Hope and Red (9 page)

“I don't actually pick safes,” said Filler.

“Move forward or you'll be picking lead out of your skull.” Brackson jammed his rifle into Filler's back, then Red's. The two lurched forward into the alley. Red noticed that Brackson was the only one armed with a gun. The rest had knives and clubs. If he could just come up with a way to take out Brackson, he thought they could handle the rest. He slowly moved his hand down toward the back of his neck.

“Oh, now,” said Brackson. “You wouldn't happen to have a blade back there.”

Red felt cold metal on his sweaty neck.

“Nah, just had an itch, old pot,” Red said with forced cheer.

“Here, let me scratch it with—”

There was a jangle of chain and Brackson dropped to the cobblestones. Behind him stood Nettles, a thick chain coiled around her fist. “I don't think much of your plan,” she told Red.

Red pulled the knife strapped to his back and threw it at one of the boots. The blade went through his eye and he dropped to the ground. “Are you kidding? It's going perfectly.”

Nettles snapped her chain out like a whip and caught another boot in the face. She watched as the man clutched a mouth full of blood and broken teeth. “Oh, I'm still your centerpiece?”

Red pulled a second knife from his boot and whipped it at a third man, catching him in the heart. “A centerpiece this lovely should last the whole meal.”

Nettles coiled her chain around her fist again and slammed it into the fourth boot's stomach. She quickly stepped to one side to avoid the vomit that gushed from his mouth. “Don't act like you knew I was going to help you out of this stupidity.”

“And how should I act?” Red drew his last knife from his belt, dodged under the swing of the fifth boot's club, then spun and stabbed him in the back.

“A bit of honest surprise, maybe.” Nettles smashed her chain-wrapped fist on the vomiting boot's head, knocking him to the street.

“Does a wag act surprised when the glorious sun suddenly shines through dark and cloudy skies?” asked Red as he finished off his boot by slicing his throat. “No, he simply smiles with gratitude and gets on with his business.”

Nettles shook her head, but smiled a little. “Do you ever run out of those lines?”

“Haven't yet.” He turned to Filler, who had the last two boots, one in each hand, and was bashing their heads together repeatedly. “You about done?”

Filler slammed their heads together one last time, then let them drop. “Yeah.”

“Then I suggest we make ourselves scarce before Drem gets wind of this.”

The three of them ran through the streets of Paradise Circle. It was a late-spring evening. It had rained a little earlier and the air still held a whiff of freshness—a rare thing in downtown New Laven. Their boots slapped against the wet cobblestones as they put some distance between themselves and the Three Cups.

Red should have felt disappointed. He'd been planning this scheme all week and he was coming away with nothing. Less than nothing, since Brackson would probably remember him, and that meant Red could never show his face at the first and only dance hall in Paradise Circle. So then why did he feel so sunny?

He glanced over at Nettles. Maybe the evening wasn't a total loss. She was a good wag to have on his side. Smart, good in a fight, and nice to look at as well.

After they'd run ten blocks, they stopped to catch their breath.

“So, any plans for the rest of the evening?” Red asked Nettles.

“The original plan had been to dance at Drem's new hall, but clearly that's not happening.”

“Sorry.”

Nettles shrugged. “My curiosity. It gets to me sometimes. I had to know what you two were up to.” She gave him a speculative look. “Still, if you feel responsible, I suppose I could let you make it up to me.”

“Oh? And how would I go about doing that?”

She reached out and hooked her finger on his waistband like she had at the dance hall, and drew him close. “Finish where we left off. Have somewhere private we can go?”

“Yeah, um, sure I do.” Red gave Filler a pleading look.

Filler looked questioningly at him for a moment, then understanding broke on his face. “Oh, right. I'll just spend the night at Henny and the Twins' place.”

“I owe you one, Fill!” said Red.

“You do,” agreed Filler. “Night, then.” He turned and walked off down the street.

“Well, then, I supposed we…” Red trailed off as Nettles leaned in and pressed her lips to his neck. The words just left. A first for him, really. All that remained was heat and hunger. His body was suddenly filled with it. He looked down at her as her lips parted slightly and her tongue darted out to wet them. His hands gripped her upper arms, which were smooth and taut with muscle, and he kissed her hard. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pressed their mouths together even tighter. It was like they were two starving people, eating each other's heat, unable to get enough.

Finally she broke the kiss. Her soft lips brushed his cheek as she said, “How about that someplace private?”

Red was only dimly aware of the walk home. Even though he'd been on these streets for eight years now, they seemed strangely unfamiliar. It felt as if the world had been put under a spell. All the confusion and complexity had been stripped away, and there was only this one need he had for this beautiful molly. He kept his arm around her shoulder, and she kept her arm around his waist. It wasn't a very practical way to walk, but he worried that if he let go of her, the magic would end.

Somehow in this state they made it to his building, up the rickety stairs, and into the tiny room that he and Filler shared. The moment the door was closed, they were grabbing each other, clumsily pulling each other's clothes off. The sound of heavy breathing and belts unbuckling, of the
thump
of bodies hitting the wooden floorboards, of sweaty skin pressing against skin, peeling off, then slapping together again.

Red had held on to his distaste for sex longer than most boys. He'd done his share of kissing and groping, but the spectral memory of that hairy old captain had always stopped him from more. Now that memory burned in a puff of smoke from his hunger for this girl. He wanted her so badly that his hands shook. Her perfect face, her taut neck, her smooth shoulders, her firm breasts, her flat stomach, her strong legs. Hells, even the backs of her knees looked like works of art to him. He wanted all of her. He pressed down on her, covering her whole body with his so that their heat combined until it was a furnace. Then she guided him inside her, and all his clever words were reduced to one endless, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“Red, why's there a naked lady in your bed? And where's Filler?”

Red opened his eyes. Feeble light streamed in through the one window. Nettles lay next to him on his sleeping mat, the blanket more or less covering them both. Little Bee, the neighbor's six-year-old daughter, stood over them, her skinny little arms crossed.

“Piss'ell, Bee,” he groaned, trying to spread the blanket out so it better covered him and Nettles. “Didn't I tell you to knock?”

“I did knock. You didn't answer.”

“Maybe it was because I didn't want visitors.”

Little Bee squinted at him like he wasn't making sense.

“Who in all hells is that?” Sunlight filtered through Nettles's mussed hair in a way that Red found very pleasing to look at, but her frown was like a thundercloud.

“My name is Jilly, but everybody calls me Little Bee, because I'm so busy. I live next door and I come visit Red and Filler all the time. Who are you?”

Nettles glared at Red. “Why did you let her in?”

“I didn't,” he said wearily.

“She has a key?”

“Worse. I taught her how to pick locks.”

“Why in hells did you do that?”

“I don't know. She'd been bugging me nonstop about something.”

“I wanted him to show me how to throw a knife properly,” said Little Bee.

“There, see?” said Red. “Lock picking doesn't sound so bad as an alternative, does it?” He turned back to Little Bee. “Alright, you little mole rat. I need some privacy. You go on home.”

“My mom's gone missing. I think the Jackal Lords took her.”

Red sighed. Little Bee's mom, Jacey, drank too much and had terrible taste in men. She was not the most reliable parent, and this would not be the first time she hadn't come home. There'd been many a day that Little Bee wouldn't have eaten if Red and Filler didn't see to it.

“I'm sure it wasn't the Jackal Lords, Bee. Why don't you go down to the Drowned Rat and see if Prin will give you a few coppers to help her scrub the tankards. I'll meet you there later and we'll ask around if anyone's seen your mom.”

“Why don't I help you, and then you give me some coppers?”

“Because I don't need your help right now, and I haven't got any coppers. Now go.”

Little Bee stuck her tongue out at him and left, slamming the door behind her.

Red turned to see Nettles regarding him strangely. “What?”

“All the rumors and gossip about you in the Circle. None of it lets on what a sugar lump you are underneath.”

“We all have our flaws.” He reached under the blanket and laid his hand on her bare hip. “Now how's about another toss?”

She thought about it a moment, her full lips pursed. “Nah. You still owe me a wholehearted commitment to my plan after cutting out on me on the dance floor.”

“Oh, yeah…”

“Forgot your promise so easily?”

“I have a terrible memory.” He smiled innocently. “It's another one of my flaws.”

It was a typically cool, gray, windy day in Paradise Circle. The streets were bustling with people, horses, wagons, and the occasional carriage. Red and Nettles walked at a leisurely pace, comparing all the friends they had in common. Paradise Circle was small enough that if you didn't know someone, you knew someone who did.

“Do you know Tosh?” asked Nettles.

“Sure. She and I kissed under the docks a few times,” said Red.

“She started whoring a few months back. Works down at Slice of Heaven.”

“Really? I hope she's better at bending cocks than she was at kissing. She did this weird smacking thing.” Red made a sour face.

“The customers love her.”

“Are you a whore there, too?” asked Red.

Nettles glared at him. “Do I pissing look like a whore?”

Red held up his hands placatingly. “I didn't know whores had a look.”

“Of course. They're all delicate little pissing flowers who can't do a thing for themselves and never stop complaining.”

“So…you work security there, then?”

She looked surprised. “How'd you know?”

The only time Red remembered his dad complaining about being a whore was not because of a client, but because of the harsh, insensitive manner of the brothel security. “Lucky guess. So, do you know Handsome Henny?” he asked.

“Henny? Haven't seen him for years,” said Nettles. “He's handsome now?”

“Nah. Last year he was breaking into a warehouse and a guard dog bit off his nose. Now everybody calls him Handsome Henny.”

Nettles let out a dark, rich chuckle. “How'd you meet Henny, anyway? Doesn't seem your type of wag.”

“He was in the same pickpocket gang with me and Filler back when I first came to the Circle.”

“What do you mean, first came?”

“I was born in Silverback. My parents died when I was eight and I sort of ended up down here.”

“Oh,” said Nettles.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Just didn't realize you weren't a true wag of the Circle is all.”

“So…,” said Red, trying to shake off the hurt that Nettles didn't consider him a true wag. “What's this plan of yours anyway?”

By this time, they had arrived at Gunpowder Hall. It was the largest building in Paradise Circle and the most popular place for wags of all kinds to congregate. It was one of the oldest buildings in the Circle as well, with dingy, yellowed marble archways. The outside of the building was ringed with merchant tents that sold food, fabric, clothing, and an assortment of items like tools and small weapons, nearly all of it stolen goods. There were other things that could be purchased at Gunpowder Hall, such as sex, drugs, or murder, but those transactions were handled inside.

“You're well connected around here,” said Nettles. “Find me a smithy who'll make some custom modifications to my chain. And for cheap.”

“That's simple as sideways,” Red said, eager to show just how well connected he was. “My best wag, Filler, is an apprentice blacksmith.”

“The one I saved along with you last night?”

“That's him.”

“Hm, I should have gone home with
him
, then.”

“Nah. Wouldn't have done you any good,” he said, again hiding the hurt in his voice. “Filler prefers the toms.”

“Oh well,” she said. “He should at least give me some sort of discount for helping out last night.”

Red led her along the line of tents. Merchants called out to them, trying to sell fruit, knives, clothes, even old rusty guns. Down at the end was the smithy tent, about twice the size of the others. It was made of leather instead of canvas to prevent a stray spark from burning it down.

The master smith considered Red a huge distraction for his star apprentice. Red was the first to admit this was mostly true. He'd never understood why Filler wanted a respectable profession when money could be gotten much more easily by other means. The best Filler had been able to explain it was simply that he liked doing it. Red found it hard to argue with that.

Red was in luck that day. When he and Nettles stepped into the tent, he saw that the master smith had left Filler to mind the shop. He was shirtless except for the leather apron and thick leather gloves, pounding an ax head into shape on an anvil.