Shadow Dance

by A. E. Pennymaker

  Third layer, then. What else didn't the mark want anyone to know about?

  He left every third weekend open in his date book. Going somewhere interesting? I rifled through the bin and came up with a receipt from a boutique. Huh. Someone liked expensive candies and white roses.

  Next, I removed the top sheet from the notebook I found in his desk and added that to my pile of goodies for Marin to work with. Then I got out one of my rubbing papers and covered the leather of the blotter with it, scraping it gently with a metal card to make the transfer.

  Of note: the mark had a snub barreled pistol in his right-hand desk drawer, and there was a hidden compartment that held false papers under the name Aulin Berrush and a thousand marks in a neat little bundle fresh from the bank.

  I was nearly out of time.

  Closing the hidden compartment, I made a last sweep, going backwards through everything I had touched. No wiping patterns on the blotter, no footprints in the carpet, no smears in the dust on the bookshelves or the outbound tray. Then I checked the window for more tattle tales or triggers, unlocked it, attached a piece of waxed string to the lock, doused my ambient torch, slipped out onto the ledge, and closed the window. A quick pull on the waxed string tugged the lock back down into its housing.

  No going back.

  And now for the worst part.

  I knew better than to look down, but my stomach still cramped up, and I had to take a breath or two. The longer I stood there, though, the more likely it was that someone would see me, either from the alley or from another apartment, and the last thing I needed was to have a run-in with the Magis on a test run. Steeling my nerves, I shuffled sideways till I reached the end of the ledge, and the gutter pipe that ran down the side of the building.

  The pipe was more than an arm's length from the ledge.

  I ground my teeth tight and reached for it, swallowing that familiar, sickening lurch in my middle as I cantilevered my torso out over a four-story drop to the alley.

  Height is irrelevant. Just pretend you're a meter off the ground. The physics is the same.

  For one, awful second my fingertips found nothing. Then my hand hit cold metal.

  Breathe.

  I dragged in another breath, brought my other hand across and got a good hold on one of the brackets that held the pipe to the wall.

  Good. Swing over. Now left arm, right foot. Keep your weight on your stationary leg and maintain that outward pressure with your alternate hand.

  Was it a good thing that I could hear Arramy's voice in my head?

  My palms were sweating. My arms burned, my muscles starting to tremble with exertion. "Hand over hand..." I recited under my breath, "Height is irrelevant... you're a meter off the ground... physics is the same... you can do this... hand over hand...height is irrelevant..."

  A few seconds after I started descending the pipe, I was in the inky shadow cast by the tenement on the other side of the alley. Ten seconds after that, my feet touched gravel and I was gone, darting toward Lister Street, dodging piles of discarded shipping crates and mounds of garbage. While I ran, I opened my side pocket and pulled out the brown felt hat and saggy cape I had packed, then adopted a hunch and a wobbly gait. By the time I stepped onto the cobblestones, I was an old homeless woman who had been drinking.

  NaVarre would have been proud.

  I slouched along Lister until I reached the apothecary on the corner of Parmenter, then ducked into the deep-set entryway with five minutes to spare before Orrelian arrived.

  Something was off, though.

  There was a subtle warmth in the air behind me.

  Body heat.

  I reached for my dagger at the same instant that something stirred in the near-total darkness right next to me. Something large and clad in a long, dark, hooded cloak. Something that brought with it the scent of pinewood and coconut.

  Hissing out a choice expletive I sheathed my dagger again. "You really should wear a bell."

  There was a raspy chuckle and a flash of teeth, then a familiar Altyran brogue whispered, "You're early."

  I shot a glare in the general direction of Arramy's soot-blackened face but couldn't resist a smirk. "Awww. Disappointed? You weren't, by chance, hoping I would take longer, and come back covered in... feathers."

  "That would have been entertaining," he murmured. "But why would I hope you failed?"

  I raised a skeptical brow – perhaps he really wasn't in on the betting pool – then turned to watch the street again, already going over the 'raid' in my mind, trying to anticipate what new thing Orrelian would use as a teaching moment.

  Never one for an excess of conversation, Arramy didn't say anything more, and the two of us stood in the silence, just an old beggar woman and her over-large shadow blending into the night on the streets of Vreis.

  ~~~

  I lurked in the open doorway, chewing my lower lip and waiting.

  The 'mark,' a greengrocer named Farro Killspear, leaned his short bulk against the door jamb beside me, watching over my shoulder as Orrelian went through the 'office' – a storage room on the top floor of the apartments above Killspear's shop.

  After a second, Killspear tipped forward a little farther and whispered, "Didn't hear a thing, ye were that quiet."

  Orrelian opened the secret compartment in the desk, peered inside, then jotted a few notes in his little black book.

  "Out of curiosity, did-ee know it would be me?" Farro asked, a little louder. "T'night, I mean. Not that-ee do know a'fore, right?" When I didn't answer, he went on with, "I din't. Right surprised I was when Orrelian comes in an' wakes me up from sound slumber wi' news it were all over, like."

  I glanced at him, my attention torn between the intense expression on Orrelian's face, and Farro's apparent need to strike up a conversation.

  Farro offered a jolly, gap-toothed grin.

  Relenting, I responded. "It's a random draw. I don't know who is going to be in the room, or even which building it's going to be until the night of the test."

  His grin widened. "Lah, but ya do talk pretty Miss. I'd sit an' listen t'ya all day, I would."

  I hid a smile as I turned back to observe Orrelian's progress.

  He was checking the bookcase. He made a final note, then shut his journal with a snap and wheeled to look at me, thick black brows locked in a stern frown.

  I had missed something. I swallowed and looked down, preparing for a lecture on how many things I should have done.

  "I'll take my leave, I think," Farro had the grace to mutter before ducking off down the hallway.

  None of Orrelian's 'marks' ever stuck around for this part, and there had been days at the beginning that I had wanted to run away too. Orrelian's time in the army did not make for pleasant teaching moments. Somehow, though, being repeatedly told on no uncertain terms that I wasn't good enough, and that my stupid mistakes were going to get someone killed, had only made me dig in my heels and try harder.

  He was in fine form tonight, letting the silence grow till I was fighting the urge to fidget. For once, though, he didn't start shouting. Instead, one corner of his mouth twitched. Then the other.

  "I passed," I whispered. When he didn't say 'no,' I stood up a little straighter. "I passed?"

  He hesitated a beat longer. Then, abruptly, he announced, "Ya did," and started forward, stepping around me into the hallway.

  I about-faced and hurried after him.

  Arramy was standing watch at the bottom of the stairwell at the end of the hall, and as I came down the steps his gaze met mine, his brows raised in unspoken question.

  A grim smile and a lift of my hands was all the answer I had before we both followed Orrelian down the rest of the stairs, descending into the basement and slipping out through Killspear's hidden access to the war tunnels. Then the three of us were winding our way unseen beneath the city streets, jogging home through damp concrete passageways by the light of Orrelian's military lantern.

  I kept pace with them easily enough, th
anks to the brutal physical training Marin had me doing. Elation wasn't the right word for what I was feeling. It wasn't victory, either. I had passed a test, yes, so there was a flicker of dull relief, but it was more like finishing one lap of a marathon. I still had miles to go.

  ~~~

  Eylestre: (eye-lez-truh) The first of the summer months throughout most of the Altyran Coalition.

  2. Drowned Rat

  4th of Eylestre

  The slap of cold water hitting my face had me sitting straight up, my lungs pulling for air before my brain had worked out what was going on. The next instant I started choking as another wave of water sloshed over my head.

  Then a bright light appeared directly in my face and there was a low masculine laugh in the dark beyond it. "Looks like we found a drowned rat." A large, rough hand – the one not holding the lantern – grabbed my hair and held my head still when I tried to flinch away from the light, forcing me to face it. "None of that now. Ey! Drowned rat, who d'ya work for?"

  Eyes squeezed tight shut, I blew water from my upper lip. Think, blast it! Get into character! "K-killspear Grocery," I managed to get out in a thick Low Tettian accent, bringing shaky hands up across the front of my soaked sleep shirt. "Ye're hurtin' me –"

  The hand gave a vicious shake, rattling my head, effectively making me stop talking. "What-ee called, then, drowned rat?"

  "Lara... Lara Anderfield," I offered, letting the pain in my scalp come through my voice as a slight whimper. "Check me bag —"

  Again, I received a savage shaking. "Who d'ya work for, huh? Who d'ya work for?" that cruel voice demanded, louder this time.

  "Killspear! Pay's in me bag, ye can have it all, jus' take it!" I pleaded through gritted teeth, opening one eyelid a crack. "Why are —?"

  "I ask the questions. What's Killspear hidin' down cellar?"

  "'Ow would I know? I've nowt been down cellar — Ow!" I cried, giving up hiding my damp chest in order to scrabble at the hand yanking my hair.

  "What's 'e hidin' down cellar?" the voice shouted.

  "I said I don't know!"

  "E'er heard o' fella called Orrelian?"

  "O-Orrelian? What's Orrelian got —" the hand tightened and I strained upward off the bed. "Aye, fine, Orrelian! E' comes in shop sometimes. Runs Hedgerose. I'll tell-ee anyfin ya want if ya stop roughin' about!"

  I was still playing my part, so there was no relief from the pressure on my scalp. "E'er see Orrelian an' Killspear cannoiterin' in private?"

  "I jus tend shop. Not me business wot m'employer gets up t'in private —" I finished on a gasp when the lantern pressed up against the side of my face, the glass dangerously hot against my skin.

  "Try again. Did-ee see Orrelian an' Killspear talkin?"

  The glass was going to leave a mark, but I didn't back off, clinging doggedly to my cover. "No!"

  "Sure?"

  "Not more than any other customer! Would-ee quit? Ye're searin' me face!"

  There was a long pause. Then, slowly, that harsh grip on my hair loosened, and Hedwyn stood, taking the lantern with him. A split-second later my room was illuminated fully, and Orrelian lowered the flint striker from the gas sconce on the wall.

  Hedwyn gave me a long look as he doused the lantern but didn't say anything before he walked out.

  "Drowned rat?" I muttered, glaring at Orrelian as I pulled my knees to my chest.

  Orrelian's glance skated over my features. "'E did get wee bit carried away... I'll ah... send Marin ta check on that." He brushed his forefinger over his left cheek.

  I pursed my lips and nodded.

  With that, he stepped out and closed the door.

  Several minutes passed. I sat where I had been left, surrounded by a sea of wet blankets, my nose and throat stinging from the water I had inhaled, an angry, burning throb beginning to settle in across my cheek.

  At least I hadn't started off speaking Edonian this time.

  I turned dull, exhausted eyes on the timekeep above the door. It had only been three hours since we got in and I fell into bed. With luck, I would be able to scrape out another two before Arramy came to get me. Maybe he would be kind and let me have an extra hour. I could hope, couldn't I?

  The sound of water dripping on the floor roused me. With a sigh I got up and found something dry to wear. Then I began stripping the bedclothes off for the fifth time in two weeks.

  ~~~

  I closed my eyes inside my blindfold, concentrating on breathing slow and even, holding my weight carefully centered over the two-inch wide beam beneath me. I brought my right foot forward, placing it in front of my left, testing to make sure the beam would hold before putting more pressure on it and repeating the process with my left foot. My progress was slow but steady as I crept through Marin's obstacle course. One by one, I had defeated the wire slide, the spinning wheels, the hand-over-hand rungs, and the climbing wall, which meant there were three left. I was just beginning to think that maybe, perhaps, just once I might make it all the way through without falling prey to Marin's particular brand of creativity.

  Idiot.

  There was a new feature in the tunnel crawl: an abrupt downward slope painted with a thick layer of grease.

  Shortly after discovering the grease, I also discovered the ten-foot drop into a tub full of something cold and squishy – something that oozed through my clothing and smelled like river mud, but slid between my fingers in slippery, slimy lumps. For a second all I could do was sit there, breathing curses on sadistic Ronyran artists while trying not to climb out of my own skin. Then, shuddering and gagging, I floundered to my feet, slapping about to find the edges of the tub as the clock ticked quietly down to zero.

  The bell chimed.

  I yanked off the blindfold and turned to aim a hot glower at the overstuffed armchair across the room. "Thank you. This was the last pair of clean pants I had left."

  Marin shrugged. Then she leaned backward over the arm of said chair and snapped her fingers at Cog, who was standing at the map table, discussing something with Arramy.

  With a dramatic roll of his eyes and a grumbled, "Yeah, yeah," Cog pulled a money clip out of his back pocket and began thumbing bills from it.

  At least somebody had thought I stood a chance. Cog had lost his bet, though, and Marin was another twenty lyr better off. Again.

  With a disgruntled growl, I slogged through whatever foul, stinking substance Marin had filled the tub with, and hauled myself up and over the side, my sodden boots hitting the floor with a juicy splat. I had just squelched my dirty, slimy self halfway to the tunnel door when Orrelian rounded the corner and came striding into the exercise chamber.

  The thunderous frown already entrenched on his brow furrowed deeper when he got a look at the state of my clothes. Instead of just walking on by, he came to an abrupt halt, head tilting as he scowled at me, lips pursed in irritation.

  I held up my gooey, blackened hands. "There was grease."

  Orrelian turned to aim his scowl at Marin, who pushed herself upright in her chair, carefully tucking Cog's bills into the cuff of her jacket sleeve.

  Too late. "Flaigha, Marin, this isn't a game," Orrelian snapped, stepping up to the map table where he began rummaging through the piles of papers at the far end.

  Marin sat forward, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

  Orrelian's voice was clipped and harsh. "Songbird sent word. Somethin's slated fer delivery up Northfork in two days. Somethin' big, that the Magi Commander is bein' paid well t'ignore." He found NaVarre's black notebook and began flipping through it. "Now. There's only one person on NaVarre's List what might be involved up that way." He stopped at the entry he was looking for and scanned the page intently before cutting a sharp glance around at all of us. "We're movin' on Larosh Razhan. An' we're movin' tonight."

  Silence fell as we all realized what, exactly, Orrelian was saying.

  Marin lowered her head and studied the floor.

  Cog swallowed audibly.

  The name Larosh Raz
han was attached to an obscenely wealthy gentleman who figured as a prominent Council member by day. By night, though, the underbelly of Vreis knew him as the Northfork King, the man who shifted more pleasure drugs and weapons through Vreis than any other crime lord on all three sides of the river. Slippery as an eel, with many of the Magistrates wrapped up snug in his back pocket, he was rumored to have his own secret police force roaming the streets, ensuring that proof of his activities was never found. His reputation for being ruthless and brutal was well-earned; people who crossed him were found with their throats slit and their lips sewn shut, the letters NFK branded into their foreheads.

  He was marked as a top Coventry target, but Orrelian had been leery of going after him because he was too heavily armed.

  Whatever Songbird had said must have changed his mind.

  I looked at Arramy. He was sitting there at the table, silent and impassive as always, his thoughts hidden. The only sign of any reaction was the faint flicker of a muscle in his jaw, and the fact that he had put his pen down. He listened, unmoving, as Orrelian began sketching out his plan on the map of the city spread over the table.

  "Cog, Marin – you, Hedwyn an' Erdan will take Razhan's business offices 'ere..." Orrelian said, tapping his forefinger on a string of buildings in Southside's warehouse district. Then he brought his head up and studied me, lips in a tight line. Any reservations he had, though, were outweighed by the information he had gotten from Songbird. "Warring, Cap'n, Rugga, Ynette an' I will strike 'is private residences in Northfork. This be strictly recon. The objective be anythin' pertainin' ta what e's shippin', an' where an' how e's shippin' it."

  My stomach clenched up, hot and queasy.

  Suddenly, disgusting slimy clothes were very low on my list of priorities.

  3. In the House of the Northfork King