Swords and Scoundrels

by Julia Knight

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Eneko said quietly. “A lot, and if you do it this won’t be the last one I ask of you. You’ll need extra training, but we can arrange that. There’s time enough. But there’s no one else I trust to do it, and I must pay my debt. In return, I’ll pay my debt to you by making you my acknowledged apprentice. Does that seem good to you?”

  She stared down at the plans for a long while. A job – she’d always known it would be a job they’d task her with for her master’s test. Not a guarding job either, or an escort, or anything straightforward. An assassination. A cold-blooded killing, even of a man such as this, a slaver. Was a master’s title worth that?

  She looked up, ready to say no, it didn’t look good to her, to receive the small frown that would be his only reproof – jobs were theirs to take or leave, their morals their own past duty to the guild. If she said no, someone else would do it, someone else would get their master’s title. Vocho perhaps, with his lusting ambition and lack of scruples. Eneko would invite someone else to share his chamber of an evening, someone else to play cards with and laugh with, teach all his little tricks with the blade to. Someone else for him to be father to, as he’d been to her.

  It wasn’t for the guild she said it, nor fear of the magician and what he’d do to Eneko if this job wasn’t done, though that was part of it, she told herself. But not just that, nor that this clocker was as bad as the nobles had been before the revolt, nor Eneko’s debt, or hers to him for taking her into the guild in the first place. It was because he smelled of pipe smoke and salt, like Da, because he was all the da she’d had for a long time, and she wanted that to continue. Because she wanted to bask in his approval as she had in Da’s, and life had been cold without it. Because to refuse the job was to refuse to be a master, become a duellist when that’s all she’d ever wanted. To refuse her test was to leave the guild, her home, and know that she could have had it all if she’d had the nerve.

  “It seems good to me.”

  She swallowed back the spurt of acid in her throat and told herself it was only the truth.

  Later, much later, after weeks of extra training, longer weeks of watching her mark, of seeing that he was exactly the kind of man Eneko said he was, she sat in her room and stared at the blood on her shaking hands, on her blades. The acid was back in her throat worse than ever, but she swallowed it down.

  “Perfect. You were perfect.” Eneko put a hand on her shoulder, and that, and his words, his voice sounding just like Da’s, were enough to stop the shakes. For now. She was pretty sure she’d be shaking in her dreams later.

  “But I—”

  “Got the job done. It’s always hard, especially like this. Always a fight in yourself. Worry when you don’t have to fight it any more. Look at me. Look. That’s it. There’ll be other jobs, but I promise I’ll never ask you to kill anyone who doesn’t fully deserve it. Put your trust in me and I’ll look after you. You saw the man he was, saw what he did, didn’t you? Saw what needed to be done and did it. You handled it well, and I’m proud of you.”

  She blinked hard, took a deep breath and nodded. That was all she wanted: him to be proud, so she could imagine that Da was proud too.

  As if reading her mind he said, “I’m your father. I have been since the day I brought you here. I’m father to everyone in this guild, but now most especially you. Because you and I have a little secret now, and both of us is depending on the other to say nothing. A breath of this, and the prelate will have us, have the whole guild. He tries hard enough anyway, all the time, trying to find ways to bring me down.” He smiled, and there was a hint of sadness to it, she thought. “But I can rely on you, trust you. That I know. And you can trust me, with anything. Now go on, get the blood off those blades before they rust.”

  He left her to clean her blades and her hands, but no matter how she scrubbed it seemed like they’d never be clean, and she was still there when dawn came, thinking about dead men and trust.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vocho was on his own. Dom had disappeared into one of the nooks and crannies of the city. Gods only knew where Cospel was. He had to get back to the Hammer and Tongs, find Kacha and work out what they were going to do with the papers, if anything. Maybe just get out of the city, a prospect that was looking more and more tempting, no matter what his heart told him was the good and right thing to do.

  He popped his head out from the shadowy doorway. The alley was cluttered with barrels but otherwise reasonably clear and dark enough now the sun had set. Still, didn’t do to be careless. Just a shame no one would see.

  The barrels helped. By the time the clocks started chiming the next quarter-hour, he was up on the roofs, picking his careful way through the thickets of shanties. He doubted Egimont knew these sorts of places existed, never mind actually thought of looking for Vocho there. He was safe, for now.

  He made his way as quick and quiet as he knew how to be, which in fairness wasn’t all that quiet because he could never resist an opportunity to show off even if no one was watching. The few gaunt faces he saw paid him little attention – they’d learned up here the hard way not to see too much. Another few minutes and he was on the roof of an old-fashioned blacksmith’s forge opposite the Hammer and Tongs.

  No clockwork hammer or bellows in this smith’s, just honest-to-goodness sweat and muscle. Probably explained why the place was falling down. By the look of it, all the smith could offer was craftsmanship. He didn’t look up from his anvil as Vocho dropped silently through a gaping hole in one corner of the roof, but carried on hammering a cherry-red tongue of metal by the light of the forge and a mean lamp.

  “Hope you ain’t bringing the guards with you,” he said between blows. “They play merry hells with my work. I don’t got no automatons to do it for me while they piss about asking stupid questions and waiting for a bribe.”

  “Not this time,” Vocho said. I hope, he added in his head, but he was pretty sure no one had followed him. Pretty sure. He dug out a coin, flicked it towards the smith’s apprentice and peeked out of the doorway.

  “Looking for anything special?” The smith doused the metal in a barrel of water, sending steam up in a cloud. “I see a lot for men with silver in their pockets.”

  The street was quiet, and so was the inn. “Just my sister,” he said. “Fair hair, scar under one eye. Blue shirt today, I think.”

  The smith appeared to ponder for a moment. “Nice sword. Nothing fancy, but looked like it could do the job. Duellist’s sword, looked like to me. Had one of them twisty hilts they all love so much. Like yours. Stupid if you ask me, but no one asks me much these days.”

  Vocho gave him a sharp look, but the man’s face was all innocence. “Sounds like her. Not a duellist though.”

  The smith raised an eyebrow, but another dig in Vocho’s pockets stopped that.

  “Went in at the top o’ the clock. Looked flustered. Maybe because her brother’s watching her?”

  Vocho ignored that, took a deep breath of relief, checked the street again to find it quiet under the lamplight and left the smith to his work. The plan was simple – get in, get Kacha, get out. It had all seemed straightforward when they’d found the chest. Just find out what the papers said and find out who wanted them enough to pay for them so they could buy their old lives back. Now things were complicated and far too dangerous. The guild and prelate after them on the one hand, which was bad enough, Egimont and a magician on the other. All wanting them dead. Dumping the papers probably wouldn’t work either – Egimont had a grudge to settle if nothing else, and he was a methodical man. A nice quiet life in the country was looking more appealing every second.

  The inn was almost empty – it wouldn’t fill up until the whistle went to signal the end of the working day in the clocker factories in perhaps half an hour. A couple of older men sat in one corner, playing some game that seemed to involve lots of little clacking tiles, copious amounts of beer and some hefty betting. The betting made Vocho fingers itch
, but he didn’t have time. Maybe later. Definitely later.

  Two lads were cleaning tables, and the great hulk behind the bar was the same one as before, but the person sitting at the table by the fire caught his attention. She would have caught the attention of the Clockwork God himself. It wasn’t that she was beautiful. It wasn’t even mostly that she was dressed like a queen in silks and pearls and a shift dress that clung and revealed at the same time it hid, though it certainly made her stand out. It was the way she looked at him when he walked in, held up a glass of wine red as blood and toasted him. Like she’d been waiting for him.

  He took another look around – no one unusual, certainly no Egimont or any of his friends. The woman patted the chair next to her in invitation.

  He should get upstairs, out of sight, but this woman had seen him already and either recognised him from before his disgrace, in which case he had to find out what else she knew, or from since they’d returned to Reyes, in which case he still needed to find out.

  Keeping a careful eye out, just in case, and with a casual hand resting on his sword hilt, also just in case, Vocho sauntered over to her and bowed.

  “The very person I’m looking for.” Her voice was deep for a woman, with a strange accent he couldn’t quite place.

  He tried on a smile. “Are you sure?” Now he was up close, she looked hauntingly familiar, but when he tried to pin down where he’d seen her all he got were cloudy memories involving a dead priest.

  “Oh, certain. Do sit, Vocho.”

  He fell into the chair like a dropped anchor. Did he know her? He was sure he didn’t, but a tug at the back of his mind said otherwise. Something about the voice, the eyes, reminded him of… of… of the magician’s hands in the carriage. Which was stupid. Why would that be?

  “You have the advantage of me,” he said.

  “You look a little shaken. Here, have some wine. It’s very good. Alicia will suffice, as far as names go.”

  “How do you know me?” he asked, more to play for time than anything. He’d lost his hat in the kerfuffle with Egimont, and he’d forgotten to put his hood up. Half the city might have recognised him by now, even in the dark.

  “Oh, I’m such a fan of yours. Went to all your duels, you know. Such romance in the guild, don’t you think? Honourable men and women, keeping to the old ways, the old codes. And you had a certain style about you – panache. Enough to turn a girl’s head.”

  He took a sip of the wine and studied her over the rim of the glass. She was toying with him, a soft twist of the lips as though she was playing at being a cat to his mouse.

  “You don’t look like a hanger-on.” His voice sounded harsh next to hers, his response petulant and sullen.

  A smile at that, a narrowing of the eyes. “No. I’m just a poor woman come to tell you something you should know.”

  “Which is?”

  She stood up and let a soft hand fall on his shoulder as though she didn’t want to say, but it would be for his own good. “You aren’t the only one with a secret. Maybe you should ask your sister what she’s been keeping from you. After all you did for her, killing that priest to save her, and she still lies to you. Do enjoy your wine.”

  She swept off before Vocho could even let out a bewildered “What?” only to stop before she got to the door. Her face went from serene to fake-girlish, and she fluttered her eyelashes most unconvincingly. “I shall tell all my friends about this. The day I met the great duellist! We sat at the same table, and everything.”

  Vocho sat for a few moments, trying to think, but he couldn’t make any sense of the encounter apart from that she’d made him uneasy.

  She was dangerous, he knew that well enough. As soon as Kacha, Dom and Cospel came back, they were moving to another inn or maybe some lodgings somewhere out of the way or out of Reyes entirely while they worked out how they’d warn the prelate or whether it might be better to just cut and run. Besides he was still feeling as though someone was watching him. Ridiculous because in a city the size of Reyes Egimont would never find them if he searched all year, except he’d found them at the tavern, and how had he managed that? Vocho fought the urge to look over his shoulder every other step as he went up the stairs and only barely won.

  It didn’t get much better when he got into his room, because Kacha was there pacing up and down by the lamp, and as soon as he entered she launched into him.

  “What in seven hells did you think you were doing?”

  He was feeling a bit fragile as it was, and her question only confused him more. “Well, I thought if I dealt with Eggy, you could get away and—”

  “Not that, you idiot.” That stung. It was what Da had always called him instead of his name, but Kacha was his daughter in more ways than one. She stalked up to Vocho, her hand tight on the hilt of her sword, lips white with rage. That’s what happened when she was really pissed off. At least she had no belt like Da, and he could take her in a sword fight if he had to, and it looked like he might have to.

  She gave him a prod in the chest with a finger like a small dagger and he dropped into a chair. She took a step back and a deep breath, and took her hand away from her sword. It was only then Vocho realised that she’d actually thought about using it.

  “Sendoa. Every time I asked, you swore, you swore it wasn’t you. And fool that I was, I believed you, I stood up for you. But you never said exactly what did happen, did you? No, you skirted around it in typical Vocho fashion, and I didn’t push because, well, because I thought you hadn’t done it and I knew whatever you did say would only be a lie. Well, I’m pushing now. Tell me. Everything. And tell it true, or I swear by the Clockwork God’s mechanical heart I will tie you up and take you to Petri myself.”

  He looked at her for long ticks of the clock, at the doubt behind her eyes. She’d never doubted him before, not once, and it was shame that had kept his mouth clamped shut.

  “I don’t know everything. It’s true – I swear it!”

  “Then tell me what you do know. Like about these gambling debts of yours.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes. ‘Ah.’ Well?”

  Vocho turned on his considerable charm and a smile that could have felled angels at twenty paces. Not that it would get him anywhere with Kacha, who knew him far too well, but old habits died hard. “They aren’t that bad, really. A few bulls here and there. I… Actually that’s another thing I don’t really recall.” Which was odd. He could remember some of it, but bits were missing, big bits too. The weeks before Sendoa were a blurry mess.

  “How many is ‘a few bulls’? Because I heard that not only is it a lot more than a few and not only do you owe people who you really don’t want to owe money to, but that’s why you sold out your job, Voch, sold out the guild, your name, everything. Why you sold us out.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, though only the Clockwork God knew what, but his left eye started twitching.

  “You lied to me the whole time, didn’t you?” Kacha said, her voice cold and quiet now, silent ice waiting for a wrong step to send a man sprawling. “I believed you the whole fucking time, and you were lying. I told Petri where to shove his ring because I believed you when you told me you didn’t do it. I should have known better, shouldn’t I, than to trust you about anything at all. Tell me now, all of it, every last scrap, or so help me I’ll scalp you.”

  He hesitated a long time. If he said nothing she’d leave. If he told her she’d leave. If he lied she’d leave. Him and Kacha, always the two of them even when they grated on each other like two rusty cogs. Even when he hated her, always so damned perfect and expecting him to be exactly the same sort of perfect. Yet they always had each other’s back, always had the weight of years, of their whole lives, behind them. Just the two of them against the world.

  “I owe a lot,” he said in the end. “Maybe three, four thousand in total. That much is true enough, I think, though it’s all hazy, that whole time. But I only owe people I know, friends. No one was calling
it in. And I didn’t sell anyone out. I don’t think.”

  “What then? If not that, then exactly what did happen?”

  “I…” He almost couldn’t say it. He barely even wanted to think it, but the look on her face told him he had to. “The magician on the coach. I saw him before, though it took me a while to remember. I didn’t know what he was then, not until the coach. I saw him at the priest’s house. I was there, and he came, I think, and… and… the shapes on his hands kept moving. That’s all I really remember, that the shapes on his hands kept moving, and blood, lots of it. A pain on my back. Hurt a lot – still does sometimes, like in the coach when I saw him.”

  Now he’d started, it spurted out of him like springs from a broken clock. He had to tell her it all before she went and left him alone.

  “Then he was gone, and everything was, I don’t know, all kind of dark and fuzzy, but the stupid priest was there. Praying to a little whirring shrine, with his back to me. A woman too, I remember her…” He suddenly recalled who the woman in the bar downstairs had been. “I saw my sword go in, saw all the blood. God’s cogs, blood everywhere, made me sick like it never had before. But I don’t remember why I did it. It didn’t feel like me doing it; it wasn’t me. I’d swear it, Kass, I’d swear it on anything you like, on the clockwork duellist, even on my sword, on anything you want to name. It wasn’t me even if it was.”

  “So you did what you always do and lied. Even to yourself this time.” She stared at him for a long time, and he couldn’t look back. Finally she stirred and, quick as mercury, she was spitting mad and as pissed off as he’d ever seen her. He didn’t even blame her.

  “I believed you. I lost everything because I fucking well believed you – you, you, clocking arsehole! Petri, I told Petri to shove his ring up his backside because he thought you’d done it. I lost the guild, Eneko, my blades… everything, every damned thing in my life worth anything, and what did I get to keep? An arsehole lying shit of a brother who couldn’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth, who’s dogged my steps my whole fucking life. Well, not any more he won’t. You started this, you finish it – on your own. Because I haven’t got a brother.”