Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) (14 page)

“Why’d you have to come here, Fixer?” one of the thieves in black asked.

Aimsley shrugged. “You were listening, Ulgar, you know why.”

“You know we’re going to have to kill you now,” another thief asked.

“It’s your dumb luck,” Aimsley said to Ulgar, “that I was so fucked up when I came here, otherwise I’d have noticed you before I spilled everything to Calvus and you might have gotten out of…what did you just say?” Aimsley interrupted himself, turning slowly to the second of the three thieves and pointing at him.

Ulgar shrugged. “Sorry Fixer, we can’t let you leave alive.”

Aimlsey looked from one thief, to the other, and then the third.

“You didn’t come here for me,” he said.

None of them spoke.

“Calvus get downstairs,” Aimlsey said.

There was no response from behind him, no word from the alchemist.

Aimsley looked at Ulgar and tilted his head. “You dumb son of a bitch,” he said.

“It’s not my fault!” Ulgar said. The other two, the thieves Aimsley didn’t know, looked at the senior cutpurse.

“Did you get promoted to Black in about the last three days?” Aimsley asked. “Because then we’re having a discussion, otherwise you’re still Red and I have to fucking kill you because you just burned our alchemist,” he said, turning and pointing to Calvus who was, in fact, dead from a poison dart in his neck, “
while
I was telling him what I’ve been doing all day!”

“Why are we talking about this?” one of the thieves asked. “Use the dust.”

“Oh, right,” Aimsley said. He had forgotten about the night dust. Three red scarves armed with a flotilla of deathless could probably make trouble for him.

Three black marbles hit the ground in front of him. He leaped back, past Calvus’ dead body, and then flipped backward through the window, smashing it.

He heard the sounds of bone snapping and something, something that had been Calvus, snarling. He wanted to see what the effect of three of the marbles would be. But he had other fish to fry.

It had been three years since he’d needed to worry about carrying silvered weapons. He favored a silvered garrote in the old days. But if he was fast enough, if he could beat the red, he wouldn’t have to fight the deathless.

He lunged in one inhuman leap from the cobbled street outside to the roof of the apothecary.
Lucky Calvus wasn’t more successful
. A richer man would have had a two story shop.

He bounded across the starlit rooftop and, without looking, without time to look, he flung himself out and over the alley separating the apothecary from the building behind it.

Ulgar made the mistake Aimsley had counted on. A mistake no black scarf would make, probably no brown scarf would make. He assumed the alley would be clear, even though he could no longer see Aimsley.

Ulgar was the first out of the window, the same window the three thieves had come in through. He landed in a crouch, and had time to stand up before Aimsley fell on him.

He responded quickly, his training good, but he responded to the wrong threat. He went for his weapon, expecting the polder fixer to pull him to the ground and stab him.

But Aimsley Pinwhistle had a different idea. He latched onto Ulgar’s neck, and rolled his body into a crouch as he fell past the thief, forcing the red scarf’s back to arch in response.

He leveraged his weight and the fall to pull Ulgar up and backwards, throwing him back through the window. His body crashed into the next thief climbing out, knocking them both back inside the apothecary.

A moment later, and Aimsley was on his feet, dirks out, looking unblinking at the open window. But the chaos had already started. One of the other thieves, desperate to get out of the room, was climbing over Ulgar’s prone body, trying to pull himself out the window. But he was caught on something, something else was pulling him down, stopping him from leaving.

The Deathless.

“Aahh!” he cried. “No! Nono!” He kicked and fought but black claws pulled him down. His eyes went wide, terrified.

“Fixer! Help!”

The thief was pulled down into the room. There was screaming and a sound Aimsley could only describe as a man being turned inside-out.

Aimsley pulled a water barrel over, upended it, stood on it, and shuttered the window from the outside. As he closed the wooden slats, he saw the body of Calvus, now a ghoul, ripping Ulgar apart. The thief was desperately stabbing at the thing to no avail. Then the ghoul cracked the thief’s ribcage open.

The other two thieves were fighting with what Aimsley assumed were shades. Black shadows of twisting gas, too impatient to wait for the supply of dead bodies to increase on its own.

Aimsley wasn’t that interested to find out what happened next. He wedged the shutters closed with his dirk, felt stupid for thinking that would make a difference, and ran out of the alley.

He was happy to let the Deathless feast on someone else, and felt no obligation to stop them.

He kicked the door open. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like that and after dealing with Gwiddon, it felt good.

The door to the Mousetrap flew open and one hinge came undone. As soon as he walked into the smoke-filled room, a dagger and a dart flew at him, bouncing harmlessly off his wards.

He strode into the room, spoke a prayer. The smoke became suddenly heavy and fell to the floor, revealing about three dozen thieves of various genders, ethnicity, and species in the common room.

A war-bred Urq stood up and swung a sword around. A prayer and Heden’s arm flashed into stone. He deftly deflected the sword and then punched the urq in the chest. The huge demi-man flew back, knocking several waiting thieves down.

Heden pressed on. More thieves came. But Heden dispatched them. Their poisons failed, their blades betrayed them. For one moment, Heden’s entire form appeared to flash into that of a cloud, as he avoided a sorcerous arrow, and then returned to his natural form.

He asked, and Cavall gave. Or was it Lynwen? What would happen when her patience finally ran out?

An army of thieves prepared to spend themselves against then. Then a basso voice from the far end of the room.

“Let him come!” The thieves melted away.

The huge, pale, bald man known as Brick, or The Brick, sat at a table against the far wall. He watched Heden neutrally as Heden strode toward him, kicked the table away from him, and grabbed the guildmaster’s thick neck with his hand.

“You send a man to my inn again,” Heden said, looking down at the man. “He dies.”

Brick stood up. Heden was unable to stop him. He was tall and appeared able to ignore Heden’s fist around his throat.

He placed a meaty hand on Heden’s stone arm.

“You think you’re the first priest to come in here?” he asked.

Brick was twisting Heden’s stone arm away, slowly, but without any apparent exertion.

“Been in the game a long time,” Brick sneered. “Long enough to know how to deal with one such as you.”

“Heden,” a voice said.

Brick’s strength forced Heden to release his grip. His hand flew to the pommel of his sword.

A dozen swords were drawn and he heard the pull of bowstrings.

“You stay away from my inn, do you understand me?” he said, not drawing his sword. Cavall’s favor was not endless.

“Well now, I may, or I may not,” Brick said. “That’s as depends. Because I got no idea who the fuck you are. But see, when I find out, if your inn happens to be of interest to me, then I will fucking take it. Or burn it down. Or kill everyone inside, or everyone you know, or whatever the
fuck
I feel like doing and there won’t be anything you can do about it.” Spittle was flying from Brick’s mouth.

“Heden, come on,” the voice at his elbow said. It sounded familiar, but it didn’t register.

“I could kill you right here,” Heden said to Brick.

“You think so? ‘Cause I don’t. You’re a priest, and I ain’t done nothing to you. So you’re going to
stew
is what you’re going to do. Because one such as you doesn’t walk in here and kill anyone. Because one such as you needs a fucking reason.
Unlike
one such as me.”

“Brick,” the familiar voice said. “He don’t mean nothing by it. He’s out of his head. Come on,” urged the voice down by Heden’s elbow, and he felt something tugging at him.

He looked down.

It was the polder. Aimsley. Why was the polder trying to help him, if the Brick sent the polder to threaten him in the first place?

“Come
on
,” he said, pulling Heden around to the back door.

“Now Aimsley here,” Brick continued, “he’s vouching for you at the moment. And I owe him. A
very little
,” Brick stabbed a finger into Heden’s chest. “But that’s all your life is worth to me right now.”

Confused, Heden let the polder pull him away a few steps.

“It’s alright, Brick,” Aimsley said. “I’ll take care of it. No one’s dead,” the polder observed. “Let’s keep it that way.” At the polder’s urging, Heden started walking to the door.

“You think you’re getting away?” Brick sneered at Heden. Heden stopped.

"Come on!" Aimsley said, pulling at the arrogate. Two dozen thieves and assassins waited in the common room to see what would happen. The smoke began to rise again.

"Let me tell you how it goes, little priest!"

Heden allowed himself to be led from the room. He did not take his eyes off the huge bulk of the man called Brick. Guildmaster of the Cold Hearth.

“You come in here,” Brick raged, “you think you can stand against us, because you’re a man, a
righteous
man.”

“This is the wrong fight,” Aimsley said to Heden.

“But
nothing
stands against us!”

Aimsley pulled the priest to the door.  

“First you bend!” Brick was howling now. Snarling. Heden turned and walked out the back door, the polder behind him.

“And then you BREAK!”

“Do you have any clue, I mean even the smallest fucking idea, what kind of shit you just stirred up?”

They stood alone in the long, thin alley that ran behind the back of the Mouse Trap. Aimsley paced. Heden stood and watched.

“I think I…”

“Shut up! I mean what kind of complete fucking hornets’ nest of colossal fucking shit you just created?”

“I do.”

“You don’t! You don’t and if you say you do one more time you’re on your own, do you get it? I don’t give a shit who you think your friends are, you fuck, because they’re all gone now!” The polder gestured up into the air like waving at a bird flying away. “You pissed off the count and now you pissed off the Brick and your
own
mother
would run the fuck away rather than be caught between them and you,” the polder spat.

Heden kept his mouth shut and looked at the cobbles in the road, his brow furrowed. “Just the count,” he said. “You’ll keep the Brick off me.” His eyes darted to the thief, afraid to make eye contact. Afraid to be wrong.

The polder stopped pacing and stared at the priest. Waiting for an explanation.

“I thought,” Heden began. “I thought Brick sent you to my inn as a threat. Show you could get to me any time you wanted.”

“What!?” the little man squeaked, so absurd was Heden’s suggestion to him.

“I was wrong,” Heden said. “I realize that now. I’m sorry.”

The polder shook his head slowly in disgusted amazement.

“I swear by Saint Pallad you’re the stupidest son of a bitch I ever met. No idea how you’re still alive. None. Anyone ever say that to you before?”

“Yeah,” Heden said, eyes still cast down.

“Well…” the thief paused in his excoriation. “They were right, whoever they were.”

“Yeah,” Heden said, nodding.

The polder paced across the alley. Heden looked at him. Watched the conflict in the thief. Couldn’t put a name to it, but recognized it.

"Why did you help me? Why not let Brick and me go at it?"

Aimsley threw him a look. "Don’t be stupid. Then I lose either way."

Heden waited for an answer to his first question.

Aimsley stopped pacing, but didn't look at Heden.

"You were a campaigner."

"A ratcatcher," Heden agreed.

"Who were you with?"

For a moment, Heden didn't want to tell him. If the thief wanted to know, then the information was valuable, could be traded. But it wasn't a secret. Everyone knew. Stupid to try and hide it.

"The Sunbringers."

Aimsley nodded. "I'm looking for an alchemist," he said.

"Tam."

"Ok," the thief said, giving no indication this was the alchemist he was looking for.

"I haven't seen him in five years. No idea where I would even look."

"Shit," Aimsley said, shaking his head. "Really thought I was on to something there."

"Maybe you were."

Now Aimsley looked at him. Studied his face. Unspoken between them, the fact that Heden gave up what he knew for nothing. Aimsley took a chance.

“You know about the Ghoul at your inn?”

“Yeah,” Heden said. “But I don’t know what you have to do with it.”

Aimsley explained what he’d seen.

“The count can do that?” Heden asked, thinking about what it meant.

The small man nodded, his blonde curls bouncing. “And I think this Tam is behind it."

Heden sniffed. "Could be. Tam was good."

"Good enough to make these?" the thief asked. He pulled one of the small black marbles out of his vest and held it out.

Heden stepped forward and looked at it. Then reached out for it.

“Careful,” the polder warned.

Heden glanced at him, nodded, and took the black marble. It was as Vanora described.

“I don’t know,” Heden said. “Was Tam good enough to create Deathless?” Heden was skeptical. “I doubt it.”

Aimsley nodded. “So there’s another piece of the puzzle.”

Heden clenched the ball in his fist. “You’re sure Tam’s involved?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a reliable source outside the guild.” He absent-mindedly scratched his arm where the tiny glass beads had been imbedded.

Heden thought about what might have happened to Roderick Tam.

“He wouldn’t be doing it of his own accord,” Heden said.

Aimsley shrugged. “You haven’t seen him in five years. A lot can change in five years.”

“Not that much,” Heden said.

Aimsley was pacing again, he threw Heden a look, disgusted at the priest’s faith in his fellow man.

Heden went to give the black marble back.

“Keep it,” the polder said. “I’ve got more. See what your network can make of it.”

“I don’t really have a network,” Heden said lamely. Then thought of something.

"We should work together," he said.

"Ah," the polder said, pointing at Heden as he paced. Now it was the thief who wouldn’t look at Heden. "No we should not."

"Seems like we should. We both want the same thing.”

“Ah no we don’t,” the polder stopped and looked at Heden. Pointed at him as though he was dangerous. “I’m only after the night dust,
you
want to kill the count.”

Heden shook his head. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“It’s not about killing the count, it’s about saving Vanora.”

“You just said the same thing twice,” Aimsley Pinwhistle said. “Except the second time, you sound like a complete fucking idiot who thinks he can…I don’t know, persuade the count to doing something? Anything? He wants the girl, he gets the girl. You have nothing to bargain with.”

Heden was looking at the cobbles at his feet. Thinking about what the polder said. He had a similar conversation with Gwiddon ten years ago. When he first learned Gwidd was a spy.

“Nothing to bargain with,” he said. Aimsley watched him.

He looked at the polder. “If we knew where the night dust came from, we’d have something to bargain with.”

“Stop saying ‘we,’ ok? Just stop it. I don’t work for you, I work for the Brick….”

“You’re the fixer. The fixer doesn’t work for anyone.”

“Don’t try to be
clever
,” the little man sneered. “You’re not good at it.”

“The night dust gives us the leverage we need….”

“No it doesn’t! You don’t get it! I’m not on your side! I’m not one of the good guys, I’m one of the bad guys! I don’t give a shit about the night dust or the count! It’s just the job. The Dust doesn’t matter!”

“The count’s going to use it to take over the city, to grind you down, how does it not matter?”

“It’s just a tool! The dust upsets the balance between the guilds. It’s my job to put things back the way they were. Maybe that means we get our own supply! Maybe we make a deal with the count! Who knows? It’s just business. The dust just becomes part of the deal.”

Heden frowned at this mercenary reasoning.

“So it’s me against the count,” Heden said. From the polder’s view, the priest was just staring off into space, thinking. He didn’t notice Heden was starting at the spire of the cathedral. Wouldn’t have thought it was significant if he had noticed.

“The girl’s not worth it,” the polder said.

Heden took a deep breath. “If you say that again,” the words came slowly, deliberately, “then we are enemies.”

The polder stared at him for a long time. Then blinked and looked away. Nodded.

Heden took this as confirmation of everything he suspected about the thief.

“You and me,” Heden said slowly, like he was sneaking up on a cat, “we can bring the count down
.
”
And then, maybe
…. Heden tried not to look at the cathedral again.

“And then what?!” the polder threw his hands up. “Are you really that stupid? The guild doesn’t work for the count,
he
works for the guild!”

Heden frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Aimsley sighed. There were better things he could be doing, why was he here talking to this priest? “There’s been a dozen Counts. There’ll be a dozen more. When this one goes, there’s another six guys I know, I
personally
know who will take his place in a heartbeat and will be just as bad. Worse. You can’t just stop his heart and hope the entire organization collapses. It’s not a
cult
.” Cults, they both knew, typically only thrived as long as their charismatic leader thrived. “And the first item on the next Count’s agenda? Guess!”

“You just told me I didn’t have a choice. That I had to kill him to stop him coming after Vanora.”

“No, I said you
can’t
kill him, so what the fuck are we standing here talking about?”

Desperate, Heden tried another tack.

“So you do what the Brick tells you.”

“As opposed to what? Do what
you
tell me to?”

“As opposed to doing what you
want
, what you think
should
be done. As opposed to doing what’s
right
!”

“I’m the
fixer
!” Aimsley said, his title a shield. “I serve the guild!”

“You’re outside the guild! You have to be or the king’s Magus puts you under the Eye and turns you inside out until he knows the name of every agent in the Hearth!”

“I fix the problems the Brick can’t handle. Right now, that’s the dust.”

“And what if it were the count?” Heden challenged.

“The Brick doesn’t care about the count!” Aimsley threw his hands up. “He’s happy with the count in his place! The Brick wants….”

“No, you! What do you want?!” Heden hurled Taethan’s words in the forest at the polder. The same words Sir Taethan had used to assault Heden with.

The polder grabbed his head with his hands, trying to drive the echo of Heden’s voice from out his head. “I want you to leave me the fuck alone! I want…,” he threw his hands down and looked around as though seeing the alley for the first time. “I want a drink is what I fucking want.”

Heden didn’t press the issue. They stood there, neither knowing what they were in the middle of, or if it could go anywhere. Neither of them looked at the other.

“I’ll keep the Brick off you, if I can,” Aimsley said.

“Thanks,” Heden said.

“No promises.”

“I understand. I owe you.”

Aimsley Pinwhistle gave no indication how he felt about this. He seemed reluctant to end the conversation.

“How’d things go in the forest?” the little man asked.

Heden found himself taking a deep breath. The reaction, the tightening of his skin, came on involuntarily.

“They’re dead,” he said. “The knights. All of them.”

Aimsley shrugged. Business. “Did you kill them?”

Heden bared his teeth at the idea.

“Sorry,” the polder said. “Well I figured something like that happened,” Aimsley said. “When no one asked me to follow up, figured the Order was neutralized.”

“Was that your instruction? Was that why you were following me?”

Aimsley waved a hand, dismissed Heden’s line of questioning.

“Brick was doing a favor for someone, I don’t know who. I don’t know why. He doesn’t tell me everything. Whatever it was, it’s over now.”

Heden turned finally to leave, took a few steps toward the mouth of the alley, and stopped. Confronted by the spire of the Cathedral looming over everything.

Heden looked at the Church. “Maybe not.”