Lady Henterman's Wardrobe

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Well, you are now,” Missus Holt said. “And if a stick gives you guff?”

  “Quote the Rights of Man at them,” Mila said. “Though I don’t know how much . . .”

  “It usually makes them shove off.” Missus Holt gave her some red gloves to match the hat. “That should complete the look.”

  “Fine, I’ve got a look,” Mila said, putting on the gloves. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.”

  “Next part of the game,” Missus Holt said. “So, the egg game. That only works when you’re young . . .”

  “So you have me do it.”

  Missus Holt chuckled. “In this case. With a real egg game, you need a little kid, like your boys. Normally, you have a bag of eggs, and you drop them on the ground, so they’re a broken mess. And you cry your eyes out.”

  Mila got a whiff of what Missus Holt was selling. “Right, I seen this. You put on a show like your pop is going to beat the sewage out of you for dropping the eggs, wasting his money. And some kind stranger will give you a crown to buy new ones.”

  “And you do that for a few hours, you get a few strangers,” Missus Holt says. “It’s a good, old bit.”

  Mila thought about it for a moment, and was more confused. “But my boys don’t have any eggs out there. They’re just crying.”

  “Right, they don’t have eggs. They are the eggs.”

  Mila didn’t know what to make of that. “Yeah, but how does that help?”

  “Saints, your little boys picked up on this a bit better, girl. Didn’t think you were this dim.”

  “I ain’t, but they knew they’d end up in Gorminhut.” Her short time in that orphanage was enough not to wish it on anyone.

  “That’s better for them, but not by much,” Missus Holt said. “But if a passel of beaten boys all get swept up by the sticks, sent to Gorminhut, and they all say Treggin’s men did it.”

  Mila got a whiff of what Missus Holt was selling. “Sticks will push a bit harder in North Seleth.”

  “Especially since at least one lieutenant has decided to make our little neighborhood his priority.” Missus Holt went over to her desk and sat down, putting up her cane. “Now, you’re going to head out there, and I’ll eat crowns and glass if you won’t find the streets with a few more sticks walking the beat, and nobody working a shake.”

  “I suppose,” Mila said. “But that’s probably just going to last—”

  “A day, maybe two. Which is all we want. We want those Scratch Cats, Lesk’s crew, anyone else all going to ground for the night. They’ll hole up in their pubs and other dens. And here’s your job.”

  “My job,” Mila said, taking a deep breath. The fact that Missus Holt was more than willing to have her boys swept up to Gorminhut made her nervous. What else would she sacrifice? Where did this game end for her?

  “You go out there, and you walk the street like it’s yours, girl. Chin high, hear? Powerful woman who isn’t going to be cowed.”

  “All right,” Mila said, looking back in the mirror.

  “You start at the Birdie Basement, and then Kimber’s, see if any of those rats are trying to take up space there. You see anyone you think is in league with Lesk or Treggin, step up. Tell them to hit the stones and walk.”

  “And that I want a parlay with Treggin?”

  Missus Holt scowled for a bit. “I think that’s a waste of time, but sure.”

  “You don’t want to meet with him?”

  “I wouldn’t want him to have any sense that he matters that much, but that’s me,” Missus Holt said. “Miss Bessie needs to be a presence, but that means you’ve got to get a size of things.” She went into her desk and pulled out a few ten-crown notes. “Use those liberally as well.”

  “And if I get into trouble?”

  “Use that knife and rope, girl,” Missus Holt said. “But try to draw blood and leave someone who can tell a story.” She scoffed. “I’m sure that dead body in the alley felt good, but it didn’t make much of a point for you.”

  Mila held her tongue again. But Missus Holt was probably right there. She didn’t need a trail of bodies.

  And she didn’t want to get too much blood on this outfit.

  Chapter 14

  HELENE WANTED TO PUT a crossbow bolt in that slan. She was of half a mind to put one in Asti for good measure.

  “Tell me what the blazes happened there,” she said. “Who the rutting blazes was that again?”

  Asti had explained, while he bandaged his arm, what had happened in the manor house, how the lady of the house was really his old spy partner. Helene swore she’d make her pay for it.

  “What happens to J—”

  Before she said Julien’s name, Asti was on her, putting his hand over her mouth. She bit him in response, which Asti took surprisingly well. He didn’t even flinch when she tasted blood.

  He came in too close and whispered in her ear. “Don’t say their names here. Someone may be listening.”

  He took his hand off her mouth and shook it for a moment. “Who would be?” she whispered.

  “Maybe no one, but we should presume she has someone.” He took a moment and then added, even quieter, “Julien and Win are fine, though.”

  “How do you know?” she whispered back.

  “There’s no reason for them not to be.”

  That didn’t make her feel any better.

  “What’s our plan?” she asked louder.

  Asti grabbed some paper and started writing things down. “We have to presume this place is skunked. But we don’t have anything else we can use, so we’re stuck with it. But we’ve got to seriously consider the offer. But I need to think this over.”

  He passed the note to her: Can you carry Verci?

  She nodded. “How much time do you need to think?”

  Get him out through the basement exit. Find Kennith and Vellun. Then get Julien in the street before he comes here. Asti talked some things about finding the right clothes to wear if he decided to do what she wanted.

  “You sure it’ll be safe?” she asked.

  Julien can’t be seen in here. Or any of the rest. All of you meet at the apartment we used for the Pomoraine.

  Helene nodded again. She’d be able to check on Julien. Whatever else was happening, the most important thing was making sure he was safe. If something happened, if he got caught in the household, with that woman . . . she wouldn’t forgive Asti for that.

  “I’m going to clean this place up,” Asti said. “Why don’t you two get some rest?” He showed the notes to Verci briefly, then set them to a taper and left them in a bowl to turn to ash.

  “Rest, right,” Verci said, wheeling over to the root cellar door. “We’ll get on that.”

  Helene got behind him and tipped the chair backward to bring him down to the cellar.

  “You get all that?” Verci asked when they reached the bottom.

  “Got what I needed to,” Helene said. “Are we supposed to disguise ourselves?”

  Verci shrugged. “I would want to, but I kind of stand out in this chair.”

  Helene shook her head. “We’re not taking the chair. Where are Ken and Vellun?”

  “They were checking out a carriage club a few blocks away.”

  “What’s a carriage club?”

  “The kind of thing you find in a neighborhood like this,” Verci said. “People can afford a carriage, but the houses don’t have space for it or horses. So it’s a place they can store them, share horses, that sort of thing. For regular fees.”

  Helene didn’t bother with any more questions, not right now. There was enough going on. “Hold on,” she said, scooping him out of his chair. He wrapped his arms around her neck—and for a moment her heart fluttered. She tamped it down—this was not the moment to even think about that, even with his hot breath right on her
neck.

  She took him down the passage to its exit point—a forgotten basement stairway in an alley where the backhouses had long been abandoned. “I need to leave you here while I go find Ken,” she said, putting him down on the stairs. “You’ll be all right.”

  He laughed. “I probably won’t be arrested for vagrancy. And I have my darts if I need them.”

  “I won’t be long,” she said.

  “Hurry,” Verci said. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

  She found her way over to the carriage club, two blocks away. It was the exact sort of place she pictured—a popinjay bother filled with swells and aspiring swells. When she arrived, Vellun was in full regalia as some sort of fancy businessman, with brass-button waistcoat and matching cravat and suspenders—talking to some other men who looked exactly the same—and Kennith was underneath one of the carriages.

  And she was dressed like a West Maradaine meat slinger, complete with blood still on her face. She couldn’t have looked more out of place. Someone who looked like her would never come to this place unless she was collecting coin for someone like Missus Holt.

  She could use that.

  “Oy, you,” she said, as thick and Westie as she could, marching up to Vellun. Poking him in the arm, she continued, “You’ve been skiving out. You think you could hide here? You owe me money.”

  The other businessmen that Vellun was chatting with all raised their eyebrows. “You let her talk to you that way?” one of them asked.

  Vellun let the back of his hand fly at Helene. She was shocked at first, but realized as soon as it made contact with her, he wasn’t putting any force into it. She played into the hit, rolling away from it.

  “How dare you?” he said. “You have an issue, you talk to my man.” He pointed over to Kennith.

  “You’ve got debt to settle,” she said, pointing her finger in his face. “Don’t think it’ll be just me next time.”

  Helene gave him a good glare, and then stalked over to Kennith. Let him explain that to his swell friends.

  “He’s enjoying that role a bit much,” she said as she got to the carriage.

  “Why are you here?” Kennith asked, pulling himself out from under it. “Whose blood is that?”

  “An obnoxious lady. Something went wrong—”

  “What?”

  “Asti got skunked, and hard,” she said. “Apparently we can’t talk about it in the house, because it isn’t a safehouse anymore. Oh, and Asti says you and Vellun can’t go back there.”

  “What?”

  “Or anyone else. It’s compromised.”

  “What?”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “I’m just deeply confused about. . . . everything.”

  “You and me both, Ken,” Helene said. “All I know is this slan burst in, slapped us around, and she and Asti had a whole . . . thing. Asti says he has a new plan, but . . .”

  “You don’t trust it?”

  She shrugged. “I think he’s just trying to keep his head up.”

  Kennith gave a big sigh, like he was disappointed in everything in the world. “All right,” he said, getting to his feet. “So what do we need to do?”

  “First we need to pick up Verci—I left him at the exit to the passage. Then get Julie before he gets to the safehouse, and meet at the flop we used for the last gig.” She sighed. “I think Asti intends to keep Win and Julie in the household. Even though he got skunked, he thinks keeping them there is fine.”

  “But it’s not fine?” Kennith asked.

  “I don’t even know. I think this is one of those ‘Rynax brothers’ moments where something has gone wrong, and they react extremely to stop anything else from going wrong, while at the same time they’re convinced this new plan is going to go without a hitch.”

  Kennith nodded. “What do you usually do in those moments?”

  She had to give the honest answer. “Go along. They’re usually right.”

  He moved a bit closer to her, lowering his voice. “So, you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than me. Is this typical?”

  “Things going wrong? Constantly.” On his worried look, she added, “But this is different, you know. This isn’t us being desperate for a score. We’re flush, we’re just working this to get things square.”

  “Square,” he said wistfully. “Yeah, right.” His dark face scowled as he went over to his toolkit.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing, just . . . I know this stuff with the fire and all, it’s a bit more personal for you . . .”

  “We all were in back when Asti told us it went deeper.”

  “I know,” Kennith said. “Just that was three bells in the morning, a bit of wine in my stomach, and riding fast from the whole gig . . .” He bit at his lip, struggling for something to say.

  “I get it,” she said. It made her angry that he was talking like this, but she also needed his help if she was going to see Julien and make sure he was all right. She kept it tamped down for now, but Verci would need to know Kennith was thinking things like this. “Why not walk away?”

  She must have let a little too much of her anger slip into her words, because he glowered at her. “Can’t now, especially with a stick looking for me. It’s different for you, in a lot of ways.”

  “True,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Look, I know I mostly only have skin in this because of Julie. He—he’s all I got, you know? And I need to get to him, make sure he’s safe. Can you help me do that?”

  “Yeah, I think I can,” Kennith said. “But then what? He goes back in, and we keep charging through with whatever Asti says the new plan is?”

  “For now. There’s more . . .” Anger was bubbling up in her gut. She looked around at the swells, still chatting up Vellun, but giving the two of them a strange eye. “We probably shouldn’t talk here too much.”

  “I get it. Sometimes what Asti wants is sewage.” Kennith shook his head. “I mean, I ain’t going to just hide up in here, or play manservant to Vellun, or . . . I’m gonna have my life.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  Kennith furrowed his brow. “I’m thinking maybe we need our own backup plan to Asti’s backup plan. A contingency to get us—and Julie and Win—safe if things go truly skunked. You with me, Hel?”

  Helene nodded. She almost never saw eye to eye with Kennith, but he was right—they couldn’t just be Asti’s pawns now. Not with Julie’s life at risk. Blazes, she never should have let him go in that house by himself. And Ken was at risk, just for standing out in the crowd, being a chomie and all.

  “You got a plan?” she asked.

  “I think I’m starting one. And, blazes, we been watching the Rynax boys and Mister Gin play all these plans and tricks. Like we can’t pull our own? Course we can.”

  Of course they could.

  “So what do we do?” Helene asked.

  “Right now, we follow along and meet up with Asti in the flop. We got to find out what he’s planning.”

  “So play Asti’s game.”

  “Hey, one thing I’ve learned with these boys?” Kennith smiled. “You got to do the scouting work before doing the gig. We need to know more about what happened with Asti so we don’t make that worse. And maybe make things worse for Win and Julie.”

  “All right,” she said. “Now drag Vellun out of there. Damn fool is enjoying himself far too much. No more fancy boy jobs for him.”

  Kennith laughed, and clapped her on the shoulder as he walked over to Vellun. For the first time since starting up with this crew, Helene actually liked the chomie.

  * * *

  Asti made a lot of noise once Helene and Verci were gone, setting up a few obvious traps and getting rid of anything that could lead someone back to North Seleth and the rest of the crew. Some of it was show, just in case he
was being watched. But most of it was necessary. The safehouse was burnt, and even though he planned to use that as best he could to get advantage over Liora, he had to do a certain amount of scrub to be safe. To keep the rest of the crew safe. Some bottles Almer had left behind had his shop name on them, and a few bits and pieces that could trace back to Kennith or the North Seleth Inn. Asti wasn’t going to leave that to chance.

  He had to make it look like a rushed, sloppy scrub while really locking down anything he needed in case Liora had any allies who might check the place.

  Did Liora have allies? Her story didn’t scan, not really. She had to be on the outs from Intelligence. But if she was, what the blazes was she doing with Lord Henterman? What possible agenda could she have had there on her own? He could understand if she just wanted to hide in a cushy life, pretending to be a noblewoman. He might have tried such a thing himself, if he could have trusted his own brain to hold together.

  And if there wasn’t Verci.

  His hands trembled again at the thought of her pressing her knife into Verci’s neck. She wasn’t ever going to get that close again. She wouldn’t ever be in a room with Verci again, if Asti could help it.

  He should check with Central Office, see what they said about her. Not that they’d tell him. But that might skunk her gig, and therefore skunk his own. He’d already raised enough of a flag about Henterman. Saints, Tranner surely reported he was asking. That wouldn’t have mattered much, but with Liora in the house, on a mission . . .

  He shoved it down. What mattered was finding out why Henterman was messing with North Seleth, who else was in on it, what further intentions they had. They want to buy up the land, of course, but to what end? Surely not merely to own it. There were deeper things in motion, he was sure of it.