Hope and Red

by Jon Skovron

  “Have you ever been there before?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  He grinned. “Nothing good.”

  “Should we expect an unfriendly welcome?”

  “There’s no such thing as a friendly welcome in Hammer Point.” He picked up a few pebbles and threw one, knocking over a small bucket thirty feet ahead of them. “They have a saying there, ‘It’s hardest in the Hammer.’ And as far as I can tell, that’s true.”

  “Worse off than Paradise Circle?”

  “Oh yeah. See, Deadface Drem may be a murdering, cold-blooded cock-dribble, but he keeps the Circle unified and orderly. There’s no one like that in Hammer Point. Big Sig is the strongest right now. But it’s always a hard scrabble between his gang and three or four others. Not even the imps can keep order in a place like that.”

  “If Big Sig aligns himself with us, could it be enough to tip the balance of power in his favor?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping he’ll decide,” said Red. “Or he could decide that allying himself with us will only twist up the alliances he already has.”

  “If that is what he decides?”

  “Then he’ll kill us.”

  “He’ll try.”

  Red smiled. “I love it when you earn your namesake.”

  * * *

  Hope wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. But she gradually became aware that the streets around them were different. The cobblestones were not only filthy, but often cracked or broken. The buildings, too, seemed damaged, as if they’d been through a war. Shattered windows, splintered doors, chunks of stone and brick taken clean out of a wall. There were no streetlights either. The whole place was cast in gloom.

  “We’re in Hammer Point, aren’t we?” asked Hope.

  Red nodded. He was no longer bouncing around, but instead walked at her side, keeping perfectly apace. His hands were loose but ready at his sides, and his gaze scanned ahead of them.

  “Do you have something that resembles a plan?” asked Hope.

  “I know where to find Big Sig. The only trick is getting there without someone trying to roll us.”

  “How likely do you think that is?”

  “Not very.”

  In fact, they were able to get several more blocks before three men stepped in front of them from an alley, and two more stepped out behind them.

  “Good evenin’, lovebirds. Going for a stroll, are we?” said one in a ragged top hat.

  “Think they may have gotten lost,” said another with long hair past his shoulders.

  “Maybe,” said a third with a thick scar on his cheek, “after we get what we want, we should show them the way home.”

  “That’d be real neighborly of us,” agreed Top Hat. “’Cept I haven’t seen them in our neighborhood. I know I’d remember this Southie slice.”

  Hope turned to Red. “Do they think they’re going to rob us?”

  “Appears they do,” said Red.

  “It hardly seems worth the effort,” said Hope. “Are they even armed?”

  “Oh, we’re armed alright, you mouthy little slice,” said Scar. He drew a small knife that looked more useful for buttering bread than combat. The rest produced similarly pathetic weapons: a wooden club with a nail protruding from one end, a broken bottle, a brick, a leather sack filled with rocks.

  “Be serious.” Hope began to walk, not slowing as she drew closer to them.

  “That’s it!” yelled Scar as he took a swipe with his knife.

  Hope caught his wrist and twisted it so that he was forced to bend forward. At the same time, she brought up her knee into his face. With her free hand, she backhanded her fist into Top Hat’s ear, sending him reeling. She let Scar drop to the cobblestones, and kicked Long Hair square in the chest, knocking him to the ground, gasping for air. Then she continued walking.

  Behind her, Red said cheerfully, “You see how it is, my wags. The lady likes things just so.”

  The sound of rapid footfalls told her the remaining two had bolted.

  Red caught up with her. “Out of curiosity. Why didn’t you take out your sword? You could have killed all three in one swing, I bet.”

  “Killing unarmed, untrained people would have been an insult to the Song of Sorrows.”

  “Sorry. The song of what?”

  “That’s the sword’s name.”

  “You named your sword? I mean, it’s a great sword, but—”

  “I didn’t name it. This sword is centuries old, made with ancient arts lost to time. It was named long before either of us were born.”

  “Sounds fancy.”

  “It is a privilege to wield this blade. One that I hope someday to prove I am worthy of.”

  “You aren’t yet?”

  “No,” said Hope. “I haven’t done anything truly worthy of it.”

  “So how did you get it? I know you didn’t steal it.”

  “It was entrusted to me by my teacher. Just before he was murdered by his own brothers for teaching me the secret Vinchen arts.”

  “Why in hells did they do that?”

  “Because it is forbidden to teach those arts to a woman.”

  “Why?” asked Red.

  Hope glanced over at him, but judging by his expression, he genuinely didn’t understand. “Because women aren’t supposed to participate in such things.”

  Red frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because…I don’t know, that’s how it’s always been.”

  “Maybe elsewhere,” said Red. “But here, being a tom or a molly don’t matter much. If you can fight better than the next, that’s all the argument you need.”

  Hope tried to remember how it had been in her village. “When I was very young, before I was taken in by the Vinchen monks, I lived in a small fishing village. I don’t…remember a lot. But I know my mother did work. It was a hard life, but equally so for everyone, I think.”

  “So it was those Vinchen who put this idea in your head? Were the boys there so much better than you?”

  “No,” said Hope. “I only fought one, but he wasn’t much of a challenge. And I’d seen the others in their practice, and none seemed to possess any skills I did not.”

  “Do you know what I think this is? Pure lacy nonsense. That’s how they do it uptown, too. The men work, the women act all helpless. Load of balls and pricks. Downtown, everybody has to pull their weight. A molly does what she likes and a tom respects her for that.”

  “I like that way of thinking,” said Hope. “Perhaps in some ways, things are more civilized here.”

  * * *

  They didn’t get waylaid the rest of their walk. Hope wasn’t sure if it was coincidence or if word had spread that quickly.

  “Well, here we are,” said Red, stopping before an unmarked warehouse. The windows glowed with light, and the sound of talking, laughter, and occasional yelling came from inside. He scrunched his nose up. “Doesn’t look like much.”

  “You’ve never been here before?” asked Hope.

  Red shook his head. “Used to know a wag from Hammer Point. He told me about this place.”

  “What happened to him?” asked Hope.

  “Disappeared one night. Nobody knew for sure, but folks whispered it was biomancers.”

  “Here?” asked Hope.

  “Mostly uptown,” said Red. “But sometimes they come down if they need fresh material. Or so people say. I knew this woman once. Little Bee’s mom…” He shook his head. “Anyway, it’s hard to know for sure what’s true and what’s gossip.”

  Hope had thought to leave New Laven after avenging Carmichael. But if there were biomancers gathered further uptown, she might need to stay longer. She wondered if Red would follow her there as well. She found herself hoping, selfishly, that he would.

  “I guess we should knock or something.” Red pounded on the door with his fist.

  A moment passed with only the muffled sounds from inside. Then a narrow slat opened in the door,
and a suspicious pair of eyes peered out. “What do you want?”

  “To see Big Sig.”

  “Yeah. And what makes you think you’ll get to do that?”

  “This does.” Red flashed a gold coin in front of his eyes. That was another coin he’d taken from the bag meant for the barmaid. Hope thought she’d watched him carefully when he’d put it down, but clearly his dexterous fingers were put to use for more than just throwing blades.

  The eyes looked less suspicious now. “Alright.”

  The slot closed and the door swung open. A gaunt man with a pistol was on the other side. No revolvers for Big Sig’s men, Hope noted.

  “Very kind, my good wag,” said Red as he tossed him the coin.

  The man caught it and held it up. “This gets you in the building and past me. But it doesn’t get you in with Sig.”

  “Does it get me a tip on how I might arrange a friendly talk with him?” asked Red.

  “He likes to play stones. There’s a bunch of wags playing right now. You show yourself to have some skill, he’ll probably want to play you.”

  “Is that so?” Red flexed his fingers, his red eyes glittering. “It happens I do have some small skill at the game.”

  The man pocketed the coin. “Well, good luck to you, then.”

  “Oh, there’s very little luck involved.” Red gave a quiet chuckle that sounded almost sinister.

  They walked through a short hallway and into a large open space. It was mostly bare, except for ten tables spaced evenly in the center. Two people sat across from each other at each table. Hope didn’t know how to play stones. She’d seen some of the crew playing on the Lady’s Gambit, but she hadn’t taken enough interest to try to figure out its rules.

  Off to one side, next to a stone fire pit, was a man sitting in a chair with a metal lockbox. Red walked over to him and held up yet another coin. “Pair me up the next game.”

  The man looked warily at him. “Not seen you around before.”

  “Just got here,” said Red.

  “Main rule is no drawing a weapon, even if you lose. Big Sig don’t take kindly to rudeness in his gaming hall.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, my wag. Especially since I don’t lose.”

  “That so?” The man grinned. “Then maybe it’s time you met Greeny Colleen. She’s been pining for a respectable challenge.”

  “I’m not respectable, but I promise you, I am a challenge.”

  “Last table on the right.” The man traded the coin for a wooden chip. “She should be cleaning up the current salthead in just a minute.”

  Hope and Red stood watching as a small, frail-looking woman of about thirty played with an older man.

  “I don’t really understand this game,” Hope whispered to Red.

  “Each player starts out with twenty stones. You take the remaining ten stones from the set and line them up across the table. Now, each stone has a number from zero to nine on it. The idea is to get rid of all your stones. If you have the next number up from one in the center, you can put it above it. If you have the next one down, you can put it below it. Or if you have the same, put it on top. But once you start that row, either up and down or on top, you can’t change it. Unless you take them all away again from that row and start back with just the original stone.”

  “Why would you take any back if you’re trying to get rid of them all?”

  “Because if you run out of stones you can put down, you have to start picking them up until you can put one down again.”

  “Still, it doesn’t seem too complicated.”

  “That’s just the general idea. Things get interesting when you start to bridge between two or more rows by adding, subtracting, multiplying, or dividing the numbers.”

  “Math?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “It’s a hobby of mine.”

  That morning, before they’d gone to sleep, Red had mentioned that his “lacy” background made him privileged. But rather than be proud of his ability to read, or his interest in math, he seemed embarrassed by them.

  “But how does that work?” pressed Hope. “It’s a fairly small number of options to work with if the answer must be in single digits.”

  He struggled for a moment, as if he didn’t want to get sucked into the conversation any deeper. But then he suddenly gave in and his face lit up with almost childish delight. “Right, but when you combine two rows, you can make a two-digit number. Combine three rows at once, and you make a three-digit number, and so on. The bigger the number, the more stones you can put down.”

  “Okay. I can see how that could get complicated.”

  Red smiled at her, and it wasn’t one of his smirks that he thought were so charming. It was grateful. “Most people don’t get it.”

  And that was it. Other people might appreciate his charm or his aim, but Hope wondered if there had been anyone else since his parents died who appreciated his intelligence.

  “Piss’ell!” yelled the old man at Greeny Colleen’s table. “Again, Greeny! How do you…”

  The small woman smiled shyly. “I like numbers, Cast. That’s all. They’re like friends to me.”

  Cast grunted, shoved his last wooden chip into the stacks of stones on the table, and left.

  “That’s our cue,” said Red.

  They walked over to the table. Colleen looked up at them, her brow furrowed. “You’re new.”

  “I am,” agreed Red as he sat down.

  “I don’t usually play new people.”

  “The guy over there.” Red nodded to him. “He said you needed a challenge.”

  “Are you any good?” She squinted at him, her lips pursed.

  “Only one way to find out,” said Red.

  “How do you play?” she asked.

  “No digit limit. Is there any other way?”

  Colleen gave another shy smile. “Not if you love the game.”

  * * *

  They played for over an hour. Hope hadn’t realized a game could even go on that long. There would be times when each was down to only a few stones. But then one would block the other and the next thing she knew, they’d both be forced to pull stones until it seemed they were starting from the beginning again.

  At first, she followed the flow of the game easily. Sitting behind Red, she could see the numbers on his remaining stones and was even able to predict some of his moves. But as the game progressed, and the two players began to understand how well matched they were, things sped up until it was a rapid fire of clicks, as stone after stone was placed, removed, shuffled. This was about more than quick mathematical equations. There was something larger at play. It reminded her of the same inspired free flow that ran through her when she fought.

  Other players left their own games to watch, whispering to each other as if afraid a loud noise would break the spell. Hope suspected that not even a thunderclap would break their focus. Sweat trickled down Red’s temple, and Colleen’s face was flushed. So much effort in such stillness, thought Hope. There was something to this. Some lesson she could learn. It flickered tantalizingly at the edges of her mind, but would not come. The more she reached for it, the more it eluded her.

  And then she realized, all at once, that was the lesson. In stillness, there was no reaching. There was only observation, acceptance, and reaction, all without seeking to control.

  “Well,” said Red, breaking into Hope’s thoughts. A ripple of muttered comments worked through the crowd.

  Hope looked down at his hands to see if he had played all his stones. He had something in his hand, but she couldn’t see what it was.

  Greeny Colleen had both hands splayed in front of her, and she was panting through a fierce grin. “That…was worth it.” She lifted up her hands. Beneath one was her last stone. She held out a wooden chip.

  Red shook his head. “The pleasure was just as much mine.” He held up his own wooden chip. “Keep yours and take mine, if you can get me a friendly introduction to Big Sig.”

>   Greeny Colleen’s eyes went wide in surprise. She was about to speak, but a new voice cut in. “You don’t need to bribe any more of my wags. Your skill alone is enough to get an introduction with me.”

  The crowd of spectators around them parted. Towering over them all was the largest man Hope had ever seen. His fists were as big as a child’s head, his chest as thick as a bear’s. He had close-cropped hair and a long beard, black but peppered with gray. His nose looked like it had been broken several times, and there was a hard glint to his eyes that suggested to Hope that he rarely lost his temper, and was all the more dangerous for that reason.

  “Now let’s see…,” said Big Sig. “Red, right? I heard of you. The clever thief with the red eyes.”

  Red gave him a calm smile. “You keen me.”

  “Not entirely,” said Big Sig. “Never knew you were also a master stones player.”

  “Ah, that bit I try to keep quiet,” said Red. “Otherwise, it’d be hells to get a game going. Most people don’t care to play me once they find out how good I am.”

  “I’ll play you.” Big Sig nodded to Greeny Colleen, who gathered up her chips and stood aside respectfully. “I doubt I’ll win, mind you. But it’s nice to have at least one activity I can participate in where losing doesn’t mean death.”

  “You like losing?” asked Red.

  “It’s instructive,” said Sig. “Besides, while we play, you can explain to me why you’re here in a way that convinces me you’re not one of Drem’s boots come to stick a knife in me. I’d hate to kill such a talented stones player.”

  “With respect,” said Red as he set up for a new game, “if I was here to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

  “Hear you have remarkable aim,” said Sig as he pulled his twenty stones from the pile.

  “You heard right. Although I’m not the truly deadly one.”

  Big Sig glanced up at Hope. “That your bodyguard?”

  “Body and soul guard, you could say,” said Red. “She’s teaching me how to be a person who’s worth more than some clever tricks.”