Among Thieves totk-1

by Douglas Hulick

  I slipped my knives home and crossed my arms before me. “You’re an arrogant bastard, you know that?”

  I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, “I can afford to be. Can you?”

  “I’m the one with the hawks,” I reminded him as he turned away.

  “Hawks don’t make a Kin deep-file.”

  “Neither does friendship with the shadows.”

  He chuckled again. “Don’t be too sure,” he said as he slipped into the dark edges of the alley. When I moved forward, he was gone.

  I was still rolling the cloaked Kin’s copper owl through my fingers when I turned onto Echelon Way.

  Larrios. If he could get me Larrios, I could get some answers about the relic and the book. Hell, Larrios might even know something about the damn scrap of paper. At this point, I’d be surprised if he didn’t. Too many paths were crossing over the book and the relic-Athel’s, Larrios’s, the Gray Prince’s and Iron Degan’s, not to mention Nicco’s business and mine both touching on Fedim-to be coincidence. And even though it was a tenuous bridge, the scrap of paper in my ahrami pouch seemed to connect them all-Athel to the relic to Fedim to Larrios to the ambushers to the book, all the while bringing me along for the ride.

  Yes, I definitely wanted that dark Kin to find Larrios.

  I was still two doors away when I noticed Cosima standing in front of the building, shaking out a rug. She saw me at the same time, but, rather than say hello or even flash me a smile, she turned and stalked into their apartments and slammed the door.

  What the…?

  Wait-what was she still doing here?

  I walked up to the door and knocked. No answer.

  “Cosima?” I said.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said from the other side of the door. “You can’t make me leave.”

  “I’m not here to make you do anything,” I said. “I thought Eppyris was sending you and the girls to stay with family for a while?”

  “Renna and Sophia are with my mother.”

  “But you’re still here,” I observed.

  “As long as Eppyris stays, I stay.”

  I sighed and laid my forehead against the door. “He’s only looking out for your safety,” I said. “Considering what happened the other night, he may be right.”

  There was a pause on the other side of the door. “Do you think he’s right?”

  I took a long, thoughtful breath. “I think a husband is right to worry about his wife and family.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only answer I’m qualified to give.”

  The door swung open, causing me to stumble forward two steps and almost into Cosima’s arms. She laid a hand on my chest, stopping me.

  “You’re the one that man was trying to kill,” said Cosima. “If anyone’s qualified to talk about it, you are.”

  “The only thing he’s qualified to talk about,” said a dour voice behind me, “is his own life.” I turned to find Eppyris standing in the stairwell, his leather apothecary’s apron tied around his chest. The side door to his shop stood open behind him. “Our lives are our own concern,” he said. “Not his.”

  I bit back my words even as I stared Eppyris in the eye. They lived in my building-that made them my concern. Everything that happened under this roof was my business. Admitting otherwise was the same as admitting I couldn’t protect my own interests, that I couldn’t keep other Kin at bay.

  Except Eppyris didn’t see it that way. And I understood why.

  “Do whatever you feel you need to do,” I said to them. “Stay or go. Either way, you’re safe.”

  I turned my back and stalked up the stairs. Behind me, I heard a pair of doors close. I didn’t look back to see who had gone where.

  Fowler Jess was waiting at the top of the stairs, seated on the floor beside my door.

  “That went well,” she said.

  “Go to hell.” I looked her up and down. Fowler’s hair was sticking out at all angles from beneath her cap, which, judging by the grime on it, had slipped off her head more than once. The knuckles of one hand showed fresh scrapes, and I noticed a small tear in her new leggings.

  “What’s been running you ragged?” I asked as I put the key in the lock, turned it left half a turn, then right the same amount. It was unlocked now, but I still needed to give the key another full rotation to disarm the tension spring in the lock housing; otherwise, I’d get a handful of barbed spikes when I went to turn the door handle.

  “Sylos.”

  I paused as I took the key out of the lock. “He was the one standing watch out front the other night, wasn’t he? When Tamas came.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did he have to say for himself?”

  “Not much,” said Fowler. “Considering he ran as soon as he saw me coming.”

  I heard the sound of my key bouncing off the floor, but I didn’t remember letting go of it. “It was him? I said. “He’s the one who let Tamas pass?”

  Fowler nodded.

  “I want to see him,” I said. “Now.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck on that,” she said, plucking my key up from the floor. “He took a slip off a roof. Went down four stories in Square Hills as fast as you can say ‘splat.’ ” She slapped her hand on the floorboards for emphasis.

  “Damn it, Fowler, I needed him breathing!”

  “You needed him breathing?” Fowler jumped to her feet so fast I had to step back to keep from being hit in the jaw by her head. “Do you know what that bastard did, Drothe? I found three of my people dustmans after I left you the other night. Three! I don’t know if he did the deed himself or left them to that Blade, but, either way, he crossed me and mine far worse than he did you. So don’t talk to me about how much you ‘needed’ him alive-I wanted that bastard so bad it hurt.”

  I was about to argue the point when I noticed Fowler’s eyes. They weren’t hard or intense or raging as I had expected; they were wide, and filled with anguish. She’d lost three people-I’d only lost my peace of mind.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t run with a crew for a long time. I.. . forgot.”

  Fowler nodded.

  “Did he say anything?” I asked.

  “You mean before or after he jumped out the window of the boardinghouse?” She shook her head. “No, he wasn’t too talkative. And while I’m sure you could get a confession out of someone while chasing him across a roof, I’m not quite up to it.”

  “What about the body?”

  “What about it?” said Fowler. “There were some hawks, a handful of golden falcons-at least they paid him well-and a bit of personal swag. Oh, and a pilgrim’s token.” Fowler snorted. “A lot of good that did him.”

  “Wait,” I said. “A pilgrim’s token? What kind?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Do I look like I’d go on pilgrimage?” She reached into the small pouch on her belt, rummaged around, and brought out a lead lozenge. “Here.”

  I took it. It was the same. The same as the token I had found on Athel-round, triple-stamped, old.

  “Paper,” I said, not looking away from the token. “Were there any bits of paper on Sylos’s body?”

  More rummaging, and then her hand was before me, two balled-up, filthy scraps of paper in her palm. I gently picked up one of the wads and unfolded it. It had the same collection of marks I’d come to know so well from playing with Athel’s strip.

  “What the hell is it?” said Fowler, craning her head so much, she almost blocked my view.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I removed Athel’s scrap from my ahrami pouch and held it next to the one she had found on Sylos. The markings were different, but the size and overall pattern were the same. “I found this on someone who crossed me on a different dodge. He had a pilgrim’s token, too.”

  “What’s the connection?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  I’d been toying with the idea that instead of Christiana, it could have been one of
her court rivals behind Tamas’s attempt-one noble trying to remove another’s tool. It certainly would have explained the livery and the forged letter, as well as the money needed to lay hands on a piece of portable glimmer. Except now, it didn’t fit. Sylos didn’t have any connection with the relic; he didn’t have any reason to have the same kind of slip on him as Athel.

  Yet here they were.

  I stared at the papers, trying to see the line that had to run through all of this. Athel led to Fedim led to Larrios led to Ironius and the Gray Prince. From there, the trail split, with one leading into Ten Ways, and the other following Larrios’s book. On the other side of things, it looked as though things went from Sylos to the forgery to Tamas, with Christiana being used as an “in” against me.

  Nothing overlapped, except the papers themselves.

  I was starting to regret the moment of mercy I’d shown Athel in the warehouse.

  “Damn you, Athel,” I grumbled as I tucked away the slips and the token and reached out for the doorknob. “Why the hell couldn’t you have given me more than a damn na-”

  “Drothe!”

  Fowler’s yell came the same instant she launched herself into me, sending us both tumbling to the ground. A fraction of a second later, I heard the solid thunk of something driving itself deep into my door.

  “You moron!” she yelled into my ear, still on top of me.

  “Ow,” I said, feeling her on me, me on the floor, and all my bruises between the two.

  “Damn straight, ‘Ow’!” she said, climbing off. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t,” I said as I came up off the floor more slowly. “That’s the problem. Too tired to think.”

  Sticking out of the door at chest level, its head buried so deep I couldn’t see it, was a short crossbow bolt. It had come from the shadows above the stairwell behind us. I had positioned the firing mechanism more than a year ago and run a trip wire through the wall to the door. When I’d started to open the door without first releasing the tension on the wire, I’d set it off.

  Stupid, stupid mistake.

  “Damn it, Drothe!” said Fowler. “If you think I’m going to lose people just so you can dust yourself with your own fucking trap, you can find another Oak! If I hadn’t been here, you’d be pinned to that door like some firstnight Eriff. Angels! I’ve told you before that you don’t need to be so damn paranoid, but will you listen? No. And now-”

  I didn’t bother pointing out that if she hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been distracted by thoughts of Athel and Sylos and pieces of paper. Instead, I held up a placating hand and said, “Fowler, you’re right. Thank you. I owe you. More than ever. But right now, will you please just lock the inside floorboard for me? I don’t trust myself at this point.”

  “You, either, huh?”

  “Fowler…”

  “All right, all right.” She took a few deep breaths to get her own hands to stop shaking. Then she knelt, cracked the door open, and reached inside to turn the small handle on the wall that locked down the loose floorboard just past the entry. Stepping on the board without locking it would get us both a face full of quick lime from the air bladder installed underneath it.

  “When’s the last time you slept, anyhow?” she said as she stood up.

  “A day? Two?” I said. “I don’t even remember at this point.”

  “Well then,” she said, pushing open the door. “I suggest you… Fuck.”

  Even if it had been an invitation, I doubt I would have been able to take her up on it just then. Inspiring as she could be in bed, I just didn’t have it in me at the moment. But as it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about coming up with an answer. The catch in her voice and way she froze in the doorway told me more than I needed to know.

  I reached out without thinking, ready to pull her back and slam the door shut against whatever was waiting for us inside. Then I saw what she saw, and I froze as well.

  There was a woman in my bedroom-a dead woman; a dead floating woman, held a foot off the floor by nothing I could see.

  “We’ve got trouble,” said Fowler Jess. “Big trouble.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Who is she?” asked Jelem as he walked slowly around the floating corpse.

  “She’s a Blade named Task,” I said from the edge of my bed. “A good one. A very good one.”

  “So whoever did this did you a favor,” he observed.

  “Lucky me.”

  Jelem smiled and continued to circle the dead assassin. He was still wearing the cream-colored robe from last night, but the vest had been replaced by a long, lightweight coat of blue linen. A matching cloth was wrapped around his head. Even though I was sure he had not slept, Jelem looked fresher than half the people I had seen on the street while coming home.

  I had sent for Jelem immediately-this was his specialty, not mine. Besides, it had direct bearing on the matter of Tamas and his rope: Task had an identical rope hanging from her belt.

  “When can we get her down?” I asked. I wanted to see what else she had on her besides the rope-like maybe some bits of paper.

  “Soon,” said Jelem. “The glimmer holding her up isn’t impossible to unravel, but it’s no simple thing, either.” He pulled out a small calfskin pouch, drew an ahrami seed from it, and slipped the seed into his mouth. Jelem sucked thoughtfully as he moved. “This is well-done,” he said after a moment, gesturing at Task’s body. “The magic’s of a higher quality than I usually see on the street. The anchors are strong, tapped directly into the Nether. That’s a lot of work just to float a corpse in the air. A simple repulsion spell on the floor would have done the same thing, but it would have faded after a few days. Done this way, the body could stay here for years.” Jelem looked at me meaningfully. I stared back blankly.

  “I assume you’re making a point besides, ‘This isn’t small-time,’ ” I said, “because I figured that much out myself.”

  “What I’m saying is that there is glimmer, and there is glimmer.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This isn’t going to be good news, is it?”

  “You can ask me that with a dead assassin floating in your bedroom?”

  He had a point. “Let’s hear it, then.”

  “How much do you know about magical theory?”

  “Probably as much as you know about picking a Kettlemaker lock.”

  “Indeed,” said Jelem. “I’ll keep it brief, then.

  “At its most basic,” he said, “magic gets its power from what we call the Nether. Most magicians agree on this basic premise-the differences come when we start to talk about what exactly the Nether is. I won’t bore you with all the various theories on the nature of the Nether-”

  “Oh, damn,” I said.

  “Although if you insist on interrupting me, I could.” Jelem paused to take a meaningful breath. “The main point is that while the Nether is a separate thing from our reality, some of its energy manages to cross over into our world. Whether it accumulates naturally, is drawn here by other powers, or is some sort of cosmic or religious ‘gift’ isn’t really important for our current discussion.

  “Most street magic, as you know it, is powered by energy that has already seeped into our world from the Nether of its own accord. This means the average Mouth doesn’t summon the energy for his spells so much as gather up a portion of what is already here and form it to his needs. Furthermore, how he collects, channels, and forms the energy ultimately decides not only what it does, but how long it lasts.”

  “You make Mouths sound almost like garbage pickers,” I said.

  Jelem looked down his nose at me. “I prefer to think of them as tailors, taking in raw fabric and fashioning something useful with a cut here and a stitch there.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “So, my good ‘tailor,’ what does this have to do with Task over there?”

  “Ninety-nine out of one hundred Mouths would have used a basic repulsion spell to suspend her in the air, as I said
. It’s a straightforward enchantment that uses the available energy in a simple manner. Not to mention that it’s the only way most Mouths know how to power any kind of glimmer.” Jelem gestured at the dead Blade. “This caster, though, did something different: He opened up a small tap into the Nether and tied his spell to it. Instead of using the magical energy that has accumulated around us, he opened up a direct link to the Nether itself.”

  “How hard is that to do?”

  “Very.”

  “Could you do it?”

  “I’ve done it on a total of four occasions,” he said. “All back in Djan. And each of those times required days of preparation, in a controlled setting. Doing it here, in someone else’s home, on a tight schedule? No, I couldn’t. Nor would I want to.”

  “But you say you can undo it,” I said.

  “Yes, because whoever did this also made it so that another Mouth could unravel the glimmer.”

  “On purpose?”

  “Just so.”

  I looked at the Blade, and a thought occurred to me-a very bad thought. “Jelem,” I said slowly, “are you trying to tell me this is imperial glimmer?”

  “What?” said Jelem. He turned and looked at me. “By the Family, no! No. If it were, I’d be back home devising an alibi and considering the best route out of Ildrecca. This magic is very potent, but it’s still street magic. Imperial glimmer is far above this. Or at least, that’s what I hear-it’s all rumors when it comes to the empire’s magic, anyhow.”

  “Oh, well, as long as it’s just ‘very potent’ then,” I said sourly.

  Still, despite the magic, I felt strangely calm. It was as if I had gotten to a point where, with so many things piling up around me, one more brick didn’t matter anymore. The new assassin should have worried me; her presence in my rooms should have frightened me; and the unknown source of the magic used to deal with her should have scared me out of my wits. Instead, it all washed over and around me, leaving me untouched.

  I suspected that things would look much worse once I got a good night’s sleep.

  I heard hard, measured footfalls on the stairs. A moment later, Fowler Jess came stalking into the room, her every gesture a study in rage. “My people report all clear for the entire night,” she fumed. “No one saw a thing.”