“Right. Well, I reckon that means I best head out,” Sal said. “The Lady’s luck to you both.”
Odie nodded, and Vinny winked before Sal departed for the Warehouse District.
The night’s wind was cold and set him to shivering. It put his clammy hands to stinging and his nose to running so that he had to wipe at the snot with his sleeve. Like a silent gargoyle, Sal had perched himself upon the rooftop of warehouse thirty-eight, the warehouse directly across from their target.
There were three guards, street level, as Valla had said. So far as Sal knew, he was alone on the rooftops. He’d checked around for crossbowmen and had been relieved to find none.
In the street below, the three guardsmen loafed around. One of the men leaned against his spear at one end of the warehouse, while his companions were actually sitting down as they made small talk. Sal wondered what incompetent bastard had hired these men. From what he had seen, they looked more like dock thugs than hired guards.
Without warning, the guard leaning on his spear dropped to his knees as his throat was opened with one of Valla’s knives. As he was lowered silently to the cobblestones, the other two guards didn’t so much as flinch. Neither seemed to notice anything amiss.
An instant later, Aurie and Balliel had closed in behind the guards. At knifepoint, the guards walked within the warehouse with Aurie and Balliel, swiftly joined by Valla and Odie. The big man dragged the corpse of the third guard with him. Vinny should have already been inside the warehouse to deal with the last guard. If the man was twice as competent as his companions, it might have taken Vinny half a tick to subdue him.
Sal scanned the horizon. Checked up and down Penny Row and Town Road, keeping an eye out for any signs of trouble. He felt a rush of excitement. It was good to be working jobs with a crew again. He had been too long away. Nothing else in life gave Sal the rush of working a big-time job, not even skeev.
Sal slipped a hand into the pocket of his jerkin. The cap was soft and would crumble between his fingers with the slightest pressure. He felt a pang of guilt, a flutter in his chest that was hard to ignore.
The soft clap of hoofs on cobblestones sounded below. As Sal peered over the edge, he saw the Shiikali jump from the driver’s seat of a horse-drawn wagon. Moments later, Vinny and Odie emerged, a wood crate—big as a man—carried between them. The pair of them slid the crate onto the wagon bed, while Balliel held the horses still.
Sal sat back on the shingled roof. He reached into his other jerkin pocket and slipped free a rolled tobacco leaf filled with skeev, a length of waxed wicking, and a chip of flint. He frayed the tip of the waxed wicking, struck the flint, and had the wicking lit within two strikes. With short, sharp inhalations, he rolled the tip of the leaf over the flame until it began to smoke.
Sinking deeper back onto the roof, Sal drew deep, long breaths from the joint, exhaling through his nose. Devine relaxation swept over him. He looked out over the horizon and up at the sky filled with stars and the great bright moon, the Lady White.
The baying of dogs set Sal bolting upright so quickly, he nearly fell headlong off the roof. His first thought was of the City Watch, and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. His head was spinning, and he cursed himself for a damned fool.
A hound howled, and Sal crushed the joint, rubbing the skeev into the skin of his palms. He put one hand to his locket, focused his mind, and felt a jolt of vertigo as he rode the lightning down to the street.
Landing with a roll, Sal jumped to his feet.
“Get the wagon out of here!” He shouted.
Balliel seemed to have heard the hounds, as he was already sitting on the driver’s bench. The Shiikali whipped the reins, and the horses kicked into motion. As the wagon clattered off, Sal ran inside the warehouse to warn the others. He passed the bleeding corpse of one of the guards. When he looked up, he nearly ran into Vinny and the big man as they hauled another crate between them.
“Steel caps,” Sal gasped.
Vinny and Odie let go of their load at once. The crate dropped to the floor with a heavy crash. The lid popped askew, and an indigo cloud puffed into the air. The crate, it seemed, was full of powdered indigo.
Vinny ran to the door, the big man went the opposite direction—likely to warn Valla and Aurie—whom Sal imagined were watching the hostage guards, assuming Valla had not simply killed them.
Sal decided to join Vinny back at the door but ran into him halfway there. Vinny brushed a long strand of blonde hair from his sweat-beaded brow. “They ain’t steel caps, but that doesn’t mean we’re not fucked.”
Before Sal could ask who it was, the barking sounded just outside the warehouse. A man’s voice carried above the baying dogs. “I don’t know who the fuck is in there, but you can come out and face your death like men, or we can send the dogs in after you.”
Sal recognized the voice. His bowels tightened, and he shook slightly. Vinny had been right, they were no steel caps.
The voice he had heard belonged to the Shark himself—Giuseppe Scarvini, eldest son of Don Scarvini.
The presence of Giuseppe Scarvini could only mean one thing.
“We hit a Scarvini warehouse?” Sal said in disbelief.
“I didn’t know,” Vinny said, looking dumbfounded. “I swear, I didn’t.”
“Right. Well, a lot of good that will do us now,” Sal said, kneeling to draw the pigsticker from his boot sheath. “Look, we have to get the hell out of here, any ideas?”
“Time’s up!” shouted Giuseppe from just outside the door. “Guess we’re coming in after you.”
The hounds bayed as they padded into the warehouse at a run. There were three in all, sleek black fur and slavering maws.
Sal and Vinny ran.
“We’ve got to tell the others,” Sal said as they rounded the corner, the hounds close at their heels.
One of the beasts barked. As Sal turned, he saw the thing leap. Sal crouched and jabbed up hard with his pigsticker. The hound yelped, but the power of its leap ripped the blade from Sal’s hand.
A second hound pounced.
Defenseless, Sal raised his hands to fend the beast off, but before the hound’s teeth closed on his bare arms, Vinny tackled the thing to the ground. He roared as he jabbed his knives into the hound’s thick neck again and again.
Before Sal had a chance to recover, the third hound closed with him.
The beast’s jaws clenched around Sal’s forearm. He screamed as sharp teeth punched through fabric, skin, and muscle. Hot blood welled and dripped down his wrist and hand.
He thought his arm would be ripped clean off as the hound shook its thick head.
A war hammer smashed into the hound’s back, and the beast released him, whimpering.
Sal saw the big man lay into the beast’s back with another blow from his massive war hammer. The hound whimpered and wheezed as it lay dying before Odie finished it with a third blow, the strike powerful enough to crush the hound’s thick skull.
Vinny was still stabbing at his hound, not seeming to realize through his blood lust that the thing had died long ago.
Valla and Aurie had finished off the first and biggest of the three hounds. Valla gave Sal his pigsticker, sheathed in blood all the way to the leather wrapped handle. Aurie helped Sal to his feet. He was shaking, his arm throbbing as though it were on fire. He clenched the puncture wounds with his good hand, doing his best to lose as little blood as possible.
Everyone looked to Valla.
“How many are there?” Valla asked.
“Nine, by my count,” said Vinny, blood dripping from his long, blonde hair as he brushed a wet lock from his eyes.
“We can fight our way through,” said the big man. “Nine’s not so many.”
“Half and again, as many as we are,” said Valla. “Or near enough as it won’t matter. It would mean two for every man. Even if Salvatori here were whole, I wouldn’t like these odds.”
They could hear talking coming from the entranceway
. It wouldn’t take long for the Scarvini men to turn the corner and come face to face with their little party.
“I can’t see as we have any other choice,” said Valla. “No time to run now.”
“There is,” said Sal. “You could all go through the window in back. I’ll stay here and hold them off.”
“Not happening,” said Valla. “We’re not leaving you to die alone. We all go home, or we all fucking die here.”
“I mean it,” said Sal, getting to his feet and gritting his teeth as pain surged through his injured arm. “I have a plan, just go—go now!”
Sal put the bloody hand of his injured arm upon his locket and outstretched his other arm, palm out.
Just then, a group of men came clamoring around the corner.
When Sal saw the whites of the first man’s eyes, he focused his mind and unleashed everything within him. Blue veins of lightning exploded from his palm and consumed everything before him in electric mayhem.
The men screamed as they spasmed and writhed uncontrollably. The screams grew ever louder as the men took flame, flesh stripped from bone, they combusted, exploding into thousands of pieces of viscera and charred bone.
Pools of blood and strewn blackened matter remained where men had been.
Sal collapsed to his knees, drained of all energy. He heaved, tried to take in a breath, and was overtaken by darkness.
23
True Cowardice
INTERLUDE, SIX MONTHS EARLIER
Sal watched from afar as she stood beside the limestone statue of the Lady White, yet he dared not approach. He knew he was not worthy, knew he would never be worthy. Lilliana Bastian was meant for a better man than him.
With one last look at Lilliana, he left. Left her waiting beside the statue of the Lady White as he moved back down the road.
Sal slipped the black wool and sable lined cloak off his shoulders and carried it in the crook of his arm. He was done pretending. Done putting on this façade, this hope that things would somehow magically work out between them. It was over, and he knew it.
It was high time she did too.
He stopped before a grime filled window and looked at his reflection. Sickened by what he saw, the face of a coward. He pushed through the door, the smell of mildew and incense in the air.
“Salvatori, my boy,” said Nabu Akkad from behind his counter. “How might I help you, yes?”
“You can take this cloak off my hands,” Sal said.
“A fine thing, this cloak. You will be wanting a pretty penny. I am presuming?”
“You can have it gratis if you promise to sell it quickly,” Sal said. He just wanted to be rid of the thing, wanted it out of his hands and away from him.
Nabu shook his head and reached into a coin purse hanging at his belt. Slowly, the fat Shiikali counted out twenty gold krom and handed the coins to Sal before accepting the cloak.
Nabu held it up high, black wool and black sable fur lining, a beautiful cloak. Truly a fine piece of cloth, something too fine for Sal by far.
The alley behind the Rusted Anchor was a long walk from Penny Row, but Sal could hardly remember making the trek. All he could think of was how Lilliana would feel waiting beside the statue of the Lady White when she finally realized Sal wasn’t coming, was never coming.
The alley was cold and dark, despite the hour.
“What do you want?” said a voice from within the shadows.
“Ticker, it’s me, Salvatori.”
“Yeah, what do you want?” Ticker asked brusquely.
“Two caps,” Sal said as Ticker emerged from the shadows. “And a wad of the black.”
“Bliss?” said Ticker. “You’re blissing now, are you?
“You my dealer or my Yahdrish mother?” Sal snapped.
Ticker scoffed and pulled a ball of bliss from his pocket, along with two caps of skeev. “Coin,” he said.
Sal handed over three krom, but Ticker shook his head and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. Sal gave him another gold, and Ticker handed him the ball of bliss and the caps of skeev.
“A pleasure as always,” Sal said.
“Bugger off,” said Ticker.
Sal did as he was told and moved off to another alley. It was deserted, and Sal found an alcove to tuck into. He pulled a wad of bliss off the ball and slipped it into his bottom lip. He sat down, and as the drug slowly dissolved in his mouth, tears began to run down his cheeks.
24
The Marked Girl
The scent of rosemary was strong. As Sal opened his eyes, he realized he was somewhere familiar, but couldn’t discern precisely where that was. His head throbbed, and he felt a dull ache in his arm. The injured arm was bandaged, but how had it been injured to begin with? And where in Sacrull’s hell was he?
He sat up in the cot and looked about, taking in his surroundings. He quickly realized why things seemed so familiar.
“Lay back now,” said Alzbetta, approaching with a gentle smile. “Here and now, rest is needed. Get more sleep if you can.”
Sal yawned and stretched his legs off the edge of the cot. “I don’t think sleep is in the cards. I’ve only just recalled what put me in this state, and I’d like to find out what happened to the rest of my crew. Vinny bring me in?”
“The handsome one that brought you the last time?” Alzbetta asked, sweeping her silver hair behind one shoulder. “Tall, well-made, blonde hair, cute butt?”
“Cute butt, yeah, that’s him,” Sal said, swinging his legs off the edge of the cot. “How did he look?”
“Oh, my, were he ten years older, I might have done my best to entice him. My work is all-absorbing, but there are itches satisfying work simply cannot scratch.”
Sal laughed. “I was referring to his well-being, the condition of his limbs and so forth.”
“He was in much better shape than you were, if that’s what you’re asking. Had a wound on his hand. The bite from a hound, I presume. The same hound that attacked you, I’d wager.”
“Different dog, I think. Looking back, it’s all a bit unclear what really happened.”
“A story you care to tell?” Alzbetta asked, reaching a hand uncomfortably close to his crotch.
Sal flinched but blushed as he realized there had been a rather large sprig of rosemary upon his lap.
Alzbetta’s smile was coy as she clutched the sprig and placed it above the flame of a candle. When the rosemary sprig began to smoke, Alzbetta dropped it into a bowl and handed the smoking bowl to Sal.
“Breathe deep,” the mender instructed.
Sal did as he was told.
“Now then,” Alzbetta said. “Give me the story, and I’ll take a krom off the charge for my services.”
“How much do I owe?”
Alzbetta hesitated as she seemed to tally the numbers in her head. “Eleven krom, silver. I can make it eight if you’re going to pay gold.
“Knock off two more, and you’ll get your krom in gold.”
Alzbetta smiled and nodded. “I’ll have my story first.”
“Why, of course. Though, a proper starting point could prove difficult to find.”
“Begin where all good stories begin,” Alzbetta said sagely “In the middle.”
“Right,” Sal said and went on to relay the events of the previous evening as the mender removed the bandage from his forearm. He told her of the warehouse and everything that had followed him reaching the rooftop of warehouse thirty-eight, leaving out the dead guardsman and the fact that they’d gone to the warehouse to rob it. When he reached the end, he decided to leave out the bit about the lightning and the unrecognizable mass of human remains.
When Sal had finished his telling, he was surprised to find Alzbetta intrigued rather than horrified. He supposed her work had calloused her to such imagery long ago, the work of a street-mender was far from the cleanest of work, not to mention illegal under the laws of the Nelsigh Crown.
Sal examined his unbandaged arm, only faint scarring remained wher
e the wounds of the bite had been. He opened and closed his hand, flexing the muscles of his forearm, and felt only slight pain.
“I know of a man who might like to speak with you,” said Alzbetta. “Would you agree, assuming I could arrange it?”
“I would prefer to know a tick more about this man before I agreed to any such thing,” Sal said playfully. “For instance, is the man a member of the City Watch? Does this man harvest the organs of living humans? Such answers are necessary in order for me to formulate an opinion about whether or not to take such a risk.”
“Naturally, and yet, without his permission, I fear there is little I can say.” The mender flashed him a placating smile. “For the time being, rest assured, he is neither a member of the City Watch nor does he harvest the organs of the living. Nor, for that matter, does he or has he in the past, to the best of my knowledge, partaken of human flesh. I do hope these are satisfactory answers, and should you have preferred the opposite, I am sure matters could be arranged to fulfill your rather precarious preference.”
Sal laughed. There was something he loved about a woman with a sharp wit. “I can hardly object to those terms, though I dare say, I much preferred your answers as they were. When do you presume I ought to meet with this friend of yours?”
“I believe he would want to speak with you as soon as it was possible. I will send for you when I have his answer.”
The Shoe smelled of salt air and stagnant water. Sal had pulled his pigsticker from his boot and slipped it in his sleeve. After the time he’d nearly been murdered a mere two streets south by a gang of urchins, he didn’t much care to walk around the Shoe unarmed.
Sal put a hand to the locket. He’d felt the reassuring presence of the thing since leaving Alzbetta’s but had not thought to take a look and make certain it hadn’t been somehow damaged during the events that transpired in the warehouse. The locket felt whole, the yellow gold no more tarnished than it had been the day he’d stolen the thing. Yet, the instant Sal pulled the locket from his shirt collar, he noticed something strange. The mark upon the face of the locket had changed, the two outer stripes of the rune were now both blood red.
A Fool of Sorts Page 21