Denzel grinned and propped his foot up on the stool next to Violet, reaching for the hem of his pant leg. She held up a hand to stop him from bringing out the dancing lady. It jiggled in a way that made her face grow hot.
“I’ve seen it,” she said quickly. “Knew someone who used to have one like it. Didn’t know what it was back then.”
“Well, if not a fox, maybe a sea horse?” Hounds suggested. “They have everything here. You can’t come to Vice and not leave with some new ink, not at your age. An octopus or a squid maybe? Now what’s with the face, lass?”
“A squid? With tentacles?”
“You don’t like tentacles?”
“Delicious,” Denzel told her, not even cracking a smile as he covered up. “Crumbed with peppercorns and salt back home, then fried up in oil.”
Violet thought she might gag. Battered squid tentacles?
“Not a fan of the tentacles then,” Hounds surmised.
“No,” Violet said firmly. “And no water horses neither. Don’t need the reminder.”
Hounds chuckled and exchanged a knowing wink with Denzel.
“What’s this one?” Violet pointed to a symbol, a collection of circles and oblique lines.
“Stay away from symbology and runes,” Hounds advised her. “Pretty patterns like that are best left to secret groups like thieves and guilds. Or thieves’ guilds. Ones that have their own secret handshake and carve obscene messages to one another underneath bridges that no one but they can understand.”
“But I like it,” Violet protested, staring at the design. Something about it made her fingers itch.
“How about a compass rose?” Denzel suggested. “Every able seaman needs bearing once in a while.”
“Might be useful when you come to find your way home in the big dark black, too,” Hounds added.
“How do you mean?” Violet asked suspiciously, turning away from the symbology. Black, why is it always black?
“We all have to go home sometime, lass.” Hounds winked at her. “Even lost little fox girls.”
“Ain’t lost.”
“I know you ain’t, lass.”
Violet took a closer look at the compass designs sketched out roughly on parchment. They were short on detail but not crude; more like stencils to give one an idea and the artist something to work from.
“Where does it go?”
“That one? Forearm, often.” Denzel held out his own arm, showing an eight-pointed star.
“Or back here,” Hounds said from behind her, hands piling Violet’s hair atop her head and tapping the nape of her neck. “Won’t be able to see it so good but it’ll always be there, that sense at the back of your mind.”
Bandit chose that moment to remind them of his presence. He had been circling Violet’s feet, his fur standing on end. Something had him agitated—the loompa had been skittish for a while now. He made a screeching sound, snapping at a passing customer. The parlour tattooist, a heavily inked Korrigan, looked over in annoyance. Violet reached down to gather Bandit up but he dodged away from her, baring his teeth aggressively.
“Must be in heat or something,” Hounds suggested.
“Could be hungry,” Denzel said. “I get scary like that when I’m hungry.”
“Two foot of hungry fur is scarier than you when you’re angry,” Hounds said. “You just whinge.”
“Found your fancy?” the tattooist asked them. “Got other customers if you’re not of a mind.”
“We’re of a mind.” Hounds clapped Violet on the back. “And this is the lady of the hour. Picked one out yet, lass?”
“I don’t have the money for this,” Violet managed to get the words out, her fingers tracing the layout of an intricate compass in the ledger she was holding.
“My shout, lass,” Hounds told her. “In memory of our first run together. Ships and sailors rot in harbour and that’s what we were doing afore you came along. This is a small recompense.”
“If the boss is paying, best get the works,” Denzel suggested. “Maybe an actual rose in there, even an anchor. Or an owl, don’t see many owls. They . . .”
Hounds made to cuff her friend. “Don’t be listening to this jackass,” she told Violet. “Keep it simple and small for now, can always add to it later.”
“All right,” the tattooist grumbled at them, dragging a stool over and setting his tray of tools nearby. “Where do you fancy?”
“Back of the neck,” Hounds answered before Violet could.
“Best place for it,” the Korrigan grunted in what might have been approval. “Lean forward, girl, arms on the table, head on your arms. That’s the way, now stay like that when I start working, don’t want to cut you wrong. Chirugeon charges for stiches, makes my work look sloppy too. Don’t like that.”
Violet nodded, the very slightest of nods, suddenly afraid to move her head. She heard the tattooist shuffling around beside her, then felt Hounds pulling her hair into a bunch and tying it back. She presumed it was Hounds, from the somewhat gentle touch as her hair was parted out of the way. That and the shade the woman’s presence provided from the noon day sun. The shop was little more than a canopied front with sunlight streaming in through the gap. No wonder they’d managed to do so well out of this run to Vice. Not that Violet had been privy to the final numbers since they’d finished the run, but the captain had been happy and even the skipper had cracked a smile when no one was looking.
“Hold still,” the tattooist repeated again, setting the edge of the needle-tipped tool against the nape of her neck. Violet let her breath out slowly so she wouldn’t scream—she’d figured that out her first time—and braced herself.
It started off as a stinging sensation, almost an itch. As if a gnat or some other biting insect were trying to burrow its way into her skin. She squeezed both hands around her own wrists. It was all she had to hold onto.
The needle tapping continued, moving out from the initial point, like glass being dragged across her skin now. Broken glass and a touch of burning, an unpleasant warmth that spread across the back of her neck, spreading as far down as the top of her shoulder blades. Places she knew the needle hadn’t even reached. She shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let her muscles tense up.
“Hold still,” the tattooist told her again. Violet made a sound in response, it didn’t matter what, just some acknowledgement.
She tried shutting her eyes but that only made her more aware of the physical sensation. Instead Violet let her sight drift out of focus, making everything a blur, almost dreamlike. She could hear raised voices around her, the sounds of the bazaar. People bargaining and hawking their wares. It was too bad she hadn’t more time to look around, more so that she hadn’t any real money to spend, though she had no particular desire to accumulate possessions. Maybe some of the exotic foods or spices though. She could take them back to Gabby and see what could be made with them.
She could make out specific voices though, Hounds for certain. The woman was arguing with someone, heatedly.
The sound of tent flaps being swept aside, a change in the room as air from outside pushed in, accompanied by someone. The pressure on her neck stopped momentarily and a cloth was applied. Wiping the blood away; she tried not to think about that.
“Violet.” Hounds crouched down on the other side of the table, opposite her. “Got some trouble, lass,” she said. “You run into any trouble with a group of Kelpies before?”
Violet sat up, feeling the pit of her stomach drop away.
Kelpies, like them who boarded us near Rim. The skipper’s old captain, what was her name? Heathen. Like her.
“That’d be a yes then.” Hounds observed her closely. Violet nodded, not trusting herself to speak as yet. “Got them outside, been looking for us.”
“Outside?” Violet squeaked. She spun around in her chair, earning a sharp rebuke from the tattooist. She saw them: Kelpies, two or more, you couldn’t tell with the crowds. Denzel was between them and the shop, arms folded and feet p
lanted. Nobody looked happy about it.
“Easy, girl,” Hounds tried to calm her. “Nobody coming through. They just want to talk, matter of a missed cargo, or missing out as it seems.”
Missed cargo?
“The Tantamount meant to have made a run here before this one? Maybe in the last few months, mayhap. Something go wrong for you?”
Violet nodded. “Yes, hells, yes. We did. We had to set in to Cauldron for repairs, had to leave our cargo, the Vice run I mean, behind.”
“You left cargo on Cauldron?” Hounds looked as surprised as she sounded.
“Had to,” Violet said, wondering suddenly how much she ought to say. Trust Hounds, aye, but the skipper might not like me to talk so much.
“Had to,” she repeated. “Folk got all nasty about cost of repairs and the captain had a bad run at the tables. Says he got shaken down there. Had to buy our way out if it all.”
“Right,” Hounds nodded. “It’s Cauldron, what’d the man expect. Your cargo, you trade it to make off then?”
“No!” Violet insisted, shocked that Hounds would suggest such. “We did a run in exchange, couldn’t find the room. Cargo was gone by the time we got back. Not a trace of it.”
“Your captain didn’t see that coming? Vaughn would have, surely. Never mind, between the devil and the black, you were.” Hounds grinned suddenly. “And you were, weren’t you, lass? Right, never mind. Get your ink finished, I’ll sort the scaly landsmen.”
Violet opened her mouth to protest. Hounds couldn’t speak for the ship, only the skipper and captain could. And she hadn’t even been aboard during the episode at Cauldron. But then she remembered what the skipper had said when first learning how Violet had arranged the run to Vice. Best to say nothing. Hounds was an officer and seemed confident.
“Stay with her,” Hounds was saying to Denzel, who seemed to be swallowing his own objections. That was the last thing Violet glimpsed before her head was pushed back to the table and the ritualised blooding of her protesting flesh began anew. She’d almost forgotten the pain. She did have one more thought as her eyes drifted out of focus again. Where had Bandit gotten to?
Chapter 14
VIOLET HAD ONE hand clasped to the back of her neck, holding a wet rag over her newest memento. The ink stung if she moved her neck too much. Standing watch was going to hurt for the next week, but the worst was how her hair stuck to the still-raw skin if she didn’t keep it covered. Hurt like blazes before she’d figured that out.
“You and Kelpies don’t get along at all, do you, lass?” Denzel said as they backtracked through the market.
“Don’t know many Kelpies,” Violet said. “Mostly just Quill.”
“And that one is mostly enough,” Denzel agreed. “Tattoo bothering you much?”
“It’s fine,” Violet lied. “Where are we going?”
“The Crooked House, least that’s what folk call it now. Used to be the Chained Game, but it’s all crooked now.”
Easy to see why, Violet concluded as the building came into sight. An old brick and mortar building, one side significantly lower than its partner. The outside façade was crumbling but the tavern was swollen to capacity with patrons spilling out onto the streets. Most were cheering, hooting, and hollering as they followed some spectacle Violet couldn’t see.
“Hounds is in there?”
“Where she said she’d be,” Denzel nodded. “Her and your scaly friends too. The one with the beard recommended it to settle accounts.”
“What accounts? What settling?” Violet asked as Denzel ushered her inside. They passed under the gently swaying house sign; it showed a bear manacled by one leg. There were what might have been other smaller bears surrounding it, cubs maybe, but the paint was faded and flaking away. Looking up at it pained her neck so Violet only had a brief glimpse of it.
Inside, Violet discovered the outside of the building wasn’t the only thing that leaned. The floor was canted half a turn, like the Tantamount when the crew had played with the ballast. Tables and benches were mostly absent, almost all the patrons carried their drinks in hand, but she could make out the servers’ bar and saw unattended vessels begin to slowly slide towards the sunken end. That was where most of the patrons were gathered too.
“Some fool built it on marshy ground,” Denzel said, searching for Hounds in the crowd. “The name stuck and it would have been too costly to fix anyhow. Folks try to drink til they can walk out and see the house standing straight. Never seen it myself, always the one who gets leaned on for the walk back to dock. There’s Hounds.”
He pointed and Violet spotted the dark skin and broad shoulders of the new mate, back to the both of them. She stood next to a Kelpie, bearded, like Denzel had said. Like the one from the docks . . .
Violet realised what Denzel had meant by settling accounts. She broke away from him and pushed her way through the crowd of patrons, skidding to a stop right into the back of Hounds and the bearded Kelpie. She’d forgotten the floor sloped and almost fell past them. Hounds reached out and caught her, saving her from falling face-first into a lowered pit, the rim of which was lined by the patrons.
Bandit and the yiqi, the birdlike animal from the docks, were in the middle of the pit. More than a man’s height below them in a hole with unclimbable sides, both were tied with strong cord to opposite sides. It didn’t stop them fighting but it would stop them escaping. The pit was too big and too deep to be intended for such small animals. Violet knew then what the sign had referenced. Game fighting. Not cubs surrounding the chained bear, but dogs.
“What did you do?” She turned on Hounds, the older woman still holding her tight by the shoulder.
“Had a thing to settle, lass, that’s all,” Hounds said over the screams of the two creatures below.
“What thing?” Violet demanded.
“Reputation, only thing that counts around here, lass,” Hounds said. “Tantamount’s took a hit missing that run, got other folks crowding runs, runs we want. Like what you walked in on with the captain before. There’s work going but we got first call on it, only we don’t want it. Kilt here had the idea, easier to settle it out of the meeting hall, negotiate as such.”
“You took him,” Violet glared at her, clenching her fists. “You left me there so I wouldn’t stop you. I would have stopped you!”
A muscle tensed in Hounds face, a touch of guilt maybe. “Trust me,” she said. “You said you trusted me, so . . .”
“How could you?” Violet lashed out at her furiously. Hounds caught her by the wrists, easily restraining her. “Get him out of there!”
“It’ll be over soon,” Hounds said. “Soon as one of them comes out on top we settle up. You saw them at the docks. Bandit’s going to be fine.”
The Kelpie, Kilt, chuckled, echoing the feeling in Violet’s gut. She turned her eyes to the fight below, not believing the assurance. This was a blood sport. The crowd weren’t going to be happy until they saw some.
As he had back in the docks, Bandit was choosing to attack with great leaping bounds. The yiqi couldn’t fly properly without an updraft, let alone being leashed. Bandit dove at it repeatedly from below and even climbed the walls, only to abruptly turn halfway up and launch himself back down, tackling his feathered prey. They rolled about in the pit with Bandit coming out on top and attempting to bite the yiqi. The loompa couldn’t seem to find a purchase as the bird beat leathery wings in his face and tried to rake him with its feet.
Bandit gave a shriek of alarm, or maybe it was Violet, she couldn’t be sure, but she saw red. Red on the sandy bottom of the pit and the red suddenly spraying from Bandit. He broke away from the yiqi, twisting and coiling, eyes wide now with fear and pain. Now Violet did cry out and felt Hounds restrain her again.
The yiqi had wire wrapped around its spurs, cut short and rusty. It seemed as surprised as Bandit about the sudden turn of fortunes but now it pressed the attack. Bandit became the hunted, tugging his leash to the limit as he tried to find a way out of
the pit. The yiqi harried him, driving him to one side to the hoots and hollers of the crowd. They started to throw things, husks of bread, empty tankards, and plates, mostly aimed at Bandit to encourage him to get back into the scrap.
“This wasn’t what we said.” Hound pushed the bearded Kelpie in the chest, stepping up to him.
Too little, too late, Violet thought.
“House rules,” Kilt chuckled to her.
“Make it stop,” Hounds said. “Bet’s off.”
Another laugh. Hounds swore and pushed the Kelpie again, almost into the pit this time. His fellow patrons caught him and shoved him back with a cheer. A brawl was close to breaking out above as well as down below. Violet saw her chance—a knife tucked into Hounds’ belt, easily swiped. And the drop into the pit wasn’t that far . . .
Violet ignored the roar as the crowd realised her intention. For that reason, she didn’t see the yiqi when it attacked, ripping at her face with wire-wrapped talons. She managed to get an arm up and felt the wire rip through the bandages on her forearm, felt the sensation but not the pain. She lashed out with her other arm, the one holding her knife. She wasn’t sure if she meant to hurt the yiqi but her concern would have been wasted—all she succeeded in doing was slicing through the tether keeping it grounded. The bird-thing was smart enough to realise its second turn of good fortune and flapped awkwardly for the ceiling, vanishing into the rafters.
“Hold still,” Violet tried to comfort a cowering Bandit. Liquid black eyes followed her hand as she sawed through the rope. She half expected Bandit to run but he was frozen to the ground in shock. Violet gathered him up in one arm, tucking the knife awkwardly through her belt, feeling his small body trembling and limp against her. And something else, a hot sticky wetness against her skin. Blood.
She faced an angry crowd now. Worse, they were all looking down on her from the spectating stands. Bar room missiles were still raining down, though not to the same extent now the yiqi had fled. Violet raised her free arm and turned her shoulder to shield Bandit better. He seemed oblivious to it all, barely holding on.
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