THIRTY-THREE
The rotting wood sign depicting a rusty anchor flapped in the breeze.
Aly squared her shoulders as she approached the pub.
She’d spent the last couple of days looking for work—proper, legal work, something that would allow her to avoid catching Grant’s attention and make a decent, reliable wage.
And she’d met with failure after failure.
The laundress had taken one look at her and declared she was too skinny, the stall owner at the market had said she had the look of a thief, the school hiring a cleaner had gone with the head teacher’s cousin, and the restaurant looking for a dishwasher had checked her background and learnt she was forbidden from working for guild members—something the other employers likely would have done sooner or later before hiring her, too.
She stepped into the pub, leaving footprints in the fresh sawdust. Evergreen wreaths adorned the walls, filling the air with their fresh scent, and a ribboned garland was strewn over the mantel.
It was Hogmanay, the last day of the year, and the pub was prepared for revellers later that evening.
At this time, however, after the lunchtime rush, there were only a couple of weather-beaten sailors in the chairs nearest the fire and Grizhne behind the bar.
Grizhne’s expression hardened when Aly approached. “What are you after?”
Aly glanced over her shoulder at the sailors, then leant forwards, shifting her coat as a pleat caught on the hilt of one of her knives.
Calum had taken them when he brought her to the hospital to avoid awkward questions from the nurses, and he’d returned them after he’d found her in the dosshouse.
Their weight at her back was a comfort, despite the little use they’d been when Grant had last attacked her. “Do you know anyone who’s hiring?”
The freckles on Grizhne’s forehead creased together as she frowned. “At this time of year? Nobody.”
It was true. In the depths of winter, when the harbour had filmed over with ice and merchant ships had disgorged their sailors into the city to wait out the grey and stormy months, there were few opportunities, and she’d exhausted those before coming here.
Grizhne turned and began emptying the draining board behind her onto a shelf. “Certainly not for you.”
“I’m not here on the Wulver’s behalf.”
“You’re always working on his behalf.” Grizhne didn’t even turn to look at her.
Aly peeked over her shoulder at the sailors again, then lowered her voice. “Not anymore. We’re done.”
That was enough to make Grizhne turn towards her. “Nobody’s ‘done’ with the Wulver. They’re with him or they’re dead.”
“Well, he tried to do the latter.” Aly slid her plait away from her throat. Grizhne’s throat bobbed, her eyes fixed on Aly’s neck. “So I need a way to earn some money, one that won’t draw his attention.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know that if you are, he’s not going to come after me?” Grizhne gripped the edge of the bar.
Aly exhaled, her breath quivering. “He’s not going to come after you. He’s got no reason to. As for the truth . . . well, you’ll just have to trust me.”
Grizhne let out a snort. “Trust you. Aye, right.” She turned back to the dishes.
Aly sighed, pressing her palms into the wooden bar, its surface worn smooth from years of use.
That was it. Grizhne was her last-ditch effort to find someone who could be hiring.
She couldn’t go back to thieving, not when Grant would be keeping an eye out for reports of burglaries, and the salching markets wouldn’t take Grant’s deputy, not after what he’d done to the Caoineag when he’d found Aly working there.
She scrubbed her face with her hands. She’d spent most of her money on the shifts—she wouldn’t stoop to stealing from a second-hand seller, though she had bartered them down from four shillings to one and eight—and half the remainder on rent at the dosshouse, leaving her with very little for food.
Calum’s offer was still there. He’d feed and house her without complaint.
But that would leave her beholden to him, and he was a copper.
He could destroy her life with just a few words to the right people.
With no income and no money, his home could easily become a trap if he tired of her, just as Grant’s flat had.
“The Leannan sìth’s looking for a shop assistant.”
Aly looked up. Grizhne was still turned away from her, but it was she who had spoken.
“The Leannan sìth,” Aly repeated. “You think she’ll hire me.”
Grizhne shrugged. “You asked if I knew anyone who was hiring, and she is.”
Aly pressed her hands into the bar, pushing herself upright. “Thank you,” she said quietly as she left.
It was worth a try, she supposed. Yvaani wouldn’t turn her in to Grant, of that much Aly was certain.
Whatever disdain she felt for Aly these days was far outweighed by her pure and utter loathing for Grant.
At worst, she’d throw Aly out on her arse.
If she believed Aly, she might even be willing to give a good price for whatever Aly could steal without attracting Grant’s notice.
Nothing high value, nothing that would give her a bit of breathing room, but pocket watches taken on busy streets and trinkets taken from comfortable homes.
And, if Aly was very lucky, Yvaani might even offer her protection in exchange for information.
Even Grant wouldn’t risk harming someone under the protection of a rival.
It could start an all-out war, and Grant wouldn’t go to war without planning it first.
She looked up at the three tarnished brass globes above her head, their dull brown surfaces seeming to absorb the lantern light rather than reflecting it.
An agreement to receive stolen goods was far better than Aly had at the moment, anyway.
With a deep breath, she twisted the doorknob and stepped inside.
Yvaani’s head snapped up from the book of accounts that lay open on the chipped wooden counter. Her eyes widened as she took in Aly, but she said nothing.
Aly smoothed her features. “I heard you’re hiring.”
“I’m not hiring another crime lord’s deputy.” Yvaani slammed the book shut, making Aly jump. “How thick do you think I am?”
Aly stepped forwards into the pool of light from the candelabra on Yvaani’s counter.
She lifted her plait over her shoulder, tilting her head so the light caught the bruises on her throat.
“I’m not his deputy anymore.” Her heart thumped against her sternum as she waited for Yvaani to scoff, to tell her she wasn’t falling for such a trick.
She even half-expected Yvaani to say it was what Aly deserved for taking Grant’s offer of employment in the first place.
Yvaani sucked her teeth. “You want protection, don’t you?”
Aly nodded, her mouth dry.
“I’ll be wanting more than a shop assistant in exchange for that.”
Aly smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I can give you information. On Grant.”
Yvaani pursed her lips, her gaze raking over Aly.
She said nothing for a long moment, measured out by the thudding of Aly’s heart like a metronome, then slowly said, “I hear he has private caches throughout the city, magical ones that are impossible to find unless you know what to look for. Tell me where they are and how to get into them, and we have a deal.” Her face betrayed no emotion as she looked into Aly’s eyes, just a level certainty.
The hair lifted on Aly’s arms. Grant would know she was the one who had opened a cache and given this information to Yvaani. And whatever Yvaani did with it, Grant would find out sooner or later. “You need the magic of someone he trusts to get in.”
“And I can get it.” Yvaani cocked her head. “If you give me your blood.”
“What makes you think he trusts me? He tried to kill me—and I stabbed him. He’s probably already removed my access to all of them.”
“He hasn’t.” Yvaani’s tone was short.
Aly frowned. Her fingers twitched to worry at the tassel of her braid, but it wouldn’t do to show weakness like that. She shoved her hands in her pockets. “What makes you so sure?”
“He’s arrogant. He expects you to forgive him and go crawling back.
” She tilted her head towards Aly. “So do I, for that matter. Information on my business would easily convince him to take you back.” She rolled the pen on her desk back and forth between her fingers, punctuating her words with the sound of wood rolling on wood.
“For all I know, he sent you here and gave you those bruises so I would believe you, and you’re going to report everything I say back to him. ”
Aly shook her head, panic rising in her throat. “No, I wouldn’t—”
Yvaani gave a smile with all the warmth of a cat staring at a mouse. “That’s what you would say if he had done so, though, isn’t it?” Her pen stopped rolling, and in the sudden silence Aly could hear her own trembling exhale. “Give me access to his caches, and we have a deal.”
It was a betrayal Grant couldn’t forgive, and something Grant would never condone in the effort to gain information from Yvaani—and Yvaani knew it. It was a test, to prove that Aly wasn’t spying for Grant. If she handed over this information, there would be no going back.
But there was already no going back. He knew about Calum, and he’d tried to kill her for it. Yvaani’s protection was her best chance at survival. “He’ll know it was me.”
“He will.” Yvaani folded her arms. “But he’ll also know you’re under my protection.”
“I’ll show you them.”
“Then we have a deal.”
Aly’s shoulders slumped as though they’d been carrying a tremendous weight that only now lifted. “There’s one more thing you should know.”
Yvaani raised her eyebrows.
Aly gestured to her throat. “The reason Grant did—this—is because he found out that I was working with the guards against him.”
Yvaani let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot braver than I’ve ever given you credit for.” She leant on the counter. “Or perhaps just a lot more foolish than I thought you were.”