seemed like only a small gap in time for you, but we’ve lost three days. The gala is this weekend. We need to get everything in place.”

  “So,” Rek prompted.

  “So, Rek and Nenn need to cause a distraction. A great big elephant tripping balls distraction. To that end, they’ll be coordinating the uprising while you and I hobnob with the lunatics.”

  I frowned, trying to make sense of the timeline here. “Okay, a little slower. There are a lot of moving parts.”

  “You and I attend the ball. Rek will go to the former slaves and enlist Kina’s help. Lux will do what Lux does and set fire to something. Preferably something beloved. That’ll be the straw that breaks this disgusting camel’s back. In the meantime, you and I will grab the keys from the Triad, causing another distraction on the way out. We’ll meet at the treasury, crack it open, and let the city burn while we take the money and run.”

  I felt like we were forgetting something. “What about Oros?” I asked.

  He managed to look uncomfortable and muttered something.

  “What?” Lux asked. Cord shot her a look.

  “I said that’s part of our distraction.”

  “What?” I echoed.

  “We’re going to draw him in and murder him in front of his worshippers.”

  “Seems ballsy,” Rek said.

  “Seems stupid,” I amended. “You mean to draw a god to a seat of his power and attempt to end him?”

  “If it’s stupid and it works, is it still stupid?” he asked.

  “How do you know it’s going to work?” I asked.

  “I invented Dead Man’s Hand, didn’t I?”

  I groaned. I could think of better examples than a story where everyone but Cord dies.

  “Come on,” he said. “Trust me.”

  The rest of table joined me in the groan.

  We’ve Got the Biggest Balls of Them All

  The gown fit impeccably, and once again, I wondered if Cord had measured me in my sleep, or if the tailor was just a genius. It was a pale ivory, studded with pearl and sweeping with lace, the skirts loose enough to allow movement, the corset built to hide things in. Much like the last gown I’d worn, it had been modified to hold blades, and I slipped a sizable number into the tresses and trews, and the belts on my thighs.

  For his part, Cord looked every bit the dashing gentleman. He’d had a haircut and a shave, and despite his scars, his olive skin accented by the simple black suit. His hair swept back in the local style, and his beard trimmed to a neat goatee, both oiled and smoothed to perfection. I brushed the wrinkles from his lapels while he pinned a single rose to my breast.

  “Well done,” he said. “You clean up nice.”

  “Same to you.”

  “Endgame, then?” he said. “Ready?”

  I took a breath, flexed my bone and metal arm. He’d insisted I leave it bare. Morbidity of the ruling class and all that.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Then let’s draw a little blood,” he said.

  He hooked his arm and inclined his head. “Daughter.”

  I linked mine with it. “Father.”

  We stepped out the door and into the waiting night.

  While I’d been out, Cord had procured a carriage for us. It was somewhat heartening to know that while he thought me dead, he still intended to break the city. A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought so, but exposure to the world’s ills had honed my rage, brought it to the fore. I had thought all these people, milling about, living their lives, once innocent. I knew better now. No one was innocent. No one was blameless. If you didn’t pick up a sword or a rope or a torch, and you let those in power subjugate and break and slaughter those without, you were part of the problem. And those who exacerbated it? Long overdue to rot in the sun. I thought of the little girl under the city, sick, maimed, and clenched my fists involuntarily.

  “You should know something going in,” Cord said, interrupting my thoughts.

  We had just left the seaside outskirts of Vignon behind and entered the city proper.

  “Whatever you did in the Deadlands broke the lie the Harrowers held over the city. It’s going to be different than what you remember.”

  I peered out the window. The city shone with strings of light, but the dim ambiance only added to the sinister aspect. A patina of grime marred white walls and clean lines. The statues over the river, once proud men, had been defaced, their heads carved into the tips of penises. Residents not chained to a well-dressed owner, or well-dressed themselves, were scrawny and fearful, dirty clothing hanging on painfully thin frames. Guards patrolled constantly, setting their monstrous hybrids on anyone who looked even slightly like they might step out of line.

  A palpable air of fear and resentment hung about the city. The talking boxes everyone once clamored to use stood as rotted stalks on filthy corners, decaying scraps of flesh and organs heaped around them like corpse shrines. I watched as a cautious cat slunk from an alley, only for shadows to coalesce around it. It yowled, and tried to sprint, but a pack of dick spiders chased it down, piling on until it was immobile. I shuddered and closed the curtain before I could see more.

  “What are they even celebrating?” I asked.

  “What does every tinpot dictator celebrate?” Cord replied. “Themselves. It’s the ultimate paen to ego. This sort of power is the closest thing man ever gets to being a god. I give and take, and you are but a pawn on the board. I am the alpha and the omega, and you are my bitch.

  “You’d think with that much responsibility, they’d take the stewardship of life seriously. Do they? No. Fuck no. It’s always about how they can have more. More money, more power, more places to spill their seed. Because I am here, and you are not, so I am special, and you are not, and that gives me the right to pull or snip whatever strands fate has woven for you. And I’ll show you why it’s true in case you get ideas. Here is my army. Here is my wealth. Here is my power. Who is like a god? Who will make war with a god?”

  “Who indeed?” I asked.

  “Us, that’s fucking who,” Cord said, and grinned. In the half-light, it looked feral.

  I returned the grin, and we exited the carriage. The gates of the Houses of the Holy stood wide open. Three buildings, still white amid the filth, each connected by simple breezeways held the middle of the hill, towers reaching upward. Behind them, another tower, thicker, more phallic, thrusting upward. The High Harrower’s residence. A line of footmen waited to help us down, the guests and their slaves waiting in an orderly line. Even the thralls dressed in impressive clothing, the iron collars the only concession that the monsters beside them owned a human life, whole cloth.

  I suppressed my rage as we climbed the stairs in slow procession, finally reaching the doorman. He waved us through, and I marveled at the arrogance of a ruling party that thought they didn’t need guards.

  The interior of the House was black marble. Walls, floor, ceiling. Flecks of silver sparkled in the dim directionless light—some sort of enchantment—making the embedded metal sparkle like stars and giving the hall the feel of a corridor of the night sky. The hall stretched ahead for a way, and
some guests had stopped to chat, or rest already sore feet. They gathered in tight groups, wearing domino masks and flashing us glances as we passed. Their slaves stood in stiff rows against the walls, eyes averted. They bore scars and tattoos of ownership, and in some cases, fresh wounds and little else. Their owners had come expecting debauchery and dressed them accordingly.

  We passed rooms that flanked the main hall, and I glanced in a couple as we walked. In one where men took turns alternating between kneeling and standing, the standing group pissing on the kneeling, and vice-versa. In another room, men strained to fellate themselves to the cheers of a gaggle of onlookers. In another, slaves made to fuck. In yet another, owners fucking their slaves. In the last, men and women fucking pigs. The sounds were indescribable, the smells revolting. My mind refused to parse what I was seeing, but each new scene ignited another fire in my guts, and I struggled to keep the rage down.

  Power was no excuse for abuse. For subjugation. For depredation. There were lines. Lines in the sand never meant to be crossed. You can argue the gray areas all you want, but some actions are carved in stone and dyed in blood so dark as to be black. I knew that what we did wasn’t perfect. For some people, it might even be considered insanity. But arguing the moral value of pacificism over violence when one side has no such moral qualms is what I like to call ‘giving yourself a blowjob with allergies’. It’s a dangerous game, and one sneeze is all it takes to bite your own cock off.

  Cord put a hand on my shoulder, as if he sensed my mood. He leaned in.

  “Just keep smiling,” he said through clenched teeth.

  I gave him a grimace and he nodded. “Terrifying. You’ll fit right in here.”

  The hall opened into a massive room, the marble continuing, soaring upward, making it seem as if the vault of the sky had cracked and now leaked toward the sun. More of the slaves and aristocracy gathered here, milling about, chatting, or mingling. The rich held elegant drinks in their hands, or simple foods pulled from circulating trays. Their slaves knelt or crawled at their owner’s whim.