Gin shook the letter at him. “We need two hundred fifty crowns, Mister Kannic.”
Kannic took the letter. “I’m just saying, does a heart good, seeing an old parcel like you, walking around with some finery like these birds. Gives a man hope.”
“You must live on a lot of hope,” Helene said.
“I ain’t too proud,” he said. He went over to the desk and pulled out a ledger. “Give me a tick.”
Helene went over to Gin, grabbing his arm. “Our money is entrusted with this crumb of sewage?”
“We had to have someone who wouldn’t ask troublesome questions,” Gin said. “That minimized our options.”
“Oy, oy, parcel,” Kannic said, looking at his ledger. “You got a big dyno here.”
“What is he saying?” Mila asked.
“That isn’t possible,” Gin said. “Our line of credit—”
“Is dyno. Denied. No.”
“What does that mean?” Helene asked.
“It means no money,” Kannic said.
“You don’t give it or we don’t have it?” Mila asked.
“Either, both. It’s the same, really.”
“No, no,” Gin said. “I’m certain, I’m certain. . . .”
“Our money is here,” Helene said, opening up her coat to show The Action, resting her hand on its stock. “I expect you to deliver it.”
“Hey, oh, what what?” he said. “It ain’t how it works. No hinth, you hear?”
“Where’s our money?” Helene asked.
Gin shook his head. “I distinctly recall going over the numbers—”
“And I said dyno!” Kannic spat on the floor. “Absie!”
Absie—at least who Helene presumed was Absie—lumbered out from the back room. He was easily Julien’s size, with hands as big as Helene’s head. He rubbed those giant hands together. “There a problem, boss?”
“These folks are dyno and they seem to think a crossbow would change that, what?”
Absie came over to Helene, towering over her. “Are you engaging in threats against my employer?”
“I don’t make any threats,” Helene said, hovering her right hand over the hip-hanger. This guy wasn’t about to chase her off right now. Gin was staring at the letter, muttering about how he was certain that it should be right.
“We just want to know what is going on with our account,” Mila said. “We’re confident that we have good credit. Perhaps there was a clerical error?”
“Are you challenging my acumen?” Absie asked. “My record-keeping is exemplary.”
“He’s the bookman?” Helene asked.
“And a damn good one,” Absie said. “Which account?”
Kannic chuckled. “The, um . . .” He then just made a little whistling sound.
“That one?” Absie said. “Closed down.”
“But—” Mila said.
“Closed down. Talk to your matron if you have issues.” He flexed his fingers for a moment. “Now, please move along, before I am forced to be violent.”
“He’ll do it, what you know,” Kannic said.
“Fine,” Helene said. “But don’t think I don’t have my eye on you.”
“Oh, your eye, what? I ain’t afraid.”
“You have our money and my eye,” Helene said. “That should make you nervous.” She stormed out, and Mila was right on her heels with Gin stumbling out behind them. Since they went in, the sun had dropped down behind the buildings, and the lamplighters, as usual, hadn’t gotten around to illuminating this part of town. The whole street was in dusky shadow.
“That ain’t right,” Helene said to Mila. “You’re with me on this?”
“I agree,” Mila said. “We should tell Asti.”
Gin shook his head. “Now, now, it wasn’t too bad. Perhaps we have new options. And for the dresses—”
“He said to talk to our matron,” Mila said. “Does he mean Missus Holt?”
“Saint Hesprin, he must have,” Helene said. She couldn’t imagine that Missus Holt, as protective of her privacy and identity as possible, would risk herself to deal with these petty knee-breakers. Was there someone else who would take their money? “You’re sure this was right?”
“Of course I am,” Gin said.
“You did seem awfully confused, Mister Gin,” Mila said.
“Ladies, I’m sure it’s just some sort of misunderstanding, and—”
Gin was cut off by a blow to his head, sending him to the ground. One of the Scratch Cats stood behind him, knucklestuffers on both hands, looking thrilled with himself for knocking down an old man.
“You shut your mouth!” he shouted. “You all better get ready, because it’s time.”
“Oh, it’s time,” another boy said behind Helene. She spun on her heel, sending an elbow back into him. He jumped out of the way before she connected. There were at least four Scratch Cats, by their scars, and four of the other boys. One of those was the one up on Helene. “Time for you all to get yours.”
“Didn’t I teach you boys something the other day?” Mila snarled back at them. “You need another lesson?”
“Ain’t nothing Miss Bessie needs to teach us! We’re the Crease Knockers, and we’ve come to knock!”
“Knock you both around!” another Crease Knocker said. “This is our night, Treggin said!”
Their attention was on Helene and Mila, they didn’t notice Gin scramble to his feet and run away like a sinner. For the best. Helene couldn’t scrap with these fellows and protect the old man.
“We get ours!” a Scratch Cat said. “You gonna pay, girlies.”
“You and that bakery bint!”
Terror had taken hold of Helene’s heart, pounding up to her throat. She and Mila were surrounded on all sides, deeply outnumbered. Penned in like dogs. And no one else was on the street, as far as Helene could see. If anyone was around, they were keeping their heads down and ignoring it.
“Walk away, boys,” Mila said. Blazes, that girl had some iron in her spine. Even still, Mila had backed up against Helene. Her body was quaking.
“Or?” the Crease Knocker moving in on Helene asked. The mouth-breathing tosser reached out to touch her face.
Helene pushed down her fear and let her anger rule. She whipped up the hip-hanger with her right hand while grabbing the tosser by the head with her left. She pulled his head down on her knee while snapping off a shot at the guy behind him. He was hit in the shoulder, crying out. She smashed the hip-hanger across the head of the tosser who pawed at her, dropping him to the cobblestone. With enough of a hole in the circle of street boys, she grabbed Mila’s hand and ran with everything she had.
“Hel, Hel!” Mila was shouting.
“Run!”
She wasn’t even sure which way they were going, and the other six boys were right on their heels, hooting and howling at them as they gave chase.
Helene turned into some alley, Mila still shouting in protest as she dragged her along.
“Mister Gin! He just left us!”
“No choice,” Helene said, pulling Mila down with her as she dropped behind a refuse bin. It was dark as all depths and blazes back here.
“Why did he—”
“He’s an old man, and he’s no fighter,” Helene said, pulling out the Rynax Action.
“How could he—”
“Ladies! We’re going to find you!”
Helene started loading The Action, taking up extra bolts in her shooting hand. “It’s good he got away. Now we gotta do the same.” She had practiced this, shooting and quick-loading. It was what this crossbow was for. She could do this, if her fingers would stop shaking. If she could see.
“Hel!” Mila managed to shout and whisper at the same time.
“Just let me—”
“The bakery,” Mila said. “The
y said they’re doing the bakery.”
Raych and her stupid sister. And Verci wasn’t anywhere near the place to protect them.
“All right, on my count, I’m going to come up and—”
Hands grabbed Mila and dragged her out from the refuse bin. Mila screamed her head off, and Helene scrambled away from there before a second Scratch Cat pounced on her.
“We’re gonna—”
The Scratch Cat didn’t finish that thought before earning a bolt in his throat.
Mila twisted in her captor’s arms, and before he got a good grip on her, she came up with her knife and sliced open his arm. He cried out, and Mila pushed off from him.
“Come on!” she shouted, running back down the alley. Helene raced with her, reloading her crossbow as they ran. At the mouth of the alley, one of the Crease Knockers was blocking their exit. Helene took a shot, hitting him in the leg. Somehow he didn’t drop from that, and Helene put her shoulder down to charge into him.
She barreled into his chest, and Mila hit him in the waist. He hit the cobblestone like a bag of onions. Helene didn’t stop, charging down the street as fast as her feet could take her. She was on Colt Road, and turned to run over to Junk Avenue, not stopping until she was at the bakery.
“Mila, you need to—”
She turned to look at the girl, but Mila wasn’t there.
“Mila!”
No sign of her. The night had already gotten absurdly dark. They must have gotten separated, or Mila was grabbed.
Helene loaded another bolt. She had to get back over there, find Mila, find Pilsen, get them both out of the street. It’s what Asti would do. Asti would kill them all and save his crew. He said he wanted her to hold them together. That’s what it meant.
A scream pierced through the air behind her. Instinctively, Helene turned toward it. She didn’t see where it came from, but she saw something else that chilled her bones.
The door of the bakery had been kicked open.
Chapter 19
VERCI HAD DECIDED THAT leaving his chair behind had been a mistake. With his crutches, he could hobble around effectively enough, but being upright for more than a few minutes would become excruciating. He hadn’t gotten any more pain reliever from Almer, either. But hopefully once he built the new brace, all that would change. Hopefully.
What really convinced him of the error of neither retrieving or rebuilding the chair was heading over to the North Seleth Inn with Kenneth. It was only two blocks, shouldn’t have taken more than a few minutes to head over. Instead it was a painful slog, even with him pushing himself hard through his agony. He didn’t want to leave Kennith by himself, exposed on the street. Sticks were still out in heavy numbers, and one of them even stopped them to give Kennith a bit of hassle. Fortunately, this guy was not looking for a Ch’omik man based on Lieutenant Covrane’s sketches. He was just being difficult. But that kept them both standing on the corner for several more minutes.
By the time they arrived at the stables of the North Seleth Inn, Verci was in a cold, clammy sweat.
“Let me put it up,” he told Kennith as they got inside. He found a bench and collapsed on it, putting his leg up high.
“No worries,” Kennith said. “You and Hel hustled me out of here so quick, I didn’t have time to settle myself. Let me get some things, check on the other horses, all that, and I’ll hitch up the carriage.”
“Fine,” Verci said. “I definitely need the time.”
“I won’t be too long.”
Verci was really tempted to undo Gelson’s brace and let his foot breathe. He had the idea that it would feel really good, but Doc Gelson also told him not to do anything like that. He was probably pushing himself too hard to let the damn thing heal properly.
Because they were rushing. Everything they were doing was a rush. Even the new brace he’d come up with was a rush.
“Hey.”
Verci looked up to see the kid. “What do you want, Tarvis? Why’d you follow us?”
“I’m Jede,” he said.
“Tarvis’s brother?”
“Yeah, he wasn’t at the warehouse.”
“You went there?”
“Yeah,” Jede said. “Nobody there, and you all were hobbling away. So I followed you here. Thought he might be with you.”
Verci didn’t remember seeing Tarvis leaving. Was he supposed to watch him? No one told him he was supposed to watch kids. That definitely wasn’t part of the deal. He’d have to talk to Mila about that. “I don’t know, kid.” Where had Mila and Helene gone? Or Josie? He was shocked that she had slipped out.
“Your brother had a message for you,” Jede said. “Saw him on the street. Go to Kimber’s to meet the newsprint guys.”
“What?”
“What he said.”
“He say when?”
“Five bells I think.”
“Hey, Kennith,” Verci called back. “You know the time?”
“Almost five bells, I reckon.”
“Rutting saints,” Verci said, taking his crutch. “All right, kid, you stay here, stick close to Kennith back there.”
“The chomie?” the kid asked.
Verci leaned in, bracing himself a bit on the kid as he got to his feet. “You call him that, you’ll get a taste of his riding crop.”
“I ain’t afraid.”
Verci called back. “Kennith! I got to meet Asti. You’ve got an apprentice here.”
Kennith came out, his sleeves rolled up. “Tarvis, what are—”
“I’m Jede.”
“Oh. Well, come on. Horses need to be looked after.”
“Ugh,” Jede said, following Kennith.
Verci limped his way out of the stable and down to the street, slowly heading to Kimber’s. He did wonder where Tarvis had gone off to. Possibly to make his one-man assault on Gorminhut Orphanage to rescue Jede, not knowing he had gotten out on his own.
A memory triggered, when he was no older than Jede. Pop had sent him out to practice lightening purses, and he’d been caught by some beet-faced shopkeep. The guy had dragged him into an alley and pulled off his belt to whup Verci within an inch of his life.
Then Asti had shown up. Only eight years old, Asti beaned the shopkeep with two rocks, then raced in and wrenched the belt out of his hand. Dropping him with a kick to the knee, little Asti proceeded to give the shopkeep the whupping he had planned to give to Verci.
“Get running,” Asti said then. “I got this.”
Verci had lost count of the number of times Asti had been looking out for him. Even when Asti had left to join Intelligence, and Verci was doing window jobs for Josie, Verci would feel invulnerable, unstoppable, because he believed that if he got into trouble, Asti might appear out of any shadow to rescue him.
Somehow he wondered where that faith had gone.
Verci stumbled into Kimber’s, his foot throbbing with agony.
“Should you be up already?” Kimber asked as he came into the taproom.
“Probably not. Is he—”
“Right there,” she said, pointing to Asti in the back corner. “You two are meeting someone?” She sounded concerned.
“Newsprint folk. Talking about the story of the fire.”
“So something respectable,” she said. “That’s a pleasant surprise.”
“Night’s early.”
Verci sat down with Asti, who pushed a half-eaten striker over to him.
“Not hungry?” Verci asked.
“Yes. But yet also nauseous,” Asti said. “Almer.”
“He said he was going to give you something. He swore it would be safe.”
“Yeah. I think that’s probably true, but it wasn’t pleasant. Though I think it worked, for the short time.”
Verci wasn’t sure what to say to that. “So, who are we meeting with?”<
br />
“Veracity Press. Small thing, up in the north side. Intellectual idealists.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we value truth in the story over what is politic or expedient.” A tall man with a wide smile stood over them, with a young woman at his side. “Hemmit Eyairin,” he said, extending his hand boldly.
“Asti and Verci Rynax,” Asti said, taking it.
“Lin Shartien,” the woman cooed in a thick Linjari accent, offering her hand to Verci. “Whatever happened to your foot, Mister Rynax?” She sat down on the chair next to Verci, leaning on the table.
“Accident,” Verci said.
“Do they have a decent wine here?” she asked. “Or is this one of those beer and cider holes?”
“I’ve never been much of a wine drinker,” Verci said, feeling like Lin was a bit too close to him for his comfort.
“There is wine,” Asti said, signaling Kimber to come over.
“Wine?” she asked as she approached, looking at Hemmit and Lin.
“Whatever red you have,” Hemmit said. “Just bring the bottle. Lin?”
“That’s fine,” Lin said.
“Two bottles,” Hemmit said.
Lin pointed to Asti’s half-eaten sandwich. “Two of those as well.”
Kimber gave a bit of a look to Verci and Asti. Verci presumed she was subtly asking if these two were good for the ten crowns’ worth of food and drink they just ordered.
“It’s fine,” Verci said. “Soft cider, please.”
“Soft?” Lin and Hemmit both asked at once.
“My apothecary is giving me something for the pain,” Verci said, pointing to his foot. “He says not to mix it with hard drink.”
Hemmit shrugged, as if to say that he thought passing up hard drink was a difficult sacrifice. “You wanted to talk about the fire that happened a couple months ago,” Hemmit said.
“First, tell us a bit more about you two,” Asti said. “Are you two the whole newsprint?”
“We have another partner, plus a small group for actual printing and distributing. We also put out that pamphlet telling the whole story of the Parliament murders.” He said this with a lot of pride.
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