River of Thieves

by Clayton Snyder

  "Get off my boat, Ked!" Cord shouted.

  The big man engaged Rek, shouting back. "Make me!"

  I strained to see the outcome, but already men swarmed me, and I had my hands full. As many as I dropped, another seemed to take their place, and soon I was sweating and breathing hard, leaking blood from a dozen small wounds and at least one good one. Thankfully, my blood was up, and I didn't feel them yet.

  Rek roared from the deck, and Ked swore in return. A clash of steel, and Rek shouted, "Cord!"

  "Lux!" Cord shouted in reply.

  A concussive blast echoed a second later, flattening everyone on deck. My head swam, but I managed to sit up. I saw men scattered like autumn leaves, Rek and Ked included. Lux stepped down from the prow, the wind blowing her robes behind her like wings, her hair out in a halo. Power crackled from her fingertips. I noticed the way her hips swung. For a moment, I could only see the red of her lips, the pale beauty of her face. Then the first of the pirates exploded as eldritch power lashed from her hands and enveloped him.

  Blood, innards, and limbs rained down on the men. For a moment, only shocked silence reigned. Then a second man exploded, and chaos replaced the quiet as they scrambled to regain their ship. The ones who made the deck hacked at the ropes frantically, trying to disentangle the boats.

  Lux continued down the deck, lashing out with power, the air filled with red mist. She reached Ked and placed a hand on his head. His eyes bulged, then with a sound like a sack ripping, his skeleton burst from his flesh, his remains pouring muck like a torn sausage.

  The last of the sailors had fled the Codfather, and Lux turned to them, watching. With a gesture from her, the ropes burned, and the other ship began to drift away. A cheer went up. Lux quirked an eyebrow, raised her other hand, and the ship imploded, timber and rope and flesh collapsing in on itself like crumpled paper. The Codfather began to move under its own power again, leaving the sinking wreckage behind. Lux let a long sigh and sank to the deck. We sat silent for a long moment.

  Finally, Cord broke it.

  "Yo ho ho, bitches."

  ***

  We’d been on the boat for a while, navigation through the western ridge of mountains taking longer than we’d planned or liked. We’d been recuperating and cooped up for a while, and Cord kept telling me this joke—it goes something like this:

  Thief walks into a bar

  Bartender says “What’ll you have?”

  Thief says “Gimme all you got”

  Bartender drops his pants

  Thief looks disappointed, points to the lockbox and says “I’m gonna need change”

  I was convinced he did it out of some misguided attempt to lighten the mood, or maybe to alleviate his own boredom. Whatever the case, I’d threatened to stab him in places that would itch when they healed.

  If you’d asked me four years ago what my life plan was, I probably would have told you that I was going to work in the mill until I died, it burned down, or I drank so much my brain jumped out of my ear to its death. Now—I still wasn’t sure what the long-term plan was, but here, in the moment? I was going to enjoy our ragtag group of rogues. We did a good thing in Midian. We stopped a tyrant, and we taught the people a lesson. They’d never thank us for it, but in time, they certainly wouldn’t allow another despot to press a boot against their neck.

  I lit a cigar and drifted over to Rek, the big man standing still as stone, eyes locked on the horizon. The stones and the cliffs of the Teeth stood over us in mute grays, moss and lichen clinging to the rock faces and trailing in the water of the Lethe. The river twisted and turned between the outcrops, rushing to rapids in some places, but still wide enough for our boat to make the passage. Lux suggested we just use the Harrower engine below deck—a machine of steel and flesh that let us skip entire sections of the journey—but none of us wanted a repeat jaunt to the Deadlands since our escape from Tremaire, and after some inspection, it seemed the power driving it had gone out. Well enough, we made good time under sail and current. That’s the thing about thieves. Even when you’ve the best of intentions, you often find yourself on the run. Appreciation was harder to come by than a lice-free bedroll.

  Rek looked down. “Cord telling that joke again?”

  I nodded. “Did he make that up?”

  Rek sighed. “Yeah. Proud of it, isn’t he?”

  “Like a kid showing you the pile he made in a chamber pot.”

  Rek snorted a laugh. I made my way to the bench set across the bow and watched our wake. Cord finally gave me a break—he hung from above in the mainmast, watching for land. I glanced over at Lux. I’d thought I had little love left in me. The world will bleed it out of you if you let it, the sharp blade of reality an edge that leaves cuts that refuse to heal. Still—she’d said nothing since, and I’d been gracious in keeping my infatuation to a minimum. Cord often said love was like the strikers I used to light my cigars. Bright, hot, and dangerous as fuck. He was full of aphorisms and bullshit, and didn’t usually bother sorting one from another.

  We rounded a bend, and Cord called out, sliding down the netting and mast to land on his feet like a cat. He pointed ahead and I followed the line of his finger to a mass of scaffolding erected against the rocks. As we drew closer, we saw bodies hanging from each, signs dangling from bloated feet.

  SORCERER

  We passed beneath, the bodies twisting in our wake, flies and crows dislodged in black clouds from their stinking prizes

  “Remember,” Cord called out. “If anyone asks, Lux is an arcane manipulator.”

  “Isn’t that just a fancy way of saying wizard?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I prefer to think of myself as eloquent.”

  “Most of your vocabulary consists of how to say 'Let’s fuck' in different languages.”

  “I am a worldly man.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  He opened his mouth to reply and closed it again as the ship rounded another bend and came into a straightaway that opened into a wide lagoon. Neat docks lined up in the water, clean berths held clean ships, and waited for others scattered around the lake. Their hulls were fresh-painted, their sails impossibly white. Further in from the waterfront, the city was laid out in clean lines and well-kept homes and stores, even a temple at one end of the area, looking as though its stones had just endured a fresh scrubbing. As we neared, we saw people walking the streets in simple but well-kept clothing, gathering in conversation while holding simple wicker baskets, or chatting in a park that bordered the water.

  “Holy shit,” Rek said. “It’s…” words failed him.

  “It’s like no one here has ever been licked in the—”

  I shot Cord an elbow. The last of the sentence came out a grunt. He wasn't wrong. This place had repression written all over it.

  Rek guided the boat in with a skillful hand, the flaking paint and filthy sails drawing stares from nearby onlookers. Lux and Cord threw the dockhands ropes. They tied off the boat with some reluctance while Rek spun the windlass, dropping anchor, and I pushed a plank out over the rail. We disembarked to silence, most of the town staring or moving out of our way in harried fashion. A young man stood nearby, one of those that helped tie off the ship.

  Cord clapped him on the back. “Hey kid, any idea where I can get a good meal? I’ve eaten naught but fish for a week. You know the saying—give a man a fish, and he eats for a day, teach a man to fish, and he’s likely to cut his own tongue out? No?”

  The youth stood, staring opened-mouthed.

  “Ah, I see you’ve had the fish.”

  Then, in an aside to me, “Poor lad’s mute. An admirable quality in a politician, but completely useless in a tour guide.” He smiled at the hapless dockworker. “No worries, we’ll find our way.”

  He slapped the young man on the ass, making him jump, and we continued on, Rek making apologies as he passed.

  ***

  We walked up the thoroughfare, neat shops with clean glass and fresh-painted stucco
facades lining the street like waiting suitors. Shoppers kept to themselves, giving us a wide berth. They shot us furtive glances that Cord returned with beaming smiles and winks, sending them scurrying down the street or stepping into shops in search of shelter.

  “Are you going to annoy everyone in town?” I asked Cord.

  He shrugged. “The gods made me friendly. Clearly these people just need to warm to me.”

  “Friendly or creepy?” Rek asked.

  “Creepy,” Lux conceded.

  “Mutiny,” Cord muttered.

  “We’re on land. It’s treason now,” Rek said.

  Cord caught sight of a young woman who hadn't scurried away at our appearance. He approached and leaned against the wall.

  "We're looking for an inn." he wore a smarmy grin, and I rolled my eyes.

  She made a complex symbol across her body, hand traversing from shoulder to shoulder, down across her hips, back up to her eyes, and down to her nether regions.

  "Saints preserve us," she whispered.

  I shouldered Cord out of the way before he could send the young woman screaming for an exorcist and gave her a gentle smile.

  "We just need directions. Then we'll be on our way."

  She looked over my shoulder, peering at each of my companions in turn, then returning to my face.

  "The Father will not be well pleased, but if you only mean to stop for a short while, the Inn is up yonder."

  "The Father?"

  "Father Frollo. He only wishes for us to be safe. Here there are no wraith or goblin, sorcerer or witch. Here life is pure, under his eye."

  "What do you do for fun?" Cord asked.

  "We find joy in all natural things provided by the gods," she said, eyes resting on Lux.

  I took that for our cue to get the fuck out of the street.

  "Thank you," I said, and pulled the others after me.

  "Father protects," she called after us.

  "Anyone else got the heebie-jeebies?" Lux asked.

  "I think I pooed a little," Rek said.

  We hurried down the street, putting as much distance between us as possible. Eventually, we stopped in front of a two-story building of white stucco and blue trim, neat wooden timbers decorating the exterior. A sign hung above the door, clean and orderly like everything else. Painted on it in a painstaking hand were the words ‘The Maiden’s Virtue’. Cord raised an eyebrow, but kept whatever comment he’d been planning to himself, and we stepped inside.

  The interior was simple and clean—whitewashed walls, hardwood floors, and a bar behind which a door stood open, the sounds and smells of a busy kitchen wafting out. We took a seat at one of the sparkling tables and waited. Few other patrons ate or drank at this hour—we’d arrived just a few hours late for lunch, and yet too early for dinner, leaving only the hardcore drunks and those with little else to do.

  I took a closer look. Cord told me once that the key to seeing the heart of a country was to look at its people. Here, the people were well dressed and well-fed, clean and seemingly content. At the tables where more than one sat, they carried on conversations in low tones, laughter occasionally ringing out, and though they occasionally gave us suspicious looks, they rarely lingered. I wondered how many travelers passed through this vale on their way to somewhere else, and if they ever thought of this simple village again. A barmaid came and took our order. The beer was good and cold, chilled by some unknown device or artifice, and the quiet atmosphere did a great deal to ease the tensions that still clung to us from Midian and the long flight from there.

  We pushed our chairs back and kicked our feet out, sated on something that wasn’t fish or hard biscuits.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I asked.

  Cord looked around. “We could stay here a night or two, maybe take on a little honest work.”

  Rek squinted in suspicion.

  “They call me crazy,” Lux muttered.

  Cord sighed. “I don’t have a plan. We pulled down a corrupt monarchy. Where do you go from there?”

  “Retirement?” I offered.

  Cord ran a hand over his face and opened his mouth to say something. The inn’s door opened, interrupting him as a trio of figures entered. They stood, straight-backed, black robes billowing around them. Each had the look of a hungry man, men made lean and angry with an ache in their gut that never went away. Each bore a symbol on a thong around their necks, though the lead figure also wore vestments of crimson that stood out like blood splashed across a stone wall. His eyes blazed with a fervor I’d only seen in the mad and the ill, and I doubted he was ill. They made their way over to our table, fixating on the four of us.

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

  They stopped, the lead priest staring down at our empty plates and our rough clothing, a disapproving look on his face. Though, I don’t know if it was disapproval, or just his natural mien. Some people are just born looking like they constantly smelled shit. He drew a breath, the sound grating in the silence. His voice was deep, though raspy.

  “Brothers and sisters,” he smiled, the expression like a dying rat on a hot plate. I shuddered.

  “I trust you are finding our hospitality to your liking?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You should know, this is a quiet town. We prefer visitors to move on as soon as is expedient for them, as it is far removed from the intrigues and corruption at the heart of empires such as the Veldt and the Junat. It is nothing personal, we just prefer to maintain the peace without threat of… taint. Surely you understand?”

  Cord nodded, but I saw in his eyes he did not. The priest smiled again, this time a thin-lipped grim thing.

  “Good. Good. If you would like benediction before you pass on, please attend our service tomorrow before you go. I would be remiss in denying you at least the blessings of our sacred father. But should you choose not to attend, I hope not to encounter you again. Surely you understand?”

  That simpering smile crawled across his lips again. He spun on his heel, his wordless minions following. They swept out the door, slamming it behind them. I looked at Cord, and my stomach dropped. He had that look in his eyes. You know the look, the one that tells you someone’s going to do something real stupid.

  “Cord?” I said.

  “I have a plan,” he said.

  A groan went up from the group.

  Opiate of the Assholes

  You can understand why we were a bit reluctant to get on board with Cord's newest obsession. So, when he pressed several crowns into the innkeeper’s hands and told her we’d be keeping the rooms above for a while, causing the poor woman to blanch like she’d just seen her grandfather’s naked ghost, my shoulders cranked up tighter than a crossbow string. After we’d settled in, he gathered us in the common room, taking a table close to the fireplace.

  “Okay, so what’s the plan?” I asked. I figured it was better to get the question out of the way early, rather than let Cord spring one of his surprises on us.

  He smirked and took a draught of his beer. His eyes lit on something, the smirk disappearing, and he lowered the mug, setting it on the table with a soft clunk. I turned to look and saw a disheveled man, scraggly beard clinging to his cheeks like a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood. He approached, smelling of liquor, piss, and something I could only identify as similar to thing I’d eaten once in a back alley bar. It had one eye and kept trying to slither from the plate, and in the end, I gave up, stabbed it with my fork, and demanded the barkeep pay me a ransom for vanquishing the beast.

  The smelly interloper staggered over and plopped into an empty chair at our table. He looked at each of us in turn through one bleary eye, Lux tittering nervously, Rek trying to move his chair away without being obvious.

  "I heard ye," he said in a voice that scratched like splintered wood. Something about him tickled my gut, but I couldn't place it. "Plotting."

  "What were we plotting?" Cord asked with a smirk.

  "Ye're gonna piss in the church's fo
nt, if I guess right," he replied.

  Cord's smile slipped a fraction. I mean, he hadn't said it, but we all knew it was coming. How this stranger kenned onto it, we had no idea.

  "And I suppose you want something for your silence," Rek said.

  My hand slipped toward my knives. Cord caught the motion and gave the slightest shake of his head. The man guffawed.

  "Oh hells no. I want to help."

  Cord leaned in, hands on the table. "What kind of help?"

  "Just information."

  "The price?"

  "Knowing I did a good deed."

  "Which is?"

  He gestured toward the church and his sleeve rode up. My stomach jumped at the flash of a ridge of scars running up his arms. I took a breath. Any of the Cotard tribes would have those scars. It meant little to nothing. I forced myself to relax and sat back.

  "Running those holier-than-thou fucks out of town," he said.

  Cord's grin returned. "I'm listening."

  ***

  Turned out Father Frollo was a real sonuvabitch. Came to town winter three years ago. Immediately started issuing edicts. The old man, Ferd, told us the first thing Frollo did was execute anyone he suspected of sorcery. The rest, anyone he saw as impure or undesirable, he stuck on a boat and floated them on their way to Orlecht. The only reason Ferd escaped was because once upon a time, he'd been enamored with the innkeeper, and she let him stay in the basement. Now, for the most part, he lived down there.

  When he was done, he wandered away, leaving us to think about the tidbit he'd shared. I wasn't entirely sure it was useful. Most of those who led the church didn’t have much of a reputation for tolerance. It wasn't exactly a veiled secret. Still, most didn't have the elephantine balls it would take to put everyone you didn't like on a boat and ship them off. At least not without facing a serious civil problem. Which told us there was more to this than we knew.

  If Midian taught me anything, it was that there were always two groups of people in situations like this: Those who didn't give a shit about what was happening, as long as it wasn't happening to them, and those who gave a shit, but couldn't do anything about it. That second group was good in a way. It was like kindling. All it needed was someone willing to set a fire and fan the flames.