The Viper and the Urchin: A Novel of Steampunk Adventure (Bloodless Assassin Mysteries Book 1)

by Celine Jeanjean

  “Yeah, but what about the attack backstage? Clearly she’s given the poison to others.”

  He waved the comment away with one hand. “You saw how clumsy that was. A distraction at most.”

  “A distraction?”

  Rory frowned. A distraction from what? She thought of what the Marchioness had said about misdirection. The Old Girl was only surrounded by Varanguards whose faces she knew, and no one else, uniform or not, would be allowed near the box — Myran had to have expected those measures. So why bother with the uniforms, especially if she had planned to give the poison to strangers in the crowd?

  To draw everyone’s attention where she wanted it.

  Another gasp from the crowd, and Rory turned back to the performance platform. Cruikshank was floating on her clockwork spider, tracing shapes and making the spider dance. With a powerful burst of steam, she brought the spider up to the wall beneath the Marchioness’ box and began to climb. An absurd idea occurred to Rory: what if Cruikshank was in league with Myran? It would be the perfect plan. Nobody suspected Cruikshank. She could climb right up to the Marchioness and nobody would stop her.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Rory whispered to herself, watching mesmerised as the spider scuttled up the wall. If Cruikshank had meant to attack the Marchioness, she could have done so back in the performers’ area. But Rory remember Longinus’ comment about theatrics. Killing the Marchioness as the entire city watched would make for a much better show.

  Rory held her breath as the enormous spider reached the top of the box, praying that she was wrong.

  Cruikshank had the spider make an elaborate bow, and the crowd laughed. Rory sagged with relief. What a ridiculous idea anyhow, for Cruikshank to be an assassin. If there was one thing that could be predicted about honest people, it was their honesty. Even if it made everything else unpredictable.

  She and Longinus continued their search of the crowd, and Rory returned to her previous line of thought. What if Longinus was right, and the attack in the performers’ area had just been a distraction? What could Myran want to distract them from? Was it to get them all back to the box?

  The floating platform in the water stadium was pulled away from the centre as the next act approached, tugged along by a small steamer. It was the structure for the acrobats, half submerged in water so that only the tops of the masts protruded. At the apex was the horizontal beam, and in the middle of it was something that caught Rory’s eye. She pulled up her binoculars; it was the box that Norman had been carrying. Why was it there? It hadn’t been there earlier. Why had he tied it to the top of the mast? And why did she feel sure she had seen it before?

  She stared at it though the binoculars. Where had she seen it, where had she —

  “Your crossbow,” she said to Longinus, handing him the binoculars urgently. “Is that your crossbow, the one I took out of the cabinet?”

  He looked. “It looks like it, but —”

  “That’s how they’re going to kill the Marchioness. That haughty acrobat, I knew there was something dodgy about her!”

  “My poison doesn’t work like that. The friction of the air —”

  “Don’t you get it, Myran doesn’t need the poison, she can have that acrobat shoot the Marchioness with the crossbow plain and simple. That’s why they burned down your house: so you couldn’t see that the crossbow was gone. All the Varanguards are watching the crowd same as us, and no one is looking at the performers, leaving the Marchioness completely exposed!” Rory broke into a run down towards the water. “I’m gonna get the crossbow, you go warn the Marchioness,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Longinus caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “I’ll get the crossbow. I know how it works if necessary. You go warn the Marchioness.”

  “Will you be alright?”

  “Of course I will,” he scoffed, but it sounded like an out-of-tune note.

  “Alright. Just remember, you are the Viper. Not them. And the Viper ain’t afraid of anything, is he?”

  “Yes, yes, now go!” He pushed her towards the box and headed for the water.

  * * *

  Pushing through the crowd was slow work. The steamer and sunken masts had almost reached the end of the floating platform. Rory ran for a nearby exit, and slipped down a narrow lane that led to the disused warehouses behind the stadium. Fishermen typically prepared their catches there before heading to the Bazaar, and it was now empty.

  She sprinted as quick as she could, dodging broken crates, careful not to slip on the viscera that was strewn about the floor.

  “Rory!”

  She screeched to a halt and turned.

  Little Alice was poking her head from between two stacks of crates.

  “There’s someone back here,” she said in her little mouse voice.

  “Not now.”

  Rory made to run again when Alice called her back.

  “There’s one of them cards attached to her.”

  Rory hesitated — she really didn’t have time to spare, but it could give her a clue as to Myran’s whereabouts.

  “Quick, quick!” she said as she followed Alice through the stacks of crates.

  They entered one of the darkened warehouses, and there in the gloom she saw Pip crouching next to something. They hurried over, and Rory was greeted by the sight of the haughty acrobat, a lurid red smile slashed across her throat.

  “Shit!”

  Myran must have taken the acrobat’s place. Longinus was right — she planned to do this with all eyes on her.

  Rory spun on her heels and ran out.

  “What about our money?” shouted Pip behind her.

  When she was out of the warehouse, Rory hesitated. She had to warn Longinus that he was going straight to confront his sister, but she was already too far around the stadium. To turn back now and try to reach him would take too long, and then what? If she was too slow and he didn’t manage to stop Myran, they would both die from the poison, not to mention that Damsport would be facing a return to the Airnian Empire.

  No, her best shot was to continue as she was. Once she’d warn the Marchioness, she could jump into the water from the box, and swim to the masts and to Longinus. She kissed a handful of talismans as she sprinted off, praying that he would last long enough against Myran for Rory to reach him.

  Chapter 42

  The floating platform had been moved right to the edge of the stadium, opposite the Old Girl’s box. The steamer was approaching the platform, and began manoeuvring itself so that it could dock at the platform while leaving the sunken masts behind it, near the centre of the stadium.

  Around the water were four huts, from which the chains that moved the floating platform could be operated. Longinus hurried towards the one nearest the floating platform. Once the platform had reached the water’s edge he’d be able to get onto it from the hut, and then reach the steamer and masts to get the crossbow.

  He entered the hut, and immediately his senses were assailed by the loud clanging of machinery and the heat of boilers. The air was full of dancing dust motes. A tall man with his back to him was busy with the platform controls, keeping an eye on it through the window.

  “Excuse me,” shouted Longinus over the din. “I need to get onto the platform.”

  The man turned and a smile spread across his face like oil on water. Longinus’ stomach sank. Raynard.

  He drew his rapier. Longinus drew his too, but his hands were shaking. The acrobat he could handle, but Raynard? That meant Myran was somewhere. Maybe near. Maybe watching.

  Raynard saw his fear, and his smile widened. He launched into attack. Longinus parried, but clumsily, allowing Raynard to put him on the back foot. Longinus couldn’t focus; Myran had taken a hold in his mind. All he could think about was her taunting smile, the particular kind of terror she awoke in him.

  Raynard pressed on, pushing him towards a corner. Longinus could feel the thump of the machinery in his bones, matched by the thump of his pulse in his ears. He fumbled a r
iposte, and Raynard’s rapier slashed a hole in his sleeve, only just missing his arm.

  “Guess we’ll finally find out how you react to the sight of your own blood,” yelled Raynard over the noise.

  Focus, focus. Focus, dammit.

  Longinus did a passable execution of Pasient’s deflection and managed to get himself out of the corner. From his vantage point, he managed a glance out the window. The steamer had docked, and the masts were slowly rising from the water. Was Myran in the audience somewhere, watching it all happen? Was Rory at the box? Could Myran see her?

  He didn’t have time to look again — Raynard was already on him.

  Their swords flew, cutting swirls out of the dust motes, the clash as they met barely audible against the loud clank of the machinery. Longinus tried to close in on Raynard, but before he could execute his pass, Raynard lifted a long leg up and kicked him straight in the stomach. Longinus staggered, crashing back into a metal cog the size of a cart wheel.

  Raynard made a mocking gesture, as though he were a gentleman allowing another to pass in front of him. Longinus realised Raynard was so confident in winning that he was happy to let him pick himself up without pressing the advantage. The humiliation of it burned worse than any acid.

  “After you,” shouted Raynard. “And when I’m done with you, it will be your little girlfriend’s turn.”

  Girlfriend? Girlfriend? Longinus was affronted by the suggestion, and he clung to the feeling as he got up. Focus. Focus on Rory. Her words echoed in his head. “The Viper ain’t afraid of anything.”

  She’s right. The Viper isn’t afraid of anything. The Viper is an expert swordsman —

  Raynard launched into attack and Longinus lost his train of thought, his mind filling once more with the image of his sister, her eyes, her scar, bearing down on him.

  No! Focus. The Viper is a master assassin.

  That was when it occurred to him that this was just a kill, just another kill like all those he had done before. It was just another story that he needed to tell himself.

  He spotted a small mistake in Raynard’s footwork. Not enough to take advantage of, but enough to elicit contempt. Contempt was good; contempt meant survival.

  Amateur. The Viper’s movements are swift, precise. No mistakes in his footwork. He is strong as an ox, lithe as a snake, fast as jungle cat, deadly as —

  “Poison!”

  As he said the word, Longinus remembered the vial in his pocket. Raynard stumbled in surprise at hearing Longinus shout, and again made a small mistake. This time, Longinus pressed his advantage. He pushed Raynard towards the machinery.

  Raynard’s reach was too long for Longinus to get close and spray him with the poison and, besides, doing so would be too risky: Longinus couldn’t afford so much as a cut. Instead, he waited until Raynard’s head was close to a large metal tube, and then he flung the vial with all his strength, holding his breath as he did. He jumped back immediately, so as not to be close to the poisonous fumes, and covered his mouth and nose with his hand, still holding his breath. Raynard made to follow him, but he stopped in his tracks, confusion imprinted on his face.

  He gasped for air, and his hand flew to his throat.

  “No… Not fair…” he rasped.

  The Viper gives his latest kill a look of contempt. There is no fair in death. And anyway, no assassin worth his name kills with a sword.

  Longinus turned away as Raynard’s rapier fell to the ground. He hurried towards the door that led out to the platform, lungs burning for air. As he opened it, he had time enough to see Raynard fall to his knees, hands madly clawing at his throat, before he stepped out into the fresh air and slammed the door shut behind him.

  He took a deep breath, composing himself. He was the Viper. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

  Beyond, the masts had almost fully risen from the water. At the base of each was an acrobat, also rising from the water like creatures from the deep. They faced the box and away from him, but he could see the pouches on their back, with the tubes snaking over their shoulders to their faces. Longinus guessed the pouches were alchemically enhanced to provide breathing air.

  He turned his attention to the acrobat by the central mast, the one who was, no doubt, supposed to assemble and use his crossbow. He marched down the floating platform towards her.

  The Viper has his next kill in his sights. No one can stand between him and his prey; once the Viper has chosen, death is inevitable.

  With a final clank, the platform supporting the masts was fully out of the water. The acrobats bowed as one.

  Chapter 43

  Rory re-entered the stadium just in time to see the acrobats bow to the box. They removed the masks that covered their faces, allowing them to breathe underwater, but kept their goggles on. They wore shimmering outfits that shifted between blue and green in the light, so that they looked like they were made of water.

  Rory lifted her binoculars to her eyes, searching for the one by the tallest mast, the one who would have access to the crossbow. There! Although the woman still had goggles on, there was no mistaking the bit of scar that snaked down to her jaw. Myran.

  Rory lowered the binoculars. Behind the acrobats, she could see a dark shape making his way to the steamer. Longinus. He was walking differently than earlier, more self-assured. She prayed that his assurance would hold up to discovering that the acrobat was in fact Myran.

  She hurried towards the stairs that led to the box, pushing people out of the way. The crowds had swollen and she made slow progress.

  “Move! Move!”

  She had to get to the box in time. If she was quick enough, she should be able to tell the Marchioness and Lady Martha to get out of sight, then jump from the box and into the water, to swim to the masts and help Longinus. If he could just hold on for long enough…

  “Out of my way!”

  She had almost reached the stairs and she could see the Varanguards at the top, black ponytails still wet and gleaming from the rain. When she reached the first step she let out a cry of victory, but before she could push her way up, two arms picked her up and dragged her away.

  Jake moved through the crowd easily, his massive frame cutting through it like a hot knife through butter.

  “What are you doing?” said Rory. “Let me go!” She kicked and thrashed, but Jake had her too well pinned. Pain skewered her shoulder, but she ignored it and squirmed and thrashed for all she was worth. Something warm ran down her arm.

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do no more,” said Jake. “I made you a good deal, and you didn’t even have the guts to turn me down in person. You chose that fancy man.”

  “Jake, please. If we were ever friends, please put me down. I got to get —”

  “You don’t tell me what to do no more,” he repeated, voice flat. “I owe you for that money, and I pay my debts. I’m supposed to kill you, but I won’t. I’m taking you away from the stadium, and that will be my debt repaid.”

  “If you don’t let me go now I’m gonna die anyway. Please Jake, I been poisoned and —”

  “Not my problem.”

  Jake carried her further and further from the Old Girl’s box. Over on the water, the acrobat was halfway up the mast, while Longinus was just beginning the climb. Right at the top, glinting dully, was the crossbow in its case.

  Rory took a deep breath, ready to scream the place down in the hope that if she created a stir the Varanguards would notice her in the crowd. Jake clamped his hand over her mouth before she made a sound.

  “Don’t even try, I know all your tricks too well.”

  The Old Girl’s box retreated further from sight.

  “Let the girl go,” said a familiar voice. Metal flashed at Jake’s throat.

  Rory never thought she’d one day be genuinely relieved to hear those words. Jake hesitated, and Rafe pressed the tip of the rapier against his skin, drawing a drop of blood. Jake loosened his grasp — just as he had so many times during their cons, and Rory fell
awkwardly to the ground. She broke her fall with her bad arm, and for an awful moment she thought she might pass out from the pain.

  “Myran’s with the acrobats,” she said to Rafe in a weak voice. “She’s the one in the middle. There’s a crossbow at the top.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, pushing her way through the crowd and back towards the stairs. Down in the water, Myran was two thirds up the mast. On either side of her, the other acrobats were diving off their lower masts and flying through the air from one mast to another.

  “Out of the way!” yelled Rafe behind her. “Official business on behalf of the Marchioness!”

  The spectators stepped back, responding to the purple and gold of Rafe’s uniform, and Rory squirrelled herself through the gaps as fast as she could. Her bad arm was numb and she was starting to see spots dance in front of her eyes. She reached the stairs once more, just in time to see Myran astride atop the beam with her back to the Marchioness. She was hunched over something.

  The crossbow.

  Longinus was only halfway up.

  Rory ran up the steps. The Varanguard at the top acted on reflex, drawing their weapons.

  “Let her pass!” shouted Rafe behind her.

  They hesitated, but one of them moved a little aside, and she pushed through. She ran into the box, and shouts erupted around her. She heard Rafe’s voice, but she didn’t stop, sprinting for the Old Girl who had stood up at the commotion.

  On the beam, Myran straightened her back. She swung around.

  Rory leapt at the same time as Rafe.

  The Marchioness and Rafe went crashing to the ground, but Rory was jerked back as the crossbow bolt skewered one of her hair segments to the wooden back of the chair. She landed awkwardly on her bad shoulder and her vision swam.

  “Lady Martha,” she gasped. “Myran’s reloading the crossbow.”