by James Shade
Jaeron watched his sister make her way along the pier toward the Islar streets. She seemed so confident and strong. She had used her abilities tonight so that they did not have to kill or seriously injure the Dockpad’s guard. Could I say that was unjust? Could Teichmar?
But how else had Avrilla been using her magic. And where did it come from?
And just like that, Jaeron’s own feelings of confidence and accomplishment from their completed mission melted into confusion.
His brother’s steps were light as they left the docks and his smile infectious. Once Chazd’s mood caught to Avrilla, Jaeron had no choice but to join in. Together they made the easy walk to Ardo Tabbil’s home behind the Old City Pawn. Once there, they changed and stored their gear in a hidden cache constructed in the bricks at the rear of the old building.
“Let’s go home,” Jaeron whispered.
Chazd grinned and led the way out of the pawnshop’s yard and across the street toward the Ninth Ward.
From the shadows of a fenced yard, a dog barked at their passing. Jaeron and Avrilla sprinted to keep up with Chazd as he ran off, putting distance between them and the noise. The barking was a painful reminder of how the night started. Images of the three brek hounds lying in the bloody sand flashed in Jaeron’s thoughts.
~
Avrilla’s stifled laugh broke his dark thoughts as she ran past him. He had to think about what they were running from. The dog’s bark was a rapid yipping, not at all like the low “huff” of a brek hound. Jaeron relaxed, shaking off the tension as he followed Chazd back to the familiarity of their own neighborhood.
“Hey, Chazd, Jaeron,” Avrilla whispered, her breath short with exertion.
Jaeron paused, glancing back at her.
“Smoke. Smell it?”
He shook his head, not surprised. His sister had a more sensitive sense of smell than he or Chazd did. Avrilla frowned. He smelled it now. Jaeron slowed their pace to a light jog. Nights continued to be chilly this time of year and an evening fire was common in the ward. But this smoke had a different smell. It was darker, more pungent.
They approached Founders Road, the major lane that bisected the Ninth Ward. In the break this created in the huddle of buildings, he could see the red-orange glow in the skyline. They were headed right toward it.
“It’s close to home,” Chazd said. “Only a couple of blocks.”
“Come on!” Jaeron said and broke into a sprint down the street.
He turned the corner onto Walnut Avenue when he heard the calls of a fire brigade.
“It’s our apartment,” Avrilla said, breathless, the truth of it hitting her first.
Jaeron jumped ahead of the other two, the strides of his longer legs gaining him ground.
“Father!” Jaeron shouted.
A small crowd had gathered at the blaze. A brigade line had already formed, scooping buckets of rainwater out of the collection cistern and passing them, taking their turn to be thrown on the blaze.
“Father! Henri!” Avrilla’s shouts soon joined his, all but drowned out in the crackling of the fire and the noise of the crowd.
Chazd and Avrilla rushed to join the impromptu fire squad, taking their turn at tossing water onto the burning building. Jaeron grabbed two buckets from the line and, rather than using them on the fire, poured them over himself. Having drenched his hair and clothes, he crashed through the side door of the apartment and disappeared into the smoke.
~
Jaeron had not really thought about what he was doing. Now inside, he braced himself against the wave of heat from the left-hand wall of the stairwell. A thin veil of smoke floated in the dim light. The fire brigade was concentrating on the central entry to the apartments and the main stairway, leaving the alley side stairway untended.
The fire had not yet spread that far, but the top of the stairs was a different matter. Smoke hung low and thick in the hallway that ran across the rear of the building’s second floor. Jaeron could hear a snapping overhead and the sinister groan of old roof timbers weakening. The fire had spread to the rafters.
The heat from the outside front walls singed his cheeks, and he ducked low to try to stay below the smoke. He could tell at this point that the fire engulfed the kitchen of both the upstairs and downstairs apartments. Unless the crowd on the streets below doubled in size, they were going to be lucky to save the building.
Jaeron kept to his hands and knees as he moved down the hall. The first door was their apartment’s rear entrance. He cautiously reached up to the door latch, but before he put his hand on it, he could feel the heat radiating from the metal. It may not have been hot enough to burn him, but he decided not to take the chance.
“Father!” Jaeron choked out another ragged shout.
Frantic, he looked around the hall but he did not see anything that could help him. Frustration competed with fear and forgetting his situation for a moment, Jaeron allowed himself a deep breath. The mistake brought on a fit of coughing.
Desperate, he saw no other options. He moved to the far side of the hallway and leading with his shoulder, charged the apartment door.
“Teichmar!”
The cry to his god almost drowned out the sound of the door breaking, but the roar of the fire overcame both. Jaeron’s charge tripped him at the doorway, leaving him sprawled on the floor. The fire surged out, engulfing the doorway behind him, singeing his back.
Steam rose from Jaeron’s wet clothes as he scrambled to his left, rolling a bit to make sure he was not on fire. His eyes burned from the smoke and heat. He blinked hard and wiped his face in the crook of his arm. He looked around the room. Where in the hells is Father?
Then he saw the blood, a thin red trail leading across the main room into the small storage room near the front of the building. Scuttling forward on his elbows and knees, Jaeron made his way across the apartment.
“Father?” Jaeron knelt low near the crumpled form of Henri deAlto and reached out to grasp his father’s shoulder.
Fearful, and truly expecting that his father was gone, Jaeron almost stumbled back in surprise as Henri rolled off his shoulder and turned his head to look up at his son.
“Jaeron?” he whispered, his normally rumbling voice now thin and weak.
“Father, let’s get you out of here.”
“No,” Henri coughed. The old man nodded in the direction of his stomach and Jaeron took in the severity of the wounds. “Poison…… smoke… too much.”
“What happened?” Jaeron asked, whispering himself now, and fighting back his tears. He tried desperately to keep the swelling in his throat from choking him.
“Another guild… Found out about the necklace…” Henri shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now… forget it, forget job… should have given you this before… you, Chazd, Avrilla… too late…”
Henri’s hands grasped a crumpled parchment and cloth-wrapped package. He pushed them into Jaeron’s hands. The package was tied closed, but the seal on the parchment was cracked and long broken. Both were stained with Henri’s blood.
“What -” Jason began to ask, but Henri interrupted him.
“Take it… hide… They’ll come… let Tabbil worry…” Henri coughed roughly and wheezed in another breath. “Job not important - you’re to… lead… protect-”
Henri deAlto did not get the time to finish. Jaeron froze, then he collapsed over the body of the only father he ever remembered. Dimly, he realized he did not have time to grieve now. The heat had lessened, but the smoke had continued to thicken. He wiped his eyes again and looked around the apartment. The entry from the rear hall was an inferno. The front entry past the bedroom and kitchen was unreachable. That left the windows.
Five
The crystal sparkled in the candlelight. The hors d'oeuvres were arranged on the serving trays, appetizing and artistic. The wine, a deep maroon syrah from Pevar, had been decanted and was just now reaching the peak temperature. It was all exactly as Larsettain’Shil knew Mennat liked it.
That fact made Larsetta seethe. She sat forward on her padded leather chair and looked at her Feral board. She plucked one of the playing pieces from its position, a finely carved topaz bat that served as the pawn on the octagonal board. The game brought Mennat to her apartments every week, but Larsetta understood that the meeting was his way of letting her know what piece she played. It was to remind her that of their past dealings and the secrets that they knew about each other, none of it mattered. To Mennat, she was a pawn.
She curbed the impulse to throw the figure across the room. She slapped it back down on the board a bit heavily and the sharp crack of stone against wood resounded through the drawing room. She closed her eyes and took a breath, twisting her head until she felt the relieving pop of her vertebrae at the back of her neck.
Larsetta stood and circled the gaming table. From the far side she picked up the onyx satyra. The queen of the board was a sculpture of the mythological beast for which it was named - a voluptuous female form, naked and brazen, with cloven hooves and the head of a goat. Larsetta’s game pieces were exquisite. She had spared no expense on the set, and she smiled knowingly at the malicious intent so obvious in the satyra’s face.
This is what I should be.
She set the satyra down, much more gently than she had the bat, and looked out over the board. Larsetta had her own pieces, pawns scurrying dutifully under her commands. And more powerful minions that she considered as she looked at the wolf and bear figures. It was time to put them in play.
The bells rang in the foyer. Larsetta drew herself erect and smoothed her silk dress into place. Dark blue and tightly fit, it exposed shapely calves, a hint of her breasts. Enough of Larsetta’s skin to addle her opponent’s gameplay with thoughts of sex.
Not that such distractions work on Mennat.
She checked her face in the wall mirror – blush, eye shadow, lip rouge, and smile. She did not deny herself any advantage. It was time to greet him. Her guest did not expect to be kept waiting.
Six
Chazd glanced around. The fire brigade had gotten the edge over the flames. It seemed like half of Walnut Street had shown up to fight the blaze. The first floor fire was almost under control, suffocating, and the volunteers were making their way up the staircase. He held his place in line and continued passing buckets, but his heart burned with the urge to follow his brother. He had started to charge into the building immediately after Jaeron, but Avrilla had stopped him.
He glanced over at her again and wondered, with more insight now, how she was able to do that. Avrilla seemed to have been able to influence both Jaeron and Chazd whenever she wanted. It was something he remembered from when they were very young. He had always thought it was their capitulating to the only girl in the family. After seeing her brief display of power this evening though, perhaps it made a bit more sense. Not that he believed that Avrilla used her abilities on them on purpose, but maybe some of her magic just leaked out.
A sudden shattering of wood and glass overwhelmed the sound of the crowd. One of their dining room chairs came crashing to the street. A moment later his brother followed, rappelling down the charred apartment wall on a makeshift rope of curtain and linen. He was halfway down when the cheap material tore through. Jaeron dropped to the ground, breaking the hard fall with a clumsy tumble.
Chazd ran to his brother, Avrilla a breath behind.
“Jaeron, are you okay? What’s going on?” Avrilla asked.
Jaeron shook his head.
“Avrilla, Chazd. Come with me,” he said, a little too loudly. “Quickly!”
“I’m here,” Chazd said. “What the hell, Jaeron?””
Jaeron got to his feet and pushed his way through the small group forming around them. He beckoned them to follow and broke into a run.
Chazd looked at his sister. She could make Jaeron answer their questions. But she spoke before he had a chance.
“Let’s go,” she said and followed Jaeron’s lead.
He moved with her, seeing recognition and concern on some of the faces gathered about them.
“deAlto!” someone called out to them, but he did not stop.
They made their way into a dark gap between the buildings on the other side of Walnut. Even in the light from the dying fire, the shadows there were still deep.
~
Jaeron’s eyes were tearing and his lungs could not take in enough air. It’s the smoke. He repeated it until he almost believed it. He could not turn back and look. Not yet. So he stood in the darkness, waiting.
“What in the name of Teichmar are you doing?” Chazd exploded as he and Avrilla sprinted up to join him.
Judging by the look on his younger brother’s face, he could tell that Chazd was still on the verge of bolting back to the scene.
“Shh,” Jaeron said, “not now. We’re in trouble. We need to get out of here.”
He motioned for his siblings to follow and moved further back into the alley. He paused a moment, desperate to find the strength to look. He snapped his head around to watch the crowd at the fire, to gauge whether they were being watched or followed.
“Let’s go,” Jaeron’s whisper was hoarse. He moved quickly, deeper into the dark.
Normally, the abundance of shadows available in the Ninth Ward had been a blessing for thieves-in-training. But tonight Jaeron saw nothing but threats in the once familiar streets.
“Jaeron, what’s going on?” Avrilla whispered.
Jaeron stopped. They had made it to Lutzer Street, several blocks from their home. From here he could no longer see the flames, but he could still smell the smoke. The calls of the fire brigade echoed behind them.
“We have a problem. We need to get away from here. Hide… He…” Jaeron could not get the words out. He clenched his fists, his jaw. “Father said that we’re in danger.”
Chazd started to ask, “Father? Was he still in - ?”
Jaeron lost it. His patience, his focus, his ability to hold it in. “Yes, Chazd, he was! Enough! He’s been killed. Now stop asking stupid questions and listen to me!”
For a moment, there was no sound. Jaeron closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath.
“It was another guild. He didn’t say why… who… Father just said that we are in danger and… I… I don’t know what to do…”
~
Avrilla watched her brother’s concrete grip on his feelings crumble. Jaeron slumped back and let himself slide down against the wooden wall. Head down. Defeated. In the middle of the alley, Chazd stood looking back and forth between her and their brother. She still saw the struggle in him, not believing their brother’s words. The twitch in his legs betrayed his intention to run back to see if what Jaeron had said was true.
Father was still inside. How could her brother have left him there? How… Tears welled in her eyes and her heart beat mercilessly against her swollen throat.
Shaking, Avrilla moved across the alley and knelt to wrap her arms around her older brother. She hugged him to her chest and stroked his back. She found the strength to fight her own shock and be there to comfort him. To get through this night, they needed Jaeron.
“Jaeron, you were right. We needed to get away from there.” Avrilla needed him to focus. She continued rubbing his back, feeling the wetness of his tears through the material on her shoulder.
“Do you think that we are being watched?” she asked him.
Jaeron’s head jerked up. The question broke him out of his sadness. “Yes, I think we could be.”
“So let’s be smart in getting out of the Ninth,” Avrilla said. “We can break up. Tail each other a bit and see if anyone is following us. Then we’ll split up and meet in one bell. At the Window, maybe?”
“No,” Chazd answered. He had stopped looking back toward the fire and was peering into every shadow. “Too expected. I’m there all the
time. We need someplace we would have no reason to go.”
Jaeron agreed. “Good idea… Outside of Old City – the Talica Bridge?”
Avrilla nodded. It was a good idea, and she could see that once they had a plan in place, her confident, older brother was back. She heard the strength return to Jaeron’s voice as he outlined a plan to pick up a few things on their way to the bridge. Jaeron would get their tools and the jewelry box they had taken from the Dockpads that evening. Chazd was tasked to retrieve other equipment, spare clothing, and bedrolls from a similar cache on the other side of the ward, leaving her to take on the assignment of procuring food and cooking supplies. They would meet in an hour, more or less, at the Solemnity tolling of the bells of Teichmar Cathedral.
Silence settled once they reached an agreement. Avrilla stood in the alley watching her brothers. Bruised, dirty, and smelling of sweat and smoke, Avrilla wondered if it was cutting them the same way as it did her. What have we lost tonight? Are we once again the orphans we had been nearly fifteen years ago?
Chazd broke away first, wiping his face with his sleeve, nodding curtly at her and Jaeron and running off toward the wharfs.
Jaeron turned to take a last look in the direction of the fire.
“Good luck,” he said softly, and then turned to follow Chazd, who had already blended into the night’s shadows.
Seven
When Holger deLocke and his four recruits arrived at the scene of the fire, the locals had already put together a water line and the crowd had nearly extinguished the blaze. In surprisingly intelligent fashion, the brigade had made both a practical and correct assessment that they could not save the top floor and left side of the building. They had split into two groups. One crew concentrated solely on keeping the fire from spreading across the alley. The second crew worked on the stairs to the upper floor.
Despite the late hour, another crowd of onlookers gathered across the street. A few approached his patrol, yelling about arson.
“They’ve run off I tell you!”