Lapis scurried across a narrow crossroad to the lengthy evening shadows of the next building, glancing at the five men who walked opposite her, on the broader, busier street. Intent on their target, they did not bother to see if they, too, had stalkers.
Tearlach firmed lips and tenseness expressed his concern for the rebel they followed far more than words. He padded after her, and she cast him a reassuring smile before Rin hissed and waved them to his position.
The grime-crusted, thin alley contained stacked crates and barrels with unkowns inside, and from the smell wafting from several, Lapis did not want to know what they held. That the rat speedily maneuvered through it caused her to question how often he escaped down the way, but her questions would need answering at another time—the same time she would have a heart-to-heart about inviting himself into dangerous situations.
Taking advantage of his apprentice status did not impress her.
“We c’n gets in fronts of ‘m,” Rin whispered, pointing further on. “They’s all headin’ t’ Coin. Lotsa people, n’ we might lose ‘m.”
She nodded and glanced at the tense rebel. Tearlach had not expected trouble, but his excitement in meeting the man died when the lookouts on top of the roof alerted them he passed the Eaves without a glance. His refusal to enter meant someone tailed him—and those someones looked like shanks, though far better dressed than the typical Grey or Stone Streets ruffian. They did not sport the most expensive, shiny Dentherion shirts, but the fabric gleamed bright enough, the items must have cost more than a few bits to purchase.
To complete the look, they sported neatly styled hair, and she did not think a grain of dirt marred them. No lower city shank would remain that pristine unless they just washed in anticipation of a date.
Rin pelted down the alley, and Lapis could not quite keep his long stride. Annoying rat, she needed to have a talk with him about leaving partners behind. When out together, they were a team, which meant working together, not near each other but separate. She filed it away, to join the long list of things she wished to discuss with him, if she recalled them during a safer time.
She caught another glimpse of the shanks; one fitted a gauntlet on his arm, a twin to the weapon used by the hunter she fought. Dammit, they came armed with new tech.
Rin halted at the dead end, and she snagged his wrist before looking at Tearlach. “They have one of those lightning gauntlets,” she told them. “They’re in a crowd, and too many might be hurt if we confront them.”
The rebel’s stress was a punch in the gut. She tightened her hold on the rat. “They don’t look like locals, so I’m betting we can slip him away when we get to Coin,” she assured him. “Rin, what’s the best way out?”
“Up the Rafter’s alley, there’s a ladder t’ the top. Gotsa pole t’ slide down the other side, ‘n can gets to a tunnel grate. Knows how t’ get to the House from there.”
“You and Tearlach get there and be ready. I’ll go grab him.”
“Lanth—”
“What’s his name?”
“It should be me.”
“Maybe, but I’ve fought someone with a lightning gauntlet before. And if I attack, no one in the Grey Streets will think twice about it because they know black-haired, purple-eyed Lanth is a chaser. They might just assume you’re a shank and get the guard.”
He pursed his lips. “His rebel name is Cena, but call him Glade. It’s the nickname he used as a kid, and he’ll know you’re a rebel. If he still doubts, use my other name.”
She patted Tearlach’s arm in support before slipping to the entrance. The other two proceeded on a rat route, which should enlighten the rebel on the precarious nature of urchin escape routes. She peered around the corner at the brown-cloaked man keeping step with the stop-and-go crowd. Even hunched, he stood a head taller than the average resident, an effortless spot; lucky for him, enough revelers staggered around to distract his tail, who did more shooing of annoying drunks than paying attention to their target.
Smiling, she slid behind an obnoxious group of smithy boys and wobbled her way to the man.
He walked with the tense alertness of someone who had trouble and frantically pondered how to escape from it. Hopefully he did not overreact and pull a weapon when she bumped into him.
Which, oddly, the smithy boys assisted in. One swung his arms wide and those around him scurried to avoid a hit; she stumbled into Cena. He caught her, righted her, and she giggled and wrapped her arm about his muscular, sleeveless arm.
“Um—” he began.
“Hello, I’m Lanth,” she said congenially. “And you’re Glade. I’ve been told by a very special man you need a teensy bit of aid.”
He looked down at her through black bangs, disbelief vying with laughter in his deep brown eyes. “A man?”
“Teucer.” His startlement somewhat amused her.
The smithy roared again, and she looked back, as annoyed as others in the crowd. The men trailing him appeared none too happy with her arrival, and one smacked his buddy on the arm and flung his hand at them, agitated.
“Well, now, it looks as if they’re in a bind,” she murmured. “One of them has a new tech weapon, a gauntlet that unsheathes a wire with lightning. I fought a shank wielding one, and while I won, I’d rather not repeat the experience—especially not in a crowd.”
He gave the minutest of nods. “They were at the Kells Gate,” he told her, low enough only she heard. “I’m uncertain how they knew to follow me.”
“We’ll get you safe first,” she said. “Then I’ll come back with help, see if they’re still around.”
He half-laughed. “You look a lot like Faelan,” he said stated.
She pursed her lips. “Everyone says that,” she grumbled, tugging at her strands. “We don’t see it.” Though, perhaps, inheriting their mother’s black hair and purple eyes proved an asset in this circumstance.
Coin Street bustled with residents out for a good time, some desperately so. Maybe the skyshroud leaving prompted more to step outside their homes rather than remain hunkered over their tables and staring fearfully east, wondering when the Dentherions would strike. The raid on Ruddy’s only enhanced frightened expectancy, but now that the enemy had left, the Grey Streets could take a deep breath and enjoy life once again.
The brightly lit stretch contained eateries, bars, and stores that remained open long into the early morning. Lapis preferred the Night Market or the Lells, but Coin had its charms. She enjoyed going into the small fortune-telling establishment and taking a deep breath of incense. The owners burned exotic, delectable scents, and she appreciated the nice after a walk through unwashed bodies. She had bought a cheap necklace or two there, nothing fancy, and inwardly scoffed at the healing properties the crystals supposedly granted the wearer. If such things worked, the rich would hoard them.
Buskers and players in colorful outfits stood on the corners, shouting and laughing and strumming and drumming. A few performed folk dances, bouncy and joyful, rather than the staid court ones where the nobles seemed unable to stand one another long enough to touch fingers, let alone swing their partners around. Bit bowls overflowed, showing that the crowd leaned towards generous that night.
She caught the flash of bright green down the street and focused. A loose crowd surrounded a tall man in a black top hat, clapping and laughing, while he snatched another scarf from midair. His presence did not surprise her, considering his penchant for nightly walks. Who else accompanied him? She tugged on Cena’s arm.
“Have you met Carnival?”
“No, but I know about him.”
“Well, he’s here. And he’s going to be our distraction.”
He frowned, but she pulled him through the crowd, towards the Shaloar rebel standing in the center of a small circle, his sleight of hand catching the interest of casual passers-by. To the side, shaking heads and muttering at each other, arms folded, stood Moxie and her crew with Jarosa, Lykas and Jandra next to them, staring in enchanted awe.
Better and better.
“That’s Carnival,” she told him. He cast her a startled look, and she grinned. “Yeah, it was a surprise for me, too. Maybe more so for him, though. He’s with his second and Jarosa.”
“I’ve met Jarosa,” he murmured, and the tenseness in his muscles flowed away.
“Please trust, that I want to help you reach the House,” she said. She did not blame him for his skepticism, but if he had met Jarosa, her presence should put him at ease concerning Lapis’s sincerity. “Then you can ask Tearlach all about me and how he knew me as a kid.” She jerked her chin towards the rebels. “Let’s go have a chat with our fellows about it.”
She thought they sneaked up behind them, but Jarosa turned, ruining the budding satisfaction. “I thought you were at the Eaves.” She eyed the man, and his arm became clammy. People underestimated the woman’s intensity because of her short stature and bouncy brown curls, but she intimidated even the grandest noble when she planted her dark stare on them.
“I was,” she admitted. “But our dear friend here needed help.”
“That’s not good news.”
“No, and one of the men following him has a lightning gauntlet.”
“That’s even worse.” Jarosa sighed, then narrowed her eyes. “I remember you. Tearlach introduced us.”
He bowed his head. “Yes, he did. Cena,” he said.
She nodded at the confirmation of his name. Moxie edged closer, to hear better over the roars of approval for Carnival’s increasingly impressive tricks.
“Since Carnival is being his usual magical self, I thought we’d use the distraction,” Lapis told them.
“What’s the plan?” the Ramiran rebel asked.
“I’ve seen who’s trailing him. If you get him to the House, I’ll make certain they don’t follow.” She waved the rats over; they gave Carnival a last look before hustling to her. “Lykas, Rin said there’s a ladder by Rackets that leads to a tunnel.”
He nodded. “It’s easy to get to, and unless you know where the pole is, it’s hard to see.”
“Can you get Cena to the tunnel?”
“I’ll go with,” Moxie said. “Jarosa’s better in a face-to-face confrontation.”
The woman smiled so wide, that Lapis felt a tinge sorry for the shanks. If they attacked, she doubted they would leave Coin on anything but a stretcher. As veritiate deathknell, any guards who showed up to the scene would leave Jarosa well alone to carry out her mischief; no use getting the Meint riled up by arresting their religious leader.
“Cena, this is Moxie, Lykas and Jandra. Lykas, consider this ‘keeper training. That means keep to the task at hand and don’t do anything stupid.”
Jandra nudged his unamused self with her elbow. “That’s why you send us girls with them,” she said. His purse-lipped offense grew, but, as an intelligent lad, he kept quiet about it.
Moxie drew them behind her fellows, who spanned out to fill the vacant space and effectively hid their retreat. She and Jarosa remained in the way, which gave them a good view of the shanks when they arrived, harried and annoyed, pushing up on tiptoe to peek over the heads surrounding them.
“They aren’t hiding their intent, are they?” Jarosa muttered.
“Nope. I think part of that is their feeling out of place and uncertain in a strange environment. They aren’t Grey or Stone Streets guttershanks. Our underground can’t afford the shiny Dentherion-made clothing.”
A scattering of bright paper confetti rained over them; the roaring applause caused both to sigh. Lapis fluffed out her hair, the bits taking to the air and slowly wafting to the ground. Carnival grinned and swept his hat to the side, bowing to them. With a loud cheep, Airbelle hopped out of the crown and sank her small talons into the brim. The women aaahhhed and gushed about his precious helper. Airbelle had that effect on people, as cute and chubby as she was.
He straightened and the little bird popped into the air and soared to his head, plucking at his ear. She withdrew a fake coin and deposited it into the hat. The crowd laughed and clapped as she danced about his arms and head, snicking coins from all sorts of bends and crevices while he exaggerated a plethora of shocked expressions.
The shanks tried to worm about and vacate the immediate area, uninterested in entertainment, but the audience drew closer to watch the clever little bird, and they could not push through without calling unwanted attention to themselves. They glared at Carnival, then scanned the crowd; when they noticed her, their expressions changed and their heads darted about, searching for her absent companion. Antsy disbelief replaced expectancy when they realized he no longer stood with her.
Lykas and Jandra had long left the show, rebels in tow.
Airbelle finally landed back on the hat and cheeped before hopping inside. The crowd cheered as Carnival bowed to them, then gasped as he straightened and flipped it between his fingers; the coins and the bird should have fallen out in an undignified heap. He held it upside down before placing it on his head and whisking his hand to the side; Airbelle sat in his palm, rocking and tweeting merrily.
“And now, I must be off,” Carnival announced with pleased cheerfulness.
“When’s your next show?” someone called as bits rang against a bowl placed just to his side.
“Ah, my friend, I’m a mere visitor enjoying the sights,” he said. “But, if the urge to perform strikes, I’ll make my way here again.”
Calls to continue from eager individuals pushing forward, coupled with the crowd dispersing, sent the shanks into the wall. They hovered there, glancing at her and her companions, realizing that their prey had vanished. Their disgusted unease amused her.
“How many?” Jarosa asked. “Five?”
“Yeah.”
“Five what?” Carnival asked as he approached, bowl in hand. He gave it to one of his fellows, who accepted with a long-suffering sigh before assuring the interested that no, the magic man would not have another performance that night.
“Shanks,” Jarosa said. “But, as usual, you provided the best distraction.”
He placed a hand to his breast. “My dear Jarosa, high praise, indeed.”
They both had teasing tones and smiles and twinkles in their eyes. If she did not know better, she would have assumed them lovers, the way they looked at each other.
Maybe they were. That explained why Jarosa felt free to send him a letter telling him to get his ass to Jiy. In her Wolf Collaborate role, she was more respectful to leaders of other rebellions than that.
Carnival made the required smile-and-demure to the disappointed insta-fans before they moved out of the way to an empty space on the sidewalk.
“One of them has a lightning gauntlet,” Lapis said, lowering her voice so it did not carry. “It looks near identical to the one the hunter I fought wore.”
“Faelan mentioned something of it,” he said as his fellows crowded in. “We didn’t encounter anything similar on our tour, so this is a Jilvayna-specific development. I never would have thought new tech would pop up here. Abastion, maybe. They do love thumping their chests at Dentheria and daring her to squash their rebelliousness.”
“Maybe we can lead them into a back alley somewhere,” Jarosa said. “Then ask where they got it.”
The deathknell rarely asked nicely. She never kept her temper in check when dealing with the underhanded she considered a dire threat to herself or those she cared for.
“We need to lure them away from the crowds,” Lapis agreed. “They’re antsy now that they’ve realized they lost their target, and we don’t need them pulling their weapons on innocent bystanders. They saw me with him, so they might follow me with the hopes of confronting me and getting me to talk.”
“Well, we have a ready-made reason to find a secluded place,” Carnival said, waving at the full bowl. “Tucking bits away, out of sight, out of mind.”
Lapis did not think it would work, but how else might she convince the shanks to follow them, other than to waltz up to them and declare her intentions? Picturing Faelan’s reaction to that, she sighed.
Carnival found a niche that did not stink of bodily waste, much to her surprise. Drunken revelers did not much care where they relieved themselves, as long as it stood somewhat out of sight of passers-by. She had captured a stake or two on a piss break, and they really hated her interruption, for a number of small reasons.
A melodramatic shadow blocked the ambient light of the street as they pretended to divide the take. She pushed her lips into the back of her hand to hide her giggles, rather than shuddering and preparing for a fight, because she could not quite grasp the seriousness she needed for the confrontation, and blamed Carnival since he rarely expressed solemn anything.
“If you plan to take my take, be prepared for a thrashing,” Carnival called, cheerful and unconcerned.
The shanks drew knives and stepped into the secluded space. Carnival’s people responded in like. Jarosa’s deadly smile crashed against Carnival’s humor, but instead of obliterating each other, the emotions blended into a strange mix of joyous, dark expectancy.
The one with the special gauntlet raised his hand and triggered the wire, a cruel snarl parting his lips; a terrible rankness followed, and liquid leaked down the leather, dribbling to the ground. The lightning spluttered, then roared to life, engulfing his arm. Flames leapt from it, hungrily reaching for anything to devour.
Shit.
His buddies took off, and Lapis rushed to him, triggering her blade, gagging on the stank of burnt flesh and cloth and metal. He screamed and wagged his arm about, sending flicks of flame careening into the air; one of Carnival’s people took his legs out and he fell, into the fiery puddle of liquid. She sliced the leather, and it dropped from him as he jerked his arm away. Two others yanked his shirt off, the fabric becoming ash in their hands, and rolled him.
Since the alley was an alley, the pavement had long-ago cracked into pieces, with several chunks missing. Jarosa kicked the gauntlet into one of those, and Carnival covered it with dirt, killing the flames.
Both Jhor and Cassa warned of it, but having seen the tech go up, Lapis did not think their description did the terrifying experience justice.
“He’s going to need a doctor,” one of the others called over the crying gulps of pain.
“There’s an underdoctor here, on Coin Street,” she told them. “The clinic’s only open at night, and he serves injured chasers and shanks.” She had yet to endure Mercy’s Hands as a patient, and she gratefully thanked the non-existent gods for that boon. Topher was a grumpy old man with a grumpy old clinic and grumpy old nurses. They had some relation with the Meint and helped the most desperate with the supplies they got from the religious organization, but Lapis would rather suffer than visit. The smell of sweaty desperation that filled the hallways while she awaited care for a rat always made her choke.
She glanced at the injured man, realizing they needed to flag down a cartman. He would never make it, otherwise.
