Helene looked over to Julien. “Show the man.”
Julien brushed some hay aside and then lifted the canvas. The suit’s eyes went wide and he took a few steps closer.
“She’s beautiful.”
Helene thought the man had some strange ideas of beauty, but for nine hundred crowns he could think whatever he wanted.
“Girl, go get the satchel.”
Mila sneered at Helene. She probably didn’t like being called ‘girl,’ but that was better than using her name in front of these blokes.
“Unload it first,” said the suit.
Helene tightened her grip on the crossbow. “Here’s how it goes, bloke. First my girl takes the satchel. Then my driver turns the carriage around. Then you open the blazing doors. At that point, my bloke unloads. Get?”
The suit gave her a hard look, piercing eyes. “Turn the carriage. Then the doors. Satchel and statue at the same time.”
“Done like a doxy,” Helene said. She gave Kennith a whistle and a nod. With a quick cry to his horses, he turned the carriage around in a tight circle.
The cadre of armed blokes all stood real still.
“Door,” Helene said.
The suit gave a nod to the two nearest to the door. They opened it up.
“Nice and easy now,” the suit said.
“Absolutely,” Helene said. She looked over to Julien. “Unload it.”
Julien picked up the big, ugly thing, while Mila went over to the bloke with the satchel. He let her take it, no games.
“Bring it here, girl,” Helene said. Mila gave her a look like she was about to strangle her, but she came over. “Open it.” Mila opened the satchel up. It looked like good notes, looked like it could be nine hundred. Helene didn’t trust the blokes, but she didn’t want to spend one click longer in this warehouse than she had to. “Get on the carriage.”
Mila jumped on, just as Julien finished putting the thing on the ground.
“You all have a good night,” the suit said.
Kennith didn’t waste time getting the carriage moving. Julien walked out behind him, and then Helene followed—walking backward so she could keep her eye on the whole room until she was out.
Soon as they were all in the street, the doors slammed shut.
“Did that go well?” Julien asked.
“If this counts to nine hundred, it went damn well,” Helene said. “Hope whatever Asti and Verci are doing is going the same. Let’s get back to the stable.”
“Can I put my shirt back on now?” Kennith asked. “It’s cold out here.”
Chapter 15
ASTI BEAT DOWN HIS body’s instincts, the urge to retch. It had been a half hour of crawling in near total darkness, the stench of the city’s waste assaulting his nose, and he wasn’t getting used to it. He could feel that dark rage clawing at the base of his skull. He wasn’t going to let it take him. Not twice in one night. Not ever again.
Verci stopped, tapping Asti one time on the shoulder to let him know they had reached the spot. A moment later a pale sickly glow was coming from a vial in Verci’s hands, providing only the slightest amount of light. Verci handed the vial to Asti and got into a crouched position.
Asti knew the doorway was right next to them, but he couldn’t see it at all. If he hadn’t come out this way before, he never would have suspected it was there. Verci ran his hands along the wall, cautious and gentle. His fingers lightly dusted the masonry, occasionally giving a nearly imperceptible tap on each stone. Asti always marveled at how deft and dexterous his brother was. After a few moments Verci found a point that satisfied him. He reached into the pouches at his belt and pulled out a couple of devices. Not taking his eyes off the stones, he assembled the tools blindly into a small drill. He put the drill against the grout and very slowly began to grind his way through it.
Asti counted time as Verci drilled. He knew he had to be patient, as Verci couldn’t work too quickly, lest the drilling make a sound that the Old Lady could hear. Even as quiet as he was going, each turn of the drill made Asti’s heart race, every noise from the drill and the sewer around them causing him a hint of panic. He pushed it all down into the back of his head, forcing himself to stay absolutely still, not letting the beating, pounding fear and rage find its way out. He was in control.
In the distance the church bells rang out three bells.
Asti had counted to 1,841 by the time Verci was able to carefully slide the brick he had been drilling at out of its spot in the masonry. Gently Verci reached into the small hole he had made.
Asti held his breath.
There was a very slight clicking sound. Sweat was beading on Verci’s brow. He pulled out a small, thin tool with his left hand while his right hand stayed in the hole. He slid the tool in, passing it to his right hand, inching it in. Asti imagined Verci had his finger on a catch of some sort, holding it in place until he could get the tool into his other fingers.
Another faint click.
The door moved. It cracked open only a hint. Verci gave Asti a tap, and then pointed to two spots on the lip of the door. Asti understood, taking hold of the edge at the points his brother indicated. Verci held up his free hand, and silently mouthed, “Five.”
He pulled in his pinky. “Four.”
The two of them mouthed the rest together as Verci counted it on his fingers. “Three. Two. One.”
Asti pulled the door open the rest of the way.
No other sounds.
Verci nodded, reaching into the doorway with his free hand. After a moment of fiddling, he pulled his right hand out of the hole.
Verci stretched his fingers out, breathing slowly. He flashed a grin to Asti, then stood at the threshold to the short passageway leading to the Old Lady’s office. Asti watched his brother’s face as Verci frowned and bit his lip. After a moment he reached into one of the larger pouches on his belt.
He pulled out a complicated device, pulleys and clamps and rope. Asti was amazed the thing fit on Verci’s belt. Verci adjusted it, then mounted it on the upper lip of the doorway, clamping it tightly in place. He clipped one end of the rope to his belt and handed the other end to Asti. He gave a sharp gesture, showing Asti to hold the rope strong and tight.
Asti pulled it taut, and Verci came up off the ground, suspended by the rope. He spun freely for a moment, and then caught himself on the walls of the passageway, braced with hands and feet. Slowly he crossed his way down the passage, holding himself up across the walls, Asti giving him only enough slack to move each step.
Thirty feet took ten minutes. Every scuff of hands or boots on stone, though nearly silent, made Asti wince. Twice the clamp slid, just by a hair, and Asti had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.
Verci had reached the other end of the passageway. Even in the pale light of Verci’s vial, Asti could see that opening this door would be comparatively easy. This door had been designed to be hidden on the other side, so its mechanism was visible from this side. Verci, still bracing his body across the walls of the passage, pulled out two pins from the mechanism.
Verci turned back and gave a quick nod to his brother. The door was ready. This was the moment. As far as Asti knew, they had pulled off the run clean. In a matter of seconds they would be in the office, ready to surprise and confront Holt.
Verci held out his hand to count down from five. On three, he left it to Asti to finish the count while he put his free hand on a lever. On one, Asti dropped the rope and dashed forward across the thirty feet of hallway. The floor shook, bells jangled, and the door opened, even as Verci dropped to the ground. Asti dove through the open door, drawing out two knives, expecting to see the Old Lady dashing toward one of her secret escapes.
Josie Holt sat on a soft leather chair, her head surrounded in a cloud of sweet smoke, a long pipe hanging from her mouth. She made no move at all as Asti landed in front of her
, save to draw from the pipe and blow out more smoke.
“Took you long enough.”
Asti’s heart was racing, his palms sweating, the muscles in his arms tensed and ready to release. Everything he was feeling, everything he was prepared for, suddenly had nowhere to go. All that energy ended up channeled through his mouth, which gave voice to the only word he could think of to say in this situation.
“WHAT?”
“Sooner or later you boys would put a few pieces together,” Holt said. “And when you did, you’d come in here, using whatever sneak-and-surprise method you could come up with.”
Verci had stepped into the room, absently rubbing at his fingers. Asti was breathing hard, unsure of where to look or what to do. Finally, out of sheer frustration, he flung the knives into the ground, imbedding them in the wooden floor.
“Asti Rynax, there’s no need for that,” Holt snapped. “You’re both upset, I understand that.”
“You knew we were coming?” Verci asked.
“To be fair, I knew you had gotten hold of Yenner tonight. And that you weren’t at the drop of the statue tonight. Which went fine, by the way.”
“Good,” Asti said. He didn’t know what else to say.
“I figured you were on your way here, so I waited for you. I will give you boys this, that was excellent work. I didn’t hear a thing until you made your charge. You’ve still got the touch.”
“Thanks,” Verci said, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at his lips.
“That doesn’t—” Asti sputtered. He was thinking so many things, feeling so many different things he could barely get it all out. “You knew . . . the alley, Tyne . . . all of it.”
“Not all of it,” Holt said, taking another puff from her pipe. “Not beforehand.” She slowly pulled herself up out of her chair, grabbing her cane as she rose. “I knew Tyne was spreading some crowns around the neighborhood, he was planning something. But not until the alley had burned did I realize what he was doing.”
“So you didn’t let the alley burn?” Asti asked.
“No,” Holt snapped. She scowled at Asti, but then her expression melted. “I can see why you’d think that, though. And I don’t blame you for wanting to cut my throat if I had.” She hobbled over to the cupboard and poured out a few glasses of wine. “Have a drink. Or don’t.”
“So what is going on, Josie?” Verci asked.
She sipped at the wine as she slowly made her way back to the chair. “Tyne, he’s been chipping away at my network, my system, my people for months. The fire, though, was the first blatant move he’s made.”
“What’s he doing?” Asti asked.
“Making a move into North Seleth for some reason,” she said. She took another sip of the wine, sinking deeply into her chair. “I figure he burned the alley just to show me he could.”
“He can’t,” Asti said. “Not and get away with it.”
“You gonna stop him, Asti?” She snorted with laughter before taking another sip of wine. “The two of you? Against Mendel Tyne?”
“The two of us,” Verci said. “Plus our crew from this last job.”
“Bit presumptive of you,” she said.
“They’re all in,” Asti said.
“Oh, well then, that’s different,” she said. “The two Kessers, who are covered with the stink of failure, a Ch’omik driver, and a beggar girl. There’s the team to take out one of the most powerful men on the south bank.”
“Damn right they are,” Asti said. They were his crew; he wasn’t about to hear ill of them.
“You’re serious,” she said. She looked up at Asti, really looked him in the eye for the first time since he came in. She put down the drink and picked up her cane. “Sweet saints, you are serious.”
“Have you ever known me not to be?”
“No,” she said. She got up and crossed over to Asti, limping along with her cane. With her free hand, she cupped his face tenderly. “I should have known it would be you two.”
“What do you mean?” Verci asked.
“I had no shot at taking on Tyne,” she said. “I had no one I could trust. No one he couldn’t buy out from under me. And he did, Rynax. Oh, blessed and blasted saints, did he ever. So I threw out a few breadcrumbs—like having Mersh point you at your old Poasian friend—to see if anyone would take the bait and follow through. No one else bothered. Or they found out and switched over.”
“Or started to carve out their own little empire?” Asti asked.
“Lesk,” she mused. “He’s at least honestly trying to make himself a boss. He’s a rat, but I can respect that.” She shook her head in disbelief, then gave them both a wide smile. “I should have known, though. You two.”
“You don’t trust anyone,” Asti said. “Especially us.”
“I don’t trust you,” she said. “But I trust that you want this. That you can’t be bought. You’ve got a fire in you, Asti Rynax, and I know Tyne doesn’t have enough crowns to put it out.”
“So . . . what does this mean?” Verci asked.
“I mean your crew, your plan, whatever it is, to take on Tyne . . . I’m in.” She straightened her back. “You need capital, equipment, whatever, I’ve got it. I’ll deny it all if things come to a head, but . . . I can’t have him taking anything else away from me. So you boys are my only chance.”
“We’re not doing a run for you, Old Lady,” Asti said. He was chapped that she was trying to horn in on them like this, treat his revenge on Tyne as her own gig.
“We don’t work for you,” Verci said.
“Your crew, your run, your play,” she said. “I’m just your bank.”
“How much?” Asti asked.
“Within reason, boys. You do have a plan, yes?”
“Of course not,” Asti said. “We only decided to do this an hour ago.”
She snorted. “Fair enough. Whatever you do, though, I want a return on my investment. As in money in my pocket.”
“You’ll have taken down Tyne,” Verci said. “Isn’t that payment enough?”
“Notoriety is an empty belly, boys,” she said.
“Fine, fine,” Asti said. “We make arrangements through Mersh?”
“Forget that,” she said. “The bakery is too hot, too known. I even have constabs sniffing around it. Time has come to cut away the fat. You won’t find me here any longer.”
“Where you moving?”
“Not telling,” she said. “But we’ll meet through the Birdie Basement. Over by the docks?”
“You have your finger in the Basement?” Asti asked.
“Everyone’s had a finger in those birds.” Verci chuckled.
The Old Lady smacked Verci across the back of his head. “Don’t be disrespectful.” She went over to her table and filled her pipe back up. “They’ve got quiet rooms. I’ll let the madam know you aren’t to be hassled.”
“Or hustled,” Asti said.
“Or muscled,” Verci added.
“It’ll be fine. Leave word there for me, and I’ll get it.” She lit the pipe and took a long draw of smoke. “Now get out of here. You both stink.”
Mila had never seen so much money in her life. Before tonight she wouldn’t have guessed that a satchel full of paper could even be money. Money was solid coins, copper and silver. Occasionally gold. Not paper.
Helene scolded her when she questioned accepting the paper. Actually, during the drop she just cuffed Mila across the head and told her to shut it. Once they got back to the stable, she said, “Do you have any idea how much silver nine hundred crowns is, girl? How much it weighs?”
“Not really,” Mila said.
“More than you can carry away.”
“How much would it weigh?” Julien asked.
“A pound of silver is ten crowns,” Kennith said. “So, ninety.”
“I could carry that.”
“You couldn’t run with it,” Helene said.
Julien creased his brow in thought, then nodded.
“Each share—one hundred fifty crowns—that’s fifteen pounds’ worth of silver. Carry that through the streets of Seleth and you’ll get your throat slit.”
“So what is this?” Mila asked, taking out one of the sheets of paper. There was a lot of writing on it, an embossed seal, and the number 20. It didn’t make any sense to her.
“Notes of exchange from a goldsmith.” Helene snatched the paper from her and put it back in the bag. “Lester & Sons. Decent reputation.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if you take one of these to their exchangehouse, they’ll give you twenty crowns.” Helene was talking to her like she was stupid. She didn’t talk that way to Julien, and Julien—Julien wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t that bright. Mila found it annoying. Helene held up the paper. “Note. Exchange. Crowns.”
Kennith stepped over. He cleared his throat and spoke softly. “Means those notes are as good as crowns.”
“Seems silly,” Mila said. “You could easily make fakes. Blazes, you could just call yourself a goldsmith and write a bunch of those up.”
“People try,” Kennith said. “That’s why the reputation of the house the notes are from matters.”
“Most folks will honor Lester & Sons at near full value,” Helene said.
Kennith shrugged. “Nineteen-five on the twenty.”
“So we got cheated!” Mila said. She wasn’t that good with numbers, but it sounded to her like they weren’t getting all their money.
“It’s all there,” Helene said. “At least it should be.”
“We’re going to count it, right?” Julien asked.
“Course we count it,” Helene said.
“The way Asti said we count it,” Julien said. He glared hard at his cousin. “The fair way.”
Helene sighed hard and nodded. “Teams of two. Mila and I count the money and split it into shares. Then you and Ken count the shares and put them in the sacks.”
The Holver Alley Crew Page 19