Chapter 3
Three
Ivy
It feels like years since I last stepped through the broad doorway of the Frolic Theater. On the threshold, I restrain the urge to glance over my shoulder toward the derelict storage building where I had the men and our horses lay low for the time being.
The gang that rules Crow’s Close keeps a close eye on comings and goings. I don’t want to give them the slightest clue where I’ve left my allies.
This negotiation is going to require the most delicate of touches. I’m just lucky that one of the head honchos owes me.
We’re going into that den of criminals again? Julita murmurs from the back of my head as I walk to the inner door with Kosmel’s sigil carved over it. Do you really think you can get them to help us?
“We’ll see,” I whisper as if to myself, and slip down the musty stairwell into the darkness below.
A right turn beneath the stairs, then a winding pattern of steps in the passage where the darkness is thick enough to suffocate. I hurry out into the matching basement room and up the stairs to the enclosed street that’s Florian’s biggest hub of criminal activity.
On the front step outside the theater’s echoed facade, I pause to take in the strip. It’s both less busy and less vibrant in the mid-day light, the kind of place that comes to life with the sinking of the sun.
The usual conjured illusions still shimmer over some of the doorways of the wooden buildings, though other shops haven’t even opened for the day yet. Their owners are probably sleeping off last night’s exploits.
A few disreputable-looking characters slink along the narrow dirt road, one ducking into the Brew & Dagger pub that’ll have just opened. My gaze lingers on the sign with a pang of longing for one of their amber spritzes.
It would take the edge off all the tension of the day, but I’ve got urgent work to do here.
On the other side of the street to my left, the largest building in Crow’s Close looms. The darkly varnished wooden structure holds three floors, the lowest one a public gambling den and the upper two dedicated to the private exploits of the most powerful crooks in the city.
Kosmel’s sigil stands out in silver paint against the dark boards over the crooked doorway, framed by a carved crow on one side and a rat on the other. As I watch, one of the other stealthy figures prowling the street slinks through the entrance.
I just have to hope that Garom Rochimek has roused himself from his bed already.
I tug my cloak closer around me. The noble-style silk gown beneath it itches at my skin with the awareness that it’s nothing like what I’d typically wear on a visit to this street.
Opulent clothes aren’t totally out of place among the criminal element, but most of us prefer not to draw attention. It’s a good thing I have a reputation to precede me. Otherwise I’d look like an easy target.
I stride across the road and beneath the divine symbols over the doorway, thinking a silent prayer at Kosmel. How about helping me get out of yet another sticky situation? It does seem to be your specialty.
He doesn’t answer, but then, I don’t really expect him to. The trickster godlen is fickle about how and when he chooses to communicate.
Plenty of clerics would be astonished to hear he ever bothered to speak to me with his actual voice in the first place.
As we step into the building, Julita lets out a soft hum. Well, this is an interesting approach to worship. I suppose it’s fitting to the godlen being honored.
From the first glimpse of the interior, it’s obvious the building is meant as a temple to Kosmel as well as its business purposes. Carvings of Kosmel’s symbols and paintings of scenes from his legendary exploits decorate every wall of the expansive room that’s a gambler’s paradise.
And in the center of the space, the ceiling is open all the way up to the roof three floors overhead. A massive silver statue of the godlen stands in that column of open space, only visible up to his thighs from where I’m poised.
I’ve always wondered how the members of the Black Talons feel about having the trickster godlen staring right into their private quarters.
Considering their typical moral code, maybe the gang members take comfort in the close proximity.
Their illicit organization acts as the clerics and devouts of this temple.
The heads of three families combined forces to form the Black Talons ages ago. I scan the sprawl of tables around the statue for the specific figure I’m looking for, the current patriarch of the Rochimek family.
Only a few of the tables are in use this early in the day: a couple of rounds of cards going on at one side of the room and a cluster of gamblers trying their luck with dice at the other. The rattling sound bounces off the ceiling.
A couple of figures sit at the bar at the back of the room. A greasy, peppery scent wafts from that direction—the kitchen has gotten started on the fried goldrud root that gamblers consider a lucky snack.
And a middle-aged man with rumpled blond hair lounges by an otherwise empty table near the card-players, nursing a mug of ale. His baggy clothes give the impression of plumpness, a patchwork of stains and darning decorating the shabby fabric.
There’s dressing down, and then there’s outright slobbery. But in this case, I know it’s all by design.
Keeping my expression cool, I smile inwardly and amble over to join the apparent vagrant.
I’d imagine Garom noted my arrival from the first moment, but he doesn’t glance over to acknowledge me until I’m just a few paces from his table. As I lower myself into the chair next to him, he offers a reserved nod. “Ivy. It’s been a while.”
You’re on a first name basis with this vagabond? Julita says with a note of disbelief. Apparently Garom’s disguise has worked on her.
I figure it’s best to cut right to the chase. He’s a man who appreciates frankness.
“I wish I had a better reason to visit. I need to cash in the favor you owe me.”
Garom’s eyebrows rise beneath the messy locks of his supposed hair. He pushes to his feet. “I guess we’d better take this to my office, then.”
He keeps up the vagabond act all the way to the staircase in the back corner, adding a shuffle to his walk as if he isn’t totally steady on his feet. The moment we pass out of view of the gambling den, his strides lengthen.
I trail behind him up to the second floor. The torso of Kosmel’s statue gleams at the other end of a hall that branches off into several rooms.
Garom pushes into one of those rooms. The moment the door has thudded shut behind me, he tugs off his wig.
The heads of the other two families in the Black Talons make regular appearances on the first floor in sharp suits and polished shoes that emphasize their success.
Garom prefers to take a more subtle tactic.
He hangs around the gambling tables regularly in the guise of an aging drunkard to observe how his patrons behave when they don’t think they’re being monitored.
The wig is necessary because of the typical sacrifice all members of the Black Talons families make. Beneath the fake hair, Garom’s head is bald, a mix of shaved scalp and the scars where a cleric carved that scalp right off during his twelfth-year dedication ceremony.
Each member has a different pattern scored into the flesh over their skull. Garom’s is made up of lines as chaotically woven as the streets of Tangleside.
I’ve heard people whisper that it’s a maze with only one start point and end, not that anyone will have had the chance to test out that theory.
Garom drops into the chair behind his sturdy oak desk and studies me with keener eyes than he showed on the floor below. His gaze skims over my clothing. “You’ve gotten all dolled up for the occasion. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”
“It’s a long story,” I say. “And not really relevant. The king has closed all the city gates. I need a way to get past the walls, along with a few companions.”
Garom’s eyebrows leap up even higher than before. “Don’t tell me the sudden commotion is because of you? I heard there was some kind of brawl at the blasted palace itself.”
Of course one of his lackeys would already have caught wind and informed him. I should be grateful there was no one alive other than my men and the royal family to gossip about my confrontation with the king.
I have to choose my next words carefully. It’s well-known that while all key members of the Black Talons sacrifice parts of their scalp by tradition, most make other, more discreet sacrifices so they can request a gift of sizeable power.
No one’s sure what exactly Garom offered up alongside some skin and hair, but he’s got a significant talent for separating truth from falsehood. And if he catches me lying to him, any sense of obligation he feels to fulfill his promised favor may evaporate.
I roll my eyes as if the suggestion is ridiculous. “I didn’t attack the king. But having the gates closed is inconvenient for various other reasons. My associates and I are at risk of getting swept up in the search.”
“And you want me to get you and—how many others?”
I would say three, because I barely know Rheave. He’s barely even human.
But he did warn us when no one else could. He begged me to protect him from the scourge sorcerers.
If I leave him behind, will they get control over him again?
“Four,” I say firmly.
“You want me to get five people out of the city while the Crown’s Watch has Florian under a full royal lockdown.” Garom’s tone has taken on an incredulous note. “What kind of sorcery do you think my people can pull off?”
I manage not to wince at the s-word. “I think you’re one of the leaders of the most powerful organization in Silana outside of the royal court, and if you wanted to be outside those walls right now, there’d be some way you could make it happen. So make it happen for me.”
Garom leans back in his chair with a sigh.
“I know I’m in your debt, Ivy. But you know that we’re trying to keep the Crown’s Watch off our backs.
If you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in trouble as big as it sounds…
that’s a bigger ask than I was prepared for.
I have to think about the security of everyone who works under me. ”
I fold my arms over my chest and fix him with my best defiant stare. “Really? Your daughter’s life isn’t worth that much? I believe your exact words at the time were, ‘Anything you need, no questions asked.’”
Garom’s jaw ticks at the mention of the job I did for him that earned me his favor. A few years ago, an upstart rival gang kidnapped his then-preteen daughter and threatened him with all the things they’d do to her if the Black Talons didn’t kowtow to them.
I stole her back for him before he even had to tell the rest of the organization about his precarious position. Since he had the rival gang slaughtered, nobody much knows what went down other than me and him.
Unfortunately, that means my position is now precarious. If Garom refuses me, I can’t turn to anyone else to enforce our deal. His colleagues aren’t aware it exists.
But it’s no secret that you don’t become one of the realm’s top crooks by playing by the rules. I came prepared.
He’s still hemming and hawing. “Ivy, I’m going to see that you get everything you deserve for your help to my family. If it were in another week or two—”
I step forward and smack my palm against the edge of the desk.
“I might not have a week. We need to go today. So let me make this easy for you. If I don’t return to my companions with a plan for getting out of here before nightfall and see that plan through, I’ve arranged that the Crown’s Watch will be informed of how to access Crow’s Close, along with a list of who’s responsible for all sorts of past crimes. ”
Garom stiffens, his face going sallow. He can tell I’m telling the truth. “You wouldn’t— If they break into this place, they’ll ruin everything. You’d side with those pompous assholes over your people?”
“Of course not.” I smile tightly at him. “I don’t want to tell them anything. I knew you’d be good to your word and I’d be able to stop the message before it’s triggered. I just figured you might need a little reminder of just how much you do owe me first.”
Garom studies me with warier eyes. I’m sure right now he’d like to slit my throat and toss me wherever bodies disappear in the Close, but then he’d be screwing himself over.
If I don’t return, Rheave will deliver the sealed message I really did write to the palace. It’ll be trickier to ensure my failsafe works if Garom’s people turn on us in the middle of our escape, but he doesn’t know that.
And if we make it out of the city safely, I’ll burn the missive without anyone setting eyes on it.
A scowl darkens Garom’s face. He can tell I was being honest about the rest of what I said too—that I don’t want to do it, that I believe he’ll come through with the proper motivation.
Sometimes I think perceiving truth and lies might be more of a curse than a gift. It’d make it a lot harder to lie to yourself when you’d like to.
The gang boss drums his fingers on the table and lets out another, rougher sigh. “I think I might be able to set something up. We made a recent acquisition—I had other plans for it—but you’re right. I wouldn’t trade Luzia’s life for a business opportunity.”
“I’m sure she’d be glad to know that,” I say dryly, and prop myself against the edge of his desk. “Tell me all about this ‘acquisition.’”