Table of Contents
REPORT TO THE BOSS
Nose.
The voice came from somewhere far, far awaymaybe ten whole feet behind me. Turn around? No, ignore him instead; hed go away.
Hey, Nose!
Still there? Angels, this person couldnt take a hint! I made an eloquent, sincere, and highly profane gesture without turning, and continued on my shuffling way.
Dammit, said the voice. Something heavy laid itself on my shoulder and spun me around.
Habit and adrenaline kicked in. As I turned, I let the small dagger (the poisoned one) drop from my wrist sheath into my left palm. At the same time, my right hand sought out my rapier.
There were two of them and they were bigobelisk big, blot-out-the-sun bigand they were good.
One blocked my left arm and took away my dagger, a bored look on his face. The other put his hand on my right wrist and stopped the rapier in middraw.
I knew them.
Niccodemus wants to see you, Nose, said Salt Eye. Now.
ROC
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, April 2011
Copyright Douglas Hulick, 2011 All rights reserved
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For Jamie, who always believed, even when I didnt.
In memory of my father, Nicholas Hulick, who read to me and never said no when it came to getting another book. I miss you, Dad.
A Brief Note on the Use of Cant in this Book
The various forms of cant, or thieves argot, in this book are inspired by records of actual use from various places and times throughout history, from Elizabethan England to twentieth-century American-underworld slang, and many places in between. I have been liberal with both the meaning and forms of many of these words, changing them as I deemed necessary for the story and world. In some places, I have altered either the definition or use of a term; in others, I have left them much as they were historically used. And, not surprisingly, I have also made up certain canting terms from the whole cloth.
So, in short, you will find cant both correct and incorrect, documentable and fanciful, in the following pages. For those who know nothing of the patter flash , I hope it adds to the story; for those who are familiar with it, I hope any creative license on my part doesnt prove too distracting.
Chapter One
A thel the Grinner wasnt grinning. In fact, he didnt look that good at all. A long night of torture will do that to a person.
I knelt beside him. He was naked, his arms lashed across the top of a barrel, the rest of him collapsed behind. I avoided looking at the bloody mess that had once been his hands and feet.
Athel, I said. Nothing. I slapped the smuggler lightly on his sweaty cheek. Hey, Athel. His eyelids fluttered once. I wove my fingers into his hair, took hold, and raised his head so he could see me. If any of the sympathy or pity I felt showed on my face, so be it. I dont have to like what I do sometimes. I said his name again.
Athels eyes opened and began wandering around the shadowed room. I waited for him to notice me in the candlelight. He did.
Drothe? he said. His voice was slow and rusty as he spoke my name. I could tell he was having trouble focusing on me in the flickering light.
Grinner, I replied, want to tell me something?
Wha... ? His eyes began to close.
I gave his head a shake. Athel! His dark eyes snapped open, feverish in their intensity. I leaned forward and locked my gaze with his, trying to hold his attention by force of will.
Wheres the reliquary? I said.
Athel tried to swallow, but coughed instead. Already told you its coming. I just...
If its coming, I said, why did I have to chase you halfway across the city? Why did I have to drag you off that skiff as it was launching into the bay? Doesnt seem like youve been playing straight with me, Grinner.
Athel shook his head, his hair tugging gently in my hand, and grinned weakly. Wouldnt cross you, Drotheyou know that.
But you did, I said. I tapped one of his ruined fingers, making him gasp. You told me earlier, remember? I let him think back on the pain and remember why he had decided to talk the first time. Youve put me in an awkward position, Athel. I have a buyer and no reliquary for him. That undercuts my reputation. That makes me unhappy. So, either you tell me where to find that reliquary, or I come back after my people have done some more persuading.
I could tell he was thinking about it. His eyes glassed over, and his jaw wobbled softly as he argued it over inside. If the Angels had any mercy, they would let him crack the rest of the way right now. I knelt next to what was left of him and waited, hoping it would end here.
When Athel finally came back up from wherever he had been, I could see the Angels werent on my side tonight. Despite all he had gone through, he was still able to summon up a piercing look and give me the weakest shake of his head.
