Hope and Red (19 page)

Her eyes went wide at the sight of the bag, but then narrowed suspiciously.

“I will make sure he does as he says,” said Hope. “You have my word as a warrior.”

She seemed to consider that, then her head disappeared behind the bar. A moment later, a key sailed over the bar and landed on the ground next to them.

“Say,” said the boy, “having a trustworthy person around really cuts down on the cajoling and wheedling time.”

“Let's move,” said Hope. “This table is about to come apart.”

The boy grabbed one of the table legs on his side. “Keep sliding it back until we're over to where those hinges are in the floor. That's the trapdoor down to the cellar.”

She nodded, and the two began scooting the table back. More holes were appearing in the wood. Hope peeked through one and didn't see Drem anywhere. He had probably fled. The other gunmen didn't show any interest in advancing. They didn't need to. Huge pieces of the table were breaking off. It wouldn't hold much longer.

“Here we go!” The boy flipped open the trapdoor and jumped down into the hole. Hope crouched on the precipice, peered down into the darkness. She hated retreating like this. But more than anything, she knew she must avenge Carmichael. To do that, she had to bide her time. These men didn't matter. It was Drem she wanted. So she jumped.

She landed on a dirt floor in almost pitch-blackness. She nearly took the boy's arm off when he touched her hand.

“Piss'ell, you're jumpy.” He pulled her along by the wrist. “This way.”

Normally, she didn't like to be touched, especially by someone she didn't know. But down here in this darkness, she could see almost nothing. She wondered how the boy was able to navigate through the stacks of crates and barrels. Perhaps he knew it well. Or perhaps his strange red eyes allowed him to see more keenly in the dark. Either way, he moved with confidence, and she allowed herself to be led through the cool cellar, the sound of gunfire growing fainter, until finally they came to a stop. She heard him wrestling with a lock. Then suddenly a hatch opened above them, and dim light spilled down.

“The brewery,” said the boy. “It's across the street and the cellar runs beneath to connect them. They'll realize this is the way we've come soon enough, so we better keep moving.” He began to climb the narrow metal rungs.

“You're forgetting something,” she said.

“Oh?” He looked down at her, his expression slightly confused.

“Leaving the key. And the money. As you promised.”

He winced. “Right. The downside of having a trustworthy person around. Follow-through.” He dropped back down, pulled out the key and the bag of coins, and placed them on the dirt ground. “Happy?”

“Satisfied,” she said.

“I guess that'll have to do,” he said, and began climbing again.

When Hope emerged into the brewery, she let out a faint gasp. The space was like one giant machine, packed with towering copper vats, huge pipes, gears, pulleys, and other kinds of complicated mechanical apparatus that she could only guess the purpose of. She'd never seen anything like it.

“Amazing, isn't it?” His red eyes glinted in the dim moonlight that streamed through the windows. “The resources and ingenuity that go into finding more efficient ways for folks to make themselves stupid.”

She smiled slightly, in spite of herself.

“I'm Red, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“My name is Bleak Hope,” she said, grasping it. “Although most people just call me Hope.”

His grin returned. “Red and Hope. That's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

Drem surveyed the wreckage of the Drowned Rat. There was a time when something like this could never have happened. He remembered when he was a young wag, still working his way up the ranks, that the Drowned Rat had been home to the fearsome Bracers Madge. He remembered her stalking the floor, ready to crush anyone who dared bring disorder into her establishment. But one day, a biomancer came with a squad of imps. He'd said he was fascinated by a woman with such natural power. He'd said he wanted to study her. Of course, Madge had told him exactly where he could shove his studying. It had taken the entire squad to subdue her. Madge had been a local celebrity. A hero, in a way. And for days after, there had been angry mutterings among the people. A few small riots had even broken out. But then people began disappearing in the middle of the night, and everyone knew what happened to people who disappeared. Drem remembered wondering, as a boy, how it was the biomancers could so easily take people from their own homes like that. Of course, now he knew.

Drem heard a groan coming from a few feet away. He walked over, his boots crunching on broken glass and splintered wood. He saw Ranking lying on the floor, clutching at the bloody stump where the bottom half of his right arm used to be.

“Drem,” gasped Ranking. “Thank God you're okay. You've got to help me. I know things went leeward, but you've got the ship, and I can still captain it. You
promised
I could captain it. I'll be the best smuggler you've ever had, I swear.”

“Brackson,” Drem said to one of his men. “Come here and bind up Rank's arm so he don't bleed to death.”

“Thank you, Drem!” wheezed Ranking. “You won't regret it. I swear!”

Drem ignored him and said to Brackson, “We'll give him to the biomancers.”

“No!” said Ranking. “Please, God, no!”

“But boss,” said Brackson. “We already gave them someone this month.”

Drem shrugged. “Don't hurt to throw them an extra. It's important to stay on their good side. Especially lately.” He turned his flat gaze to the trapdoor in the back of the tavern. “Who was it that helped the Southie girl?”

“I think it was Red, boss.”

“Really? Shame. I'd been thinking about inviting him to come work for me. Send some true wags over to the brewery. I want Red and that girl dead by sunrise.”

16

I
t wasn't the first time Red had been chased through the narrow, mazelike streets of Paradise Circle at night by gun-toting gangsters out for blood. Or even the fifth time. But it was by far his favorite time. Mostly because of the view.

Hope ran in front of him, her legs and ass flexing beneath tight black leather in a way that made him want to believe in God just so he could thank him for making such a perfect molly.

A shot rang out behind him, and he heard a bullet whiz past his head. It struck the brick of a nearby building.

“Left!” he called to Hope. She pivoted with the grace of a dancer, not even losing momentum as she turned down the side street.

As Red made that same turn, he chanced a look back at their pursuers.
Six
men now? Drem really wanted them dead. They were being smart about it, too. Keeping their distance so they didn't end up with a yard of Hope's Vinchen steel in their bilge. With the guns they were packing, they didn't need to get close anyway.

Red toyed with the idea of stopping and fighting. Between the two of them, they could probably manage it. But while that would temporarily solve the problem, in the long run it would only make things worse. If they killed six of Drem's men, he'd just send twice as many next time. Drem had no problem throwing away men to get what he wanted or to make a point. They would need a more slippery solution to get out of this.

“Right!” he yelled and they turned down another street.

“Are we running somewhere specific or are you making it up as we go?” she asked over her shoulder, her pale cheek flushed.

“Most people won't hide us from Drem's men. He's too powerful around here. But I
do
know a person who'd shelter me from the emperor himself if it came to it.”

“That's a loyal friend,” she said.

“Well, I don't know if I'd call her a friend exactly…” He pointed at an unmarked door painted a dull pink. “In there!”

Hope turned the knob, but it was locked.

“Right. Business hours.” Red knocked three times slow, then three times fast. As soon as the door opened, Red hustled Hope inside and quickly shut the door behind them.

“Is this…” Hope's eyes were wide as she took in the dingy velvet couches and chairs, the faded and torn drapes, and the women and men lounging around in their undergarments. “Is this a
brothel
?”

“No. Yes. Depends on who you are,” said Red. “They'll be here in a minute. We don't have time to discuss it now.”

“Red?” asked Tosh, the curly-haired woman stretched out on a moth-eaten green love seat. She sat up and looked at him curiously. “What's going on? Who's that?”

“No time,” said Red. “Is Nettles here?”

“First door on the right, cleaning up,” said Tosh.

“Thanks,” he said. “We were never here.”

Tosh nodded, her forehead creased with concern.

Red didn't know how long Tosh and the others would be able to stall Drem's men. But he only needed a few more minutes. Unless Nettie was in a mood.

“Come on.” He climbed the wooden staircase. Hope looked like she had about a hundred questions on her mind as she followed, but for now she kept them to herself. He appreciated that.

When he opened the door to one of the bedrooms, he found Nettles on the floor, wiping up a pool of vomit. Next to the pool of vomit lay an unconscious sailor. Nearby, a naked man sat cross-legged on a bed, smoking a pipe.

“I don't see why I have to clean it up, is all,” said Nettles as she scooped up colorful chunks of what might once have been bread. “You're perfectly capable.”

“I
told
you he'd been drinking too much. You shouldn't have kicked him in the stomach,” said the naked man, idly watching smoke from his pipe curl up toward the ceiling. He had long auburn hair, lightly curled, and a bit of powder on his long, finely pointed face. “Besides, I won't get any clients if I smell all vomity.”

“Nettie,” said Red. “I need you to drop us down the chute.”

Nettles turned and glared at him. “Why? What have you done now? I swear, if you brought the imps here, I will personally—”

“It's not the imps,” said Red. “Drem sent some men after us.”

“
Drem
? You pissing salthead, if it's not one thing, it's another.” She gestured to Hope. “And who is
this
slice?”

“Can we not do this right now?” asked Red. “Drem's got boots after us. They're only—”

The sound of the front door slamming open echoed up the stairs, followed by angry shouts.

Nettles scowled. “You owe me. Keen?”

“Completely,” said Red as he closed and locked the door behind them.

Nettles moved over to the far wall and slid the battered old dresser to one side. Red hurried over to help her.

“Are you a prostitute?” asked Hope, looking very confused.

Red winced and waited to see how Nettles would respond. The naked man on the bed chuckled.

Nettles turned to Hope, her scowl deepening. She gestured to her thick gray wool jacket, grimy leather breaches, and knee-high riding boots. “Do I pissing
look
like a whore? Just for that, you're going first, angel slice.” She gave the dresser one last hard shove, revealing a large hole in the wall.

“
I'm
the whore, blondie,” said the naked man. “Nettie is security.”

Footsteps stomped up the stairs.

“Time to go,” said Red. “Hope, slide down the chute. I'll be right behind you.”

Hope frowned, looking at the hole in the wall suspiciously.

He couldn't imagine what she made of all this. “Look, you've trusted me this far. Just a little further to go.”

A fist pounded on the door.

“In a minute!” the naked man called, sounding petulant.

“Hope,” Red whispered. “Please.”

“Don't make me regret this,” she said, then dove headfirst into the hole.

Red turned to Nettles.

“Nettie, I—”

“Save it. Go,” she whispered.

There was another knock on the door, louder this time.

“I said in a minute!” yelled the naked man.

As Red slipped down the chute, he heard a voice yell, “Let us in or we'll break it down!” Then Nettles shoved the dresser back in place and there was nothing but darkness and the hiss of his leather coat as he slid down the metal chute, twisting and turning until he popped out into the night air and landed on top of Hope.

There was a moment when their bodies pressed together. Their faces were only an inch apart. Hope's lips were open and he could feel her breath on his lips. Her dark blue eyes seemed to tunnel directly into his head.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

She grunted and pushed him off.

The two of them climbed to their feet. Hope looked around, her forehead furrowed. “We're on the docks?”

It was the largest pier in New Laven, holding twenty merchant ships. It was late enough in the evening that most of the ships were dark. That was good. On the off chance Drem's men figured out how he and Hope had slipped away and came looking for them here, there'd be no one to say which direction they'd gone.

“What just happened?” asked Hope.

“Come on,” said Red. “I'll tell you on the way. But go slow now so we don't draw attention to ourselves.” He glanced at her black Vinchen leather. “Well, any more than we have to.”

“Where are we going now? Another brothel?” asked Hope as the two walked from the docks back into the muddy, cobblestone streets. After a moment, she said, “That
was
a brothel, wasn't it?”

“Part of the income is from that. It's also a crimp house.”

“A what?”

“You don't have those in the South? Well, no of course you don't. You're already there. See, a crimp house is a place where they drug or knock out sailors, steal their money, then sell them to a ship as a conscript.”

“Forced labor?” asked Hope.

“It's called southending, since mostly it's the ships bound for the Southern Isles that are desperate for sailors. Not a popular place to go.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, well, I mean, it's a little uncivilized down there, isn't it?”

Hope raised an eyebrow. “If by uncivilized you mean there's rarely gunfire in the streets, or brothels that sell their clients as indentured servants, then yes, I suppose it is.”

“Sounds dull.” Red gave her a sly grin. That usually worked on the mollies, but she didn't seem to find it charming. Since his breakup with Nettles, he'd spent a lot of time making the rounds with the mollies and had a pretty good idea of his effect on them and how to get what he wanted. But none of his usual tricks seemed to be working on Hope. He decided to shut up for a bit as they walked through the dark streets until he'd figured out a new strategy.

“So, that slide we just went down,” said Hope. “Normally they drop unconscious sailors down that?”

“And then the captains that need crew come and scoop them up,” said Red. “Pretty efficient system.”

“What's to stop the captains from running off with their sailors without paying the brothel?”

Red gave a short laugh. “Nettles, that's what. It happens now and then. But sooner or later, every ship has to make port here again. And when they do, Nettie is here to explain to them how things work in the Circle.”

“That was your friend? Or not-friend? She didn't seem overly fond of you.”

“Well, we used to be a couple.”

“Oh,” said Hope.

They continued to wind through narrow streets. Red purposely took the longest route possible. Partly to throw any would-be trackers off their trail, partly to get more time alone with Hope. He still wasn't sure what to make of her. She was a bit uptight and seemed to be pretty much innocent of the seedier side of life. But she was clever, which made her more fun to talk to than most of the wags he was around. And of course, she was very nice to look at. The great thing about a warrior woman, he decided, was that she could kill some gafs, crawl through tunnels, sprint halfway across the neighborhood, get tossed down a chute, and still come up looking fine as peaches. It was an unpretentious, practical sort of beauty.

“What happened?” asked Hope.

“Huh?” said Red.

“Why aren't you and Nettles a couple any longer? Didn't you love her?”

“Oh, uh…” Red wondered why he'd even said anything about that to begin with. It wasn't like him to bring up old history when he was in the middle of trying to convince a molly that he was the best wag she'd ever met. “Well, I was young and stupid. You know how it is. Maybe they're not the person you convinced yourself they are.” He shrugged. “We're better off as wags, that's all. And we still do love each other, I think. But it's different. More like brother-sister. You know how it can be.”

“No,” said Hope. “I don't.”

“You never been in a couple?”

She blushed and shook her head.

“What?” he said, trying a gentler version of the grin. “Too busy slicing off limbs to give a tom a chance to know you better?”

“Yes,” she said. “A Vinchen warrior is dedicated to the order in body, mind, and heart. There cannot be room for anything or anyone else.”

“Ah,” said Red. “Well, that's that, then. Isn't it?”

“Yes,” said Hope, giving him a strange glance. “It is.”

He nodded and kept walking, playing it as pat as you like. But underneath, his plans for conquest crumbled. The first girl who'd really captured his attention since Nettles, one he might actually give a cup of piss about, and he
had
to pick the girl sworn to celibacy.

“It's for the best,” he said. “Most toms talk nothing but balls and pricks anyway.”

“Do you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Come on. This way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Gunpowder Hall. Safest place in Paradise Circle. In a manner of speaking.”

Hope's eyes grew wide when they entered Gunpowder Hall. Red could see her struggling to keep her comments to herself, but finally she burst out. “Those people are having sex over there! Right in front of everyone!”

“Not all whores are pretty enough to get accepted by a brothel,” said Red. “Some have to just take a client where they can get them. Unfortunately, it's not so safe if you don't have someone like Nettles watching out for you. Never know when a client might turn mean.”

“You talk as if you know a lot about it. Are you a frequent client?”

“Nah. My dad was in the trade.”

“Oh.” Her whole face turned bright pink, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. It was so awkward and honest, he couldn't help but laugh.

Her eyes narrowed. “Were you joking about that?”