Bane and Shadow

by Jon Skovron

  “I believe she is just finishing up with a client.”

  “Alright. I’ll go say hi.”

  “I can keep this one entertained, if you want,” Misandry said, still holding Filler’s arm. “Even give you a discount, since he wishes I was all hairy.”

  Filler gave her a hopeful look. She sighed and dug a coin out of her bag. “This will not be a daily occurrence.” She tossed the coin to Filler, then looked at Misandry. “And mind his leg. I need him no more damaged than you found him.”

  “What happened there?” asked Misandry as he led Filler back down the hall. “I don’t remember you having that brace the last time you were here.”

  “Got shot during the raid on the Three Cups.”

  Misandry’s eyes widened. “Really? I had to work that day.” He threw a quick scowl back at Mo, then continued to pull Filler down the hall, leaning into him conspiratorially. “So I missed all the excitement. You’ll have to tell me everything.”

  Once they were gone, Mo asked, “How is Red?”

  Nettles turned back to Mo. It was those pissing eyes. Dark and open and completely free of judgment. She never could stand up to them all the years she worked here, and the same seemed to still hold true now. She tried to say something quick and dismissive. Or something clever, even. It all stuck in her throat, and her eyes stung with suppressed tears.

  “That bad?” asked Mo patiently.

  Finally she caved. A single tear rolled down her cheek. In a ragged and poncey voice as soft as any artist from Silverback, she said, “He’s gotten himself into the worst fix you could imagine.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah.” Nettles swiped fiercely at the offending tear with her sleeve. “Well, we ain’t giving up. We’ll bring him home yet.”

  “I knew his father,” said Mo.

  “What?”

  “Not well. But our paths crossed several times. He was a beautiful man, and always very kind to me during my… troubled period. So if there is anything I can do to help, as long as it does not endanger my employees, you may ask.”

  Nettles nodded. She wanted to find out more, but Mo hardly ever volunteered even this much about her past. So instead she just said, “Thanks, Mo. You’re still the mom and dad I wish I’d had.”

  Nettles made her way up to the second floor to the room where Mo said she’d find Tosh.

  “Come in.” She heard Tosh’s light, cheerful voice.

  But when she opened the door, she saw Tosh on the bed with a naked man lying on top of her.

  “I thought you were done,” said Nettles.

  Tosh sighed and rolled the unconscious man off her. “Apparently I am. Knew this was going to happen the moment he came in. Had that combination of nervous and drunk that frequently leads to a quick squirt and a long nap.”

  “For the chute, then?” asked Nettles. The Slice of Heaven had an understanding with many local captains. Customers who didn’t pay, acted up, or were just plain annoying tended to get drugged and dropped down a chute that emptied out by the docks. They usually woke up the next day miles from shore, conscripted to a ship headed for somewhere unpleasant, like the Southern Isles.

  “We’re not really doing that anymore,” said Tosh. “Cabbage can’t really manage it like you could.”

  “Ah well. It was a nice little bit of money,” said Nettles. The captains were supposed to leave a little bonus in a drop box for the brothel for each crew member they gained. It was an honor system, and for the most part they kept their end of the agreement. Every once in a while, one would try to slip out without paying. But they’d return to New Laven eventually. And when they did, Nettles had been there to explain to them how things were in the Circle. Usually with her chainblade.

  “How you doing otherwise?” she asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

  Tosh stretched luxuriantly, arching her back to give Nettles a nice look at her large bare breasts. “Can’t complain. Money’s good. Not sure how many more years of this I’ve got in me, you know. So I’ve been saving up proper.”

  “You always were one of the smart ones.” Nettles took one of Tosh’s feet and placed it on her lap. Then she began to rub with slow, gentle pressure.

  “Mmmm.” Tosh closed her eyes. “What are you back in town for? I thought you were off to find a better you or something.”

  “Got some things to take care of,” said Nettles, sliding her hands up to rub Tosh’s ankle and calf. “It would be nice if someone filled me in on what I missed while I was away. How things are now in the Circle.”

  “That so?” Tosh opened one eye and smirked. “I suppose I could do that for you. How’s about you finish me from where that gaf left off for old times’ sake while I catch you up.”

  “Yeah, alright.” Nettles pushed the naked, unconscious man off the bed. He snorted and groaned when he hit the thick rug, but didn’t wake up. Nettles stretched out next to Tosh on the bed. She loved being fully clothed next to someone naked. There was power in that.

  Her hand reached out and made its way from Tosh’s collarbone, down her breasts, lingering for a moment at the nipple before then slipping down to dance on her rib cage. Eventually she made her way to Tosh’s abdomen. She lingered there a bit before pressing her palm against the hair between Tosh’s legs. She could feel the heat as Tosh pushed back against her.

  “Finish you off?” asked Nettles. “You’re barely started.”

  “It’ll give you something to do while I talk,” said Tosh. “A lot can happen in a year. I promise I’ll be thorough.”

  “Then I suppose I should be thorough, too,” said Nettles as she gently stroked between Tosh’s smooth thighs. Then she settled in more comfortably and got to work.

  Tosh didn’t really have much to say that Nettles couldn’t have guessed. But it was nice to reconnect with a molly she’d had many happy memories with. She also appreciated that Tosh was not one for sentiment or cuddling after.

  Nettles washed her hands and face in the water basin on the table by the bed while Tosh squatted over the piss pot on the other side.

  “So there’s no one who’s really taken the lead here, now that Drem’s gone?” asked Nettles.

  “Not really,” said Tosh as she peed. “I suppose there’s one gaf with a few more boots than the rest, which gives him a slight edge. Says he was born and raised in the Circle, but I’d never seen him before. Heard through a client that he got in trouble a long time ago with Jix the Lift. Ran off to Hammer Point, then spent a few years on the Empty Cliffs.”

  “Oh yeah?” A suspicion began to crawl through Nettles’s gut. “This gaf got a name?”

  “What was it…” Tosh frowned. “Oh yeah. Mick the Sick.”

  “Piss’ell,” groaned Nettles. “Of all the cunt-droppings in the sea, it had to be him.”

  “You know him?”

  “He’s my pissing brother,” said Nettles.

  “I didn’t even know you had a brother,” said Filler as the two walked down Central Street. The sun had set and the imps in white and gold uniforms were lighting the street lamps.

  “That’s because I’d hoped I didn’t have one anymore,” said Nettles, her eyes darting constantly. The familiar cobblestones of Paradise Circle no longer held the same comfort, now that she knew her brother was in town. “I hear people fall off the Empty Cliffs all the time. Some get pushed, some just can’t take it and jump.”

  “And you were counting on one of those two?”

  “Nah, I figured it much more likely he’d get pushed. He’s that kind of gaf.”

  Filler nodded and didn’t push for more. Nettles could always count on him to know when to let things be. Red would have had a hundred different questions, the answers to which she likely didn’t want to think about, much less talk about. He could be exhausting like that, because he never quite understood how it really was in the Circle. He thought he did. He had his own version of the Circle, filled with scoundrels and clever schemes. But unless you were born
into it, you’d never be more than someone who skimmed across the top of the muck. The truth was, terrible things happened in Paradise Circle. Nettles understood that in a way Red never could.

  She turned to Filler. “If Mick’s making a play for the neighborhood, Handsome Henny knows something about it. And we’ll find Henny at the Drowned Rat.”

  The Drowned Rat had been around since before Nettles was born. It had changed hands a few times, and maybe it wasn’t as popular as it had been in the legendary days of Bracers Madge. But it was still a place where true wags of Paradise Circle could get a tankard of ale and brag about the misdeeds they’d been getting up to lately.

  When Nettles and Filler stepped into the dim, smoke-filled tavern, Prin the bartender waved to them.

  “Well, look at you two blown in on the wind!”

  “Hey, Prin,” said Filler.

  Nettles gave Prin a quick wave as she scanned the tables for Henny. She found him in the back at the same old table with the Twins. “Round of dark for the old crew, would you, Prin?”

  “Coming up, Nettles,” said Prin. “You and Filler are on me, though. Good to see your faces here.”

  “That’s real sunny of you, Prinny!” said Filler, who was at least as fond of ale as he was of pretty boys.

  Handsome Henny’s back was to Nettles. The Twins saw her coming and their eyes went wide, but Nettles put her finger to her lips, and they eased back into their chairs, giving each other a quick smirk. Brimmer and Stin weren’t actually twins, or even brothers. But their red hair was so unusual in the predominantly dark-haired population of New Laven that everyone assumed they must be related. By the time anyone realized the truth, the name had stuck. And like Misandry, when you got a name in Paradise Circle, it tended to stay.

  Nettles snuck up behind Henny. He was complaining about something, as usual. She crouched down, got in close, then jammed her thumbs into his rib cage while shouting, “You’re under arrest!”

  Handsome Henny shot forward, diving across the table and landing in a heap between Brimmer and Stin, who were now laughing hysterically. He jumped to his feet, his face flushed with anger until he saw it was Nettles who had done it to him. Then his face softened. Which wasn’t to say he looked any more pleasant. Handsome Henny got his nickname after a guard dog bit his nose off.

  “Oh yes, very funny.” He glared at the Twins. “And thanks for the warning, my wags.”

  “Sorry, Hen,” said Brimmer.

  “It’s only Nettie and Fill,” said Stin.

  “Right,” said Henny, still looking irritated. “What if I’d accidentally shot them instead? Wouldn’t be so funny then, would it? Like to happen as not, times being what they are.”

  “Oh, come off it, Hen.” Nettles sat down in his chair, still grinning. “We all know you’re the type to bolt, not turn.”

  Filler pulled up a chair next to her.

  “Things is different now, Nettie.” Handsome Henny shoved a space open between Brimmer and Stin so he could sit down across from her. “You don’t know.”

  “True.” Nettles paused as Prin came over with a tray of foamy tankards. Once Prin was gone, Nettles shoved a tankard at each of them. “So why don’t you tell me?”

  Henny took the tankard suspiciously. “What’s your game, Nettie? And where you been this whole time?”

  “Fill and I been just about everywhere in this empire, and seen a great many things. I came back because bad things are happening for the whole empire and Hope needs help fixing them. I meant to ask whoever might be running things here in the Circle to help us out. This is about the only friendly place she knows of and I figure a Hero of the Circle deserves some consideration, at least.”

  “So you’re here to—” began Brimmer.

  “I said that’s why I came. But I’m afraid that won’t be enough now. Tell me true, Henny. Is Mick the Sick making a play for Paradise Circle?”

  Henny’s eyebrows rose. “He is. But how’d you—”

  “And since you are a betting wag, would you say his chances are good?”

  Henny frowned. “I don’t like to think it, and the margin ain’t wide, but I’d say that he has a better chance than any of the other gafs that are making moves.”

  “I figured.” She drank down her tankard in one go, then leaned back in her chair. “You know how Mick the Sick got that name?”

  Henny and the Twins exchanged glances.

  “Didn’t think so,” said Nettles. “Back when we were kids, my brother used to torture animals. Dogs and cats mostly. Then after a while, that wasn’t enough. He started doing it to other kids in the neighborhood. He’d cut on them, break fingers and the like. But even that wasn’t enough.”

  She let that sink in a moment as they looked at each other uncomfortably.

  “So one night I come home and he’s got this boy, maybe a little younger than us. The boy’s dead and Mick has slit his belly open. While the blood and guts are leaking out, he’s got his cock stuck inside the wound, groaning and sighing like he’s tossing.”

  Henny gaped at her. Stin put down his tankard and pushed it away. Brimmer looked like he might throw up in his.

  “Once he realized I was there, he… went after me.” Nettles’s throat started to tighten up, so she took Stin’s abandoned tankard and drank it down. “I managed to get away eventually, and told Jix the Lift. Now, Jix was a lot of bad things, but he couldn’t abide cruelty to kids. Since Mick was still just a kid himself, though, Jix decided to let him live, as long as he never came back to Paradise Circle.”

  “And this… is your brother?” asked Handsome Henny.

  “That’s right. Now, let me ask you, is this someone you want in charge of the Circle?”

  Mutely, they all shook their heads.

  “Then we have to do everything we can to make sure it doesn’t happen,” said Nettles. “Even if that means I have to take Paradise Circle for myself instead.”

  12

  Try this one, Humey.” Red handed Hume a small tin whistle.

  Hume accepted the whistle, his expression as grave as ever. He waited until Red set his feet far apart and put his hands on the shop counter. Then he blew.

  The sound gave a piercing, unpleasant shriek, but Red didn’t feel the least bit dizzy. It was the fifth whistle they’d tried and he was starting to worry he’d never find the one that nearly knocked him out.

  The night he’d escorted Nea to the inn, there had been so much going on that he hadn’t fully comprehended the enormity of what the biomancers had done to him. They had given him a weakness that only they understood. What’s more, they had somehow done it without him even being aware of it. It was a rude awakening that even the little rebelliousness he’d been quietly nursing meant nothing. They had him by the balls.

  But they’d slipped up and shown their hand. Or Brackson had, anyway. And a secret weapon wasn’t as effective once it wasn’t secret anymore. Because if he could find the same kind of whistle, maybe he could figure out a way to counteract it.

  He turned to the tinsmith, who had been anxiously watching the whistle sampling on the other side of the counter.

  “You sure these work right, my wag? Maybe this is a bad batch?”

  “A bad batch?” The tinsmith’s face flushed.

  “My lord,” Hume said calmly. “Mr. Ifmish is known to be the foremost tinsmith in the empire.”

  “Oh, hey, no offense, old pot.” Red patted the smith on the back.

  “As I said before, my lord, these are dog whistles. The pitch is much too high for people to hear.”

  “Right, and…” Red paused, then looked at Hume. “And we can’t hear these, can we?”

  “That is correct, my lord,” said Hume.

  “Ah. No. Of course we can’t.” He turned back to Ifmish. “Right, so clearly these whistles are quality. But seeing as how you’re such a renowned fellow, maybe you can answer something that’s been on my mind.”

  “I will do my best, my lord,” Ifmish said, clearly stru
ggling to keep his temper. Red had noticed some of these artisans could be as rigid as lacies.

  “That’s real sunny of you,” said Red. “Now, my question is, do you know of a different pitch like this that most people can’t hear? Something other than this dog pitch?”

  Ifmish pursed his lips and Red watched his arrogance and exasperation replaced with curiosity. That was the difference between lacies and artisans. In the end, most artisans still cared more about their art than their ego.

  “There is no other whistle commonly made that is either above or below the pitch of human hearing, but that isn’t to say one couldn’t be made.”

  “Below human hearing?” asked Red. “That can happen, too?”

  “In theory,” said Ifmish. “But it would have to be a very large whistle.”

  Red shook his head. “This one was really small. Smaller than all of these.”

  “Generally speaking, the smaller the whistle, the higher the pitch.”

  “Could you make me one as high-pitched as possible?”

  “Higher than these, I take it?” Ifmish gestured to the dog whistles.

  “As high as you can and still call it a whistle,” said Red.

  “I suppose. But it will involve some trial and error. And tin isn’t cheap.”

  “How’s this to start?” Red slid a stack of gold on the counter and watched the tinsmith’s eyes light up.

  “I’ll make it my top priority, my lord. I should have something for you in a few days.”

  “Sunny, Mr. Ifmish. It’s hard to put into words, exactly, but trust that you’re doing me a true service.”

  “I don’t often get a real challenge that doesn’t take away from putting food on the table for the family,” said Ifmish. “This will be a rare pleasure.”

  “I understand that more than you might think, my wag, and I’m very glad I could give you both.”

  As Red and Hume left the tin shop and began walking down Artisan Way toward the palace, Red felt the first tiny prickle of hope he’d felt in weeks. He might not understand what the biomancers had done to him yet. But once he did, then he’d be the one with a secret weapon.