The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Pardon?” Veranix asked.

  “It’s very simple,” she said. “Whoever is buying the effitte is doing so to use it, probably in some sort of social atmosphere. People are here for sport and revels. So we must all engage in sport and revels—as much as we can—to interact with as many people as possible to find the effitte users.”

  “Your plan is we go to events and parties of the Tournament?” Veranix asked.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted to do already?” Phadre asked.

  “Yes, but now we’re doing it for science. And justice.” She glanced around the room. “It is justice, yes?”

  “Yes,” Veranix said hotly.

  “And saving lives,” Kaiana said quietly. “Most of these kids probably don’t even know what effitte does. I mean, do they even have it in other cities?”

  Veranix didn’t know. He knew it was brought in from the Napolic Islands—the Poasian-controlled ones. It was made there, and smuggled here by Fenmere. Surely there were other smuggling rings all along the west coast. Maybe Fenmere was just one part of a grander network.

  “Social strategy,” Jiarna said sternly. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping with the tetchball squad?”

  “Yes, and I have been,” Veranix said. “Batting coach, primarily. Professor Alimen says it’s a good activity for me.” The professor had been trying to occupy Veranix with tasks all summer—the opening ceremonies, the tetch squad, special tutoring. “Come the autumn,” Alimen had said more than once, “there will be several first- and second-year magic students in need of mentoring, Mister Calbert. I am counting on you being available to them.”

  Jiarna nodded, now pacing around the carriage house. “Good, excellent. The tetch matches are the centerpiece of the Tournament, so that positions you perfectly for one aspect. Tie yourself to that squad. Engage with them on and off the field, and you might be privy to something useful.”

  Veranix was skeptical. “That’s not going to be—”

  Jiarna cut him off. “Yes, it is. Kaiana?”

  “I’ve got enough work with my new position.”

  “Exactly,” Jiarna said. “But you can use that. You’ve been given scruff, right? Folks below you challenging your authority?”

  “Every little thing ‘requires my attention’.”

  “Oh, that is perfect. Use that. Make it clear that you want to know every irregular thing they find. Embrace every time they pull that on you.”

  “Right,” Kaiana said, nodding. “Maybe I can figure out where on campus it’s concentrating.”

  Jiarna went into one of the empty stables. “I’ve got a map of campus that I drew up a couple years ago which should help.” She started rummaging through the pile of crates, cases, and trunks that occupied it.

  “Are all your belongings in here?” Kaiana asked, going to the stable.

  “Both of ours,” Phadre said. “Sorry, Kai, but we . . .”

  “Vee,” Kaiana said sharply. “The apartment.”

  “What?” Veranix asked.

  “The apartment over the laundry press.”

  Veranix hesitated. That was one of his few safe refuges in Aventil, a place where he could hide his Thorn gear and rest.

  “Vee!” she said sharply.

  “Right, yes,” he said. “Sorry, but . . . I’ve got a place you two could stay at, keep your belongings. It’s just for a few weeks, right?”

  “Yes,” Phadre said. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” Veranix lied on Kai’s harsh stare.

  “Thank you,” Jiarna said coolly. She unrolled the hand-drawn map and laid it on a table. “We’ve got one location, by Haveldale Center? Delmin, what can you do?”

  Delmin hesitated. “I’ve been chummy with several of the other interim prefects in the dorm cluster.” That was another job Alimen had tried to nudge Veranix into for the Tournament. He managed to squirm away from it, but Delmin had embraced the idea. “We’ve been meeting casually.”

  “All saints and sinners, that is perfect,” Jiarna said. “You stick to them like flies in a butcher shop.”

  “And us?” Phadre asked.

  “Simple,” Jiarna said. “I still have quite a few friends in the social clubs, and they are hosting events with all the schools over the course of the Tournament. I will need a proper escort at those events.”

  “Your plan is you go to social club parties?” Veranix asked.

  “It is a burden I am taking on to help you,” Jiarna said, with the slightest hint of a smirk. “Believe me, I’ve been to quite a few of these things, and if there is effitte coming onto campus, it will filter there.”

  Veranix sighed. “All right. This is as good a plan as any. But if one student ends up in ’fitte-trance, then I’m going to go into full skull-cracking mode.”

  “As you wish,” Jiarna said. “And I have something to help you with that.”

  She went back to her belongings and came out with something wrapped in cloth. She put it on the table next to the map.

  “Is that?” he asked trepidatiously. He unwrapped it to find his napranium-laced rope bundled in there. “You repaired it?”

  Jiarna hesitated. Pointing to the leather strap wrapped around the rope where it had been cut in his fight with Bluejay two months ago, she said, “More accurate would be to say that I patched it. I don’t have the materials or know-how to truly repair it, but I used a few different techniques to stem the numina bleed and blockage.”

  “Del?”

  Delmin was already staring at the rope as closely as he could without making contact. The rope required strong command of magic to even handle, and in Delmin’s hands it would be out of control. “She’s right, in that there aren’t the same snarls in the flow around the damage. But the flow is weaker overall.”

  “True,” Jiarna admitted. “My method was essentially one of introducing impurities.”

  Veranix picked it up, feeling a surge of numina from it— but Delmin was right, it wasn’t anywhere near the same degree of power he used to feel from it. He willed it, magically, to coil up at his belt like he always did. The rope responded to the magic, but it felt almost like a numb limb, and it took more effort than it used to. Not as much effort as trying to magically control a normal rope would, but effort nonetheless.

  “Thank you,” Veranix said. “This means a lot.”

  “All right,” Jiarna said. “Now, where is this apartment you can lend us?”

  Normally, Corman relished the summers. Much of Mister Fenmere’s household staff had gone with him to the summer house on the Yinaran coast, as had Gerrick. They had all expressed their regrets. “Poor Corman, having to stay behind to keep an eye on things.”

  Mister Fenmere knew it wasn’t a burden, though. Mostly because he knew that Corman loathed the beach, the ocean, and everything else involving the summer house.

  Keeping an eye on Mister Fenmere’s business and household for the summer months? That was usually bliss for Corman.

  Usually.

  This summer had been sweltering, and even opening up all the doors and windows did little to create a breeze in the house. Corman would be in shirtsleeves, drinking Scallic lime ricks, and he’d still be coated in a layer of sweat. It was vile.

  Plus there was the fact that managing the business was going nowhere near as well as it should have. He knew Mister Fenmere would not blame him for that, but he was ashamed nonetheless. The summer had been filled with minor disasters.

  One disaster was the expansion into the western neighborhoods. The recent death of Mendel Tyne and the crumbling of his empire was a plum opportunity for them to take control over Keller Cove, and, from there, cement their hold on all of West Maradaine. Bell had been sent out to lay the foundation there, but he had gone silent. Bell had suffered humiliation from the Red Rabbits and the Thorn, and Corman wondered if it had bee
n a wise move putting that man in charge of anything. Corman’s presumption was that he had failed, bad enough that he was now rotting in a creek bed somewhere.

  The larger disaster was still looming on the horizon. Dejri Adfezh was coming to Maradaine for a meeting with Mister Fenmere. Nothing good could come from that ghost setting foot on Druth soil. Adfezh sent word he was coming on the nineteenth, which was the same day Mister Fenmere was due to return from the coast. Corman had sent a letter, but at this point little could be done to change Mister Fenmere’s return plans.

  Corman felt it was important to let disappointment rain on those below him. He had gathered several of the corner bosses together, and made them stand in sweltering silence in Mister Fenmere’s game room while he casually played billiards.

  “Sales continue to plummet, friends,” he said after sinking another ball. “At least, the sales that are being reported.”

  To their credit, none of the five bosses assembled looked uncomfortable or ashamed. Heads high, eyes hard. Benny, the shaven-head bruiser who ran a tight operation of captains and sellers in Dentonhill’s north point, nearly snarled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Nyri, the Waishen-haired and Tsouljan-skinned woman who ran a handful of upscale dens in secretive locations, answered him. “He means he thinks you’re claiming losses to the Thorn and pocketing the difference.” She sucked on her hassper pipe, adding, “My numbers have been stable, Corman. I don’t appreciate being called out with no call.”

  “Stable isn’t entirely true,” Corman said. “They’ve been creeping downward, though at a slower pace than everyone else.”

  “That’s because I don’t rest my entire business on effitte.”

  “This isn’t fair,” Smiley said. He was the oldest one of the bunch, a former soldier who handled the western point of the neighborhood. “I’m the one who’s getting hammered every time the Thorn comes around.”

  Jullick, the young buck, shot back, “You’re not the only one.” Corman did not care for Jullick. Far too ambitious. Mister Fenmere felt it was worth channeling that ambition to his own ends, but Corman thought that some form of rebellion was inevitable. It was just a question of when.

  “And what are you all doing about that?” Corman asked. “Are you stopping the Thorn? Tracking him, chasing him, setting up a trap for him?”

  “No, they aren’t.”

  This did not come from Jads—the distribution and warehousing mistress that Corman had more than a little personal affection for—but from the door behind Corman. He was not expecting anyone else.

  “No one is doing anything about the Thorn,” the speaker continued as Corman turned around. Corman had to admit, he was genuinely surprised to see who it was.

  “Mister Bell,” he said, keeping his voice level. “I had presumed you were dead.”

  “No, just staying out of the wind,” Bell said. The man barely looked like himself. Thinner, leaner, more hair. “Not that anyone here cared much.”

  “Don’t say that,” Smiley said. “Many of us would have helped.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Bell stepped into the room, and before Corman knew what was happening, Bell had picked up one of the billiard balls and pitched it right into Smiley’s face. Blood spurted out of Smiley’s nose as he shouted.

  “Very uncivilized,” Nyri said.

  “Terribly sorry, ma’am,” Bell said. “Best watch that nose, Smiley. Mister Fenmere would hate blood on the carpet in his game room.”

  “Very true,” Corman said. “Mister Bell, your presence and your behavior are quite unwelcome.”

  “Quite unwelcome?” Bell echoed. “How genteel, Corman.” In a flash, Bell snatched the billiard cue out of Corman’s hand. “Let’s do nothing foolish, then.”

  “Just because Mister Fenmere isn’t here doesn’t mean there aren’t guards in the house.”

  “I know there are. I also know where they are.” He held up his hands peacefully. “Don’t you worry, I didn’t do anything permanent to any of them. Unlike Smiley’s nose.”

  “I’m going to make you eat your pisswhistle!” Smiley shouted, blood gargling in his mouth.

  “Not today,” Bell said. “Your guards are fine. Now, if the Thorn knew which house this was, if he got in here . . . that wouldn’t be the case, Mister Corman. None of you would be fine.”

  “You aren’t going to bring him here, are you?” Jullick asked.

  “No, of course not, you simpering toad,” Bell said. He pointed the cue at the man. “You know, I never liked you, Jullick.”

  “Why should he care?” Jads asked. “What were you, other than a glorified errand boy?”

  Bell chuckled, and leaned over the table. “None of you should be upset with me, you know. Because unlike the rest of you, I actually understand our problem.” He took a shot, failing to sink anything.

  “What problem is that?” Jads asked coolly. She was watching Bell with wry amusement. “Are you saying you understand the Thorn?”

  “I do, actually, but that’s hardly the point,” Bell said.

  Corman had to admit, he was more than a little intrigued by the moxie Bell was showing. It took having nothing left to lose to make him interesting. “What is the point, Mister Bell?”

  “You haven’t been able to stop him, because no one knows who the Thorn actually is. But that’s just it . . . no one knows, so anyone could be the Thorn.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jullick said. “We already know that anyone might be the Thorn.”

  “That isn’t what he said, imbecile,” Nyri said. “Anyone could be the Thorn.” Whatever nuance she had picked up from that distinction wasn’t clear to Corman.

  “I’ve taken a bit of initiative, Mister Corman,” Bell said, laying the cue on the billiard table. “Some business that was, of course, personally satisfying. But I’m also going to handle your Thorn problem.”

  Corman was genuinely confused. Bell had done little but get repeatedly beaten by the Thorn. “And how will you do that?”

  “By setting everyone after him,” Bell said with a smirk. “And taking care of other business in the process.”

  “You’re an idiot, Mister Bell,” Corman said. He was more than tired of this absurdity, both with Bell and the Thorn. Even though Mister Fenmere had instructed him to not bother with the Thorn at all, he decided to take his own initiative. “All of you, spread the word. Two thousand crowns for the Thorn, dead or alive.”

  “Really, Corman?” Benny asked.

  “Yes, really,” Corman said. The two thousand could be spared, he knew that, especially if the Thorn was taken out of the equation. And if no one claimed the bounty, then it didn’t matter.

  “That won’t work, Corman,” Bell said. “But that should be interesting.”

  “Someone get rid of him,” Corman said, indicating Bell with a nod of his head. Benny was the one to oblige, jumping over the table while drawing a knife out.

  Bell didn’t even blink, merely taking a step back. From nowhere, there was a twang and Benny screamed. He hit the floor where Bell had been standing, an arrow through his knife hand. A man stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing a burgundy cloak, hood hiding his face, and held up a bow with another arrow drawn. He gave a cocky smile. “How’s that, Bell?”

  “Perfect.”

  “You brought the Thorn here?” Corman shouted.

  “Of course not, don’t be stupid. Like I said, Mister Corman, if the Thorn had been here, you would all be in a lot of trouble.” He gave a mock salute and stepped out the way he came. His bowman walked with him, keeping an arrow trained on Corman. Bell glanced back and added, “But you helped prove my point. Anyone could be the Thorn.”

  Then there was a burst of colored smoke. When it cleared, he and his friend were gone.

  Corman looked at the five bosses, now feeling nauseous. “Clean this
all up and get out of here.”

  “You’re serious about the crowns, though?” Smiley asked.

  “Two thousand for the Thorn? Dead serious. Tell everyone who might care to know. And if they get Bell’s friend by mistake, all the better.”

  Chapter 3

  ALMERS HALL WAS filled with athletes: archers, runners, riders, rowers, throwers, and, of course, tetchball players. On the third floor, the only actual University of Maradaine students were Delmin and Veranix, who had been given special dispensation to keep their room for the summer by Professor Alimen. This was the first summer where Veranix hadn’t spent it largely on his own, the whole floor to himself. Even Delmin usually went home to his North Maradaine family. The crowded, raucous dorm in the middle of the summer was rather disconcerting.

  A lot of these athletes were disciplined young men who got up with the dawn to begin their morning routines. Veranix found this incredibly unnatural. Also he was unable to sleep further once they all started going.

  He reminded himself this was only going to be seven more days.

  “So what’s your plan for today?” Delmin asked from his bed when Veranix got up and went into his set of morning stretches.

  “We all have a plan, remember?” Veranix shot back. “I’m tying myself to the tetch squad.”

  “Right, so where are they?” Delmin was clearly seeking solid details to ease his anxiety.

  “Most of those boys live in the social houses. Tosler is one of the Seated Men in Whisper Fox House, and the ones who aren’t in that house or another, he’s put up there for the summer.”

  “Whisper Fox is a good house,” Delmin said. “My uncle and my cousin were both Foxes back in their day.” Veranix nodded, remembering back to second year, when Delmin was more than a little frustrated to learn that magic students were barred from joining the social houses.

  “So I’ll be meeting up with them. Today they have a match against Trenn College, and I’ll be there until I see trouble.”

  “Good show,” Delmin said. “And . . . what do you do when you see trouble? Are you going with all your gear, masking it?”