Thieves' War

by Clayton Snyder

  The center of the room was given over to hardwood parquet laid in a wide square. The aristocracy danced in elegant swoops, and Cord pulled me onto the floor. We were swept along to the sound of violins and cellos, and Cord led in a dance that spun and swirled my skirts and made the stars above swirl. I clung to him for that moment, my father, strong and sure, and smelled his mild cologne, the scent of his hair. I wondered what it would have been like having a normal childhood.

  Then the dance ended, and it turned into a sprightly jig. Cord led me off the floor. Two men and a woman stood at the front of the room, wearing the rough robes of their vocation, each pale and bald, sunken eyes staring from hollow faces. The woman wore a spine around her shoulders like a stole, the men a pair of matched feet, the soles withered and black. The woman spotted us and smiled, a hideous thing, and made her way over to me while the men beelined for Cord.

  “Here they come,” he muttered. “The shitbrick brigade.”

  “Wait,” I said, and gripped his arm in a panic. “How the hell are they not going to recognize us?”

  “Evil is very stupid,” he said. He put on a smile, and I followed suit. The woman Harrower reached me first, taking my right hand in her cold ones. Her flesh was thin and waxy. No recognition shone in her eyes, and I thanked Camor silently that for once, Cord wasn’t full of shit.

  “The Phlanges! Cord and Nenn, I believe? How nice to meet you! You must be a girl, with shoes like that,” she said, looking at my heels.

  I grinned. “Yes, but my name is Dagger,” I said.

  Confusion crossed her features for a moment. Cord interceded.

  “Family name. She’s old-fashioned.”

  The woman recovered her composure and glanced at my arm, changing the subject smoothly.

  “What a remarkable appendage. Truly fascinating. Come, walk with me.”

  Unlike other Harrowers I’d met, her voice was nearly normal. I guessed she hadn’t had occasion to do much Harrowing herself. I glanced from the corner of my eye and saw the men leading Cord away, deep in conversation.

  “We’ve been waiting some time for you, you know.”

  “You have?”

  A chill passed through me. I thought of Midian and Orlecht and Ferd. I wondered how much they knew. My hands crept toward my daggers.

  “Oh, yes! When we got word that the most successful traders in the Five Seas region were in town, we just had to meet you.”

  She walked as she talked, leading me out of the room.

  “How do you do it?” she asked.

  “The… trading?” I asked.

  “You’re so modest. Of course, the trading. Flesh is so hard to successfully buy, sell, and ship. It breaks, it sickens, it rots. And the Veldt, with their antiquated ideas of freedom.” She laughed, a tinkling sound. “No matter. In time they too will see the right of it. If one was not to be owned by another, surely one would possess the means to avoid the situation altogether.”

  “Surely,” I said, picturing all the ways I could scoop this woman’s eyes from her head.

  We turned a corner and stepped into a side room. Unlike the House proper, it was richly appointed, with burgundy rugs and dark woods. Brass accents marked the metals in the room, and crystal made up the glass. A pair of curtains hid something on the wall.

  “Where did your brothers take Cord?” I asked, trying to affect an air of nonchalance.

  “We understand your partner dabbles in mercenaries. We had hoped to recruit him for an upcoming project. But you and I, we’re women. Men with their swords and their phalluses. Pah. What we’re in here is the business of life. Improving it.”

  I raised an eyebrow and took a seat on one of the richly appointed chairs, crossing my legs. My skirts rose a little, exposing enough leg that I would have little trouble reaching the knives beneath. The Harrower noticed the expanse of flesh and gave a small smirk.

  “Impressive.” She licked her lips and shook herself. “As I was saying. We are in the business of improving life. It’s sacred to us, is it not? The womb, so easy to quicken. So fertile. But the problem, and you’ll forgive me for using so base a word, is that anyone can spring from it. We can’t have that. The subpar, just being born, like common cattle.”

  I ground my teeth and sucked in a breath.

  “Do I trouble you with my callousness then?” she asked. “You must forgive me. There is a reckoning coming. A cleansing. We cannot have the… deviant polluting our new nation.”

  “Surely you’ll need a workforce?” I asked.

  “Ah! That is what I wanted to show you!” she grew animated, and grabbed a golden cord beside the curtains, tugging hard.

  They split, opening to each side and revealing a window into a stark room. Bodies lay in rows on stone tables, covered with pustules the size of my head. In each, a pus-like fluid, and swimming in it, a fetus.

  “This is the fate of the subpar flesh we are given. Each is utilized to its own true potential, growing and nurturing perfection. Perfect flesh from broken. Strong. Well-formed. Compliant.” She turned, hands clasped before her lips, admiring her work1.

  My mind recoiled, and the rage in me finally let loose. I stood and drew my blades.

  Rek

  “Rek, do this thing. Rek, do that thing.”

  Muttering to myself wasn’t helping my mood. I should’ve realized a while back that Cord had me do the things because he was small and a thinky. Not big and smashy. It still nettled me. I lopped the head off another guard and buried the axe in the flank of its weird-ass tentacle dog. It died in an explosion of goo and I hefted the axe again.

  “I mean, he really should have brought me along. It’s not like Nenn isn’t small and squishy too. Know what I mean?”

  The guard gave me a blank look and I split him in two. Man, I liked this axe. Very choppy. Maybe that’s what I’d name it.

  “Every hero should have a named weapon. Rek and Choppy. Mister Choppington. Sir Reginald Choppington the Fourth.”

  I smashed another guard’s face with the haft, his skull crumpling beneath the blow.

  “Ram Jam the Axe Man. Ha. I. Am. Hilarious.”

  The street fell silent and I looked around at the corpses in the street. Just six this time. Lux would probably outdo me again. Of course, it wasn’t hard when you could explode people. Cheatin’ weirdo.

  I descended the ramp to the escapee hideout and hammered on the door. The locks popped with a series of clicks, and Kina peered out. She was pretty, in an angry, downtrodden sort of way. Too bad I didn’t fancy people like that. I gave her my most harmless smile. Still, she stepped back a little.

  “Cord sent me,” I said.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and said something over her shoulder. In moments, every able-bodied escapee flooded the street, a few hundred strong. I pointed to the wagon I’d drug through town, overflowing with weapons and armor, and they cheered, sprinting toward it. I smiled as they armed themselves to the teeth. When it was empty, Kina climbed into the back, standing tall.

  Shel and the Aunties stepped from the shadows, flanking her. It was official. Kina had an honor guard.

  “Tonight, is the night we take the city back!”

  “Hear, hear!” the crowd chanted.

  “Tonight, is the night we win our freedom!” she shouted.

  The rest of the cheers were too loud to be intelligible. I nodded and gave a grunt of approval. Short speeches were the best speeches. I loved Cord like a brother, but that idiot could prattle on. There was rarely a situation that could be solved better by a speech than chopping an asshole into asshole bits.

  The crowd rallied, and marched through the streets, the tromp of feet on stone a drumbeat. Their ranks swelled as they went, commoner and freemen joining the cause. Where guards or slavers stood, the rebels hacked them to pieces, the new men handed reclaimed or makeshift weapons. In one case, they ran across a Harrower taking a piss in an alley. When he tried to summon something, they cut bits of him off and switched them, the Aunties mak
ing quick work of the stitching.

  Sure they were sufficiently riled, I went to find Lux. Because Rek do the things.

  Lux

  Burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn bye guard burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn oops was that warehouse supposed to explode like that burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn ha smells like pork burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn fuck you too Mr. Guy screaming won’t help you burn burn burn Nenn is awesome burn burn burn burn burn burn

  Tug

  The sound of explosions echoed across the city, but they were only the percussion of the clown’s doom. I’d tracked him to the edge of the boardwalk, hiding in the wreckage of my amusement wheel. He shuddered, greasepaint running with tears. A spray of water hit me in the face and I sputtered momentarily, then pulled the flower from his lapel.

  “Your foul sorcery has no power here,” I said.

  I pulled the long knife I kept for ritual work, and tested the edge. The clown tried to communicate in its strange language of toots and whistles. I ignored its hilarious pleas for mercy.

  “My name,” I began, “Is Tug. But you may call me Mr. Tuggerson.” I raised the blade. “Now let’s see if you’re funny on the inside, too.”

  The clown died with a long honk as my knife slipped into his viscera.

  Rek

  I found Lux in the warehouse district, blowing up half the city. I left her to it. She seemed happy.

  Cord

  They’d split us up, a complication I’d hadn’t been expecting, Nenn disappearing with the Harrower woman down a long side hall. There's a Gentian saying: Och na, a'm pumpin' fucked, which roughly translates to "Oh no, I'm fucking fucked". Interestingly, the second 'fucked' remains the same in any language. I mean, of interest to those who are scholars of Gentian. Not necessarily to those trapped in a room with two dangerous fanatics.

  Nenn once called me reckless, and it's probably true. I tend to go off half-cocked. And sometimes whole-cocked. Like the thing in Blackgate. I didn't mean to blow up.

  Speaking of, there are things they don't tell you about exploding. Like it hurts. But only for a second. Then you just kind of fall to pieces. I’d rather not repeat the situation. It took a god, the loss of a priceless artifact, and a bargain to bring me back last time. I didn’t have anything left to gamble with this time, and I sure as the hells didn’t fancy seeing Fela again.

  Don’t get me wrong. I like women. I like men. I like the people in-between. I suppose there’s a word for my preferences, though I like ‘open-minded’, or even ‘pleasure seeker’. When someone puts a plate of delicious meats in front of you, you can hardly blame a man for tasting them all, can you?

  Anyway, the Harrowers were busy blathering on. That’s the thing about evil. It sure does like to hear itself talk. Like a party where everyone else is forced to watch them masturbate. Only one person gets pleasure out of it, and in the end, everyone feels worse for it.

  On the upside, they’d taken me to another room off the main. Austere, covered in maps. A table sat in the middle, another map painted on it, and figures representing what I assumed were military units or assets lay atop the map in groups of blue and red. Other maps covered the walls, of Gentia, of the Veldt, and lands beyond. They had plans.

  “…how many troops could you bring to bear, if pressed, General?”

  Ah, fuck. Apparently, those plans included me. I blinked and gave them what I hoped was a gracious grin.

  “How many do you need?”

  They gave a chuckle, and there was a round of back-patting. I slipped a Fox card I’d hid up each sleeve into the pockets of their robes and snatched their keys. I reminded myself to burn this coat later.

  “On to logistics, then,” the Harrower to the left was saying. “Will you conscript men, or recruit from the populace?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. A scream from outside the room interrupted our conversation.

  “Ah no,” I said, trying to look sad. “Party poopers.”

  The Harrowers gave me a look like I was the insane one in the room. Szet wrote The only insane man is a man who eats his own feet. Of course, Szet was prone to licking doorknobs. He once claimed you could learn everything about a man from the taste of his knob.

  “Hold on,” I said. “I’ll check it out. Your august personages shouldn’t be endangering yourselves.”

  “That’s why you’re the general,” they said, smiling again.

  I returned it and slipped from the room, securing the door behind me. A few paces from the room, I paused, and whispered the name of the rune on the cards. A muffled whump followed, and reddish dust spilled from beneath the door.

  Like I said, exploding hurts, but only for a second. I only wished I could’ve drawn it out.

  I paused again in the hall. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. The massacre.

  Nenn

  The blades slipped into my palms easily. The woman still stood with her back to me, and I sprung forward, but I’d forgotten. Harrower. An eye emerged from the flesh of her bald skull and she sidestepped, gripping her spine fetish. She opened her mouth and a deep rich sound came forth. The air split and immediately disgorged a large tangle of rats tied at the tail.

  I skittered back.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Behold, the Rat King!”

  It squeaked piteously. I stabbed the thing once, and advanced on her. More squealing came from behind me and I spun. The number of rats had already doubled, and as I watched, more spilled from the wound, as though I’d opened a gate to the Rat Universe. They crawled and bit, opening gashes that bled freely. My right hand went numb and I dropped the dagger it had held only moments before.

  “Gods damn it,” I swore. “Not again.”

  I picked up a fistful of rat with my left hand. It scrabbled and bit, but the attack had no effect on the bone. The Harrower, meanwhile, had tried to escape, but I blocked the door and grabbed her with my slick right hand, ramming the rat down her throat. Her cheeks distended and her eyes bulged in a panic as I used the bone fingers to rip a leg off. As it disappeared down her gullet, more bulges followed, the rat multiplying within her. I rummaged through her robes, coming up with the key we needed, and shoved her back onto a floor now carpeted with the vile things. I used the nice chair to shatter the window.

  They poured into the breeding room, soon overflowing and devouring the bodies and horrid fetuses there. As soon as they’d left space around the door, I fled, slamming it shut behind me. I’d no sooner gained the hall when a scream sounded from the ballroom. I sprinted, hoping I wasn’t too late for Cord.

  He met me in the center of what had become an abattoir. The uprising had gained the House, and as they went, freed and armed any slave they found, slaughtering everyone else. Only Kina and Shel’s intervention kept them from murdering us as well.

  “You got this?” Cord asked Kina as more screams echoed from the halls.

  She nodded, and Cord looked to me.

  “Up the hill then. Exit’s that way.”

  “One sec,” I said. I spent a couple of minutes gathering liquor and pouring it into a pool in the room.

  “Aw,” Cord said.

  “I know. Bear with me.”

  I heaped runners of cloth atop it and lit the entire thing with a cigar striker. It went up in seconds, and soon the entire room was ablaze, the marble little more than a cheap façade. It spread, thick smoke billowing through the halls.

  “Get your people out,” I told Kina.

  I passed her my key, and Cord did the same with his.

  “Make sure these get to our people,” he said.

  She nodded, and they fled the way they’d come. Cord and I headed to the back, kicking open the door that led up the wide stairs and to the High Harrower House. There were scores to settle, and a reckoning to be had.

  Rek

  The building they kept the coffer in was long,
low, and fronted by a small phalanx of centaurs. I stiffened as they lowered their spears.

  “Fuck,” I said.

  Lux shot me a sideways look. “Ah, the horsie thing.”

  I pulled my axe free. “It’s not a horsie thing. I was almost fucked by one.”

  She shrugged. The horse-men moved forward as one.

  Clop. Clop. Clop.

  I backed off an involuntary step, and Lux sighed.

  “One freebie,” she said.

  A sickly yellow glow surrounded her hands, and she waved them in the direction of the centaurs. They paused, stumbled. One dropped his spear, hands going to his bare stomach, then reaching in vain for his hindquarters. A moment later, a foul stench filled the air, and the ranks broke as they scattered, brown trails spattering in time to the beat of their hooves.

  I relaxed.

  “Thank the gods.”

  “Thank Lux,” she said, and sauntered past me as we entered the coffer.

  A woman, stout and gray stomped in behind us. Lux stared idly at the fresco on the ceiling.

  “Lotta horseshit out there. Rek?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Here’s your keys.”

  She thrust three into my hand, and I passed them to Lux. She set to work on the big steel door at the end of the room.

  “When you’re done here, get your ass to the Houses,” the old woman said.

  I nodded.

  “Not much for conversation, are ya?” Shel asked.

  “Not much,” I agreed.

  She gave me a hard look and nodded, then disappeared the way she’d come. Three clicks sounded behind me, and the door opened. I turned to see a glittering pile of riches squirreled away.

  “Shiny,” Lux said.

  “Yep,” I agreed. I pulled out several sacks and began filling them.