by A. C. Cobble
“He’s got the drama down,” muttered Rhys, clambering into the vessel.
The slender figure joined them after they’d all climbed in the boat. Several more shapes appeared to shove them away. They drifted into the current, and their guide pointed to a set of oars lying next to Ben. Grumbling, he took them up. Noticing the thick cloth around the oar-locks, he ducked them in the water and propelled the boat toward the City. They had no lights on their vessel, and in the dark of night, they’d be invisible on the black water. Better than attempting a bridge, decided Ben as he rowed them closer.
Silently, their guide pointed to where Ben should row, and he hauled on the oars, the small boat knifing through the water. A quarter bell and they made it under the lights of the City.
They were directed to a dim section of dock, bordered by poorly lit residential towers, boisterous taverns, and small shops that looked to be closed for the night. Ben had expected some abandoned warehouse district, but he realized as they approached that this area was even better for covert arrivals. There were enough people in the streets that movement wouldn’t be unusual, but it was the kind of low-income neighborhood that had no interest in speaking to the watch. The people in these towers were more likely to listen to the authority of a dagger than the mages in the Sanctuary.
They bumped against a small, padded wharf and climbed out of the vessel. Their guide slipped around them and led them into the City.
Ben and Amelie flanked Prem. The girl’s mouth hung wide open, absolutely stunned at her first view of a real city. Ben grinned at the thought of taking her to some of the nicer parts of town where the towers soared twenty or thirty stories high, with thin bridges hanging between to connect them, the sculpture gardens, the parks, and more. The City was magical in some areas. He shook his head and brought his attention back to what they were doing. They were here to challenge the Veil. There’d be no time for sight-seeing, and the only magic was the stuff they were trying to avoid.
Their guide led them three blocks away from the water and ducked into a four-story flat of apartments. They walked through a narrow, dark hallway and then came out behind the building. They scurried unspeaking through an unlit courtyard and entered another building.
Inside, they found a wide-open room filled with ragged couches, battered tables, and no windows. It was lit by a handful of smoky lanterns. In the back, Ben spied another entrance shrouded by a dirty curtain. On one wall was a table set with earthenware flagons of what Ben assumed was wine or ale. Rhys went to check and poured himself one. He raised an eyebrow at Ben, who nodded back at him.
Their guide perched in one corner of the room and stayed bundled in the cloak. Not one for conversation, apparently.
Rhys took a sip and made a face at the ale. “Renfro didn’t learn anything from his time with you, Ben.”
Ben sipped it as well and grimaced. “Cheap hops,” he explained, “or they used sewer water instead of fresh water.”
Rhys blinked at him and set his mug down.
Ben grinned. “Just kidding.” He paused and added, “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t do that.”
They sat for half a bell under the watchful eyes of their guide before suddenly, there was movement. From the back of the building, they heard a rustling, and two huge men ducked through the curtain.
They were street brawlers, no doubt about it, at least a hand taller than Ben and twice as wide. They wore open vests to display thick slabs of muscle, and at their belts, they had iron-studded clubs and short swords. Ben couldn’t help but notice, also prominently showing on their chests, were hand-sized tattoos of a rat.
Behind the bruisers, a small man entered. He wore snug black britches, a billowy white, silk shirt, and had a fine, silver rapier hanging from his hip. Ben thought about mentioning how similar the outfit was that of their former captor in Fabrizo, Casper, but he bit his tongue instead. They needed Renfro’s help. Needling him about his attire wouldn’t get it.
“Hello, Ben,” remarked the newcomer in an outlandish accent that Ben guessed was supposed to make him sound cultured.
“Renfro,” acknowledged Ben.
“You’ve certainly gained a flair for theater since we last saw you,” remarked Rhys.
Renfro glanced at the assassin. “A few other things as well. For example, it looks like you need my help now, instead of the other way around.”
“We do,” agreed Ben. He eyed Renfro’s companions. “I think it’s best we speak in private.”
Renfro pursed his lips and then turned to the two hulking body guards. “Wait outside.”
“Rat,” protested one of the thugs. “They took down a dozen of Booh’s men, and they’re still armed.”
“They have no intention of hurting me, and if they did, I can take care of myself,” replied Renfro. He gestured toward the cloaked figure who’d led Ben and his friends to the apartment. “Sincell will stay. You wait outside.”
Grumbling, the two toughs departed.
“Let’s save ourselves the embarrassment of you trying to cajole me into some plan. I pay my debts,” declared Renfro as soon as the men were gone. “What do you need? Safe passage out of the City, weapons, gold, a ship?”
Ben smirked. From what he recalled, Renfro rarely paid his debts, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue with him. Instead, he explained, “It’s a bit more than that.”
“A lot more than that,” mumbled Amelie.
Renfro frowned, and their original guide, Sincell, stirred in the corner.
“We need to find someone,” said Ben.
Renfro chuckled, tension flooding out of him. “Ah, that’s not so bad. It takes a lot of manpower to do it proper in the City, but manpower is something I’ve got. I can have fifty urchins scouring this city by tomorrow. You have any clue where this person may be located? If we have a neighborhood to start in, that will speed things up, of course.”
“The Sanctuary,” said Towaal.
Renfro jumped. Evidently, he’d been choosing to ignore the presence of the mage.
“The person we are looking for is carrying a very powerful magical weapon they intend to give to the Veil.”
In the corner of the room, Sincell fell off her stool and scrambled up, cursing. The hood had fallen back, and Ben saw a narrow-faced woman.
“The bloody Sanctuary?” she exclaimed, brushing herself off.
“Sincell,” murmured Towaal. “I knew that name sounded familiar.”
The woman glanced at the mage and then flushed.
“Using magic in the City is rather risky, isn’t it?” Towaal asked the girl. “If the mages sense you, there’s no escaping them here. Runaways tend to, well, run. There’s a reason for that.”
“What does she mean, ‘sense you’?” asked Renfro nervously.
“Don’t worry about it,” grumbled Sincell, retaking her place on the stool.
Towaal snorted and turned back to Renfro.
“We need to find this person,” stated Ben, directing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand. “We need to find him and capture him if possible. We need to obtain the object he is carrying, and we need to undermine and then overthrow the Veil.”
Renfro stared back at him, open-mouthed.
“Did we forget that earlier, about overthrowing the Veil?” said Ben. “Sorry. We did warn you it was more than sneaking us out of the City and a few weapons.”
Renfro was at a loss for words.
“Oh, and we need news as well,” finished Ben. “Demons overran Northport. We need to find out what people in the City know, and I suppose what’s being done north of here in places like Venmoor. After we’re done on this island, we’re going to have to go and face the demon army.”
“Bloody hell,” murmured Sincell.
7
Watching, Waiting
Three days later, they remained in hiding while the Rat’s urchins formed a net around the City. They were watching every bridge on the southwest side of town where Milo may enter. They were a
lso watching the gates to the Sanctuary itself, and Renfro claimed he was checking with sources within the Sanctuary to see if they’d heard anything. Ben doubted Renfro had sources within the Sanctuary, but he had no doubt his old friend had a small army of urchins at his disposal.
Over the last few days, it had become apparent that Renfro had formed something of a fledgling thieves’ guild in the City. It was ambitious and very stupid, but Ben had to admire the guts it took. The City, home to most of Alcott’s mages, was not a place that had ever had an organized ring of thieves. Fear of the mages drove most sensible thieves far away, but like any large city, there was a seedy underbelly. There were pleasure houses, gambling halls, durhang dens, and down and out low-lifes who had no other choices.
The one reason Ben thought Renfro’s plan may work was that his friend, the Rat as he was now known, always remained behind the curtain. Outside of a dozen of his closest associates, no one knew who he was or what he looked like. If the mages made a serious, sustained effort to hunt him down, Ben was sure they could, but with any luck, Renfro would have enough warning to get out of town. It was bold and fool-hardy, and no one else had considered the risk worth the reward. Hence, the Rat was rapidly becoming the defacto head of all of the thieves in the City.
“The trick,” Renfro explained, “is knowing who to target. It’s not about the volume of people you knock over or the size of an individual haul. It’s about knocking over the right people. A gambling den that’s selling durhang out of the back isn’t going to call the watch if some of their product goes missing. A respectable merchant selling carpets, though, he’ll have mages rooting through his warehouse magically searching for clues. I make sure that anyone working for me knows who they’re stealing from.”
“Aren’t you worried you’re going to upset the owners of those gambling dens?” asked Rhys. “If they’re willing to sell durhang in the City, they’d also be willing to put a knife in you then dump you in the river.”
Renfro grinned. “You’re right. Some of them are quite dangerous. Again, it’s important to know your target. If they’ve got enough muscle to come after us, then I’ve found it’s easier to propose a compromise. Instead of us taking the coins ourselves, we ask for them to hand us a piece. Protection money. It’s cheaper for them to shuffle a little of the loot our way instead of engaging in an underground war. Coin is the lubrication that keeps the wheels turning in the underworld. No one minds spreading a little around when they need to.”
Rhys sipped his wine and didn’t respond.
Ben frowned, but he didn’t know enough about thieving to argue with his old friend. Instead, he took a sip of his wine as well and set back, studying the room Renfro had put them up in. They were housed in another slum-like housing complex that the Rat controlled. On the outside, it looked like it was one windstorm away from collapse, but inside, it was lined with plush carpets, sparkling crystal decanters filled with expensive wine, and tapestries that lined the walls like a second coat of paint. It was literally wealth everywhere you looked.
When they’d first seen the apartments Renfro planned to house them in, Amelie had murmured, “Good fortune does not equal good taste.”
Ben couldn’t agree more, but he had to admit, it was more comfortable than sleeping in whatever flea-infested inn they would have to choose to avoid anyone from the Sanctuary.
“So,” said Ben finally, interrupting the silence. “You’ve convinced everyone to toe the line, steal from the soft targets, and all the thieves benefit? Let me guess, you get a slice of everything anyone brings in?”
Renfro, slumped in his chair with one leg slung over an over-stuffed arm, grinned and nodded. “I’m fair. I have to be. Otherwise, they’d put me in that river Rhys is so fond of putting people in. Turns out, a small piece of a big enough pie is still a whole lotta pie. There’s plenty for me, and like I said, people are used to sharing some of their coin to facilitate a professionally run underworld.”
“It seems like a big risk,” murmured Ben.
Renfro raised his goblet. “This is the best wine that gold can buy. From the hills outside of the City, unfortunately. I wish it was more exotic, but it’s still the best. You can’t have the success I’ve had without taking some risk, Ben. Did you ever think a year ago when you first met me that one day I’d be serving you this kind of wine?”
Ben couldn’t help a wry smile from crossing his face. “I thought we’d turn you onto the straight and narrow.”
Renfro guffawed, nearly dropping the heavy crystal goblet. “Maybe you would have, in time, but you left.”
“We didn’t leave,” retorted Ben. “All of Reinhold’s men were killed, and they were coming for Amelie next.”
“You didn’t even warn me,” said Renfro.
Ben sensed the hurt lurking in his old friend’s voice. “I tried to, Renfro, I really did. Mathias looked for you but couldn’t find you. I had no choice but to get Amelie and go. After what happened, there was no way we could come back into the City. Besides, I knew you were capable of surviving on your own. Thriving, even.”
“You could have left me a note,” complained the thief.
“Renfro, you can’t read,” Ben reminded him.
The little thief laughed again, suddenly all smiles, and turned up his wine.
“What happened after we left?” asked Amelie. “How did you, well, I guess, how did you become the Rat?”
“A story for another time,” declared Renfro. He crawled off the stuffed chair and stretched. “Now, I need to go check with my sources and see if they’ve stumbled across this boy you’re looking for. Sounds like a pretty boy, the kind the urchins love to pickpocket. I’d better make sure that instead lightening his purse, they’re running back to report what they’ve found.”
“He’s dangerous,” warned Ben.
Renfro waved dismissively and stomped to the door, swerving a little and bumping against the door jam on his way out.
“He still can’t handle his drink,” remarked Rhys after the Rat left.
Amelie crossed the room and sat down next to Ben. He could sense her frustration, that she was ready to do something, but there wasn’t much they could do. The City was full of people who may recognize them, so it was safest to rely on the Rat and his urchins. If they could find Milo, then they could formulate a plan. Without even knowing whether the former apprentice was in town, it was fruitless to scheme of ways to steal the staff.
Prem, evidently feeling some of the same strain at sitting still, suggested, “Why don’t we spar?”
Rhys grunted and set down his wine. He stood and cracked his knuckles. “Better than sitting around trying to figure out which wall has the tackiest decoration.”
Ben shrugged and stood as well.
That night, Ben lay on a broad, rumpled bed. Amelie was at a small table across the room doing… something. He raised his head to look at her. “What are you doing over there?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Getting ready for bed.”
He frowned. She’d been getting ready for bed for half a bell now. They had their own room, and after so much time on the road in the company of their friends, he was ready to take advantage of the privacy, except he was in danger of drifting off to sleep.
“That Prem is pretty quick, isn’t she?” he mumbled, more to keep himself awake than to have any serious conversation.
“She’s been training since before your grandfather was born,” reminded Amelie. “She is quick, though, and she uses those long knives like a butcher. I don’t know how much you saw, but she carved those thieves up like they were already dead meat.”
“Why do you think she’s helping us?” asked Ben.
“She wants to do good, like us, or maybe because her father told her to?” speculated Amelie.
Ben grunted.
Amelie began humming to herself, doing something with her hair. From his back, Ben couldn’t see what, but he didn’t bother to get up and examine her. He’d done that the
night before, and she’d shooed him off and suggested if he was that eager for a romp, he could do it by himself. He’d gone back to silently sulking and waiting for her.
“Maybe she’s spying on us for her father,” suggested Ben.
“Of course she is,” replied Amelie. “I bet she’s speaking to him every night.”
“What?” exclaimed Ben, bolting upright in the bed.
Amelie looked at him in the smoky mirror that was set on the table. “A thought meld, Ben. We saw Adrick use it to contact his father, why do you think it’d be any different with his daughter?”
Ben frowned.
“Should we…” he trailed off uncertainly.
“We don’t have anything to hide from her,” said Amelie. “Whatever the girl sees could help our case with her father. We need him, Ben. We need him to come wear the armor Jasper recovered. We need the knowledge he can bring and the others in that village. Prem has done nothing to earn distrust. We treat her like she’s one of the party, and when the time comes, I think she’ll come through for us. A link to her father could be exactly what we need when we leave to face the demons.”
“You’re right,” Ben acknowledged. He shuddered, thinking about the look in the eye of the creature that Jasper showed them. Intelligence and palpable hatred. That thing wanted nothing other than to feast on all of humanity, and Ben wasn’t sure they could stop it.
“We’re not facing the demons tonight,” said Amelie.
She stood from the table and walked to the bed. Ben blinked. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, and he saw she was wearing a wispy gown that did more to emphasize her curves than hide them. Looking her up and down, Ben’s throat went dry, and he felt an immediate stirring below his belt.