The Hell of It (6 page)

“I'll take my third now,” Malen said. “I need to get home.”

Almost as if rehearsed, the two men drew knives and pointed them at him. “Appreciate your help. You can go.”

I'm a fool.

“The hell I will. You can draw all the knives you own. I'm not leaving without my share.”

The second man picked up a steel realmcoin and tossed it to him. “There. Paid.”

The men sniggered, and one began separating the loot by coin type.

“And if you get brave, remember that son of yours,” the first man said, his fingers gingerly building piles of coin.

“Exactly right,” Malen muttered.

These thieves had no idea who they were speaking to: A father who'd run out of options for how to put meat on his family's table; a widower who'd gambled away the last tangible pieces of his lost love; a man whose only thing of value left was a promise he'd made. One he'd keep, by damn.

None of which meant he wasn't scared at the prospect of fighting men with knives. Foolish thing to do. He'd avoid it if he could. But it might wind up being the only way to make good on that promise—to take care of Roth, see that the boy grew up proper, even if it had to be on the wharf.

The men had begun putting the loot back into bags, this time organized and divided for each to carry. Roth thought about the city-man not too far off, and backed slowly toward the door.

What came next passed in a blur.

The men turned just as Malen threw back the cross brace, flung open the door, and cried out into the alley, “Here! The thieves are here!”

The two men dashed toward him. Malen ducked into the alley, raising the alarm again. “The thieves are here!”

Just keep them in the alley until the city-man arrives.

He'd gotten five paces from the door, and was just turning to meet his pursuers, when hands yanked him back. He swung around and struck blindly, hitting nothing. A barrage of heavy fists beat his face and neck and chest. He fell. Boots laid into his gut, stealing his air, and kept pounding at his face and groin. He took a severe beating, tasting blood in his throat and feeling bones snap as he tried to curl into a defensive ball.

He drew ragged breaths down his throat trying to withstand the assault. And mercifully, one hard strike on the head sent him into blackness.

*   *   *

He awoke to the cries of harbor gulls. Muted grey light filled the sky high above the alley where he lay stiff and cold. He knew this time of morning, when men would soon be trudging toward the docks for another day with their nets. It held a strange quality, both hopeful and sad.
Make a good poem for Marta
, he thought randomly. Morning seemed to bring with it the promise of some new thing, and yet, walking through the grey dawn toward another day aboard a trawler, eking out a thin plug … it was a dreary, monotonous life.

Malen rolled onto his stomach, grunting with the sharp pain of ribs he knew were broken. But it was the only way to push himself up to his knees. After struggling to his feet, he began his slow, painful walk home. He hoped his boy was safe. Hoped that he'd slept well, not knowing Malen hadn't come home. And hoped he would forgive Malen. For everything.

His body had loosened up somewhat by the time he came to his stoop. He brushed back his hair with his fingers, scrubbed his face briskly with his rough hands, and began to key the lock … but it was already open.

With his heart beginning to race, he hurried through the door. One step inside, he stopped abruptly. Four men sat in his home, two city guards and two Leaguemen. And between the latter stood Roth, looking terrified.

He knelt as his boy raced into his arms. The force of it against his beaten body, not to mention the lad's tight embrace, hurt quite a lot. But he didn't let it stop him from hugging his son in return.

“It'll be all right,” he whispered into Roth's ear. He felt a stuttering breath against his neck, a shuddering sob.

He looked over the child's shoulder. “What's this about?” he asked.

“Are we going to begin with deception?” one Leageuman said. “Or should we start simply with the fact of a father leaving his son alone all night in a wharf tenement?”

“You can see I was beaten,” Malen explained.

“About that,” one of the city guards said, stroking his bearded chin the way a man does when he wishes to appear thoughtful. Or smug. “Can you tell us who would have beaten you … and why?”

Malen glanced at the other city guard. He could read the bluff there better than on the first city-man. They already knew the answers to their questions.
But how?
Regardless, he'd have to answer carefully.

“I was beaten trying to alert men like yourselves about a pair of thieves.” He felt Roth tighten his grip around his neck. “No one came, though. I suppose no one heard me, since I was left to lie in an alley all night.” He gave his questioner a knowing look. “City guards wouldn't leave me out at the seams if they knew I was there, right?”

“What strikes us,” the second guard said, irony dripping from his words, “is how you knew they were thieves. Lying in an alley, beaten, sounds like the tale of a wharf-game fellow betrayed by his flimflam mates.”

Then one of the Leagueman chimed in. “Turn out your pockets.”

Malen hesitated, until one of the city guards drew his sword. He couldn't have violence in his own home.

“Roth, it'll be all right,” he said again, and disentangled himself from his son.

He did as he was told, and a half-moment later, the steel realmcoin hit the cold wood floor with a sharp
ting
. It rolled a bit and settled into a hum as it spun for a few moments. When it stopped, the tension in the room thickened. The first city guard took slow, ponderous steps forward, bent, and retrieved the coin.

In the weak light of morning he studied it back and front. After a long moment, he said simply, “It's him.”

“Now wait a minute, you don't know—”

“The mayor's secretary personally marks every plug,” the man said sharply, and held the coin toward Malen. He took it and made a close inspection. A small, thin mark had been inscribed just above the impression of Dilena's nose—Dilena being one of So'Dell's influential matriarchs from some time ago—occasionally seen on a crane card.

It all became clear to him then. He'd been hoodwinked. He hadn't helped rob Gynedo, he'd just robbed the
mayor's secretary
. The two men who'd come to him on the dock, pretending to enlist his help in fleecing the straw-boss, they were Gynedo's accomplices. It had all been an elaborate wharf-game. This one, though, truly played for high stakes.

Malen had threatened the boat gambler with the law. Gynedo wouldn't take the risk that Malen might make good on that threat. So he'd used Malen to help rob a city official, then set him up as the dupe. Malen's anger and desperation had been used against him. It was devilishly brilliant. But now what?

“Let me go, and I'll help you find the two who kept the secretary's treasury,” he offered evenly.

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” the seated guard said, a sly grin on his face.

More of this elaborate wharf-game slid into place.

Of course not. You're part of the scheme. The two men last night: probably city guards. That's how they knew where the secretary was staying while he was traveling on tax rounds.

Much of what took place on a riverboat was illegal. And docked in the harbor, it fell under Wanship law. So buying some allegiance with the city-men who enforced the law was practical. Men Gynedo would use to play an entirely different kind of game. With the kind of stakes that could warm his blood.

Malen felt suddenly small and silly for having gone to the boat with Marta's things. Had he really thought he could gamble his and Roth's way out of their lot?

I'm tired, Marta.

But he couldn't afford to be tired. He still had Roth to look after.

The city guard who was seated looked across at the Leaguemen and nodded. In a swift movement, one of the Leaguemen swept Roth close, holding him tight. The bright sound of steel being drawn filled the small room as the first city guard drew his blade and held it out in front of Malen. A warning.

“Let him go!” Malen cried.

Roth looked scared. “Da?”

The other city-man stood and came around behind Malen, hauling him to his feet and jerking his arms back. The guard crossed Malen's wrists, and bound them with a lash of leather. “Let's go,” he said, and began pulling him toward the door.

“No, Da! Don't let them!” Roth began to struggle with all his boyhood strength, his eyes filling with tears of worry and fear.

Malen yanked his arms free, feeling something tear in his left shoulder. But he got loose and went to Roth, kneeling down again so the boy could see his eyes.

“It'll be all right. I promise.” He hated the taste of those lies. But they were the only words that made sense to say. “I've made some poor choices, but I can get past them. Be brave until I do. I'll come for you soon.”

Malen then looked up at the nearest Leagueman. “You're taking him to the orphanage?”

The Leagueman's eyes showed a touch of sympathy, but before he could speak, the city guard broke in.

“It's no loaf of oat bread you took. You robbed the mayor's tax man. You stole the coin of people all along the seaside district. People who will now be asked to pay again.” There was a long pause. “Finish making your goodbyes.”

Roth began to weep openly, silently. Malen's boy shook his head, trying in his only way to deny what he'd just heard.

“No, Da. Don't go. Tell them about Ma. Tell them we're rough men. Tell them we just wanted to sell her nice things. Get a stash of our own.”

It took all the strength he had left not to break down. Because he was looking at his last broken promise. He'd never be able to make good on the assurance he'd given Marta that he'd take good care of Roth. He'd tried. He'd done the only things he could think to do. But it hadn't been enough. And maybe worse … he'd had some real lapses in judgment. His boy would now pay the price for his failure.

He turned it all over in his mind. Could he have done any of it differently? What play did he have left? After a few moments, his thoughts only jumbled together, pressed under the reality of what was happening.

He looked up at the Leagueman still holding his son. In a broken voice he said, “Isn't the League supposed to see past the lettered law? Can't you help us?”

The second Leagueman opened his mouth to speak, his expression sharp. He looked like one ready to reprove. But the man holding Roth held up an arm, calling silence with the motion.

He looked down at the top of Roth's head, then back at Malen. There was an idea forming in the man's mind. Malen could see it. A moment later, he loosened his grip on Roth and hunkered down beside him.

He gave Malen a serious look, and spoke softly. “I have an … arrangement for you to consider.” The lean Leagueman sounded genuine enough. “I'll appeal to the city.” He looked at the two guards. “Get you acquitted here, now, without trial. And in exchange, you'll place the boy in our care and service until the debt is paid.”

“I'm innocent,” Malen said rather weakly. Then stronger: “I'm
innocent
.”

The Leagueman leaned close, keeping his own voice low when he spoke. “That may be. But a prudent man sees when he's beaten, doesn't he. And finds the least painful way to lose.”

Malen looked into the other's eyes. This fellow wasn't part of the larger game. He was, perhaps, as caught in it as Malen was.

Quieter still, the Leagueman suggested, “A free man can work to pay a debt. A man in prison has fewer options.”

In the silence that followed—a silence of broken promises—Malen finally accepted the least painful way to lose. At last, he nodded. As the Leagueman rose and went to talk to the city guards, Roth fell against Malen and put his arms tight around his neck.

“Da, don't let them take me. I just want to stay with you.” His boy shivered with fear.

With his arms tied, he couldn't hug his son, but he laid his cheek against the top of Roth's head. “This is the only way. I think the Leagueman is a good man. And if I'm free, I can find work to pay back the debt. I won't rest until I have.”

“Please, Da.”

“We're rough men, remember,” Malen said, and nudged his boy back so he could see his face. “We can handle anything. You'll learn all kinds of things, I imagine. More than I can afford. And when I come for you, you can teach
me
.” Then he nearly lost control, his voice thickening. “I'm sorry it turned out this way. It's my fault. But I'll make it right, son. I swear.”

The Leagueman returned and gave Malen a simple nod. The deal was made. The League was constantly recruiting. The city-men likely saw this as a straightforward ploy by the League to boost its membership, assuming Roth stayed on with them. And the League had become more than influential in So'Dell, especially with the people who gave city-men orders. It hadn't taken much to strike this deal.

Malen let out a long breath, and gave Roth a reassuring smile. “Think of it as an adventure. A good one. For a rough man. And I'll come for you soon.”

Roth nodded, but stepped close again and clung to him. Malen gave the lean Leagueman a look.
You'll have to take him.

Gently, but firmly, the man pulled Roth away from Malen. The boy sobbed, and it broke Malen's heart. Then the other Leagueman rose, a bit perturbed, it seemed. And together the three left his small dockside home.

He sighed heavily, sad to his bones. But eager, despite his weariness, this very hour to find work and begin to earn back what would be needed. He struggled to his feet and turned to the city guards. It took only half a moment to recognize the look in their eyes. They had no intention of keeping their end of the agreement with the League.