Lady Henterman's Wardrobe

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “For the moment. But I’m also fighting every urge to just go to the Henterman estate with knives and fire, leave nothing but ashes and dust.”

  “And blood,” Verci said.

  “That hardly serves the rest of us,” Win said coldly. “Or the good people who work there.”

  “Why I’m not doing it,” Asti said, looking up at Win. He turned back to Verci. “But I need you to help me keep my skull on straight.”

  Verci was afraid Asti would say something like that. The original plan was skunked, and Verci had already been useless enough on that. He’d far rather just go back home and rethink everything. Let his leg heal while they crafted a new, proper plan to find the true reason behind the Holver Alley Fire.

  Verci remembered the man from this morning.

  “Something happened,” Verci said. “In all the everything . . . I forgot to tell you. A man came up to Hel and me in Seleth, told us that . . . who was it?” The name had left his memory.

  “Major Grieson,” Helene said.

  Asti groaned. “That bastard.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Someone I know from Druth Intelligence.”

  “In the what?” Vellun asked. Asti turned to him, as if he’d just realized the man was there.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Asti said. “Though it does confirm one thing, I think. He’s probably worried we’re going to stomp on Liora’s mission.”

  “So, maybe that should mean something,” Verci said.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, maybe we let this one go, call it skunked.”

  “Push through, just like Pop said,” Asti said.

  “That’s probably what got Pop killed,” Verci shot back. “We’re racing from one plan to the next, one gig to the next, without even taking a breath to—”

  “Probably,” Asti said, cutting Verci off. He pointed to the invitation. “But what we have here is an opportunity, one we can’t waste. We can figure out what Henterman is up to and deal with Liora in one blow, if we roll our dice right.”

  “Deal with Liora isn’t what we signed up for,” Helene said. Then she shrugged and added, “Though, personally, there is some appeal to that. But I doubt anyone else sees it that way.”

  The rest just looked confused, save Win, who definitely seemed angry with Asti.

  “Look,” Verci said. “If we do this, we’ve got to be razor edge with everything. No mistakes, no foul-ups. That’s hard to do with you and me both handicapped here.”

  “And Liora is that for me,” Asti said. “I won’t deny it.”

  Verci nodded. “So what do you all say?” he asked the rest.

  “I think it sounds exciting!” Vellun said.

  That wasn’t quite what Verci was expecting, but no one else said anything against it.

  “Push through,” Kennith said. “What else are we going to do?” He looked over to Helene.

  “Push through,” she said.

  “Fine,” Win said, putting his cap on. “One thing is certain, our system of communication between the two of us and the rest of you will have to improve.”

  “I agree,” Asti said. “We had to scramble today to intercept Julien, and that’s my fault.”

  “Glad he admits it,” Kennith grumbled.

  “So how do we get messages to you without compromising you?” Verci asked, trying to steer things back to useful subjects.

  Win thought for a moment. “There’s an oil lamp sconce at the western gate of the house. The housing is a bit loose, so you can leave me a message behind that, and you can check if I’ve left you anything. And I can freely pass word to Julien, yes?”

  “Right,” Julien said, sitting on the bed.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, then,” Win said, going to the door. Helene almost pounced on him, saying a few things too quietly for Verci to hear.

  “Yes, of course,” Win told her, adding, “Best to you all,” before he left.

  “All right,” Asti said. “Then we’ll go back to the safehouse to plan the next step. Unless you want to be dropped off at the bakery, Verci?”

  The bakery. It was a shame Verci knew Asti didn’t intend for him to stay there. Right now all Verci wanted was to lie in bed with his wife, child, and the scent of fresh bread.

  But that wasn’t where Asti was going to lead him.

  * * *

  Mila had waited on the corner for Mister Gin for ten minutes before she realized he had been there the whole time. He was leaning against the wall, his hair blackened and slicked back, skin bronzed, thick mustache and cropped goatee. He looked twenty years younger, and with the thin rapier at his belt, he looked formidable.

  “Pleasure to see you, Mister—” She knew if he was in character, he’d only use that name.

  “Entrimáriz, scourge of the Acserian coast,” he said in a subdued accent.

  She gave him a raised eyebrow at that. “You’re a pirate?”

  “Former pirate,” he said. “Walk with me.”

  “So, are you supposed to be my muscle,” she said as they headed toward the Shack. “Or are you also doing the talking?”

  “I’ll talk as needed,” he said. “As far as muscle goes, I’m more to imply the idea of muscle at our disposal. The two of us need to give the sense that we represent a larger organization.”

  “I’ve got that,” Mila said. “But they know that I’m supposed to be Bessie, and they’ve already stomped Bessie’s Boys.”

  “And you’ve given them some pushback. We’ll see what that makes them do.”

  “And what might they—” Mila didn’t finish the thought, as she noticed a boy hanging back in the alley they were approaching. Not just hanging back. Skulking, with a knife. But she wasn’t worried, he was one of hers.

  “Tarvis,” she said as she came up. “What’s going on?”

  “Why you look all fancy?” he asked her. “I don’t like it.”

  “Part of a scheme.”

  “This the scheme that got the boys thrown to Gorminhut, or a new one?”

  “A new one,” Mila said cautiously. Tarvis never showed much emotion beyond a low simmering rage, so while he was clearly angry, she wasn’t sure if he was angry at her. Or if it was anything beyond his usual state of vaguely angry.

  “This geezer part of the scheme, or do I stab him?”

  “Don’t stab him,” Mila said.

  “Already did a few today,” he said. She noticed the cuff of his ragged shirt had blood splattered on it. “They grabbed me and took me to Gorminhut. So I had to stab a couple to get out.”

  “Good on you, chap,” Mister Gin said. “That place was awful when I was your age, and I’m sure it still is.”

  “Jede is still there, I think. So I’ll have to hurt some people to save him.”

  Mila had to remind herself that this tiny monster was only six years old.

  “We’re gonna get your brother and the rest out, in a bit. Right now we got to help the Old Lady and the neighborhood.”

  Tarvis made a face that was somehow both a smile and an angry sneer. “I don’t like her. I don’t want to help her.”

  “Well, help me,” she said. She turned up his sleeve to hide the blood. “I see you’ve got your knife.”

  “Always,” he said.

  “Hide it good. Now give me a sad face. Best sad, scared little boy face you can do.”

  “Do I need to cry?”

  “No, just the face.”

  His expression changed instantly, and the angry little monster was gone. All of a sudden, he turned into a poor urchin who any decent person would want to sweep into their arms and take care of.

  “Boy has a gift,” Mister Gin whispered.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  Mister Gin knelt down near him. “Stick with us, stay cl
ose to Miss Bessie’s skirts. Anyone comes too close to her, you stab him in the leg. Got it?”

  “Even you?” he asked.

  “Not him,” Mila said. “Let’s get moving.”

  They made their way to the Elk Road Shack, where there was now a Julien-sized bruiser at the door. “You can’t carry that belly sticker in here,” he told Mister Gin about the sword.

  “Then where should I put it?” Gin asked, now fully in character as Entrimáriz. “Because you aren’t going to take it from me.”

  “Keep it and walk away, or hand it over and come in,” the bruiser said calmly. “I don’t care either way, except to tell you that you don’t come in here with it.”

  “Do it, ’Máriz,” Mila told him. “We’re here to parlay, not fight.”

  “Because you asked, Miss Bessie,” he said. “Else I’d—” He made a gesture like he’d skewer an invisible opponent.

  The bruiser took the sword and let them in. Mila was surprised he didn’t take the knife on her belt or check Tarvis. Then she saw that most of the slakes and steves in this place had knives on them.

  “It’s fine,” Mister Gin whispered. “It’s a prop anyway.”

  “I’m not really worried about that,” Mila said as they approached the table in the back corner. “One more sword wouldn’t make a difference in here.”

  “Remember Verci’s first rule,” Gin added.

  Verci’s first rule. Know all your exits. Main doors. Twenty feet, seven tables, and at least fifteen people in between. Dirty windows, several just above eye level. All small, too small for anyone but Tarvis. Two sets of doors by the bar. One probably to the basement, the other to a back room. Narrow hallway, just five clear paces from the table they were coming up to. Probably to the water closet or outside to backhouses, depending on this place.

  “Well, someone wanted a parlay,” the man at the table said. Weasely man, sitting with Poller and Ia. Essin.

  “You’re not Treggin,” Mila said, sitting opposite them. Gin took a chair, spun it around and sat on it, leaning on its back. Tarvis stood, leaning on Mila like she was his mama.

  “Of course I’m not,” Essin said. “And you two are not the Old Lady.”

  “I wanted—”

  Essin spat on the floor. “Neither I nor Mister Treggin are particularly desirous to succumb to your wants.” He said this with a certain air of uncertainty, though. Like he had memorized the phrase and wasn’t sure if he had gotten all the words right.

  “Mighty cocky, Mister—” Gin said. “I’m afraid I don’t know all the little people here.”

  “It’s Essin. Kal Essin. You two are Miss Bessie and Entrimáriz. Don’t think I don’t know what goes on in this neighborhood.”

  “And who is the little boy?” Ia mocked. “Do we need to get him milk?”

  “He’s one of mine,” Mila said. “Don’t come near him.”

  “Yes, the Bessie’s Boys,” Essin said. “This is what the Old Lady has now. A posturing girl and her cadre of toddlers. Did we not crush your Boys and send them scurrying?”

  Mister Gin tapped Mila’s foot with his.

  “Like rats,” Poller said nervously.

  “The thing about rats,” Gin said. “Is you never actually get rid of them.”

  “That’s all the Old Lady is going to be, though. A common pest.” Essin again. Gin gave Mila another tap.

  “You think she’s going to hand North Seleth over to you?” Mila asked. “She’s willing to let you stay up on your toes, for the right price. But that’s the best you get.”

  “She has nothing left, Miss Bessie,” Essin said. “I know you think you’re saddling a winning mare here, but it’s a tired nag that has no races left in her.”

  Another tap, but Mila didn’t need it. Essin was speaking oddly.

  “She’s still got a network, favors,” Gin said. “Your man Treggin can’t compete with that.”

  “You don’t have an inkling about Treggin,” Essin said.

  “I think I do,” Gin said. “I think he’s a nothing, and you all are petty ants who follow the nothing.”

  Essin nodded, and then said, “You’ll see what an army of ants can do, then.”

  “We’re done,” Gin said, getting to his feet. “Come along, Miss Bessie.”

  Mila got up, not sure at all what just occurred.

  “Hope your boys all sleep well tonight, Bess,” Essin called after her. Gin was already going to the door, and Mila followed his lead, not letting herself rise to the bait.

  Once they were a block away, Mila finally spoke up. “You want to tell me what was going on?”

  “We weren’t talking to Essin, that’s what,” Gin said.

  “He was a bit strange, yeah,” Mila said.

  “No, girl, listen. I know words, I know character, I know people. Essin is a half-pence half-wit who thinks he’s clever, but has nothing approaching charm or learning.”

  That clicked in her head. “But he talked like he was educated.”

  “Words and phrases that I doubt Essin even knows,” Gin said. His entire character of Entrimáriz was gone now. “I threw him a line from an obscure play—”

  “The thing about the ants?”

  “And he gave me the next line back.” Gin grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along. Tarvis, who had been quiet all this time, pulled his knife.

  “We said not him, Tarvis,” Mila said quickly.

  “Sorry,” Tarvis said. He put his knife away again.

  “Come on, double time,” Gin said. “We need to get to Josie. We need to tell her what Treggin really is.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Saints and sinners preserve me,” Gin said. “Use your skull, girl. He’s someone who could listen to our conversation with Essin and immediately feed him things to say. Or he’s someone who can make himself look like Essin. Either way, the answer’s the same. We’re dealing with a mage.”

  Chapter 16

  “WHY DO YOU STILL have that horrible thing there?”

  Raych looked up from the kneading counter at her sister, who was pointing at the crossbow sitting nearby. This one was a functional one—light and easy to use. Verci had made it for her, but until today she had left it in a closet upstairs. The events of this morning were frightening enough, and the idea that she might actually have to use the crossbow petrified her. But she still felt safer with it near.

  “Just in case,” Raych said, continuing to knead the batch of dough she was working on.

  “I’m sure this morning was nothing,” Lian said, bringing her tray over. “Though we should make sure all the doors are locked. I swear we had more cookies here . . .”

  Raych wiped off her hands. “Can you portion this into proofing bowls? I’m going to make sure everything is shut down up front.” She picked up the crossbow and headed to the windows.

  Verci had told her once that this shop was probably one of the safest places in the neighborhood, and she knew the lockdown rooms would be very hard to get into, if she had to go in there. But that didn’t change the fact that it was still a shop, with windows and a door that needed to stay open to do business.

  The streets were quieter than usual in the twilight. She was used to a certain degree of foot traffic and carousing at this hour, but the walkways were sedate. She went over to the door and stuck her head outside.

  At least three Constabulary footpatrolmen were strolling on Junk Avenue. She had never seen that many constables in one place in this neighborhood. Even when she and Lian both had lived in Birdtown in the Little East, there were more sticks in the streets than North Seleth.

  Maybe they were actually doing something about the business from this morning.

  “What is it?” Lian asked from the back.

  “Constables,” Raych said, closing and latching the door.

 
“What do they want?”

  “I don’t think they want anything, Lian. They’re just patrolling.”

  “Well, put that monstrosity away before they give you a rattle for it.”

  “We’re latched up, Lian. It’s fine.”

  “Fine for you, perhaps.”

  “Are tomorrow’s breads proofing?”

  Lian sighed. “Almost done.”

  “Thank you for your help, by the way,” Raych said. “It’s meant a lot.”

  “That thank you better include a ‘here’s three crowns.’”

  “Three crowns?” Raych asked. “Now I know who the real shakedown thug of this street is.”

  “For the week,” Lian said. “I’m not a monster.”

  Raych laughed. “I would like to have you here more often.”

  “You mean once Verci’s on his feet. And where is he again?”

  “He’s . . . I told you.” For the life of her, Raych couldn’t remember the lie she had told Lian about where Verci was all day.

  “Right, the special commission in easttown,” Lian said. “I’m glad he’s getting work, but . . .”

  “Lian.”

  “I know, I know,” Lian said. Putting the last of the dough in a bowl and covering it with a cloth, she added, “And I’m sure he’s not the most helpful in the bakery, even when he is on his feet.”

  “Bread is not his passion.”

  “Hmmm,” Lian said. “Saints know we could use the extra crowns, and until they bless me with a child . . .”

  “You want to stay?”

  “What would Pop say about us now?” Lian asked. “By Acser’s eye, we must have fought him with every inch about learning bread. And you! ‘I will never be a baker!’”

  “That was once and I was nine.”

  “Still, we—”

  Someone pounded on the door, and Lian screamed and threw flour in the air.

  Raych hushed her and pulled up the crossbow, cautiously training it on the window, until she saw who it was.

  “It’s Asti,” she said wearily.