The Thieves of Nottica

by Ash Gray

  Before the newer, improved models of Crows were developed, the Hand actually relied on demons to police Nottica. Demons who were desperate enough to escape the hell of toiling in boiler rooms turned to the Hand – their very oppressors – for employment and were content to capture, arrest, and lynch their own people for riggits. Because some demons, namely Anikye, possessed great strength and speed, they were ideal for such roles, and the Hand had employed many an Anikye demon before the improvement of their automaton soldiers. Morganith had been one of those demons, and like all demons who’d worked for the Hand, her fingers were marked with the small black dots that indicated who her dark masters had been. Long after Morganith turned her back on the Hand, demons who saw her finger markings often started fights with her over them in bars, and Rigg half-suspected such a bar fight was where Morganith had gotten the long, hideous scar on her face.

  Rigg gave the yo-yo a spin as she sat on the arm of the couch, letting the toy drop to the end of its string. She listened calmly to the steady patter of rain, to the sound of cars chugging up the cobbled road and boots crunching over the pavement as they unwittingly stamped past the Keymasters’ basement window.

  Rivet scuttled to the edge of the coffee table and watched with its pinlights blinking excitedly as Rigg played with the toy. Behind Rigg, Hari continued packing, muttering to herself as she searched through piles of screwdrivers and balls of twine.

  “She gave it to me,” Rigg told Hari, giving the yo-yo another spin. “The night before we set out to Atrocitas, she gave it me an’ said she didn’t need it no more, that maybe I would.”

  Hari paused in front of the tool cabinet, reflecting sadly.

  “Hari,” Rigg said wearily, “tell me we’ve gotta plan. Tell me we aren’t just gonna mosey up to Evrard and say hi.”

  Hari laughed sadly. “I’m not sure what choice we have, Rigg. If Evrard has discovered our hideout, it means we’re bein’ watched, followed. He’ll know where we go if we choose to run. Our only option is to face this bravely, whatever happens.”

  Rigg sighed. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  “We’re heading to Coghurst,” Hari said and went on shoving tools and contraptions into her satchel. “Kito finally decided to contact me,” she said grimly, and Rigg looked at Hari in surprise. “Yeah,” Hari confirmed. “Evrard’s note wasn’t the first we got today. Earlier when you were out, Kito dropped me a line. After all this time, he finally . . .” She shook her head. “The timing was . . . . impeccable,” she said with an angry frown.

  Rigg scowled. “I don’t wanna take help from him. He helped us escape the castle, sure. But then he bailed just like everyone else – for six months, notta damn word. Now Evrard wants ta see us, and Kito just happens ta wanna talk?”

  “I know it looks suspicious,” Hari said impatiently and squeezed her eyes shut, “but what choice do we have, Rigg?” She looked at Rigg unhappily, and Rigg dropped her eyes, her lips bitterly, angrily tight.

  “We’ve lost all our contacts,” Hari went on, shaking her head as she shoved more items into her bag. “No one wants anything ta do with us thanks to those damned wanted posters. If we don’t take Kito’s offer, we’ll be walkin’ all the way to Ironmire. Is that what you want?”

  Rigg was silent, and when Hari blinked unhappily, she felt guilty for once again putting all the blame on her. But Rigg couldn’t help it. Hari was their leader, and more than that, she was their mentor. She was the person they had often looked to for guidance. Morganith even had a nickname for Hari – Fixerett Fixer – because she could fix any problem, any broken automaton, any broken heart. Now Hari was the broken one, and there was nothing they could do except watch as she scrambled and bumbled in the midst of her crumbling empire of thievery. It made Rigg feel helpless, and it was an inescapably loathsome feeling.

  “All I want is for this to be over,” Rigg said heavily. “I . . . I don’t wanna be ah thief no more,” she said, staring into space with the realization. “I’m tired of fightin’ the Hand.”

  Hari paused, watching Rigg sympathetically.

  Rigg swallowed hard. “I just wanna go far away and live in peace, some place where the Hand and the Regime can’t touch me. I’d be safe there . . . I’d be free.”

  Hari blinked, smiling sadly. “Maybe if we survive all this, you can.”

  Rigg dropped her eyes and gave the yo-yo a spin, letting it fall to the end of its string again. “You have any visions lately that could help us?” she asked. “Feel free to lie.” She shook her head. “I’d take anything right about now.”

  Hari sat on the edge of the couch near Rigg, sighing wearily as she stared at the bright orange flames in the open mouth of the oven. The light reflected in her cyan eyes, like fire on water. Her long matted hair fell wild around her tired face, and for a second, her deceptive youth was etched in lines. In that moment, Rigg thought Hari looked like one of the old portraits of indigenous demon mages that often hung in the history section of libraries.

  Rivet leapt onto Hari’s knee like a cat, and Hari fondly gave the tiny robot a stroke on its octagonal center. “I did have one vision,” she said. She had forsaken Coglish, which was the umbrella term for various human tongues, and was speaking an Aerta demon dialect, clearly and eloquently. It was known as Vitra, a language Rigg understood without the need of her translator chip, and she listened eagerly as Hari said, “A memory, more like, of the time before time, when the earth was young and the sun unhidden in a cloudless sky.”

  Rigg caught the yo-yo in her hand and slipped it in her pocket. “Yeah?” she said, looking attentively at Hari.

  Hari’s lips curled in a half-smile. “Yes. Would you like to see?”

  Rigg smiled. “Show me,” she said, offering her hands.

  Hari gently took Rigg’s hands. “Close your eyes, Rigg.”

  Rigg closed her eyes . . . and found herself standing on white sand, beside a waterfall, the sound of the water crashing soft as cold droplets sprayed her. The pool at her feet was blue as the bluest jewel, crusted in white foam as the falls roared over a hill of jagged stones that glinted in the sun like crystals. Rigg could feel the warm caress of the sun on her skin, and it had been so long since she’d felt it, she held out her arms to absorb it. She could see the sun hovering bright against the an endless azure sky, a diamond winking in the blue. White birds wheeled overhead – real birds, not mechanical replacements that screeched and banged – and their song played on her heart until tears of joy started to her eyes. Behind her pressed a wreath of bushes and trees, so bright and vibrant a green, Rigg thought she was in an oil painting. Butterflies drifted yellow and orange in the sunlight, landing with gently fanning wings onto the petals of flowers that were seven, eight feet in height, and towering in the distance, moaning long and low as they stamped across the highlands, were herds of grazing dinosaurs. The great reptilian beasts were covered in scales that gleamed with an oily rainbow sheen, and as far away as they were, their every step vibrated through the earth, until Rigg felt the distant echo of it under her boots.

  “We know them as dinosaurs,” came Hari’s voice beside Rigg, “but our ancestors called them dragons.”

  Rigg glanced to her right to find Hari was standing beside her, her lips twisted in a smile as her cyan eyes, so bright in the sunlight, watched the distant gentle giants with wistful longing. She was wearing a long, flowing orange dress, that was wrapped around her body like a scarf. She looked happy, flushed, and alive, her cheeks crinkled up around her eyes in a content smile. Here in the sunlight, her skin was a warm golden brown and looked healthy, for it was clear of soot and oil. She placed a hand on Rigg’s shoulder and pointed out at the pool of water. Rigg followed Hari’s gaze and went still when she saw a head and shoulders had appeared on the surface.

  The head and shoulders belonged to a beautiful woman, who appeared to be naked beneath the water. Her ears were long and pointed, reaching far behind the mass of her wet, white hair, which clung in curly tendrils a
round her face. Her eyes were like Hari’s: cyan with narrow pupils that danced like flames. If Rigg didn’t know any better, she would have thought the woman a demon, but small fish scales gleamed blue and aqua-green on the golden brown skin of her high cheekbones and plated the edge of her face like the stones of a cobbled street. Her thick lips spread, and Rigg blinked when long fangs cut the corners of her smile. She opened her mouth in a wordless, echoing song that trembled ethereal across the air. The song started soft, then grew louder, until it scattered with the sudden peal of her giggles. A spiked blue fin came up beside her and slapped the water, splashing them. Rigg laughed and shielded herself. With a smirking smile, the woman rose up and flipped down, giving them a blurred glimpse of her webbed fingers and narrow waist. She disappeared into the pool’s depths with a flash of her tail. The water rippled and was still again.

  “What was that?” Rigg wondered in amazement.

  “A mermaid,” Hari said sadly. She was still speaking Vitra. “In the time before time, they lived in the lakes, in the seas, in the rivers. When the aliens came, their machines poisoned the water and killed the mana. And with it, killed the mermaids.”

  “Magic – mana,” Rigg corrected herself, “—came from the water?”

  “Yes,” Hari said quietly, bitterly. “When the humans arrived, their machines made the earth bleed. Resources began to dwindle, and mana faded away. Our people began to starve as the sheer horde of the humans picked every fruit-giving tree bare. In desperation, our people vied with the humans for resources. Because of their machines, the humans won.”

  “I wish there was still magic around,” Rigg said sullenly, speaking now in Vitra. “Maybe demons wouldn’t be suffering right now.”

  “No,” Hari said mournfully. “If mana hadn’t dwindled so rapidly, perhaps our people would have dominated and enslaved the humans.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Rigg joked, slipping her hands in her pockets.

  Hari stared solemnly into the pool. “Power is power, Rigg. No matter who wields it, it remains dangerous.”

  “Maybe demons would have used it for good,” Rigg insisted. “You said our ancestors never warred on each other, that they were peaceful.”

  Hari nodded. “And that is true. Suunikye did not use magic to commit atrocities against other suunikye.”

  Rigg knew that “suunikye” was the true name of the demon race, the name “demon” having been bestowed on them by the humans. Suunikye meant “the people of Suun,” for before Nottica was divided into five realms, it was known to the ancient demons as Suun, the capital of the known world. The ancient demons believed all life had begun in Suun, and thus, they were all the children of Suun. Theirs was a great cluster of nations, all equalitarian, all peaceful, all devoid of true rulers, spanning the width of Nimestil from sea to sea. The different demon races had lived side by side in peace, having long ago learned the consequences of war.

  Many demons with knowledge of their species’ original name viewed the word “demon” as little more than a slur, while still others sought to reclaim the word, given that it actually meant “one with knowledge.” When the humans first arrived on Nimestil, they were lost and desperate, fighting the carnivorous plant life and the wild dinosaurs of the untamed planet. It was the demons who guided and aided the humans, helping them to survive -- something they paid for dearly in the end.

  “But how would our ancestors have treated outsiders?” Hari went on. “The temptation to abuse power, to utilize it against those you deem different and inferior, is an overwhelming one. Perhaps it is a good thing the mana left when the humans arrived.”

  Rigg made a face. “How? We could’ve used magic to defend ourselves! Maybe we could’ve stopped the invasion.”

  “When people use power in desperation,” Hari answered sadly, “they seldom use it responsibly.”

  “So is this better, then?” Rigg demanded. “The subjugation of our entire people?”

  “There are no easy answers.”

  “The hell there aren’t,” Rigg said at once, drawing a disapproving frown from Hari for her swearing. Rigg shrugged apologetically. “It’s just . . .” She gazed off angrily. “We lost everything when they came here. Everything.” Her eyes danced over the paradise surrounding her, over the clear blue sky, which was various sickly shades of gray or green in the world she knew. “And now they rule our own world and treat us like animals. Why do they get to decide who’s a person and who isn’t?”

  “Those in power will always decide who is a person, unfortunately,” was Hari’s tired, sad answer. “Perhaps we could have used our mana to fight the humans. Perhaps we could have taught them to live in peace with us. But would we have taught them? Or would we have forced them? You can not force people to treat others with kindness and respect, Rigg.”

  “Too bad,” Rigg muttered bitterly.

  Hari placed a hand on Rigg’s shoulder. “Come. We must return and continue our preparations for the journey ahead. Those who dwell in the past are doomed to miss the present, hmm?”

  Rigg nodded uncertainly. It was such a beautiful place, she never wanted to leave. Hari’s small hand left her shoulder, breaking their connection, and the second it did, the world flashed, the vibrant color flickering, until the sky was gray and the earth dry, the trees barren and devoid of leaves, the rocks covered not in the fine mist of water but in dust. In the distance, the dinosaurs were skeletons that collapsed in great piles, and the grassy knolls they had roamed were now jagged rock. Rigg could taste ash in her mouth. She clutched at her throat and was horrified to see her hands were skeletal, the bones poking through a thin veil of skin. She looked down at the pool to find the water had evaporated, leaving only a cracked pit in the ground.

  At the very bottom of the pit lay the mermaid’s jagged skeleton, eye sockets gaping, the long fangs open in a jagged smile.

  Chapter 3

  Hari’s Choice

  Having bounties on their heads way past the point of nine zeros, the Keymasters could not board train, airship, tram, or automobile and were doomed to walk their wretched way to Coghurst. Public transportation was not for professional thieves, but private transportation was also not an option. Rigg couldn’t remember the lifespan of their last car, only that it had quickly plummeted to the bottom of Lake Visuvi when a vengeful victim of their thievery shot the tires out.

  That dark and cold night, the group prepared to set out, gathering weapons, maps, and provisions, strapping on leather chest guards and grim faces, and mentally preparing themselves with the silent reassurance that they were not walking into a trap.

  Fed, dressed, and ready to go, Rigg gazed into the cracked bathroom mirror a last time, contemplating the grueling ordeal of having to brush all seventy-two of her crooked teeth. She wasn’t used to the sight of her own face, with its old pimple scars and fat nose. Her dark lips were cracked from constant worried biting and they hurt when she spoke. Her brown skin was smudged with soot, she had worry lines around her eyes, and she hated the small scar on her chin, for it reminded her of that time she fell in public and knocked over a pretzel stand. Aside from that, however, Rigg didn’t mind being ugly. In fact, she liked herself and just pretended that she didn’t when she was around other women. For there was nothing so criminal as a woman liking herself.

  A flash behind Rigg’s reflection made her pause. Hari had run in, now strapped in her dingy overalls and boots, and was retching in the toilet. Rigg hurried from the bathroom as the woman’s heaving continued and entered the bedroom directly across, where Morganith was standing near the edge of the bed, grimly strapping on her mechanical arm.

  “Hari’s havin’ another sick fest,” Rigg wearily announced.

  “I noticed,” Morganith said darkly. Her long brown leather coat was on the bed behind her, and her shotgun lay beside it, gleaming innocently in the dim light of the naked bulb that hung from the ceiling. She winced as she firmly tugged the straps on her mechanical arm, pulling it tightly i
n place over her knobby half-limb. A protective leather chest guard was secured over her gray undershirt, strapped with tools, knives, and a small lighter. Her tight worn pants disappeared into heavy boots, and her mass of black tangles had been pushed back to allow a cigarette to sit behind her ear. Her organic hand was wrapped in a tattered fingerless glove, the black nails glinting as she worked. She jerked her head for Rigg to sit, darkly eyeing the bathroom door. Rigg sat on the edge of the bed, and for the second time that day, they listened together as Hari gagged.

  “What’s wrong with Hari?” Rigg asked miserably. “She’s been like that since . . .”

  “Since Pirayo and his boys fucked her three ways from Yindae,” Morganith said bitterly. Finished strapping on her arm, she slipped a glove over it next, hiding the mechanical hand. Rigg watched as the halfling reached under her mass of hair, fumbling to press the apparatus on her neck.

  People who possessed mechanical limbs required a mind piece for them to function. Mind pieces basically served to connect the mechanical limb to the brain, allowing the brain to control the limb. It was a highly expensive piece of technology, a circular object embedded like a golden tick in the back of the neck and connected by wires to the mechanical limb.

  Rigg caught a glimpse of Morganith’s mind piece when she lifted her big bush of hair to clamp it on her skin, reconnecting her mechanical arm with her brain. The mechanical arm reacted at once, whizzing to life as she flexed it experimentally. Then she snatched her leather coat off the bed and whirled it around her shoulders.

  Rigg swallowed hard. “You don’t think she’s . . .?”

  “Pregnant? Yeah, Rigg. I do.” Morganith gave her shotgun a flip, and it folded until it was no bigger than a nail file. She tucked the folded shotgun inside her coat. “She may have said she took care of it, but she was lyin’. I gave her the riggits for an abortion.” She shook her head, still glowering at the bathroom door as she added, “She spent it on jellybeans.”