“Wasn’t my plan,” she said. “You are Braning, yes?”
“That’s the name my father gave me, and he didn’t have anything else to give.”
“All right, let’s go,” she said, pulling him out of the way of the carriage traffic.
“So, you a bounty hunter? Hired to drag me to the marshals?” he asked. “I can’t imagine I’d get a fair trial.”
“I’m not interested in a trial,” she said.
“Ah, so this is personal,” he said. “I knew I should have stayed out of it.”
Amaya almost felt bad for him. She pulled him off the street corner and into an alley. “And have you been?” she asked. “Staying out of things?”
“I ain’t been partnering with folks like Tharek Pell, that’s for damned sure,” he said. “I said, live straight and clean, and I am.”
“Good,” she said. “So maybe you can help me.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Kemmer,” she said. “I’m given to understand you can find him.”
“So you can drag us both in.”
“No,” she said, a bit frustrated. She wondered if she should try to trust him, to gain his trust in return. “He’s been digging into something. A group of people. I’m looking for the same people. I think we can help each other.”
Braning scowled. “Who?”
“I don’t—”
“I know who he’s been looking into,” Braning said. “So you tell me, who do you think he’s looking into?”
Amaya lowered her voice to a whisper. “The Grand Ten.”
Recognition crossed his face. “And how do I know you aren’t with them?”
“You think they’re trying to get him? Get you?”
“I know they are,” Braning said. “That’s why there’s a plan in case—” He stopped short.
“In case he’s killed?” she asked. “Smart. Well, I think I know who might be The Warrior in this Grand Ten. And maybe The Mage. Is that information worth the risk?”
He scowled again. “I know who you are. You were the one who caught Lannic. And part of that whole thing with the ballots.”
“Yes, that was me,” she said.
“Aren’t you a Tarian?”
She nodded. “But like you said, this is personal.”
“Who told you to look for me?”
“Hemmit Eyairin. Of The Veracity Press.”
“Oh,” Braning said. “Mister Yand, the spy.” He chuckled. “He was a good sort, even if he did trick us. And I do keep reading his paper. And those pamphlets he put out as well.”
“He is a good sort,” Amaya said.
“All right,” Braning said. “Kemmer is staying in room seven above the Hard Whistle Pig, over on Cosky Avenue.”
“Thank you,” Amaya said.
“And if anything happens to him, the word is ready to go,” Braning said, pointing a finger at her. “Every paper will have the Grand Ten as their headline tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Amaya said. “But all the same, I hope to find him in good health, and intend to leave him that way.”
“Good,” Braning said. “After all this business, he . . .” He stumbled for a moment. “He’s pretty much all I got.”
Amaya nodded. “I appreciate it.”
She left him and made her way toward Cosky, his last words striking a chord in her. What did she have? The Order? If her suspicions were true, it had an indelible stain on it. Hemmit? Dayne? Jerinne? Friends, but . . . she wasn’t sure what they were to her. She had kept all of them at something of a distance. She had kept everyone at a distance. And with Master Denbar dead, she had no blood kin still alive worth speaking of.
If things did go poorly today, who would be there for her? If she died, who would mourn her?
She shook those thoughts out of her head. She had a mission, and she had a lead, and she would see it through.
On to Cosky Avenue, and hopefully, to Kemmer.
Veranix had lost all sense of direction. Following Asti and Delmin through the tunnels under North Seleth—which were a lot cleaner and better engineered than he had expected them to be—had brought them around several curves and spirals down.
“Are we still headed north?” he asked Asti.
“More northeast,” Asti responded. “But we’ve gone down another twenty feet or so.”
“How can you tell?”
“I’m just paying attention.”
“Shush!” Delmin stopped cold. “This is . . . unexpected.”
Veranix drew and nocked an arrow.
“Easy,” Asti said. He moved up to Delmin, holding up his lamp. The passage opened up to a large chamber, where it looked like someone had been doing new construction. Tools, stacks of wooden beams and iron rods, gear work machines.
“No one here,” Asti said.
“Is that just for now?” Veranix asked, taking a step inside. “I mean, if this is here, it means—”
“Whatever work they’re doing isn’t done,” Asti finished. “So we have to presume they’ll be back. Unless—”
He went over to a set of wooden stairs leading up to a passage blocked by rubble and timber.
“Unless what?” Delmin asked.
“Saints, Thorn, do you know where we are?”
“I really don’t,” Veranix said.
“I’m pretty certain we’re under the Firewing House. Or, at least, where it was before you tore it down.”
“This is what they had beneath the basement?” Veranix asked. “Does this mean they’re the ones kidnapping kids, working with the giant?”
“Can’t say,” Asti said. “I mean, they’re done. We killed them.”
“I only remember two of them being dead,” Veranix said. “The one with the flaming wings might have slipped off.”
“Flaming wings?” Delmin asked.
Veranix nodded. “Rather gaudy, if you ask me. If you’re gonna fly, just fly.”
Delmin got on his knees. “Of course, that Circle might have had members who didn’t live at that house. There may have been more going on than we’re aware of. What is this?”
“What?” Veranix asked. Delmin was running his hand along the floor, where some sort of metallic lattice work had been laid in.
Asti crouched down and touched it. “Maybe something like a cart track? I mean, some of these tunnels date back a few centuries, digging out the stone and ore that built half the city.”
Carts to haul out ore. Made sense. “But is this old?”
“No, no,” Delmin muttered. “This is new and yet . . .” He stood up, spreading his hands. “Saints, Vee, you aren’t feeling it?”
“Feeling what?”
“It’s. . . . It’s like . . . like the storm gutters, drawing the rainwater out of the streets and down and down and . . .”
He held up his hand, charged with numina, and threw the energy down to the ground. The magic danced and skipped, charging the grid at their feet with light.
“Oh, that’s . . . that’s incredible.” Delmin laughed for a moment, and then that laughter turned into short, heaving breaths. “No, that’s . . . where is it?”
“Easy, Del,” Veranix said. He put the arrow back in the quiver and put up his bow, and held his friend’s shoulder. “You all right?”
“No, I . . . I sent magic in there. Wherever that goes. What was I thinking?”
“The real question is what were they building?” Asti said, walking around the chamber. “Thorn, look at this. Water tanks.”
Veranix patted Delmin on the shoulder and went over. “That makes sense for the work, right? You’ve got a work crew down here, they need water.”
“No, these are boil tanks, with steam valves,” Asti said, kicking one of them. “Heavy steel. This would take a dozen men at least to carry down here. Nothin
g you would use for just provision.”
“What would you use it for?” Veranix asked.
Before Asti could answer, Delmin shouted, “It’s gotta be stopped!” and ran out one of the other passages.
“Del!” Veranix shouted, running after him.
“Saints, that kid,” Asti muttered as he caught up with Veranix. The two of them charged down the passageway, all the while Delmin could be heard shouting ahead of them, yelling something about magic and danger. Veranix couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying.
“Does he usually act like this?” Asti asked as they ran.
“Not at all,” Veranix said. “Something must have spooked him. I don’t know what—blazes!”
The passage split in two. To his ear, Delmin’s shouts came from both directions.
“Which way?” Veranix asked.
Asti scowled. “Can’t tell. Maybe there’s other passages that connect.”
More of Delmin’s shouts. Calling for them to follow now.
“What do we do?” Veranix asked. He had brought Delmin into this. He wanted to kick himself. This was all his fault.
“Each take a tunnel and hope for the best,” Asti said. He took a piece of chalk out of a pouch and made a mark on the wall. “You find him, drag him back to here. One hour, back here, regardless.”
“What?”
“No matter what, be back here in an hour. Last thing we need is all three of us wandering lost. And if we’re not back, follow the chalk out and get Verci.”
“Got it,” Veranix said, and with a hint of magic, tagged the chalk mark. Delmin would be able to sense that, get Veranix’s scent from it. “Hope you’re right.”
“Rarely am,” Asti said, and he ran off down the left passage. Veranix drew out his bow and nocked an arrow again, making his way down the right passage, and hopefully to Delmin. He didn’t know what trouble he might find—Saint Senea, keep that trouble off of Delmin—but he’d be ready for it.
Verci didn’t let himself worry about Asti down in the tunnels with the Thorn. They would be fine. It would all be fine. He forced himself to work to keep his mind off of what could happen. But he couldn’t focus on jape-toys and music boxes, even though those were selling very well in the past week. Terrentin was just a couple days away, and everyone wanted gifts to celebrate and rejoice with.
Instead he worked on the spring-launcher gauntlet. He had designed it to have a lot of different options, and it had proven useful in the fights with the Firewing mages a couple weeks ago. Very successful field test. It could launch both darts and hollow brass balls—and Almer Cort had made a few different interesting chemical mixtures to fill those balls with—but it could stand to be a bit more accurate. Though Verci wondered if part of that was he had designed it to be used left-handed, to keep his better hand free. Maybe he needed to just get better with his aim.
He was working on a way to be able to reload it faster when someone pounded on the back door.
Verci grabbed a knife on instinct. No one knocked on the back door to the Gadgeterium. It had a special lock that only he, Asti, and Raych could open. No one else ever came in that way. But Verci was prepared, opening the lens-hole he had installed by the door so he could safely look out to the back alley.
Another pound on the door. Verci looked through the lens; Kel Essin was out there, holding something under his coat and clutching at his belly. His hand was covered in blood, as was his shirt. Essin wasn’t a bad fellow—decent enough window-man when he was sober—though he had been part of Lesk’s crew. Not someone Verci would trust or consider a friend. But also, not someone he wished ill.
He opened up a vent. “What do you want, Essin?”
“Rynax!” Essin shouted desperately. “You got to help me!”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Please, Rynax, please. I’m hurt bad.”
“Show me your hands,” Verci said. “What’s under the coat?”
Essin, looking pale and clammy, nodded. He pulled out a small green statue from under his coat—with four arms and a horrific face.
Verci threw open the door and pulled Essin inside, slamming the door and latching it right away. Essin fell to the floor, panting and wheezing.
“Where did you get that?” Verci asked.
“I just did this job, went totally left. Please.” He held out the statue like it was a peace offering.
Verci snapped it away from him, putting the thing on the worktable. “I’ve got some bandages and such, but you need a proper sew-up.”
“No, no, just here,” Essin said. “I’m in some trouble, man.”
Verci looked at the statue. Even though it was a small thing, it was definitely the same style as the one he had stolen from a carriage a few months back, delivering to the mysterious buyer Josie had arranged. And at Lord Henterman’s home, Liora Rand had taken a small one like this. Perhaps this very one.
“Tell me,” Verci said as he grabbed his bandage kit. “And talk fast.”
“Things have been bad since the brawl at the mage house. Without Lesk, it’s been a mess. So I took a gig with this crew from Keller Cove.”
“To steal this statue?” Verci asked. “You know what it is?”
“No clue,” he said. “They needed a window-man to get into this swell’s house in East Maradaine. Gig itself went fine. They had someone on the staff leave a back gate open, I was in and out quiet. Real clean.”
“You stayed sober for it.” The wound was a pretty vile slice across Essin’s belly. Verci could sew it up, but he knew it would probably turn green then black in a few days.
“I ain’t had a drink for months, man.”
“Good,” Verci said. “You sure you don’t want Gelson or someone for this? It’s not going to heal well under my care.”
“It’s fine.” He winced in pain. “Just patch it up for now. I gotta lay low. I don’t know who’s not a part of it. Figured you were safe.”
“Part of what?” Verci asked. He got to work on sewing the wound, for all the good it would do. “What’s up with this statue? Is Josie involved in this?”
“No clue,” Essin said. “Gig didn’t come from her. Like I said, it all went clean at the swell’s house. In easy, cracked the box that was in, and back out like butter.”
“You cracked the box?” He didn’t know Essin was also a box-cracker. But he didn’t know Essin had stopped drinking either.
“Nah, someone named Raimond. Never worked with them before. Decent sort, good hands. We got that and made our way back to the safehouse in Keller Cove to meet up with the rest of the crew, get our cut. And we got our cut, all right.”
“They turned on you?” Verci asked.
“Turned,” Essin said before he fell into a fit of wet, hacking coughs. Blood coming from his mouth. “There was nothing turned about this. These cats were part of some cult or something.”
“A what?”
“I’m telling you, we get there, they were all in robes, and were saying stuff about the holy vessel, and then to dispatch the unfaithful. Next thing I know, Raimond gets a knife in the gut, and two of those tossers are coming for me.”
“And that’s how you got this?” Verci asked, pointing to the wound.
“No, thank the saints! I held on to that thing and ran out of there, fast as I could. Was able to give them the slip by roof topping and window dropping. Hid for a bit, and then made my way to one of the flops we used with Lesk. I get there, Ren is already there.” Ren Poller, Lesk’s right hand when he was starting up his new gang. “He had his knives out.”
“Ren did this to you?”
Essin nodded. “He saw the statue and his eyes glazed over. Just jumped on me, whispering about the Brotherhood would be grateful for this gift of blood.”
“Ren Poller?” Verci asked again. The Brotherhood again, like Tarvis had s
aid. What the blazes was that about? “You got away from him?”
“I smashed his skull with that thing,” Essin said. “That’s a rutting gift of blood.”
Ren Poller was dead. That was a bit to take in. “So you came to me.”
“Rynax, I knew Ren for years. If I couldn’t trust him, I didn’t know where else to go,” Essin said. “I figured . . . I know you and your brother don’t like me or nothing, but I was certain you’d be straight, if anyone was.”
“Yeah,” Verci said. He’d done what he could, stopped the worst of the bleeding, but there was no way he had done much other than keep Essin alive for another couple days. “I don’t know if I did you any favors here.”
“I just need a place to rest, Rynax. Whatever you want, let me rest.”
“Fine, there’s a spare room upstairs,” Verci said. He picked up the ugly statue. “But I’m holding on to this.”
“If you want. I just wanted to get away from those bastards, but my gut told me they shouldn’t have that.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Verci said. “So let’s get you in the spare room upstairs, and then you can tell me where in Keller Cove to find these bastards.”
Chapter 11
THERE WAS NOTHING BUT DARKNESS and water as Dayne’s body was battered and smashed against rock after rock. He had barely managed to get a breath before he had been swept under the current. No sense of anything, other than the rush of river.
Something smashed into him. Soft. Human.
Hemmit.
Dayne instinctively grabbed and held on.
He had to get them out of the water.
Holding on to Hemmit as tightly as he could with one arm, he reached out, trying to get hold of something. Rocks slipped through his grasp, tearing at his fingers. His lungs were burning, he couldn’t last much longer. It had to be too late for Hemmit.
He crashed into a large rock, and that pushed him up, above the surface. He gasped, getting as much air in his mouth as water, but still there was air. He struggled to hold on to that rock, to plant his feet, to get his bearings, get Hemmit out of the water.
He managed to get his feet under him, brace himself on the rock and push himself up. Air, sweet air, at last. And the dimmest of light.
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