Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) (13 page)

“There’s no answer to that,” Gwiddon said, so matter of factly that Heden believed it. “You can’t ask and I can’t answer. Best not to think about it. Bishop or the king. It was my judgment every time.”

“Best not to think about it,” Heden repeated dully.

“The Moon is my network. I use it how I see fit. Heden,” he was pleading with his friend for understanding. “Heden
overwhelmingly
the church and king’s interest are the same.”

“Like me,” Heden said. “I was your tool to use. As you saw fit.”

“The king trusts you,” Gwiddon repeated. It looked to him as though Heden were being physically crushed under the weight of this revealed truth.

“You
like
the king,” Gwiddon pleaded softly. His face still ached, was still swollen, but he felt like he was the one who’d administered the beating, and Heden the victim.

“You don’t understand,” Heden’s face was expressionless. Dead.

“After Aendrim…after everything that happened you were the only one…,” he couldn’t say it all in one go. Not for the first time, he wished he’d died in the Wode, and Taethan had lived. He felt like he was living a false life in a false world. The wrong world. He had no meaning, no substance here but the horrible awareness that in the right world, he’d be dead and Taethan would be alive and everything would be right.

“We were friends still,” Heden said, dully. “You were my friend after Aendrim, the only one.”

Gwiddon’s heart went still as he realized the manner in which his lie was destroying his friend, in a way he’d never planned on. For a while, no one spoke. But as he had many times before, Gwiddon put the work first and delayed payment on another debt.

“The Green Order,” Gwiddon pressed.

Heden ignored him.

“How did they die Heden?”

Heden hurled a look of fury and blinding rage at Gwiddon.

“Best not to
think
about it!” he lashed out.

Gwiddon flinched and shrunk. Heden remembered the savage beating he’d just given his friend.

“I’m sorry,” Heden said.

“Heden. I have to know. The Truncheon needs to know.”

Heden shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s got something to do with an army of urq. A big army. The bishop ordered the Green to stand down. He ordered them to let the urq march.” He spoke, but the words had no emotion or humanity in them. “Probably the first order they’d ever received from the bishop. They didn’t know what to do with it. But they couldn’t disobey. They thought disobeying the hierarch would…it was a kind of madness. An order they had to obey, and couldn’t obey. It drove them mad.”

Gwiddon appeared to process this.

“Doesn’t matter,” Heden said.

“It might,” Gwiddon corrected. “Where were the urq marching….”

“I’m going to stop him, Gwiddon.”

“You can’t,” Gwiddon shrugged.

“I’m going to avenge the death of those knights, the people at the keep,” Heden said, and looked out a window for no reason. He wasn’t seeing anything. “He killed them. When he gave the order not to stop those urq, he murdered them just like I’m going to...,” he couldn’t finish the thought. For some reason, he thought of Vanora.

Gwiddon looked at his friend and saw a man he almost didn’t recognize. Gwiddon had known Heden forever, but right now he had no idea what Heden would do, what he could do. The bishop was one of the most powerful men in Vasloria, but Heden seemed capable of anything right now.

“Heden listen to me,” it was Gwiddon’s turn to grab his friend. “Listen to me! Your way won’t work. He’ll eat you alive, Heden. He’ll
eat you alive
.” Gwiddon was desperate to impress this reality onto his friend.

Heden didn’t react, but didn’t pull away.

“The only way we can bring him down,” Gwiddon said, “is to surround him. He needs to see that he has enemies on every side, that there’s nowhere he can turn. He’s got too much power to….”

Heden pulled his arm away, and turned his dead eyes to Gwiddon. Gwiddon held his gaze. Then he stepped back. He looked at Heden and saw something. A commitment he knew meant Heden would take this as far as it would go, and nothing in twenty years of campaigning had yet stopped him. Heden had sworn to kill the bishop. An oath to himself, and he was about to fulfill his oath, or die trying.

Gwiddon tried to explain, knowing even as he said it, it didn’t matter.

“He will deploy his agents. And they will hire men and those men will hire men and soon every hand in the city will be turned against you. And none of them will even know who they’re working for.”

“He can try,” Heden said. “Maybe he’ll order you to kill me.”

This sparked some realization in Gwiddon.

“Heden you’ve got to report to him.”

“I’m leaving now Gwiddon. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but you get to live with yourself. Punishment enough.”

“Heden in Llewellyn’s name will you
listen to me
? You
can’t
confront him. You have to report to the bishop, tell him what happened in the wode. If you don’t, he’ll begin to suspect you’re against him. He needs to think his plan is working. By Cyrvis’ thorny prick, you were a campaigner for twenty years,
think
. How would you take down a man like the bishop? How would you do it if you weren’t blinded by rage?!”

This seemed to have some effect.

“You don’t see it, do you? Heden I don’t know what happened up there, but you’ve got to start thinking. What does it
mean
? He’s been leading the church since before you were born.”

Heden turned slowly to look at his friend, afraid of where this was going.

“And he does not. Follow. Cavall.”

“He…,” Heden couldn’t hold the idea in his head. It was too big. “He’s chosen by Cavall.”

“No! That’s just it! Everyone says that, but he’s chosen by the rectors
in camerata
. In secret! He’s
elected
by the secret rectors. That’s why I was….” He stopped.

Heden saw it. “That’s why you were put into the church,” he said. “That’s why the king sent his spy to the church. You were there to find out how the bishop was chosen.”

Gwiddon stepped back.

“And you did.” A calm washed over Heden. It frightened Gwiddon. “You’re a good spy, Gwidd. You always were.”

The two men stood there, looking at each other as friends for the last time. Both of them knew it.

“What are you going to do?” Gwiddon asked.

“I’ll report in,” Heden said, but it was no concession. “You’re right. I can’t just…kill the bishop. Not right now at least, and not alone. I’ll need help.”

“I can….”

“Not you,” he said. “Not anymore. From now on if the king wants me he can send Cathe or Alaric,” the man everyone thought was the king’s spymaster. “Because as of right now I don’t talk to you. If I ever see you again, if you ever come to the inn….” Heden left it at that.

Gwiddon nodded. He knew it would end like this.

“The polder,” Heden demanded. “Who is he?”

“I’m not sure,” Gwiddon tried to push his blood-matted hair out of his face. “It could be Aimsley Pinwhistle.”

Heden frowned, shook his head. He didn’t know this name.

“In rough terms he’s your opposite number inside the Hearth. He’s the Brick’s fixer,” Gwiddon said.

“The Brick. The Cold Hearth. I’ll deal with him first.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Heden," Gwiddon pleaded. "What happened up there? What happened to the Green Order? What happened to you?”

Heden’s mouth was open as though paused in the middle of a word, his eyes looked at something only he could see. Eventually, he blinked and came back to reality. He reached out and grabbed the door latch and opened it. Noise and light and air filled with the smell of the city flooded in. Heden was framed in bright sunlight. He was just a silhouette to Gwiddon.

Heden walked out the door, leaving Gwiddon broken and alone.

Calvus peered over his ink formulation at the spectacle before him.

"You look like shit,” the alchemist said.

"Enh." Aimsley Pinwhistle lurched off the door frame separating the alchemical laboratory from the rest of the apothecary.

Calvus stoppered the open vials before him, and stood up. The fixer obviously needed help.

“You can’t come here, Fixer. I can’t help you. I shouldn’t even know this has been done to you, you’re putting the whole operation in danger.”

Aimsley slumped in a chair. Half his face looked like it had been melted and repaired, It had the tell-tale sign of pinkness, newness. Some of his hair was missing, giving him a more roguish, less youthful look than the alchemist was used to.

“I need you to fix this,” he said, extending his right arm. It was covered in glittering welts. His leather armor was torn apart all along his right side, Calvus assumed the red welts extended across his chest as well.

“I can’t,” Calvus said simply. “You can’t even be here, you know that. You’ve got your own network, that’s
why
you’ve got your own…,” he stopped. “Get out,” he said flatly.

Aimsley’s breath was ragged.

“I saw Iordoros,” Aimsley grunted. “He fixed me up best he could. I can see out of my left eye again," he said with a sneer. "But this," he continued, nodding at his arm. "This is, ahh..."

Calvus began packing up his things.

“And it’s getting worse,” the polder said.

“Can’t help you,” Calvus said. “You know the rules.”

“The ragman’s rules,” Aimsley sneered.

Calvus stabbed a finger at him. “Brick’s rules. Your rules. You and Brick
created
the fixer to
subvert
the castellan’s agreement and now you’ve got to pay for it.”

Aimsley coughed up blood.

“Your wife,” Aimlsey said.

“What about her?” Calvus stopped picking up his equipment.

“You remember last year, when your house burned down?” Aimsley asked.

Calvus didn’t say anything. He was breathing faster.

“That was Brick’s idea. Punishment for failing him on the…”

“I know what it was for,” Calvus said, tightly.

“That was me,” Aimsley said. “You didn’t know that, did you? Your wife was out of the house when it happened, you ever think about that? You ever wonder why? How often does she leave in the middle of the night Calvus?”

“That was you,” Calvus said.

“Of course it fucking was, you think Brick wanted any survivors? What would have been the point of that, he wanted you to
suffer
.”

“I always wondered how…,” Calvus looked up at the ceiling, his eyes were red. “I thought it was a miracle.”

“It was a miracle,” Aimlsey said. “It was a fucking miracle I found a way to get her out without anyone knowing, without Brick suspecting.”

“Why would you do that?” Calvus challenged, his voice thick. “Why would you save her? Why would you give a shit?”

Aimsley coughed. More blood. He spoke like he was ashamed. “You’re the one fucked up. She didn’t do nothing.”

Calvus stared at him. Shook his head. Put a monocle in one eye and pulled up a stool. Sat down beside the polder. Looked at him with his unmagnified eye. "Then I owe you more than this,” he said, bending down an examining Aimsley's arm.

Aimsley relaxed. It was working. He’d banked these little miracles for the day when the arrangement between the guilds failed. He wondered if Garth and Noor had done the same thing. Probably. He watched the alchemist work.

Calvus looked more like an abbot than an alchemist. He was fat, bald, and looked made of lard. But he didn’t act like a complete prick all the time, so Aimsley didn’t mind his appearance. The polder liked the alchemist as far as that went.

The Cold Hearth's mixer finished his examination, came to a conclusion. He looked up at Aimsley Pinwhistle with some alarm. "You got in a fight with a wizard."

"Heh," Aimsley said.

“Who was it?” Calvus got up and went to his desk. Opened a drawer and started selecting tools.

“Oh, you know,” the polder stretched out in the chair. He was sore all over and exhausted. He looked like he wanted to go home and sleep. A well-known side effect of being healed by the priestly arts. “One of those big wizard shits. I don’t remember their names.”

“Balls,” Calvus said into his drawer.

“Yeah,” Aimsley admitted. Wasn’t sure why he tried to avoid the issue in the first place. “Hapax. Listen, you got anything to drink in this place?”

The alchemist, half a dozen thin metal tools in his hand, stood up from his desk sharply.

“You got in a pissing match with Hapax Legomenon?!”

“Uh,” Aimsley scratched his nose. “Yeah. Found out some stuff though. Worth it, probably. Long as, you know, it stops at this,” he indicated his own arm and face.

“She know who you work for?”

“Not sure I know who I work for half the time,” Aimsley said. “I’ll take whatever,” he continued with his request. “I’ll take mead, you got it.”

Calvus tucked the small metal implements into a pocket in his robe, and poured a small glass of ale for his guest. Then remembered who his guest was, and poured the glass back into the bottle.

He carried the bottle over and handed it to the polder, who took it without saying anything and put it to his lips. He downed half the bottle in one long pull. Only stopping to breathe like he’d just surfaced after being underwater for hours.

“You got out of there ok, I see,” Calvus said. He angled his head to look at Pinwhistle’s face. “Looks like she burned you pretty bad. You been burned enough, think you’d have gotten tired of it by now. So how did this happen?” he asked, tapping the polder’s injured arm. The alchemist began the laborious process of carefully picking out the pieces of crystal.

“There was a lot of…you know, fire and stabbing. Got my own in,” Aimsley said with another sneer. “Figure she’s seeing a priest too. Ow.”

Calvus pulled out the first tiny glittering, blood-dappled projectile. It was shaped like a tiny spiked glass ball. He deposited it in a metal bowl, along with an identical one. “Uh-huh,” he said, only half paying attention. “Then what?”

“All I know is,” Aimsley said, taking another drink, “she pulled out some kind of stick—looked like a chair leg—and gabbled at me some more. Whole place exploded in glass. I mostly got away, but…,” he nodded at his arm. “Iordoros couldn’t do anything about it. Said I should see a farrier. Heheh.”

“Good advice,” Calvus raised his eyebrows. “Someone with proper tools for pulling stuff out of hooves. But,” he said, dropping another piece into the bowl, “this isn’t glass.”

“What is it?” Aimsley asked.

“Diamond,” Calvus said, holding one up and showing it off. “These little things will worm under your skin, cut everything under there up. Your skin will heal, but eventually they’ll dig down into the bones in your arm and it’ll die from the inside.”

“Wonderful,” Aimsley said. “Good thing I’ve got friends in low places.”

“Won’t have friends anywhere, you pull another stunt like that.” About half the little spiked diamonds were out of Aimsley’s arm.

“It’s my job,” the polder said, taking another pull from the bottle of ale.

Calvus gave him a look before going back to work. “Not your job to shake down the Lens’ quester.”

“Got work to do,” the polder said. “Need to know how the count is making deathless.”

Aimsley hoped this statement would prompt curiosity from the alchemist. It did not have the desired effect.

“Oh, the night dust. Yeah that’s a pisser.”

Aimsley blinked, composed himself. “Word gets around.”

“Well, you know,” Calvus said. “Word don’t have far to go around here.”

That reminded Aimsley of something. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Tam,” he remembered.

“Huh?” Calvus asked, prying another diamond orb free.

“Roderick Tam,” Aimsley asked.

“I know him,” Calvus said absently. “He was good.”

“Was?”

“Haven’t seen him for a while. Got in some kind of trouble with the Truncheon.”

“Heh,” Aimsley grunted. “Good to know. I can follow that. See if he’s still with the Midnight Man. See if he’s been traded. You talk to him?”

Calvus shook his head. “Not in years. He worked with some ratcatchers for a while. Paid him well but…dangerous work.”

“Which ones?”

“Which one’s what?” Calvus dropped another diamond into the bowl, there were dozens in there now, and a small pool of blood.

“Which ratcatchers?”

“The Fell Stroke. The Sunbringers. The Tapestry.”

“Ok, that’s something.”

“You shaking me down, fixer?” Calvus asked with some amusement.

“Brick’s orders,” he said. “You’re in the clear.”

“Brick don’t tell you to do shit.”

“Well,” Aimsley said, “Brick’s forcefully worded suggestion. He was a little short with me.”

Calvus laughed. Then stopped when he realized who he was talking to. Pulled the last diamond from Aimsley’s skin.

“You’re done,” he said wiping his hands. “Now get out of here before someone…,”

Without warning, Aimsley darted up. Calvus didn’t see him reach for anything, but suddenly there was a dirk in one hand, and a silver ball in another. He threw the small silver orb.

“Shit,” a voice said from the thin air.

The silver sphere impacted the wall and flashed bright white as Aimsley leaped in front of the alchemist.

Three men in black were crouched against the far wall by the window. They had been invisible before.

“Hey boys,” Aimsley said. “Busy night.”