part0043

Scratch one more name on the growing list of special constables who wouldn’t work with her. Sergeant Aimes. Fine. She did her best work without the Heavyhands stomping around and clubbing all her leads to death. The sage had given them away, but the sergeant had been the one to order the breach. She’d no cause to be mad at Margo.

Margo spat from the rooftop as she leaned against a grimy chimney, feeling the soot spread across her jacket. A few yards away, Stinky chatted with a few of his buddies in their low grumbling language she’d never managed to pick up. Too many of the sounds were outside the range of human hearing. She caught what she could, and so wasn’t completely surprised by Stinky’s report.

“The elves are leaving, Margo Landis.”

The Notched. Hispur, rather. “What direction?” she asked.

“They make for the south of the city. Their leader argued with your dandy before taking the Remote and his people. He made clear that they knew our presence and did not care.”

“They’re going home. Kaharas bit them too hard, or maybe they got new orders what from that one in the Tower down south. Don’t matter now. Let ‘em go.”

There was chatter among the goblins, enough for her to catch a snippet here or there. Much of the debate revolved around whether sand elves were edible. She shrugged, looking at her diminutive congregation. “Ain’t about wounded prey, boys and girls. I ain’t a soldier—Six Gates, I ain’t even a raider. That’s blood don’t need spilt,” she said. Her side still burned where the dagger had scratched her up. Any deeper and she’d be at the bottom of the ladder with the elf that started this whole mess. She’d been lucky enough to square off against the dervishes twice and still be breathing, and it had been a Gate-damned close call both times.

She looked over the side of the roof, catching a flash of avian eyes beneath a heavy hood before they disappeared so quick she couldn’t be sure she’d even seen them. She looked back up at Stinky’s inquiring eyes. “This is what makes us detectors, Stinky. Not getting in fights, not getting rejected by the rest of the masks.” She pointed toward the alchemical shop they’d followed the dandy to. “When all is said and done, cracking heads will only go so far. Boshea’s good people, but he’s tracking down Constus and his end. He can keep him, all I care. I got no desire for messing with magical madmen. But Constus only gives us his part, and we already know most of it. That boy down there, he’s been at every part of this venture. He ain’t in charge, but he’s deep enough that we get him, he can give us the ones that are.”

Margo thought about the slim knife sliding into a grenndrake in a tavern what felt like a million years before. Or if he didn’t give them the bosses, she’d at least see him swing for what he did do.

There was a commotion down below the ridge of the rooftop that drew her attention and riled the assembled goblins. Margo shoved off from the chimney and scrambled over to the edge. She looked down at a familiar face being accosted by several of the goblins on the lower tier.

“Suvtka? What in the shadow hells are you doing here?”

The raider private shook free of the goblins to either side before looking up at her. “Gates, Sarge, I should ask you the same thing,” he said. She extended down a hand, and her help and several goblins pushing from below managed to get the heavy raider onto the rooftop with no more noise than a small orchestra. Whatever he had been about to say died as he took in the dozen or so goblins crowding the slate tiles, his face cycling through surprise, alarm, and confusion in the span of a breath. He finally looked to her like a shipwrecked sailor looks to an island in a sea of sharks.

“When you skipped the after-action I went looking for you. Figured you might do something stupid, like chase after the dervishes,” said Suvtka.

Stinky muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Moon-addled” but Margo ignored it, settling back onto her haunches and rubbing her jaw. “Dervishes are out of the game, but we got a shot at the Kaharan side of this conspiracy. Aimes know you’re here?”

Suvtka shook his head.

“Good. She wouldn’t approve. But while you’re here, might as well make use of you. These goblins all look to Stinky. Being a magic man is a pretty big deal to your average snothead. But they won’t fight for him, or for me. Most of them have friends that have felt the weight or boot of the watch one way or another, and they care for the Black even less. But they’ll help in their own way, and it’s finesse what’s needed now, not brute force.”

She began to swing down from the roof onto a ladder, but stopped, something itching at her. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

Suvtka grinned, nodding at her belt. Margo had doffed the raider’s cuirass but she still had the harness and belt. “That’s my favorite knife you scammed off me. Cost a penny, too. Not the thing you want to misplace. So I took measures.”

Margo thumbed the small braided charm looped around the hilt and snorted. She never had taken a closer look at it. “So unless I want to get rid of the knife, I have to deal with your worthless hide showing up where it’s not wanted.”

Suvtka shrugged, moving closer to the ladder. “Well I gotta make sure nothing is happen to it. Or the person having it.”

Margo rolled her eyes as she slid down to the cobbles of the alley. Stinky and Suvtka weren’t long behind. She met her partner’s eyes and rolled her own again. His condition for enlisting his people had been contingent on her taking the dandy alive. The knife would have to stay in her belt. Probably.

“How you want to play this, Sarge?”

“Like we ain’t three little constables walking into a den of lions.”

Margo walked into the yard behind the alchemical shop, making sure not to appear to be sneaking. She paused for a moment, allowing anyone watching to take in the sight of her and her fully kitted raider before walking up to the rear entrance and pounding on the door.

A small latch twisted, and a span of metal came away, replaced by two narrowed eyes that looked down at her. “Whossit?”

“The Bone King, come to give all the bad little boys and girls in Kaharas gifts from his cache. Open up,” said Margo. She stepped aside and nodded toward the rooftop where the silhouettes of several heads could clearly be seen. When she turned back, she’d reactivated her obfuscation charm. There was a muffled sound of cursing on the other side and several lamentations about the brute’s luck. Closed and locked doors were not obstacles to the Sorcerous Crimes Division.

Metal grated as the little window closed, and a key turned in a lock before the heavy wooden door swung inward, revealing a familiar patch of red skin and missing chest hair.

“He in there? And don’t play that you don’t know who I mean.”

The man nodded, eyes down.

Margo hoisted a set of bindings. “Well unfortunately I only got the one set, so get you gone and I can use ‘em on someone what matters. Mind if I go ahead and have a chat with him?”

The thug looked at her shifting face, and again at what he thought was a full cordon of special constables, and needed no further encouragement. He slipped past and quick-stepped through the muddy yard. The goblins would let him pass.

The floorboards thumped even under their muffled boots as they padded into the back of the alchemy workshop, and a soft thrumming filled her senses as Suvtka primed himself to protect them with the unseen rivers. Smart, that. They headed up a narrow set of sagging stairs toward some manner of commotion above, following the clamor down a dusty hall lined with the odor of alchemical processing. Rooms lined the left-hand side, and Margo wiped her sweaty hand on her trouser leg before she twisted a handle and pushed open the last door.

The commotion stopped instantly, the six occupants turning to stare at her as she slipped inside leaned against a counter. Her partner and the raider slid in behind her. The dandy was there, no longer wearing his fineries, but clean cut and plenty of grease still slicking down his red hair. How could she have ever mistaken him for a banner soldier? The man was as adept at changing his appearance as anyone changing a masking charm. Also present was the younger man with a penchant for home-rolled cigarettes that Stinky had accosted, still wearing the bruises and eying the goblin with more than a little trepidation. Four more thugs besides had been carefully packing crates. The operation was moving shop.

Margo let the silence persist a stretch before pointing at the conspirator lieutenant. “He’s all I need, the rest of you are free to go.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Margo was careful to keep her stance and expression calm. Any sign of weakness would be taken as an invitation to attack. Without lowering her eyes, she counted over half a dozen weapons including several knives and a cudgel or two, any of which would be lethal in these confines if things turned violent. Of course she wasn’t alone this time. A fully armed and armored Heavyhand was no soft target. He was tired and battered from the raid, but they had no way of knowing that.

“This is private property, copper. And I know for truth you’ve no warrants for me or any of these gentlemen. In fact, we’d be well within our rights to defend our place of business from an armed incursion.”

Margo shrugged. “Except we was invited in just afore your door man elected to take a walk. No trespassing took place.” She looked at the other members of the gang in the room in turn. “Coincidentally, that doorman still has completely naked wrists. In the wind, as they say. Free as a del.”

“Enough of this, deal with them,” said the dandy. As one of the thugs reached for his cudgel, Margo made a hissing noise and raised her hand. Every ounce of focus she had she poured into spinning the unseen rivers into a pathetic bevy of sparks between her fingers. She almost gave herself a nosebleed with the effort, but the thug paused. It did well to remind them that they weren’t dealing with ordinary civil watch constables.

“Touch that rod and I’ll turn your stones into spiders.”

The thug’s face paled. “Spiders?”

“Fat hairy ones, with big Gate-damned fangs.”

The man considered seriously for a moment, his face twisting down as his brows narrowed. “Twins,” he swore, throwing down the cudgel, “I never signed on to tangle with the Gate-damned masks. Let’s split afore our balls can bite us, Yander.”

Another of the brutes detached himself from the wall, and spit at the dandy’s feet as he passed. He paused before Suvtka, a few hairs’ breadth from his face. Even Margo could smell his rancid breath. “Your witchcraft ain’t gonna help you I ever catch you in the Rathaven.” And then he was gone, two sets of boots thumping toward the stairs loud enough to shake dust from the rafters of the peaked roof.

Two down; The hired help with the least personal stake. The squirrely kid was still here, looking between the Blackbows and the other goons in the room. His boss had noticed his wavering commitment. Someone’s nephew, likely, never cut out for this sort of meanness. There was a low growl from the dandy.

“Don’t even think about it, you Gate-damned eel. I’ll gut your slimy hide where you stand if you take a step toward that door.”

“None of that now,” said Margo, but steel had been bared before she could intervene, a yard’s worth threatened the boy’s belly as the other thugs scrambled backward. A slender parrying dagger appeared in Sullus’ still-bandaged right hand to menace Suvtka as the raider raised his hands in preparation of a charm.

“Sullus, wait!” the younger man cried, backed up against a work bench and feeling behind for anything that might help, as the tip of the dueling blade pressed against the fabric of his doublet. His hand reached into a crate they’d been packing and withdrew a clay flask with a bright wax seal, raising it overhead. Immediately the Dandy’s other thugs flinched away, putting as much space between the pair and themselves as they could, one even tripping over Margo as he stumbled out the door. The hair on the back of her neck began to rise, and her hand went to the hilt of her dagger. Whatever was in it was bad news.

The dandy, or Sullus she supposed, reacted as a duelist might before his brain had fully analyzed the situation. Seeing the boy’s arm lift elicited a twitch that licked the blade forward with the sound of a soft sigh as it parted the silk of his shirt, then withdrew with a red tip. The boy had a faint look of surprise, then horror that was mirrored by his murderer when his eyes rose to what the dying youth held in his hand.

Margo gripped Suvtka’s arm as the kid’s fingers uncurled, and the clay flask tumbled from his grip. It fell for an eternity, past the reaching fingers of the thug who dove for it and cracked against the wooden floor. There was a building hiss, and a stream of vapor that coated the boy and the would-be hero on the ground as the flask spun out of his grip and tumbled across the floor. And then the room was fire.