Rhian

We must have been about ten years old.

Every fourth day, it was our job to brush the horses. We’d talk about our lessons, and about going back to Hollyhock someday. Feargus chatted about his folks, and how he’d hoped he’d see them again soon. He missed them. I didn’t understand.

“Reckon we’ll be bindeded like them one day?” I remember him asking.

“Naw,” I replied. “It’s bad luck. Remember the lass with the pointy nose that taught us tumblin’?”

Gus remembered.

“Aye, she got bindeded with that man with the big freckle on his face,” I said. "Have you seen the lass with the pointy nose lately?”

Gus hadn’t.

“What about the man with the big freckle?”

Gus hadn’t seen him, either.

“See?” I said. “Bad. Luck.”

That was the same day Gus bet I’d outlive him, and I bet he’d outlive me.

“How’s about you’ll owe me a note if I’m right?” he said.

“All right,” I said. “And how’s about you’ll owe me a note if I’m right?”

So it was decided, until we realized we couldn’t make good on the bet if one of us were dead. Point is: I went back to Oskari with gifts and good news for my friends, and in return, I got a bunch of lies.

Seated around the table at The House, everyone was staring at me as if I was about to lose my goddess-be-damned mind. Michael. Adeline. Strauss. Belly—for whatever random reason. Even That Varis was looking awkward.

Strauss must have drawn the short stick. He’d been given the honour of breaking the bad news, and I’d never seen the man struggle so much to say a few words.

Strauss bloody loves words.

“Right,” I said. “Where’s it say that?”

“The notice came from the Councilwoman,” he said. He hadn’t changed at all while I was gone. He was still pretty as they come—pretty tired, pretty pale, and pretty filthy. I also remember his eyes being a bit glassy. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

“Naw, it’s a load of horseshite anyhow,” I said. “Where have I got to sign?”

They all carried on staring. Adeline carried on crying.

“Right,” I said. “Nice talking, then.”

I dropped the weapons I’d brought back from Verena. Cling, clang, bang and whatnot before I stomped out the door. Feargus Finlay dead? That was a good one. Couldn’t be sure which was worse: the fact they all looked at me with the pity face, or the fact they all believed it. But never mind. It wasn’t long afore the door cracked open behind me.

“Enforcer Rhian,” Adeline said. “It’s not safe out there. Will you please come back inside if we give you a quill and promise to speak?”

Poor lass. Always trying so bloody hard.

“That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” I said. “None of you have got a thing interesting to say.”

“Would you like something to eat?”

“Nope.”

“To drink?”

“Nope.”

“Would you like to sleep? You can have the bed.”

“Nope.”

When Adeline closed the door, I padded over to the pond, plunked down in the snow, cracked open my fancy flask, and took a sip. Oi, don’t judge—the Hocks was replaced with lemon water. What a waste, but whatever. That flask was a nice piece of work. It cheered me up using it, and the fact it was old made it all the more interesting.

It had probably seen a lot of a things—if it had eyes.

Anyhow. Just like knocks, you can tell a lot by the way a door opens. This time it was slow, cautious, and about half-way wide. I gestured “Come here,” and Strauss came around beside me and sat. He didn’t even seem to mind the ground was cold and wet.

We both turned to look through the window back into The House, and when we didn’t see That Varis sitting at the table, we reached for each other’s hand.

“Emerich Bach was murdered this evening and the evidence points to you,” Strauss said.

It was thoughtful of him, acting normal and whatnot.

“Again?” I asked.

“Your throwing star. The one the Legacy crafted. Do you have it?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Then there might be tension with the Commander. He’s in a difficult position.”

Reckon I shrugged. “How was The Place?”

“Save for one unexpected twist, it rather satisfies both our needs.”

“Only one?” I asked. “When do we leave?”

“Well, it’s a rather big twist.”

“Is it gonna change my life?”

“Yes.”

“Is it gonna change my life right this second?”

“Not exactly, but—”

“Save it, then,” I said. “I’m tired.”

Frankly, I was surprised I hadn’t keeled over and died. I’d been sleeping like shite lately, even with the help of Alexander’s fluffy pink pillows.

“And what of your adventure?” Strauss asked.

“It was the exact opposite of fun, but I got what we needed.”

“You know what’s fun about fun, Rhian?” said a voice from behind.

Strauss turned around, but I couldn’t be bothered.

“What’s fun about fun, Rhian, is that we get to have it together,” the Crazy Bitch said. “But before you panic, I’m not here to fight. I really do like you people—especially you two—and I’m starting to think all this violence is unnecessary.”

“Right-e-o.” I waggled my fingers over my shoulder. “Ta-ta Lidia.”

“Don’t be silly, Rhian. I haven’t had the chance to make my proposal.” There was a pause where I reckoned she was doing something like drumming her fingers together evilly. “Speaking of proposals—look at you two! Holding hands in public. Have you told him yet?”

It was a rough job keeping my mouth shut, but I wasn’t about to play into her hand.

“Tell me what?” Strauss asked, looking from the Crazy Bitch, to me, and back again.

“That she loves you, of course. Despite what you might think, I’ve been rooting for you this whole time. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you both look really good naked.”

Stolen novel; please report.

The door opened again. This time, it was quick and all the way wide, no hesitation.

Michael must have been listening, and I hoped he’d brought Intrepi-what-the-bloody-ever with him. I could have done with a bit of head lopping around then.

“Commander Reider,” the Crazy Bitch said. I could practically hear the smile. “It’s good to finally meet you face-to-face.”

“Afraid I can’t say the same,” Michael said.

I glanced over at Strauss then. He had his brow all twisted up in knots.

“Well, I’ve tried and I’ve tried to be nice,” the Crazy Bitch said. “But we all know what this is going to come down to, don’t we? A big showdown where either all of you die, or I die—again. How boring of you. So, let’s make it interesting for me. Three nights from tonight—party at the ruins of the old Vonsinfonie Academy? How’s that sound? Too soon? Not soon enough? I already made sure you wouldn’t have to go shopping for clothes.”

Apparently, Michael thought a party sounded all right. They planned to meet after nightfall, two leagues west of the grove of the weepy trees or some such nonsense. All that goddess-be-damned fairness was going to be the death of us all. If it were me, I’d have said sunrise. Let the fuckers fight blind. But Michael Reider was an honourable man, wasn’t it?

And that just wouldn’t do.

----------------------------------------

After meeting with the Crazy Bitch, Michael and Strauss agreed there wouldn’t be any sense surprising her before the party. She’d expect it from us the same way we expected it from her. ‘Course, I had a pocket full of pieces and one of them went by the name of Vincent Delestade. Also, I had a plan of my own.

I couldn’t have assembled a better team myself.

“Enforcer Rhian, I urge you to consult the Commander,” Adeline said for about the hundredth time. She’d done a decent job of the workshop since I’d been gone. Light bounced about the place during the day, reflecting the mirrors she’d mounted on the walls and strung from the ceiling. She’d even gone ahead and built a workbench. “He and I do not always see eye-to-eye, but—”

The front door burst open and a big Amali man wrapped in furs barged in. He stomped the snow off his boots and shook like a wet dog.

“The weather in this goddess-forsaken territory is as miserable as I remember,” he said.

And then I saw him as I knew him. Average Delphi height. Average Delphi weight. There was nothing all that special about Vincent Delestade apart from the fact his hair was whiter than mine and his face was a sculptor’s wet dream.

“Adeline,” I said. “Meet Vincent. Vincent, Adeline.”

“It’s such an honour to finally meet you, mister Delestade,” she said, and then she handed him a cup of tea. We were expecting the company, and if you think the Squeaky Lass should have been impressed by Delestade’s trick, well, she wasn’t.

She hadn’t seen the illusion in the first place.

“Thank you, darling.” Delestade dusted the top of a barrel in the corner before he sat and started sipping his tea. “Your scout, has he returned?”

“Bells is an excellent messenger,” I said. “One of our fastest, and unless he’s been cornered, I reckon we’ve got—”

The door swung open and slammed shut again.

“We’ve got a problem,” Bells said.

And now it’s time to pause for a story. See, all those years ago when Delestade was investigating the same way we were, he discovered something in the old schoolhouse-slash-tavern that we hadn’t. It was a scene like our scene, only he hadn’t fallen through the floor. Seeing as he had a thing about theatre, he poked around backstage instead. He was tickled pink imagining all the bits and bobs and pieces of time he’d find, but all he got were some stairs leading underground, a tunnel, and one of Those Things coming straight at him. Long story short, Vinny didn’t stick around long enough to find out where the tunnel went.

Enter, Bells.

“It was a straight line for a good while,” he said. “I didn't stay to scout out any other exits, er—I'll be honest, I played it safe.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But I reckon it wasn’t a straight line to nowhere.”

“Nope, it was a straight line into loads of corridors. A catacomb, breaking off into clusters of isolated chambers. Counted about thirty of those chambers. There were at least a dozen tracks along the way. Most of them led straight to those cupboards in the wall—the ones they shove the caskets in. Whatever they're bloody called. If I had to guess, they've hollowed out the ground behind them and are living back there."

“Direction?” I asked.

“Southwest.”

“Brilliant,” I said. “Distance?”

“About three leagues.”

“Brilliant,” I said again. “All right. Well done, mate.”

It's what I was hoping for, that the tunnel under the old schoolhouse-slash-tavern led straight to the crypts under the church in Oskari. Of all the things Alexander knew, exactly where his sister lived wasn't one of them. She kept a lot from him, and he was happy keeping away from her and the rest of Those Things. Bells was making sense, and if he was wrong—well, remember those times I said no plan is the best plan, sometimes?

“Bells, you’re with Blanchett from now on,” I said. “Do everything she says, and after she’s done with you, get the hells out. Forget the rest of us. Head straight back to Palisade and tell Kelly everything, follow?”

Bells nodded. “Aye, aye.”

“How comfortable are you with black powder, mister Bells?” Adeline asked, and then she brought him a cup of tea, too.

Bells motioned, “So-so,” and then he tried taking a sip. But the Squeaky Lass had other ideas. She snatched the mug, grabbed his arm, and dragged him upstairs.

Poor Belly. He’d come for a signature and got whatever this was instead.

Delestade traded his barrel for a chair at the table. “Quite the enigmatic entourage you have, Enforcer,” he said. “But where is the half-breed?”

“Studying at The House since this morning,” I said. “Meaning, we’ve got about three hours until he notices we’re gone.”

“Why not include him? The man practically perspires power.”

“Number one, our target’s got a priest kink. She’s already killed three—including your friend Keller. We found him in Istok. Condolences, by the way.”

Delestade frowned. “Thank you. I did start to wonder if this Lidia Ruza was the same woman I told you about at the theatre—the one who drove my friend mad.”

“Stands to reason,” I said.

“And number two?” Delestade asked.

I understood in that moment why he might not want to have a conversation about his dead friend. “Number two, Strauss has the knowledge and our Commander's got the strength. If this goes sideways, they’ll have another chance. I’m the disposable one.”

“I beg to differ, Rhian Sinclair, but I see your point.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter and whatnot.” I didn’t even have to shout.

In walked Alexander, dressed like a common man that day—none of those fancy furs and leathers. Teeth followed beside him. Clean, proud, and she didn’t even seem bothered by the leash. A guide-wolf. Clever. But it was a sunny day, and the man could hardly see a bleeding thing for himself. I scurried around, flipping around as many mirrors as I could, and I closed the shutters. I didn’t offer him anything to eat or drink.

That would have been rude.

After Alexander’s eyes adjusted, he had a good look around. “It feels strange to be home.”

“When was the last time you were here?” I asked.

“Not once since my parents died over three-hundred-fifty years ago.”

“How did they?” Delestade asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Alexander didn’t seem to mind. He joined us at the table.

“Illness, I believed, until I discovered a few years ago it was my sister. She killed them while I watched, and had my memory wiped as a boy.”

Delestade clicked his tongue. “My word, I can hardly imagine.”

While the gentlemen did gentlemanly things, I ran the plan over in my head about a thousand times. I trusted Alexander, I trusted Bells, I trusted Adeline, and for the purpose of getting revenge on Lidia and wrapping things up in a tidy way, I trusted Vincent Delestade. There was just one last thing he needed to do.

“All right, Vinny,” I said. “Out you go. I’ll get the others.”

Delestade smiled, stood, and then he left.

“Story time?” I asked Alexander.

“Story time,” he said.

“Oi!” I shouted upstairs. “Get your arses down here.”

Adeline bounced down the stairs until she stopped at the third step from the bottom. “There is a wolf in my shop.”

Teeth yipped, and I gave her a pat on the head.

The Squeaky Lass didn’t move a goddess-be-damned muscle, except to ask, “Why is there a wolf in my shop?”

I explained, and Adeline joined us around the table.

Bells wasn’t too bothered by Teeth, but he sure as shite wasn’t looking thrilled. ‘Course, that might have had something to do with the fact he was being sent on a mission from hell. Lucas Bellamy was a good kid. I didn’t like asking so much of him, but I also wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think he’d have it in the bag.

Knock, knock.

“Belly,” I said. “Mind getting that?”

He didn’t mind. At least not until he opened the door and slammed it shut again in the same breath. “It’s her,” he whispered. “It’s Lidia!”

“Go on,” I said. “Invite her in.”

Bells threw the door open and at the same time, leaped backward.

On the other side, Vincent Delestade frowned. “Is there a problem, mister Bellamy?”

Shaking his head, Bells shrunk into the corner. “She was just here, I swear—I’m not seeing things. I—I think we need a new plan. I don’t think I signed up for this.”

“None of us signed up for squat as far as I recall,” I said. “Trouble is, I haven’t got time to convince anyone of anything at the minute. I don’t wanna pull rank on account of we’re old pals, but I’m not above it.”

Delestade stepped inside and closed the door. The Squeaky Lass sighed. Alexander smiled. Nobody argued, and everybody settled.

Vinny’s illusion worked perfectly, and the man was an excellent actor. But if we were going to keep Strauss, Michael, and That Varis distracted while we did what we had to do, our Crazy Bitch had to be on point, right down to all the nitty-gritty details. Bells and Adeline also needed to know exactly who they might encounter while enacting The Plan, and that’s where Alexander came in.

“Everybody, meet Alexander. He’s one of Those Things, Lidia Ruza’s brother, and generally a sharper dresser. You have questions, he’s got answers. Make the best of it.”

There were smiles, and waves, and names, and on, and on it went for goddess-be-damned weeks while I sat. Adeline wanted to know all about their abilities. Delestade wanted to know more about their lives. Look, there wasn’t a whole lot going on that we haven’t already covered in our interludes. All except one thing.

“I must know,” Delestade said. “After surviving your sister’s torment for so many years, how did it end?”

“It has not,” Alexander replied.

“Mister Ruza,” the Squeaky Lass squeaked. “I believe he wishes to know how you died.”

Aye, good on her. No time for tact.