by C. M. Lind
Chapter 12
Vitoria and Sylvaine made their way through the sewers; each carried the end of a folded, wooden ladder. She was wearing fitted leather armor over charcoal grey clothes. The large leather waders she wore to protect herself from the sewage was the only new addition to her garb. On her back she carried a large, burlap backpack stuffed with her gear. She wore goggles made of thick glass and black leather that were tied so tight that Vitoria had no doubt that they would surely leave impressions for hours after being removed.
Despite the wax nose plugs that both were wearing, the stench of the place slithered past and burrowed into their noses. Sylvaine did not complain, and Vitoria was happy to have his silence.
Since leaving The Sovereign Garden she had a frantic day. She told Aimee about what had occurred between her and Conyers, and her plan for James. Aimee was more than complicit in the preparation. The old woman fetched the vials and protective gear Vitoria would need for the night, and then she personally acquired Sylvaine. He didn’t complain until he discovered that Aimee was fetching him for Vitoria, and not herself.
While it was the last thing that she wanted to do, Vitoria made herself sleep before her trek through the sewers. With the help of a large dose of opiates she hushed the voice inside of her. Her own thoughts calmed, and she passed out. She was going to be out very late that night, and she needed herself to be at her best. By the time she awoke, Sylvaine and Aimee were there waiting to help her. The boy didn’t ask questions. He seemed wounded that Conyers would lend him so easily, and he pouted by himself on the couch.
While Vitoria was awake the voice in her head was quiet. Perhaps the plan pleased it, and it patiently waited for it to unfold? Perhaps she needed all of her concentration, and it was her will alone that quieted it? Vitoria chose to believe the latter thought.
Before they left, Aimee embraced Vitoria as if she was her own child, and Vitoria did not fight it. Aimee wished the two the best of luck, and she casually informed Vitoria that she would begin preparations for Jae’s demise on her own. She had already sent word to Mikis Savas. Vitoria rolled her eyes at Aimee, and she and Sylvaine left.
They waited until it was late and dark, when all respectable people were safe in their homes, and then they made their move. Vitoria knew the sewers from when she was younger. When she first came to Queensport, she was only a vagrant thief. It was the easiest way to move stolen goods as long as you brought a good knife with to fend off the others who had the same idea.
They were at the last stretch of sewer. The whole time Vitoria trudged her feet, to make sure she wouldn’t trip and fall. The waste of the city came up to a few inches above her knees. The leather waders she was wearing came up to her waist, but wouldn’t be much good if she stumbled. The walls around them were large blocks of hewn stone that were thick with layers of rancid, slick mold. There would be nowhere to catch herself should she tumble, so she proceeded cautiously.
Sylvaine took a few minutes from when they first entered to adopt her strategy. He tried walking normally, hit something with his foot, and stumbled enough to fill his waders with a few inches of putrid water. Vitoria would have laughed, but she was adamant on keeping her mouth shut while down there. She knew how easily sound carried in the tunnels.
The whims of the gods seemed petty and cruel, she thought as they walked. There was Sylvaine, a faithful and obedient follower of Nox, and he was walking miles in a sewer with soiled waders to help someone he hated. Then, there was Vitoria, a woman who openly challenged and mocked the gods. Her waders were dry, and she was heading towards a satisfying conclusion that she had dreamt of for years. She would take her time, she thought, perhaps days or even a week. She would do whatever it took to pry the truth from him.
They reached the sewer grate behind Iron’s Rest that she had seen earlier that day. The thick, strong iron bars kept her from her quarry. She turned her head to Sylvaine. “Hold this by yourself.” She motioned to the ladder.
Sylvaine took all the weight of the heavy ladder with an audible oof!
Vitoria sloshed directly under the grate and slid her backpack forward until she could access the top flap. She undid the tie holding the flap securely down. Her leather gloved hand (which had a line of hardened leather across the knuckles for the inevitable altercation) slipped inside the bag. On top was a mask. It was a conical creation of hardened leather with two air holes that rested over the nose and mouth. Aimee had filled the inside with damp sponges and herbs. The exact recipe was created specifically for Vitoria’s visit to Iron’s Rest. It made breathing a bit difficult when Vitoria exerted herself, but it was completely necessary for her plan.
She pulled the nose plugs out and dropped them into the sludge at her feet. Then she pulled the mask over her face and tightened the leather belt straps, making sure it was snug.
“Those don’t open.” Sylvaine’s deep, bass voice broke through the thick sewer air, and it echoed down the way. He immediately dropped his volume to a hard whisper. “They started welding these ‘problem locations’ because of the smugglers. It’ll take too long to cut through, and it’ll be too loud.”
She breathed deep, and the scent of alcohol mixed with something that resembled lavender and cedar filled her lungs. Her voice was muffled. “I wonder what Conyers has even taught you, or maybe you’re too thick to think on your own.” She shoved her hand back into the bag and rummaged around until she felt a soft wad of cotton held together with twine.
Sylvaine rolled his eyes, but Vitoria didn’t notice or care. “Master Conyers has taught me to be practical and cautious.”
“He has taught you nothing but limitations.” She pulled the wad out, slung the bag back onto her back again, and began to carefully untie the twine. “We’re not using a saw.”
“Then what?” He seemed genuinely curious.
Vitoria was amused by his interest, but the mask concealed it. “You’ll see. It’s quite a lovely creation from our dear Aimee.” She found the glass bottle within. It easily held ten ounces of a clear liquid. “It’ll burn through almost anything.”
“But not glass?” He was incredulous.
“Yes, it will. You have to coat the inside with a specific wax. Then hope you didn’t miss a part.” She showed the bottle to the boy, but he couldn’t see much in the darkness. “By the time you would notice you missed a spot in the bottle, the vapor from it has already burned and blistered your lungs.” She was not able to hide her delight with the creation even with her obscured voice.
“Thank Nox you didn’t fall over,” he whispered as if it was a reverent prayer.
She smirked under her mask. “I thank myself about that. Nox didn’t help you down here; I doubt she would help me.” Her muffled laugh through the mask sounded more like a grunt. “Now step back a bit if you value your eyes and throat.”
Sylvaine took a step back, splashing through the pungent sewage.
“No,” she chastised him, “shuffle your feet, or else you could fall again.”
Sylvaine cautiously shuffled his feet back until he was about ten feet away from Vitoria.
“This will take a while,” said Vitoria. She delicately pulled the stopper out from the bottle and whipped the waxed cork down the way. It lightly splashed into the sewage beyond. She slipped her gloved hand, which held the bottle, through the grate until she was free to tip it over. All this she did while keeping her body to the side underneath, to make sure the acid wouldn’t hit her. Her leather armor would hardly be a match for the substance.
She tipped the bottle (she assumed Sylvaine was holding his breath since she could not hear him breathe) and she splashed it onto the first bar. There was a rush of vapor that caught the moonlight pouring up from the contact, and she pulled her hand back. The two could hear the acid sizzle as it greedily ate the iron, followed by a few frothy pops.
Not wanting to test her mask against the fumes, Vitoria stepped back. The two watched in silence while the acid finished its meal. After the gasses
vanished, Vitoria stepped forward and did the same process again to another bar. Once again it popped and sizzled for a few moments. Two more times she did this and the grate collapsed, splashing into the sewage. The septic water splashed them both—Vitoria getting the worst of it.
Vitoria wiped the water from her goggles; it left grey-brown smears across the lens. Sylvaine coughed and choked, spitting into the water. The sound echoed down the way.
Vitoria looked back at him through the streaky lenses.
He hawked, pulling all the phlegm and sewage in his throat into his mouth, and then he expelled the large, disgusting load back into the water. “It got in my mouth,” he cursed under his breath.
Vitoria rolled her eyes. She walked forward and inspected the still intact edges of the grate that clung to the stone alleyway above. She put her ear close, and she couldn’t hear any further noise coming from the acid eaten iron. She grabbed the ledge and hoisted herself up in one graceful motion.
“Whoa!” Sylvaine put his hands out. “How do you know it won’t hurt you?”
She poked her head into the sewer hole. “The sound stopped. It’s harmless now.” Her mask was still on, and her voice sounded faint and weak through it. “Hurry up.” She motioned for him to bring the ladder over.
He shuffled over and fed the ladder through the hole. She grabbed the other end, pulled it up, and then set it to the side. It was fifteen feet long, but when unfolded it would be double that.
She offered her hand through the hole, and Sylvaine took it. He put one hand on the edge of the opening, and, with the two of them working together, he was up in moments.
“What is the plan?” asked Sylvaine.
“We set the ladder up.” She was looking around. She wanted to make sure no one was watching them. There was no movement—not even the scurrying of rats.
“Where?” he whispered. He looked at the inn.
Vitoria looked at the windows, studying each one. “It’s about four in the morning, so that means we find the one window with a faint light inside.” She began to walk around the building, and she signaled Sylvain to check the other side. She walked around but couldn’t spy a light in any of the windows. All she needed was a peep of light: one small candle left burning while a man slept.
She heard a sharp ki ki ki from the other side of the building. It took her a second to realize it was Sylvaine. He was mimicking the hawk owl that was known to live in northern Aveline. She sprinted over to the other side. Sylvaine was standing there. He gestured up at the window on the third floor. Heavy curtains were pulled, but on the left side one thin slit of light peeked out.
“Come on,” she whispered through the mask.
They went back to the defeated grate where the ladder was, and they unfolded it. Vitoria set the metal pins to keep it extended, and together they hauled it to the window.
“How do you know that’s the one?” asked Sylvaine.
“Know your quarry, boy. The man in there suffers from nightmares. He always sleeps with a candle lit.” She directed them to put the ladder up, inches away from the glass window.
“But someone could still be up. Maybe they’re reading? Or it’s a child who is afraid of the dark.” There was no concern to his words—only curiosity.
“Know your location. This is a tradesman’s building. Those kind of men need their rest and are long since asleep, and they don’t bring children with them.” She settled the ladder into the perfect spot, taking care that it wouldn’t make a sound as she placed it against the wall. “You could stand to learn from me, boy. Now hold the ladder and make sure it doesn’t move.” She took a moment to look him in the eye. “If you fuck this up, I will personally bathe you in that acid.”
“I’m not going to fuck up. I can hold a ladder.”
“Then prove it to me.” She put one foot on it. “After I’m in, you take it away.” She nodded to the ladder. “Dispose of it, and you’re free.”
“Who is it, anyway?” He looked up at the window.
She was surprised that a Disciple, an assassin, would ask so many questions about a mark. “A traitor,” she blurted. She was surprised that was the first word to spring from her mouth, but then it felt that it was the most honest answer she could tell the boy. “And what did Conyers teach you about traitors?”
“No mercy,” he stated callously.
“Yes,” she said with maniacal delight. “You’re Conyers’ apprentice. This traitor personally saw to the destruction of such a person.”
“Nox shall be with you tonight.” He seemed proud in that moment, like he was helping with a great and honorable cause. Conyers would have been heartbroken that his apprentice helped with the plan to torture and murder his own brother. Vitoria felt it a befitting punishment for Conyers and his cowardice.
She took each step on the ladder with care, pausing momentarily to listen for anything. Any moment a guard could walk by, the voice inside her warned. A drunkard could stumble into the alley, or James could awaken and open his window for air. Despite the cautionary voice, she heard nothing but the strong wind and the normal sounds of civilization around her. Perhaps Nox was with her, she thought, but quickly banished the foolish idea.
Sylvaine held the ladder. Even when a particularly forceful gust of wind hit them, he made sure the ladder did not rock—even a little. He was stronger than he looked, thought Vitoria. In that moment, his eyes looked confident and ardent in the moonlight. He appeared less like a child and more like a man.
Vitoria climbed to the window and put her ear against the glass, but inside she heard no noise. She looked about the glass pane, searching for strings or bells. She knew that James always hooked bells up to any door or window where he stayed. He was the one who taught her to set up her first alarm.
Within a second, she saw the glint of the metal wire he liked to use. It was so thin that it was hard for the untrained eye to see, but in the right lighting, it was easy for one such as her to notice.
She slid the backpack to the side, just enough so that she could reach within. Out of it she pulled a small iron rod, about three times as long as her middle finger. It had a sharp wheel that was adjustable along the rod, and at the other end was a circular pad. She moved the wheel out to create a three inch opening. She shoved her hand back into the bag and pulled out a flexible bladder as large as her palm. She yanked the stopper out with her teeth and turned the bladder over, squeezing it over the pad. Thick, white paste oozed out.
When she was sure the pad was completely covered with the plaster, she pushed the stopper back in with her teeth, and then she stuffed the bladder back into the bag. She wiped a section of the glass with her hand to remove any dirt, and then she placed the glued pad firmly against the glass. She held it in place, counting the seconds it would take to seal—at least five minutes: three hundred seconds.
Below Sylvaine stayed sturdy; his eyes were watching Vitoria’s every move.
One, two, three, she counted in her head.
There was a bang. The front door to the inn slammed open. Vitoria motioned for Sylvaine to head towards the noise, and then she grabbed the edge of the windowsill with her free hand to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to jostle the glue.
Sylvaine nodded and took off down the alleyway. He slipped out of Vitoria’s sight, and she turned back to the window.
Seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four.
Two voices were loudly talking near the front of the building. One was clearly Sylvaine; his deep voice was too particular not to notice. The other was male, but that was all she could make of it.
Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight.
There was laughter. It was one sided—not Sylvaine’s.
The voice awoke at the noise. The boy is ruining the plan, it is all his fault!
One hundred and five, one hundred and six, she continued to count, thinking louder to drown out the voice.
There was a loud, heated voice that boomed. The stranger was irritated. She was nowhere
near close to entering the room. She knew that any attention in that moment would have ruined everything—James would get away.
The voice within her was panicking. If you lose him now, you’ll never find him again!
She took a deep breath, and she didn’t hasten her counting: one hundred and forty, one hundred and forty-one.
She saw Sylvaine at the end of the alley. He was in the street looking towards her. She begged whoever or whatever may be listening that no one else would hear the noise and look out to see him. Their sewage soaked waders would give them both away.
One hundred and eighty-five, one hundred and eighty-six.
Break the glass now! Take your chance! All you need is one good strike, and he won’t be able to fight you.
A man who was short, but built like an ox, walked past Sylvaine. Sylvaine backed away from the man, who flipped him the middle finger and grumbled about the boy’s mother. He turned into the alley, his hands going to the buttons on his trousers.
It was dark in the alley, but not that dark. He would surely see Vitoria on the ladder. She held the glass cutter completely still while she counted: two hundred and four, two hundred and five.
Sylvaine glided over, moving faster and lighter than a shadow. He pulled a single, thin knife from his hardened leather bracer—the same place she carried her stiletto. He was behind the man.
Vitoria and the man’s eyes met. He cocked his head to the side, confused about what was happening, and opened his mouth.
From behind, Sylvaine trailed the knife around the man’s throat, from ear to ear, opening his carotid artery and windpipe with a sputtering, wet whimper. The man dropped. Sylvaine wasted no time. Before the interloper even hit the ground, he grabbed him by the arm. He pulled him down the alley, trailing red the whole length down.