The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Fenmere was going to have him for lunch over this.

  Colin Tyson hated being out of the Princes’ territory, out of Aventil completely; the rooftop on the corner of Helter and Necker was Fenmere’s territory. Not that they would have spotted him here, especially since he was alone. He couldn’t take Jutie or Tooser with him up here, and not just because Tooser couldn’t climb worth a blazes. He trusted those two with everything he had, especially since Hetzer had died, but it was exactly because of Hetzer that they couldn’t get involved in this. He had already lost one good friend to this business.

  The view of the Dogs’ Teeth was relatively clear from up here, though Colin wished he had a spyscope or something to get a better look. Hopefully nothing would go wrong, not that he could do anything about it if it did. If Veranix ran into trouble, it would take Colin a few minutes to get on the ground and over to the Teeth. And, of course, someone would wonder why the Thorn was being helped by someone with a Prince tattoo on his arm. That would lead back to Colin.

  Blazes, that could bring the whole hammer of Fenmere down on the Princes.

  People came running out of the Teeth. Trouble was happening. The only question was, was Veranix in trouble, or was he the trouble?

  More people ran out, heading off in every direction. Clearly whatever was happening in the Teeth wasn’t something people wanted to stick around and watch.

  Then the sticks came running in. That was pretty damn quick. Sticks must have known it was one of Fenmere’s top stooges in there.

  Veranix better damn well have gotten out of there before the sticks got there. The last thing he needed was to pick a fight with them.

  “Anything good?” The voice was a whisper over his left ear. He swatted backward to hit nothing, and then turned to see Veranix sitting a few feet away. His shadowy cloaked look as the Thorn melted away, leaving only his familiar smirking face.

  “How blazing long have you been there?”

  “Not long at all,” Veranix said. “Blazes, I ran out of there as soon as I could.”

  “Good. Cover your face back up. One thing if I’m seen with Thorn, another if I’m seen with you.” Colin and Veranix didn’t quite look like each other, but they both looked enough like their fathers that if anyone from the old guard saw them together, they could easily put the pieces together. The shadow reappeared over Veranix’s face.

  “So what happened?”

  Veranix got to his feet, stretching his neck as he stood. “You were right. Our friend Bell had been making the rounds to Nevin’s old dealers. So I gave them a little reminder that I’m watching. Wrecked the supply he was giving them.”

  “How much?”

  “All he had. A pittance. But it was a symbol.”

  “Symbol,” Colin scoffed. “Is that the sort of thing they teach you at the University?”

  “Among other things,” Veranix said. “What’s the time?”

  “Somewhere between eight and nine bells. You need to get back?”

  Veranix screwed his face up in thought. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “First real break night I’ve had since, well, since the warehouse.”

  Veranix went quiet for a moment. Colin knew why; he was talking about the night Hetzer died.

  “So what does that mean?” Colin asked after the pause went too long.

  “It means I can stroll into campus at six bells in the morning, and no one would give me any fire for it.” Another awkward pause.

  “But?” Colin prompted him. “Your professor still grinding you?”

  “He wants to see me and . . . it doesn’t matter. Point is, I got to look fresh eyed and chipper at eight bells. So I don’t have to race back, but I really can’t be making this a big night.”

  “Yeah, I can’t hang around here in Dentonhill streets too long, either.”

  “On the other hand,” Veranix said, reaching into his pocket, “It would be a blasted shame to waste the night when we have this.” He pulled out a small leather journal.

  “What’s that?”

  “This little thing was where my good friend Bell was recording who he was giving effitte to. Plenty of names in here, I would gather.” He started to thumb through it, looking far too satisfied with himself.

  “You—” Colin started, then realized he was about to shout far too loud, given that he was up on the roof of a Dentonhill tenement. “You go off on ‘symbols’ when you had something solid?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to brag,” Veranix said. He read in the moonslight, half to himself. “Hockley, Briars, Nennick, Keckin, Sotch . . . Jendle and Lemt, of course . . . who can I give a little hello to tonight?”

  “Wait,” Colin said. Some of those names bounced in his skull. “Did you say Keckin and Sotch?”

  “Yeah,” Veranix said. “You know them?”

  “Those are Red Rabbits captains, I think.” Not that he really knew any of the Red Rabbits. Bastards kept trying to push on Princes’ territory, especially around Orchid and Cantarell Square.

  “Rabbits?” Veranix’s face turned dark, literally. A shadow slowly poured out around him. “It’s crossing Waterpath.”

  “Ease up,” Colin said. “I don’t need you doing any crazy magic right now.”

  The shadow snapped away, Veranix getting a grip on himself. He even seemed surprised. “Sorry. I . . . remind me. Rabbits like to gather at the Trusted Friend, right? Carnation and Bush.”

  Veranix really was going to do this. “All right, hold up. Before you go off half-cocked on the Rabbits, at least give me some cover. There are already too many whispers on the streets connecting the Thorn to the Princes.”

  “You tamp that down,” Veranix said. “If Fenmere really figures out who I am . . .”

  “I’m trying.” Not that Veranix was a Prince, but in another life he could have been. Colin would have liked to embrace his cousin openly, rose tattoos on both their arms. But he had promised Veranix’s father he’d keep him safe, make sure he finished at the University. He had sworn it on Rose Street, and that was something he’d never break. “I can only deny it so much before it sounds like I’m trying too hard.”

  “Fair enough. What do you need?”

  “Give me an hour to get to the Turnabout, get myself seen having a few beers. That way when you start cracking Rabbit skulls, no one can say I had anything to do with it.”

  “I can do that,” Veranix said. “Besides, for this, I’m going to want my bow.”

  Shadow engulfed him again, blending into the night, and in a moment, he was gone.

  No time to waste getting to the Turnabout. He was going to need those beers, that was for certain.

  “You’re back far too early,” Kaiana said as soon as Veranix came into her stable house. He had been expecting her to be waiting for him, but he thought she’d be happy to see him.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked. “Don’t I need to get my rest before end-of-term exams?”

  “Very funny,” Kaiana said. “You don’t have an exam in the morning.”

  “No,” he said. Though his meeting with Professor Alimen tomorrow was tied to his Magic Practicals exam somehow. Alimen had been frustratingly vague on how. “But I really do need to study for my history exam in the afternoon.”

  “Don’t sell me your sewage,” she said. She leveled her dark eyes at him. “Did it go badly?”

  “No, it went wonderfully. Destroyed some effitte, roughed up some boys at the Teeth, and stole a journal from Fenmere’s goon.” He tossed the journal over to her. “Not too shabby, I thought. And normally that would be enough to call it a night, even before ten bells.”

  “You haven’t been really out there in weeks.”

  This had been Kaiana’s argument ever since he stopped the Blue Hand Circle. That he needed to be out there, making his presence felt. Doing more. Putting
the hammer on Fenmere every night.

  “I know that,” he said. “You think I don’t?”

  “You don’t seem to care,” she said. He knew, intellectually, that she was deliberately trying to irritate him. After all, she knew full well that Alimen had kept Veranix under his thumb ever since that night. She knew that he wanted to crush Fenmere as much as she did. “You have a responsibility now.”

  “Well then,” Veranix said. “It’s a good thing that I was only coming back here for my bow and arrows.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

  He went to the trapdoor in one of the stables, that led to the Spinner Run. “A lot of names in that journal. But two of them—Keckin and Sotch—are captains in the Red Rabbits.”

  “Red Rabbits?” she asked.

  “One of the Aventil gangs,” he said. “You really need to learn this stuff.” He pulled out his bow—his father’s bow, really—along with the quiver, and put them on.

  “Fine. So now you’re Rabbit hunting?”

  “If the Rabbits are letting Fenmere’s junk cross Waterpath, then that’s something that needs to be handled. Unambiguously.”

  She gave him the briefest, tightest smile. “That’s right.”

  He went back to the door. “Have you seen Delmin tonight?”

  “No, I’m sure he actually is studying. You need him for something?”

  “His history notes,” Veranix said with a wink. “I really do need to study for that exam.”

  With that, he was back out into the night.

  Chapter 2

  CANTARELL SQUARE, specifically the corner of Carnation and Bush, was the place to start looking for Rabbits. The public garden was where their territory bordered with the Rose Street Princes and the Waterpath Orphans. Given their propensity for ridiculous fur-lined jackets, they shouldn’t be too hard to spot.

  Even still, Veranix wasn’t sure how he wanted to go about it. He was of half a mind to kick open the doors of the Trusted Friend and knock a few teeth in until he got the folks he wanted.

  That never worked as well in reality as it did in his head.

  There also were two real bruisers standing outside the Trusted Friend. Unlike the Princes’ favored place, the Turnabout, they weren’t willing to let just anybody wander in. And those two guys had their eye on Cantarell Square, almost like they were expecting trouble. Possibly because there were three other guys in the square, hanging out by one of the statues. If Veranix had to guess, they were Waterpath Orphans, but that was only because he knew they weren’t Princes. If they were, their sleeves would be rolled up and showing off the tattoos on their arms.

  Veranix huddled near the low wall of the square, shrouded by the napranium cloak, with its numina-drawing abilities augmenting his own magic. He needed a plan. Could he set the bruisers on the Orphans? Or the Orphans on the bruisers? No, that might start something even bigger, a real battle between the two gangs. That wasn’t something he or Aventil needed.

  Something simple. Something direct. But that wouldn’t, necessarily, involve him having to brawl with the two big Rabbits at the door. Which stymied him. They certainly weren’t going to let him in there just because he asked.

  Well, they wouldn’t let Veranix Calbert, Uni student, in.

  The Thorn might be a different story.

  So: simple, but with style.

  Channeling numina through the cloak and into his legs, he leaped up into the air, a bit higher than the Trusted Friend itself. As he came back down, he shed the shrouding and took on his full appearance as the Thorn, making sure to keep the illusion of the hood over his face intact. He landed square in front of the two bruisers.

  “Gentlemen, I believe you know who I am. Are Misters Keckin or Sotch available? I would want a word.”

  The two of them were dumbfounded for a moment, and one recovered enough to go for his cudgel. The other put a hand up to stop his friend.

  “Don’t think you wanna do that,” he said. He gave a look at Veranix. “Keckin? Sotch? What if they ain’t here?”

  “Then I’ll look for them elsewhere. As many elsewheres as it takes.”

  The smarter bruiser—he at least looked like he had something behind his eyes—gave a glance at the door of the Trusted Friend. “I let you in there, it’s my skin, hear?”

  “So what do you suggest?” Veranix asked. The guy wanted to help, he could hear it in his voice. Good.

  “I don’t know if either of those folks are in there or not. But how about I look, and if they’re there, I send them out?”

  “Fair enough,” Veranix said. After all, he really didn’t know who he was looking for. But he did confirm one thing: Keckin and Sotch were Rabbits, and this guy knew them. “Don’t be too long.” The smarter bruiser gave a little nod to his partner and went in.

  The dimmer bruiser still had a hand on his cudgel, but he wasn’t moving it. He squinted at Veranix, and moved his head from side to side. “Your hood doesn’t look normal.”

  “I suppose not.”

  The bruiser kept looking on either side of Veranix. “It’s like your hood is your face. How does that work?”

  “Magic.”

  The bruiser took a step back.

  The smarter bruiser came back out, and definitely not alone. He easily had a dozen Red Rabbits with him, the pair in the front sporting chevrons on their fur-lined coats, as well as tattooed on their necks. They must be the captains.

  “And here I thought you were kidding, Binny,” one of the captains said. “The Thorn himself, at our door.”

  “At your service,” Veranix said with a small flourish. “Are you Keckin or Sotch?”

  “I’m Keckin, she’s Sotch,” the first captain said. “And these are some of our boys.”

  Keckin hit the word “some” as if he wanted to make it perfectly clear there were even more inside.

  “You’ll excuse me that I don’t get all your names today,” Veranix said. “But let’s talk about a mutual friend we apparently have. An overgrown errand boy by the name of Bell.”

  “What’s it to you who we do business with?” Sotch asked.

  “You don’t even try to bluff,” Veranix said. “Have to respect that.”

  “We don’t need your blazing respect,” Keckin said. “You can shove off.”

  “Except if you’re doing business with Bell, then you’re doing business with Fenmere.” Veranix saw a few of the Rabbits in the back twitched a little when he dropped the name. “And if you’re moving effitte for him . . . then you’re going to have a problem with me.”

  “Oh, you want to talk about problems,” Keckin said. “Because you’ve just walked into a whole pile of them.”

  “Funny, I’ve just been standing here,” Veranix said.

  Sotch giggled; a strange, shrill giggle. “Heard tell that Fenmere would be pretty pleased with whoever handed you up to him.”

  “You’re right, Sotch,” Veranix said. “You’d become his favorite lapdog.”

  Sotch gave a little hiss, and on cue the bruiser’s cudgel came for Veranix’s head. Veranix brought up his staff to parry it, but half a second before it made contact, the bruiser’s hand spasmed and the cudgel dropped. The bruiser cried out in pain, which made sense, given he had a knife in his arm.

  “Rose Street!” came a young voice from the square. Not Colin.

  Veranix flipped backward, away from the crowd of Rabbits, grabbing his rope off his belt. Napranium-laced, like the cloak, easy to draw numina through. Easy to control.

  Too easy to depend on.

  He shot the rope out, wrapping it around the dim bruiser’s leg. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled the bruiser over to the side, bowling over half the Rabbits with their friend.

  Snapping the rope back, he drew out his bow while the Rabbits were still scrambling. Three shots, fired in quick succ
ession, pinning the stupid Rabbit coats to the front stoop of the Trusted Friend. Another moment before the rest of the Rabbits got into their full senses, he drew in some numina, quick and hard, and slammed a couple more against the wall of their clubhouse.

  Now the ones still standing had their knives and cudgels out, but Veranix had backed off enough to put several meters between them, and aimed an arrow at Keckin’s chest.

  “Allow me to clarify my position, gentlemen,” he said in his calmest voice. “If you enable Fenmere getting a toehold in Aventil, then you will have a significant problem with me.”

  Keckin stammered, but before coherent words could come out of his mouth, a shrill whistle from the square interrupted him.

  Constabulary.

  In the past month one thing had become perfectly clear to Lieutenant Benvin: he was the only person in Maradaine who gave a damn about how he did his job. Captain Holcomb was comfortable in his office, and could care less what Benvin did to crack down on the gangs in the streets. If nothing else, he was grateful that Holcomb’s laziness was complete: he honestly didn’t care one way or the other what Benvin did. At least the man wasn’t obviously corrupt. That couldn’t be said for most of the other lieutenants or patrol officers in the Aventil stationhouse.

  He wasn’t sure any of them were truly getting bribed. From what he had seen of these Aventil gangs, they weren’t really in a position to bribe anyone. But something was motivating them to stop him up whenever they could.

  People in the neighborhood were no better. There were the gangs, of course. But the rest of the people didn’t just tolerate them, they embraced them. Someone had a problem, they didn’t call Constabulary. That was the last thing they wanted. No, they called a Rose Street Prince or a Waterpath Orphan or some other damn waste of space.

  Some of the patrolmen got on board with Benvin, at first. Though it became clear that for most of them, it was about the thrill of cracking street kids with their handsticks, shaking them for coin, getting kicks off the girls. No better than the gangs, just green and red were the colors they wore. Benvin had no use for those folk.