Thieves' War

by Clayton Snyder

  “And then what? Say you pull off your trick. Fight her, win. That is what you’re planning, right? Get Fela here and trap or kill her? And then everyone lives forever?”

  He sighed. "Imagine you sent men to war, but no one died? What if you realized it was futile, because no matter what you did, it was a constant stalemate? What if you, sitting in your gutter, your baby in your arms, realized that your friends in the laundry, your sister in the brothel, your brother, begging for scraps of food didn't need to? You couldn't die, they couldn't die, but you didn't have to fear rising up? Imagine you could shatter the status quo, make new lives, new rules, a new normal. A new peace."

  His words echoed around my head. I wondered if it would be that simple. I imagined a world the opposite, legions of meat in a constant state of atrocity. I squashed the thought, but a spark of something, maybe my own rebellion gave me an idea. I kept it to myself.

  "That simple, huh?" I asked instead.

  He shook his head. "No, not that simple. But every fire starts with a spark. The trick is to coax it into a blaze, then guide it to the hearth."

  I nodded and watched him trundle away to bed. I sat in the dark, the cigar burnt to a stub, and wondered if there was more to this. For the first time in a while, a serious question wormed its way into my head.

  How did Cord know all this?

  Sedicilicious

  When I woke, Cord was already up. I staggered into the living area, and he handed me a soft savory wrap and a cup of wine.

  "Eat up," he said. "Busy day."

  I looked for Rek and Lux while I chewed. "Where's everyone else?"

  "Sent them out. We're making a little trip today, and the people we're going to meet get nervous with groups of more than a couple."

  "Friends of yours?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "Stabby friends of yours?"

  "Only if you piss them off."

  "Then why are we going?"

  "Because I want you to see why we're doing this thing this time." he settled onto the couch opposite me. "Being dead gives you time to think. I burnt a lot of bridges and bodies in Midian. I mean to do the same here—" he held up a hand when I opened my mouth to protest. "But for all the right reasons."

  I finished the wrap and washed it down with the wine, then tilted my head. "What do you get out of it?"

  Cord had the good sense to look offended. "Me? Personal gain?"

  "Uh huh. You're a saint. Saint Cord."

  "I prefer Cord of the Magnificent Member."

  I rolled my eyes. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to start stripping," I said.

  His nose wrinkled and he raised his hands in defeat. "Fine. If everything goes right, we get the satisfaction of doing right, a fat paycheck, and I get a little payback."

  I leaned back in the chair. "Ah, that. Tell me about Fela." I smelled a lead there.

  "Hot. Gret's balls, was she hot. Ass for days. Breasts like1—," he deflected.

  "Cord."

  "Fine. I loved her. Actual love. Not that thing you see when we stop in a city and I roll out of a stranger’s bed every morning. The kind of love that aches deep in your bones. The kind that makes you hear music and go all stupid when you see that person."

  I thought of Lux, her wan smile, her long, gentle fingers, her slightly mad laugh.

  "Huh," I said.

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  "What?"

  "I just thought you weren't one for attachments of the heart."

  "And you're not the most observant person."

  "What's that mean?"

  "How long have we been together? Me and you? Us and Rek? And Lux?"

  I nodded. "Point taken. But what’s your deal with wanting to lure her here and snuff her? If you still love her, couldn’t you just ask her for help? ."

  He thought for a moment, a small frown creasing the spot between his eyes. “People think the opposite of love is hate. It’s not. It’s apathy. Hate is just loved turned in on itself.”

  “So you hate her?”

  “No. But I don’t love her enough to spare her what I’ve planned. When a heart’s broken hard, it can envision terrible punishments.”

  “So you’re punishing her?”

  “No. That’s not my place. There are hurts between us. But it’s not punishment. It’s justice. She cannot live if humans are meant to.”

  “But isn’t this the fault of men? What about them? They’ll go on forever, as well. What about the atrocities they commit? How good are they going to get at hurting people over a hundred years, a thousand? What could she have done to take the brunt of your rage?”

  He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, in a way. I sometimes hate that you took to my lessons so well. But you’ll have to trust me, Nenn. I have a plan. And to your first point, she’s more likely to tell me to jump up my own ass and die as she is to pretend I don’t exist.”

  My gut churned. The more I learned about this plan, the less I liked it. Of all the things that had happened between us, the least I’d expected was to lose faith in the old man. I stood and he led us to the door. He stepped out and looked out over the city from the landing.

  "Oh, one more thing. Fela is Gren," he said.

  He started down the stairs. I stopped, struck mute for a moment, then hurried after him.

  "Wait. Gren is Fela? Your one true love is the dead goddess of death?"

  "Yep."

  "You've got strange taste in women."

  "The penis wants what the penis wants, Nenn."

  "What about the heart?"

  "He likes to watch."

  I rolled my eyes again and followed him into the city.

  We made our way through the sprawls, moving closer to the street of statues. Men and women walked the avenues, some wearing their own version of Vignon's skull motif, others bearing weapons with stylized hilts. Men or women in white shifts accompanied others, a collar and leash keeping them under control. Cord snorted in anger as we passed, jaw and fists tight. He shook his head and muttered under his breath. I did my best to keep my blades in their sheathes, as his aggravation was infectious.

  "What is it?" I asked him once out of earshot.

  "They were someone's aunt, you know. Their uncle. A sister. It's always the same. The rich build their lives on the backs of the poor, the weak. Money makes monsters of us all, Nenn. It's like a disease. The more you have, the more you want. It wants to multiply, to corrupt. It wants you to use it, to rely on it, to live for it, and in that way, it's also like a parasite."

  I looked around, at the people dressed in black, fine silks and sequined suits and dresses that sparkled in the sun, at the people held in thrall like pets—their own species, treated like no more than simple animal—at the ostentatious display of wealth in silver and rubies and steel. At the streets devoid of humanity in rags, or underfed. Of lithe bodies and shining jewels. Bile rose in my throat.

  "What's the point? I mean, sure, it makes life comfortable, but what's the endgame here?" I asked.

  "The same as it's always been. Power through subjugation. Ensuring their lifestyle goes on for as long as they cling to life," Cord said.

  "Then how is ending death going to stop any of this? Won't it just prolong their suffering needlessly?"

  “Persistent, aren’t you?”

  “I am what you made me. So?”

  "I'd considered the problem."

  "And?"

  "Rejected it. This city, it thrives on beating down the weak. On controlling them. On taking their lives and relegating them to something less than human. Everything here will collapse, and people will be free again."

  "And everywhere else?"

  He stopped, and looked to the sky, to the statues above. After a long moment, he answered. "They'll have to fight. It's all we can hope for. Blood will have to be spilled, Nenn."

  "So, more suffering?"

  "Yes. Just a little more. Then, with luck, no more. I am so tired."
<
br />   I watched as he started away again, and sorrow weighed me down briefly. This wasn't the Cord I knew. This wasn't the Cord I'd expected. Something had happened to him, and it wore on him as the sea wears on stone. I caught up, and we walked in silence for a time.

  He led us into a warren of alleys, the road sinking in gradual degrees, until we found ourselves below the streets, at a tunnel sealed with a steel cap. Cord reached out and knocked, five times. A double tap echoed back, and the cap rolled slowly to the side to reveal a woman with bright eyes and white hair, dressed in simple spun robes. She looked us over, then out at the street. She ushered us in, and the door rolled closed behind us.

  The tunnel led downward, curving slightly. The walls grew damp as we went, moisture condensing on the stone and running in thin rivulets to chase one another to the floor. The woman—Cord introduced her as Kina—walked ahead, bare feet whispering on the stone. If the rough surface on her soles bothered her, she gave no sign. I saw no guards, but rope disappearing to the ceiling trailed through the tunnel and entrance as we went. I wondered what kind of life someone would have holed up in a cavern. I got my answer as we passed through an opening in the walls.

  The area was the size of one of Midian's cathedrals, large enough to hold roughly a thousand people. Maybe more, since this didn't also have to accommodate the massive size of their pious egos. Curtains hung above alcoves chiseled from the walls. Some were open, showing modest living areas. In the center of the cavern, water fell in a steady stream from the ceiling into a hollow, forming a wide shallow lake. One of the residents must have had a touch of the gift, because globes of soft blue light hung above the water.

  Men, women, and children milled about, chatted, or worked at various tasks. The sounds of chisels came from the far side of the space, and closer, an area had been set up for craftsmen. They stitched, knitted, and spun various garments and blankets. Another area closer to the lake had been set up with cookfires so the smoke might escape, the smells of roast meat and vegetables wafting to us. Yet another alcove to the far left of us held several beds, and residents hopped about on makeshift crutches, or lay abed, or simply coughed their way through the day.

  The population was as varied as any city in the world — black, white, blue, skinny, fat, muscled—but they all shared the same traits. Hung heads, furtive movements, scars. My hands itched to cut the balls from the people responsible and serve them a la testicle fricassee.

  Kina beckoned Cord over to her alcove. He laid a quiet hand on my shoulder before following. I watched him go, my heart torn. This wasn’t the Cord I’d known for years, but a darker, more somber man. I wondered if it had also made him more cautious. For one, he hadn’t died once yet. For another, he already had a plan in place, though the vagaries of it were as always in his head. I wondered why he compartmentalized like that, if it was a way of protecting himself or us and decided it didn’t matter. I’d trusted him this long. A little longer couldn’t hurt.

  I walked along the cavern wall, close to the alcoves. From some, the gentle rise and fall of breath echoed behind closed curtains. From others, soft moans, the grunt of release. Still others, snatches of conversation, whispered rumor and woe.

  “I heard the Triad are all geared up for the gala. Kina thinks that’s when we should strike.”

  I passed another. “… not enough food for the winter. The blade would be more merciful for the children.”

  And another. “Blessings to the gods. They’ll guide us through.”

  I shook my head at that. People’s assumption that beings who saw us as we saw ants would give even the tiniest shits about our lives never ceased to amaze me. Camor included. I had seen hide nor hair of Their skinny ass since the Veldt. All that told me was when the gods stuck their fingers in man’s business, it was because they needed pawns.

  A small cough pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see I stood beside the makeshift hospital. A girl, no more than seven or eight leaned on a crutch, right leg missing below the knee. I knelt.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up from tight black curls and winced. Her leg pained her, and I saw the end of her stump was an angry red. A smell, sour and hot came to my nose, and knew it was infected. Rage clenched my stomach, and I forced myself to relax.

  “Would be, had Neman not whipped me for taking an extra bread,” she said.

  She teetered on her crutch, and I caught her, letting her rest against me until she was steady.

  “Who is this Neman?” I asked.

  She pushed back and worked her way toward one of the nearer beds, breath coming in gasps. When she reached the straw mattress, she collapsed in it, dark skin flushed from the exertion.

  “Seneschal for the Houses of the Holy. They’d taken my parents two years ago when Da hurt his back and couldn’t work. Can’t work, can pay debt. Can’t pay debt, into the chains. But I can work, they said. And I did. But they barely fed us. I was just… so hungry,” she broke into tears.

  I leaned in and hugged her until the sobs stopped, trying to hold my own back. The fact they’d maimed this little girl for simply trying to survive was monstrous. The tears that threatened to fall dried up with my anger and I clutched the girl tight.

  “You’ll have his heart. I promise.”

  Her tears stopped, and she pressed her face into my chest. For a moment, we held one another. I broke away and stood, turning on a heel. The girl needed comfort, not fury. I would save that for Neman.

  I passed the hospital at a measured pace, followed by pained cries, wracking coughs, and sad silence. I did not turn my head, because I knew if I saw another wounded, and another, I would murder the city. Once past, I stalked to the rear of the cavern, pressing my back to the rock there. A breeze from an opening nearby cooled my flushed skin, and I turned to look for the source. A few yards away, the cave opened in a thin crease, a gentle light narrowly escaping. Curiosity seized me, and I slipped through.

  The interior was smooth and round, lit by clusters of clear crystals that shone with a gentle internal light. Intricate design crawled across the floor in delicate carvings, moss and lichen forcing itself into the grooves, and some force had broken the stones in no discernible pattern. In the center of the floor stood a pedestal, a statue toppled and broken from it. Feet still clung to the raised platform, but the statue itself had tipped and broken an arm. I leaned in and brushed the accumulation of years from its face.

  A woman, middling of years, attractive, stared back at me. One half of her face was skeletal, her remaining arm bone and tattered flesh. I looked down the length of the carving and though more growth covered the leg, I assumed it to be the same.

  “Fela,” Cord said from behind me.

  I stood and turned. He leaned against the cavern wall with a half-grin and a wistful look in his eyes.

  “She’s pretty,” I said.

  “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

  I looked closer. Something struck me as familiar about her features. It was likely a coincidence. Sculptors worked from models, but rarely stuck to one influence. Girlfriend’s eyes here, wife’s lips there, the woman from the market’s breasts there. It gave their work that sort of everyperson quality. The good ones. The bad ones looked like someone had fallen face-first onto a brick.

  “You miss her, huh?” I asked.

  He shrugged and pushed off from the wall. “Come on. Fairly sure Rek and Lux should be done by now.”

  We left the abandoned shrine and made our way topside, Kina seeing us out. A light rain had begun to fall when we reached the street. I pulled my hood up. Cord laughed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Live a little, Nenn,” he said, and sauntered away, rain plastering the hair to his head.

  I shot him a glare and followed. Was his mood shifting? Regardless, some shit was about to go down.

  I Couldn’t Fuck A Gorilla

  Rek and Lux waited for us at the hotel. Rek had again managed to find the small magically chilled
chest in the room and chewed handfuls of peanuts with a scowl. Lux amused herself by snuffing and lighting a candle repeatedly by snapping her fingers.

  “I’m sure this is fine,” I muttered, and flopped on the couch next to Lux.

  For a moment, our thighs touched, then she scooted away. I gave her a questioning look, but she pretended not to notice, still flicking the candle to life.

  “The Dipshit Triplets give you any trouble?” Cord asked, leaning against a counter.

  “Centaurs,” Rek rumbled around a mouth of peanuts.

  “Centaurs?” I asked.

  “Centaur guards,” Lux said. “You can imagine how that went.”

  Rek slammed the jar of nuts on the table, spraying fragments as he shouted. “Why don’t they wear pants?”

  Cord snorted a laugh. “Maybe they talk to the horses.”

  Rek’s eyes went wide. “WHAT?”

  “You know, maybe they knew you were coming. And they wanted to do the same,” Cord said.

  “Bah,” Rek said and slumped in the chair.

  “You get the invites, then?” Cord asked Lux.

  She gave him a crooked smile and produced two thick pieces of paper, fanning them apart. I glared at them, and then at Cord.

  “What?” I asked.

  “If we went as a group, they’d twig. We need Rek and Lux to create a distraction while you and I nick the keys to the coffers,” Cord said.

  “So, you’re my…,” I said.

  Cord grinned wide. “Date.”

  “Gods help me,” I said.

  “Party time, excellent! Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll meet new people, steal interesting things.” Cord said.

  “Do I have to wear a dress?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Cord said.

  “Gret’s balls,” I said.

  I looked to Rek and Lux for help. Lux gave me a wan smile. Rek just shrugged.

  “C’mon loser, we’re going shopping,” Cord said.

  He took me by the hand and led me from the room. I glanced back, mouthing help me. The other two ignored my plea, pretending to be interested in Rek’s abandoned jar of nuts. I groaned and fell in behind Cord.