That’s why Helene always went for rabbits. They were Julien’s favorite meat. Easy to sneak back into the city with a few rabbits, and one or two made a decent bribe if a stick or one of Carol’s men caught her.
Plus they were blasted hard to hit with a crossbow, and Helene liked that. Good way to test her new toy.
It was past midday when Helene had finally found a clearing with what looked like a good-size warren, and hid herself in the brush. It would be a bit before any conies came out to feed.
Helene checked through the lensescope. Good sight. Verci did well choosing the lenses—she knew damn well he wasn’t grinding them. She spotted a tree off in the distance, a big and knotty one. That would serve well. She found a nice round knot on the tree and took aim for dead center.
Right on target. So Verci had aligned the scope damn well. That’s what she had expected. She wound the gearcrank to recock it. Verci had done a stellar job on that, too. She hardly needed to work to reload the crossbow, and could do it fast.
Good old Verci. There was a Rynax a girl could count on.
She checked out the tree again, and took another shot. Fast as she could, she wound, cocked, reloaded, aimed, and shot. Again: wind, cock, reload, aim, shoot. Again. She looked through the scope: five bolts in a tight pattern in the same knothole. That would do nicely.
She reloaded the crossbow and waited.
A buck came out of one of the holes. It took a few lazy lopes across the clearing, nibbling on the grass and clover. Helene got the critter in her scope. She let it take a few more hops. Let it relax, get engrossed with its feeding. She checked the distance between the rabbit and the hole. It would take him a few seconds to get back underground.
She lined up the shot, and started to pull back the trigger.
The snap of a branch cracking echoed through the clearing.
The buck’s ears went up.
Helene turned her aim to the warren hole and fired.
The buck dashed back to the hole, reaching it just in time to take Helene’s bolt square in its head.
Helene cranked and reloaded, trying to do it without looking, letting the action become a natural motion of her arms. She kept her eye on the clearing. The rabbit didn’t move; it was a clean kill.
Something else was nearby, big enough to crack a branch like that.
Helene let out two sharp whistles.
Two more came from the other side of the clearing.
Helene raised up her crossbow and stepped out of the brush. Another woman came out on the other side. This woman looked like she belonged in the forest, even though she wore a coat and boots that were lined in fur, the kind a fashionable woman would kill for, and her black, lustrous hair fell gracefully past her shoulders as if she had just been primped by a score of dressers.
“Capital shot, dear,” the woman said, her accent far more highbrow than Helene would have suspected. Helene wracked her memory: was there a Lady Carol? Was she the sort to tromp about in the forest?
“I thought so,” Helene said. “You’re going to let me take my rabbit?”
“By all means, dear. You killed the bunny, he’s yours.”
Despite her courtly manners, the woman moved like a predator. Helene noticed the knives strapped on her hips, and two more at her boots. Helene moved carefully as she approached the dead rabbit.
“You didn’t snap that branch by accident, did you?”
“Never by accident.” The woman looked over to the tree at which Helene had taken her practice shots. “But those shots were a bit closer to my blind than I liked. Petty, I know.”
“I still tagged the buck,” Helene said. She crouched down to pick it up, not taking her eyes off the woman.
“And well done at that,” the woman said. “But you should probably take your bunny and get out of the forest.”
“Why?” Helene asked. “Will Lord and Lady Carol have me arrested?”
“Possibly,” the woman said. She reached into her coat and pulled out a rolled-up paper and passed it to Helene. “You seen him about?”
Helene unrolled it and checked the charcoal sketch. The guy pictured looked familiar. “Is that Cobie Pent?”
The woman nodded. “That is what it says. You know him?”
Helene ignored the writing. “Met him a couple times, few years back. Heard he was thrown in Quarrygate months ago.”
“He was, but he got out. And the price on his head is very nice.” The woman drew one of her knives.
Helene brought up the crossbow. “Hey, now. I’m just hunting. And I ain’t seen him.”
“I know,” the woman said. “All the more reason to get gone before he finds you. I’d hate for him to use you as a hostage.”
Helene decided that one rabbit was enough for today.
Chapter 9
ASTI FOUND THE SMELL of roasted rabbit distracting. The whole stable reeked of it when he came in. Helene and Julien were sitting on one bench, sharing the meat by themselves. Kennith was tending to the horses, looking more than a little annoyed at them.
“Blazes, Helene,” he said. “And here I thought you were too busy to help us pick the routes today.”
“Had to make sure the crossbow worked,” she said, wiping the juices from her mouth as she spoke. “It does very nicely. I’ll have to thank your brother.”
“Hmm.” Asti had some idea how Helene would thank Verci, had she half the chance. He went over to Kennith and the horses. “Kennith, how’s the escape carriage?”
“Fine, fine,” he said. He ground his teeth as he put a blanket over one horse. “I know we’re planning a gig and all here, and I know we all are under the grace of the Old Lady in this place, but still—” He trailed off, focusing on vigorously rubbing the horse with the blanket.
“Still what?” Asti asked. Kennith was getting annoyed about something, and it was better to fix it now, before it blew up during the gig.
Kennith glanced over to the Kessers, and lowered his voice. “I live here, in the stable, you know? I know we’re working together on this, but . . . this is my place. My cot, my bench. My stove.”
Asti glanced back at Helene and Julien. “Got it.” He lowered his voice to match Kennith’s. “Those two, they . . . sometimes they don’t always think about the rest of the world around them, you know?”
“I’ve noticed.”
“And after tomorrow night, you’re done with them.”
“Fine,” Kennith said. “I’ve got to get back to the horses.”
Mila came in after a few minutes, followed shortly by Verci. Verci glanced at Helene and the rabbit. “Crossbow works well?”
“Perfect.”
Asti stepped up to the center table. “Listen up. This is how the gig will go. Four steps. Stop the carriage. Take out the escort. Open the carriage. Get the goods.”
“And run,” Verci said. “That’s step five.”
“Always. So, stop the carriage. Verci and Mila.”
“Me?” Mila asked. “How?”
Asti laughed to himself. “You two will do a Doxy Slap.”
“A what?” Mila’s voice went up an octave. “I told you—”
“Yes, you aren’t a whore. But we’ll dress you like one. Real simple. You and Verci are on our designated corner.”
“Which is where?” Mila asked.
“I haven’t decided yet.” This was true, but the reason was that voice of distrust in the back of his head, that anyone else in the room might tell the sticks where they were planning on hitting the carriage. No one can betray you with information they don’t have.
“And what do we do when I’m dressed like a whore?”
“You stage a fight, and then Verci slaps you so you go in the street. The carriage should stop to not run over you.”
“Should?” Mila asked.
“Should, definit
ely,” Verci said. Asti could tell he was biting his cheeks to keep from laughing.
“Should is cold comfort,” Mila said.
“When it’s stopped, Helene hits the driver through his little window. I’ll take out the escort, Verci will help with that.”
Julien raised up a hand. “You say ‘take out.’ You mean kill, yes?”
“If we have to,” Verci said. “I’m not crazy about it, but these are paid guards. That’s fair.”
Asti nodded. That was one of Dad’s rules: when you’re doing a gig, if you have to kill a stick or a soldier or any muscle, it was fair game. They took the job. They knew the risks, they were armed and ready to defend themselves.
Julien pursed his lips. “I won’t be there for that, right?”
“Right,” Helene said sharply. “He won’t.”
“Right,” Verci said. “Once the carriage is secured, I’ll throw the signal in a street lamp. It’ll be a green flare in the sky. Quick, no sound.”
“Really, no sound?” Asti had never heard of anything that could do that.
“That’s what Cort said.”
Asti wasn’t going to question that any further.
“So carriage stopped, escorts out, then Julien and Kennith come in on their carriage. We’re ready with that, right, Ken?”
“I think so,” Kennith said. “How you going to open the other carriage?”
Asti turned to his brother. “You got it figured?”
“Got it.”
“All right,” Asti said.
“But how is he . . .”
“Ken. Verci says he’s got it. That’s all I need to know.”
“What does he got?”
Verci sighed. “I’ve got Julie and a crowbar, and a small window into the carriage.”
“Provided the driver doesn’t slam it down before Helene shoots him.”
Asti shrugged. “Helene misses the shot, we’re skunked. That’s that.”
“No pressure,” Helene said.
Asti winked at her. “Once open, Julien loads it, we all bolt. Got it?”
“Got it,” Verci said.
“All got,” Helene said.
“So now what?”
“Now, everyone go home, or whatever you’re calling home, and get some serious rest. Meet here at six bells at night. Be sharp then, because we’ll be at it all night.”
“All night.” Verci moaned. “Oh, saints, I’m going to have to paint a story for Hal and Lian.”
“Do what you have to do,” Asti said. “See you all tomorrow.”
Helene’s fingers were twitching. Get some rest, Asti said. Like she could do that right now. She finally had a real gig, even if it was just a one-night deal. And a new bow. A Verci Rynax-made bow at that. The piece was a work of art. Needed to be, if she was going to make this shot that the gig hinged on. She wasn’t worried. Anxious, though. Always was before a gig that hinged on her shot. Couldn’t be helped.
They had all left the stable, save the chomie, who had kept shooting ugly looks at her and Julien the whole night. He could go roll himself, as far as Helene cared. She didn’t need him or his stable, no matter what Asti thought of him. He was trouble. No one in the neighborhood knew him.
Asti and Verci had said their good-byes and split off, Verci heading home to his damn pretty wife. Lucky girl. She kept her pace with Asti, as Julien lagged behind. Asti didn’t speak as they walked to Kimber’s, and the look on his face told her he wasn’t interested in chatting.
Neither was she.
“Rynax,” she said. “Pass me a crown.”
“Eh?” Asti looked confused. “What you need a crown for?”
“Do I need to explain money to you, Asti?”
“No. But why do you need one?”
“Never you mind. I’m good for it.”
Asti dug into his pocket. “Fine.” He rolled the coin over his fingers for a moment. “You’re not going back to Kimber’s?”
“Eventually,” Helene said. “Julie, stay with Asti. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Julien didn’t like it. “But where are you going?”
“I just need a few hours,” Helene said. “I’ll be fine.” The last thing she needed was Julien going with her.
“Come on, Jules,” Asti said, flipping the coin to her. “I’ll buy you a cider, all right?”
Helene caught the coin and spun on her heel before Julien could object. She dashed off down to Elk Road.
She hadn’t been to the Shack in months, but it looked the same as always: a run-down, dim tavern where every table leaned to one side. The bartender was new, though.
“What’s the score, skirt?” he asked as she walked in.
“You tell me.” She came over and leaned on the bar, which creaked with her weight.
“Wine or cider, since that’s what we’ve got.”
“Ain’t drinking.”
“That’s all we got, skirt.”
Helene leaned in closer. “Laramie whirl.”
“I don’t mix nothing like that, skirt.”
This new bartender wasn’t getting it. She lowered her voice. “Downstairs? Knuckle matches. That’s the password.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, skirt.”
“It’s all right, Gil.” A rough hand clapped on Helene’s shoulder. Nange Lesk came up close to her. Far closer than she ever wanted Nange Lesk to be. “Hel’s on the nose, all right.”
“You say so,” the bartender said.
“Come on down,” Nange said, his arm now working around her. “We don’t mess with passwords anymore. It’s all just the people we know.”
“‘We,’ Nange?” Helene asked. “Since when do you run the Shack?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘run,’ so much.” He led her around the bar to the back stairs. Three boys, skinny street rats with scrapes and bruises all over their faces, lurked at the top of the stairs.
“Hey, chief, we got a—”
“Not now, boys,” Nange said. “You go to Ren, I don’t need to hear it.” He took Helene down the stairs.
The basement was set up same as always. A few low-burning lamps hung on the ceiling over the chalk-circle ring. Two young girls—both of them could have been Mila’s age, or younger—were knocking each other senseless. Benches surrounded the circle, with old men laughing and throwing down coins. Helene noticed at least two or three sticks in uniform as well. That was new.
“Friendly with the sticks, are ya?”
“The right ones.” Nange flashed an ugly smile. “There are some good Red and Green who love a show, you know?”
The girls were really hammering at each other. Both their faces were bloody messes, but neither one yielded. That wasn’t how the matches used to go.
“Harsh,” Helene whispered.
Nange looked over at the girls. “Yeah, this is a special one. Winner gets to join the Scratch Cats up there.”
“And the loser?”
“Honey Hut. How much she’ll go for depends on the state of her face.”
Helene shuddered. She’d fight like blazes to stay out of the Honey Hut as well. “Don’t tell me you’re running the Hut, Nange.”
“Branching out, putting things together.” He shrugged. “Things are shifting here on Elk. After the fire and such, we need to gather up, you know?”
“Know the feeling,” Helene said. “So I came to get in on a match or two. But just the usual knuckle-dust, nothing like this.”
“You wanna knuckle-dust, Hel?” He touched her face. Helene fought the instinct to wince and pull away. Definitely didn’t want his hands on her, but she might as well play nice for the moment. “Wouldn’t think you’d risk hurting your eye.”
“Ain’t that much of a risk.”
“Your eye’s worth a lot more than a few cro
wns.”
Helene couldn’t help smiling at that, even if it came from Nange.
“I’m not really doing it for the crowns,” Helene said. “Just looking to blow some nerves, you know, before—”
“Before what?”
Blazes. She should have kept her trap shut. “Before I have to go and sleep on Kimber’s floor again.”
“Still no place, Hel? That ain’t right.”
“I’ll have it sorted in a few days.”
“We can get you sorted, you know.”
One of the girls got the upper hand, putting her opponent to the floor. She pounced, slamming her knees onto the other girl’s chest. Two more hard punches across the jaw, and the girl on the floor stopped moving.
“Julien and I will get ourselves set up soon.”
“How is Julie doing? He keeping his head up?”
“Hey,” the fighting girl shouted. “Am I a Cat now?” The crowd around her hooted and laughed.
“Nice work,” Nange said, holding a finger up to Helene as he focused his attention on the girl. “You’re a Cat. Go up to the boys, get your scratches.”
The girl crossed over to the stairs, giving a sneer over to Helene. “I got my scratches.” A few guys dragged the other girl off the floor, while the crowd jeered and whistled some more.
“Tough girl,” Helene said.
“She’ll need to be,” Nange said. “I’m serious, though, Hel. I was thinking about you the other night.”
The last thing Helene wanted to know was how Nange was thinking of her. “How so?”
“Well, like I said, me and my boys, we’ve got some interest in the Honey Hut.”
“You finish that thought, and—”
He held up his hands. “No, nothing like that, Hel. Honest as a saint.”
Which saint? Helene thought. “So what the blazes are you on about?”
“Well.” He drew out the word, like he knew Helene might knock him down for what he was about to say. “The lady who used to manage the girls, she’s not part of the new . . . arrangement.”
The Holver Alley Crew Page 13