Chapter 27 Nes
Nes
Nes crouched on the roof of a nondescript building on the outer rim of the Ditch, her hood tucked low over her forehead, the ends of her cloak billowing around her ankles.
She had a new plan. And she hated it.
She didn’t like anything that involved Phineas. But their search for a large stash of magic in the city had been fruitless, and Phineas was the only person she knew who’d have what they needed. Even though his distillery had been raided, she knew he could replenish his magic stores quickly.
But to get him to give her some, she’d need something on him.
She stared at the letter Suri had slipped in her pocket days ago.
122 South Street, Wharf. Two times 24. I’ll be the one in red.
She’d long since memorized the message, but holding it in her hand made it feel more real. It gave her the tiniest bit of hope that, when it came to Phineas Wraw, something would finally work in her favor.
Toran had wanted to come with her tonight. Not that she’d told him where she was going. They were a team, he’d reminded her. He’d held her hand and pressed his forehead to hers. She’d relented. And then he’d gone downstairs to grab his cloak, and she’d snuck out the window before he got back.
She didn’t feel guilty for leaving him. Phineas was her problem. Not his.
The small, two-story apartment building where Keifer Harrow lived was squeezed between the Walled Prison and a small granary.
After spending a few minutes listening and sneaking peeks in window corners, she’d been able to discern only four people—including the man’s overly vivacious neighbors—were inside, tucked under their thin covers.
Any other residents were out enjoying what the night had to offer.
Or lying dead in a dumpstreet, getting picked to bits by seagulls. Both were viable options.
Overhead, the moon was a slash across the sky, barely visible behind the thick clouds that hovered menacingly over the city. Just as she hovered menacingly outside the second-story window.
It was the perfect night to scale the rooftops—the cleanest part of the Ditch—and the luck of the low-lying fog had made her steps swift and silent. No one, not even the guards atop the wall, had spotted her.
Pulling her dagger from the side of her boot, Nes swung herself over the edge of the roof. She landed with a soft thud on the windowsill and, sliding her dagger between the windowpanes, unhooked the inside latch. The twin windows parted, opening out and allowing her to slink inside.
The room was quiet but for the steady breaths of the sleeping figure in the bed. A simple chest of drawers stood tall against one wall while a long mirror displayed its reflection on the other.
Dagger at the ready, Nes crossed the room, pausing only once to glance in the mirror. With her face shadowed and blade pointed, she looked like an assassin. Poised to kill.
Good.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d killed. Far from it.
Most, she’d done on Phineas’s orders. Tonight she would have to kill of her own accord.
This, too, would not be a first for her. She’d taken two lives for herself. One of which sat heavy on her conscience. The other plagued her for other reasons.
Nes hugged her shadow tight as she pulled the flask from her waist and took a swig, wincing as the liquid went down.
In sleep, Keifer Harrow seemed much less foreboding than she’d imagined him.
She’d watched the ordinary fisherman all afternoon.
Watched him eat a hearty lunch before visiting a tavern in the Tap and betting his morning’s catch on an unfortunate hand of Blank.
After losing, he had trudged back to the Ditch and fallen into bed at promptly eight o’clock.
But Nes wasn’t convinced.
Phineas wanted to meet with him for a reason. She needed to learn why.
Sliding her tongue along the inside of her lips, she crept up to the end of the bed and climbed onto the railed footboard.
She stood tall, balancing like a conqueror.
Then she leapt on top of the fisherman, pinning his arms and torso in less than a second.
He grunted and thrashed beneath her, but she held firm.
“Who are you?” Harrow cried. “What do you want?”
“Tell me what you know about Phineas Wraw.”
“Who? I don’t know anyone by that name.”
She snarled at him, pushing the blade down a bit harder. “Don’t. Lie.”
Harrow lifted his head so they were nearly nose to nose, as if the blade meant nothing, and chuckled. “You can’t expect me to fear you when I’ve already looked into the eyes of the devil.”
For a second, her grip on the dagger loosened. “What do you mean? What do you know about Phineas?”
“We’re all doomed,” he hissed.
Then, faster than she could fathom, Harrow’s hand shot out from under the sheets and gripped the handle of her dagger. He forced her hand down until the blade dug deep into his neck.
Blood welled around the cut, drenching the steel and seeping into the crevices of her knuckles. Keifer Harrow made a gurgling sound, then fell back against his pillow. Dead.
Nes scampered off the man, wiping her dagger and hand in his bedsheets. Her hands shook as she stared at his still figure. Her ordinary man had just killed himself.
That was…unexpected.
From what she could see, the man had no reason to kill himself. Her eyes scanned the room. There had to be something here that told her more.
She tore into the dresser first, throwing open the drawers and rifling among the belongings inside. There wasn’t much. A few extra shirts. A knife. She went to the mirror next, pulling it away from the wall and inspecting the panels behind it.
The place was barer than bare. Suitable only for the most boring of fishermen.
She couldn’t understand what he had meant by the “eyes of the devil,” couldn’t piece together what he might have known about Phineas.
Chills crawled up her spine. The sudden sensation of being watched caressed the back of her head, and a single, soft tap against glass left her momentarily frozen in place.
She turned her head wildly just in time to see a small bird take flight. Its wings were no larger than the length of her hand, and they flapped ferociously as the animal escaped out the open window.
She sighed. There was nothing here for her to find. If she wanted to get the upper hand on Phineas, she had to hope their meeting later tonight would be enlightening. For now, it was best if she followed the bird’s example and escaped while she could.
Nes pressed herself into the shadows of South Street and tried not to breathe in through her nose.
As always, the smell of dead fish and the sea was strong in the Wharf. Minutes passed and then, off in the distance, the clocktower chimed. Once, twice.
Two a.m. A figure emerged. She hadn’t seen where he’d come from. One second the street was empty, and the next Phineas was there. Dressed in a threadbare dark cloak, hood up, he stood under the light of the street lantern beside number 122.
She waited, debating. Harrow wouldn’t show. She could step out pretending to be Keifer Harrow, but even with her face covered, Phineas wouldn’t be fooled.
She still didn’t know for what reason Suri had given her the letter. She would have known Nes couldn’t risk approaching Phineas. So there had to be something else she wanted Nes to see, something else she could use against her old boss.
Phineas turned, the front of his cloak billowing. She frowned. He wasn’t wearing red. And then he lowered his hood, and she saw his face for the first time.
It wasn’t Phineas. The man standing under the light was larger than Phineas, his face wider. He was older, too, by a decade at least, with cropped red hair that curled around the tops of his ears.
She didn’t understand. There was no one else on the street. It was possible Phineas had found out Suri had passed her the letter. Or it might all be a setup on Suri’s part.
But she couldn’t believe that. Not after what happened with Genna.
She thought of Phineas—of his smarmy smile and his greed and how he was always dying his hair. From black to blond to red—
I’ll be the one in red.
She stared at the stranger and the red hair on his head.
The note hadn’t said he’d be wearing red. She watched the man, studying the way he held himself, his facial expressions. His stance was haughty, entitled in a way a man in a threadbare cloak shouldn’t be. But it wasn’t until he pulled out a pocket watch and scowled at the time that she saw him.
Phineas was here. He was the one in red. Not the one wearing red, but the one with red hair.
At last, she understood. How Phineas had gathered so much influence so quickly. Why his beauty had always felt like something he’d collected over time. Because the persona he portrayed was nothing more than a meticulously crafted painting.
After years of working for him, Nes finally saw how Phineas was a monster covered in brilliant colors. And, at long last, she understood why she’d never been able to take him down.
Because his game wasn’t just one of moves and countermoves. It was a game of magic and of beasts. A game she, too, knew how to play.