“Be my guest,” I said as I turned and lugged out my own sword and dagger. Thankfully, there were only two coming from behind.
My night vision showed one of the men to be carrying a heavy-looking club, its end studded with broken glass and metal; the other held a pair of knives. They came forward carefully, moving to bracket me in the narrow space.
Behind me, I heard the first songs of steel on steel as Degan met his four. He was taking the fight to them, making them react instead of deciding how to best surround him. I needed to do the same, but I didn’t relish the idea. I was no degan.
I edged toward the one with the knives, my rapier held out before me, my dagger low at my left side. His weapons had the speed, mine the reach. If he came into my range, I had first strike; if he stayed out, I had to deal not only with him, but eventually with his friend as well. Time was on his side.
He stepped back a pace, smiling, his knives flickering dully in my night vision. No dummy there. I took another step. He retreated again. I took one more. When he retreated for the third time, instead of following, I pivoted and launched myself at his friend with the club.
Neither of them had been expecting it, least of all the man with the club. His eyes grew wide as I came in, and he took an involuntary step back. Bad idea. By the time he had his weight resettled and was starting to swing, I was already inside.
I ducked in under his arm as the club came down, my sword raised to ward off the blow. Wood met the steel of my guard, sending shock waves down my right arm. Even as my grip on the sword wavered, I brought my left around and buried the dagger up to the cross-guard in his right kidney. He grunted. I twisted the blade inside him. He grunted again. Then he began to fall forward.
I pulled on my dagger. It wouldn’t budge. Leaving it, I stepped to the side, only to find the Cutter with the daggers closing on me, fast.
One slash passed inches from my face, and I felt another pluck at a fold in my shirt. I leapt back and just managed to dodge a thrust to my left side.
Too close, too close, too damn close!
There was no room to bring my rapier up, no way to back up faster than he could come forward. I pointed the tip of my sword down, brought the guard up, and made a moving vertical bar of steel between us, frantically blocking his thrusts and slashes. It was good in the short term, but, sooner or later, he would get past it.
The Cutter came on, pressing me hard. I blocked once, twice, and then punched at his face with the guard of my sword. I managed light contact-nothing solid-but it surprised him. He hesitated, and that was all I needed.
In an instant, I had my wrist knife in my left hand. I lashed out, not worrying about hitting him so much as letting him know it was there. He took a hasty step back.
I let out a shallow breath. I was at sword range again. I took my own step back and brought my rapier in line.
The Cutter was still busy scowling at this latest development when Degan spoke up from behind me.
“Are you almost done?” he said.
“Let me check,” I said. I smiled at the man with the knives. “Are we done?”
He looked at me, then past me into the growing darkness. I saw his eyes go wide. Then he was running away.
“I’m done,” I said, and turned around.
Degan stood amid four corpses. Not one of the bodies had more than a single fatal wound. All things considered, I couldn’t blame the Cutter for running.
“Just here to lean on someone, then?” said Degan, picking up the conversation where we had left off.
I came over and looked at the bodies. “This is local color,” I said. “They’re too rough to be any of ’Liza’s brood, and no one else I’ve talked to has the clout to gather up this many Kin on short notice.”
“Just a robbery, then?” said Degan.
“Yes.”
“You’re positive of that?”
“Yes,” I said.
Degan eyed me across the corpses.
“It was a damn robbery!” I said.
“I stand reassured.”
We began moving down the alley again.
“Of course,” said Degan, “if it wasn’t a robbery, things could get worse. And if that happens and I get pulled in…”
“You’re too smart for that.”
Degan tipped the brim of his hat in mock salute. “Of course. But if I should go temporarily insane…”
“Fine,” I said. “If that happens, I’ll pay for your time. Standard rate.”
Degan shook his head. “Not this one, Drothe. If the job gets you back into Ten Ways, it’s deeper than I’d like. Hawks won’t cover it.”
I looked over at my friend. “You can’t be talking about an Oath?”
Degan blinked in surprise. “Hardly,” he said. “It’s not that dire.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
For all the years I had known Bronze Degan, and for all the things I had heard about degans as a whole, there were still things I did not understand about them as a group. That they were the best Arms you could get, there was no doubt. Nor did you have to worry about a degan turning on you once you paid him. But sometimes, they took the legends about their group’s origins a little too seriously, even to the point of assuming the first degans’ names. The man standing next to me in the alley was not the first, nor would he be the last, to be called Bronze Degan.
The Oath was another holdover from when the degans had been a potent force in the Dark World. Back then, an Oath had bound them to you and you to them, with the degan being able to call on you at any time to pay off your portion of the promise. And repayment could be anything the degan named. The oldest Kin, repeating the tales of their grandfathers, tell how the power of the Oath was so strong that promisers turned on their own families rather than risk the consequences.
Nowadays, the Oath was a formality, a shadow of the original degans’ prowess, just as Bronze Degan was a distant reflection of the first man to bear his name. But the Oath was still not lightly given, or taken. After all, who wanted a degan pissed at him if he decided he didn’t want to fulfill his end of the bargain?
“No,” said Degan, smiling. “A night out with your sister would be enough. Along with the standard rate, of course.”
I glowered at my friend. Degan had had an eye for Christiana since the first time he’d met her. And while Christiana might have turned her nose up at any of my other associates, I knew that when it came to Degan, she would make an exception. It had been that obvious. The sheer idea of my sister-who had tried to have me killed-and my best friend together not only terrified me; it made my skin crawl on a more personal level. I just couldn’t tell if that sensation came out of brotherly concern for Christiana or friendly concern for Degan.
“I’ll pay you triple,” I growled. Degan laughed again.
A few turns later we were at Fedim’s.
Fedim’s place fronted as a pottery shop. A few unimpressive jugs and goblets had been set on a table near the door. I resisted the urge to turn the table over, mainly because I doubted it would draw more than a shrug from the Dealer. Most fences at least make an effort to appear legitimate, but, given the quality of what he had out, it was obvious Fedim had given up that pretense long ago.
I wondered briefly what I would do if the Dealer wasn’t in. It had taken the better part of a day just to find his shop. What if word had gotten to him ahead of us and he had gone to ground? I didn’t relish the thought of having to spend more time looking for him.
As it turned out, Fedim was easy to find-his entrails led from just inside the door, straight to his belly, ten feet away.
Chapter Seven
No money was missing, either from Fedim’s purse or from the cash box behind the counter. The back room was empty, save for a bed and the Dealer’s personal effects.
“Must keep the swag somewhere else,” I said as I came back into the front of the shop.
“Either that, or it was taken.” Degan was standing near the entrance, peering out thro
ugh a gap in the curtain that served as a door.
“And the hawks were left? No, this is a message.”
“From?”
“From whoever I’m supposed to find.”
“I thought you were supposed to find Fedim.”
“Change in plan,” I said.
I stepped over to Fedim and looked down at him. As Kin went, he was fairly unremarkable with his olive complexion, thinning hair, and long nose. Acne scars covered the left half of his face. If he hadn’t been lying dead on the floor, I doubt I would have remarked on him at all.
“This is bad,” I said.
“What a surprise,” said Degan.
“No.” I nudged Fedim’s lifeless form with my foot. “It’s worse. I was supposed to do this after I was done with him.”
Degan nodded. “You’re right,” he said, “this is bad.” Then a wry smile slid onto his face. “Still, it’s ironic, no?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Ironic.”
Before we had found him, Fedim was a minor problem that needed solving. Now that he was dead, he was a big embarrassment. That was the first little bit of irony: If I killed Fedim, it was business; if someone else dusted him, it was an insult to Nicco’s strength.
The galling part was, no matter what I did, word would get out: Nicco couldn’t shield his clients. Open season on Nicco in Ten Ways. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid, exactly what I had been sent to prevent. If the person or persons responsible weren’t brought down hard and fast, Nicco’s reputation would fall instead-and so would my head.
That was the other piece of irony: Since I was supposed to have killed Fedim, it was my responsibility to track down whoever had dusted the Dealer and return the favor.
Drothe, the Avenging Angel-I didn’t care for the sound of that.
I was staring at Fedim, wishing his soul a long, frustrating journey to the Hosting Grounds, when Degan snapped his fingers twice. I looked up to see him flatten himself against the wall beside the doorway. He held up a single finger, then pointed toward the door.
Translation: a visitor.
I looked around for somewhere to hide, then thought better of it. Instead, I sat myself on a table in easy view a few feet past Fedim’s body. I drew my rapier and placed it across my lap for effect.
The sound of leather scuffing on dirt came from beyond the curtain. A throat cleared.
“Fedim?” It was a male voice, half whispering. “Fedim?”
The curtain moved aside to admit the craning head of a young-looking man. What little hair he had was in full retreat from his forehead and shaved down to a thin black stubble. His narrow features were screwed up into a squint that quickly collapsed when he spied the body on the floor. He looked at me and made to bolt, but Degan already had hold of the man’s neck.
Degan dragged the man the rest of the way inside. To his credit, the man didn’t cry out-not that it would have done him any good. Screams were almost as common as cockroaches around here.
Our visitor was small, though still slightly taller than I, and thin. No, not thin-lean. There was strength beneath those baggy clothes and ill-fitting belt-Degan actually had to work to keep his hold on the man. He had a cloth satchel in one hand that he clutched to himself.
“I didn’t see anything!” the man said quickly. “You weren’t here.”
“That’s too bad,” I said.
He stopped his struggling and tilted his head as far to the side as Degan’s hold would allow. Already, there was the beginnings of an opportunistic, almost carnal gleam in his eyes.
“Huh?” he said.
“I need someone who’s seen something,” I explained.
He looked down at Fedim, licked his lips.
“Such as?” he asked.
“Such as who dusted the Dealer, here.”
“Not you?”
“Not me. Or him.” I indicated Degan with my sword.
“Truth?” the man asked.
I smiled. “It’d be nice.”
“I don’t know.”
“Not the answer I was looking for.”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
I lifted my jaw. Degan squeezed.
“Wait!” yelled the man. “I can find out. I can find out!”
“How?”
“I can play Ear.”
“Got local Ears,” I lied.
His eyes flicked around the room. “But I know-knew Fedim. I know who to ask, where to listen.”
I nodded, as if considering his offer. “How’d you know the Dealer?”
“He holds-uh, held my swag for me.”
I raised my eyebrows. “He held your swag? Don’t you mean he moved it?” Fences didn’t hold on to stolen property; they sold it, usually as quickly as possible.
“No, he held it.”
I must not have looked convinced, because Degan began squeezing again. The man hunched his shoulders against the pain.
“I’m a Whipjack!” he gasped. “Fedim held my stuff for a cut of the profits.”
“Ah,” I said. Now it made sense.
Whipjacks did “turn around” thefts-stealing from one person, selling to another, then stealing it back again and returning it to the original owner once a reward had been offered. The idea was that, besides making twice the profit off a single piece of swag, the Whipjack couldn’t be caught with the valuables in hand since he moved it between marks so fast.
Fedim must have been this Whipjack’s middleman, selling the swag and then leading the thief back when it was time to steal it again. It was a relationship that required trust on both ends; either man could sell the other out for a quick profit. And trust, I’ve found, breeds reliance, which leads to shared confidences. It was those confidences I needed to know about.
I indicated a three-legged stool in the corner.
“Sit,” I said.
The Whipjack obeyed. Degan resumed his post at the curtained doorway.
“What’s your name, Whipjack?” I asked.
“Larrios.”
“Tell me about Fedim, Larrios.”
He shrugged. “Fedim was a Dealer. We got along all right.”
“Did he specialize in anything?”
“Not really. He took almost anything from anyone-coin, jewelry, cloth, steel, books, beer… anything. He used to say that being in Ten Ways, he had to make up for quality with quantity.”
“Did he have anyone he unloaded to regularly?”
“I don’t know, but he always found someone to buy.”
“He ever cheat anyone?”
Larrios snorted.
“All right,” I said. “Had he cheated anyone recently that you knew about?” If I could find out who Fedim had dealt with, I might be able to get a line on who wanted him dead; or on who had been leaning on him to make Nicco look bad; or both.
Larrios leaned back against the wall behind the stool. “Not that he mentioned. I know he’d been talking to this one man, I think. He never said his name, but he referred to ‘him’ a lot.”
“Any idea what about?”
“Swag, I’d guess.”
“Makes sense.” I pointed at his satchel. “What’s in the bag, Larrios?”
He smiled thinly. “Swag, I’d guess.”
“Is that why you were here?” I said. “To move your swag?”
Larrios’s smile grew strained. “I didn’t catch your name?”
“That’s right. You didn’t.”
His face curled itself up into another squint. “You’re not from here-you’re from outside the Ten. What’re cousins from the outside doing in the cordon?”
“Slumming,” said Degan from the doorway.
I shot Degan a glare.
“Looking for Fedim,” I said sharply. “Only now, we’re looking for whoever dusted him.”
“That, too,” said Degan.
“Mind if I ask why?” said Larrios.
I ignored the question. “What did you want with Fedim?” I asked again.
Larrios regarded me
through narrowed eyes. “Fedim was yours, wasn’t he?” he said after a moment. “They beat you to him.”
“ ‘They’?” I said.
This time Larrios ignored my question. He looked across the room at Fedim’s body. “You’re more important dead than alive,” he told the corpse, grinning. “And you can’t make a single hawk from it. Serves you right.”
I reached out and tapped Larrios with my rapier, letting the point linger on his chest. “You mentioned ‘they.’ ”
He looked down at the blade, then back up at me. His voice tried for flippant but failed. “ ‘They’ depends on who you are.”
“I’m the man with the sword who’s losing his patience.”
“Good… uh, point.” Larrios’ eyes flicked around the room once more, then came back to me. “Fedim had been complaining about someone putting pressure on him. He kept saying he didn’t know why he was paying for protection when anyone could put the rough on him night and day.”
“Any idea who?”
“You mean who was putting on the rough? I don’t know-this is a pretty open cordon, you know? I just remember Fedim’s saying they laughed in his face when he threatened to go to Nicco about it.”
Great. Not only were people leaning on and crossing Kin, but they were also laughing at the Upright Men who controlled them. If Nicco got wind of this… No, I didn’t want to think about that at the moment. One disaster at a time.
“All I know,” continued Larrios, “is that there had to be some serious pull behind those guys.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Are you kidding? Nicco isn’t the only one getting snubbed around here: Nijjan Red Nails, the Five Ears gang, maybe some others. Hell, I even heard that Kells’s operation over on the west side has-”
“Wait a minute,” I said, my mind skidding to a sudden halt. “Kells actually has people in Ten Ways?” What in the hell was he doing here? I’d been hoping it was just a bad rumor.
Larrios shrugged. “Well-”
“Company,” announced Degan.
“What?” I said, turning toward the door.
“Cutters,” he said, drawing his sword. The hiss of the steel clearing the scabbard only emphasized the statement.
I looked back to Larrios.
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