14

Hey, Red.” Sadie’s voice was dry and muted. “Tell me about when we was pirates.”

Red gazed down at her. She looked shriveled up as a raisin as she lay on the filthy straw mat, clutching a wool blanket. Her hair was like dry corn silk, and her skin was stretched painfully thin across her bones. She hadn’t left this room in weeks. She would probably die here. Very soon.

But there was no hint of that in Red’s expression as he knelt beside her. He raked his fingers through his hair and smiled, his ruby eyes gleaming from the light of the small oil lamp he had brought with him.

“The tale of Sadie the Pirate Queen,” he said quietly. “That’s one of my favorites. Where should I begin?”

Sadie’s gnarled, bent hands groped for his and when he gave it to her, she squeezed it. Her wrinkled lips worked silently for a moment. “From…from when I lose my ear.”

“Temporarily,” said Red.

She gave a toothless grin. “Temporarily.”

“So.” His voice became intense, theatrical. “Sadie had just had her ear torn off by Bracers Madge. It now lived in a pickling jar behind the bar of the Drowned Rat, along with a great many others. More than the pain of losing that ear was the shame of being turned out from the hall where thieves conspired, murderers were hired, and a dangerous girl with an unhealthy reputation could make a good living. But how could Sadie do that now? She was like to starve if she didn’t do something bold. Fortunately…” He paused and looked down at her expectantly.

“Fortunately,” said Sadie, who had heard him tell this tale many times. “She was twice as bold as any other wag in Paradise Circle, Silverback, or Hammer Point.”

“Right you are,” said Red. “She conceived of a daring new business venture: piracy! She still had the commandeered ship, the Savage Wind. So she and her trusty first mate, Red, set about turning it into a proper pirate vessel, with a proper pirate crew. And it wasn’t long before the Savage Wind could be seen cruising up and down the coast, its fierce captain pacing the bridge in a broad, feathered hat and long boots, looking for her next unlucky victim. Indeed, the docks of New Laven lived in constant fear of her sudden appearance. They said she gave no quarter, that if you were unlucky enough to be taken alive, she’d make you walk the plank over the reefs so that you’d fall and break yourself on them, spending hours half-submerged and bleeding out on the sharp coral before the cold waters of the deep finally claimed you. They said she once overtook and boarded a spice trader bound for the private docks of the emperor himself. When the captain rudely informed her that she would swing for it, she laughed, then had her crew pin him to the deck while she pissed all over him.”

Sadie laughed at that, a deep wet sound that ended in a spastic hacking cough that left blood on her lips.

“She became one of the most famous pirates who ever sailed,” continued Red, “second only to Dire Bane, scourge of the empire. Other pirates kept clear of New Laven completely, leaving Captain Sadie free to terrorize the coasts of the city with impunity. Oh, to be sure, the emperor’s ships tried to catch her. But she knew secret ways and hidden inlets. Their dreary military methods were no match for her wily cunning.

“But all streaks must end, and so it was with the glorious reign of Captain Sadie the Pirate Queen. It was the poor honest peasants who finally banded together one night. As she made port to pillage a small coastal village, they appeared out of nowhere and launched burning pitch onto her ship from makeshift catapults. Within minutes, the Savage Wind was ablaze, and within the hour, Sadie was left once again with nothing but the clothes on her back.”

Red paused to look down at her. He brushed a few stray white hairs out of her face. “But was she ready to give up on this rotten old life?” he asked in a more subdued tone.

“No…,” whispered Sadie.

“Of course not!” he said, returning to his previous intensity. “She marched right back to Paradise Circle, faithful Red still in tow, walked into the Drowned Rat, and threw herself at the mercy of Bracers Madge. Sadie owned that she had been in the wrong to try and kill Backus in Madge’s establishment, that it had been disrespectful and unprofessional, and she was forever sorry she’d done it. And Bracers Madge, it was said, was so moved by Sadie’s declaration and humility, that she gave Sadie the jar that contained her long-lost ear, the first and only time Madge ever returned one of her prize souvenirs. From that night on, Sadie wore the small jar on a leather strap around her neck, and she was welcomed back to the neighborhood with open arms. Because that’s how it is in the Circle.”

“That’s how it is in the Circle…,” echoed Sadie. Her withered hand drifted to her throat, where the small jar rested on her boney chest.

“Where it’s dismal and wet,” said Red.

“And the sun never gets,” responded Sadie.

“But still it’s my home, bless the Circle,” finished Red.

Sadie smiled peacefully, and her eyes slowly closed. A moment later, she began to snore.

Red laid a gentle hand on her forehead and whispered, “Sleep well, you old goat.” Then he stretched his long legs and brushed the dirt from his pants.

“Is that how it really was?” asked a satiny female voice.

Red turned toward the doorway and saw Nettles leaning against the frame, her arms crossed, her long dark hair falling across her face in a dramatic way that Red knew was entirely on purpose.

“What, the story of Sadie the Pirate Queen?” He shrugged on his brown leather longcoat. “Close enough. Maybe I took a few harmless liberties. She never threw anybody onto a bed of coral. She did piss on that gaf, though. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen, him wailing and cursing the whole time.”

Nettles smirked. She’d taken to painting her full lips a dark mulberry lately. Red had to admit that it suited her well.

“How long was it really?” she asked. “The time you two plundered the coasts?”

“Only about three months.” Red picked up the small lantern he’d brought down with him. The light cast shadows across his lean face as he grinned. “But it was a sunny three months.”

He paused at the doorway and looked back into the room. Dirt floor, no windows. He hated leaving her here, alone. Still, underground hole or not, it was better than her dying in the street like a dog or a broken-legged horse.

“She’s lucky to have you,” said Nettles.

“Hm,” said Red.

“We should all have some handsome young scoundrel to care for us in our final days.”

“Who said these are her final days?” Red asked sharply, although of course he knew they were.

“Sorry. Nobody.” Nettles was a good friend like that, usually.

Red looked at her then, the lantern playing off her smooth forehead and high cheekbones, her dark eyes sparkling with mystery. He wondered, not for the first time, why it hadn’t worked out between them a couple of years back.

Then she squinted and plucked at his leather longcoat. “What in piss’ell are you wearing? Looks like a mole rat climbed onto your back and died.”

Oh yeah. Now he remembered why.

“It happens to be deer leather, finely tanned and cured, soft as velvet,” Red replied loftily. “You’ll never find better.”

“Who’d you steal it from?”

“I won it in a game of stones.”

“That’s what I just said.”

Red sighed. “What are you doing here, Nettie?”

“I was coming to the hall to take care of some personal matters, and Filler asked me to pop down and tell you it’s on for tonight.”

“He got a horse?” Red’s ruby eyes shone eagerly in the lantern light.

“I don’t know what he does or doesn’t got,” said Nettles. “I only know the message and that’s all I want to know. You boys been getting too serious lately.”

“Like you don’t know trouble.”

“Trouble, I know. But what you wags are doing?” She shook her head. “It’s only a matter of time before you swing. Or worse.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Red. “We just—”

“Like I said, that’s all I want to know!”

Sadie groaned in her sleep.

“Come on, we’re making too much noise,” said Red.

Nettles nodded and the two left the room, their boots tracking softly in the dirt as they passed other doorways, some quiet, some full of moans or cries, and some stinking of death. At the end of the hallway, they climbed the narrow wooden ladder up to the ground level of Gunpowder Hall.

As Red and Nettles picked their way through the crowds, a voice called, “Red! Hey, Red!”

A thin, pouchy-faced old man was making his way over to them.

“Backus.” Red met him halfway and clasped his hand. “How are things?”

“Things are as they are,” said the old man. “But thought I should tell you, I’m out of Sadie’s medicine. I been bringing it to her regular, like you said, and it’s all used up.”

“Oh,” said Red.

“You…uh…think that’ll do?” asked Backus. “I mean…Red, it don’t seem to be doing nothing, and I know however you get it, it ain’t cheap.”

Red shook his head. “No.”

“Sadie wouldn’t want you spending all your money on her. You know that.”

“Well, she’ll just have to get well enough to tell me that herself,” said Red.

Backus looked at him a moment, his sagging face unreadable. Finally, his mouth worked up into a half smile. “She raised you a proper man of the Circle. Alright, you get me that medicine, I’ll keep giving it to her.”

Red put his hand on Backus’s boney shoulder. “Thank you.”

Backus shrugged. “It’s the only thing to do. You’ll understand someday. If you’re lucky enough to be one of the few that makes it into old age, the folks of your youth, be they friend or foe, become the ones you treasure most.”

Red watched as Backus made his way back to the corner of the hall where the old wrinks congregated.

“I can’t believe he’s not scamming you somehow,” said Nettles. “Selling off that medicine or something.”

“I know,” said Red. “But I asked around, and everybody says he gives her the meds every day like clock. Old people are funny like that.”

“Soft is what it is,” said Nettles. “Hope I die first.”

Red grinned at her. “Nettie, you haven’t got an ounce of romance in you.”

“And a good thing, too. Romance is for ponces and halfwits.”

And that, thought Red, was the other reason things hadn’t worked out between them.

“Well.” He pulled on his thick leather fingerless gloves. “I best see if Filler has really come through.”

Nettles eyed his gloves. “Going to work, then?”

“There is a city out there with wealth in desperate need of redistribution,” he said, smiling.

She roughly clasped his hand. “You better come back alive, is all. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I will get a necromancer and pissing summon you, just so I can kick you in your ghostly balls.”

He bowed mockingly to her and left Gunpowder Hall, wondering if maybe she did have an ounce or so of romance after all.

*  *  *

“And you’re sure about this, Red?” asked Filler, scratching his scruffy short beard as he eyed the horse. Although he’d been the one to score the big animal, he didn’t seem to like being around it.

“Of course.” Red patted the horse’s large pink-and-white nose with his gloved hand. The two stood with the horse in a narrow alley off Central Street.

“And to steer, all I have to do is move these reins to the right or to the left?” Filler squinted skeptically.

“Filler, my best wag,” said Red. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were scared of this dumb animal.”

“Not scared,” said Filler.

“Of course not,” agreed Red.

“Only…my cousin, Brig. He got his head kicked in by a horse, and now all he does is sing nursery songs and shit his pants.”

“Ah,” said Red, nodding seriously. He reached up to put his arm around Filler’s shoulders. “So, it’s like this, old pot. One of us needs to ride the horse, and one of us needs to pick the lock. Now, tell me. Are you any good at picking locks?”

Filler shook his head.

“Well then, I need to be doing that bit, don’t I?”

“I suppose.”

“And if I’m picking the lock, I can’t very well ride the horse, too, can I? So the only other option would be to bring in a third party to this venture. Someone who isn’t haunted by the memories of horse-kicked cousins. Who doesn’t mind riding a fine steed such as this one. Someone like, oh, I dunno, Handsome Henny, maybe. Or perhaps Nettles, seeing as how you practically invited her on the job anyway.”

“I swear, Red, I didn’t tell her nothing about it.”

“Even so, if we did bring in a third party, that would mean splitting the take three ways instead of two. Now, I know you aren’t too fond of maths, so to give you a sense of it, we’d each have to give half of our take to make a third equal share. Does that sound like something you want to do?”

“No,” said Filler, his nervousness already deflating into defeat.

“Agreed. So, Filler, my wag, swallow the fear and let’s be men about this.”

He nodded gloomily, still eyeing the horse.

“If you’d like, we can club an imp for his helmet,” offered Red. “Don’t know what good it would do against horse hooves, but—”

“I ain’t wearing no pissing imp hat,” said Filler, his expression hardening.

“That’s the spirit!” Red slapped him on the back. “Now, that cart should be along here soon, so let’s get ourselves ready.”

They’d been watching it for weeks now. A horse-drawn cart that came through every morning escorted by two imps in full riot armor—one in front, one in the rear—plus a driver. The riot armor prevented Red from solving the whole problem with a few quick throwing blades. What’s more, the cart itself was really just a strongbox on wheels, black iron secured by a key lock. He’d learned from reliable sources that the key was kept by another mounted imp who took a separate route through the city. Red thought that was a nice touch. Inside the strongbox were the imperial taxes on the previous day’s earnings from gambling houses and dance halls. Those earnings also included the money from the quiet backroom sale of coral spice. In general, Red tried to be an open-minded sort of wag. But for personal reasons, he was not fond of coral spice dealers or those who profited from them.

Filler had taken the horse off to his post, and Red stood alone in a narrow alley, his back pressed against the wall as he listened to the splash of hooves out on the muddy street. A few moments later, the lead imp on horseback trotted past, his leather-studded police helmet gleaming faintly in the sickly morning light. His gold-and-white riot armor stuck out in the drab city streets. A few moments after him came the horse-drawn strongbox cart, the driver looking half-asleep. A few more moments, and the cart was followed by the rear guard.

Red held his breath, listening to the steady clop of hooves as the rear guard passed. When they came to a halt, Red let out his breath and smiled.

He peeked around the corner. Filler sat astride the horse, silent and brooding as he blocked the road. His height and broad shoulders always made him an intimidating presence. On horseback, the effect was magnified. The rear guard moved to the front, and together the two imps approached him cautiously.

“Step aside,” said one of the imps, pushing his gold uniform jacket aside to show the pistol at his hip.

Filler did not respond.

“We’ll give you to the count of three.” The second imp drew his pistol and the other followed suit.

By this time, Red had already snuck to the back of the cart and was working at the lock.

“One,” said the imp.

As he worked the pins, Red noted that this lock had not been well maintained.

“Two.”

Red wondered how they even opened the damn thing with a key, it was such a disaster.

“Thr—”

Filler slapped his horse’s flank and took off down the next alley before they finished the word.

“You continue with the cart!” shouted the rear guard imp to the other. Then he took off after Filler.

The front guard moved forward. The cart driver snapped his reins, and the cart followed.

Red silently mouthed a curse. There wasn’t anywhere to sit on the cart, so he hooked his legs on the struts and straddled the strongbox, praying that the driver didn’t turn around. He had never tried to pick a lock that bumped and shook. He found that it was impossible. He was almost there, but he needed the cart to stop, just for a moment, so he could get the last pin.

He pulled himself up as far forward as he could go, only a few feet from the back of the driver’s head. He took a deep breath, then at the top of his lungs, shouted, “Stop in the name of the emperor!”

The driver started and instinctually yanked back on the reins. The horse and wagon came to a sudden halt. Red slid his pick into the lock, heard a satisfying click. The door popped open and he grabbed the bag of coins inside. The driver turned in his seat, fumbling with his pistol. Red jumped to the ground, then took a single coin from the sack of money he had just rescued and flicked it at the horse’s flank. The horse surged forward. The driver pitched back and slammed into the strongbox, dropping his pistol into the mud.

“Guard!” shouted the driver.

But by the time the imp wheeled his mount around, Red had ducked down the alley. From there, he climbed the gutters and pulled himself up onto the roof. He lingered long enough to watch the imp try to coax his horse into the narrow alley. But when Red laughed out loud, the imp saw him and fired his pistol. The shot glanced off the edge of the gutter, and Red took off across the rooftops, still laughing.

*  *  *

“Stop in the name of the emperor?” asked Handsome Henny.

Red had made it safely to the Drowned Rat and met up with Filler to split the money. Now he sat comfortably at his usual table with his usual drinking wags. Filler, of course; noseless Handsome Henny; and the Twins, Brimmer and Stin, who weren’t actually twins, or even brothers, but whose ginger-colored hair was so out of place in the predominately dark-haired population that everyone initially assumed they must be related. By the time anyone realized they weren’t brothers, the name had already stuck. In the Circle, a name always stuck.

Red grinned at Henny. “You sore Filler and I didn’t invite you on this one?”

“Are you kidding?” Henny leaned back in his chair. “That was a suicide attempt, plain and simple. You got lucky, as you do more often than any man should. But one of these days, an imp is going to shoot you right between those pretty red eyes of yours. That is, if they don’t hand you over to a biomancer for some unspeakable experiment.”

“They don’t even do that,” said Brimmer. Then he looked uncertainly at Stin. “Do they?”

“I hear they do,” said Stin. “My aunt? She said her nephew got taken once because he was on some citizen protest group. And when they brought his body back a month later for burial, it didn’t even look human anymore.”

“Your aunt’s nephew, huh?” Red sighed and shook his head. “You wags are worse than a bunch of wrinks, you know that? Fact is, don’t matter what they would have done to me if they caught me. Because they didn’t catch me.”

“They almost caught Filler,” said Henny. “What’d you have done then, I wonder? It’s all fine to risk yourself, I suppose. But what about your best wag?”

“They didn’t almost catch Filler.” Red turned to the large man. “Did they?”

Filler shrugged. “He was good with his horse. I wasn’t. Only reason I got away was because he heard the shot the other imp took at you and realized I was just the decoy.”

“Just as I’d planned,” said Red.

“Liar,” said Henny.

“Look, how’s about I buy us all a drink, and we let it wash away this bad taste you all seem to have.” He signaled to Prin. “A round of dark for the table, Prinny. On me.”

Prin raised an eyebrow at him. “You got coin for that?”

Red gave her a hurt look. “Why of course, Prinny. How could you doubt me?”

“Experience, that’s how,” said Prin. “Show me.”

Red held up his hand, a shining coin between each finger.

Prin’s eyes widened. “That’ll set you the rest of the night.”

“Then you’d better start ’em coming!”

“Seriously, Red,” said Henny. “Anytime you want to knock over a grocery or roll a lacy from uptown, you know I’m your wag. And even if you’ve got a grind with someone like Big Sig and his crew, I’ll back you right up. But messing with the pissing imps in broad daylight? That’s bringing unwanted attention to the whole neighborhood. That’s making it harder for all of us.”

“But don’t you see, Hen, it’s the pissing imps who deserve it,” said Red. “Robbing some poor wrink’s grocery is just balls and pricks. That kind of inside violence is what really hurts the neighborhood. Instead of picking on each other, we should join together. Strength in numbers.”

“Except Big Sig,” said Stin. “We can’t never join up with him.”

“Rot and damnation to Big Sig and the whole of Hammer Point,” agreed Brimmer. “May all their cocks and cunts drop off from the blight.”

“If I thought it would give us an edge against the imps, I would work with Big Sig in a drop,” said Red.

“Balls and pricks, you don’t mean that,” said Henny.

“I do,” said Red. “Look, they’re just like us. Maybe not as smart or good-looking. But they’re just as poor, and just as put down by the imps.”

“But—” said Henny.

“Let it go, Handsome,” said Filler. “You’re only getting him more wound up. It’s that uptown blood of his. He can’t help it, he just gets ideas.”

“It’s gonna get him and maybe us killed one of these days,” muttered Henny.

“But until then…” Red gestured grandly as Prin brought over five metal tankards of foamy dark ale. “Let’s drink!”

The evening wore on, and Prin refilled those tankards many times. Although Red was paying, his was refilled the least. That’s the way he liked it. To be the sharpest one at the table. So he nursed one drink most of the night, playing stones with Henny and beating him more easily with each round. Other wags came and enjoyed his hospitality here and there, and he’d tell them of that morning’s adventure, the number of imps increasing with each telling. He never said where the bulk of his score had gone and nobody asked, which was for the best. It was okay that Nettles knew he was taking care of Sadie, but he doubted any of those other saltheads would understand or respect it. Red was used to being alone in that. He liked it that way, too.

As evening set in, and Prin came out from behind the bar to light the oil lamps around the tavern, Red put his mud-encrusted black boots on the table.

“Filler, old wag,” he said. “Would you say you’re content?”

“Eh?” said Filler, blinking through his drunken haze.

“Happy. Are you happy?”

Filler shrugged. “I s’pose. Never really thought about it.”

“That’s the key, I suspect.” Red held up one of the gaming stones, a smooth rectangle with a painted number four on it, watching the glaze catch the lamplight. “Not to think about it so much.”

He flicked the stone and it popped into Brimmer’s mouth just as he was yawning. Brimmer started hacking as Stin pounded on his back, while Henny let loose with a high-pitched giggle, and Filler gave one of his rumbling guffaws.

Red smiled. “Me? I don’t think there’s a thing more in the world that I need than this.”

Later, he would think back ruefully on that statement and admit that he had more or less asked for what came next.

An older man walked into the Drowned Rat with the rolling gait and wool coat that marked him as a seaman. He had a broad blue hat, a curly black beard, and skin nearly as dark. Red barely paid him any mind, but what he saw next made him sit up and put his boots squarely on the floor.

Behind the seaman walked a woman around Red’s age, with the golden hair and pale, freckled skin of a Southerner. Red had always considered Southies to be somewhat sickly-looking. But there was nothing sickly about this woman. She moved like liquid steel, each step confident and utterly precise. And her eyes…they were like the frozen depths of the sea, forged into tiny daggers that stabbed him in the chest when her gaze swept every patron in the bar, assessing them.

“Who…,” he hissed, grabbing Henny’s arm hard. “Who is that wondrous creature?”

Henny followed his gaze and smirked. “That molly? I heard about her. Landed a few days ago with Captain Carmichael, the gaf she’s with there. He’s made port here times before, brings down fruit from Murgesia. Apparently, she’s his bodyguard.”

Red sighed. “She’s a pissing angel in black leather.”

“You know what that leather suit is, right?” asked Stin. “It’s a pissing Vinchen uniform.”

“Girl Vinchen?” asked Brimmer. “That’s not even allowed, I don’t think.”

“Tell that to her,” said Henny.

Captain Carmichael and his bodyguard walked to the table all the way at the back of the hall, where Deadface Drem sat with his crew.

“I thought you said this captain traded in fruit,” said Red.

“Maybe he traded up for something more lucrative.”

“But Drem? That’s serious.”

“Maybe why he got himself that ice-maiden bodyguard.”

Red watched Drem look up from his table at the sea captain, frowning slightly. He looked at the angel bodyguard, and his frown deepened even more.

Another sailor came into the hall, this one with a long mustache. He hurried over to the captain and the ice maiden. When Deadface Drem saw this latecomer, his face went blank.

“Piss’ell,” Red muttered.

“I think your molly is about to be in a world of trouble,” said Henny.