Beggar's Rebellion

by Levi Jacobs

  “Slower now,” Weiland cued, working the rudder, “slower…”

  Tai stopped nudging, a whiff of the bends dizzying him, and Lumo caught the railing of the lower pier, the boat swinging alongside it. Karhail was first off, not risking words, and the men piled after him, Lumo staying to tie up the boat. Beal and Eyna, the other wafters, ran after them, but Tai pushed up instead, shooting up through the darkened air. Along with Weiland, part of his job was to monitor how things were going, as well as help with the actual theft of the yura inside the dockhouse.

  Down the dock, Ilrick was surrounded by a group of men bearing torches, but no one had their weapons out—he was fine so far. Ahead lay the Coldferth dockhouse, long and low with a tiled roof, plenty of men still guarding it in the intermittent light of lanterns.

  Tai nudged that way as the first went down, shout muffled by a gag appearing over his mouth. Weiland.

  Karhail ran him through a moment later, and Tai grimaced. The man was quick to kill.

  A moment later two chattering shrieks sounded, and Tai saw a streak below, heading down pier—another slip, engaging Weiland. This had been a big point of discussion—timeslips were rare, and expensive, but without one, Weiland alone would have been nearly enough to do the job, gagging and disabling the guards before they knew what was happening. With another timeslip present, they effectively cancelled each other out, though at their speeds a hand-to-hand fight was likely to be over much faster. “Good luck, Weiland,” Tai muttered, drifting closer to the dockhouse. He’d come to like the laconic timeslip.

  Below, Karhail had engaged another guard, Theron beside him. Judging from the sparks flying, they were all four brawlers. Tai nudged closer, then caught Eyna and Beal below him, lifting off toward the far side of the warehouse.

  The brawlers were to be a second diversion: Ilrick drew off the first crowd with his silver tongue, Karhail and the others engaged the men still left at the building, drawing the other guards. Meanwhile, Tai Beal and Eyna wafted above them to the backside, bay doors hopefully abandoned in the fighting. They would waft out the yura stored inside, baled for shipping downstream, and give the signal to run before the fighting got too heavy.

  The Coldferth guards proved too disciplined to abandon the backside completely—three of them still stood, illuminated in the lamplight, on alert. Beal and Eyna drew their bows, traditional weapons of wafters, and Tai nodded that he would take the far guard. Karhail had insisted he wear a sword, not having learned the bow, but Tai just pushed himself down at the remaining guard, feet slamming into the man’s shoulders.

  Something cracked as the man crumpled, and Tai winced. The guard’s lantern shattered against the dock, spilling oil that whooshed aflame. The man scrambled for his sword and Tai kicked him in the head, hard. This was standard procedure on the street: you want someone to stop struggling, you kick them in the head until they black out.

  The guard did on the second blow, sword half unsheathed. Tai knelt and pinched his nose—he was out. Tai stilled his resonance to conserve uai and the bends doubled him over. Glancing right, it looked like Beal and Eyna had their men down too, one of them wailing and kicking with an arrow through the eye. Tai stumbled over, head clearing. “You guys ready?”

  They nodded, Eyna renocking her bow. Beal stepped forward, bulkiest of the three, and pulled a thick length of iron from his quiver. He swung at the lock, a heavy Seinjial piece, and Tai winced at the sound of the blow. “I’m going to check on the other side,” he said.

  “Stay here,” Beal snarled. He struck again, to no effect.

  Tai struck resonance and nudged up and out, arcing over the building.

  It was a melee on the other side, Lumo and Karhail and Theron each engaged with a man or two, other fighters running back from Ilrick’s diversion. Ilrick was done then, already. There were more fighters than the others could handle. Tai grimaced. He couldn’t fight that many men—they needed something else, another diversion.

  He dropped onto the roof, leaving his resonance rattling, and ran down the building, unhooking lanterns. Then shot up again, toward the returning men, and hurled the lanterns down.

  Fire bloomed, following the spread of the oil, and the men shouted, a few of their boots catching flame. Hopefully that would slow them.

  Tai shot back over, to find Beal still beating at the lock.

  “How is it?” Eyna asked, arrow at the ready.

  “Not good. We need to move fast.”

  Beal swung again, and the lock broke off. He pulled the door open—

  To a wave of brawlers.

  Beal cursed. Eyna shot, taking one in the throat. Tai shoved himself at the others, slamming into two, who flew with him back into the open space. Before he could slow down momentum carried Tai into the far wall, hard.

  He got up, shaking his head, bends trying to push through. The brawlers were already up, coming for him. Tai shoved left, feet dragging as he sped along the length of the building. The brawlers followed, one with a bow in hand.

  Meckstains. There were bales stacked in the middle of the warehouse—yura, it must be—but the brawler would have a clear shot no matter where Tai went.

  More attacks, then.

  Tai shot over the bales in an arc that brought him feet-first into one of the men. The mercenary reacted with brawler speed, dealing Tai a ringing blow to the temples as they fell. Tai bounced off the wood floor, shoving upward as the man’s fist smashed into where he’d been. The other brawler was pulling an arrow back—

  Then a black fletching sprouted from his throat. Eyna! A second arrow took down the other brawler, and his companions were running into the room. “I’ll get this one back to the boat!” Tai yelled, realizing the roar of fire was louder.

  They nodded and reached for a bale. Snagging the jute cord around the man-sized bale, Tai shoved for the door. He swung around the side of the building, pushing for speed even as his back started to ache, blurring past fire and fight. He dropped to the boat, planted the bale, shot back up. Fighters from Ilrick’s diversion had leapt the flames now, or swam in, as the flames ate through oiled dock wood.

  Tai arced up and over, searching for his friends—there. Surrounded by fighters, Karhail worked his sword in a blur, bodies strewn around him, but there were too many. Already an arrow pierced his shoulder. “Karhail!” Tai shouted. The man couldn’t hear. He would be cut down.

  Fear hit him then, cramping his gut, fear he’d been denying the whole battle. But it was an old fear, a familiar fear from the streets. He couldn’t let it control him. Tai unbuckled his sheathed sword, grabbed it at both ends, and shot down at the crowd.

  He hit like a scythe, pushing up and forward to arc through them like a pendulum, men piling up against his sword. Tai dropped back. “Karhail!” he held out his arms. “Come on, I got you!”

  “I’m fine!” the Seinjial shouted, beating back a blow and darting through the opening. “Get the others!”

  Tai shot up again, saw Theron and Lumo hemmed in by fire on one side, fighters on the other. The docks were falling apart, timbers groaning as fire swept closer to the building. To their left, Eyna and Beal were wafting toward the dock, a bale between them. “Lumo!” he yelled. “Theron! We got the yura, let’s go!”

  Theron spun and leapt for the water. Lumo looked back, eyes wide, and in that moment a sword cut deep into his stomach. “Lumo!” Tai shot through the flames, grabbed the thick man under the arms, and pushed up.

  They shot above the crowd, swords and arrows whistling around them. Lumo was wet, his blood spraying the breeze. “Prophets,” Tai cursed, trying to think, back aching and bends threaten to overwhelm him. “Lumo! Press the wound! I’m taking you in!”

  There was no answer—the man was out. Tai looked back—the boat was shoving off, men in it. They would have to be okay. Tai pushed toward the bluffs, speeding over a line of dock guards running toward the blaze.

  He dropped them in front of Marrem’s place, the Minchu dead weight on his shoulder.
“Lumo! Wake up!” There was no answer. Tai staggered across the street, pounded on the door, desperately holding to his resonance to stave off the bends. “Marrem! Marrem, wake up!”

  A glow appeared in the window, then came the scrape of a bar being drawn back. A crack appeared, Marrem’s seamed face in the lamplight. “Yes?” Her eyes widened at the sight of the bloody Minchu, and she drew the door wide. “Come in.”

  Hours later, night still dark outside, the wound was stitched, and Lumo slept peacefully under a heavy draught of dreamleaf. Marrem had insisted on tending Tai too, bandaging a cut along his ribcage, but he’d refused the dreamleaf. They sat now in silence, room lit by two lanterns, the only sound Lumo’s ragged breathing and the occasional shout or footsteps outside.

  “This came of the noise we heard earlier, I suppose,” Marrem said, addressing him in Achuri.

  Tai nodded his head. “I’m sorry to bring trouble to your house, older sister.”

  Marrem adjusted her linen dress. “You always do. Though, this doesn’t look like gang work to me.”

  “It’s not. We… broke into a Coldferth dockhouse.”

  Marrem pursed her lips. “Any others wounded?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Many, I fear, though none of ours.”

  “And what did you expect? You were here for the war, you know how these things end.” She leaned forward, dabbing sweat on Lumo’s brow. “Is this how you plan to do it better?”

  Her words came back to him, when he’d come for Aelya: You have come up with something better, or this will just keep going. “No, ma’am. I…” Tai broke off, shifted. “I argued against any killing, but the others didn’t agree.”

  She sat back again. “Men usually don’t. Little brother, people will have seen this Minchu tonight. They’ll remember him. I can’t keep him here, not with my kids upstairs.”

  “I know.” Tai eyed Lumo, the pale cast to his face. “Is he safe to move?”

  “No,” she said. “That’s the trouble you’ve brought me, is a stomach-wounded man who needs at least a week, putting us all in danger. We could be arrested, sent to the camp. The arrests are increasing, you know.”

  Tai bowed his head. “I’m without excuse. I’ll take him when I go.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. What you will do is help me move him upstairs. We’ll keep him in the girls’ room, till he’s better.”

  Relief flooded him, like another wave of exhaustion. “Thank you.” Tai eyed his friend. “Will he get better?” He’d seen stomach wounds before, knew they were dangerous.

  “He may,” Marrem said simply. “That is in the ancestors’ hands now. We do what we can.”

  Together they readied a sling and moved the Minchu onto it, Tai wincing as fresh blood soaked the bandages. Lumo woke while they were on the stairs, rolling and moaning, but they got him to the top and settled. The bed was barely large enough for his frame, Marrem’s raven-haired daughters gazing blearily at them as they settled the man down.

  “You can go now, Tai. I imagine the rest of your crew is anxious for you.” She spoke in Yersh, likely not wanting her daughters to understand.

  “I would stay—“

  “You will go,” Marrem interrupted. “Come back tomorrow night and you can check on him. He’s… not wild, is he?”

  Tai laughed, humor mixing with concern. “He’s about the gentlest man you could find.” He stood. “Thank you, Marrem.”

  “It’s my work,” she said simply. “But don’t bring me any more, Tai. Don’t make any more. You know better than this.”

  Her words clung to him as he stepped out and began the long walk to the mines.

  19

  He rose full made from the hilltop, axe already in hand, and killed every man what stood in his way. Northerners with their piety and faith—phaw! The Prophet conquered with blood.

  --Yati shaman

  Tai descended the cave just as the eastern horizon was lighting orange, exhausted and worried for Lumo.

  “Tai!” Ilrick called. “You made it!”

  “Bout mecking time,” Aelya barked, but she looked relieved.

  “Did others not return?” Tai asked, glancing around. Beal was bandaging Karhail’s leg, bloody arrow beside them.

  “Lumo,” Ilrick said, smile fading. “He wasn’t with us in the boat.”

  “Nor us in the city,” Weiland said. “I looked for him, but…”

  “He’s at a healer’s in Riverbottom,” Tai said, sitting down wearily. The place stank of yura, their two bales stacked on a far stone. “He took a sword to the stomach just as we were leaving.”

  “The stomach?” Eyna asked, blanching. The woman wore a bandage along the scalp of her red hair.

  “Is he gonna be alright?” Ilrick asked, subdued for once.

  Tai shrugged, too tired to soften the blow. “Healer doesn’t know. The wound was deep.”

  “Stars shine on him.” Ilrick shook his head. “The bastards saw through me early. Couldn’t hold em nearly as long as I normally would, dripping wet like that and the sounds of the boat and all.”

  “You did what you could,” Karhail said. “They must be bulking up guard duties since we hit the boats. Our plan was for half as many men.”

  “And twice as much loot,” Ilrick said.

  “Well it didn’t help that the place was burning down,” Beal said, wrapping another layer of linen around Karhail’s leg.

  It took Tai a second to register that. “Right. I started most of that fire, to try and slow the men coming back from Ilrick’s diversion.”

  “Fat lot of good it did. Just made ‘em fight harder, and us with no time to steal more yura.”

  Tai was too tired to defend himself. “Yeah. I should have figured something else out.”

  “No,” Karhail said, “you did well. That fire slowed them down, and Tai was the one that got me out, got Lumo out when he might have died afterwards.”

  Beal’s face darkened. “Just because he’s a stronger waft.”

  “Yes,” Karhail said, “because he’s a stronger waft. He’s got an advantage, just like Lumo has an advantage, and Weiland now. We need more of that. We all need to overcome, and we need every new recruit to overcome too. The only way we can win this is if we all get an edge.”

  Weiland nodded from his sprawl near the back. “The only way I beat that slip was to outlast him. He was fast, and a good shot, but my uai lasts a lifetime these days.”

  One of the new recruits, Matle, stood. “I’ll do it. I’ll take the yura, or whatever. I want to waft like Tai.”

  Beal scowled and Karhail nodded. “Good. It doesn’t work for everyone, but that’s how Weiland got his power.” He nodded to the bales, a corner of one ripped open and spilling yura balls. “Take fifteen of those and see what happens.”

  “Fifteen?”

  Weiland nodded. “And you want to find a place alone. It isn’t… pleasant.”

  The recruit looked less certain at this, but counted out the balls and left for a side cavern. “Good luck!” Tai clasped his shoulder.

  “Aye, Prophets bless!” Ilrick called, then looked ashamed at the overtly religious expression.

  “Is that how many it takes?” Theron asked. He was a stocky Seinjial brawler, apparently an old friend of Karhail’s. “Fifteen balls?”

  “Beal took twelve and failed,” Karhail said. “Weiland took fifteen and succeeded. I think we have enough to be generous now.”

  “Mecking right we do,” Ilrick said, taking a seat on the nearer bale. “Got enough here to buy ourselves an army.”

  “Is that the plan, then?” Tai asked. “To build an army bigger than the Councilate’s?”

  “If we can, sure,” Karhail said. “We’re already recruiting in other mines, in the city, in the surrounding villages, and we’ve got a hideout in the west hills—that’s where Eyna and Matle started out. But we’re not hiring mercenaries. We need people committed to the cause.”

  As if to confirm, a shout echoed from the corridor Matle had tak
en. “And if we can’t? Even this amount of yura is a gnat on the Councilate’s back.”

  “If we can’t outman them,” Weiland said, stirring from his sprawl, “we outmoney them.”

  “Aye,” Karhail agreed. “That’s our main plan. We don’t worry about the Councilate—they’ve only a small garrison here. We don’t worry about the local House militias either—we don’t have the strength to attack them full on yet. Instead we hit warehouses and riverboats, steal as much yura as we can and burn the rest down.”

  “You make it too expensive for them to stay.”

  Weiland nodded. “The Houses are here for money. The Councilate’s here for money. If they can’t make it, they’ll pull out.”

  A gust of air came from Matle’s direction, and the ring of iron on iron. “And what about the prison camp? They’re arresting more people every day.”

  Karhail grimaced. “The trouble is intelligence. Until we know what the Councilate’s planning, what their real strength is, where the good points to hit would be, it’s too dangerous to go at that size target yet. We need someone on the inside, someone who can get us that. In the meantime, the Houses make realistic targets, and give us the funds we need to grow.”

  Tai nodded. “So why not focus on one of them? Why Galya yesterday and Coldferth today?”

  Ilrick grinned. “Depends on who’s paying.”

  Karhail shot him a look, but Tai had heard. “What?”

  “I said it depends on who’s paying,” Ilrick repeated. “Alsthen pays us to hit Galya. Galya gives us a nice bit to hit Coldferth, and Coldferth shells out to attack Alsthen. S’how we got started.”

  “You… work for the Houses?” It was like he’d said up was down. “I thought you were trying to shut them down.”

  “We are,” Karhail growled. “Up until now we haven’t had the money to train on our own, so we took contracts to hit other Houses.”

  “Use their own money to destroy them,” Ilrick nodded.