The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “You’re really going with those?” Delmin asked.

  “What did you call Jensett before you knew his name?”

  “The . . . Prankster.”

  “My names will suffice.”

  Colin stood up. “This is fascinating. But it’s the Jester that the bosses are concerned about, and I still have to convince them that he isn’t you. Or that you aren’t him. Or, frankly, that I still don’t really know who you are.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Veranix asked.

  “Beats the blazes out of me,” Colin said. “But I’ll make the Jester my problem. Can you handle the Hunter?”

  “I’m going to, have no doubt.”

  Colin didn’t doubt it. Veranix had that same blasted intensity in his face when he talked about clearing the streets of effitte, or taking out Fenmere. The Hunter had stoked Veranix’s fires by killing that Bird.

  “All right, good. Now I need to clear off of campus in a trice.”

  Phadre stood up and extended his hand. “Thank you for your help.”

  Colin took it, still bewildered by this politeness these Uni friends of Veranix were showing him. “It’s what I got to do. I took an oath to keep him safe, hear?”

  “Yes,” Jiarna said. “If you need assistance in some way . . .”

  Colin snickered. “Yeah, thanks, skirt. But I’ve got enough trouble to explain to the Prince bosses, without adding you swells to it.”

  Veranix took him in an embrace. “We both need to be careful. Just notes with the preacher for the next few days, all right?”

  “Smart,” Colin said. He went to the door. “You all, keep his head on the rest of him, hmm?”

  “I’ll try,” Delmin said.

  “And he needs to get better marks.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

  “Hey, enough,” Veranix said.

  “I promised your pop—”

  “Get out of here,” Veranix said. Colin chuckled. For once, he got to leave Veranix’s space and leave him annoyed. He could get used to that.

  The grounds crew were all standing around outside the tetchball field, like they didn’t know they were supposed to be working.

  “Gentlemen!” Kaiana shouted as she approached. “Is there some sort of problem?”

  They all looked up at her. “Miss Nell,” one of them called back. This was one of the new boys; she couldn’t remember his name. “We need to show you something.”

  That was at least a new phrasing.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “There are two matches here today, the first one in a couple of hours. Please tell me this field is going to be ready.”

  “No, we’ve got it nearly ready,” Lash said. He looked close to nauseous. So did Rennie. The other boys, the new ones—they looked distraught, but nothing like “It’s just . . . all right, we need to show this to you.”

  “But we got to ask you, Miss Nell,” Rennie went on. “Are you having a lark of some sort on us?”

  “A lark?” Kaiana asked. “Have I given you the impression that I’m having a lark of any kind?”

  “It’s just—” Rennie stepped away from the rest, pulling her aside with him. She yanked her arm out of his grip, but stayed with him. “Look, we may have had a laugh and gone too far with those boys—”

  “I wasn’t having a laugh,” Kaiana said. “We let them off easy, frankly.”

  “And this isn’t some trick that you’re pulling on me and Lash, is it? I know we’ve been giving you the run and everything, but if this is a joke—”

  “If what’s a joke?”

  “It needs to be over. Fair’s on both sides.”

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t appreciate you wasting time. We need to—”

  “You swear you didn’t do this to prank us?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “If nothing else, Mister Rennie, you should know how I feel about pranks.”

  “Ren, let’s show her,” Lash said. “I thought it was his joke at first, and he thought it was mine, but then it was clear it was neither of us, and these boys kept finding them . . .”

  “Finding what?” Kaiana feared she already knew the answer.

  Lash whistled to the other boys. One came over with a cloth sack.

  “They’re all over the place. By the field, under the stands, in the stands, the grass surrounding.”

  Kaiana looked in the sack. It was full of empty vials, all of them with residue inside.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “We found at least twenty,” Lash said.

  “And this isn’t your trick?” Kaiana was surprised how angry and hard her voice sounded. Lash jumped back.

  “No, ma’am, swear to the saints.”

  “And ain’t nothing like that before yesterday’s matches,” Rennie added. “These are new.”

  Kaiana swore. Despite everything they had done, they weren’t even close to stopping the flow of effitte on campus. It was worse than ever.

  Chapter 15

  SATRINE RAINEY HAD had quite enough of Sergeant Tripper this morning. He had been dismissive and annoying, though he had stopped short of actually disrespecting her rank. But she was stuck with him for the moment, since Welling had decided it was worth staying at the stationhouse to sort through the reports from last night, and Corrie went to campus to arrange the interview with Delmin Sarren and his blasted professor.

  “Now, look here, specs,” Tripper said as they approached the Turnabout. “This has got to be done in a delicate way, hear? We can’t just charge in there.”

  “No?” Satrine asked. “Is it a private club? Do we need a Writ of Entry?”

  “Nothing like that, no,” Tripper said.

  “Is this the part where you tell me that I just don’t know Aventil or how it all works?”

  Tripper made some strangling noises. “It just ain’t like that, specs.”

  “Then tell me what it’s like. This bar is the usual hangout of the—who? Orchid Street Princes?”

  “Rose Street,” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s a better name,” she returned. “So I imagine the bar is where the underlings sit around at the tables in their individual crews—when they aren’t out doing whatever mischiefs the gangs get into. Am I gathering?”

  Tripper just huffed.

  “Probably the basements under the bar, those are claimed by the bosses. That about right?”

  “But you don’t know—”

  “What don’t I know, Sergeant?”

  He sighed. “Last time we went in here, one of ours got killed. His name was Arch.”

  “Killed by a Prince?” She saw something in his eyes. Anger? Fear? “I won’t let that stop me from doing my job, Sergeant. I hope you can say the same.”

  “I’m just saying it’s a dangerous place, and these colors won’t protect you, ma’am.”

  “I never count on the colors to protect me.” They were at the Turnabout now. Two boys with rose tattoos on their arms gave Rainey and Tripper some hard glares, but didn’t say anything. “But do you have my back in there? Or do I have to call in help?”

  “No, specs. I’m just saying, have care.”

  “I’ll have care, all right.” She went right past the two boys through the doors of the Turnabout, sticking her whistle in her mouth as she entered. She gave a strong, sharp blast.

  “Do I have your attention?” she asked, letting the whistle drop back into her hand. Many eyes were on her, most of them belonging to people with that rose tattoo on their arms. None of them looked pleased to see her.

  “What the blazes you want, stick?” A young woman with stars on her rose tattoo.

  “The inspector has some questions,” Tripper said. “She’s looking into the attack on Lieutenant Benvin.”

&
nbsp; “We didn’t have nothing to do with that, stick,” she said.

  “Maybe you didn’t,” Satrine said. “But it seems whoever did it also knocked you and yours over on Orchid last night. At least that’s what we hear.”

  “That’s what you hear? Who’d you hear that from?” The Prince girl got up close, almost pressing her nose into Satrine’s.

  Satrine bit her cheek to not laugh at this girl’s bravado. Another life, another path, she’d have been the same way. “There was a blasted open brawl in the street, girl. You think we wouldn’t hear a thing or two about it?”

  “So what’s it to us?”

  “You’re delightful,” Satrine said, this time with a laugh. “I don’t care what it is to you. What it is to me is one of you is a witness, and I want to hear from them.”

  “Anybody see anything?” the girl called out to the room. No one spoke up. “Looks like you’re out of luck, Waishen.” The girl even dared to reach out and twirl a strand of Satrine’s hair around her finger.

  “Oh, look,” Satrine said, grabbing the girl’s wrist, “you put hands on an officer of the Constabulary.” She spun the girl around, pinning her arm behind her back. The girl went for a knife on her hip, but Satrine had her other hand on it before the girl could reach it. “Let’s not be doing that.”

  Princes got on their feet, and Tripper had his handstick half drawn before Satrine spoke out to the room. “Let’s no one get too damn hasty. We’d hate to come in here just for questions and things get messy.”

  “So sit it down!” Tripper snapped. “We ain’t looking to iron any of you. At least not today.”

  “You wanna let me go, Waishen?”

  Satrine took the knife from her and pushed her away. “Cool down a bit, girl.”

  “I’m a winter’s day,” the girl said.

  “What’s the situation here, officers?” An old man, all white hair and beard, came from the back, ambling easily over to them. “Can I help you with something?” He gave them a large, toothy smile, which put Satrine in the mind of a Waish snow fox.

  “As I was telling your friend here, we’re looking into the attack on your people on Orchid last night.”

  “Attack? Oh, Inspector—Rainey, is it?” He peered at her badge. “That’s an exaggeration of events. I hear a few boys had a few too many at the Old Canal and started an argument over a pretty lady. You know how these stories get out of control.”

  “Don’t sell us your nonsense, Casey,” Tripper said.

  “Do I know you, Sergeant?” Casey asked, regarding Tripper like an old fish. “Oh, you’re one of the lieutenant’s people, aren’t you? His little merry band? Well, you tell him all of us at the Turnabout are wishing him a speedy recovery.” Before Tripper spoke, Casey waved him off. “Never mind. I have a few friends at the stationhouse who can do that for me.”

  Tripper lunged at Casey, but Satrine quickly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. “We’ll leave it at that, Sergeant.”

  “I’m going to bring a city of pain on your head,” Tripper snarled at Casey. “Mark me, old man.”

  Satrine yanked him back, almost throwing him at the door. “Mister Casey, if you think of anything that might be of note to our investigation, please don’t hesitate to leave word for me at the stationhouse.”

  “This isn’t your house or neighborhood, is it, Inspector?”

  “Attacks on constables are always handled out-of-house,” Satrine said, shooting a glare at Tripper. “It keeps biases from entering into the investigation.” Tripper stewed, but stepped back by the door.

  “I see you’ve got a good head, Inspector. So I’ll tell you, something like this, you shouldn’t worry about.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Aventil takes care of its own, Inspector. Right now, the Dogs and the Kickers are working out some issues, but that will sort itself in due course. A few new players are trying to get noticed, but they’ll be taught their place. Everything will settle shortly. Not a matter for the sticks.”

  “See, Mister Casey,” Satrine said, moving in a bit closer to him, “this is where we don’t quite see the same street. You think everything will settle of its own accord. I think I’m going to have to keep coming to Aventil until the man who attacked Lieutenant Benvin is on his way to Quarrygate. Now, I live in High River.”

  “Oo, la, High River,” Casey said, snorting with derision.

  “So I don’t like coming into Aventil. It takes me twice as long to get out here, twice as long to get home. Each day I have to come out here, the more annoyed I am with everyone here. With this one right here”—she pointed to Tripper—“and all of you in here. The more annoyed I am, the more I’m going to come into this place and express my annoyance.”

  “What kind of—”

  “That one there”—she pointed to the girl—“I could have popped irons on her and dragged her to the station and no one would have given a damn. But I’ll give you this one for free. Tomorrow I won’t be so inclined.”

  “You think you can come in here—”

  “Yes, I do, Mister Casey. I really think I can. Because this isn’t my neighborhood.” She went over to the door, adding, “I don’t give a damn about how the Dogs or the Campers or Princes or whatever feel things will sort themselves. I just want to solve my case and go home. And you will want me to solve my case and go home. Hear?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, marching out of the Turnabout with Sergeant Tripper at her heels.

  “Saints, Inspector,” he said. “The blazes you think you’re doing?”

  “What I do best, Sergeant,” she said. “Piss people off and get stuff done. Let’s head to campus. Corrie should have arranged our next interview by now.”

  The tetch match would be a nail-biter if Veranix had cared about it. The game was on its third interval, and U of M was two points down with only three batters remaining. If they didn’t make up the difference, they wouldn’t even play the back half of the interval. Korifina was fielding like an oiled clock, and the boys of the Mary squad had managed the ten points only with one-point Jack Line crossings. The Korifina boys had managed a particularly brutal Double Jack cross in the second interval that had put them in the lead. This interval, U of M hadn’t managed to put a single point on the board.

  Veranix’s head wasn’t in the game. His thoughts swirled with Emilia, with the imposter—two imposters—and Inspector Welling. Emilia, he hadn’t trusted her, despite saving him from that effitte den. He felt such a fool, said such horrible things to her, and yet she stayed there with him. She stayed and died for it. Killed by one of the imposters—the Hunter, as Jiarna had dubbed him. Then there was the Jester, who made Veranix even more nervous. A complete mystery, and willing and able to murder constables, go after the Princes and Orphans. And from Colin’s description, a capable fighter. What did he want? Just to make the Thorn look bad?

  And then Inspector Welling. Professor Alimen had gone into a state just upon being near him, and Veranix could understand why now. The man seemed downright ordinary, except for the strange flavor of numina flowing out of him. Specifically coming from his hand. A flavor that somehow Veranix was able to instinctively harmonize with—that was the only word that he could think of that applied. Or perhaps Inspector Welling had harmonized with him.

  Their magical abilities linked to each other, in a way Veranix had never done in a practical lesson or anywhere else. In that moment, they worked together to save the people on the street from the fallen building. But that had been a fluke, a sudden convergence of their power that Veranix felt he didn’t even properly control. Had Inspector Welling managed to control him and his magical ability? Was that even possible?

  Was this because Inspector Welling was Uncircled? Or in spite of it? Did his lack of training lead him to using magic in ways no proper mage had ever worked out?

  Veranix’s
mind reeled with the possibilities and implications, but it scared him far more than facing Fenmere. He understood why Professor Alimen had been so disturbed by the man.

  He would have to ask Delmin about it.

  No, not Delmin. He’d panic. Jiarna, perhaps. She’d look at it rationally, scientifically.

  He glanced up to the stands. Jiarna was next to Phadre, both dressed in blue and white, screaming in excitement. Veranix glanced back at the pitch, to see that Needle—Needle, of all people—had just hit a Double Jack. Good for him. Veranix didn’t think he had it in him. Needle sprinted past the Jack Line and the Double Jack as the Korifina Triple Warder dove for the tetchball, which had landed just a few feet shy of the Triple Jack. The Triple Warder had the ball in hand the moment Needle crossed the Double Jack, and threw it to their Deep Double as he charged at Needle. The Triple Warder had a good five inches and thirty pounds on Needle. This wasn’t going to end pretty for him.

  “Dive knock!” Veranix shouted.

  Needle remembered the play. Instead of trying to outrun the Triple Warder, Needle barreled toward him, and dropped to the ground in a roll right before the Warder got his hands on him.

  Needle crashed into the Warder’s legs at full stride, while the Warder had nothing to grab on to. He went face first into the dirt, while Needle rolled back up onto his feet and crossed the Triple Jack.

  Needle was already turned back around and running toward the Tetch Rail before the Triple Warder could pull himself up, blood gushing from his nose. As soon as Needle was back over the Double Jack, the Right and Left Feet were on him, pulling him hard to the ground.

  “Restore!” the Watcher called. “Four points to University of Maradaine!”

  Veranix turned back toward the stands to see Jiarna—as well as the rest of the U of M fans—go wild for that play, but he saw something else past the stands, outside the pitch.

  Kaiana, and three largish boys grouped around her.

  Veranix didn’t waste any time moving over there.

  “You all can be about your business,” Kaiana was saying, staring hard at the middle boy looming over her. Veranix recognized these three bruisers once he closed the distance. Pirrell boys, the same ones who had been giving him a hard time in Almers. What the blazes was their problem?