Douglas Hulick - Among Thieves

“Liar,” said Cosima. She watched the door until the noises quieted; then she relaxed.

Cosima, with her raven hair, her deep brown eyes, and a face that was a near-perfect mixture of clean planes and sculpted curves, must have been stunning when Eppyris had first married her. Even after two children and years of caring for them and her husband, she still drew looks from men on the street, me included. How Eppyris won her, I have no idea, but her presence in their home has earned the apothecary a fair measure of respect in my eyes. My respect for Cosima herself is without measure.

Today, her hair was tied back, her face flushed, and the front of her apron damp-wash day, then.

“So, was it bad news?” she asked, pointing at the sleeve where I had secreted the letter.

“No more than usual.”

“Who from?”

I met her eyes, but kept silent.

“Fine,” she said. “Be that way.”

“I explained things to you and Eppyris when I moved in.”

“And I didn’t like it then.”

I smiled. This was an old battle between us. Cosima didn’t believe in secrets; I didn’t believe in not keeping them.

“My building, my rules,” I said.

“Humph.”

I’d acquired the two-story brick and timber building a couple of years ago from a Kin named Clyther, along with the note to a loan he held on Eppyris. Clyther hadn’t exactly wanted to sell, but the property and arrangement appealed to me, and I had enough on Clyther to change his mind. Once in, I had forgiven the apothecary’s debt in exchange for a silent partnership in his business and had moved into the rooms upstairs. My plan had been to live here just long enough to ensure I was getting my fair cut of the profits, but, somewhere along the way, things had changed. The three rooms above the shop had become a haven from the street, and Eppyris and his family had become a welcome relief from my gritty nights. My smart investment had managed to become my home.

So much for plans.

Cosima changed tact. “Your washerwoman stopped by earlier with your clothes,” she said.

“I saw them at the foot of the stairs. Thanks.”

“The least you could do is let me bring them up, seeing how you refuse to let me wash them for you.”

I had a brief image of Cosima lying just inside the door to my rooms, the traps having sprung, her blood and my laundry mingling on the floor.

“No.”

“You know I’m going to see that mysterious apartment of yours someday, Drothe.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What are you hiding up there, anyhow?”

“One of the emperor’s consorts. She’s pregnant, you know-doesn’t want her little royal bastard killed.” Any heir born to the emperor was killed outright. There could be no claimant to the imperial throne, save one of the three incarnations of the emperor himself.

Cosima elbowed me in the ribs. “Don’t even joke about that. Next thing you know, we’ll have imperial guards tearing the place apart.”

“They’re not allowed in my rooms, either.”

Cosima gave a small laugh and pointed at my cup. “You want me to brew you up some fresh? I make it better than Eppyris. Angels, anyone makes it better than that man!” She laughed again. It was an exceptionally good laugh.

“No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”

“How about something more to eat? I saw that pear you had-not enough for a mouse.”

“I manage.”

“Well, maybe I could-”

“Cosima,” I said, “I’m fine.”

She paused, then took a small breath. “That bruise on your face says otherwise.”

I reached up and gingerly felt the place where Nicco had struck me. “A reminder.”

“Well, I certainly hope you don’t forget whatever it is next time.”

“I won’t.”

We sat in silence for a while, then; me watching the passing traffic on Echelon Way without seeing it, her running through conversations without saying them. Finally, Cosima leaned forward and wrung out the bottom of her skirt.

“It’s not his fault, Drothe.”

Ah, here it was. I’d been wondering.

“I’m not mad at Eppyris,” I said.

“Nor he at you.”

“I know,” I lied.

“It’s just that… he’s proud, Drothe. And it’s not as if you’ve demanded anything of us. A little medicine, some herbs now and then-what’s that? I keep telling him he’d be hobbling around on crutches, selling poultices in the street, if you hadn’t gotten Clyther to-”

“Cosima,” I said, “leave it be.”

She bit her lip, and looked wonderful doing it.

“He’s not an angry man, Drothe. Just…” She let the sentence trail off.

Just unhappy having a criminal as a landlord. And a neighbor. And a friend to his wife.

I took a sip of my cold bitter tea. I was just beginning to frame a reply when I noticed a familiar figure coming down the street. I poured the rest of the liquid out on the cobbles and handed the empty cup to Cosima. “Sorry,” I said, my eyes tracking Degan as he approached. “I have to go.”

Cosima looked from the cup to me, and then followed my gaze down Echelon Way. I saw her shoulders tense.

“I have to see to the girls, anyway,” she said, standing.

I laid my hand on her forearm. “It’s all right,” I said. “He’s a friend.”

“For you, maybe.” Cosima summoned a feeble smile and shuddered. “I’m sorry,” she said, and turned back toward the shop. Even after all this time, any other Kin besides me made Cosima nervous-shades of Clyther.

I stepped out into Echelon Way and waited for Degan. Behind me, I heard the door shut.

“You busy?” I asked as he came up.

“Hello to you, too. And, no,” said Degan.

The question was a courtesy on my part. You could always tell when Bronze Degan was working-he vanished. One day here, the next day gone. A week, two weeks, sometimes a month. And then, just as suddenly, he would be back, laughing, gambling, and wasting time as if nothing had happened. I had made some inquiries early on in our friendship, both of him and others, to find out where he disappeared to, what he was doing-and gotten nothing. I, the Nose, came up empty, and Degan had just smiled at my complaints.

Damn his sense of humor, anyhow.

“What did you have in mind?” asked Degan.

“I need someone to watch my blinders tonight.”

“There’s a surprise.”

“This is a bit tougher,” I said. Degan raised an eyebrow, still smiling.

“I need to go into Ten Ways.”

The smile faltered. “Ah.” He considered a moment. “Death wish?”

“Hardly.”

Degan nodded. “Just checking.”

“Looks the same,” said Degan. “Smells worse.”

“This is rose hips and perfume compared to the summer,” I said, “and we’re not even inside yet.”

“Don’t remind me.”

We stood at the edge of Ten Ways. Before us, the scarred archway that led into the cordon stood gaping, its doors long ago torn down and carted off. To either side, the walls of the cordon stretched off into the distance, separating Ten Ways from the city, or the city from Ten Ways, depending on your point of view.

Ten Ways is an old cordon in an even older city. Ildrecca dates back more than a millennium, the center of kingdoms and empires long before the line of Dorminikos made it its own. It is a city of growing palaces and crumbling temples, worked stone and shattered ruins, where you can jump over a wall at street level and end up in a private sunken garden or on someone’s laundry-covered roof. Dig down and you find the broken fragments of history; look up, and you see the growing glory of the future.

There are any number of stories about why Ten Ways is called Ten Ways: because on every block there are ten ways to die; because there are only ten safe ways out of the cordon; because every person in the cordon knows at least ten ways to rob you; and so on. The best one I’ve heard is that it was named after a whore who… Well, let’s just say she was imaginative when it came to keeping multiple clients pleased at the same time.