“What?” the guy asked. He shook his head vigorously. “No gig, no. I was told to find a Prince cap.”
“You got one,” Colin said cautiously. He took a good look at the guy, now that he was close up. An ugly but precise scar crossed from one eye to his ear. A Waterpath Orphan. “What’s the noise? Orphans need something?”
“My cap says get a Prince cap, get him to the church.”
Colin raised an eyebrow. Orphans wanted a meet at the church? That couldn’t be good news. And if it was the Orphans telling the news that meant it was coming from across in Dentonhill.
Damn.
“Fine,” Colin said, “But I’ve got to head to the backhouse first.”
The Orphan stammered nervously, looking up the street toward Waterpath. “I’m supposed to make sure you—whoever I find, you know—goes to the church.”
“Yeah, and I got to piss, so either wait here or roll off.”
The Orphan stood his ground. Colin shrugged and went back over to the barbershop. Before he went into the alley behind it, he pounded on the door of the basement flop. After a moment, Jutie cracked the door open.
“You out and about already, cap?”
“Boot up and come out, Jutie,” Colin said. “Orphans calling a meet at the church. Can’t be great news at this hour.”
Jutie sighed. “You want me, cap? For a meet?”
“You’re up,” Colin said. “Hurry up, meet me at the backhouse.”
Jutie was a good kid, newest in Colin’s crew. He was eager, and he was good at scraping and scrounging, but he still had a way to go in learning who was who and what was what in the neighborhood.
Colin trudged through the alley to the backhouse. The worn dirt path was damp and soggy. Colin wondered if it had rained, or if people hadn’t even bothered going all the way to the backhouse. He thought it was a damn shame that even a captain didn’t rank a flop with its own water closet, but those were rare in Aventil. He had heard that the city aldermen kept promising they were going to finish the water system out into Aventil and beyond, but that’s all it ever was.
He finished his business and came back out, finding Jutie waiting for him, carrying a blade almost too big to be called a knife.
“Jutie, it’s a church meet,” he said, taking the knife away. “You at least have to be subtle.”
“I like that knife,” Jutie said.
“Can you hide it well, get it out fast?”
“You know I can, cap,” Jutie said.
Colin handed him the knife back. “Probably won’t need it, but . . . you never know. Orphan looks shaky. Could be real bad news.”
“What kind?”
“Only one kind comes across Waterpath.”
Saint Julian’s Church sat at the corner of Tulip and Vine, a low and unimposing building of gray brick, with squat bell towers. Colin and Jutie found a few others milling about at the top of the steps: green capped Hallaran’s Boys, scarred Waterpath Orphans, Knights of Saint Julian with vests and tall hats, and Red Rabbits with their fur-lined coats. All of them, each man and bird, looked displeased with being here before the sun was fully up.
“Here are a couple Princes,” one of the Rabbits said.
“This a full meet?” Colin asked as he approached. “Where are the Kickers or the Toothless Dogs?”
“You just got here,” the Orphan captain said. Colin had met her once or twice before. Yessa? She’d be a real pretty bird if she didn’t have two Orphan scars slashed across her face. “Let’s get in.” She nodded to the Orphan who had fetched Colin. “Thesh, stay at the door, send anyone else in.”
Colin filed in with the lot of them. No one made a point of arguing about place or entry order, which Colin had seen happen plenty of times before. Perhaps they were all too bleary-eyed to bother. There were a few others in the church, mostly old women kneeling at the statue of Saint Julian, a few others scattered about the small altars. Colin wondered what it was about getting old that made women wake up and come to church first thing.
One woman stood out to him, heading out of the church as they all came in. She wasn’t old, but quite young, and dark skinned. Napa girl, she probably was. She stopped at the door, and glanced back at Colin. He saw her eyes dart to his arm, noting his ink, and back up to his face. For just a moment, their eyes locked, and she gave a small smile, then went out the door.
“Oy, Prince!” The Rabbit captain was yelling at him. Colin didn’t know this one. Didn’t know any Rabbits, really. Weak bunch who barely held onto their corners. “We meeting or staring at Naps?”
“Meeting,” Colin said, giving the Rabbit a hard glare.
They went out to the main theater of the church, lit with candles all along the walls, the first bits of sun shining through the blue glass behind the large altar. All the gangs took places in separate pews, Jutie sitting behind Colin. Colin could feel Jutie’s leg shaking.
“Ease up, Jutie,” he whispered. “Friendly meet, that’s all.”
“Friendly meet, sure,” Jutie hissed. He was glaring over at one of the Knights of Saint Julian. “That guy was giving me grief by the gates the other day.”
“Uni gates?” Colin asked. Blasted Knights. They’re pushing Prince territory again. “Can’t have that.”
“Oy!” the Hallaran’s Boys’ captain—Hannik— snapped. “We gonna do this, or what?”
“Ask the Orphan,” the Knight captain said. He bared his teeth at her. Colin remembered he was called “Four-Toe,” or something like that.
Yessa looked about. “I was hoping the Dogs and Kickers would make it.”
Colin shrugged. “You scramble a meet at dawn, you get what you get.”
Suddenly the Knight Jutie had been staring at got on his feet, pulling a knucklestuffer out of his pocket. “You think you can throw, Prince?”
Jutie was up and over the top of the pew before Colin knew what was happening, drawing his large knife out. “Take some of this!”
Colin grabbed Jutie by the ankle and yanked him down to the ground. Jutie hit the floor face first, and tried to scramble away to get at the young Knight. Four-Toe grabbed his man, and everyone else was on their feet, shouting and accusing.
“Peace! Peace, please!” A fair-haired young priest came charging up the aisle, putting himself in the middle of the fracas. He didn’t sound like he was from around here. “What in the name of God are you doing?”
“These two got a little excited, Reverend,” Colin said, pulling Jutie up onto his feet. “You going to apologize to the priest, Jutes?”
“Sorry, Reverend,” Jutie mumbled out, his eyes on the ground. Colin glared at Four-Toe. He gave his own man a shake.
“I apologize, Reverend, if my actions disturbed the sanctity of the Church of Saint Julian.”
“Show-off,” Jutie muttered.
“Church meet is supposed to be peaceful,” Colin told the priest. He hadn’t seen this priest before, not that he spent much time in the church. “Sometimes people forget.”
“Church meet?” The priest looked over the group of them. “I see. Very well, good gentles. You want to meet, then let’s meet. What are we discussing?” He looked around to the blank stares from the different gangs. “Come on, now.”
“Look to the Orphans,” Colin said. “They called this.”
“Ah.” He looked at the different groups, following the eyes and pointed fingers until his gaze settled on the Waterpath Orphans. “Please, begin.”
Yessa looked about uncomfortably. “You know, Reverend—”
“If you are here to discuss plans to break the law, young lady, I will not allow such things under this blessed roof.”
“No, that ain’t it, Rev,” Yessa said. “But, you know, you might not want to know about things that go on out there in the streets.”
“Those are my streets as well, child. I want to kn
ow everything that I can. Anything you feel you can’t say in front of me should not be said in here at all.” Colin kept himself from laughing. This priest was not from Aventil. He probably wasn’t from anywhere in Maradaine.
“All right.” She took a seat again. “We know that there’s been someone nibbling at dealers across the ’path, and we ain’t been paying that no mind. Last night, that changed.”
“What happened?” Hannik asked.
“The guy stepped up and hit a shipment drop, is what we hear.”
“How big?” Colin asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“No one is talking numbers, from what we hear across the street. But the word is Fenmere is going to start cracking skulls to find this ‘thorn in his side.’”
“So he’s going after this ‘thorn,’ then?”
“And from what I hear, if he thinks the thorn is on this side of Waterpath, no truce is going to keep him from coming over to get him.”
Everyone groaned.
“I got to ask,” the Rabbit captain asked. “Anyone claiming this? Anyone know anyone who knows anyone?”
Colin put on his best dice game face. Nobody in Aventil needed trouble from Fenmere, and the last thing Colin needed was for any one of these folks to think he had any clue what might have happened. Or who it might have been. But he had a damned good idea indeed.
“No one?” The Rabbit captain shrugged. “Didn’t figure.”
Hannik scoffed at the Rabbit captain. “You’re only asking so you can turn your teeth once Fenmere’s boys ask you.”
“We ain’t never—”
“Rabbits always turn their teeth!”
“Rabbits gonna show you—”
“Enough!” the Reverend shouted. Everyone became silent. He said, much calmer, “Now, so we are clear, none of you claim this ‘Thorn’ is with any of you.”
Four-Toe shook his head. “If he was one of ours, he’d blazing well know not to bring heat like that.”
“This is going to be trouble for everyone,” Yessa said. “Don’t be surprised if you see some rattling out there the next few days.”
The Hallaran’s Boys stood up, chests out. Hannik said, “They cross Waterpath to rattle us, they’ll get what for.”
Yessa shook her head. “Easy for you. Fenmere’s goons cross, it’s Orphans and Rabbits who bear most of their rattle.”
“Princes feel it,” Jutie added. Colin glared at him, but that did nothing to hold back his swagger. “And if we find out who this ‘thorn’ is, we’ll leave him in a bloody heap in the middle of Waterpath.”
“More loyal to your enemy than a potential ally?” It was the priest who spoke. All eyes went to him. “A thief is no better for stealing from a thief, but is he not doing what you all wish to do yourselves?”
“Fenmere runs his neighborhood, leaves us alone,” Yessa said. “That’s how it’s been for years.”
“We’ve got our own to worry about,” added the Rabbit captain.
“You’ve been quiet,” the priest said to Colin.
“I ain’t got nothing to say,” Colin said. “Fenmere got hit, and he’s all steamed. Good to know. We’ll watch ours.” He got up and went down the aisle. Jutie scrambled after him. He called out behind him. “I’ve heard everything I need to hear.”
Colin couldn’t keep his anger off his face, so he was glad he had his back to the rest of the gangs. This was a very bad start to the day.
He was going to have to have a long talk with his cousin.
Chapter 7
VERANIX WOKE UP when someone pounded on the door.
“Bed check!” came a shout from outside the door. “It’s dawn!” Veranix could barely move from his bed. Fortunately, Delmin got up and answered the door.
“Is this really necessary, Rellings?” he asked as he opened it.
“Periodic checks are part of the routine, Sarren,” Rellings said. He pushed his way into the room.
“Well, we’re both here,” Delmin said. “Satisfied?”
“Morning, Calbert,” Rellings said, sitting down on the bed next to him. He tapped his finger on Veranix’s temple. “Are you with us today?”
“Rutting well am, Rellings,” Veranix mumbled. “You must have better things to do.”
“Walk to breakfast is in ten, Calbert. I’m going to make a point of taking headcount this morning. And every morning from now on. Morning discipline has been sloppy of late.”
“Lovely,” Veranix said. “What do you study again, Rellings?”
“Law.”
“I need to switch to Law. Clearly, it’s frightfully simple.”
“Ten minutes, kish,” Rellings said sternly, and he stomped out of the room.
“What did you do?” Delmin asked.
Veranix got out of the bed and searched around for his pants. “Do? Me? What do you mean?” Veranix realized he sounded too defensive.
“Because Rellings is on a tear!” Delmin looked angry, despite laughing. “You did something to him, didn’t you?”
“To him? Nothing.” Veranix pulled his clothes on. “Believe me, I barely think about the guy.”
“Somebody chapped him,” Delmin said.
“Wasn’t me.” Parsons, a dark-haired young man, came into the doorway. Eittle, his taller blond roommate, appeared behind him.
“Somebody pissed in his tea, I’ll tell you,” Eittle said with a clipped, nasal accent.
“And we all get to drink it,” Veranix said. “I see we’re all having a good morning.”
“I was up already,” Eittle said from the back. “If Rellings wants his little walk to breakfast, let’s line up. I’m starved.”
“Same here,” Delmin said.
“You two are always hungry,” Parsons said.
“I’m a mage,” Delmin said. “I don’t know what Eittle’s excuse is.”
“They’re stingy in the dining hall, that’s what,” Eittle said. “I tell you—”
“Bet a crown he says ‘back on the farm’ next,” Veranix said. Eittle was a farmboy from up in Patyma somewhere. Veranix constantly had to remind himself behind that backcountry accent and doughy face, there was a mind of absurd levels of genius, matched by his humble nature.
“No bet,” Parsons said.
Eittle’s face fell. “Calbert, I thought country boys needed to stick together against these city folks.” Delmin and Parsons laughed. Both of them were Maradaine north-siders. Parsons came from money, possibly even minor nobility, but he never talked about it. He did mention his older brothers who all went to the Royal College of Maradaine, though.
Veranix smiled good-naturedly. “I’ve told you again and again, Eittle. Racquin caravaners aren’t country folk. We’re road people.” Among his friends in Almers, Veranix didn’t bother hiding his heritage. His name made it all too clear, and there were only so many lies he could keep up with.
“Disreputable road people,” Delmin said.
“Maybe that’s why Rellings hates you,” Parsons said. “He thinks you’ll steal his sister and throw her in the back of your wagon.”
“Does Rellings have a sister?” Eittle asked.
“Does Calbert have a wagon?” Delmin countered.
“Don’t all Racquin have wagons?” Parsons asked, his tone too dry to tell if he was joking or not.
“I’m going to show all of you the back of a wagon,” Veranix said, knocking Delmin in the arm. A loud bell rang out in the hallway.
“Every blasted kish better line up!” Rellings called.
“Come on,” Veranix said. “I’m starving too.”
Rellings counted through the line of students twice. There was a fair amount of grumbling from the crowd, but Veranix kept his own mouth shut. Whatever was bothering Rellings, he didn’t want to draw any more heat than was necessary. He had enough to wo
rry about.
Breakfast was a plateful of eggs and potatoes, with dark bread and tea, which Veranix ate greedily. He really wondered what kind of meals Eittle ate at the farm, because even with his appetite, this was a lot of food.
Delmin stared at a forkful of potatoes, his brow furrowed.
“Problem with your breakfast, Delmin?” Veranix asked.
“Thinking about something I read last night. Theory about the war with the Poasians.”
“And it’s about potatoes?” Eittle asked.
“Actually, it is,” Delmin said. “Potatoes were brought over to Druthal from the colonies in the Napolic Islands.”
“Like Vee’s stable girl?” Parsons laughed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Parsons.” Veranix wondered how widespread the rumors about him and Kaiana had become. He didn’t encourage them, even though it was better people believed that instead of knowing the truth. The rumors alone could create trouble.
“Of course you don’t,” Parson said.
“Anyway,” Delmin said, “the theory is that Poasians invaded our colonies there because they wanted to cultivate potatoes themselves.”
Parsons shook his head. “Fifty years of war over potatoes?”
“Ain’t what my grandfather tells me,” Eittle said. “He said it was just—”
“Was this something we were supposed to read for history?” Veranix asked Delmin, cutting off Eittle before he started on another long-winded war story about his grandfather. After three years together in Almers, Veranix had heard every story three times.
“No, I found it in the library.”
Parsons shook his head at Delmin. “Only you would go to the library for extra reading.” He turned to Veranix. “What’s your plan for today, Vee?”
“Morning practicals with Alimen,” he said. “You?”
“Our own practicals,” Eittle said, “What’s that stuff we’re working with?”
“Quicksilver,” Parsons said, “We’re on metals all semester.”
“Cleaner than last semester,” Eittle said, shoveling in more eggs. “I’d rather not cut open any more live animals to see how their organs work.”
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