Veranix took a moment to stretch his legs and arms, get a sense of his body. “Before any show,” his grandfather used to say, “you’ve got to have a feel for your tools. And your body is your most important tool.”
“Big show tonight,” he whispered absently. He felt solid, ready. The injuries he had taken to his shoulder and leg hurt plenty, but he wasn’t going to let them stop him. He’d have time to heal after Kai and the professor were safe. He checked the straps on his belts holding his weapons on tight to his back. His father’s bow and quiver of arrows were secure. The bow had felt wrong when he practiced with it before he left the campus. He had remembered it being harder to pull, being bigger in his hands. The last time he had tried to use it was two years ago. Perhaps I wasn’t ready for it then, he thought.
He absently ran his fingers over the arrows, feeling for the one with the notches filed on the end. He had to know exactly where it was, and be ready to pull that one in a moment when he needed it.
His new staff was secure in its strap. The staff was one of Kaiana’s garden tools, with the head sawed off. He mused that she would probably be angry that he wrecked it, but it was his way of honoring her.
He was wearing his old maroon cloak. He was annoyed with himself that he had abandoned it, thought of it as “old.” He shouldn’t have gotten used to the napranium cloak and rope so quickly. He had become cocky with them, thought himself helpless without them.
Not anymore. Tonight he was going in, muscle and bone, like grandfather used to say. His body was his tool, and he knew how to use it well.
On the street below, Delmin began to move in earnest, north, deeper into Dentonhill. Veranix kept him in sight as he ran to the edge of the shop. He launched his light frame into the air. No magic this time, just skill and training. Pure.
He landed on the next roof, his boots barely making a scuff as he kept going, not breaking pace.
He had forgotten how good that felt.
He restrained the urge to let out a whoop of joy as he continued along the rooftops.
Look out, Lord Sirath, he thought. Veranix the Thorn is coming for you.
Hetzer was scared out of his mind. It was a good kind of fear, though; a fear that drove him. It kept him moving, kept him aware of everything around him. He had never in his life been this deep into Dentonhill before. Rose Street Princes almost never crossed Waterpath, and they certainly didn’t go out to Necker Square. Colin seemed to know where he was going, though, and he walked with determined confidence. Hetzer mimicked that.
Hetzer also mimicked Colin in rolling down his shirtsleeves. Habit was to wear them rolled up, so everyone could see the tattoo of the rose and the crown on their right arms. In Aventil, they wore their brand with pride. Hetzer bristled at the idea of covering up, but as tough as he felt he was, he had no intention of taking on all of Fenmere’s operation. He wasn’t the Thorn.
Hardly anyone was on the streets, though. Everyone who walked past them did it hurriedly, eyes to the ground. Hetzer could sense it in the air, that feeling that something big was going to happen tonight.
“All right,” Colin said as they approached the square. He pointed to a side alley. “You’re going to wait in there with this, keep an eye on me.” He handed the satchel to Hetzer.
“What are you gonna do?” asked Hetzer.
“I’m going to meet whoever is here for the trade. The merch for the bloke and bird. But we gotta run it smart, see? We don’t give them nothing without seeing the people they got, see?”
“What merch?” Hetzer asked. He looked at the satchel in his hands. “What the blazes we got here?”
“We’ve got the most valuable thing in Dentonhill, Hetz.” He patted the satchel. “Now you got it. Something takes a left turn, you run home, got it?”
“This ain’t the Thorn’s merch, is it?” Hetzer asked. He couldn’t believe the words he was saying. “Colin, cap, how the hell you get . . . sweet saints, you are the Thorn, ain’t ya?”
“I ain’t the blasted Thorn!”
“But you know who he is, don’t ya? He is a Prince, ain’t he?”
“Shush,” Colin said, pushing Hetzer deeper into the alley. He looked around the corner into the square. “Not on his arm, he ain’t.”
“But then . . .” Hetzer started. Colin snapped his fingers at him, hushing him again.
“You listening, Hetzie? You hold onto that merch, and you watch. I whistle, you come. They lead me somewhere else, you follow, but don’t let them see you. You’re good at that.”
“Blazes, yes,” said Hetzer. “And if its sours, I run.”
“You run like Ginny Thouser is waiting in your bed for a roll, get it?”
“Got it.” He clapped Colin on the shoulder. “Just another merch trade, deep in Fenmere’s country. Let’s do this, aye?”
“Aye,” Colin said. Without another word, he went out of the alley and walked across Necker Square. He stood in front of the cannery, where Hetzer had a clear view of him.
Hetzer glanced at the satchel. This was really the merch that Fenmere was going crazy for? This was what the Thorn pinched from him? He could hardly believe it. He snuck a quick peek in the satchel.
All he saw was a rope and some cloth.
Hetzer almost started to laugh. Colin was playing an angle here, he just didn’t know what. There was no way there would be this much noise over junk like this. He trusted Colin knew what he was doing; that’s why Colin was a street cap, and he wasn’t. Some people thought it was because Colin was a Tyson, but Hetzer knew better. Blazes, he knew well how hard Colin needed to prove himself as a good captain, that he was more like his uncle than his father.
A strange thought crossed Hetzer’s mind. What was it Colin had said back in the Turnabout? He had to be a cousin worthy of being called a Prince. That was rubbish, of course. There wasn’t another man more worthy of Rose Street than Colin, as far as Hetzer was concerned. What’s more, Colin didn’t even have a cousin. For that to be true, then . . .
Then the Thorn would have to be the son of Calbert Tyson.
That was a ridiculous thought. Hetzer shook it out of his mind. He looked back over at Colin, who was still waiting at the cannery. Far off in the distance, church bells started ringing. Twelve bells for midnight.
This was the moment.
Hetzer glanced up at the sky. The blood moon was full, and it was moving close to the white half-moon. It was almost touching it, like it was going to cross in front. Hetzer had never seen anything like that before.
“You showed, scrapper,” said a deep voice in the shadows. Colin saw someone walk out of the cannery. He was an older man, short hair and more than a few scars on his face. He looked like a man who had been in a lot of fights, and won most of them.
“You lose a bet or something?” Colin returned.
“Nah,” the tough said. “Surprised you just walked up, instead of pulling some trick.”
“Not tonight,” Colin said. “You’ve got something to return to me, eh?”
“Gonna ask you that.”
“You should know how to do a trade, tough,” Colin said. “You think I’m gonna drop my merch for you without seeing my side?”
“Your doxy and the old man are safe, Thorn.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust that,” Colin said.
“Fair enough, scrapper,” the tough said. “Come on, then.” He started to walk off down one street. “Oh, two things first.” He hauled off a sucker punch across Colin’s chin. He stepped back as soon as he did it, making it clear to Colin he was only taking that shot. “That’s for my table.”
“Table had it coming,” Colin said. He wasn’t sure what else to say. This tough clearly had a grudge against Veranix, and if he thought Colin really was the Thorn, so much the better. “What’s the second thing?”
“The guy with the crossbow has his eye on us,” the tough s
aid. “You remember him, no?”
“Who could forget?” Colin said.
“Well, he can shoot a tick off your balls from where he is, so don’t think he can’t put one through your heart. No rope tricks, eh?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, tough,” Colin said. “Lead the way.”
The tough winked at him, and walked off to the northeast down Necker, deeper into Dentonhill. Colin walked behind the man, hoping whoever the sharpshooter was, he was keeping an eye on him, and not seeing Hetzer. For Veranix’s sake, for his friends, the last thing Colin needed was for this deal to take a left turn.
Chapter 25
MORE THAN ONCE, Veranix feared that Delmin had lost the trail. They had taken a desultory route, but there was consistent progress to the north and east. From his vantage point on the rooftops, he couldn’t always see Delmin’s face, but when he did his friend looked determined, certain. He also looked frightened out of his mind. Veranix took some comfort in that. Fear was probably the smartest thing to feel right now.
They were in the northeast corner of Dentonhill now, near Inemar. This part of the neighborhood was filled with warehouses, and Veranix figured most of them belonged to Fenmere. Veranix crouched low, leaning over the edge of a roof. Delmin had stopped in the street. He looked dazed and disoriented. Veranix swore under his breath. He shouldn’t have dragged Delmin into this. He shouldn’t have gotten anyone else involved. Especially not Kaiana. He wouldn’t forgive himself if she got hurt or killed.
Delmin placed a hand on the wall of one of the warehouses. He stood there for a moment. Veranix prayed that no one would notice him. Delmin turned up and looked to the roofs above him. With a slight nod, he tapped on the wall of the warehouse, and then walked away down the street.
This was the place.
Veranix looked it over. There were two doors on this side of the building. One was a large double door for letting carriages and wagons in. The other was normal-size. The slate roof slanted at a steep angle. The stones didn’t look very solid. His footing could easily slip if he made the jump for the roof. The slate would definitely come loose, alerting anyone inside to his presence.
Near the corner of the building, he spotted what he needed. A window. It was covered with an ironwork lattice, but it was still another way in besides the front door. There was no other way in that he could see from here. He’d have to go down to the street level to search further.
He heard a sound at the front door. Two men came out, with a third right behind them. He didn’t recognize the two men, both older and well dressed, but the third was Kalas.
“It’s only just after midnight,” Kalas said. “Your man might be leading him here now.”
“Might, might,” one of the gentlemen said, waving a dismissive hand at Kalas. “Perhaps you’re right. But I really don’t need to see it.”
“Lord Sirath will not—”
“Will not be pleased, yes,” the gentleman said. “I am not pleased, Mister Kalas. You and Lord Sirath and the rest of your Circle have proven to be ill-fitting partners, and I want no more of it.”
“You will regret this, Fenmere,” Kalas said.
A chill ran up Veranix’s spine. This was Fenmere. Veranix had never seen the man before. Here he was. No legend, no iconic tyrant. He was just an old man in an expensive suit.
Veranix hadn’t even realized he had drawn an arrow until he was lining up the shot.
Right below him like this, it was an easy shot. Fenmere stood still, arguing with Kalas, looking more annoyed than anything else. His heart was clean in front of him, and he could send an arrow through it before anyone knew what happened.
That would be it. The man who had caused so much pain, sold so much death, both in Veranix’s life and all of Dentonhill, would be dead.
Veranix faltered. If he took the shot, Kalas would raise the alarm. He’d cry out and Lord Sirath would react. He wouldn’t be able to take them by surprise. Professor Alimen and Kaiana would surely be dead before he could get to them.
Kalas put his hand on Fenmere’s shoulder, trying to coax him to return. Fenmere pushed it away.
“I’m leaving some men behind to clean up after your little . . . event, Kalas. They’ll help you however you need.” He brushed off his suit. “If the Thorn does arrive, they can deliver his dead body to me in the morning. But not too early, please. For once, I’d like to get some sleep.” He turned down the road and walked toward a carriage parked at the corner.
Veranix held the aim on Fenmere as he walked. The shot would still be good, and the man would still be dead. He could still take it. The man who killed his father, ruined his mother . . . he would be dead.
The cost would be too high, though.
He relaxed his arm.
Tonight was not the night for Fenmere.
I have your face now, old man, he thought. Every line on his craggy face, the bulbous nose, the dark, deep-set eyes, the iron-gray hair, straight and pulled back, were all burned into Veranix’s mind.
He lowered the bow.
A boot scuffed behind him.
“You should have taken the shot, mate.”
He spun around, raising the bow again. He was ready to fire, but the other man already had a crossbow aimed at him. Veranix easily recognized the greasy, eel-faced man.
“Samael,” he said, keeping his arm tense, ready to snap the shot. “Tonight is full of surprises.”
“I’d say so,” Samael said, grinning evilly. “I thought I was following you down there.” He nodded his head down to the street. Veranix didn’t dare glance away to see what he was referring to. Did he follow Delmin? Or someone else?
“I’d never make it that easy, chap,” Veranix said. His shoulder, already injured, burned from the strain. He couldn’t hold the bow back for too much longer, and as long as Samael was trained on him, he couldn’t shoot without getting shot back.
“I should have guessed,” Samael said. “All the better. They can keep the impostor. Since I’ve got the real thing all to myself, I can still collect my fee.”
Hetzer hated keeping a tail on someone in a neighborhood he didn’t know. Back on Rose, he knew which alleys he could slip into, which stores he could cut through, every crack and pass he could use. Here, on strange streets, on a quiet night, he couldn’t hide as well as he wanted. He had to keep his distance, stay farther back than he’d like. He’d almost lost Colin and the other guy twice. It didn’t help that this part of town had long north stretches with no side streets, just big, tight-packed buildings.
Someone else had been following them as well, Hetzer noted, from up on the rooftops. He would dash ahead of Colin and his guide, and then train his crossbow on them as they passed. Then he’d dash again, keeping the time Colin wasn’t in his sights down to a minimum. Hetzer was impressed by the way the guy could move. There wasn’t a rooftop racer like that in the Princes, or in all of Aventil.
Hetzer was glad that this one had been focused on Colin, not scouting the area around. No one spotted him, as far as he could tell.
They were led to a warehouse district in Dentonhill. Surely all owned by Fenmere, Hetzer thought, like everything else in this neighborhood. The guy brought Colin over to one building, where a stick-thin guy, dressed like a proper gentleman in a deep blue suit, was standing at the door, looking mad enough to eat the road.
“Oy,” the guide said. “I brought the one.”
Hetzer slipped into a crack between two buildings, close enough that he could hear. Best ears on Rose Street, he had.
“This one?” the man in the blue suit said. “He looks like street trash.”
“Watch what you call trash, swell,” Colin said. “You’ll get what’s yours coming.”
“I’m sure, young man,” the suit said. “There is something of mine which should be coming.” He leaned in to Colin. “You don’t have it, though. But you d
id.”
“Yeah, yeah, you want your merch, swell,” Colin said. “You want it, you’ve got to deal. You’ve got a bloke and a bird you’re ransing?”
The suit looked at Colin, and then at the guide, then back to Colin. “I don’t know what the blazes you’re saying.”
“The trade, mister,” the guide said. “Your things for his friends.”
“Right,” the suit said with an evil smile. “The trade. You want your friends released.”
Hetzer heard a whispered hiss. He looked across the street, and nestled in a matching crack between buildings was another bloke, looking right at him. This one was in the uniform of a Uni brat. He looked scared out of his mind, but he was pointing at Hetzer, and waving him over.
Whoever this crazy brat was, he clearly wasn’t working for Fenmere or any these others. He was way off his block. This was the kind of Uni kid that any street tough could easily shake for some coin. What the blazes was he doing here, and why in the name of any saint did he think he could signal like they were friends?
“That’s it,” Colin said. “You want your merch, you can get it. But I got to see my people.”
“Well,” the suit said, looking Colin over like he was a roast lamb, and he was deciding which part to eat first, “you’ve clearly been in possession of my things. But I can’t imagine someone as . . . unremarkable as you has been the source of all our misery.”
The Uni kid was really freaked now, pointing at Hetzer as frantically as he could without causing any commotion that others would notice.
“I’m full of surprises,” Colin said.
“Certainly,” the suit said. “Bring him in.” He went into the warehouse and the guide pulled Colin in with them. The door slammed shut.
The Uni kid took the moment to act. He dashed out of his crack over to Hetzer’s. Hetzer didn’t waste any time grabbing the kid and clasping his hand over his mouth.
“Shh,” Hetzer said, “you on the ’fitte or something?”
The kid shook his head.
The Thorn of Dentonhill Page 29