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

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Hold still, gorgeous,” Keckin said. She braced herself as best she could while he yanked the arrow out of her. She didn’t let herself scream as more blood trickled out. She probably didn’t have much to spare. Keckin followed Cuse’s instructions, and when he touched the powder with the copper, it was like fire in her whole arm.

  But then it passed, and the wound was closed.

  “Blazes,” she muttered. She still felt weak as a baby, but she could move her arm again.

  “Do the same for me,” Cuse said. “And hurry, before he wakes up.”

  “Why don’t we just kill him?” Keckin asked.

  Cuse smiled and sat up. “Oh, no. That would be a terrible waste. Believe me, I have a very good reason to keep him alive.” He chuckled quietly. “So many things still to do. Such a big day tomorrow.”

  Chapter 21

  DAWN CAME without Kaiana getting a moment of sleep. Dawn had come, but Veranix never had. There was no way that could be for a good reason.

  Just as she got off her cot and put her boots on, there was a pounding on her door. Veranix never would do that.

  Delmin was at her door. “He isn’t back.”

  “Then something has gone badly,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Into Aventil, to find him,” she said, grabbing her coat off the peg. Delmin stood there, dumbstruck. “You coming?”

  “Are you sure it’s wise?”

  “It’s incredibly unwise, I would imagine.” She grabbed one of her hand spades and put it in her pocket. Not much of a weapon, but it was the best option she had on hand. “And he’d come for you without hesitation.”

  “You’re right,” Delmin said. He glanced around the room, as if trying to find something he could arm himself with. “I probably shouldn’t even embarrass myself if things get violent, should I?”

  “If things come to that, run for a whistlebox.”

  “What about the rope?”

  Kaiana paused. “You can’t use it. Blazes, Vee can’t use it right now. It’s . . . broken.”

  “It is, but . . . it’s still napranium. It and the cloak are the same, and . . . I’ve been thinking about some of the things Phadre and Jiarna were saying last night . . .”

  Phadre and Jiarna. Kaiana wasn’t surprised their names were now said in tandem. She should have expected that when Phadre had her invite the woman to his defense.

  “The two things might have some affinity for each other. We might be able to use it to find him.”

  Kaiana didn’t have an argument against that. She went down into the Spinner Run and grabbed the rope, putting it in a satchel that she hung over her shoulder. “Let’s go find him, then.”

  They went out to the south gate. At this hour, of course, there were cadets on guard, but they gave no trouble to anyone leaving. They were questioning every person entering, and there were quite a few, even this early. The daily deliveries were greater than usual, with the commencement ceremonies occurring. The wagons were backing up down the street, while the cadets argued with drivers who insisted that they made the same deliveries every week, and the cadets should recognize them and stop causing trouble. In the midst of shouting drivers and a crowded street, the cadets let Kaiana and Delmin out with just a friendly wave.

  “Do you have a plan?” Delmin asked once they were on the street. The neighborhood was quiet once they were away from the gate. A bit of early activity in the shops and a few Constabulary walking around. Despite that, there were plenty of signs that things had been hectic the night before. Windows broken, garbage in the street, and the occasional smear of blood on the wall.

  “First, we go to the flop I rented. It might be that Vee just went there, unable to get back to campus.”

  “Maybe he’s there, too hurt to get help.”

  Kaiana didn’t respond, but that had been exactly what she had been thinking. And even that would be one of the better scenarios she could conjure in her imagination.

  But Veranix wasn’t there when they arrived, and there was no sign that he had been back in hours.

  “Next?” Delmin asked.

  “Can you, I don’t know, sense anything? I’m not sure how it all works.”

  “Nothing too specific, at least here,” he said, looking around the place. “I mean, there’s some strange pooling and swirling of numina, like the cloak had been here, but it’s because it had been here for a while. There’s not much trail for me to follow.”

  “And with the rope?”

  “There’s . . . resonance? Maybe that’s the best word. It’s like the energy of the rope is reacting to the fact the cloak was here, but . . . again, it’s nothing I can follow.”

  “But if we get closer to him, you might be able to tell?”

  “Might.” He didn’t sound very confident about that at all. “Maybe we need to think about where he might have gone. The potential places Jensett is working.”

  “Like?”

  “I was thinking like an abandoned factory or tannery—some place where he can work with chemicals and not be noticed. I told Vee there’s plenty of those out in the west side of the city, but I don’t know about here.”

  “Then let’s find someone who does know.”

  She already knew who: they were going to have to find a Rose Street Prince.

  “The hole” wasn’t strictly speaking a punishment, as much as a preventative measure. Colin knew this. Jutie had killed a stick, with plenty of witnesses, and that wouldn’t go away easy. Surely the sticks had turned out the streets for him.

  As his captain Colin would have Jutie’s back out there. Any captain worth the stars on his arm would knock the skulls of every stick walking Rose Street to save his crew. Hotchins and the rest of the bosses knew that, which is why they dragged Colin down to the basement offices for the night. He couldn’t be trusted out there, not tonight.

  Colin had understood this when other captains had to spend the night down there. He knew it had to have torn them up, but it was the right call.

  This was Colin’s first time. First time one of his crew was in the wind. And it tore his gut the whole night long.

  Jutie wouldn’t be left to swing, of course. Other Princes, other captains—ones who could have a cool head—they’d be looking for him. Hopefully, they’d find him and keep him hidden and safe.

  Nobody told him a damn thing all night.

  To be fair to the bosses, they didn’t keep him actually locked away in a closet or anything. He stewed at the card table with Nints and Bottin and Giles, while Hucks stood in the doorway. Beers and strikers were brought, enough to keep him calm. Not so many beers that he might try something crazy.

  Not that Colin had had any doubt Hucks would have clobbered him if he had tried something.

  Hotchins and Frenty eventually showed up with some boiled eggs, hard biscuits, and tea, letting Colin know it was morning. Nints, Bottin, and Giles took their leave, probably to finally get some sleep.

  “We know anything about Jutie?” Colin asked.

  “We know the sticks don’t have him yet,” Frenty said. “But that’s about all we do know. Kid went into the wind well, I’ll give him that. Best kite job I’ve seen.”

  “Nobody’s seen him? What about my—the flop my crew crashes at?”

  Frenty nodded. “Checked there. Credit to your boy Tooser, he kept it locked tight, and when we told him you were in the hole and he and your birds needed to sit it out, they took it well.”

  “Tooser’s a smart one, really,” Colin said. “You all should start looking to him for stars.”

  “One thing at a time, Tyson,” Hotchins said. “We’ve got a dozen messes going on right now, and all the sewage seems to flow back to you.”

  “I can see that,” Colin said. No point trying to deny it.

  Hotchins pushed a plate over t
o Colin and sat down. “Let’s start with Jutie. Where do you think he’d go?”

  “If he didn’t crash in a Prince flop? I’m not—” He remembered the incident in the street a month before. “He’s got a brother. Narrow walker, this guy. Works tannery or something clean, you know? Wettle, or Whenton . . . Wylon, that’s it.”

  “Wylon Higgs,” Hotchins said. “You know where they live?”

  “Not on Rose Street. Maybe not even in Aventil.”

  “You think they’d hide Jutie?”

  “From the sticks? I—I’ll tell you, I only ever saw this guy once, and like I said, narrow walker. He really didn’t like that Jutie was a Prince. But blood is blood, you know?”

  As soon as he said that, Colin’s stomach twisted. No telling what happened to Veranix last night. Rabbits or that Jensett might have killed him. Deadly Birds might have killed him. “Any other news out there? Streets still rowing? Rabbits still acting up?”

  “After our ugliness, it all got quiet, to tell the truth. Mostly because the sticks really were out in force. Like I ain’t seen in years, let me tell you.”

  “I suppose that’s Jutie’s fault.”

  “He didn’t help,” Frenty said.

  “So am I still in the hole?”

  “You should be,” Hotchins said. “But Casey says we need to move on this Rabbits thing, and he liked your idea of hitting Orchid Street.”

  “He did?”

  “And you are blazing lucky he did, too. That’s the thing that kept him from ordering your stars burned.”

  Colin swallowed hard. He knew things had taken a real left turn, and he was certainly in the middle of it all, but he had no idea that it was even coming close to that.

  “He was . . . he wanted . . .”

  Frenty’s hand dug into Colin’s shoulder. “Hotchins really hit the tetch for you, so don’t forget it.”

  “No. Not at all, Hotch. I ’preciate it.”

  “Good.” Hotchins sat back and sipped at his tea. “So in a bit you’re gonna take some muscle—none of your crew, mind you—”

  “Sure, fine, good idea.”

  Hotchins paused, clearly not thrilled about being talked over.

  “You’ll go and clear any fur coats out of Orchid. You handle that, things should be calmer for you.”

  Colin nodded and took a bite of the food. He had no appetite at all, but the last thing he could do was let Hotchins see what a state he was in.

  Silently he prayed to whatever saint might listen to him that Veranix was all right.

  Veranix found awareness coming at him like a buzzing fly, in fits and starts that were impossible to hold on to. There were light and shadows, there were voices, none of which he could make any proper sense of. He became more aware of a pain in his head that throbbed and pounded, and then realized that something metal was pressing against the back of his neck. He tried to touch it, push it away, but his arms wouldn’t move.

  Arms wouldn’t move because they were bound.

  Veranix forced his eyes open.

  As his vision focused, he saw how he was held, as bizarre as it was. He was bound by coils of metal that spiraled around his bare arms.

  His arms were bare. Looking down, he saw the rest of him was as well, save the cloak still over his shoulders. He was propped up on his feet, with the same metal coils around his legs. And he was kept upright by whatever was resting against his neck.

  He pulled in numina to knock all these bindings off of himself, but as soon as he did, it was yanked right back out of him. A second attempt yielded the same result.

  “Oh, what was that?” one voice said. Veranix became more aware of the voices near him. He couldn’t see much of anything, partly because he was facing a wall. Footsteps approached, and two figures stepped into view.

  One was Cuse Jensett, the Prankster. He looked grubby and disheveled, deeply tired around the eyes in the way a lot of students did right around exams. But he also had an ebullience in his demeanor, like he was deeply pleased with the results of hard work.

  In fact, he looked much like Phadre did when he passed his defense.

  The other was an older man, nearly bald save a few wisps of white around his ears. He looked Veranix over with shrewd eyes.

  “I’d like to lodge a complaint,” Veranix said weakly. “These beds are horrible.”

  “Well, that settles it,” the old man said. “You’re exactly who I thought you were.”

  That brought Veranix sharply into the moment. “You think you know me?” He pulled at his bindings, but they didn’t yield even an inch. And magic, he had already determined, was useless.

  “Oh, I don’t know your name, Thorn,” the old man said. “Any more than you know mine. But those eyes, that voice, the cocky jokes? That I know all too well.”

  Veranix took a guess. “I take it you’re Reb Jensett.”

  The old man chuckled. “Reb was my brother. Died a few years ago. Did you know there were three Jensett boys back in the day?”

  “I didn’t know there were Jensett boys at all until yesterday, frankly.”

  “Typical,” the unnamed Jensett said.

  “So who is he, Uncle?” Cuse asked.

  “Do you want to tell him, Thorn?”

  “Honestly, I’d rather punch him in the face, but given that you’ve put me in this contraption . . .”

  “Contraption,” Cuse said contemptuously. “Come now, is that the best you can manage for this triumph? A synthesis of magic and science? I may not know who my uncle thinks you are, but I recognize you from the dinner. I know you’re a magic student. Surely you can appreciate craftsmanship.”

  Veranix rolled his eyes. “Yes, you have me bound in dalmatium, so I can’t do any magic. Bravo.”

  “Dalmatium!” Cuse was incredulous. “You are a simpleton, Thorn! Mere dalmatium, as if all I cared about was blocking your magic. That would be useless.” He stomped out of view.

  “Cuse, boy, there’s no need—”

  “No, no, Uncle,” Cuse said, coming back over. “I want him to know what I have been the architect of. He may be a fool, but he can at least comprehend the magnitude of what I’ve done.” He returned with what looked like a crystalline jar, glowing faintly blue. “You know what that is?”

  The term Delmin had mentioned the other day sprung to Veranix’s mind. “A numinic battery?” For some reason, that made sense, even if Veranix still wasn’t sure what it meant.

  Cuse seemed honestly impressed by the answer. “Spot on, Thorn. Full marks. A source of stored numina to fuel my project. The raw background flow can be enough for some effects, but to do something really impressive, it must be gathered and stored. And as I’m not a mage, I can’t do that with my body. Not like you.”

  “Fascinating,” Veranix said. “So that’s how you hurt and killed people.”

  “And now I’ll do so much more, thanks to you.” He admired the jar again. “You see, for what I’ve planned for today, I was originally only going to be able to use background flow to charge up three, maybe four of these. It would be a fair amount of numina, but now . . .”

  Veranix suddenly understood the bindings. He was the source of the numina. Him and the cloak. “How many did you charge?”

  “Twenty-seven,” Cuse said gleefully. “I could have done more, mind you, but there are interesting dynamics when these are arranged in triads that I’ve never been able to exploit to this degree. Yes, twenty-seven will be quite intriguing.”

  Veranix gave the old man a glance. “Pride of the family, is he?”

  “I could ask you the same, Mister Tyson.”

  Veranix chuckled, trying to cover the sudden shock of hearing that. “My name isn’t Tyson, friend.”

  “Maybe that isn’t your name, boy. But I’ll be damned all to blazes if you aren’t Cal Tyson’s son.”

 
Cuse gave a lopsided smirk. “And that, dear Thorn, is why you’re still alive. Well, that and using you to fuel production of the Red.”

  Chapter 22

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Delmin’s voice was in full whine as he followed behind Kaiana. But he had probably not ever delved into one of these side alleys, so she could hardly blame him for being apprehensive.

  “There’s a room down here where some of the Rose Street Princes sleep. Including the one we want to find.”

  “Right. I forgot we wanted to find one.”

  “Found the wrong one,” a voice hissed.

  Kaiana turned to see a Prince—not Colin—behind Delmin with a knife at his throat. This Prince was young, though, a few years younger than Delmin or her. And she had seen him before—he brought her to this flop when she went looking for Colin.

  “Easy, easy,” she said. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Really don’t,” Delmin squeaked out.

  “Why are you snooping around here, Napa?” he asked.

  “Looking for your captain,” Kaiana said.

  “Right, right,” he said. “I remember. Why I been trailing you. You got another delivery for him or something? Bringing this skinny rat to him?”

  The blade was pressed onto Delmin’s skin—just enough to let him feel it, but not enough to cut. Delmin looked terrified beyond all capacity for speech or thought.

  “Ease off, Prince. We’re not your enemies,” Kaiana said.

  “You ain’t my friends.” He looked around, like he was making sure no one else was watching. “And none of mine can help me. But I think you know who can, don’t you?”

  Kaiana decided she needed to take a chance. “You mean the Thorn.”

  The tension in his knife hand eased just a bit. “I knew it! You know the Thorn! You’re his contact, ain’t you?”

  “It was his stuff I brought here last month,” she said. “That’s why Colin and the other Prince went to help him.”