River of Thieves

by Clayton Snyder

  I knew it was nerves. There were other women, other men, other cities. This wasn’t the first, wouldn’t be the last. The problem was proximity. Lux was close, annoyingly so for someone who wouldn’t talk, so I couldn’t just move on, shake the feeling. As for her silence—well, she was half-dead. And maybe she just needed release. Maybe she just needed to spend the night with someone who wouldn’t make a big deal of it, and I was fucking it up.

  I let out a long sigh, and she finally tilted her head forward, glanced at me. A slow smile spread across her face, and I returned it. Too quickly, probably. I tried to squash it, and it turned into a grimace. Her eyebrows came together gently, and I shook my head. Lux chuckled and walked to window, pushing the drapes aside. After a moment, she let them drop. When she turned back, her skin somehow became paler.

  “Leashmen are here,” she said.

  Cord entered from the kitchen. “What, this street?”

  Lux turned, an ugly sneer on her lip. “No, you dolt. This room. Yes, this street.”

  Cord joined her at the window, cursing under his breath. “How in the seven snowy hells did they find us?”

  I glanced at Lux, remembering her late-night encounter. She moved across the room, sitting beside me. Her weight settled into my leg, the point of her hip in mine. I shifted, sparing her a glance. Her eyes were wide, her hands clenched.

  “What now?” Rek asked.

  “Something they’ll never expect,” Cord said. “We attack.”

  “What?” Lux's voice rose three registers.

  “Well, I can’t come up with all the damn plans,” Cord growled. “Nenn?”

  “Let’s burn the place down,” I said.

  “That… that doesn’t seem better,” Cord said.

  Lux nodded. “Yeah… no. That’s better. Better than being stabbed, anyway.”

  ***

  We watched the house burn from two gardens away, the guard and fire brigade arriving to keep it from spreading. It's amazing how fast some things burn. Well, not as amazing when you consider how much lamp oil and fire we applied to the place, but still. It was a lot of fire. The shouts of the Leashmen and their wizards echoed down the stone streets. We’d kicked a hornets’ nest, but it was localized.

  “That poor bastard,” Rek said. “He’s gonna wake up in the shants, finally remember who he is, and come home to wet ashes.”

  Cord led us away from the chaos. “Serves him right,” he called over his shoulder.

  “How so?”

  “Anyone working for Anaxos at this point has to know how complicit they are in this nightmare. A few burnt belongings should be the least punishment for them.”

  The statement, unusually flat for Cord, dropped a blanket of silence on us, and we followed him for a while between garden walls and over hedges, the green of the residential lawns dazzling in the aftereffects of the blaze. We rounded a corner, ready to leap the wall and move deeper into the city when a cry sounded out above the others.

  “Rogue!”

  I turned to see a Leashman in their deep blue chain armor, whip and chains free. He spotted Lux, and advanced. It was only a matter of time before his cry alerted the others.

  “Nenn,” Cord said.

  I split from the group and circled around, slipping between a pair of rosebushes grown wild enough to belong in the fae court, loosening my knives in their sheathes. I caught glimpses of the Leashman as he moved past me, but he was too deep into his pursuit of Lux to notice any sound I made.

  As soon as he passed, I slipped from between the bushes, blades out. He was at half a run now, whip uncoiling with a grace I hadn’t expected. He lashed out, catching Lux around the ankle as the wizard tried to escape.

  Lux cried out, raising one arm and flicking a lance of fire at the mage hunter. It raged across the open space, then simply died, snuffed out like a candle flame. The Leashman wrenched on the whip, dragging her closer, and I moved in, blades out.

  Something heavy and impossibly hard collided with my skull and the world went sideways. Then dark. I found myself on my side in the cool grass while the rest of the squad appeared, whips coiling around Lux.

  The Leashmen reeled her in as I lay prone. Lux gave one last desperate struggle, the bonds of the whips leaving her skin red and raw. She shouted something, a word that made my stomach clench. The air around her began to ripple, opening on—somewhere—and then a Leashman’s blade was through her, ripping into ribcage and spine.

  She slumped and I cried out as her body went still. Strong hands grabbed me, pulling me from the path, dragging me out of sight. I heard whispered words, though they meant nothing, and felt the heat of tears on my cheeks.

  Party Crashing and Insurrection for Fun and Profit

  I woke to Cord singing.

  “Dun dun dun. ‘Nother one bites the dust.”

  I groaned and sat up. My head ached like someone hired a dwarf to hammer on my skull with a femur. I rubbed eyes filled with sand, and my mouth tasted like seven days’ worth of rotgut poured down my throat.

  “What are you singing, and why do I have a hangover?” I asked.

  Cord stopped humming. “Rek figured you might be sad if you woke up too soon. I was worried about your concussion.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “Right. Other way around.”

  “The song?”

  Cord resumed humming. “And another one down and—“he shrugged. “Just popped into my head.”

  I opened my mouth to make a remark about things that should stay in his head when I felt the weight of the quiet in the room. The memory of Lux impaled flashed into my mind, and I choked back a sob.

  “You still crying over her?”

  I glared at Cord, and heard Rek shift in his seat. My hand crept to my blade.

  “Uh, Cord. Watch your mouth now,” Rek warned.

  Cord held his hands up in placation. “It’s—sorry. We found out who the rats were.”

  “Who?”

  “Lux,” Rek rumbled.

  I sat all the way up, a frown across my face. “That can’t—there’s no way—“

  Cord interrupted. “We found a note in her room. Lux was so desperate to reverse whatever had been done to her that she was willing to sell us out to Anaxos in return for a cure.”

  “That doesn’t explain the Leashmen.”

  “Anaxos double-crossed her. She told the bastard where we were, and the King, long may he shit his trousers, thought he’d get rid of all of his problems and turned Lux into the Leashmen.”

  “Well, fuck me sideways with a sharp stick.”

  Cord screwed up his face. “That sounds not fun.”

  “None of this is fun, Cord.”

  “Give me a day. It’ll be fun.”

  My head started aching again and I groaned, leaning back into the cushions.

  ***

  The second time I woke, my head reduced itself to a dull background ache, though my throat and my body cried out for water. I picked up a mug sitting next to the couch I laid on and drank deeply. I had no doubt Rek set it there for me, and added it to the list of debts I felt I owed him. All the bells of St. Bastard’s cathedral finally stopped ringing in my head and I took in the room, noticing details for the first time.

  Gray was a good descriptor. The walls and floors were nondescript wood, and though it wasn’t cramped or filthy, it was plain. A simple sitting room, privy, and kitchen made up the whole of the apartment. Equally simple furniture filled the space, the only luxury afforded comfortable cushions on the couch and chairs. Someone—probably Rek—had left a plate of bread and cheese along with a carafe of water, and I set to, filling up. It did little to snuff the grief, but it made me feel better anyway, and when I finished, I felt full, and a little pissed. Betrayal is a hard meal to swallow.

  I wondered what I would have done in that situation, and realized I didn’t know. My family never cared enough for me to care back, and Cord was a big boy. He could take care of himself. I guess if I found mysel
f in that situation though, I’d cut throat and shit fire to fix what was broken. The thought cooled my rage a little, and I sank into the couch and wished for a cigar.

  Cord swept in at that moment, and as if he’d read my mind, dumped a paper bag into my lap. It smelled of tobacco. It smelled of heaven. I opened it and pulled out a cigar, fishing around inside until I managed to find a box of lightsticks. I struck one, lit the cigar, and puffed contentedly.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “We’re celebrating.”

  “What’s there to celebrate?”

  Rek bustled in the door behind Cord, slamming it behind him.

  “St. Cruciatus Day,” he said.

  “Wazzat?”

  “It’s the day the rich people celebrate being rich by throwing extravagant parties. It’s usually a shitshow by the end as they try to outdo each other, and everyone gets so fuckin’ drunk you could light the fumes coming off their tongues,” Cord said.

  “Okay, but what is it?” I asked. Partly because I knew Rek would tell me. Partly to annoy Cord.

  “It’s the day we celebrate Arn Cruciatus, the Savior of the Hollow Hills. He single-handedly held back a wight invasion. Died horribly, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be a martyr, would he?”

  “What do the rich have to do with it, then?”

  “The same thing the rich always have to do with it. If it’s not about them, they make it about them,” Cord said.

  “What do we have to do with it, then?” I was enjoying poking Cord.

  He sighed. “We are going to use the opportunity to…”

  “Don’t say it,” I said.

  “Have some fucking fun,” he finished.

  ***

  While I’d been out, Midian put on its party shoes. Rek picked out a dress that surprisingly, wasn’t awful. A whalebone corset with ruffled skirts, and a white mask that showed only my eyes. Graceful curls suggesting cheekbones, leading up to a pair of short horns, decorated the mask.

  I’d fought a little bit at the idea of getting dressed up to go out, but the men insisted, saying part of the celebration was dressing up. Everyone dressed as wights, a reminder of what would have happened if Cruciatus failed. The men wore tight breeches and long embroidered waistcoats, high boots and masks similar to mine, white with embellishments, leading to horns.

  When we stepped out, the city had transformed. Bright pennants and bunting hung from every rooftop, and rose petals fluttered in scattered rows through the streets. Citizens mingled regardless of class, though for some the quality of their costumes made that evident enough. Beer and wine casks sat on wagons at every corner, the crowd gathering in choke points around them.

  I watched the people milling about, chatter filling the air. They pressed in close, the crowd warm and breathing. My hand went to the blade strapped to my thigh. Cord appeared from the crowd and pressed a cup into it instead.

  “Relax,” he said, sipping from his own cup.

  “Hard to. Cord without an angle is like a rat without a tail.”

  Rek snorted from behind me. He moved to Cord’s side, the crowd parting naturally for the big man. I took a sip from the mug. It was cool and sweet, the grapes strong enough to make my lips pucker a little.

  “Good, right?” Cord asked.

  In answer, I drained my cup and handed it back to him. “I’m going to enjoy myself now,” I said. “And I swear by Gret’s balls that if you fuck this up for me, Cord, they’ll never find your meat.”

  He laughed, then choked on it. “Wait. What about my bones?”

  “I’ll use them for earrings.”

  He blinked. “Noted.”

  He waved to Rek, and they disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone for the first time in days.

  ***

  By the time the moon reached its peak, we were all quite drunk. Someone started a round of Rena’s Skirts, and someone else steered it into bawdy territory.

  Oh Rena’s skirts

  Climb the knee

  I wish she'd do the same for me

  Oh Rena’s skirts

  Oft do tangle

  But her chest

  They let dangle!

  I was about to lead the next verse with a clever cross rhyme involving hussy, but someone grabbed my arm and pulled me from the crowd. I rounded on them, a scowl on my face. Or what I hoped was a scowl. One eyebrow was up, the other down. No matter what I tried, the rogue wouldn’t follow the other.

  “Who in the frozen blue fuck do you think you are?” I asked.

  The newcomer swept the wide-brimmed feather hat he wore off and bowed low. “Lord Chanterry, Second in the Circle, my lady. It seemed you had fallen in with ruffians, and I thought only to rescue you.”

  In response, I brought one boot up in a swift motion, catching him in the chest. He flailed back, arms pinwheeling. As he arced backward, I brought the other foot up, stumbling only a little, and smashed his balls. He screamed, spinning arms forgetting they were attempting to maintain his balance, and clutched his groin as he crunched backwards into the stones. He lay there, groaning, and I stood over him.

  “I’m no lady, my Lord.”

  A pair of strong arms grabbed me, yanking me into the crowd, and I found myself running beside Rek, breathless and laughing as we displaced noble and wretch, tipping cups from hands and pies from teeth. We collapsed against an alley wall, Rek peering back into the crowd. Despite their indignation at our flight, they closed ranks, chatting and laughing again as if nothing happened. It occurred to me that there is no manner of small ills that alcohol cannot soothe.

  Rek took hold of my arm again, a light touch, and pointed down the street. “Look there, here’s something.”

  I peered from the alley to see the crowd parting. They made neat aisles to each side, making way for a figure approaching. It stepped from further down the street, teetering on legs extended by stilts. It wore all black, the mask on its face painted into a fearsome warrior visage, charms and wards sewn into the cloth of its costume. It wielded a giant mock sword, and where it swept it, the crowd fell prone. I watched as it approached, laying the crowd low, silence falling wherever it walked.

  For a moment, it seemed even the bright pennants and the blazing lanterns dimmed as it passed and silence descended. A chill swept across my skin as though a cool wind kicked up. As the caricature of St. Cruciatus loomed past the alley, I felt the world tilt. I gasped and grabbed at Rek’s arm for support, steadying myself. Then it passed, and the figure was down another street. We stood in silence accompanied only by the sound of rustling finery as people began to rise at its passing. I looked at Rek.

  “It happens,” he said. “The weakness. There is nothing supernatural about the mummery here, but it affects everyone differently. Some say it is because they are haunted, and the spirit of the saint rides the actor, driving away ghosts as they walk.”

  “Is that why they still celebrate this?”

  Rek shrugged and we picked our way through the crowd, heading toward the apartment. The revelers were beginning to disperse, the merriment broken by the somber play that swept through the streets.

  “Could be. Superstition is powerful,” he said. “Could be people need to believe the plague that calls itself Anaxos can eventually be banished.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” I asked. “Seditious, even?”

  Rek shrugged again. “Maybe. But imagine the disaster the king would have on his hands should he ban the celebration. He weathers it for a night because to do so otherwise would be to light a fire he couldn’t possibly contain. At least not without quenching it in a lake of blood.”

  The roar of a crowd nearby interrupted Rek. He changed directions, leading us toward it.

  “That didn’t sound like a happy cheer,” I said.

  “What’s a happy cheer sound like?”

  “Yay!”

  “What’d this sound like?”

  “Yarg!”

  We turned another corner into an open square. A crowd
gathered at the edges, holding back. An effigy of Anaxos Mane stood in the center of the plaza, and the St. Cruciatus actor circled it, raising his arms and waving his blade around. With each wave, the crowd roared, that yarg I heard earlier. He completed two more passes, the crowd’s volume increasing, until it was nearly an unintelligible scream.

  The actor closed the distance to the effigy, his mask set in grim determination, and swept the head off the king’s likeness with a swift motion. The crowd exploded, and I feared for our lives. Rek pulled me close and used himself as a shield, plowing our way back to the apartment.

  We burst through the door, shaking and sweating, fear energy coursing through our veins. I collapsed on the couch, trying to even out my breathing.

  “Cord?” I asked.

  “Cord,” Rek nodded.

  I breathed a curse and lit a cigar.

  You Really Shouldn't Drink That

  Cord didn’t return that night. I slept on the well-stuffed couch, and when he crept through the door in the morning, I sat up, pushing my hair back and wiping sleep from my eyes. My head ached from the wine, but once again, Rek provided, and I grabbed a stuffed pastry from the table. It was warm and savory, and I chewed while I watched Cord in silence. He put on a lopsided grin and flopped opposite me.

  “Good night?” I asked.

  “Nice enough.”

  “Cause any trouble?”

  He shrugged. “A certain man and his wife will be a little tender today. A bit sore myself, if I’m honest. Blacksmiths are resilient. But fun.”

  “So, you didn’t, I don’t know—kill the king in effigy last night?”

  He opened his eyes in an approximation of innocence and grabbed the last of the meat pie from my hand, popping it in his mouth and chewing. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, madam. Heard there was quite a ruckus, though.”