The Thorn of Dentonhill (6 page)

“The items were stolen, Lord,” Kalas called back.

“Intolerable!” shouted Sirath from the back. The house shuddered with a wave of power.

“I agree,” Kalas said. “Steps are being taken, I'm sure, yes?”

“Yes, Mister Kalas,” Bell said, nodding more vigorously than he wished he had. He knew it made him look foolish.

Kalas stepped forward and opened the door, indicating Bell should step out. “I am glad to hear that at least. I trust it will be dealt with expediently.” Kalas smiled at Bell, a smile that looked like it was something he practiced in the mirror.

“That is our plan, sir.” Bell stumbled backward out the door, not wanting to take his eyes off Kalas until he was outside. Kalas stepped outside with him.

“Excellent,” Kalas said, walking past Bell. “You've brought me a cab. I have some business at the University. This will save me considerable time.” Before Bell could say anything, Kalas stepped up into the cab and whispered something to the driver. The whip cracked and the horses moved with a sudden burst of determination.

“Blazes,” Bell muttered. He should go back to Fenmere's, or to the cannery. Probably the cannery. Grinding his teeth, he decided first he needed to visit the
hassper
den over on Price. He needed another smoke.

Colin hadn't slept well. He knew Veranix had gone out and done something to Fenmere, out in Inemar, and if it was Inemar, that meant the docks. If Veranix was hitting Fenmere out on the docks then he was hitting a shipment right as it came in. Crowns right from the man's pocket, a serious hit. Colin didn't know anyone who would dare such a thing.

Veranix only dared because he wasn't anyone. Just another Uni kid, another face in the uniform. No one anyone on the streets would take any note of.

Unless someone took a real good look at Veranix's face. Blazes, if any of the basement bosses, the old ones, ever took a good look at him, they'd probably see exactly whose son he was.

The business with the cannery, that had rattled more than a few boots on both sides of Waterpath. Not too much, but people were talking, and Colin couldn't figure out if it was a good thing. Hearing about Fenmere's boys getting rattled, knowing it was his cousin who had done it, Colin couldn't help but take some pride in that. Pride was in short supply in Aventil.

No matter how much pride he felt, though, rattling made noise, and that noise was already looking over Waterpath.

Morning light hadn't even properly broke when Colin pulled himself up from his mattress. His usual flop, in the basement under Kessing's shop, where he and his crew of Princes would crash most nights, was damp and gray, and smelled of a rancid earthiness. Despite that, he had a certain fondness for the place, a place that was in some small way his own. It belonged to all the Princes, so if a Basement Boss wanted to yank him from it and give it to another captain, that could happen any time. Colin worked the streets, worked his crew, as hard as he could, and made sure any merch the bosses left in his flop stayed untouched. They'd never have the excuse to yank him.

There were only a couple of tiny windows along the ceiling, at street level, and the dull glow of dawn provided just enough light to find his boots and vest and get to the door.

His fingers went reflexively to his belt, to the knife he kept there, as he came out of the flop and hit the street. Not that anyone would come up on him, not here, not this deep in Prince territory. No one would dare.

The air was cool and brisk, but he rolled up his sleeves, letting anyone out there see his arm. He didn't need to show his color, show his stars; anyone who mattered knew who he was. No cool morning would make him hide the one thing he had that was his, that he earned with sweat and muscle and bone.

A sharp whistle flew across the street. Two young Princes, the ink on their arms still fresh and raw, were working the corner next to the Len House. The Lens were brewers, made some of the better beer in Aventil in their basement, which the Princes guarded nightly. The Toothless Dogs and Hallaran's Boys kept trying to make runs to steal a few casks.

Colin crossed over to them. “Any noise?”

“Nothing much,” said one of them, but he nodded up the block. “There's a bloke up over there, though, who's been looking this way for a bit.”

“How long?”

“Half an hour, maybe.”

“Keep your place,” Colin said, patting one of them on the arm. “I'll go give it a look, right?”

“Sure, cap.”

The guy didn't give any ground when Colin approached. More to the point, his level of fear didn't change at Colin's approach. The guy looked pretty afraid already.

“If you're the pair of eyes on the brewery, you chose the wrong gig, son,” Colin said.

“What?” the guy asked. He shook his head vigorously. “No gig, no. I was told to find a Prince cap.”

“You got one,” Colin said cautiously. He took a good look at the guy, now that he was close up. An ugly but precise scar crossed from one eye to his ear. A Waterpath Orphan. “What's the noise? Orphans need something?”

“My cap says get a Prince cap, get him to the church.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. Orphans wanted a meet at the church? That couldn't be good news. And if it was the Orphans telling the news that meant it was coming from across in Dentonhill.

Damn.

“Fine,” Colin said, “But I've got to head to the backhouse first.”

The Orphan stammered nervously, looking up the street toward Waterpath. “I'm supposed to make sure you—whoever I find, you know—goes to the church.”

“Yeah, and I got to piss, so either wait here or roll off.”

The Orphan stood his ground. Colin shrugged and went back over to the barbershop. Before he went into the alley behind it, he pounded on the door of the basement flop. After a moment, Jutie cracked the door open.

“You out and about already, cap?”

“Boot up and come out, Jutie,” Colin said. “Orphans calling a meet at the church. Can't be great news at this hour.”

Jutie sighed. “You want me, cap? For a meet?”

“You're up,” Colin said. “Hurry up, meet me at the backhouse.”

Jutie was a good kid, newest in Colin's crew. He was eager, and he was good at scraping and scrounging, but he still had a way to go in learning who was who and what was what in the neighborhood.

Colin trudged through the alley to the backhouse. The worn dirt path was damp and soggy. Colin wondered if it had rained, or if people hadn't even bothered going all the way to the backhouse. He thought it was a damn shame that even a captain didn't rank a flop with its own water closet, but those were rare in Aventil. He had heard that the city aldermen kept promising they were going to finish the water system out into Aventil and beyond, but that's all it ever was.

He finished his business and came back out, finding Jutie waiting for him, carrying a blade almost too big to be called a knife.

“Jutie, it's a church meet,” he said, taking the knife away. “You at least have to be subtle.”

“I like that knife,” Jutie said.

“Can you hide it well, get it out fast?”

“You know I can, cap,” Jutie said.

Colin handed him the knife back. “Probably won't need it, but . . . you never know. Orphan looks shaky. Could be real bad news.”

“What kind?”

“Only one kind comes across Waterpath.”

Saint Julian's Church sat at the corner of Tulip and Vine, a low and unimposing building of gray brick, with squat bell towers. Colin and Jutie found a few others milling about at the top of the steps: green capped Hallaran's Boys, scarred Waterpath Orphans, Knights of Saint Julian with vests and tall hats, and Red Rabbits with their fur-lined coats. All of them, each man and bird, looked displeased with being here before the sun was fully up.

“Here are a couple Princes,” one of the Rabbits said.

“This a full meet?” Colin asked as he approached. “Where are the Kickers or the Toothless Dogs?”

“You just got here,” the Orphan captain said. Colin had met her once or twice before. Yessa? She'd be a real pretty bird if she didn't have two Orphan scars slashed across her face. “Let's get in.” She nodded to the Orphan who had fetched Colin. “Thesh, stay at the door, send anyone else in.”

Colin filed in with the lot of them. No one made a point of arguing about place or entry order, which Colin had seen happen plenty of times before. Perhaps they were all too bleary-eyed to bother. There were a few others in the church, mostly old women kneeling at the statue of Saint Julian, a few others scattered about the small altars. Colin wondered what it was about getting old that made women wake up and come to church first thing.

One woman stood out to him, heading out of the church as they all came in. She wasn't old, but quite young, and dark skinned. Napa girl, she probably was. She stopped at the door, and glanced back at Colin. He saw her eyes dart to his arm, noting his ink, and back up to his face. For just a moment, their eyes locked, and she gave a small smile, then went out the door.

“Oy, Prince!” The Rabbit captain was yelling at him. Colin didn't know this one. Didn't know any Rabbits, really. Weak bunch who barely held onto their corners. “We meeting or staring at Naps?”

“Meeting,” Colin said, giving the Rabbit a hard glare.

They went out to the main theater of the church, lit with candles all along the walls, the first bits of sun shining through the blue glass behind the large altar. All the gangs took places in separate pews, Jutie sitting behind Colin. Colin could feel Jutie's leg shaking.

“Ease up, Jutie,” he whispered. “Friendly meet, that's all.”

“Friendly meet, sure,” Jutie hissed. He was glaring over at one of the Knights of Saint Julian. “That guy was giving me grief by the gates the other day.”

“Uni gates?” Colin asked. Blasted Knights. They're pushing Prince territory again. “Can't have that.”

“Oy!” the Hallaran's Boys' captain—Hannik— snapped. “We gonna do this, or what?”

“Ask the Orphan,” the Knight captain said. He bared his teeth at her. Colin remembered he was called “Four-Toe,” or something like that.

Yessa looked about. “I was hoping the Dogs and Kickers would make it.”

Colin shrugged. “You scramble a meet at dawn, you get what you get.”

Suddenly the Knight Jutie had been staring at got on his feet, pulling a knucklestuffer out of his pocket. “You think you can throw, Prince?”

Jutie was up and over the top of the pew before Colin knew what was happening, drawing his large knife out. “Take some of this!”

Colin grabbed Jutie by the ankle and yanked him down to the ground. Jutie hit the floor face first, and tried to scramble away to get at the young Knight. Four-Toe grabbed his man, and everyone else was on their feet, shouting and accusing.

“Peace! Peace, please!” A fair-haired young priest came charging up the aisle, putting himself in the middle of the fracas. He didn't sound like he was from around here. “What in the name of God are you doing?”

“These two got a little excited, Reverend,” Colin said, pulling Jutie up onto his feet. “You going to apologize to the priest, Jutes?”

“Sorry, Reverend,” Jutie mumbled out, his eyes on the ground. Colin glared at Four-Toe. He gave his own man a shake.

“I apologize, Reverend, if my actions disturbed the sanctity of the Church of Saint Julian.”

“Show-off,” Jutie muttered.

“Church meet is supposed to be peaceful,” Colin told the priest. He hadn't seen this priest before, not that he spent much time in the church. “Sometimes people forget.”

“Church meet?” The priest looked over the group of them. “I see. Very well, good gentles. You want to meet, then let's meet. What are we discussing?” He looked around to the blank stares from the different gangs. “Come on, now.”

“Look to the Orphans,” Colin said. “They called this.”

“Ah.” He looked at the different groups, following the eyes and pointed fingers until his gaze settled on the Waterpath Orphans. “Please, begin.”

Yessa looked about uncomfortably. “You know, Reverend—”

“If you are here to discuss plans to break the law, young lady, I will not allow such things under this blessed roof.”

“No, that ain't it, Rev,” Yessa said. “But, you know, you might not want to know about things that go on out there in the streets.”

“Those are my streets as well, child. I want to know everything that I can. Anything you feel you can't say in front of me should not be said in here at all.” Colin kept himself from laughing. This priest was not from Aventil. He probably wasn't from anywhere in Maradaine.

“All right.” She took a seat again. “We know that there's been someone nibbling at dealers across the 'path, and we ain't been paying that no mind. Last night, that changed.”