Tyler was grinning ear to ear by the time he left the captain’s quarters later that night. Irena had been pleased with his achievements, and with his agreement to assist with whatever she was plotting. She’d allowed him to stay much later than usual, and had been particularly generous with her attentions. He checked the stars. Still enough time for him to work.
He did his best to straighten his rumpled clothes before clambering down the stairs to the dorms. Ollie was already sound asleep, his snores much deeper than one would expect from someone who was barely a teen. Confident he wouldn’t be missed, Tyler wandered through the near deserted canteen into the kitchens. To his surprise Anya was still there, bustling around with one eye on the stove and the other on him. She was comfortable enough with his presence now that she just gave him a blushing smile in answer to one of his winning grins. She didn't say anything, until he started rummaging in the ample collection of pots and pans.
“Hey hey, what are you looking for?” She tapped the end of her spoon on the back of his hand, folding her arms as he looked up at her. Tyler gave a small guilty look, one hand still seeking out the right pot while he kept eye contact with Anya, who was now eyeing him with a certain level of suspicion.
“I just need to borrow one for a minute.”
“What for?”
Tyler wrapped his fingers around the handle of a heavy iron cast pot, tugging it loose and hefting it from the shelf as he stood. The weight was good, it should hold up. “I promise I'll bring it back.”
“I’m just concerned about the condition it’ll be in.”
He managed to blow her a kiss while hauling the pot into a more comfortable position in his arms, and escaping before she could ask him any more questions. It had taken a few weeks of helping himself to supplies, but he should have just about enough now to mix up a few helpful concoctions. He was not the sort of thief to rely on picks alone. These days you needed a few more tricks up your sleeve to be able to survive on the streets. And he had a certain suspicion Irena’s latest task for him would require a few more tricks than usual. He’d already sought out a quieter back room in the storage area that wasn’t used all that much, and was far enough away from the gunpowder stores. Health and safety and all. He could see well enough in the dark that the moonlight proved enough to work by. Ideally he’d have set up some sort of heat source, but he decided that wouldn’t be a good idea while floating out in open ocean on something made out of flammable materials. So he’d make do with the right ingredients in the right order. Tyler set the pot down and crouched beside it, dragging one of the sacks of goodies a little closer to himself. He worked by smell more than sight. He was just about filling a third jar when he heard someone coming. Tyler shoved his creations beneath the sack, but could do nothing with the pot, so did his best to master an innocent expression as the door opened.
Milon started at seeing him, his perfect hair shining as he tilted his head a little to the left, “What are you doing in here?”
“Oh, Anya had lost this. I remembered seeing it somewhere down here, went to get it for her.”
“Mhm.” He sniffed, smiled. “You're making explosives.”
“On a certain level. Just smoke bombs and stuff.”
“Do you add coal powder or graphite? Personally I prefer soot, although you do have to scrub to get the stains off.”
“You know how to cook?”
“I used to, one of my first jobs in the city. Big old stink of a factory, but hell they taught you the tricks of the trade.”
“Wanna help?”
“Seriously?! Captain won’t let me do this sort of stuff anymore, not since...” Milon grinned, “Well you haven’t got a naked flame in sight so we should be fine.”
Tyler chuckled to himself, unveiled the brews he’d already concocted and tossed Milon an empty jar to fill.
In the shadows cast by the lamps along the hall, a figure detached itself and silently wandered from store to store, before elbowing open a porthole, and swinging out of it. Irena sat on the ledge that ran around the hull, trying and failing to wipe the smile from her face. Listening to those two had brought up memories. Roselyn, one of her mother’s closest friends, had taught Irena bomb-making. It had been some time since she’d seen the Westerner – she and her husband Eli had gone off traveling years ago, their return open-ended. Roselyn had been like an aunt, the fun aunt who teaches you all of the stuff your parents think you’re too young to know, or would rather you didn’t learn. The smells from that room, it had felt like she was back. The assassin-turned-pirate moved silently, could become almost invisible. But there was one thing she never seemed to shake, a very faint odour of gunpowder. Irena learnt to track her by it, though in all honesty she hadn’t noticed it herself until Eli had pointed it out. Roselyn tried to keep that particular talent to herself for the most – she was dangerous enough with a tiny blade, let alone to consider what she'd be capable of with explosives.
“What’s this?”
“Chemistry lesson.”
The smile was gone now. Irena missed them. Missed the carefreeness that came of childhood, even hers. Sure, growing up on a pirate ship hadn’t been easy. It had been dangerous, and she’d had to grow up a hell of a lot faster than other children. But she’d been loved, and had loved them in return. She rubbed at her chest. Homesickness. Now there was something she hadn't felt in a long time. Irena sighed and rested her head back against her ship. The ledge she sat upon was narrow, but she wasn’t afraid she’d fall, even as the hull caught a breaker and showered her with spray. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh salty smell. This was home. Out on the water. It didn’t matter if there wasn’t a horizon in sight.
Opening her eyes again she looked out over the waves, stood smoothly and threaded her way back across to the ladder. Roselyn had taught her how to do this too, how to have complete faith in your own body. Now Irena didn’t need a safety line even in the roughest of storms, though she used one anyway. There was being cocky and then there was asking for trouble. Besides, Jim would have a heart attack if she did anything so reckless. He panicked if she got a splinter for god’s sake.
Irena flipped back over the banister, one hand automatically adjusting the blades at her spine. A few of the crew glanced at her, but didn’t act surprised to see their captain pop out of nowhere. They were used to it by now she supposed. Only the newbies were green enough to underestimate her, and she didn’t have too many of those at the moment. Long term crews were rare for pirates, but the Wolves as a whole had always managed to keep loyal crews.
~
Anya watched the flicker of the moonlight on the water, drew back her arm and flung another clam shell out over the waves. They’d skim if she got the angle right. This one only bounced once before disappearing back where it had come from. She picked at the next shell, already cupped in her palm. Pips was still acting suspiciously, she knew there was something her friend wasn’t telling her. She’d been behaving strangely for a few days now, but Anya had only just confronted her about it. Pips threw her shell out, watched as it bounced twice before sinking. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“Wasn’t supposed to tell me what?”
Anya watched as Pips turned her back to the water, propping herself against the balustrade. The cook could see the words wanting to come up, and while Pips was clearly trying her best not to continue, she wasn’t all that good with holding back gossip. “Tyler was asking Blue about relationships. Apparently as soon as you came into view he stopped talking. We think he maybe wants to take whatever’s going on between you two beyond a flirtation.”
Anya dropped the shell and ducked to snatch it back up before it could skitter across the deck. “There’s nothing going on, what are you talking about?”
Her friend smiled. She knew too much. “Anya, come on – I’ve known you long enough.”
“Alright, fine, yeah, I like him.” She paused, “You really don’t think Blue misunderstood?” Sure there had been chemist
ry between the two of them, she knew that. But Tyler had been given plenty of chances to make his intentions known, hadn’t he?
He flirted pretty openly, he wasn’t exactly the shy type. But maybe he found it harder to express things like that.
A relationship.
Anya would admit that she’d thought about it plenty.
Pips nodded, most likely reading Anya’s mind – she wasn’t the best at keeping her expression blank. “I’ve seen how he looks at you, and just think back on the things he’s done for you. There’s something there.”
Anya couldn’t help the thrill, the acceleration of her heart, as she smiled and drew her arm back to throw the shell out into the waves.
Chapter 14
Takes a thief to catch a thief
Irena wasn’t as practiced at sneaking around as she thought. Tyler knew she was somewhere behind him. He hauled himself up a drainpipe to wander along the wide tiles of the roof above. He didn’t need to of course, no one else knew what he was and the alleys had been empty for the most. Busy streets were better, easier to disappear into. Fog was good too, but dangerous for the potential it gave for enemies to lurk. Rooftops were good for vantage points, and for showing off. He couldn’t hear her anymore, she must have lost him. He smiled to himself. Takes a thief to catch a thief.
“Hi.”
Tyler almost fell from the roof as Irena appeared before him, swinging herself up from a windowsill. His hand slammed into his hammering chest.
“What the hell?! Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again.”
She smirked, “Or what, you’ll actually fall off the roof? I thought you were the one who was supposed to be sneaking.”
Tyler opened his mouth, found no cutting response available, and pointed at her, “What are you doing here again?”
“Insurance.”
“Don’t trust me to do my job?”
“Something like that.”
“I got your compass didn’t I.”
Irena shrugged, that smile still playing at the corner of her mouth. Most likely lingering amusement at seeing him flustered. “Circumstances were different. I couldn’t exactly have waltzed into a town I’m banned from.”
“So you got yourself banned from Whitecliff but you’re still welcome in Z’aar?” he snorted and continued along the rooftop, her footsteps at his back.
“I’m an acquired taste. And if you try to turn that into anything flirtatious I will punch you.”
He glanced at the ground, shimmied himself down a ledge to a balcony below. “Relax, this is a job. I don’t flirt on the job. Unless it’s called for of course.”
“Quite the professional.”
Tyler drew to a halt, turned to look at Irena, “Does Jim know you’re here?”
“Are you purposely stalling or do you actually have a plan?”
“I had a perfectly good plan until you decided to show up.”
“So improvise.”
Tyler said nothing to that but grumbled to himself, then leapt back to the ground, tucking his hands in his pockets and slowing his pace as they reached the road that ran parallel with the warehouse. He’d already done a few circuits of the area, enough to know the best angle to come at the target. “You’ve told me the barest detail as to what this is all about you know. Who is Clarke and what did Hansen mean when he called him ‘old school’?”
“Means he’s a slaver. Or was. They’re still around though the trade was outlawed.”
Tyler knew very well who had been at the forefront of that particular enforcement – the Wolves themselves. Tigerlily and Tristan had broken down the entire trade. They’d started out small, word was that the Pack now consisted of around 1,257 ships, one of the largest alliances on the seas. “Hansen trades with men like that?”
“He trades with anyone if he thinks it’ll keep his head attached to his neck. That’s why he’s useful. He’s in the dirt, just like you and me. He doesn’t know how to get rid of it right though.”
“You’ve known something was going on for a while haven’t you?”
“Ships in wrong places, deals with the wrong people.” She scratched at her chin, “Something bigger is happening, I just haven’t figured that bit out yet.”
“And you think Clarke will know.”
She shook her head, “If he does he won’t tell me. This is just to send a message. He can’t expect to trade in my territory without facing consequences.”
Tyler checked the lie of the land. As with most powerful men, Clarke hadn’t put up much protection. At the end of the day Clarke was your classic businessman, they got to a certain size and thought they were too big to mess with. Tyler had been that wake up call before. Where other gangs would see reputation as a warning sign, he’d always found it a beacon. “Okay, from hereon out I am in charge. Don’t question me, do what I tell you to do and only what I tell you to do. Are we in agreement?”
“You’re the boss.”
“Don’t ever say that again.” He checked their position for the umpteenth time. Always check, never move until you are certain. It had kept him alive to this point. “Keep at my back and keep quiet.”
He slunk onwards, tucking himself into the shadows of the walls. There were going to be guards, he didn’t know when or where but they’d exist. Not in the numbers that they should to efficiently protect a building of this size, but some all the same. He didn’t have the luxury of time or an experienced crew to fall back on to get him information like that, and slipping back into the black market was not an option. He couldn’t rise from the dead yet. So he’d go solo, like in the old days. He’d done bigger jobs than this with just his wits to fall back on, he could do it again.
Tyler flexed the fingers of his right hand, one knuckle popping. A pick appeared between his thumb and forefinger. Tucking it into his palm he ran his other hand over the wall and found the seam. All warehouses had a back exit. Something hidden. Especially those who were dealing illegally. It was all a matter of spotting them. He looked around, then turned, facing the wall. He put a finger to his lips – a silent instruction to Irena, then perched on his haunches.
It was an old lock, mostly disguised in the solid wood panels that made up this wall of the warehouse. Painted, sanded and repainted, a thick layer of tar-like substance blocked most of it. Short-term thinking for the time when you’d need to use the back exit, Tyler expected it wouldn’t be easy to open even with the actual key. He eased a pick from the back of his boot, spitting out another smaller one from his mouth. It was a stubborn one, it wasn’t often Tyler was forced to work three picks in one lock. And by the looks of things three might not be enough either. He gritted his teeth, twiddling the second a tiny fraction to the left, the first to the right. He pressed his ear against the wood, listening to the lock, silently asking it to give him that one little…Tyler almost cheered when he heard the click. He ran his fingers against the crack of the panel, slid them beneath it and tugged. It gave way enough for his hand to creep through.
Tyler grunted, shoved the picks back in place, then pulled the panel open properly. He glanced at Irena, his tongue running over the pick against his gums, checking it was secure. He wasn’t used to working with company in tow like this, not with someone who wasn’t a thief. But he supposed Irena was as good as.
The door he’d found was small, large enough to crawl through. The hinges were quieter than he’d expected from the state of the paintwork on the outside, so that was a bonus. He gestured for her to follow, slipping inside the warehouse and slowly straightening up on the other side. Once Irena was beside him, he ducked to shove a wedge into the door, then pulled it to. If anyone outside came wandering by, he didn’t want to give away their escape plan.
The warehouse was pitch black without the light from the hatch, but that at least meant no one was inside. Tyler knelt down, pulled the small pack from his back, and felt around for the right jars. He pulled two out, flicked the lids open and tipped one into the other. Then he quickly refastened
the lid, and shook the jar. A pale but usable light began to glow. Enough to make out the suggestion of objects, but not enough to give away their presence. Hopefully. Irena held a hand out. Tyler gave the jar another shake and held it out to her, “Thief trick. Just chemistry. Will tell you later.”
“What’s the other stuff for?”
Tyler pulled the other jars back into the pack and secured the straps on his shoulders. “Plan B.”
With the dim light they made their way into the centre of the warehouse, Tyler scoping out the size and scale of the room, the contents, listening for warning of anyone incoming. He stopped, “Give it another shake.” Irena obeyed, the light got a little brighter. “This is where it gets tricky. Do you remember the way back to the hatch?”
“Yes.”
“If anything goes wrong head back there. Don’t worry about me.”
“How gallant.”
“Shut up, and make yourself useful.” A dagger appeared in his hand, then sank into the barrel nearest to him. A steady trickle of what smelled unmistakably of whiskey began to flow. He jabbed the knife into another barrel, splintering the wood. “You wanted this done quietly. Do it carefully. If you smash the barrels it’ll make too much noise. Just enough to get it moving.”
They plagued the entire warehouse, stabbing every barrel they came across. The ground became slippery. They’d kept quiet, but before long the guards would smell it even if they hadn’t heard them.
Tyler skidded back to Irena, slipping his dagger back into his belt, “Time to go.”
He withdrew the scrap of fabric she’d given him earlier, a piece of an old flag, the Siren’s Call’s flag. Her calling card. She wanted to be sure Clarke would know who to blame for the ruination of his most prized stock. Tyler wrapped it about a beam, nodding in the direction of the hatch. “Out, now.”
They hurried back to the tiny strip of light that gave away the position of the exit, going as fast as they could on the now treacherous flooring. A sudden creak startled Irena enough to drop the jar. Tyler snapped an arm out and caught it before it could smash and give them away. He grabbed Irena with the other, pulling her back behind a tower of barrels.
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