The Justice in Revenge

by Ryan Van Loan

  “Were you listening to what I just said?” I asked, my voice breaking.

  “I was,” his voice said in my mind. “I’ve been listening to others try to tell you what you don’t want to hear. That Eld leaves without you, comes back without you. Bleeds without you.

  “I’ve been watching, too. Watching your back because Eld isn’t there anymore. You need to move on, Buc, if you’re to have a hope of freeing this world. Shackled to a man, you’ll never achieve that. You’ll drown first.”

  His words hit me like a hammer blow, pulsing through me in time with the beating of my heart.

  “You don’t understand,” I whispered, cursing Sin for doing something to cloud my vision, and heard him say it wasn’t his doing, his voice sounding far off. Closer and louder than my silent tears was my voice. “I started this for Sister. For me. I never planned for him, but I’ve come to realize that I can’t do this alone.” I choked out the rest. “It has to be with him. Together. Us against the world!”

  “That dream ended when you took me from the altar,” Sin said. “I’ll help you realize your dreams, but Eld can’t be part of them any longer. There’s no changing that.”

  I plunged beneath the bathwater, trying to shut his words out, but they were inside me, just like he was. Worse was the certainty that he was right. Eld’s hatred of magic ran deeper than I’d ever imagined. Because I never thought to ask. Never really knew him. Never really cared to. And now that I did, it was too late. My back hit the bottom of the deep tub, but I couldn’t drown out Sin’s words nor their import.

  There’s no changing that.

  19

  “Y-you saved my life!” Govanti gasped, staring down at the two corpses at his feet.

  “It was a near-run thing,” Eld agreed, forcing an evenness into his voice that he didn’t feel. The lad looked about to faint and the last thing he needed was to realize that Eld had gotten distracted—always a risk when he thought of Buc—and had missed the pair trailing Govanti until he turned into the alley. I thought those urchins going at it hammer and tongs a few canals back were the danger, but fighting’s just become part of the scenery now. Need to stick tighter to Govanti if this is what the streets have become. With half a block between them it had been closer than Eld anticipated and if it hadn’t been for the pair being completely focused on stabbing the lad to death, as well as Govanti’s vigorous protests against being filled with holes—he wouldn’t have been able to take them unawares as he had.

  “I can see why Buc’s little fish have been disappearing,” Eld added, bending down to clean his basket-hilt sword on the man’s rags. There was some blood on the hilt lining, but it was close enough to the crimson-dyed leather that it would pass muster until he could attend to it tonight. The body shifted from the blade and a sharp-chinned face with a lancing scar from eye to throat came into view, making his breath hiss between his teeth.

  “What is it?” Govanti asked.

  “I’ve seen this one before,” Eld said slowly. Figures were piling up in his mind, but he couldn’t calculate the sums. I hate mathematics. “A fortnight past, someone tried to pick my pocket, wouldn’t take no for an answer, and nearly slipped a blade through me, save I beat them to it.”

  He pulled the man’s jacket and undershirt back to reveal a dirty bandage. “Seems you’re not the only one they want dead, lad.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Eld glanced up and saw that some color had returned to Govanti’s face, though the lad’s pallor still nearly matched his strawberry-blond hair in its single ponytail. Eld shrugged. “Look at it this way: if they’re going after me, that leaves them less time to go after you. And”—he stood up, sheathing his sword as he did so—“there’s two less of them after today.”

  “But why?” Govanti asked. “Why now?”

  “When did the first of your informants turn up missing?”

  “Not missing,” Govanti said, drawing his thin jacket, faded to a dull brown, around his shoulders. His frame was wide, but with no muscle to go with it, the jacket hung on him like a scarecrow’s garb. “Dead. It was the last full moon? Deedee. Found her on the edge of the Tip after she missed meeting me.” His mouth worked into the semblance of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She never missed a free meal, sirrah.”

  “Eld,” he reminded him.

  “Sirrah Eld,” Govanti said.

  “After this”—Eld gestured at the bodies—“I think just Eld will do.

  “More than a month, then.” He scratched at his chin, noticed some flecks of blood on the back of his hand from swinging his blade after running the first through, and made a mental note to clean up before he returned to the palazzo for dinner. Blood on his sword hilt was one thing, but on his hands? Buc would be home by then and she’d want to know where he’d picked up someone else’s blood. Godsdamn Sin and his keeping my distance. Godsdamn him for likely being right, too. Someone had started murdering Buc’s people before they got involved with the Doga, but the timing coincided with the unrest on the streets and canals. So, were the murders byproducts of the latter or a precursor to the former?

  “I don’t know those words,” Govanti said, pulling Eld back to the moment and making him realize he’d accidentally asked his question out loud.

  “Are your friends dying because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time during a rumble over turf, or were they targeted for murder?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “For Deedee, no,” Eld said. “For the rest of us, it might. Are we faced with two mysteries or one?”

  “You mean, finding out who wants us dead and who wants the Doga dead?”

  “Careful!” Eld glanced back toward the main street and canal beyond it, but so far none had come down after them. “I told you that last can’t leave your lips. Buc would eviscerate me if she knew I’d let our working for the Doga slip.” Too many lies to keep.

  “Best we were gone,” he added. “Before someone finds us standing over these two and has questions.”

  “Shouldn’t we search them for clues? Buc would, aye?” Govanti asked.

  “She would and we should.” Eld chuckled humorlessly. “I’m just the brawn, Govanti.” They knelt down together, avoiding the growing pool of blood. It was the work of a moment. Both corpses were clean save for the daggers they’d planned to use on Govanti. Eld gave both blades to the lad—he could use them or sell them and either way Eld had more than enough steel on him as it was.

  “All right, you’re going to take a carriage back to your cellar, aye?” Eld directed when they were finished. Govanti opened his mouth but Eld tossed him a silver soldo to forestall his question. “No point in tempting fate and getting stabbed on the way home. I need to get back before Buc starts asking where I’ve been. Knowing her, she already has plans to ferret out the answers to questions the likes of you or I haven’t even fathomed yet.”

  “Thankee, sirrah—that is, Eld,” Govanti said, pocketing the coin. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, lad.”

  “Will you tell the servant girl, Marin, that ‘G’ said hello?”

  Eld adjusted his tricorne and smiled at the lad. “You and Marin get on?”

  “I—I don’t think so,” Govanti said, his cheeks flaming. “At least I wouldn’t call it that. I saw her once, when Buc had me stop by to deliver my report. She, she seemed nice.”

  “She’s a fine lass,” Eld agreed.

  “More than fine!”

  “You ever tell her?”

  “That she’s more than fine?” Govanti choked.

  “That you think she’s nice,” Eld said, unable to keep from chuckling.

  “Oh.” Govanti’s face was as red as Eld’s coat. “No, sirrah—Eld. I’ve only spoken to her once.”

  “Well, next time you’re by the palazzo, consider telling her.” Eld put his hand on the lad’s shoulder and squeezed. “The canal waters are dark and full of blades these days, Govanti. You don’t take the
moments you have before you, you might never get another chance and there’s no edge sharper than regret. Take my word for it.”

  “I will, sirrah.”

  “Good, now go hail that carriage,” Eld said, motioning for him to head back the way they came. “I’ll be in touch in the next few days. I’ve a feeling that washerwoman we spoke with earlier knew more than she was letting on.”

  “Aye, as you say,” Govanti said. He inclined his head and then moved down the street, his worn boots silent on the cobblestone. “Eld?”

  Eld glanced back over his shoulder and the lad blushed and looked away.

  “You’re pretty savvy yourself. I see why Buc’s your friend.”

  Eld studied Govanti for a moment and nodded, lifting his hand. He turned away before the lad could see his face crumple. “I was once. I wish I knew for sure I still was.”

  20

  “You brought us to a brothel?” Eld’s voice was low, pitched for my ears alone, piped full of indignation. He pushed himself up from the gondola’s seat and steadied himself against the back. “You said we were just going to dip into the Tip today.”

  “Aye, dip your tip in the Tip.”

  “Buc,” he growled, looking around the crowded street where a mix of factory and dockworkers streamed by. Those returning from working overnight looked haggard and worn, and those heading out for their shifts looked little better. It’d rained last night and the bars, dives, and taverns had been overflowing. Seemed like every third worker had just come from such a place, for aside from one or two shooting an envious gaze our way, the rest were fixated on the chore before them: walking. “We’re not even wearing disguises.”

  “I thought you hated disguises.”

  “I bloody well want one if I’m going to a whorehouse,” he snapped.

  “Easy on, Eld—that term’s offensive.” I sniffed and he muttered something under his breath, but I could see red creeping up his neck from the collar of his powder-blue jacket. “Besides we’re not even in the Tip yet, until yonder bend.” I nodded toward where the canal bent in front of us, forcing traffic to loop wide around the water’s edge. “This is still the Painted Rock Quarto. And in the Quarto brothel workers are … Joffers, would you call them courtesans?” I asked, looking back at the old man, who held the gondola up against the canal’s crenellated, stone edge with his oar.

  “Time was courtesans had to come from the finer Quartos,” he said after a moment. His face was inscrutable, but I saw his lips twitch when he glanced at Eld. “These days all the bordellos have been turned into palazzos, so I suppose you might call them that. Better than ‘harlot,’” he added, bending his knees as a passing barge sent waves against our boat.

  “Better than ‘harlot,’ Eld,” I said.

  “Buc—I can’t go in there,” he choked.

  “Gods, man, we’re not here for that. I don’t need to buy a fuck”—I glanced sidelong at him—“and I gather you don’t need to either, anymore.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Eld asked in a voice several octaves higher than his usual baritone.

  “Just that you’ve been out late recently and I assumed a fine bachelor like yourself wasn’t spending those nights cold and alone.”

  “I haven’t been sharing my bed with anyone,” Eld gasped.

  “Aye? Well, you do you.”

  A sound behind us made us both turn, but Joffers avoided eye contact, making a show of tying off the boat now that he knew we weren’t leaving immediately.

  “We’re here for information.”

  “Information?” Eld asked carefully.

  “Aye, loose trousers tend to translate to looser tongues.”

  Eld blushed.

  “You’ve a filthy mind, Eld,” I told him. “No wonder that Lucrezia Rorigo keeps throwing herself at you.”

  “Buc…”

  “Bridge too far?”

  “Several canals too far,” he said.

  “Fair enough.” I took his arm and he startled. “You’re my escort, remember?” I laughed.

  He eyed me suspiciously, but I knew his polite streak would win out, and sure enough a moment later he stepped ashore, tapped the heels of his dark calf-high boots together, and helped me step up. Not that I needed his help, especially now that I didn’t need to worry about skirts tripping me up, I just wanted him well in tow before we began. Give a man an order and he balks, ask him to do something simple and he does it without question. Ask a few times more and the next time you give him an order, he’s leaping to obey before he realizes it. I’d been trying to put him through his paces ever since reading On Hounds and Their Training, number 371. Turns out training men to your touch isn’t all that different from dogs. And I needed Eld used to my hand to lead him back to my side.

  “You had this planned all along, didn’t you?” he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Of course.”

  “Is that why you wore red?”

  “We’ll be back shortly, Joffers,” I called over my shoulder. The old man grunted an assent, already busy polishing the woodwork. “Crimson,” I said, turning back to Eld. “The jacket’s crimson.” I tugged its already tight cut across my chest tighter, making the most of my bosom, and his eyes widened. “The blouse is rose,” I said, fighting to hide my smile, “and the pants are mahogany.” I glanced down. “Or black, it’s hard to say. You should know these things,” I added, “coming from a noble family.”

  “The only thing I know about fashion is that it’s been scandalous of late,” Eld muttered. “Those trousers you and all the other signorinas insist on wearing do things to your arses that are … distracting.”

  I snorted. “Aye, imagine how it must feel to be Joffers.”

  Eld frowned.

  “Loving men, you fool.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s had to stare at your arse for months and keep us from sinking at the same time. No easy feat, that.”

  “Th-thanks, I think?”

  “You’re quite welcome,” I said, steering us around some of the street hawkers who had pitched tents and stands along the canal side. Across the street a large palazzo—probably built before it became clear the Painted Rock Quarto was not going to rise much further in station than the Tip—shone with lights. None knew when it’d become a bordello, but over the years, it had been run by a score of maestras and maestros. Its pale, marbled columns marched across a crimson-streaked façade that was made true red by the sundry chandeliers that hung overhead.

  Street wars came and went and so did the management, but the courtesans remained. Two men and a woman leaned beside gilt-painted windowsills, evenly spaced so that their being there was clearly intentional, if one was too dim to realize what the swords at their belts were for. Patrons treated these courtesans with respect or they spilled their lifeblood into the canal. The guards were also part of the reason why any street rivalry never made it past the doors. It’d been a while, but it looked no different than it had all those years ago. I explained this to Eld as we drew closer.

  “Y-you lived here?”

  “Gods, man, no.” I patted his arm. “After Sister died I was on my own and there was a time or two where food was tight and the Crimson Corsets and Gilded Lilies did me a good turn when they had no cause to.”

  “So that’s why you’re wearing red.”

  “I thought you’d prefer that to a corset,” I told him. I didn’t tell him I’d waited to see what he was wearing and fitted my outfit so that we made a pair: him in light blue and me in darker red. “My thinking is if someone’s been following me of late, they’re unlikely to know this connection.”

  “So the courtesans will tell us what happened to the Mosquitoes and the Gnats and whatever else we need?”

  “For a price, aye.”

  “Crimson Corsets,” he muttered. “Seems a bit on the nose.” He glanced down at me, his blue eyes bright and sharp as a winter’s morning. “Full of secrets, aren’t you?”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  �
�What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I licked my finger and reached up and touched the lobe of his ear and showed him the shiny red blot that I’d wiped off. “Why’s there blood on your ear?”

  “Er, shaving?”

  “Eld.”

  “Footpads won’t take no these days,” he said quickly.

  “Uh-huh.” I remembered what Marin had told me. “Footpads don’t linger to bleed themselves dry on the likes of you. Certainly not in our Quarto and not when you only stepped out for a morning walk.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said as I made for one of those lounging against the bordello, “but Servenza’s lousy with cutthroats these days, Buc.”

  The guard, a short woman with biceps that looked to rival Eld’s despite her frame, returned my nod and detached herself from the wall long enough to pull the door open for us. Eld started to hand her a coin, saw her glare, realized what offering that meant in this place, and blushed.

  “If you didn’t walk around looking like the Goddess of Murder all day long, they’d be trying to put a blade in you, too,” he growled.

  “Well”—I frowned—“resting bitch face comes in handy now and again. Let me do the talking,” I added as we stepped over the threshold. “There’s a lot of jargon here and I don’t want you to accidentally order yourself an orgy.”

  “Too right,” Eld muttered. “Be the death of me.”

  “But what a way to go,” Sin whispered.

  * * *

  It took a few hours, starting with the Corsets and moving down the red-lanterned row to end with the Lilies, to find the answers we sought. A few hours where Eld’s eyes popped so much I half expected to see his eyeballs chasing after us, where we saw women and men in various states of undress and more than a few in acts I hadn’t even considered possible until today. I’d forgotten that time we’d been in Colgna searching for the countess’s missing daughter that it’d been me who slipped into the Winking Lass—a bordello that was tame by Servenzan standards—aiming to find her daughter’s suspected flame.