“Oil, quicklime, gunpowder, and tallow,” Eld guessed.
“Right in four,” I said. “There must be some other ingredients as well, but those are all required. When combined properly, the shit lies dormant … until exposed. To what, the sources don’t say, but it seems pretty clear it must be water or a similar liquid.”
“Then boom?”
“Then boom.”
“That explains how her minions are doing what appears to be magic,” Eld said. He glanced down either side of the alley, shoulders relaxing when he saw no one. “But not why she’s in this Quarto.”
“No, but determining where Sicarii is getting her supplies from helped me narrow things down somewhat. Those children playing, when I’ve seen few children playing anywhere else, were another clue,” I explained. “If you’re going to set up a clandestine lair to assassinate the Doga and build a hoard of pyroclastic weapons, you don’t want the neighbors fighting or the little ones playing with matches and accidentally blowing the whole Quarto sky-high.”
“What’s the phrase you like so much?” Eld asked. “Don’t shit where you eat?” He flashed a grin. “Quaint.”
“Imagine if you’d taken that advice,” Sin whispered.
“Who pissed in your soup?” I asked him. “You’ve been an arsehole all day.”
“You somehow pushed me out of your mind after the Masquerade, which shouldn’t be possible, and when you let me back in, you mostly ignored me. Lock yourself away in a room for days on end, hearing the sound of life outside but never getting to live it, and see how you like it,” he growled. “Notice how you haven’t had any memory lapses since the Masquerade?”
“That’s your doing?” I hadn’t had any lapses since the Masquerade, that was true, but I’d thought it was because I’d kept my use of Sin to a minimum.
“Listen, just because I’m not in your mind doesn’t mean my magic isn’t suffusing you constantly. When you let me back in … well, protecting your memory is practically all I’ve been doing. You’re welcome,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Her name, did you actually just mean that?” Sin’s tone was sarcastic, but I could hear the surprise there, too.
“I am,” I admitted. “I’ve been in my own special damnation the past few days, well, months really, but you feel what I feel. I don’t need to add to that.”
“Thanks,” he said after a moment. “I know how broken you feel, but you were broken before and you fixed yourself.”
“Eld helped. A lot.”
“I’m not Eld, but I am a shard of a Goddess imbued with magics beyond your ken,” Sin said. “Just saying.”
“It’ll do, shard, it’ll do.”
“Now…”
“Don’t expect it all to be calm seas and clear skies from here on,” I said, interrupting him. “But I’ll try to be better. Aye?”
“Fair. I’ll try to act less the arse, too.”
“Hmm, look at us growing up,” I muttered.
“Buc?” Eld asked, snapping his fingers. “You okay?”
“Better than okay, actually,” I said. Which was true if okay was the state I’d been in at Salina’s. Though I still had a lingering desire to find a certain dancing queen named Lucrezia and kneecap her.…
“The Doga?” Eld prompted softly. “Why was her name on every manifest? What’s her role?”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too. I don’t see what she stands to gain with Sicarii, not when she’s nearly died thrice from assassination. She seemed shocked when I mentioned that name,” I added.
“Like she kenned Sicarii?” Eld asked.
“Maybe? I’d think her Secreto would hear if others were making large purchases in her name. If not of quicklime or tallow, certainly of gunpowder.”
“The Empress herself tracks that,” Eld said. “Something isn’t adding up.”
“Many things aren’t adding up. Thankfully, we don’t need them to.
“There,” I said, pointing at the palazzo across from us; the building didn’t have any tenants on the ground floor and was right beside a sewer drain. A small, once-white wooden door—now faded to a spotty grey that blended in with the faded stucco—was the only visible point of entry.
“According to the Doga’s map, there’s no tunnel there.” Sin flashed the map in my mind. “But that partial map allowed me to extrapolate. If I’m right, one of the missing tunnels should be right there.”
“Damn.” Eld rolled his shoulders, patted his sides where his pistoles were holstered beneath his jacket, and drew his sword a palm’s breadth before letting it slide back into its sheath. “What’s the plan?”
“Good question.”
I palmed the note I’d been slipped the second time we were in the Tip and glanced at the crude drawing of a door. Unlocked, as you thought. The writing was crude, haphazard, and completely recognizable as being from one of the few informants I trusted other than Govanti.
“There’s only the one entrance as far as I can tell,” I said.
“Straight in, then?” he asked, one eyebrow arched.
“Seems it,” I agreed.
“Hard and fast?”
“Do men know any other way?”
Eld’s reply caught in his throat and I dug my elbow into his side. “Mind you keep your head in the game.”
My steps sounded gritty as I crossed the sandy street. Nearing the door, I drew my stilettos. Eld was at my side.
“Let’s not keep our host waiting,” I muttered.
Sin’s magic burned through my legs; my kick nearly put my boot completely through the door, which crashed back with a squelching thud, sending splinters through the air. As the door rebounded off the wall, I shouldered it back. Eld stepped past me, his sword out, seeking whomever stood guard. Dust kicked up by our charge swirled about, half blinding me, and I sneezed.
“Nothing,” Sin whispered.
“There’s nothing here,” Eld choked out, grinning at me through the haze. “All that walking and you kicked in the door on what? A run-down barber’s?” He laughed, choked again on the dust, and laughed harder, wheezing as he leaned against a metal barber’s chair, the faded leather cracked and peeling away from its frame.
I turned in a slow circle, eyes and lungs burning from the tremendous amount of dust that had collected over the years. The floor was covered in a thick layer, the wall-length mirror was nearly black, and save for a second chair, opposite the one Eld was leaning on, there was nothing. Nothing at all. Damn it. Was I wrong? I kept turning, studying the walls, and saw something against the plaster in the far corner. Walking over, trying to avoid stirring up more dust, I bent closer. There was a hairline crack in the plaster that ran halfway up from the floor, visible because the dust wasn’t collecting there, but rather being—sucked in.
“What’s this?” I whispered. I scuffed my boot and a cloud of dust flew up and disappeared, sucked away by the breeze through the crack. Eld’s coughing had finally killed his laughter by the time I turned, crossing my arms.
His face was a mess, coated in a fine layer of dust and streaked where he’d cried from laughing. Eld never laughs that hard. He saw me watching and straightened, still half giggling, half coughing.
“Finished?” I asked.
He nodded, steadying himself against the barber’s chair.
“Good. I hope you’re hungry for some humble pie.”
“Why’s that?” he croaked.
“Because…,” I told him, digging my fingers into the crack and pulling hard. Only I didn’t need to pull hard, because as soon as I felt the wall give, it slid in and away on perfectly grooved and oiled tracks, revealing a gaping maw with steps that disappeared into the darkness. “… the walls have mouths,” I said.
41
“Let me go first,” Eld said, lowering his voice as he adjusted his grip on his sword.
“Ordinarily I’d be fine with you playing Sirrah Bullet-catcher,” I said, sliding one of my stilettos back into its
sheath in my grey jacket and drawing the thick-bladed short sword that Sin’s strength allowed me to wield as fast as any knife. I inspected the blade I’d blackened in preparation for the tunnels, looking for any stray glint, but all was well. “But I’m shorter and quieter, and I have better night vision, which means if I’m out front, I’m less likely to be spotted and catch a bullet through the teeth.”
“Why, Buc,” Eld said with a false smile, “you do care.”
My glare wiped it from his face.
“Just trying to lighten the mood,” he muttered.
“Count to three and follow after. Try not to act the walrus in a porcelain shop.”
I stepped into the waiting stairway. A few steps down and the walls turned from wood to stone and the air grew cooler. I took care that I placed my boots quietly on the sandy steps, but even so, my footfalls echoed faintly. The passage wound down to a narrow archway blocked by a door that I could barely make out in the faint light from above. Eld caught up to me a few moments later and blocked what little light there was, turning the archway pitch-black.
“Sin.”
My eyesight sharpened as my sense of smell and my hearing diminished. I didn’t miss the former—the musty odor had been overpowering—but the latter was an issue. It was worth it, for the door became as visible as if I held a bright lantern. A quick inspection showed there was no spy hole to view us through and no trip wires or other traps.
“Locked?” Eld asked, and I quickly touched the handle to confirm.
“Aye. I’m tempted to kick it off its hinges, but anyone down here for leagues around will hear.” I put my ear to the door and whispered directions to Sin. A moment later my vision darkened and my ears tingled. I could hear scurrying in the walls—likely some rodent or other—and just barely, the sound of a voice on the other side of the door. The cadence was even, on a regular beat. Singing? I strained to listen.
Bam! A loud reverberation sent me reeling away from the door; I almost clasped my head in my hands before remembering the blades I held. Sin’s magic left me and everything returned to normal save for a slight whine on the edge of my hearing.
“What the fuck, man?” I growled. “I just said we didn’t want to be heard and then you go pounding on the door?”
“I didn’t pound,” Eld said, knocking again. It didn’t sound half so loud as it had when my ear had been against the door and filled to the brim with Sin’s magic. He shrugged. “Sometimes politeness does get you places, Buc.”
“Someone’s coming,” Sin whispered.
“Aye, well, down here, the only thing it’s going to get you is a blade twixt your ribs,” I said, ignoring Sin. I squinted my eyes, fighting to hold off the headache Eld’s rapping had induced. “I was about to suggest picking the lock. We’ve options before you go announcing us for high tea.”
“Someone’s—”
“Coming. I heard you the first time,” I told Sin.
“What options?” Eld asked. “It’s black as night and unless you brought matches, we’re not going to be able to find a keyhole to pick. If it has a keyhole.”
“Even so, your first choice is to knock?”
“I may have been a bit hasty,” he admitted.
“A bit?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be the rational one, remember?”
“Some—”
“I fucking know, Sin.”
“—one is here,” he finished.
“Listen!” Eld snapped, the rest of whatever he was going to say cut off by the door swinging open.
“Ye lot been told te keep a lid on it! Who is it this time? Lem?” A short, swarthy man in a stained jerkin peered out. His thick eyebrows leapt up into his unruly hair. “Yer not Lem.”
“No,” I agreed, “I’m not.”
“Bloody Gods, yer not to be down here,” he spat, reaching for the pistole tucked into his waistband.
“You opened the door,” I reminded him, lunging forward. My arm shivered from the impact as I ran him through, my momentum slamming him back into the door. He opened his mouth, confusion writ in a bold, bloody hand across his features, but the only thing that came out was a choking, rasping spray of blood. More blood gushed freely as what remained of his heart pumped it past my blade.
“It’d be rude not to accept your invitation. We don’t like rude, do we, Eld?” I asked.
“He’s dead,” Eld said.
“Aye, a pace of steel run through your heart will do that.”
I pulled and the door and the guard both swung toward me. I braced the door, holding the stiletto flat against the wood, and pulled on the sword, but nothing happened. Stuck. Sin’s magic had given me enough strength to run the man through and nail him to the door. With that strength gone, I couldn’t get my blade free. I took a breath and tried again, but the door, with the man affixed to it, swung, nearly sending me on my arse.
“Gods’ sake,” Eld muttered. Sheathing his sword, he stepped up beside me and braced himself against the door. “Now go.”
I ripped hard and the sword moved a finger’s length and stopped.
“Pull, Buc!”
“I am pulling.” The man slid toward me, feet dragging the ground.
“Not hard enough.” Eld shoved the door back and I went with it.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I jerked hard and the man came sliding back.
“You were strong enough,” Eld grunted, “to put the sword in. You should be strong enough to pull it out.”
“You…,” I slipped my other stiletto into my jacket and grasped the hilt with both hands. Sin, now! “… would fucking think so!”
The blade came free with a sickening squelch and my feet went out from under me. Ouch. Eld stumbled back, the man falling toward him like a puppet with its strings cut; fending off the body, Eld tripped over me and hit the floor hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. The door pounded off the wall, squealing on its hinges, then slammed shut with a deafening thud. Eld groaned in the silence that followed.
“Do you think they heard that for leagues?” he asked when he found his breath.
I shrugged. “Do you think the door’s still unlocked?”
He shrugged.
“My arse,” we both said at the same time. I looked at Eld, saw his grin, and couldn’t keep the laugh between my teeth. His own laugh set me off harder and that set him off, and we lay there, shaking with half-silent laughter, every jiggle and jerk making the bruise on my left arse cheek hurt more. I didn’t care. It felt good.
When our laughter died down I pushed myself to my feet and offered Eld a hand. “Truce?”
“Truce,” he said, taking my hand. I jerked him up with Sin’s help. “I guess there’s no hiding this, eh?”
I followed his glance and clicked my tongue. “He was a bleeder.” Even with just the scrap of light that made it down from the room above, I could see that the walls were splattered with blood and there was a huge pool of it on the sandy floor. Sand made it easy to clean up, of course, but it also made for a very obvious stain.
“Well, as you said, a pace of steel through the chest will do that.”
Eld’s voice was light, but tighter than usual, giving him the lie. He hated killing, even when it needed to be done. I was no sadist, but I remembered Quenta’s body at my feet and all the others that had followed. Sicarii had done that just as she’d done this. You ever find yourself taking responsibility for others’ actions and you’ll find yourself on the short path to madness. Eld and I would pay them back once and final at the end.
I said as much. “No use crying over spilt blood unless it’s your own,” I added, reaching for the door. I hesitated and let my breath out in a single exhale when it opened.
“Luck’s turning around,” Eld muttered, picking my short sword up from where it’d fallen and offering it to me, hilt first.
“No such thing as luck,” I reminded him. Shaking the blood from my blade, I motioned for him to follow. “But if there was, I’d be okay for a turn.”
> The narrow passageway behind the door opened into a larger room a dozen paces away; light from the space reached us before we could see anything beyond the entrance. We paused to consider.
“It may be that no one heard what happened. Or it may be we’re about to walk into a mass of Serpentines armed to the teeth, waiting to cut us down.”
“Luck?” Eld suggested.
“Mayhap,” I whispered to him as our boots gritted on the sand. “But keep your blade handy just in case.”
* * *
The passages beneath the Painted Rock were legion, crisscrossing one another. Some were well lit, others less so, and some were pitch-black, but light didn’t seem to always be an indicator of habitation. Several full storage rooms were dark while a few empty ones held a lantern or flickering torch in a sconce. As we slipped from room to room, passageway to passageway, Sin kept track of our movements, building a map in my mind. The items we found helped create a clearer picture as well. In addition to signs of the Serpentines, I saw marks of the Krakens, the Sharp Eagles, the Cobblestone Corners, and a dozen other gangs, half of whom were supposed to be at one another’s throats.
I’d been wrong about the Gods and I’d been wrong about the kind of war brewing across the canals. They weren’t fighting: they were consolidating, amassing an army. For Sicarii or for another? Who? Every additional scrap of information only led to more questions.
Sin’s mental map suggested we’d passed beneath the canal a few rooms back, which made sense given the dampness present despite all the sand on the floors. They must have dragged in half an island’s worth of beaches to cover this place. So far we hadn’t found much in the way of weapons caches. Pickled eel, salted fish, tuns of ale, rice, and flour, along with rush mats that I knew the gangs used as armor, but no weapons. I was just about to mention that to Eld when a rancid smell like shit festering in the sun drove the breath from my lungs. Eld retched beside me.
“What in Gods’ name is that smell?” he hissed between the fingers covering his mouth and nose.
The Justice in Revenge Page 30