Empress of Rogues

by Carrie Summers

  “Maybe I have a soft spot for female thieves,” Silver says. Her gaze turns to the smuggler who has now climbed all the way into the small rowboat. He shrinks down. “You realize we can’t let him escape.”

  “Because that would let him return to Carp’s Refuge with news of our little disagreement? Because now that he’s seen you in plain sight, there’s an alternative to the notion that I killed Lucky and the guard?”

  “Because I have a part to play in Glint’s rescue, and if the extent of my powers are known, we won’t succeed.”

  In the shocked silence that follows, the smuggler picks up his boat’s oars and furtively dips them into the water.

  Myrrh’s brows draw together. “Did you just say…?”

  Silver nods. “Now shall I kill him, or would you like to do the honors?”

  Myrrh whips out her dagger. The hint of a smile forms on Silver’s lips a moment before Myrrh cracks the butt of her weapon against the woman’s skull.

  As the woman drops to a heap in the bottom of the boat, Myrrh snatches the throwing knife and aims at the fleeing smuggler. “Stop,” she says. “Or I’ll put this between your shoulder blades.”

  It’s a bluff—Myrrh can’t hit the side of a building with a throwing knife—but it works. The man drops the oars and holds up his hands.

  Myrrh nods at Nab. “Tie him to one of the trees, but not so tightly that he won’t be able to work himself free. It’s a long swim and wade back to Carp’s Refuge, but he should be able to make it if he doesn’t do something stupid like try to follow us. Oh, and set his boat adrift.”

  Chapter Nine

  FOR ALL THE good it will do—Silver probably has a cantrip for untying knots or severing ropes—Myrrh binds the unconscious woman’s hands behind her back while Nab awkwardly rows them from the grove. The sun is a molten ball on the horizon, its glare igniting the water and turning swamp grasses to blood-red blades. But to the east and south, clouds have begun to pile up over the landscape. Ostgard and its surroundings rarely escape the rain for more than a few hours. By midnight, they’ll surely be wishing for the oppressive heat that smothered Carp’s Refuge at midday.

  “Where are we—”

  Nab cuts his question short when Myrrh gives him a sharp look and points back to the grove. They aren’t yet out of earshot of the remaining smuggler. But she gestures northward. From what she recalls of the bog’s extents, the swamp peters out toward the northern reaches of Ostgard, where woodland presses up against the upper-class district of West Fifth. Once on dry land, they should be able to skirt the city. From there…well, she hasn’t quite figured that out yet. But they’ll definitely be better off on foot than in this sixing boat.

  Nab’s hair flops into his eyes with every pull of the oars. Unfortunately, his bravado can’t make up for his twig-like arms. Steeling herself to handle the pain in her rib cage, Myrrh nudges him to the side of the bench and takes one of the oars from his grip.

  “On three,” she says. “One, two, three.”

  The boat skims forward as they pull together. The progress isn’t tremendous, but they’re moving faster than Nab was managing alone. The greater damage in Myrrh’s chest seems to be on the right side, so she pulls harder with her left arm.

  She’s starting to think they have a chance to reach land in the wee hours of the morning—if she remembers Ostgard’s geography right—when Silver stirs.

  “Vel’s poisonous sweat,” she mutters, a southern curse Myrrh hasn’t heard. “You are as annoying as you are stupid.”

  Myrrh ignores her, focusing on the oar in her hand.

  “I suppose you left that man to carry word back to Carp’s Refuge. Which means we can count on a reception when we land…” She leans to the side as if studying the swamp ahead. “You’re aiming for the woods outside the northern half of the city, am I right?”

  “The smuggler won’t be a problem,” Myrrh says.

  “Oh? Interesting. Either you killed him, or you left him marooned in the grove, which is effectively the same thing.”

  Is it? Myrrh told herself the man would be able to swim and wade back to Carp’s Refuge. Or if not that, to the outskirts of Ostgard where the bog fades into muddy streets and stilt houses. But then again, she doesn’t know how long she slept while Silver rowed. Maybe the grove of dead trees is farther from land than she thought. The man did say something about that while Nab was tying him to the tree.

  “Stabbed in the night, my head hurts,” Silver says. “But I still suspect I can row better than you two.”

  Myrrh’s nostrils flare, but she keeps pulling on the oar.

  “How about you, Nab? What do you think of Myrrh’s decision to leave loose ends when your lives and—if you don’t manage to free Glint—the lives of your friends in Rat Town are at stake?”

  Myrrh clenches her jaw. How does this woman know so much?

  Silver smirks as she pulls her hands from behind her back, the rope that bound her wrists pinched between thumb and forefinger. With a yawn, she leans back against the boat’s stern.

  Throughout the exchange, Nab has been silent, his eyes darting back and forth between the women. Finally, he pulls his oar from the water and sets the handle across his lap. Myrrh’s next pull sets the boat yawing to the left, and she has to dunk her paddle and brace to correct.

  “Nab?” she says.

  “This is stupid.”

  “What?”

  “The way you two are acting. You’re like kids seeing who can spit farther off Second Bridge.”

  Myrrh feels her cheek twitch. That’s not true, is it? She’s just trying to take control of a day where every toss of the dice has seemed to come up sixes. Starting by refusing to let this woman dictate her choices.

  Silver sneers. “You too, huh, kid? I would think you both would show more appreciation. Not to mention, respect for the fact that I’m your best chance for helping right the situation in Ostgard.”

  “You know,” Myrrh finally snaps, “I don’t care which cantrips you’ve learned or why you know so much about my situation. Regardless of the predicament with Glint and Emmerst, if your solution is to murder innocent people, I don’t want your help.”

  “And would Glint say the same?” Silver asks with a raised eyebrow. “And to call my victims innocent is hardly the truth. Lucky’s band, as I already mentioned, is in league with Emmerst. They plan to see Ostgard ruined.”

  “And as I mentioned, I have no reason to believe your story.”

  “Is your doubt in my story so strong that you’d bet Glint’s life on it?”

  Enough. Myrrh has had it with this woman and her mysterious knowledge.

  “I think it’s time you explain how you know him. And how you know so much about me.”

  “I almost never agree with Myrrh,” Nab says. “But it’s hard to trust someone who keeps bragging about their secrets. Oh, I can help with Glint. Oh, aren’t I clever dropping hints about how I know so much about you.” He says the last sentences in a mocking, singsong voice.

  The woman stares at them. “I’ve known Glint a long time. Certainly longer than you have. And I daresay I have a right to keep details of our relationship secret.”

  The way the woman says relationship sends a wicked little dart through Myrrh. But that’s probably calculated. Given how much she knows about Myrrh’s situation, she probably also knows that Myrrh has played the part of Merchant Giller’s fiancée. She’s probably also guessed that there’s something real underlying the act.

  Not that she’d be right about that. The last time Myrrh and Glint talked, they discussed the possibility of a future. Someday. Somehow. For now, all she has are the memories of a couple of drunken kisses.

  “Arguing with her is a waste of time, Nab,” Myrrh says. “We need to make for the woods outside West Fifth.”

  “And from there?” Silver muses. “If you manage to slip around the city, you could follow the Ost upstream to the nearest settlement. You migh
t get a pigeon to your allies in the city, and they might even send a response. But you’ll never scrape together a rescue plan working like that. Not in the five days Glint has remaining.”

  “Wait, five?”

  Silver blinks, and then a pitying look settles over her face. “You didn’t know, of course. So much news chased you out of Ostgard when you fled, but you were busy trying to fool Lucky into granting you sanctuary, so you haven’t heard it.”

  Myrrh sighs. “And?”

  “It seems your escape from the Shields caused Emmerst to reevaluate the security of his position. For whatever reason, the man seems to think you’re a threat to his plans. Or at least, that’s the conclusion I draw from hearing his latest orders. Curfew from dusk until dawn. All those who can’t obtain vouchers of employment are to be rounded up and held in camps being erected in Smeltertown. There are to be mandatory rallies and speeches where Emmerst and his lackeys will speak about the new order. And of course, Glint’s public trial and execution have been moved forward. He dies in five days.”

  Myrrh tries everything to keep her thief’s mask in place, but for a moment, it’s all too much. Jaw clenched, she pinches her temples between thumb and forefinger.

  “And you want to help us rescue him. I’m not so proud as to refuse the aid, but you haven’t given me a reason to trust you either.”

  “Let me put it this way. Despite your actions today, I know you’re not a fool. You must realize it wouldn’t be a tremendous challenge for me to drown you both. I might even be able to free Glint on my own. But as I already mentioned, I’ve known him longer than you. More…deeply than you, I’d wager as well. And saving him is more important to me than indulging the annoyance I feel every time you speak. It’s more important to me than the lives of half a dozen smugglers who made the mistake of interfering with my plans. I’ve gambled enough to understand odds, and right now, they say we’re more likely to succeed when working together. But if you persist in delaying us by stopping in the middle of a nines-forsaken swamp to argue, I may just roll the dice and go it alone.”

  Myrrh’s mouth tastes like bile as she swallows her words. Because, sixes take the woman, she’s probably right. Glint’s situation is grim, and it will probably only get worse.

  “Fine,” she says at last.

  “Then move and let me row. I happen to know that patrols have been stepped up in the woods, but I have contacts among the warehouses at the edge of In Betweens. We can slip into the city and establish a base there. One of the thieves’ paths ends nearby.”

  Back into the city she so recently fled. Myrrh’s not sure that’s the best move, but then, she only left because Carp’s Refuge seemed close enough to coordinate a rescue yet hidden enough to stay clear of Emmerst’s forces. And—unfortunately—Silver is right about her chances of overseeing the rescue from the nearest upstream town.

  Myrrh is a thief and a sneak. She knows the thieves’ paths like she knows the bemused smile Glint gives her when he teases. If she wants to free him, she should use her strengths, not try to give orders from afar like a general or merchant commander.

  “Unless you disagree?” Silver prompts, her tone condescending.

  Myrrh nudges Nab off the seat, then joins him in the rear of the boat as Silver takes the oars. As the boy yawns and settles his head on the rail, Myrrh stares over the swamp and the fog that’s rising from its surface, thickening the air.

  She doesn’t want to look at the other woman. Doesn’t want to remember Silver’s tone when she spoke about her reasons for rescuing Glint. Because Myrrh knows that tone. Silver cares. And that leaves little doubt over what sort of relationship she’s refusing to describe.

  Chapter Ten

  MYRRH SLEEPS FOR a while, waking once when it begins to drizzle, and again when the drizzle becomes a downpour and frigid water soaks through her clothes. She sits up, shivering, and pulls her knees close. Beside her, Nab’s teeth chatter audibly; he doesn’t even complain when she drapes an arm over his shoulders and pulls him against her.

  Sixing rain.

  To either side of the boat, raindrops hiss against the surface of the swamp. Occasionally, a bullfrog’s croak groans in the night. Despite the years spent scraping by in Ostgard’s slums, the nights when she slept out because her latest squat had been discovered by the Shields, Myrrh is fairly certain that between the bone-deep chill and the broken ribs, she’s as uncomfortable as she’s ever been. But as soon as that thought enters her mind, she curses the selfishness. Glint is surely ten times as miserable. The last time she saw him, he could barely walk due to gut wounds delivered by the knives of a dozen would-be assassins. And that was before Emmerst manhandled him out the door, reopening the gashes. The truth is, Myrrh can’t even be certain he’s alive, and it’s possible that all this is for nothing.

  She cuts off those thoughts before they lead to despair. Thieves don’t cry.

  “I assume you have a plan,” Silver says. “If nothing else, we can use it as a starting point.”

  The truth is, concocting a plan was to have been Myrrh’s first priority once she’d secured a temporary hideout in the Frog’s Whistle. Seeing as that didn’t go as expected, leaving her fleeing for her life rather than planning to save Glint’s, she’s no further along than she was when her thieves’ council broke up in the hours after Glint’s capture.

  “Why don’t we start with your ideas?” she says, baring her teeth in an insincere smile.

  Silver scoffs. “I suspected as much. I suppose we should start by discussing where he’s being held. Do you know?”

  “We will probably know soon enough. I’m sure the only reason Emmerst captured Glint—and the only reason he didn’t kill him right away—is because his support for the bid for Maire is weaker than he lets on. He needed a scapegoat for the troubles in the city and a rallying point for people who have suffered because of them. Glint was about to steal the Maire’s seat out from under him, so who better to set up as a villain than the man who was about to best him?”

  “That’s not a bad theory, actually,” Silver says. Myrrh waits, jaw clenched, for the woman to follow through with an insult, but none comes. After a moment, Silver speaks again. “So you think he’ll have Glint somewhere public?”

  “As soon as he’s recovered enough that bringing him into the public view won’t kill him.”

  The rain and the fog snuff most of the moonlight, but the orange glow of Ostgard’s many street lamps and torches filters through the storm from their right. There’s just enough light for Myrrh to spot the surprise on Silver’s face. The woman didn’t know he had been hurt before his capture. Good. It’s nice to be the one holding a secret or two.

  The woman says nothing for a while, then speaks through slightly clenched teeth. “Anything else you feel you should share about Glint’s situation? The last time we met, he was healthy and making strong inroads with the council. He seemed to feel the nomination for Maire was all but certain.”

  Myrrh swallows. They met? Somehow she had the idea that Silver was a figure from Glint’s past. An old flame, most likely, but it’s not like she believed she was the first woman to capture his attention. But Silver’s words suggest they’ve been meeting regularly. If he were using her as a contact with the Port City thieves, wouldn’t he have mentioned it? He had been preparing to hand over control of his syndicate, after all.

  Which poses the question, what reason would he have to keep his meetings with Silver a secret? Perhaps if they were for reasons other than professional dealings? She shakes her head. She’s just letting the woman get to her.

  “What do you know about Haven Syndicate?” Myrrh asks, avoiding the question of Glint for the moment.

  “I know they’ve been rivals of the Rat Town thieves for years.”

  “Until two nights ago when one of our conflicts ended with me saving the life of one of their children.”

  “A peace that barely lasted a day. I know they’ve been helping the
Shields press into Rat Town.”

  The woman is well informed. How was she able to gather so much information so quickly as a guest in Carp’s Refuge?

  “Which makes me wonder why you think this warehouse in their district is the best place to establish a base of operations,” Myrrh comments.

  Silver smirks and arches an eyebrow. “Concerned that the location will make you too dependent on me to establish lines of communication? After all, it hardly seems wise for you to move around in enemy territory, especially with the bounty on your head.”

  “That is a concern.”

  “Fortunately, allegiances shift quickly. By the time we land, control of the syndicate may have flipped again.”

  “Was it the ferrymen on the rafts?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Who was bringing you the news from Ostgard? I assume Skorry’s gifts don’t allow you some kind of far-sight.”

  Rather than answering, Silver nods toward something behind Myrrh, who glances over her shoulder. Sometime during the conversation, the boat has turned toward the city, and they’ve nearly reached the first of the darkened buildings hunkering in the mud at the edge of the swamp. Silhouetted against the ruddy fog filling In Betweens, the warehouses could be hiding any number of threats.

  Myrrh holds Nab close as the boat slides into the mud. Lithe and nearly silent, Silver hops out and steadies the vessel.

  Silver didn’t answer the question, but delaying here only means they’re exposed to Haven’s lookouts. Myrrh takes a breath, wincing as her ribs protest, and climbs out of the boat.

  ***

  Silver’s warehouse contact turns out to be the man hired to guard the building. At least that means they don’t need to get rid of any security. Better, the man isn’t part of the Haven Syndicate. In the lower-class districts, security is usually provided by the syndicate that controls the region—that is, if the owner of the building doesn’t want its contents regularly targeted by the crime rings. In this case, though, the guard and his brother are solo operators who manage to avoid trouble by paying tribute—sponsored by the warehouse owner—to Haven.