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

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Dalmatium salts?”

  Veranix glanced back over at them, having written his request cards out. Jiarna and Phadre were now nattering away like the squirrels on campus. Off past Phadre, Kaiana watched them both with a smile that seemed more forced with every passing moment.

  Steaming plates with a small pastry concoction were brought out and placed in front of each of them. Jiarna and Phadre barely noticed.

  “Taste well,” the server said as he placed Veranix’s dish.

  “The Morsel,” Veranix said to Delmin, picking up the tiny fork. “One dish down, nine to go. Quite an evening we’re having.”

  Vessrin drummed his fingers on the bow. “Colin, good boy. Look how tall you are.”

  “Sir,” Colin said. He didn’t even know what else to say.

  “‘Sir’, he says. This kid, Casey. Can you believe it?” He got up from around the desk and appraised Colin. “Captain stars on your arm. You know those are all yours, right, son? No favoritism got you up.”

  Colin was well aware of that. If anything, his father counted against him, even if nostalgia for Uncle Cal balanced it out a little.

  “All mine, yes,” Colin said.

  “Because you’re smart, ain’t you?”

  “Do all right, sir.”

  A light slap hit his face. “Enough with that ‘sir’ sewage, boy. We’re all from Rose Street here.”

  “As you say,” Colin said. “Not to press the issue, Mister Vessrin, but you called me here for a purpose?”

  “You got somewhere better to be?” Vessrin asked, slapping Colin on the shoulder, going back to sitting at the desk. “Casey, you got some Fuergan whiskey hidden away somewhere here?”

  “I might,” Casey said, going over to one of his cabinets.

  “Not better, no,” Colin lied. “There is plenty going on out there with my crew, and I should have my finger in it.”

  “Good man.”

  Casey came over with three glasses and a bottle, pouring for the three of them. “What is going on?”

  “Big coin moving around, what with Uni kids being mostly done with exams. There’s some rattle with the Rabbits. They . . .” He thought for a moment, not sure how much he should say. But it was one thing handling things on his own; another to lie flat out to Casey and Vessrin. “They might be breaking the Pact, working with Fenmere to bring product across Waterpath.”

  Vessrin shook his head. “Blasted Rabbits. I told you, Casey, I told you twenty years ago, Reb and his brothers were going to be the death of us. Took a long time, but here we are.” He threw back a slug of whiskey. “You have him on it?”

  “Not exactly,” Casey said, eyeing Colin. “But he’s always been a self-starter.”

  “That he has, indeed,” Vessrin said. He filled his glass again. “You on things, Colin?”

  “Putting a toe in the water,” Colin said. “See, there’s a new priest over at Saint Julian’s. He’s been . . . active whenever a few groups have a church meet.”

  “What, he listens to you all?” Casey asked. “That ain’t good business.”

  “Listens and takes part. He decided that he’s gonna try to talk to the Rabbits himself, tonight.”

  “Some preacher is going to get the Rabbits to back down?” Vessrin laughed. “He really think it’s gonna work?”

  “I suppose he has faith,” Casey said. “We taking any ownership of that?”

  Colin shrugged. “Preacher was willing to have somebody from each gang come with him. I was going to step up.”

  “When’s that going down?” Vessrin asked.

  “About seven bells, meet him at Cantarell.”

  “We at half past six, right?”

  Casey looked out the tiny window. “Sounds about right.”

  “All right, I won’t waste more of your time, then. Casey says you’ve seen this Thorn character who has dusted things up over here and with Fenmere’s goons.”

  “Mostly with Fenmere,” Colin said.

  “Right, but you say you’ve actually seen him? Talked to him?”

  Colin had to lie now. “He didn’t really talk much, you know?”

  “But you saw him?”

  “Not his face, he keeps it hidden.”

  “And he shoots a bow, though?”

  There was no hiding this one. “Yeah, he does.”

  “Crack shot?”

  Colin shrugged. “Pretty good.”

  Now Vessrin picked up the bow. “They said this was the Thorn’s bow. Dropped it in a big tussle with some bird.”

  “I heard a bit about that,” Colin said.

  “Is it really his, though?” Vessrin was almost jittery, sweating beading on his brow.

  Colin put on a show of looking at the bow. “It could be. I’m not really sure.”

  Vessrin put his hand on Colin’s shoulder, almost in a desperate, pleading way. “And you never got a good look at him? Nothing . . . familiar, Colin?”

  Colin slowly shook his head, keeping his face as neutral as possible. “No, Mister Vessrin. Where are you driving this carriage?”

  Vessrin held up the bow. “This bow, Colin. I know this bow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This bow . . . I want you to tell me, Colin, I want you to be totally certain here. Is there any chance that this Thorn is your Uncle Cal?”

  “What?” Colin didn’t have to make much show of shock. That’s what Vessrin thought? Didn’t he know Fenmere had killed Cal three years ago? He wasn’t exactly quiet about that. “Cal is dead, Vessrin. Dead as anything.”

  Vessrin looked around. “Are we sure? Did you see the body? Is Fenmere sure? Cal was . . .” Vessrin started to choke up. “Cal was a tricky bastard, right sure he was. If anyone could trick Fenmere he was dead and slip off to start a plan of revenge, it would be Cal Tyson.”

  “You’re saying this bow, it’s my uncle’s?” Colin reached out to it. Was there some chance he could get his hands on it, get it back to Veranix?

  “I’d swear to it. Which makes you wonder, why does the Thorn have it? Why would he have it, unless it was Cal?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Colin said. Which was about as honest an answer as he could give. He had no idea what to say at this point. Vessrin’s idea was crazy, but if it took him off the scent of who Veranix actually was, that was probably all the better.

  “Well, that’s a question he’s gonna have to answer, ain’t it?” He slapped Colin on the cheek, lightly. “So if you, I don’t know, get a moment to have a word with the Thorn, let him know we have his bow. And we’d like to talk to him about it.”

  “Why don’t you go see about that meet with the preacher, Col?” Old Casey said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Colin said, getting to his feet. He kept his eye on Vessrin as he stepped back to the door, as if the man might suddenly turn into a snake if he glanced away. “I’ll . . . I’ll be on top of all of that.”

  “Good kid,” Vessrin said, pointing a finger to him as he took another sip of whiskey. “Get on it.”

  Colin went out the door, making deliberate steps as he passed the other bosses and the heavies at the door. Once he was out in the back alley, he waited until he was out of sight before he stumbled into the closest backhouse to throw up.

  He knew damn well that if anyone could stroll onto Rose Street and steal the Princes away from Vessrin, it would have been Uncle Cal. Veranix could probably do the same just by virtue of being his son. Even Old Casey might have his loyalty tested.

  Vessrin wouldn’t stand for that. If he knew who Veranix was, and that he was Thorn, there was no chance he would let Veranix survive.

  Colin wiped off his face, pulled himself together, and headed off to Cantarell Square. If he could clip this Red Rabbits business before the flower bloomed, then the Thorn wouldn’t have to get any more invol
ved.

  Arch had stumbled upon some good intel in the church. It wasn’t clear if anything was going to happen that would give them an arrest, but that didn’t matter. It was time to stop playing games with these boys.

  Benvin waited in the alley—the same one the Thorn had embarrassed him in two nights ago. Jace came running over.

  “Placements?” Benvin asked. Jace was sharp. No need to mince words.

  “We’ve got Tripper in the square; he’s got eyes on the fountain. Pollit is trailing the preacher, block away. Mal and Wheth are up on that roof, with crossbows trained on the door of the Trusted Friend. And Arch, well, he’s in position.”

  Benvin glanced around the corner, and there was Arch. Saints would swear he was an old drunk, stumbling half-blind just far enough from the Trusted Friend for those heavies at the door to pay him no mind.

  “Whistle?”

  Jace pulled it out of his pocket. “Got it, Left. Ready to make the call when we need it.” He pointed across the square. “And Saitle is ready to run for the stationhouse if we need it.”

  “Good lad,” Benvin said. Jace was a real find for this squad, with a sharp eye and a loyal heart. Benvin had to admit, he favored him over Saitle. Saitle was a good cadet, honest to a fault, and he could run faster than anyone else in Aventil. But he didn’t have Jace’s fire.

  Give him a score of boys like Jace, and he’d have the city cleaned up in a month.

  He glanced around the square. Mostly empty in the twilight, save a few carts straggling, vendors not heading in for the night yet. Enough crowd so no one would look too strange standing around. In fact, there were quite a few folks milling about, like they were expecting something to happen.

  Jace seemed to read his mind. “Thorn had a brawl here the last two nights. Maybe people think there’s gonna be a show.”

  “There’s gonna be a show, all right,” Benvin said. The preacher was coming into the square. Tripper strolled to a new position, giving two hand signals to the boys on the roof. An Orphan came up to the preacher, and then a Kicker and a Dog followed suit. Each of them had some crew hanging on the outskirts, but all of them were behaving themselves for the moment.

  One of Hallaran’s Boys came across and joined the party.

  Benvin crouched down a little to look Jace in the eye. He was a good kid, Constabulary family going generations back in Maradaine. His father had even died in duty a few years back. “Trust your instincts, Jace. You think it’s time to make the whistle call, make it. Even make a Riot Call if you think you need to.”

  “Riot Call, Left? You think it might come to that?”

  Benvin looked back out to the square again. Quite a few interlopers now, and a Knight of Saint Julian had taken a place near the preacher. His crew was at attention, looking ridiculous in mismatched vests and hats, but acting like they were a royal honor guard.

  “I’m saying be ready, kid. We’re counting on you.”

  “Aye, Left.”

  Benvin left the alley and walked into the square. Head high, uniform crisp, hand resting on his stick. Even his brass badge was shining. He wanted to make sure these brats all got the message: the best damn stick in Aventil was coming.

  “Oy, preacher, you turned us!” the Kicker said. A captain who called himself Right Boot, even though his parents had named him Reginick.

  “Not at all,” the priest said. “Though I’m not too surprised that the local authorities have decided to join our meeting. Lieutenant.”

  “Reverend,” Benvin said. “Strange company you keep.”

  “I minister to every soul.”

  “You can tend to the sin, and I’ll handle the crime,” Benvin said. “Well, caps, what’s the word?”

  “No word to you, stick!”

  “I don’t know what you all think is going to happen,” Benvin said, “But I’m looking around this square, and I see trouble taking shape. I can’t abide by that.”

  “Nor could I, Lieutenant,” the reverend said. “My mission is to halt trouble before it starts. I’m certain you understand.”

  “Reverend, why are you messing with the stick?” the Knight captain—Four-Toe—asked.

  “He is a concerned party as well,” the reverend said. “Your mission, Lieutenant, is to keep the peace in Aventil?”

  Benvin thought for a moment. His mission was to put as many of these self-styled captains and their accompanying menace in Quarrygate, but he did need good cause. His captain wouldn’t stand for him just ironing anyone because they had a rose tattoo or a green cap. “I suppose it is,” he finally answered.

  “Then we might be allies here, Lieutenant. And I wish to help these people settle their grievances without bloodshed or mayhem.”

  Another person ran over—a Rose Street Prince captain, sweat drenched and out of breath. Benvin knew this one well: Colin Tyson, too clever by half. “Who invited the stick?” he asked.

  “I invited myself,” Benvin said, stepping up close to Tyson. “You have a problem, son?”

  “No problem, Left,” Colin said, not giving Benvin an inch. They were almost nose-to-nose.

  “Well, this is glorious,” the reverend said. “Gentlemen, and lady”—he nodded to the Orphan captain—“I am the one who is going to go discuss matters with the Red Rabbits. I have graciously allowed you to accompany me, but this is my meeting. And since I have nothing to hide, Lieutenant, I will extend my invitation to you as well.”

  Benvin turned away from Colin. “How gracious.”

  “And so I am clear, Lieutenant, I told these youths that I would only accept one from each organization. I’m holding you to that same restriction.”

  With his eyes alone, the reverend showed Benvin he knew exactly where Pollit and Tripper were. Blazes. This one was sharper than he realized. “So be it,” Benvin said. “Lead the way, Preacher.”

  Dinner was three courses in, and Veranix was hungry and sweating. Whoever came up with this whole elaborate multi-course meal of pageantry and elegance and the most uncomfortable clothes in the history of civilization deserved an arrow in the eye. Veranix was quite literally itching to do it.

  Every “course” was a minuscule portion of admittedly outstanding food. Veranix was expecting that with the Morsel once Delmin had described it. It had been some absurd concoction involving quail, aged ham, and figs that Veranix had to keep himself from stealing Jiarna’s it was so good. Then the Mussel had been only two oysters from the northern coast, followed by the Curd: only a thin spread of a ludicrously fine and sweet cheese on a piece of bread so light it was almost air.

  Delicious. Exquisite. And only seven bites of food so far.

  Then there was the First Engagement, and Nontiss approached, even though Veranix had almost nothing to say to her. That didn’t matter, because Jiarna was on point and ready, as soon as her attention was drawn away from Phadre. Phadre, of course, was completely engaged in the conversation with Professor Nontiss. The entire scope of the conversation went over Veranix’s head completely, though the occasional Magic Theory term or Elemental Science phrase made it into his ear.

  “Elemental compounds with untapped numinic properties?” Nontiss said. “Young lady, you are treading far out on a rickety bridge with those theories. I haven’t heard such nonsense for several years, when—”

  The vice headmaster rang the bell, and Nontiss made a polite withdrawal.

  “Backward thinking,” Jiarna muttered.

  “It’s not uncommon,” Phadre said. “I had to dig through so many records and books to get some degree of backing for my theories. Some professors are set in their ways.”

  “Your friend Alimen for one.”

  “Professor Alimen? Not at all. He’s been the biggest—”

  Kaiana got up from her chair. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”

  Phadre, to his credit, noticed and stood up. “Of
course.” He quickly skittered to get his chair out of Kaiana’s way as she left the dining hall. As soon as she was out of the way, he got back in his chair and engaged again with Jiarna.

  Veranix didn’t even wait for an appropriate amount of time, or excuse himself properly. He simply got up and left, though Jiarna took no notice of it.

  “Kai!” Veranix called as he caught up to her. “You all right?”

  She turned to him, her expression completely inscrutable. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, you did storm out of there. I thought perhaps because Phadre was only talking to Jiarna.”

  “I walked out of there,” she said. “And that was mostly to use the water closet. Though I was getting a bit bored by all that.”

  “Can’t blame you there,” Veranix said.

  “Where did you even find that girl?” Kaiana asked. There was a hint of edge to her question.

  “I really didn’t, frankly. She more or less attached herself to me.”

  “You make her sound like an ailment.”

  “That’s not incorrect.” He moved in a little closer and lowered his voice. “She knows.”

  “You told her?” Kaiana managed to yell and whisper at the same time.

  “No, of course I didn’t. She found out. She has these numina-sensing lenses and magically sensitive paper . . . it doesn’t matter. Point is, she knows, and she made me take her here tonight. What’s your excuse?”

  “Phadre asked me and I like a free meal.”

  Veranix shrugged. “Seems we’re getting what we paid for it.”

  She laughed, lightly. “Are you all right?”

  “Just annoyed. Mostly the outfit.”

  “You do look ridiculous.”

  “I feel ridiculous, so that’s acceptable.”

  “Good.” She waited a moment and added, “And since you failed to compliment me on my dress, I’m now off to the water closet. Which should take me the better part of an hour in this contraption.”

  “I’ll leaving you to it, then.”

  A sudden burst of light—white and blinding—came out of the dining hall, followed by several screams piercing the air.