The Thorn of Dentonhill (29 page)

This was the moment.

Hetzer glanced up at the sky. The blood moon was full, and it was moving close to the white half-moon. It was almost touching it, like it was going to cross in front. Hetzer had never seen anything like that before.

“You showed, scrapper,” said a deep voice in the shadows. Colin saw someone walk out of the cannery. He was an older man, short hair and more than a few scars on his face. He looked like a man who had been in a lot of fights, and won most of them.

“You lose a bet or something?” Colin returned.

“Nah,” the tough said. “Surprised you just walked up, instead of pulling some trick.”

“Not tonight,” Colin said. “You've got something to return to me, eh?”

“Gonna ask you that.”

“You should know how to do a trade, tough,” Colin said. “You think I'm gonna drop my merch for you without seeing my side?”

“Your doxy and the old man are safe, Thorn.”

“Forgive me if I don't trust that,” Colin said.

“Fair enough, scrapper,” the tough said. “Come on, then.” He started to walk off down one street. “Oh, two things first.” He hauled off a sucker punch across Colin's chin. He stepped back as soon as he did it, making it clear to Colin he was only taking that shot. “That's for my table.”

“Table had it coming,” Colin said. He wasn't sure what else to say. This tough clearly had a grudge against Veranix, and if he thought Colin really was the Thorn, so much the better. “What's the second thing?”

“The guy with the crossbow has his eye on us,” the tough said. “You remember him, no?”

“Who could forget?” Colin said.

“Well, he can shoot a tick off your balls from where he is, so don't think he can't put one through your heart. No rope tricks, eh?”

“Wouldn't dream of it, tough,” Colin said. “Lead the way.”

The tough winked at him, and walked off to the northeast down Necker, deeper into Dentonhill. Colin walked behind the man, hoping whoever the sharpshooter was, he was keeping an eye on him, and not seeing Hetzer. For Veranix's sake, for his friends, the last thing Colin needed was for this deal to take a left turn.

M
ORE THAN ONCE,
Veranix feared that Delmin had lost the trail. They had taken a desultory route, but there was consistent progress to the north and east. From his vantage point on the rooftops, he couldn't always see Delmin's face, but when he did his friend looked determined, certain. He also looked frightened out of his mind. Veranix took some comfort in that. Fear was probably the smartest thing to feel right now.

They were in the northeast corner of Dentonhill now, near Inemar. This part of the neighborhood was filled with warehouses, and Veranix figured most of them belonged to Fenmere. Veranix crouched low, leaning over the edge of a roof. Delmin had stopped in the street. He looked dazed and disoriented. Veranix swore under his breath. He shouldn't have dragged Delmin into this. He shouldn't have gotten anyone else involved. Especially not Kaiana. He wouldn't forgive himself if she got hurt or killed.

Delmin placed a hand on the wall of one of the warehouses. He stood there for a moment. Veranix prayed that no one would notice him. Delmin turned up and looked to the roofs above him. With a slight nod, he tapped on the wall of the warehouse, and then walked away down the street.

This was the place.

Veranix looked it over. There were two doors on this side of the building. One was a large double door for letting carriages and wagons in. The other was normal-size. The slate roof slanted at a steep angle. The stones didn't look very solid. His footing could easily slip if he made the jump for the roof. The slate would definitely come loose, alerting anyone inside to his presence.

Near the corner of the building, he spotted what he needed. A window. It was covered with an ironwork lattice, but it was still another way in besides the front door. There was no other way in that he could see from here. He'd have to go down to the street level to search further.

He heard a sound at the front door. Two men came out, with a third right behind them. He didn't recognize the two men, both older and well dressed, but the third was Kalas.

“It's only just after midnight,” Kalas said. “Your man might be leading him here now.”

“Might, might,” one of the gentlemen said, waving a dismissive hand at Kalas. “Perhaps you're right. But I really don't need to see it.”

“Lord Sirath will not—”

“Will not be pleased, yes,” the gentleman said. “I am not pleased, Mister Kalas. You and Lord Sirath and the rest of your Circle have proven to be ill-fitting partners, and I want no more of it.”

“You will regret this, Fenmere,” Kalas said.

A chill ran up Veranix's spine. This was Fenmere. Veranix had never seen the man before. Here he was. No legend, no iconic tyrant. He was just an old man in an expensive suit.

Veranix hadn't even realized he had drawn an arrow until he was lining up the shot.

Right below him like this, it was an easy shot. Fenmere stood still, arguing with Kalas, looking more annoyed than anything else. His heart was clean in front of him, and he could send an arrow through it before anyone knew what happened.

That would be it. The man who had caused so much pain, sold so much death, both in Veranix's life and all of Dentonhill, would be dead.

Veranix faltered. If he took the shot, Kalas would raise the alarm. He'd cry out and Lord Sirath would react. He wouldn't be able to take them by surprise. Professor Alimen and Kaiana would surely be dead before he could get to them.

Kalas put his hand on Fenmere's shoulder, trying to coax him to return. Fenmere pushed it away.

“I'm leaving some men behind to clean up after your little . . . event, Kalas. They'll help you however you need.” He brushed off his suit. “If the Thorn does arrive, they can deliver his dead body to me in the morning. But not too early, please. For once, I'd like to get some sleep.” He turned down the road and walked toward a carriage parked at the corner.

Veranix held the aim on Fenmere as he walked. The shot would still be good, and the man would still be dead. He could still take it. The man who killed his father, ruined his mother . . . he would be dead.

The cost would be too high, though.

He relaxed his arm.

Tonight was not the night for Fenmere.

I have your face now, old man,
he thought. Every line on his craggy face, the bulbous nose, the dark, deep-set eyes, the iron-gray hair, straight and pulled back, were all burned into Veranix's mind.

He lowered the bow.

A boot scuffed behind him.

“You should have taken the shot, mate.”

He spun around, raising the bow again. He was ready to fire, but the other man already had a crossbow aimed at him. Veranix easily recognized the greasy, eel-faced man.

“Samael,” he said, keeping his arm tense, ready to snap the shot. “Tonight is full of surprises.”

“I'd say so,” Samael said, grinning evilly. “I thought I was following you down there.” He nodded his head down to the street. Veranix didn't dare glance away to see what he was referring to. Did he follow Delmin? Or someone else?

“I'd never make it that easy, chap,” Veranix said. His shoulder, already injured, burned from the strain. He couldn't hold the bow back for too much longer, and as long as Samael was trained on him, he couldn't shoot without getting shot back.

“I should have guessed,” Samael said. “All the better. They can keep the impostor. Since I've got the real thing all to myself, I can still collect my fee.”

Hetzer hated keeping a tail on someone in a neighborhood he didn't know. Back on Rose, he knew which alleys he could slip into, which stores he could cut through, every crack and pass he could use. Here, on strange streets, on a quiet night, he couldn't hide as well as he wanted. He had to keep his distance, stay farther back than he'd like. He'd almost lost Colin and the other guy twice. It didn't help that this part of town had long north stretches with no side streets, just big, tight-packed buildings.

Someone else had been following them as well, Hetzer noted, from up on the rooftops. He would dash ahead of Colin and his guide, and then train his crossbow on them as they passed. Then he'd dash again, keeping the time Colin wasn't in his sights down to a minimum. Hetzer was impressed by the way the guy could move. There wasn't a rooftop racer like that in the Princes, or in all of Aventil.

Hetzer was glad that this one had been focused on Colin, not scouting the area around. No one spotted him, as far as he could tell.

They were led to a warehouse district in Dentonhill. Surely all owned by Fenmere, Hetzer thought, like everything else in this neighborhood. The guy brought Colin over to one building, where a stick-thin guy, dressed like a proper gentleman in a deep blue suit, was standing at the door, looking mad enough to eat the road.

“Oy,” the guide said. “I brought the one.”

Hetzer slipped into a crack between two buildings, close enough that he could hear. Best ears on Rose Street, he had.

“This one?” the man in the blue suit said. “He looks like street trash.”

“Watch what you call trash, swell,” Colin said. “You'll get what's yours coming.”

“I'm sure, young man,” the suit said. “There is something of mine which should be coming.” He leaned in to Colin. “You don't have it, though. But you did.”

“Yeah, yeah, you want your merch, swell,” Colin said. “You want it, you've got to deal. You've got a bloke and a bird you're ransing?”

The suit looked at Colin, and then at the guide, then back to Colin. “I don't know what the blazes you're saying.”

“The trade, mister,” the guide said. “Your things for his friends.”

“Right,” the suit said with an evil smile. “The trade. You want your friends released.”

Hetzer heard a whispered hiss. He looked across the street, and nestled in a matching crack between buildings was another bloke, looking right at him. This one was in the uniform of a Uni brat. He looked scared out of his mind, but he was pointing at Hetzer, and waving him over.

Whoever this crazy brat was, he clearly wasn't working for Fenmere or any these others. He was way off his block. This was the kind of Uni kid that any street tough could easily shake for some coin. What the blazes was he doing here, and why in the name of any saint did he think he could signal like they were friends?

“That's it,” Colin said. “You want your merch, you can get it. But I got to see my people.”

“Well,” the suit said, looking Colin over like he was a roast lamb, and he was deciding which part to eat first, “you've clearly been in possession of my things. But I can't imagine someone as . . . unremarkable as you has been the source of all our misery.”

The Uni kid was really freaked now, pointing at Hetzer as frantically as he could without causing any commotion that others would notice.

“I'm full of surprises,” Colin said.

“Certainly,” the suit said. “Bring him in.” He went into the warehouse and the guide pulled Colin in with them. The door slammed shut.

The Uni kid took the moment to act. He dashed out of his crack over to Hetzer's. Hetzer didn't waste any time grabbing the kid and clasping his hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” Hetzer said, “you on the
'fitte
or something?”

The kid shook his head.

“So why you trying to get us both killed, Uni brat?” he asked, keeping his voice a whisper. “This is some serious bad news going on here, and you want none of it. You hear?”

The Uni brat nodded. Hetzer noticed his eyes looking up to the roof across the street. He glanced over.

There was the rooftop racer, crossbow trained on another guy, who had his own bow aimed at the racer.

“Oh, blazes and saints,” Hetzer said, relaxing his grip on the Uni kid. “That's the Thorn, ain't it?”

“You've . . . you've got the . . .” the Uni kid stammered, pointing to satchel. “If you have . . . and if I can sense . . . then they . . .”

“It's a trade drop, kid,” Hetzer said, keeping one eye up on the racer and the Thorn. “We're helping the Thorn, get? Get his bird and bloke back.”

“No,” the Uni brat whispered. “Let him . . . let him . . . they can't get that stuff, you hear? If they get it, it's going to be . . .”

The loading door of the warehouse flew open. Two young tossers, skinny and pale, came charging out. Both of them wore blue cloaks and hoods, and their hands were glowing.

“Oh, sweet saints,” the Uni brat said. He grabbed Hetzer's wrist and pulled him into the street. “Run. RUN!”