Once the door was closed behind her, I crossed the room to the wooden box and used a stiletto to work the top free. I’d seen boxes like these before, in Sicarii’s lair. The Normain stamp confirmed who it was from. Open, the box contained a mass of metal packed in straw, with a sheaf of papers on top. I snatched them up, revealing gearwork beneath them.
“What in the Gods’ names did you bring me?” I whispered, studying the folded metal wings and bits of dark silk jutting out of a bulging backpack.
I riffled through the papers, drawings, and schematics diagrams with arrows and notes in a tiny, cramped hand. I flipped to the last page and saw now-familiar writing.
Buc,
The storm is about to break. Figuratively and literally. Lightning like cannon fire, driving rain, and fog will cover Servenza if my instruments are to be believed. Your bait worked. Both of them. Even with the rain, Sicarii is coming. What’s her saying? “The drowned rise.” Fitting, given the circumstances. Be wary of her, Buc. You and she may have similar aspirations, but you’ve always been a lone shark and she has a thousand lives and a crew at her back to support her now.
I’ve sent what I could … not quite what you asked for, but it should do the trick. Read everything I’ve provided twice! Once you have the fit down, none will know if concealed beneath a loose enough jacket.
Everything is set. On the second ring. I’ll see you when it’s over, one way or the other.
—Artificer
I turned back to the beginning of the notes and began to see how the disassembled gearwork was meant to fit together. Something about the pages tugged at my mind, but I pushed whatever it was down and turned to study myself in the mirror. I wore a bloodred jacket and trousers of a red so deep they were almost black; my pink undershirt looked like it had been drenched in blood that hadn’t quite come out in the wash; and my wide, floppy hat with a feather through the brim gave me a roguish air. Enough, I hoped, to fool any that might see me until it was too late. My eyes looked tired in the light, my skin ashy—I’d been neglecting my creams, but if the Artificer was right, a quick layer over my face and the cold rain would take care of that. I shrugged out of my jacket and reached into the straw, pulling out the harness. According to the diagram, that went on first. Then …
* * *
I buckled my sword belt on over my other belt, the thick, short blade feeling heavier than I remembered. Between that, the repeating crossbow I’d tied around my shoulder so it hung beneath my armpit, and the gear the Artificer had provided, not to mention my other knives and slingshot, I felt as if I were wearing a diving suit. Luckily, the weight was fairly well distributed so I could move naturally, and with my oversized jacket on top, I looked as if I were moderately plump instead of concealing an armory. I ran through everything in my mind. If I was still alive tomorrow, the steps I’d taken earlier would pay dividends. But first I had to make it to tomorrow. First, I had to survive Sicarii.
I’d made my plans with one idea in mind: revenge. I’d gone over the Artificer’s notes multiple times, sure I was missing something, but whatever it was, he’d given me enough to have a fighting chance. A faint one, but real nonetheless. The word “hope” flitted through my mind and I stomped on it, hard. Sicarii had all the gangs of Servenza at her beck and call. She had plenty of the Artificer’s toys, too, and more besides: she knew me; I didn’t know her. Knowing your enemy was as important as knowing the ground one fought on. Since I didn’t have the one, I’d have to settle for the other.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Best get to it. I stepped around boxes and over match cord and slid the fireplace away, again revealing the dead Secreto captain and the passageway beyond. I’d have to remove the body soon or it would attract rats, but it’d keep for the moment. She was staring at me with her one good eye. Stare all you want, you won’t be warning the Doga, which means Sicarii won’t see this coming. Until I want her to. Thunder rumbled again, louder, shaking the palazzo. Even with the oil worked into the leather of my jacket, I was going to be soaked through in minutes.
The drowned rise.
Sicarii’s catchphrase made me pause halfway in the passage, something tickling the back of my mind. Frowning, I retraced my steps to the Artificer’s notes, pulling out the page with his letter.
The drowned rise. Fitting, given the circumstances. Be wary of her, Buc. You may both have similar aspirations, but you’ve always been a lone shark and she has a thousand lives and a crew at her back to support her now.
“‘She has a thousand lives,’” I whispered. “‘And a crew at her back to support her now.’ Thousand lives. Crew.” Electricity shot through me, making my skin break out in gooseflesh. I would have fallen if I hadn’t caught myself against the bed as a dozen epiphanies slammed together in my mind in a violent storm of realization. I knew who Sicarii was. I knew my enemy.
“You.” My voice was harsh, ragged as the breath in my lungs. “You,” I repeated. I stood up, let my hand caress the hilt of one of my blades, and growled. “The drowned rise, but do they burn?” I wasn’t sure, but I meant to find out.
“I’m coming, bitch.”
58
I watched shadows flitting across rooftops through my spyglass. Gears hissed as I twisted the aperture, intensifying its focus until I could see a figure, rope coiled over one shoulder, grasping a chimney to hold position in the wind. A gust sent another sprawling behind the first. The Artificer had claimed the telescope could see in the dark, drawing in light from the stars and moon overhead, but with the storm rolling in like a heavy-handed behemoth, the night sky was a smear of black paint. Full dark, no stars. Still, the scope was better than the naked eye, albeit less effective than if I let Sin free. I felt him stir in my mind and quashed him before he could try anything. When I stood up from behind the pillar I’d been using as both shield from the wind and perch for my glass, the storm’s tendrils whipped around me, tugging at my jacket and playing with my loosely braided hair.
Servenza’s Lighthouse was a massive gearwork contraption, wrought decades before, when Ciris wormed her way into the Kanados Trading Company with gifts of technology and mages. It towered above the city, fully three buildings taller than the nearest prayer houses of the Kneeling Quarto. Shining nearly all day and night, in almost any weather, lit by the sun or flames and using mirrors to twist and amplify its light. Its lanterns were dead now—no one was foolish enough to weigh anchor in a breaker of a storm like the one approaching, and being up this high, exposed to the elements, wasn’t worth the danger. Unless you were me.
I stalked across the top of the Lighthouse, then jumped down from the brick-lined lip that ran around the edge, a full head and shoulders taller than the sundial that lay atop of the Lighthouse’s lantern house. The gears within the contraption strapped to my back clicked together. I put my hand through the leather straps and adjusted it so it sat evenly between my shoulder blades. Running my hand along an hour marker, I stepped onto the sundial’s face. Until tonight, I’d no idea there was a sundial up here. I wagered none but sailors and the guild who kept the Lighthouse knew. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the Gods would create a thing of beauty that could be enjoyed by few while the masses begged for scraps below.
Still, it had its uses. I bent down and ran my thumb carefully along a trip wire that ran from the brick wall to the hour marker. I’d inspected the rest, but between the wind and occasional rain, I was taking no chances. Satisfied, I marched across the roof toward the gnomon in the center. I’d wondered what that was, thrusting up into the sky from the Lighthouse’s roof, the few times I’d had occasion to leave Servenza and return. It was one of the highest points in the city, along with the Doga’s Palacio, the Castello, and the Dead Gods’ cathedral. It was impossible to miss, and nearly as impossible to get to, which is why I’d chosen it for the battle to come. Discovering the sundial had given me answers to one of the questions plaguing me: how to defeat a crew when I was a crew of but one?
Sicarii h
ad numbers, aye, but by forcing her to come to the Lighthouse, I controlled the territory, which meant I had a shot of controlling the flow of what was to come. She’d have to split her gangs up so as to not attract the attention of any who weren’t under her thumb while her forces were clambering across rooftops to reach the only entrance that was accessible from the outside. They could have broken into the building and taken the internal stairs, but she’d taken care to remain anonymous to the populace at large, so I’d a feeling she would not attempt such a public act. Instead, her gangs would do as I had done, using the ladders that ran up the outside of the tower on either side, which afforded access to the lantern room and the rooftop above. In so doing, her forces would be slowed, giving me the time I needed to work my magic. Sinless, but magic of a kind nonetheless.
The wind caught at my cloak and made my eyes tear. I let my hands travel across the hilts of my blades, slingshot, and crossbow, eyes fixed on the spot that would tell me when Sicarii arrived. Lightning rent the sky from horizon to horizon, followed by the rocking boom of cascading thunder. Still, beyond a few drops, the storm held itself at bay, as if holding its breath for what was to come. As well it should, because if half went as I planned, Servenza would never forget tonight. Neither would Sicarii. It’d be her last night on earth.
I waited. And waited. The wind’s howl grew in pitch, raindrops slapped me in the face, and lightning turned night into day. Sicarii didn’t come. I was just beginning to wonder if I hadn’t made a mistake when I saw a white ribbon flash, dancing on a wire in the dark. Someone had tripped my first wire. More ribbons waved along the lip of the brick wall, warning me that Sicarii had sent some of her crew up the other set of stairs. I felt my mouth creep toward a smile. I hadn’t dared hope for that, and yet …
Your first mistake.
A few moments later a small figure, likely a child, appeared at the head of the stairs directly across from me at the far end of the Lighthouse’s roof two score paces away. They glanced around and, though I couldn’t see a signal, must have given one, for then a pair of men, hulking brutes who towered in the darkness, appeared. Between them stood another who kept them on their toes; as they advanced, each giant glanced frequently at the one they escorted. Lightning crashed, illuminating the hooded figure, and I knew, in my bones, who it was.
Sicarii.
I stepped out from where I stood in the shadow of the dial and Sicarii and her henchmen stopped. Other figures darted up the stairs and fanned out behind them. A dozen, then two score, then more, many more, until they filled the space behind the leaders, who had remained still the whole time. At last they moved toward me, the hooded figure first, the henchmen beginning to follow, then stopping at some gesture I missed in the darkness.
Sicarii walked with a slight limp, her left leg lurching after her right. She kept walking until we were a dozen paces apart, the only sound that of wind and rain and lightning and thunder growing ever closer. Slowly, she spread her arms high and wide, tilting her head.
“You’re not wearing a dress,” I called.
“Dress?”
“Aye, at the Masquerade? You said we both wanted revenge and that a red dress wouldn’t be amiss either.”
“Ah, but my jacket’s red, as are my trousers, and that will do,” Sicarii shouted back, her rasping voice cracking on the final word. She dug into her jacket and pulled out a letter. “You’re not the Doga come to parley either.”
“Aye, but I’ve a blade with a name on it and that will do,” I said.
“Sambuciña ‘Buc’ fucking Alhurra,” Sicarii said, her voice like the sound of a spade across a coffin. “Always a blade and a mind of where to stick it.” She shook her head and chuckled, but there was nothing funny about the sound. “Like a mule-headed fool, but then again, if you kept your mind on things other than a knife, perhaps we wouldn’t be standing here this night.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that. My mind brought me here, and you as well. Right where I wanted you.”
“If the Doga wanted to meet with me, she would have had me to her Palacio.” She tore the letter into pieces and let the wind carry it away. “As she’s done many times before,” Sicarii said.
“So you admit collusion?”
“She’d own to the term, but is it collusion if I was the one calling the shots?” Sicarii shrugged beneath her flaring jacket, the ends flailing around in the wind. Twisting her head again, she took half a step toward me and paused. “You want revenge, don’t you, Buc?”
“I want to draw steel ’cross your throat, sure.”
“Of course you do,” she said, nodding. “That’s why you’re here. Why you thought to lure me here to this Godsforsaken Lighthouse. I understand it,” she added, clasping her hands together. “None better. Up here, to have your revenge for all to see if they would but raise their eyes.” Her laugh sent a chill down my spine. “You of all people should know. In Servenza, none raise their eyes very far. They’ve learned the lesson of the Doga and the Company long ago: eyes down and live, eyes up and die.”
The gang members behind her growled, a few throwing their weapons up into the air. Sicarii silenced them with the wave of a hand.
“You want to kill me, Buc?” she asked. “You’ll have your chance, I promise you that. But before you do, don’t you think you ought to know why you want me dead so desperately?”
“I think I’ve an idea,” I said dryly.
“Half of one, at any rate, but half measures aren’t your style, aye?” She laughed and spread her arms again. “Come closer and let me paint you the full portrait. No? You’ll make me lose this rusted-out voice, shouting?”
“My heart bleeds.”
“If it does, it’s because I fucking pricked it,” Sicarii hissed. “You returned to Servenza the hero, thought you had your whole damned future in front of you. You and that brute beside you, but you didn’t reckon with me.”
“Reckon with a gnarled, washed-up wreck of a ship that has to hide behind cloaks and darkness?” I shrugged. “Not worth my time.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” Sicarii said, pacing back and forth in front of me. She glanced at me and I saw a glowing eye staring from beneath her hood. “The children weren’t either, eh? Not worth your time?”
“What children?” I felt my chest tighten.
“The ones that you burned alive,” Sicarii hissed.
“I didn’t do that.”
“Of course you did,” she snapped. “You owned that factory, owned the schematics, owned the child labor, and I’m here to tell you, you own the blame, for all of it.”
I wobbled on my feet. My nostrils filled with the smell of ash and soot and flame as images flashed through my mind. Of the little boy I’d tried to save and the countless others I hadn’t. Of Sister.
Sicarii jabbed a hand toward me. “My eyes and ears told me what a wreck you were in the aftermath. Cramming so much machinery together—it was sure to catch fire eventually. I just helped it along.”
“You?” It wasn’t my fault. I knew that wasn’t quite true: I’d never thought to ask if they were using children on the floor, I had plenty of blame to shoulder, but I hadn’t condemned them to death. The weight that had pushed me to the edge of insanity—killing the ones I’d thought to save—slid from my back. Onto the scale of my revenge on Sicarii.
“Me,” she purred. “I set the spark that burned your mind. I dripped poison into the Doga’s ears, turning her from an erstwhile antagonist into a willing ally. She practically gave me the streets and never blinked when I took her Constabulary besides. Through her, I bought half the Company’s shareholders and blackmailed the rest to pressure the Chair.”
“That’s why the Chair wouldn’t bend no matter the machinations I came up with,” I muttered. I’d thought Sicarii a step ahead of me this whole time, but I’d been wrong. She was two steps ahead. Doubt seeped in. If that’s true, did I plan this or am I still dancing on her strings?
“Precisely. It was amusing, watching you s
truggle from afar, unaware that the path you trod was one I laid, cobblestone by cobblestone, all leading to misery and defeat.” Sicarii’s eye burned brighter, as if feeding on the fire in her voice. “I’d have killed you already, but I wanted you to suffer the full measure before you breathed your last. And … I confess you’ve something I covet.”
“Two eyes?” I asked.
“You always were an insolent cunt. But tell me, girl, how did it feel to watch Eld burn to death trying to save one of your little fish. Another child you couldn’t save?”
“Motherfucker,” I breathed.
“That was all me,” Sicarii growled, mistaking my reaction.
She doesn’t know.
Something eased within me. I hadn’t murdered those children and while Sicarii knew me better than should have been possible, she didn’t understand me at my core. True, Sicarii had won most of the battles thus far. I’d known that when I’d drawn my plans up—that I was facing an adversary that was perhaps the most formidable I’d ever encountered. Which, after last summer, was saying something. But—But I hadn’t realized I was even fighting a war until recently and that had given her several advantages, since removed.
Still, I wasn’t a fool. I was without Eld, without Sin, vastly outnumbered, and Sicarii seemed to have a preternatural sense of what I would do before I did it. Only, she’d just proved herself fallible, and if she had made one mistake, and a rather large one in the scheme of things, then she was capable of making more. I was only too happy to show her how. I have a chance.
“I cut that stupid girl’s throat, as a party favor of sorts,” she continued. “The rest, I improvised.” Her voice dropped low, like a guttering flame. “Did he go up all at once or in spurts?”
Another mistake.
“At first,” I said, ignoring the joy in her voice, “I thought the Doga was behind the Serpent’s Flame trap on Govanti. Or else the Company.” I shook my head. “They didn’t understand the depth of my friendship with Eld, though, not really. Certainly not enough to ken how important his life is to me. Salina, perhaps, but I knew it wasn’t her.”
The Justice in Revenge Page 41