Ten Ruby Trick

by Julia Knight

  “Now what?” Guld asked.

  Van Gast looked around as best he could in the dim light from the lamps along the jetty. Wouldn’t take too much to get her ready. She wasn’t a big ship and he could manage one sail all right on his own—the second if he got it tied right for the wind—but swinging about would be a pig with Guld being so hopeless with a rope or sail.

  “Two things from you. One, once she’s untied, I need a nice big distraction while I get her round pointed toward the entrance to the harbor. Then I need a bloody big wind, preferably also heading toward the entrance to the harbor.”

  Van Gast ran off without waiting for a reply and set about getting the ship ready. He kept low—there wasn’t much light but you never knew when some eagle-eyed lookout was going to prove his worth. He crept along the rail and used his knife to hack the ropes and then they were gently sliding away from the jetty on the tide. He grabbed Guld’s arm, pulled him up from where he hunkered below the rail and got them up on the quarterdeck.

  “Ready?”

  “Um, well—”

  A shout went up from astern and a shot whizzed over their head. Another soon followed and embedded itself in the main mast.

  “Now would be good.”

  Guld muttered under his breath and winced as another shot went overhead, missing him by a finger’s breadth. The smack of metal into wood, of splinters flying in his face, jolted him in his words and a flare of magic shot out backward, barely missing the rail and skipping over the water toward the watchers.

  “What the fuck was—”

  Magic bloomed silently along the jetty, a flare of bright white and scintillating green, blood-red and the black of the Deep, all spiraling inward and outward and every damn way till Van Gast felt seasick for the first time in his life. After the light came a great wash of air and heat, filling the sails and driving them toward the harbor wall.

  Van Gast leaped up and grabbed at the wheel. The watchers were scattered, or dead, and no shots rang out when his head rose above the rail.

  “Toward the sodding entrance I said!” Van Gast struggled with the wheel and only barely got it to turn the right way. He chanced a look at Guld and the mage was a crumpled heap on the deck. So much for magic and a steady wind.

  It took all the strength left in his arms to get the ship through the harbor entrance and not end up on the rocks that lined the wall. Then they were free and clear, he was captain of a ship even if it did stink of fish, and they were three days from Tarana.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three days later, Holden had his crew tie Josie’s ship up in Tarana at sunset. He’d barely seen Josie the whole time, and when he had she’d looked like the walking dead, and not a thing he could do about it. Only what he was ordered, in the vain hope it would be in time. Sleep was hard to come by, and what little he got was tormented by the blue-black lines snaking along her skin, the dead blankness of her eyes.

  Cattan came on the deck, carefully. His magic was beginning to form again, a thin sparkling crust over his skin. Josie staggered after him, the limp so bad now she could barely walk and Skrymir had to help her. Her clothes hung off her in copious folds, and the purple-black lines were visible, peeking above the waistband of her breeches through the thin shirt. Skrymir’s face was like a storm at sea as he glared first at Cattan and then Holden. His fault, that glare said, his fault that she was like this, and soft-hearted Skrymir didn’t like it, or him, one bit.

  Neither did Holden, but there was little he could do. Little, but something. He’d made sure the healer had sent plenty of his numbing balm, made sure the boy was all right, that Cattan hadn’t bonded him. He’d done everything he could, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

  Still, Holden could think of no way to help her that his bond would allow, to help them both, except go through with this, catch Van Gast so he could take the bond off her. If Cattan and the Master would still allow it. If she wasn’t so far gone that the pain of taking it off would kill her. Holden tried not to think of that possibility. Catching Van Gast was the thing and here they were at Tarana a day ahead of plan. Not long now. He willed Josie to hold on, just for long enough.

  Cattan stepped down the gangplank and gestured, a word jerking Holden and Josie after him like puppets on strings. Skrymir helped Josie onto the jetty while Cattan looked round with a disapproving frown. “So, Josie, where to? We’ve a day’s start before we meet with Van Gast. I want to make sure of the meeting place, and make sure he can’t escape our net.”

  The word was pulled out of her through clenched teeth. “Moorain’s.”

  “Very good, my pet, very good. Now lead the way, Josie. Holden, help her.”

  She sagged against him, a feverish heat from her dampening his shirt. Holden held her with an arm around her waist. “Stop fighting,” he whispered, advice the only help he had for her. “You’ll die before we even get to meet Van Gast else.”

  Those purple-black lines, that was the source of the heat. All up her leg, just passing her hips, they burned into him. Snaking their way toward her heart. And now Cattan had taken the bond over, Holden had no way to stop it until the bond was fulfilled. Bonded unwilling. A worse fate than hanging, the worst punishment the Archipelago could bestow. He’d heard it said in whispers, but not believed it until now. If the bond killed you, it didn’t stop at your death. Some said that was where the Master got his more formidable power, but they didn’t say it loudly.

  “Please, Josie. Accept it.”

  “No. And why do you care?” Her voice had lost all vibrancy, all essence of her except that one little spark of fight left.

  She led them forward, down a dank alley where rats skittered from their steps and drunks slept off hangovers in doorways. Cattan came behind them with Skrymir and a half dozen men. The path led them past brothels and inns spilling out their customers and sucking in new ones. Past stinking fishmongers and tanners until the street opened out into a square Holden had never known existed, despite that fact he’d been to Tarana on many occasions.

  Every building was an inn, some little more than stalls where their customers drank at a rough plank over two barrels. At the other end of the square, real inns towered over the cobbles, leaning in toward each other as though huddling together for warmth. Josie led them across the square to one of the larger buildings, grey with age, Moorain’s spelled out in crooked letters across the front.

  People moved sluggishly out of their way, one or two wrinkling their noses and muttering under their breath about Remorians. This port was close enough to Holden’s home, made enough trade with Remorians that they didn’t mutter too much. The door to Moorain’s hung haphazardly from one hinge, all the paint long since worn off. The slurred insults of a drunken brawl floated out to them.

  “Nice place,” Holden muttered under his breath.

  “They don’t ask questions,” Josie said.

  Cattan murmured some order and the crewmen disappeared into the crowd one by one, leaving only Skrymir behind.

  “And you,” Cattan said. “Go on.”

  Skrymir folded his considerable arms and planted his feet. “I’m not bonded nor oathed to you. I’ll do what Commander Holden tells me and nothing else.” He glared at Holden as though daring him to say that was no longer true.

  “And I tell Holden what to do, so let’s just cut the middleman, shall we, and you can bugger off and do as you’re told.”

  Skrymir lifted one shoulder and stared down at Josie, his eyes confused and helpless. “I’m coming with you lot, and you ain’t got enough magic yet to be stopping me. Besides, much longer and you’ll need someone to carry her.”

  Cattan’s lips pressed into a white line and a thin crystal flaked off his nose. Vapor oiled from the back of his neck and his eyes changed, became darker, blacker than the end of the world. Skrymir staggered back a step, then held firm. A smile crept over Cattan’s face, slowly, slowly, so as not to dislodge crystals. The vapor spread to his cheeks, sent out wafts
of greenish steam that stung the eyes and choked the throat.

  Skrymir’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword, though surely he couldn’t see through the tears that streamed his face. Josie’s soft voice brought them out of their impasse.

  “Skrymir, Cattan needs someone inside the inn, in the bar. I’ll be fine with them for now. I promise.”

  Cattan straightened with a smug look, almost crowed when Skrymir backed away, but he said no more and ushered Josie and Holden inside.

  The taproom was dark as night, the few windows covered with grime and letting in nearly no light. The only relief to the gloom was a large lantern that hung over the bar, shining off the bald pate of the giant who stood behind it. What looked like half a tree, stripped of its branches and studded with square-headed nails the size of Holden’s fingers, stood propped next to him as he poured pints with the ease of long practice. The other patrons were lost in the gloom, only their voices betraying their presence. Occasionally a face would appear out of the fug, demand more beer and disappear again once satisfied. A perfect spot for what they had in mind.

  Holden held on to Josie’s arm as they headed for the bar. The barman raised an eyebrow at Josie but said nothing when she asked for her usual room, only nodded.

  The stairs were darker than the taproom, the treads worn smooth and slippery. Josie stumbled more than once but Holden kept her on her feet. She led them past a rubbish-strewn landing and the rhythmic grunting coming from a room to the side, and opened a door that looked like it was held together by spit and hope.

  Into a room that would make a palace seem shabby. The walls were hung with black-and-purple velvet threaded through with gold, and Holden’s feet sank into a sumptuous rug of Dorston weave, picked out in the same colors. A brazier stood in the corner, lit and welcoming, driving away the chill damp of the evening mist that had just started to creep the streets. And the bed—the bed was huge, decked with silk and velvet and thick cushions. A bed you could lose yourself in.

  Josie sagged into a stuffed chair by the fire and held her hands out to warm them, the shudders that ran through her almost tipping her from the seat. Cattan stalked round, checked behind wall-hangings and a tapestry that covered one wall. Apparently satisfied, he strode to the window, pulled back the thick curtains and peered out across the square.

  “This will do nicely. Holden, have some of the crew in the rooms on this floor, make it look natural. No escape other than out that door or the window, so have some men in the square too. When will he be here, Josie?”

  “Tomorrow, sunset.” Her voice was flat, devoid of any life or hope.

  “Ah, Josie, what’s wrong? I thought this was what you wanted—Van Gast dead.”

  She turned toward Cattan, her eyes full of dull hatred. “The boy, I’m doing this for the boy.”

  “And your own sake too, don’t forget, though you’ve no say in the matter now.” Cattan perched on the arm of the chair. “The Master might even keep that agreement, even though it wasn’t what Holden was ordered to do, or not quite. They gave him too much leeway, you see. Not anymore. My orders will be followed to the letter, and the Master here to see it.”

  The Master here to see it… Holden’s stomach clenched and rolled at the reminder, and he had to force down the urge to be sick. The Master, come to gloat at what he was doing, at his grand plan to get Van Gast, show the world that Remorians couldn’t be made fools of like that. Any little hope that Josie might live, that he might come out of this alive and in one piece, that there might be a way out of this mess, faded into nothing. The Master was coming and that meant no hope for any of them.

  Van Gast watched the little procession march across the square, Josie limping and Holden with his arm round her in far too familiar a fashion. Just the scam, that’s all. No way Josie would—what was he thinking? She had once taken a Remorian as a lover, and nothing to stop her doing it again. She’d never promised him anything and he’d never asked her, or promised anything in return—faithfulness or loyalty or to not love another. Never asked her because she’d take a tumble, like they all did, and he’d not wanted to ask her for anything more than she gave him freely. Not wanted to drive her away. Idiot.

  “Well?” he snapped at Guld, who stood next to him in the shadowed window of an inn across the way from Moorain’s. They had a good clear view of the room from here.

  Guld gulped noisily. His hands trembled from the strain of getting the little ship here in time, of the constant magical winds. It’d been too much really, more than a mage should contemplate without a week to recover after.

  Van Gast didn’t have a week. His little-magics felt like they were lifting him off the floor, worse when he looked at Josie. A burn in his chest, an itch in his head, a desperate craving to run—now, get the fuck out of here—that made rational thought impossible. Not yet, not without her. It was both of them, he knew that now even if Josie didn’t. Both in trouble up to their eyebrows and sinking, but he wasn’t about to stand here and let them both drown. Run the twist, get Josie and whatever it was she was after, get out. Good plan. He raised an eyebrow at Guld in question.

  “Well, I can see it all right, but the curtains, you’ll need to make sure—”

  “Of course I’ll make sure they’re drawn back, what do you think I am? A half-wit?”

  “Oh, er, no. No, of course not. It’s just, that man with them. I think he’s their mage.”

  “What?” Van Gast looked down again, where they’d stopped at the entrance to Moorain’s. He’d never seen a Remorian mage before. He didn’t know anyone who had. The Archipelago guarded them jealously, and all anyone knew was rumors and gossip, and what their own mages, such as Guld, told them. That every racketeer and merchantman mage was terrified of them was enough to know. “He just looks like a man. I thought he’d at least have two heads, the way you mages talk.”

  Guld stared down into the square. “He’s not at full strength, I can tell that. I’ve felt them before and if this is Holden’s mage, he was very, very powerful. Maybe controlling that storm drained him?”

  “Good, so we’ve an advantage then. Think you’ll be able to do it, if we need you to?”

  Guld muttered under his breath, his face grey and ill-looking round the edges. “Um, I can try. But not at his full strength may mean he’s still as strong as I am when I’m rested, and gods damn, Van, I’m tired. Never been so tired.” His face split into a jaw-cracking yawn and his eyelids fluttered.

  Van Gast shook him until they snapped back open. “Guld, I need to know. If it all goes tits up, I need to be sure you can get me out, and Josie too.”

  Van Gast was fairly sure tits up was how it was going to go. It didn’t matter, because no matter how wrong it went, he was going to make sure they got what Josie was planning to steal and make sure she was safe. The stupid, exciting thing. If anyone could do it, it was him. He was Van Gast, wasn’t he? Safe and boring was for other people.

  Guld stood up straighter and squared his narrow shoulders. “I’ll do my best, and yes, I can probably get you out. If you keep the curtains drawn back, or it might not be you who gets out. And if he’s caught unawares and if he’s weak and a whole boatload of other ifs.”

  The stupid-but-exciting thing. Scamming Remorians, and if they lost, if the scam didn’t play out as planned, him and Josie bonded, slaves, good as dead. “Fuck it, we’re going to try.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Van Gast checked his weapons one last time. Everything was ready for the next part of Ten Ruby Trick. Captain of the ship and his mage ashore, in the room. Guld in their room nearby, ready to get him and Josie out if it all went wrong. Sword, pistol, knife in boot, knife hidden in shirt. All there, plus two more knives, one hidden in his belt and another on a contraption on his wrist, just in case.

  He took out the fake ruby and flipped it up, caught it again. Ten Ruby Trick. Appeal to a man’s greed, make him think he’s getting one over on you, and while he’s too busy counting his fu
ture profits and gloating, rob him stupid. It had never failed yet. So why the burn, why the nagging, itching feeling that he didn’t know what he was getting himself into and if he did know, he’d regret knowing it? Enough. Trust her, she’s got more brains than you’ve got brass neck. She won’t let you down. She won’t.

  The sun touched the horizon and Van Gast slipped out of a window away from the eyes of Moorain’s, pulled up onto the roof and steadied himself. The clay tiles were slippery and loose, but his tread was light and sure as he ran over the rooftops. Tiles were simple when you were used to a yardarm in ice and sleet and wind. It wasn’t long before he was above the window he was after. He checked on Guld and saw him standing at the window, his hand raised in acknowledgement. All set. Nothing for it now but to do it.

  He slid down onto the sill, keeping hold of the eave with one hand while the other pushed open the window, slow and quiet. The murmur of voices wafted out on the breeze. Two men, Holden and his mage no doubt, and no doubt the mage would know he was there by now, at the window rather than the door, but if Josie had played her part right then they’d have no suspicions. Just a business meeting, a gathering before they stole enough rubies to see them right for life.

  Van Gast dropped in through the window, aiming to land on his feet by the brazier. Only something hit him from the side, drove all the air from his lungs and his face into the rug. He lashed out, caught someone with a fist and flipped over. Holden landed on him again and thrust a knee into his chest in a whoosh of pain.

  Van Gast punched again, had a clear target this time and connected with Holden’s nose. A spray of blood misted his face, blurred his vision, but with a violent heave and a labored gasp for breath, he got Holden off him and leaped to his feet. Before Holden could do anything else, could even try and defend himself, Van Gast twisted his wrist and the knife came into his hand.

  Something heavy glanced off the side of his head, not hard enough to do any real damage. Van Gast reeled sideways away from it, onto the bed, only barely managing to turn so he could face his attacker. To be confronted by Josie, wielding a club. What the fuck—