King of Thieves

by Jane Kindred

  “It’s just for one day, while I take care of the travel arrangements.”

  Silk appeared in the guest bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it? What’s going on?” He caught himself mid-yawn and broke into a grin. “My boys!” They gathered around him, and Silk put his arms out to welcome them fondly. He looked like some kind of wood nymph surrounded by an adoring circle of sprites. Silk might have played a part in their exploitation, but he seemed to have genuine affection for them.

  “What happened to your hair?” asked one of them.

  “Do you like it?” Silk smoothed a hand over a shorn side where Vasily and Lev had helped him trim it more neatly. “Ruby did it. It’s all the rage in the world of Man.”

  “Ruby?” asked another. “Where is Ruby?”

  Vasily shook his head fiercely at Silk, but Silk gave him a wide-eyed innocent stare and ignored the silent request. “Why, he’s standing right there,” he said and pointed at him. The boys turned and looked around in confusion and then focused on Vasily, and one by one, their mouths dropped open.

  “Ruby?” the first boy breathed. “What happened to you?”

  “I grew up,” he growled, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.

  “Magic,” said Silk. “He drank a magic potion. It’s all very romantic. Isn’t he dreamy? He’s going to buy me a house.”

  Vasily’s face got even hotter. “That’s not exactly what I said.” His eyes darted to Belphagor’s, and he swallowed at the cold look in them.

  Silk gave him a mock pout. “Ah, Ruby, are you reneging on your proposal already? You promised to take care of me.” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes, and he batted his lashes pointedly at Vasily, making sure Belphagor saw. Silk was playing him, for some reason he couldn’t fathom.

  “Wow, what’d I miss?” Lev appeared behind them in the hallway. “I don’t think we have enough tapochki.” He smiled amiably and passed around a little laundry basket full of socks. Having gone barefoot since arriving at the Fletchery, it took them a few moments to realize what to do with them. “But there’s plenty of kasha and blinchiki. Come on, boys. You can help me cook.” He paused and tilted his head at Anzhela standing by the door, her Kalashnikov still at her side. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

  “Anzhela,” she said with a nod. “At your other place in Moscow.”

  “Oh, right. You came to see Belphagor. Never a dull moment with that one.” He winked at Belphagor, and Vasily took the opportunity to push Silk back into the bedroom and close the door.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded.

  “All what?” Silk put his arms around his neck, smelling of some delicious musk. “You did say you wanted to protect me from the big, bad wolves of the world of Man. To get us ‘settled’.”

  “Yes, and you didn’t want me to.” Vasily pulled Silk’s arms away. The scent was stronger at his wrists. “What is that?” He sniffed at one of Silk’s arms.

  “Isn’t it lovely? Something of Lev’s, I think.” Silk breathed in at his wrist when Vasily let go of him. “I found it in the washroom cabinet when I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. It’s called ‘Pachuli’. At least that’s what I think it said. I’m not so good at peasant letters. Hope it wasn’t a slow-acting poison absorbed through the skin.”

  It was lovely, but he didn’t want to admit it. He was annoyed with Silk. “They’re not peasant letters. It’s a very rich language. I’m reading one of their famous writers right now. Dostoevsky.”

  Silk shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Why were you saying all that in front of Belphagor? He’s pissed enough at me as it is.”

  Silk’s dark, elfin eyebrows knitted together. “He’s pissed at you? He’s the one who fucked another demon in the next room while you were sleeping.”

  “He didn’t fuck him, he just…” Vasily let the words fizzle out with a low growl, realizing how stupid the protest was.

  “I thought you wanted to make your prince jealous. Just thought I’d help out. Did I make things worse? I’m sorry, Ruby.”

  Vasily sighed. “No, I don’t think they could get any worse. It’s okay. I did promise to take care of you. I’m being stupid.”

  “And I told you it was sweet. It’s not stupid. I’m fine playing it however you want. If you want me to back off, I will. But if it’ll get that wounded pout off your face when you look at him, I’d be happy to help make your prince very sorry he left you.”

  Silk stood on tiptoe and put a hand on Vasily’s shoulder for balance, reaching up to kiss him with those incredibly soft lips. The polar opposite of Belphagor’s kiss. “I like you, Ruby. Very much. And if my life were different—and you weren’t so damned tall—” Silk laughed and dropped back onto his heels. “I’d be the one offering to take care of you.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a way that was eerily like Belphagor. “And I could take care of just the things you need. Your prince isn’t the only one who likes to play rough.”

  Vasily swallowed nervously. He didn’t want to play at anything. But Belphagor was the one who had changed the game.

  When they came out into the hall, the kitchen was overflowing with laughing boys making a thorough mess of mixing blin batter and stirring kasha. And Belphagor had gone.

  While Silk joined the joyful chaos in the kitchen, Vasily spotted Dmitri at the end of the hall leaning against the bedroom doorframe, looking bemused. With a curt nod, Vasily headed in his direction instead of toward the overstuffed kitchen.

  “Hey.” The greeting was a bit too gruff, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets to cover his embarrassment. It was difficult to gauge how his element might permeate his voice in the world of Man. “It’s good of you to put up with this. I know it’s not what you were expecting when you said I could stay here.”

  Unexpectedly, Dmitri smiled. “I like to give Belphagor a hard time. It’s actually pretty heartwarming to hear them in there, acting like kids after what they’ve been through.”

  Vasily glanced back at the kitchen. “Yeah.”

  “I guess you know exactly what they’ve been through.”

  “Yeah.” Stellar conversationalist he was. “So where’s Bel?”

  “He said he had work to do on the travel arrangements. Influencing that many tickets is probably tricky.” Dmitri paused. “You don’t think he’s trying to deal with any of those thugs on his own?”

  “No. I think your friends pretty much took care of them. Where did you find those three, anyway?”

  Dmitri’s smile was cagey. “They owe me favors.” He shifted his weight against the frame. “Listen, about Bel, don’t be too hard on him.”

  Vasily’s hands balled into fists in his pockets. “Do you know what he did? I mean, besides screwing your boyfriend while you were sleeping.”

  Dmitri’s face went hard in the way that Belphagor’s did when Vasily was about to get a whipping. “You’re an extraordinarily difficult person to like, do you know that? I opened my home to you because Belphagor loves you.”

  “I don’t—”

  “And you just go straight for the jugular no matter whom you’re dealing with. What’s between Lev and me is none of your business, yet you throw it in my face as if I’m the one who wronged you.”

  “He’s the one who—”

  “And exactly what did Bel do to you? Was it something he did without your consent?”

  “I—” Vasily pulled his fists out of his pockets, taken aback. “No, but—”

  “Then what the hell are you moaning about? I swear to all the Heavens—you’ve got the best catch in Raqia, and you’re in there carrying on with that barkhotka because Bel gave a friend a hand job.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “And as for you punishing him for doing something you didn’t even have the yaytsa to say no to if it was so hurtful to you—I don’t even know what to say to that level of self-absorption. Do you have any idea what he’s been through in his life?”

/>   “No, I don’t!” The words burst out of him when he finally had a chance to get them in edgewise. “Because he won’t fucking tell me!”

  With a glance down the hall in the sudden silence from the kitchen, the Grigori lowered his voice. “Well, he shouldn’t have to tell you. His body should tell you. But whatever you know about him, know this: he can be hard and sharp as obsidian, but he’ll crack just as easily. So you just…” Dmitri shook his head like he was trying to come up with a clever rebuke and couldn’t. He jabbed his finger into Vasily’s chest. “You just watch it.”

  Lying awake on the floor that night, he watched the shadows change and stretch across the room through the crack in the curtain as the sun refused to sleep. Silk had given the bed to Anzhela and had gone to sleep in the living room with the boys, where the sounds of whispering and giggling had yet to die down.

  Dmitri’s words reproached him silently. He hadn’t had the balls to tell Belphagor how he really felt about the con at the Fletchery. He’d consented, and Belphagor had given him more than one chance to revoke his consent. He’d stubbornly refused. But the fact remained that Belphagor had put him in danger, and until that moment when Belphagor had let them take him away, he’d never made Vasily feel anything but safe—he was the only thing that had ever made Vasily feel safe.

  He didn’t know, of course, that Vasily had been sold before.

  He hadn’t thought about it himself in years, and before the last few weeks, he wasn’t sure he’d even remembered it. By his best guess, he must have been about seven or eight. He’d been running with a pack of street hustlers, kids who distracted the victims for older thieves and pickpockets. He’d admired one of the older boys, who in turn seemed to take a liking to him—giving him special jobs, letting him stand lookout when he turned alley tricks. Kal. Vasily’s skin broke out in a sweat. He’d forgotten the name.

  Kal would tease him and say he looked like a girl, and kissed him a few times as part of his teasing. Vasily hadn’t thought of those kisses as sexual. They were affection from an older boy who thought he was worth having around. There hadn’t been anything more than that, though in retrospect, Vasily remembered Kal playing with himself in front of him. While there was nothing particularly unusual about such an occurrence—living on the streets, there was no privacy when you huddled together in a crate at night to get out of the rain or shared a spot under a bridge—Kal had done it after kissing him. And after seeing him take a piss. Sometimes he’d bet Vasily he couldn’t hit a particular target, and give him a facet chip—brittle pieces of facets that had been smashed and shared—if he did.

  Vasily’s skin crawled at the memory he hadn’t understood before. Kal had been paying him in order to watch Vasily expose himself. And he’d gotten off on exposing himself to Vasily.

  He rolled onto his side and tried to shove the memories away, but now that they’d come back to him, they were crowding his head. He’d run with Kal for almost a year, sharing his food—and his blanket. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d curled up under Kal’s arm for comfort, pretending it was for warmth. And all the while, Kal had been… He rolled onto his back once more, but it was no good. The memories just followed him.

  Kal had sent him to make a delivery one afternoon—some black-market vodka from the world of Man, perhaps—to the basement door of a pub. Kal had waited down the alley and promised Vasily a small facet chip. The pubmaster had waved him inside, down the stairs, but instead of giving him the facets to take back to Kal, he’d closed the door and locked it. Vasily had panicked and tried to run for the inside stairs. He’d heard about perverts and freaks who would kidnap you if you weren’t careful and do terrible things to you.

  The pubmaster had caught him and beaten the backs of his thighs with a switch and said he owned him now, and Vasily would do as he was told. He’d tossed him into a kind of caged area under the stairs and then opened the door to the alley once more, and there had stood Kal, smiling at him. Vasily had cried out for him, calling for help, but Kal just smiled and held out his hand as the pubmaster counted out the facets for Vasily’s price.

  It turned out the pubmaster wasn’t a pervert or a freak, just a merchant in need of a boy to clean the floors under the bar and empty the night soil. Vasily still had a small, scarred brand under the hair behind his temple that said he was this pubmaster’s property—you couldn’t see it unless he was shaved—though he’d bought his freedom when he was old enough. Timur, the pubmaster, had pimped him out at Vasily’s suggestion and let him earn his price back. He hadn’t any use for a gangly teenage boy who just got in the way and ate too much food.

  In the end, without meaning to, Kal had probably saved his life. He’d had a roof over his head and regular meals, even if they were meager. But it had been weeks before Vasily had been able to fall asleep under the stairs without crying, hoping Kal would come back and get him. He never saw Kal again.

  That was the memory he’d carried with him into the Fletchery. The memory he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. On some level, he’d believed Belphagor would forget about him and never come back. How could he trust him again when Belphagor didn’t even understand what Vasily needed from him or what he’d done? Even something as simple and intrinsically Belphagor as fooling around with Lev was a betrayal he didn’t seem to comprehend. It wasn’t just a hand job with a friend. It was proof that there was nothing special enough about Vasily that he couldn’t be replaced in an instant. It was a doorway from a pub basement that could open at any moment and close again with Belphagor on the other side.

  “You’re not my boy.” The words jumped back in front of him full force, and Vasily crossed his arms over his face and cried into them as he hadn’t done since that long-ago abandonment.

  Trenadtsataya

  Instead of Belphagor’s return the following day, a messenger arrived with an envelope full of tickets. They’d all been given Russian identities—Silk was down as Pyotr Pankov, and Vasily couldn’t help but think of Anzhela’s Piter Pen. Could Belphagor have meant to allude to that?

  Among the papers was a letter addressed to Vasily. His hands shook as he opened it. He’d never received a letter from Belphagor before. He had a fleeting hope it might be a love letter, but it was brusque and businesslike.

  Dorogoi Vasily, it read—Dear Vasily. This was not the usual form of address between them.

  Enclosed is everything you should require for the return trip, including a bit of spending money for meals on the train. I’ve gone on ahead to make preparations and put in motion a plan to shut down the Celestial Silk Road. It won’t do for us to show up at the Brimstone with a passel of young boys after Armen has undoubtedly spent the last two weeks savaging my reputation, so I will acquire lodging for them. I also think it would be unwise for Silk to be seen in our quarters. He’s done a convincing job of playing the youth and isn’t likely to be viewed as anything other if he’s associated with me at this juncture.

  Which brings me to a rather unhappy decision. I think it’s best that you not return to the Brimstone. We have wounded one another past the point of repair and are liable to be at one another’s throats in close company. I would rather retain the happy memories of you that I have had there. They have been the happiest of my life.

  I will have your effects delivered to your new accommodations. A messenger will await your arrival at the portal at Lake Baikal to escort you to an alternate entrance to Raqia and direct you to your abode.

  Except insomuch as we have mutually agreed to do so for erotic purposes, please believe that it is not and has never been my intent or my desire to hurt you, Vasya. But I have, and I cannot remedy it.

  Be well.

  The paper combusted in his hands before he realized how much heat had built in them. Flakes of ash and embers fluttered onto the floor like a cruel metaphor. He wasn’t weeping. He wasn’t anything. Belphagor had stolen his soul.

  “This is utterly fantastic.” Silk peered out the window of the train car a
t the world hurtling past. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He turned his head toward Vasily. “I guess this is commonplace for you, sphere-hopping traveler that you are.” When Vasily didn’t respond, Silk leaned on his shoulder, knitting their fingers together. “I hate seeing you sad.”

  “Why would I be said? I left him, remember? He’s only made it official.”

  “He’s made it official that he’s a complete bastard and never deserved you, Ruby. You and I are going to find ourselves a sweet pair of sugar daddies—preferably rich, aging merchants who’ve earned their fortunes in the world of Man and want some young, beautiful things to spend it on who’ll pretend to adore them, just to prove to themselves they’ve still got it when they don’t. And when we’ve worn them out with how completely fabulous we are in bed, you and I will play with each other—and with their facets.”

  Vasily doubted there was a glut of rich elderly demons in Raqia who preferred the company of their own sex, but he wasn’t about to burst Silk’s bubble. “That sounds nice.”

  “You could put a little bit of fake enthusiasm into it.” Silk sighed and let go of his hand. “Let me take your mind off things.” He slid off the bench onto his knees and reached for Vasily’s belt buckle.

  Appalled, Vasily grabbed his hands. “Silk!” He jerked his head toward the two boys on the bench opposite.

  “They’re sound asleep.” The boys were slumped together against the back of the bench, eyes closed, but the idea of letting Silk go down on him while they were just feet away was too much like Kal fondling himself next to Vasily when he was a child.

  “They could wake up at any moment.”

  “Fine, then join me in the washroom.” Silk rose and tugged on Vasily’s hand. “Your miserable prince was good enough to get us this luxury carriage with the little tin piss-pot in it. We should make use of it.”

  Vasily resisted, but Silk threatened to try to undress him again, so he followed reluctantly. The two of them barely squeezed inside. “We’re not going to fit,” he said, but Silk pushed him back against the little sink and drew the door shut and latched it. “We’re certainly not going to fit with you on your knees.”