Patch and Brander patiently waited at the sewer grate, speaking quietly and laughing. Her partner raised his eyebrow at her and critically skimmed her body, pointing out she should be in bed, resting, without saying a word.
“I’m glad Gabby found you.”
“You could have just sent her. There’s no reason for you to be up and about,” he responded.
“You don’t know who Beltin is,” she reminded him bluntly.
“You think they might have info on him?”
“It can’t hurt to ask.”
“Beltin?” Brander asked.
“A survivor. A traitor.”
Her ugly hate broke through, and both he and Lyet guessed her insinuation. Patch snagged her to him and hugged her close, settling his lips against her hair.
“Do you really want to do this?” he asked quietly.
“I have to.”
“Dandi said to meet them at Ruddy’s,” Lyet murmured. “The Lady already offered them an exchange.”
“Exchange?” Patch asked.
“They want out of the city, and I want Beltin. If they have info on the shroud, that’ll be a bonus.”
Brander chuckled. “You do realize, the palace and Dentherions guard the upper gates, and the Minq guard the underground routes.”
“I do. And I’ll cry a river at the Minq about traitors and Nicodem and my revenge against those who slaughtered my family. Of all the syndicates I’ve brushed against, they understand family honor and revenge the best. Besides, if the shanks divulge something about the skyshroud, we will have something to offer up besides their lives.”
“And I always thought you were the cautious one,” Patch told her, pursing his lips into a reluctant frown.
“I am.”
Lapis repeated that to herself as they walked Lyet to Phialla and Ness’s space, then headed to Ruddy’s. The crowds were afternoon light, which she hoped proved favorable. Their luck, some Dentherion spy tailed the unlucky shanks and caused mischief before she asked about Beltin. Patch remained quiet, grim, Brander contemplative.
Ruddy’s was the dive of dive bars, and nothing had changed since her last visit. Dozens of loud, unwashed workers pressed together in the smoky atmosphere, to drink the barely salvageable swill the owner declared was beer. While the place received some tourist attention just because it had an open door to the road, only the poorest, and cheapest, locals bothered to entertain there. Dandi stuck out like a broken leg, wearing an unsoiled, bright blue button shirt and navy-dyed pants while rubbing his hands together and squeezing his arms tight to his body in unease. If he had any coin on him, some shank had likely already lifted it.
Patch jerked his chin at the sulky man. She wormed through the crowd and planted herself before him, fighting for the nonchalance Lady Lanth oozed because her body rebelled against the smell. She refused to ruin her reputation by puking on him.
His relief startled her. She half-anticipated a trap of some sort, but his reaction seemed genuine. He gave her a strained smile before turning and leading her to the edge of the bar and into a thin, dark, damp hallway. She had never walked that way before, catching her stakes long before they snuck to the back. Depending on the barkeep, chasers had to pay a fair-day’s ransom to enter, and she never wished to part with that many bits.
Gambling and heavy drug use kept the shanks sitting on rickety chairs at unstable tables busy; the few desperate laborers losing their weekly wages to the cards glanced their way, and when they recognized her, then Dandi, they returned to their game. Interesting. She never pictured him as someone local shanks would ignore. They walked to a grubby, unlit stair that went to the basement, and she felt the hair on her neck prickle before setting foot on it. She had no room to maneuver, so if something went wrong, she could unsheathe her blades and stab, but little more.
They reached a large room with slightly better illumination, padded furniture, long pipes meant for dargil, and several niches hidden by thin drapes. No one but a handful of shanks sat there, worrying their hands and looking lost.
Ah. She knew why Dandi caved so readily to her demands. Lars really should have come to her without the round-about, because she would have attempted to help him, despite their past antagonism. Patch and Brander slipped from the stairs to stand behind her, and she wondered how much her partner had guessed about who the sulky man wanted her to meet.
Lars leaped to his feet and backed up in horror as he eyed Patch. His buddies rose; she held up a hand.
“We’re here to bargain,” she said, loudly enough they all heard. “I want some information, and if you have it, we’ll get you out.” She glared at Lars. “At the Night Market, before Miki died, you wanted to hand me over to Hoyt. Dandi here says you’re just an errand boy. I find that a bit much to swallow.”
He steadied himself, breathing hard. “It weren’t no lie,” he gritted. “That’s all we’s doin’, fer Hoyt. Errand runnin’. We ain’t no bit shanks workin’ as guards. Don’t know nothin’, ‘bout no tech, no new syndicate, no nothin’ ‘bout thems the shroud fought.”
She wanted to slug him, for being an underhanded rat trying to turn shank, for blaming his reading failure on her and choosing the darkened rooms of crime rings to the brighter ones of merchants. “I thought you had info on the skyshroud.”
“Not us,” he muttered, turning to another member of the eight-man group. He was older than the rats, possessed shaggy hair and beard, and wore the thick leathers sported by most guild guards.
“I suppose one of Orinder’s guards would know something of his schemes,” Brander said casually.
Bodyguard? Something looked faintly familiar about him, but she could not place him. She must have seen him with the man, and as a guard, she paid him no attention. Either that, or her memory had yet to recover those specific recollections, and she had doubts she ever would.
“I want out of Jiy,” he said gruffly, eyeing the two rebels suspiciously.
“Fine,” Patch said, bored. “We can sneak you out. But we want to ask a few questions.”
Both he and Brander stood with confident aplomb, intimidating in their composure. Lapis drummed on her upper arms with her fingers, and when neither spoke, dove in. No reason to make them more nervous. “First, the skyshroud. Why is it in Jiy?”
The guard smashed his lips together, glared daggers at Dandi, who hid behind Lars, and rubbed at the back of his neck. She looked at Patch; he shrugged, so she turned away.
“Hoyt had a man with contacts from abroad,” he said, loud enough to catch her attention. “He had Orinder run as an intermediary for one of them. You’ll be surprised to hear, but it was for special pottery paint, and it was legit.”
Pottery paint? “OK. Where was the intermediary from?”
“Don’t know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve never heard another accent like it. It was heavy, harsh. So yeah, I don’t know. Anyway, Orinder got a huge shipment in at the docks. Had some paint. Under the paint was tech. Not sure what it was, or what it was for. Some of Hoyt’s shanks retrieved it, got caught.”
“So Orinder was completely innocent of all wrongdoing.”
The guard’s eyes flashed, but he held his words. Good for him. She would leave him there to rot and get Lars and his buddies out. Neither she, Patch nor Brander had any reason to put their necks out for him. Dandi did not look especially pleased, either, but his cowardice kicked in and kept him silent.
“Whatever it was terrified the palace guard. The city ones who arrested Orinder said Gall contacted Dentheria.” He paused, then rushed on, as if he should say nothing, but chose to anyway. “It wasn’t official, either. Some bit merchant prince’s son from the Second Council showed up with a decommissioned skyshroud. It was on its way here before the syndicate war started.”
“And you know this how?”
“Have a friend in the palace guard. He warned me, and I warned Hoyt.”
She glanced at Patch. A decommissioned skyshroud? That seemed extremely unlikely. Who had the funds to pay for mercenaries and outfit them in empire uniforms to pretend they worked for Dentheria? She also suspected the empire’s air command would not ignore a missing skyshroud filled with fake soldiers.
“Did you find out before or after it arrived?” she asked.
“After. They had the palace guard on lock-down for the shroud’s docking. And that’s all I know.”
Well, she could pass the info on to Faelan. Whether anything came of it was questionable.
She looked at Lars. “Streets code, Lars, do you know anything about that?”
The guard glared in anger as the rat shrugged. “ ’Bout the shroud, nah. Knows nothin’ else other ‘n what he said.”
“I’m also looking for a man named Beltin. You know him?”
Lars blinked, confused. “Beltin, yeah. Gots caught playin’ double turntail fer the palace, jest afore Hoyt took off. None too popular, ‘round the Grey Streets now. Thems who trusted ‘em ‘r wonderin’ iffen he told the palace ‘bout ‘em. They wants him dead, Lady.”
“What a coincidence, so do I,” she murmured. “Do you know where he’s at?”
Lars glanced at his buddies. “Last I heard, he’d been here, hidin’ ‘bout. Ruddy’s don’t care iffen you’s a shank ‘n outta favor, long’s you got bits.”
“Which room?”
“Probably the bar. He’s a drinker.”
How convenient. “When does he show up?”
“Most nights. Like I said, he’s a drinker. Surprised he ain’t in the Pit yet, but Hoyt’s shanks ‘r in hidin’ ‘n don’t wanna bring attention t’ themselves, maybe end up on the shroud.”
“Have some been arrested?”
“Yeah, bit shanks, Lady. None important, don’t know why the shroud’s wantin’ ‘m. They knows nothin’. Like us.”
Good enough. “Dandi. I’m sure you can find your way out.”
He cleared his throat and peeked out from behind Lars. “N-no. I’m going with them.”
“Are you now?” How frightening had the palace interrogation been, that he decided to skip town?
“We . . . there’s a plan, to save Grandfather. I need to get out, prepare the . . . well, prepare. Lars is going to help.”
Patch laughed, the ass. She smacked his stomach, hard. She never desired to be part of Orinder’s escape plan, and she desperately wished she had questioned the fool further on why he thought helping Lars was a good idea. Dammit, her want to find Beltin had made her sloppy. What kind of example did she make for Rin and Lykas, when she stumbled over her own chases?
“I can get them out,” he told her, still chuckling.
“How?” she asked.
“I know a few routes.” He shrugged. “As long as the info was worth it.”
“This means I’m going to have to drink that shit while we wait, doesn’t it?” Brander asked, annoyed. Patch clapped him on the shoulder, his single eye bright with amusement, and she wondered what the rebel had to say about his experiences at Ruddy’s. She could not say hers ever improved.
“Rather you than me.”
“I can do this alone,” Lapis reminded them.
“No,” they said together, with enough force Lars and his buddies stepped back. Dandi just looked confused.
She cupped her bracelet in her hand, hoping the thought of her brother might steady her emotions. To see Beltin again, to know his treachery . . .
She had vowed to take Perben to death’s gate, and she had a new target for that promise.
A resounding boom shook the ceiling; the beams cracked, bits of debris and dust falling on their heads.
“SHIT!” Patch grabbed her arm, carted her to the wall and yanked the innocuous, muddy landscape on the wall behind Lars up. He revealed a series of gears, pulled out a knob with a metallic rope attached, and let it snap back in. The wooden panels next to it swung open, the hinges silent, and he thrust her inside. People from the backroom rushed down the stairs, shouting with thought-obliterating fear. Breaking wood and terrified screams followed them, the pleas abruptly silenced.
A raid? By who? They had an escape route Patch knew about, so it must occur often, but everyone in the Grey Streets knew what took place in the seedy establishment. Ruddy’s was no secret, and the guard, as far as she knew, left the hapless alone to drown themselves in their chosen poison.
The escape intersected a tunnel with wall tiles that, while dingy, glowed a pale white. Wires with thick, goopy things hung from the ceiling, and random puddles sat in depressions left in the broken grey cement floor.
“To the left!” Patch shouted.
She ran, Dandi, Lars, and his buddies with her. They entered a small room whose tiling flickered and flared, illuminating gaping holes in the walls and a pit in the floor that smelled of mold. Debris sagged down to eye height from cracks high above, an annoying distraction. She continued to the left, into a dripping, hacked stone tunnel with moss hanging low enough to slap her in the face. She slid and slipped about, slamming her hand into the wet wall to keep her balance; ooze met her fingertips, and she gagged on the sensation.
She was going to need a long, hot bath before she returned to the Eaves. Dachs would yell if she slogged the gross stuff into his establishment.
The tunnel exited into an enormous rectangular room illuminated by spotlights attached to a shoulder-high metal barricade. She tripped over old steel lines running in the floor and stumbled to a halt as people rose to point tech weapons at her. They wore dark red uniforms and helmets with a matte face covering. She raised her hands, not knowing what else to do.
“Lanth?”
“Varr?”
What was the bodyguard doing there? Should he not be with Midir?
“Get your ass back here!”
“There was a raid at Ruddy’s. I’m with others!”
“So I see.” One of the uniformed people pointed her weapon directly at Orinder’s guard and studied Lars and his buddies. “How nice, you brought them to us. We’ve been looking for Hoyt’s shanks.”
“They get free passage out of the city,” Lapis snapped. So Varr was with the Minq. Why were they there?
Varr huffed to the front, wearing his tech-resistant leathers and carrying his large, black firearm with a glowing blue panel at the back. The sight was nearly the size of the weapon itself, and running lights blinked along its sides. As a child, she had marveled it stood as tall as she and he could lift it with one hand.
“We’ve staked them,” the woman said, though her attention drifted to Varr.
“Yeah, and I have a deal with them to get them out without you harming them.” She stubbornly planted her feet before the rats and held her arms out, palms back, a protective gesture.
“And you know her, Varr?”
“She’s Lady Lanth, the one who teaches the street rats to read.”
That startled several. “So they’re rats.”
“Yes.” She took a huge breath and turned to the bodyguard. If the Minq respected him, his rage would convince them to leave her, and her charges, alone. “Did you know Beltin lived?”
Varr stopped, frowning. “Beltin? Who’s . . .” He narrowed his grey eyes and stroked his black beard. “Who is he?”
“One of the stable hands from Nicodem.”
The fury that immediately burst from him intimidated everyone in the room. Perhaps she should have waited, to mention it. “A survivor?” he seethed. Only water dripped into the silence after he spoke.
“He was working for the palace and continued to do so after he came to Jiy. The rats told me where he’s at, and that’s my fee for getting them out.”
Dandi whimpered, the only other sound to interfere with Varr’s growing rage.
“Get behind the barrier,” the woman snapped. “We’ll sort it out later. You too, Varr.”
“Damn well bet we’ll sort it out later,” Patch snarled as he trotted into the room, planted a hand in her back and forced her forward. A scattering of people accompanied him and Brander, and they all hastened behind the barrier. “Get ready for a fight. The shroud raided Ruddy’s and from what the backroom people said, they were killing everyone they saw.”
Lapis snagged Varr’s arm as she passed. She had the stubbornness to drag him where she wanted him, and a way to guilt him if he stayed put. He grumpily gave way, but she recognized the flashes in his eyes, knew what they meant.
She needed to reach Beltin before he did.
“I’ll find him,” she promised. “He won’t escape again.”
“Your brother know?” he asked gruffly as he glanced at the tunnel entrance. The loud reverberations of boots echoed to them.
“Yeah. He played a tape for me with his voice on it, to confirm.”
“Lanth . . .” He trailed off, then settled his large hand on her upper arm. “If it’s him, he’s dangerous.”
“Which is why Patch will be with me.”
“Here they come!”
“Go, sweetie,” he hissed, raising his weapon.
“Be careful,” she cried as Patch dragged her past numerous red-uniformed Minq and into a staging area. Behind them, weapons discharged, shouts reverberated off the walls, the air stank of smoke. Her eyes blurred as he clasped her hand and moved through the anticipatory syndicate people. She had just reunited with Varr and Midir. How dare he put himself in such danger before she could renew their relationship?
Why was he even with the Minq? Or had Lord Adrastos sent some of his people to help, and Varr accompanied them?
Patch brought her up abruptly and set himself against the nearest wall when they entered a room with panels hanging loose from the walls, dangling wires and debris, and the stench of dead vermin. Light came from a grate high in the ceiling that dripped black something to the floor. Brander planted himself next to him, and Lars, his buddies, the guard and Dandi scurried over. The trickle of Ruddy’s customers continued on their way, disappearing into the dank dimness of intersecting tunnels. If shanks, they likely knew of several ways out of the underground and sewers, ones unknown to Dentherion soldiers.
“Lanth, you need to get back to the Eaves and tell Faelan shit went south fast,” Patch told her.
“What’s Varr doing here?”
“I don’t know, but it probably has something to do with Lord Adrastos and Midir. I’ll get these guys out and we’ll meet back up in your room.”
“I’ll go with her, if you like,” Brander murmured quietly.
“Patch—”
He shook his head and kissed her cheek. “If a random Minq lieutenant is that interested in them, I need to sneak them out while they’re distracted. Keep to the tunnels, for as long as possible.”
“Be careful.”
“I should tell you that. You’re getting a bit more adventurous now that you’ve renewed ties with Faelan.”
She did not find that as amusing as he did. She turned and smacked Lars in the shoulder, taking a tad of annoyance out on the primary reason for it. “This is your second chance, Lars. Don’t screw it up.” He stumbled, blank with surprise, as she stormed away.
Brander grabbed her arm and pointed her in the right direction before she stalked too far. The bright amusement in his golden eyes, a reflection of Patch’s, annoyed her no end. She fumed, a simpler emotion than worry, and mentally yelled things at her partner, at Varr, at Lars and even at Dandi.
“Despite what Patch thinks, I’m not certain the underground is any safer than the overground,” Brander told her as they slogged through a wet, smelly, drippy tunnel. “And I want a bath.”
She sighed. “So do I.”
“Then you can tell me about this Beltin.”
She half-laughed. “There’s not much to tell,” she informed him. “He survived Nicodem, and Faelan just found out. He was a guard informant on Hoyt, so it’s a two-fer when we find him.”
“Patch will want him, too, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s of the growing opinion that finding Hoyt and handing him over to the Dentherions will go a long way to getting rid of the skyshroud. If what that guard said is true, he might be right.”
Maybe. Lapis did not particularly trust Orinder’s bodyguard or his words. Of course, Patch remaining silent while he whisked them away was nil. He would find out, whether the man spoke true or indulged in fantasy to increase his chances of luring help.
