The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “So, specs, you say you have something for us,” Benvin said. He still looked irritated, but no longer anxious. Since he saw no signs that they had been in an additional brawl, it was likely that Inspector Rainey stopped his ill-conceived raid. Which was excellent, because it made what was about to happen easier.

  “Looks like some stuff went down on campus,” Pollit said. “They don’t need our help?”

  “I believe the worst has played out,” Minox said. He was quite famished. Flipping a crown over to the cadet, he said, “Mister Saitle. If you would be so kind to procure me a striker, skellie, or similar source of nourishment.”

  “You’re eating?” Benvin said as Saitle ran off.

  “Let it be,” Rainey said. Looking to Minox, “You all right?”

  “I am uninjured, which is more than many people on campus can say.” He signaled for them to come closer so they could confer with some privacy. “In short order, there will be two arrests logged at the Aventil Stationhouse. Once those are processed, Inspector Rainey and I will have fulfilled our duties on this assignment.”

  “We will?” Rainey asked.

  “You mean, you got the Thorn?” Tripper asked.

  “I have apprehended the man who is responsible for the attack at the church. You will have to do some additional legwork, Lieutenant, to finalize collection of evidence and testimony, but this man should also face a number of charges involving the smuggling, possession, and sale of a drug called pamph.”

  “Soldier’s Fist,” Benvin said. “That’s made it to Maradaine?”

  “Hopefully this is an isolated incursion that we have cut off. However, Lieutenant, you should maintain some diligence in the coming months.”

  “What else was I going to do?” Benvin said. “I suppose our squad isn’t going to get the credit for that one?”

  Saitle came running over with something that involved hot meat and toasted bread, and Minox did not question or care further. He ate it greedily as he continued. “Given the circumstances, the first credit will have to go to the campus and the Grand Inspectors’ Unit. But the process will still go through Aventil, as the campus cadets are not equipped to—”

  “You said two arrests. What’s the second?”

  Minox spotted Jace running up the avenue toward them, waving a paper in his hand.

  “Presuming my brother is carrying the necessary writ, and presuming my information is correct, we will be proceeding to an address where you will find the man you want.”

  “The Thorn?” Benvin asked.

  Minox answered honestly, though he knew Benvin would take it differently than he intended. “The man responsible for your attack and Officer Malored’s death.”

  Jace ran in, slapping the paper in Minox’s hand. “Fresh from the Protector. Writ of Search for 19 Branch Lane.”

  Benvin raised an eyebrow. “We’ve suspected that’s a Prince safehouse.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Minox said. “But let’s go see.”

  Benvin took the writ and led the way to Branch.

  Rainey sighed wistfully as they went, as if being done here had already made her melancholic.

  “I thought you were sick of Aventil,” he said.

  “I am,” she said. “But like an infection, it’s grown on me.”

  “This is your inscrutable sense of humor.”

  “Rather. So is this really it? We’re done. Clean arrests, right man, nothing unresolved?”

  “We’re done,” Minox said. “Clean arrests and the right man.”

  But there would remain the unresolved.

  It had taken a whole day before they came for Colin. He had been surprised it took that long. He wasn’t hiding. After cleaning himself up and getting fresh clothes—courtesy of Bell’s money—he slept in the basement of the cheese shop, and once he woke he took his usual chair in the Old Canal and ate as many sausage plates as he could handle.

  It was dusk when they came in. Five of them, Iggs with his bandaged hand at the front.

  Colin stood up, addressing the boys loudly. “I’m not going to make trouble, so don’t cause trouble for the people who run this place.” He threw a hundred-crown note on the table. “That’s not what Princes do, hear?” He walked past them outside.

  They had a wagon in front of the Canal. Iggs snapped his fingers and three of them grabbed Colin and threw him in the back. No pleasantries, no words.

  This was how it was going to be. He had expected it.

  While one drove the wagon, the other four all but sat on top of Colin, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Colin stared at Iggs, glancing at his hand.

  “Hurts, don’t it?”

  Iggs glowered.

  “It’s gonna scar like blazes, you know. Won’t ever be right again.”

  “It’ll have company,” Iggs said quietly.

  The wagon pulled up to the Turnabout, and the heavies took him out.

  “Through the alley?” he asked, “Or are you marching me in front of the other Princes before taking me down?”

  “Not taking you down,” Iggs said. He grabbed Colin by the back of the neck and pushed him into the Turnabout.

  Every damn Prince was in there. Every pigeon, tough, heavy, captain, and boss. Except Bassa. Colin noted she was absent.

  All of them looked pissed. All but Giles, whose face was beaming with joy.

  Rutting bastard, Giles.

  Despite the place being completely full of Princes, there was a chair alone in an empty circle of floor, facing the collected bosses. And next to the chair, sitting in a bowl of hot coals, was a pressing iron.

  They were coming for his stars, and making a whole goddamned show of it.

  Iggs pushed him inside and deposited him in the chair.

  “Here he is, the man of the night,” Giles said. “Mister Colin Tyson, captain of the Rose Street Princes.”

  “This is quite the party you’re throwing for me,” Colin said. “I’m actually rather impressed.”

  “Tyson, you rutting idiot,” Old Casey said. He stood up and addressed the crowd. “I want all of you to hear, to really understand what this moron did. First of all, he does something great. He hatches a plan for all of us, and with it, he captures the Thorn.”

  “Wasn’t the Thorn,” Colin said.

  “He catches the Thorn and brings him back to a safehouse. That would have been great, Tyson. You know? You would have gotten your flop back for that, you know?”

  “What?” Deena said from the side.

  “Not now,” Casey hissed. “Because it doesn’t matter. First, once you have him, you take him for yourself for a bit. Get him to answer some questions. The Thorn told you all his secrets, hmm?”

  “Wasn’t. The. Thorn.” Colin shook his head. “Get it clear. That guy was a—”

  “I don’t rutting care!” Casey started pacing the floor. “Because then this guy, this loyal captain of the Rose Street Princes, he takes it upon himself to go into Dentonhill. He crosses Waterpath, and with his arm proudly showing—”

  “Ain’t no other way to be.”

  “He takes a hit on Fenmere’s boys. Hits them hard, but leaves one of them around to say who he was and what he’s done.”

  “Damn right,” Colin said. Everything Casey was doing was theater, but he wasn’t going to play any part other than himself. Colin Tyson, truest man in the room.

  “Now of course Fenmere’s people reach out to us, concerned. Why are we causing trouble in their neighborhood? How are we going to make it right?”

  “You don’t make it right with Fenmere’s people,” Colin said. He looked around at the crowd. “Really, any of you going to back that? They send that guy to hit Rabbits, hit Aventil sticks, hit us, and they ask how we make it right?”

  “Yeah, we make it right, because we don’t need a war, Tyson,” G
iles said. “Not one you decided to start, at least.”

  “You don’t get to decide that,” Frenty added.

  Casey went on. “So we decide to give the Thorn to them. Except he’s gone. Did he escape? Did Tyson set him free?”

  “No,” Colin said.

  “No. He’s gone because THE RUTTING STICKS CAME INTO OUR SAFEHOUSE AND ARRESTED HIM!”

  “Really?” This actually surprised Colin.

  That, instead of anything else, earned a punch from Iggs on Casey’s nod.

  “You told the sticks, the rutting sticks, where to find him. Because, why? You thought the arrest would get them off our necks?”

  “I did nothing of the sort.”

  Another punch.

  “I could understand that this was some sort of misplaced pride. Standing up to Fenmere, arm out. Giving the Thorn to the sticks so they wouldn’t swat on us anymore. But even still, you told the sticks to go to our safehouse.”

  “I did—”

  Another punch came, but Colin ducked, grabbing Iggs’s wrist and twisting for all he was worth. Iggs screamed and dropped down. Colin was on his feet, knife drawn.

  “I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Sit down, Tyson,” Casey said.

  Colin threw the knife down to the floor. Not that he didn’t have five more.

  “Making it clear, Casey. I didn’t tell the sticks anything.” He sat down. “I told the Thorn.”

  The room exploded in shouts and cries.

  “Ease it down!” Casey shouted. “You told the Thorn. You told the Thorn, what, where he was tied up?”

  “Again, for the slow people,” Colin said. “The guy wasn’t the Thorn. He was hired by Fenmere’s boys to hit us dressed as the Thorn.”

  “Dressed as the Thorn.” This came from the back doorway. The crowd opened up, and Vessrin strolled in. Some people were shocked, though most of them had no idea who this old man was or why anyone would defer to him. “What the blazes does it matter? Dressed as the Thorn? How is that not the Thorn?”

  “Be—” Colin started. He bit his tongue.

  “Because you know the Thorn, hmm?” Vessrin came over. “Not just that you’ve met him or have talked to him, but you know him, don’t you, Tyson? You trust the Thorn, more than you trust your own. Right?”

  “Of course I do, Vessrin,” Colin said, making sure to say the name so even the pigeons would know what was happening. “Because I’m the son of the man who trusted you, so I’ve learned. The only thing you can trust is blood.”

  Vessrin, despite his age, roared and grabbed Colin by the throat. Colin wasn’t about to have that. He brought his arm up and knocked Vessrin in the teeth. The old man let go, and Colin punched him again to send him to the floor.

  The room was silent.

  Iggs’s boys started to move, but Colin grabbed the hot iron, holding it out at them. He put his foot on Vessrin’s chest, holding the old man to the floor.

  “You all wanted my stars tonight,” Colin said. “But you can have it all. I’m done with the lot of you.”

  He pressed the iron against his arm, burning the flesh of his rose and his stars. It hurt worse than anything he had ever felt, but he didn’t show it on his face. He didn’t give them an inch on his face.

  “I’m the king of Rose Street,” Vessrin started. “You ain’t gonna—”

  “I’m not listening to you, traitor,” Colin said. “I ain’t a Prince. I’m a son of Tyson. And so is the Thorn.”

  He dropped the iron on Vessrin’s face.

  He turned away to walk out the door, hearing searing flesh and Vessrin’s screams. No one moved to stop him as he went into the street.

  Rose Street.

  Rose Street wasn’t his anymore. He didn’t have his crew, he didn’t have his street, he didn’t have anything on his arm.

  But it didn’t matter. He had family.

  Chapter 28

  BENVIN WANTED TO be happy with the headline in the South Maradaine Gazette that Tripper had slapped onto his desk.

  THORN ARRESTED! LIEUTENANT HENRITH BENVIN APPREHENDS THE VIGILANTE!

  It felt hollow. The man they got, a cocky bit of sewage named Erno Don, had the tools, the look, everything. The moment he spoke, Benvin knew his voice, remembered it from that night. This was their man, like the inspector said.

  But it was too damn easy. Getting the Thorn should have been harder, rather than trussed up in a Rose Street Prince flop. It wasn’t right at all. Especially since he had a bag of tricks—mostly smoke powder—instead of being a mage. Captain Holcomb and Protector Ossick said that made sense, that a real mage would have been noticed by the University. Benvin didn’t like it, and he didn’t like getting credit for it.

  But it was what it was, and he was going to have to accept that.

  “So what’s next, Left?” Tripper asked. “Still plenty to do.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Benvin said. “Next is me going over to the church to play nice with the preacher, so he doesn’t raise blazes on all of us for breaking sanctity. And the lot of you are coming with me for that.”

  “We gotta, Left?” Wheth asked. “I mean, I was on the roof across the street, so I never broke it.”

  “Technically I didn’t either,” Tripper said.

  “You rutters are not hanging me on the line alone,” Pollit said. “Not after what I did that night.”

  “You’re all coming,” Benvin said. “And you’re all gonna scrape to the priest, do absolution, whatever it takes. Last thing I need is a church action placed on this squad.”

  “Left!” Jace had come running into the squad room, out of breath.

  “Slow the blazes down, Jace. What could possibly—”

  “You have to come see, sir,” Jace said. “It’s pretty horrible.”

  “Where?”

  “Clover Street.”

  Benvin went out, Jace running ahead, while the rest of the squad was at his heels. The squad had been hurt, hurt bad, but they held together. They were the best in Aventil, and even with the priest squawking, he was proud of what they did when he was down. With them, and with Jace and Saitle once they took their patrolman tests next month, he would clean all the filth out of this neighborhood. One gang, one street at a time.

  Jace hadn’t exaggerated about Clover Street. It was a horror show, pure and simple. At least two dozen bodies laid out in a row, every one of them Toothless Dogs. And every one of them with a Kemper Street Kicker tag painted on their chest.

  A crowd of gawkers had formed, of course. Aventil liked a show.

  “This part of Clover, it’s Dog territory, ain’t it?” Benvin asked.

  “Pretty solidly,” Pollit said. “Last I knew, the line between them and the Kickers was over at Vine.”

  “Looks like the Kickers have drawn a new line,” Wheth said.

  “All right,” Benvin said. “Let’s get the bodywagons over here, and then we need to get to work. This isn’t just a new line. It’s a declaration of war.”

  Wheth and Pollit went to work driving the crowd away, while Jace started blowing whistle calls. Tripper came in close and lowered his voice.

  “This is going to get really bad, ain’t it, boss?”

  “Yeah,” Benvin said. “Just another day in Aventil.”

  Satrine was surprised how calming she found the usual business of bodies and mayhem in Inemar after the week in Aventil. She was even glad to be at her desk, covered in paperwork. Perhaps it was just comfortable. Inemar was ugly madness, but it was her madness. Her position in the Grand Inspectors’ Unit was going to keep taking her outside the neighborhood, throughout the entire city. Aventil would call again.

  The experience in Aventil had altered Welling slightly. Since then, he’d been withdrawn, spending more time in the archives. She couldn’t quite identify what was going on with him, an
d he wasn’t talking about it. She had long since learned it was useless to press him, especially if the subject was magic or his hand. His encounters with the Thorn seemed to qualify.

  Not that she blamed him. She knew that, strictly speaking, the Thorn was a criminal and should face charges. But she also knew the Thorn had put himself between her and an arrow. He had pulled Hence off of Corrie, possibly saving her life.

  And Aventil had arrested someone they could call the Thorn, so that made most of them happy.

  Except Benvin. He had already written to her about a street war brewing between the Dogs and Kickers, and he was putting together a proper case for the GIU to take on.

  She’d make good on that, even if it meant going back to Aventil.

  “I know I got hit in the rutting head,” Corrie said as she came over to Satrine’s desk. After a few days in the hospital ward she’d been back to her usual profane self. “But that tosser you chatted up on campus . . .”

  “I’d hardly say I chatted him up,” Satrine sent back.

  “Right, well, he was Intelligence, wasn’t he?”

  “That was his uniform,” Satrine said. That was an honest answer without actually confirming it.

  “Major Dresser,” Corrie said. She held up two letters, one with a wax seal, the other with the seal broken. “Messenger just delivered these. Said I was bound by ‘oath and blood’ to give this one to you.” She handed over the sealed one.

  That was a familiar phrase. “The other one was to you?”

  “Yeah.” She leaned in close. “Saying that I’m ordered by crown and country to not blazing speak of anything of my meeting with Major Dresser under charges of sedition and treason.”

  Satrine made a show of opening hers and glancing at it. “Same,” she lied. Shrugging, she added, “That’s how Intelligence operates.”

  “Rutting sewage is what it is,” Corrie said. “So that’s delivered. I’ve got reports to file.” She stalked off.

  Satrine looked over the letter again. It did tell her to keep her mouth shut, but with an additional note in different handwriting. Major Dresser’s, if her memory served. “Don’t start digging. Altarn Initiative is need to know. I’ll loop you in if I can.”