Douglas Hulick - Among Thieves

I pulled on my dagger. It wouldn’t budge. Leaving it, I stepped to the side, only to find the Cutter with the daggers closing on me, fast.

One slash passed inches from my face, and I felt another pluck at a fold in my shirt. I leapt back and just managed to dodge a thrust to my left side.

Too close, too close, too damn close!

There was no room to bring my rapier up, no way to back up faster than he could come forward. I pointed the tip of my sword down, brought the guard up, and made a moving vertical bar of steel between us, frantically blocking his thrusts and slashes. It was good in the short term, but, sooner or later, he would get past it.

The Cutter came on, pressing me hard. I blocked once, twice, and then punched at his face with the guard of my sword. I managed light contact-nothing solid-but it surprised him. He hesitated, and that was all I needed.

In an instant, I had my wrist knife in my left hand. I lashed out, not worrying about hitting him so much as letting him know it was there. He took a hasty step back.

I let out a shallow breath. I was at sword range again. I took my own step back and brought my rapier in line.

The Cutter was still busy scowling at this latest development when Degan spoke up from behind me.

“Are you almost done?” he said.

“Let me check,” I said. I smiled at the man with the knives. “Are we done?”

He looked at me, then past me into the growing darkness. I saw his eyes go wide. Then he was running away.

“I’m done,” I said, and turned around.

Degan stood amid four corpses. Not one of the bodies had more than a single fatal wound. All things considered, I couldn’t blame the Cutter for running.

“Just here to lean on someone, then?” said Degan, picking up the conversation where we had left off.

I came over and looked at the bodies. “This is local color,” I said. “They’re too rough to be any of ’Liza’s brood, and no one else I’ve talked to has the clout to gather up this many Kin on short notice.”

“Just a robbery, then?” said Degan.

“Yes.”

“You’re positive of that?”

“Yes,” I said.

Degan eyed me across the corpses.

“It was a damn robbery!” I said.

“I stand reassured.”

We began moving down the alley again.

“Of course,” said Degan, “if it wasn’t a robbery, things could get worse. And if that happens and I get pulled in…”

“You’re too smart for that.”

Degan tipped the brim of his hat in mock salute. “Of course. But if I should go temporarily insane…”

“Fine,” I said. “If that happens, I’ll pay for your time. Standard rate.”

Degan shook his head. “Not this one, Drothe. If the job gets you back into Ten Ways, it’s deeper than I’d like. Hawks won’t cover it.”

I looked over at my friend. “You can’t be talking about an Oath?”

Degan blinked in surprise. “Hardly,” he said. “It’s not that dire.”

I let out a sigh of relief.

For all the years I had known Bronze Degan, and for all the things I had heard about degans as a whole, there were still things I did not understand about them as a group. That they were the best Arms you could get, there was no doubt. Nor did you have to worry about a degan turning on you once you paid him. But sometimes, they took the legends about their group’s origins a little too seriously, even to the point of assuming the first degans’ names. The man standing next to me in the alley was not the first, nor would he be the last, to be called Bronze Degan.

The Oath was another holdover from when the degans had been a potent force in the Dark World. Back then, an Oath had bound them to you and you to them, with the degan being able to call on you at any time to pay off your portion of the promise. And repayment could be anything the degan named. The oldest Kin, repeating the tales of their grandfathers, tell how the power of the Oath was so strong that promisers turned on their own families rather than risk the consequences.

Nowadays, the Oath was a formality, a shadow of the original degans’ prowess, just as Bronze Degan was a distant reflection of the first man to bear his name. But the Oath was still not lightly given, or taken. After all, who wanted a degan pissed at him if he decided he didn’t want to fulfill his end of the bargain?

“No,” said Degan, smiling. “A night out with your sister would be enough. Along with the standard rate, of course.”

I glowered at my friend. Degan had had an eye for Christiana since the first time he’d met her. And while Christiana might have turned her nose up at any of my other associates, I knew that when it came to Degan, she would make an exception. It had been that obvious. The sheer idea of my sister-who had tried to have me killed-and my best friend together not only terrified me; it made my skin crawl on a more personal level. I just couldn’t tell if that sensation came out of brotherly concern for Christiana or friendly concern for Degan.

“I’ll pay you triple,” I growled. Degan laughed again.

A few turns later we were at Fedim’s.

Fedim’s place fronted as a pottery shop. A few unimpressive jugs and goblets had been set on a table near the door. I resisted the urge to turn the table over, mainly because I doubted it would draw more than a shrug from the Dealer. Most fences at least make an effort to appear legitimate, but, given the quality of what he had out, it was obvious Fedim had given up that pretense long ago.

I wondered briefly what I would do if the Dealer wasn’t in. It had taken the better part of a day just to find his shop. What if word had gotten to him ahead of us and he had gone to ground? I didn’t relish the thought of having to spend more time looking for him.

As it turned out, Fedim was easy to find-his entrails led from just inside the door, straight to his belly, ten feet away.

No money was missing, either from Fedim’s purse or from the cash box behind the counter. The back room was empty, save for a bed and the Dealer’s personal effects.

“Must keep the swag somewhere else,” I said as I came back into the front of the shop.

“Either that, or it was taken.” Degan was standing near the entrance, peering out through a gap in the curtain that served as a door.

“And the hawks were left? No, this is a message.”

“From?”

“From whoever I’m supposed to find.”

“I thought you were supposed to find Fedim.”

“Change in plan,” I said.

I stepped over to Fedim and looked down at him. As Kin went, he was fairly unremarkable with his olive complexion, thinning hair, and long nose. Acne scars covered the left half of his face. If he hadn’t been lying dead on the floor, I doubt I would have remarked on him at all.

“This is bad,” I said.

“What a surprise,” said Degan.

“No.” I nudged Fedim’s lifeless form with my foot. “It’s worse. I was supposed to do this after I was done with him.”

Degan nodded. “You’re right,” he said, “this is bad.” Then a wry smile slid onto his face. “Still, it’s ironic, no?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Ironic.”

Before we had found him, Fedim was a minor problem that needed solving. Now that he was dead, he was a big embarrassment. That was the first little bit of irony: If I killed Fedim, it was business; if someone else dusted him, it was an insult to Nicco’s strength.

The galling part was, no matter what I did, word would get out: Nicco couldn’t shield his clients. Open season on Nicco in Ten Ways. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid, exactly what I had been sent to prevent. If the person or persons responsible weren’t brought down hard and fast, Nicco’s reputation would fall instead-and so would my head.