Stephen Hunt - The Kingdom Beyond the Waves

Cornelius silently swore to himself. They weren’t the gang of simple bludgers he had taken them for. Smarter than the revolutionaries across the border in Quatershift, certainly. He had badly underestimated the sophistication of the flash mob.

‘You must be new in town,’ said the thug, ‘if you think you can come onto the Ruby Belle and count cards at our tables. You think that our boss likes to be swindled? You think she goes to bed with a big smile on her face knowing that scrotes like you have been dipping your hand in her pockets?’

His companion waved a sheaf of illustrations and real-box pictures in front of Cornelius; face after face of known card counters and cheats. ‘So here’s what you’re going to do, new boy. You’re going to give us the name of the back-street sorcerer that did your mug for you, then you’re going to tell us the system you were planning to use to swindle the house, and finally, you’re going off to meet the eels in the Gambleflowers.’

‘You three are good,’ said Cornelius. ‘They should have you upstairs as the entertainment.’

One of them backhanded Cornelius. ‘You’re the amusement, jigger. Tell us what we need to know and we’ll make your death a little easier.’

‘You’re not thinking big enough,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’m not here to count cards; I’m here working for a rival crew. And the rest of what I’ve got to say is for the Catgibbon’s ears only.’

That stopped them short.

‘I could tell you, but the Catgibbon is as like to kill you, when she finds out that you know what I have got to say.’

‘Get her,’ ordered the thug; then he turned to Cornelius. ‘If you’re playing us false …’

‘I know. Little pieces; eels; feeding.’

He smelt her before he saw her, the faint scent of honey, a scent designed by womb mages to drive men wild. The Catgibbon. An ugly name for such an alluring creature; but none of her other names would have done. Not for a high lord of the flash mob.

‘Hello, Jasmine,’ said Cornelius.

The creature that had entered the room looked at him with anger on her face, brushing back the light dusting of fur that covered the golden skin on the nape of her neck. ‘You had better have something good for me.’

‘Will a greeting do?’ said Cornelius, his face melting back to an approximation of his natural features. Damson Beeton might not have recognized him now, but there was more than a touch of Cornelius Fortune in the old face he was wearing.

‘You look good, for someone who’s been dead for nearly thirty years.’ The Catgibbon turned to the others in the room. ‘Get out.’

The tone of her voice indicated that she was not inviting debate. The whippers and the crooked mechomancer hustled out.

‘You look good, too,’ said Cornelius. He inclined his head to indicate the boat. ‘And you seem to have done well for yourself. You took over Dirty Porterbrook’s crew after he died, I presume.’

‘And a few others besides,’ said the Catgibbon.

‘You always were the brains behind the operation, Jasmine. Everyone always used to look at you and stop with your body. They never bothered to wonder what was inside that head of yours.’

‘Brains enough that I never believed that body we found in the rookeries of Whineside was yours. I always knew you would disappear one day without a word. Just change your face and vanish into the crowd. It must be a constant temptation with your talent.’

‘We are what we were born to be.’

‘Yes, quite. Neither of us would have risen so far or so fast in Cassarabia, would we? Too many people who would recognize what we are.’

‘My father was Jackelian,’ said Cornelius.

‘Of course he was. But how happy would the caliph’s womb mages be if they knew that one of their tailor-made assassin bitches had escaped to Jackals and started breeding wild with the locals? I can still smell the half of you that’s your mother in your blood.’

‘Well, you smell as sweet as ever to me,’ said Cornelius. ‘Even if I am immune to the wiles of your sweat.’

‘Where did you go, farm boy?’

‘I tried my luck in Quatershift, before the troubles began.’

‘The court of the Sun King? Rich pickings, for the capital’s greatest thief.’

‘Actually,’ said Cornelius, ‘I tried going straight.’

The Catgibbon laughed at the idea. ‘That I would have liked to have seen. But now you’re back in Middlesteel. I can’t blame you. What have the shifties got left that’s worth stealing now? They can’t even put food on the table, let alone set it with silver plate to eat off. You’re not really working for a rival crew, are you?’

‘No,’ admitted Cornelius.

‘No. You barely tolerated working under Dirty Porterbrook’s patronage. But even you and your pliable assassin’s face couldn’t have afforded to have both Ham Yard and the flash mob hunting you down; which rather begs the question …’

‘What I’m really doing here? You’ve grabbed a friend of mine. A steamman friend. I was hoping to find him.’

The Catgibbon looked puzzled, then her delicate golden-furred face split into a most unladylike laugh. ‘Is that it? Is that all? No wonder I haven’t been reading news sheet tales of paintings and jewels mysteriously going missing from the residences of the quality. Sweet Circle, that’s a turn up for the books, you really have gone straight. What happened to you, Cornelius, what happened to the reign of crime of the Nightshifter?’

‘Allow that a year held in a Commonshare organized community changes a man’s perspective.’

The Catgibbon stroked his face, a cruel look settling on her face. ‘Poor you.’

‘Why is my friend lying in pieces on a table in your jinn house?’

‘Nothing personal, farm boy. He’s just a job, one that is paying handsomely at that.’

‘Grave robbing? You used to only take on jobs that amused you. The years have changed you.’

‘We’re no longer those two young greenhorns that arrived in Middlesteel without a guinea to our names,’ said the Catgibbon. ‘And the Nightshifter I remember wouldn’t have cared three turds for some senile old steamer that’s been nothing but a pigeon rest for most of the century.’

Damn it. She was too canny to spill the beans on the steamman’s fate, even with Cornelius tied up and at her mercy in the jinn palace.

‘I don’t suppose you’ll let me go then, for old time’s sake?’

She grinned at him, but not fondly. ‘I would love to, but you know how it works. If I let you go, everyone’s going to be talking about how the Catgibbon caught a card counter and went soft on him. Then the smaller crews will stop sending me my percentage and start sending me toppers with daggers down their trousers and strangle-cords sewn into their cuffs.’

‘I thought you might say something like that.’

She fingered the crown of thorns on his head. ‘I’m going to do exactly what you did to me. I’m going to walk out on you. Without a word. Without looking back. Then I’m going to let my crew turn your mind into a beef broth with our crown of thorns. You always liked wearing all those different faces — by the time my boys have finished with you, you’ll have a fresh new personality to go along with each of them.’

‘It irritates you, doesn’t it,’ said Cornelius, ‘that I’m as immune to the wiles of your body’s perfume as your old owners back in Cassarabia.’

‘You’re nothing but a halfbreed desert assassin,’ said the Catgibbon, ‘and if you wanted to keep on bloody living, you should have stayed back in Quatershift.’

Cornelius smiled. ‘It’s odd that you should say that, because part of me did stay behind in their death camp. I’d say round about the two extra pounds you spotted on your ingenious set of scales. Let me show you …’