Date: 2021-12-20 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Two friends. A master assassin. One deadly choice. Fedor and Lev are thieves...not killers. They lead a desperate life in the tunnels of Nordturm, conning and stealing to buy their next meal. But when an assassin recruits them against their will, they are forced into a life they do not want and cannot escape. If they leave, they will die. But if they stay, they must kill. Can they survive the master’s relentless evaluation? Is loyalty stronger than the will to live? Will their friendship last the ordeal?
Publisher: Wyvern Books, Ltd.

Dawn of Assassins

Dawn of Assassins, Volume 1

Jon Cronshaw

Published by Wyvern Books, Ltd, 2022.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

DAWN OF ASSASSINS

First edition. January 18, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 Jon Cronshaw.

Written by Jon Cronshaw.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

I. The Reward

II. The Rusty Sail

III. The Scam

IV. The Den

V. The Gang

VI. The Monty

VII. The Prop Bet

VIII. The Bump Drop

IX. The Best Move

X. The Game

XI. The Initiation

XII. The Purse

XIII. The Debt

XIV. The Pact

More from Jon

Also available

Acknowledgements

About the Author

For Claire. (Always Onwyth)

I. The Reward

Fedor blew out the flame and dipped his brush into the melted polish. He studied the man’s shoes—simple, but well-made, soft black leather fastened with silver buckles.

He applied the polish to the right shoe, building up the first layer with gentle circles until the leather turned matte.

“You know, child. I was once where you were.”

Fedor applied the foundation layer to the left shoe.

“Though it was Hafendorf where I first plied my trade.”

Fedor gazed up at him with a raised eyebrow. “You were a polish boy?”

“No. I used to run messages on the docks.”

Fedor spat on the right shoe and brushed back and forth across the polish.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I did?”

Fedor shrugged. “What’s the point?”

The man chuckled. “What’s the point? The point is I’m trying to teach you something. Tell me, child, how old are you?”

“I don’t know.” He brushed around the buckles and moved onto the other shoe.

“You’re not a man yet. What are you—twelve, thirteen?”

“I said, I don’t know.” He glared at the man’s questions and quickly averted his gaze—this was no way to get tips.

“I started off as a lowly messenger, dodging the curses of sailors, and I now run a merchant company with trading houses in Welttor, Nebel Hafen, Reichsherz, and I’m always looking to expand my operation.” He chuckled to himself. “And yet I still find myself dodging the curses of sailors.”

“Right.”

“And do you know how I did it?”

“I don’t.” Fedor pulled a leather cloth from his box and made small circles in the leather, bringing the surface to a deep shine.

The man leaned forward and tapped Fedor’s shoulder. “Do you want to know the secret?”

Fedor frowned. “To what?”

“To everything, of course.” The man looked around the market square, seemingly seeking inspiration from something or someone. Alchemical lights shone from the cave roof above, twisting his features with shadows. “The secret, my boy, is integrity.” He held Fedor’s gaze. “If you can be trustworthy, people will come back to you again and again.”

“Right.” He pulled his gaze away and wiped a mark from the left buckle.

“Believe me. It works much better than fear.”

Fedor sniffed. “You should tell that to the gangs round here.”

“Of course, you can get things done with fear and intimidation, but no one will thank you for it. As soon as your back is turned, you’re likely to find someone willing to drive a knife into your back.”

“I get it. Treat people bad and it comes back threefold. Priest talks about that all the time.”

“But it’s about more than merely avoiding pain. No, it’s about building trust over time. It’s about being reliable. It’s about integrity.”

“I don’t know what that word means.”

The man shook his head. “Simply put, integrity is about knowing the difference between right and wrong.”

“I know about sin.”

“Indeed. But there’s a difference between knowing and doing.”

Fedor raised the man’s feet to check the soles. He scraped away bits of dried dirt and salt from the grooves. He studied his work for a long moment and got to his feet on creaking knees. “All done.”

The man examined his shoes and took a piece of hack silver from his pocket. “This is for you. Thank you.”

Fedor pocketed the silver and tipped his cap. “Thanks, mister.”

“Remember what I said.” He held Fedor’s gaze. “We all have choices in this world.” He turned and walked away.

Fedor dropped his scraping tool into his box and sighed. “Whatever.” His eyes widened at the glimmer of silver resting on the seat. He snatched it up and turned it in his fingers. It showed a wyvern crest on one side and a profile of Ostreich’s last empress on the reverse—a one krone coin.

He hurriedly stuffed his cloth and brushes into his box and slammed the lid shut.

What if he kept the coin for himself?

With a sigh, he picked up his box and chased after the man.

He caught up to him at the stairs leading to the arena. “Hey, mister.”

The man spun on his heels and smiled at Fedor. “Ah, child. Is there a problem?”

Fedor handed the coin to the man. “This must have dropped from your pocket.”

The man studied the coin and tossed it back. “That coin is for you.”

“For me?” His eyes widened. “I didn’t know. You should have said.”

“If I had said, you wouldn’t have done the right thing.”

Deep lines set between Fedor’s eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

The man reached into his purse and pulled out another one-krone coin. He held it between his fingers and flicked it with his thumb, sending it turning through the air into Fedor’s hand. “And now you have two.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Remember what I said about integrity. Take care of yourself.”

“Erm, thank you.” The man strode away and Fedor shook his head. Who was he? What in the void was he trying to prove? His heart raced. Maybe it was another test. What if the priests had sent him to make sure Fedor was not pocketing the gains for himself? They would beat him again and feed him only scraps for a week. He refused to go through that again.

But if it was not a test—

A hand slapped down on his shoulder. “I don’t know what that was, but that was great. Never seen one like that before.”

Fedor vaguely recognised the lad, a few years his senior. He wore a grey shortcoat, white shirt, trousers, and boots, his sharp features shaded by a flat cap.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, mate.” He pumped Fedor’s hand. “I’m Lev.”

“I’m confused.”

“Confused? Thought your name was Fedor?”

“It is. Wait, how do you know—”

“Quick.” He tugged Fedor’s wrist and ducked into a tunnel at the edge of the market square. “This way.”

“Where are we going?”

Lev stopped. “Here’s fine.” He looked past Fedor and nodded to himself. “Never tell who’s listening, you know?”

“What do you want?” Fedor glanced back over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, mate.” Lev held his palms open. “I got no intention of robbing you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just want to know how you pulled it off.”

“Pulled what off?”

“You think I don’t recognise a scam when I see one? I’ve not seen that one before. How did it work? Is it just you?”

“Just me, what?”

“Mate, seriously?” Lev rolled his eyes and sighed. “I saw what happened. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

“It wasn’t a scam. Honest.”

“No, mate. I saw it with my own eyes. You got Bartok Schultz to give you coin for no reason.” He fixed Fedor’s gaze. “I know a scam when I see one, trust me. How did you set it up?”

“It’s not a scam.”

“Course not.” He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned forward. “Don’t worry. I’m not with the filth, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“I know you’re not with the watch. I’ve seen you around. The priests say you’re no good.”

Lev spat on the floor. “The priests. The bloody priests? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’d sooner trust a wyvern than a priest.” He took a step forward and sneered. “Tell me. Priests make you grab their dicks yet or shoved things up your arse?”

Fedor started at the curses. “No.”

“Maybe it’s just the girls they do that to. Dirty bastards, either way.”

“They wouldn’t do—”

“I bet they hit you, don’t they? Give you a good smack for no reason.”

“Only sometimes.” He shuffled on his feet. “Only when we’ve sinned.”

“Yeah, I bet. Perverts, the lot of them.” He jabbed Fedor’s chest. “You need to get out of there, mate, before they start trying to bum you.”

“Bum me?” He pressed his back against the wall, his eyes growing wide. He had never heard anyone speak like this about the priests before.

“Good-looking lad like you.” He shrugged. “Surprised they haven’t already. Bloody pervs.”

“How would you know?”

“Everyone knows, mate.” He let out a sigh. “That’s how they do it.”

“Do what?”

Lev inclined his head. “You’re not the smartest kid around here, are you?”

Fedor stared at him, his mouth unable to form words.

“Think about it. Where’s the best place to find kids who won’t grass to their parents?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged one shoulder. “An orphanage?”

“See, you’re not a complete thicksicle.” He rubbed his hands together. “When you think about it, it all makes perfect sense.” He spat on the floor again. “Dirty bastards. You need to get out of there, get as far away from those nonces as you can.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“Those coins you scammed are a good start, mate. You got two, didn’t you?”

Fedor nodded.

“So, out with it then. How did it work?”

“I swear it wasn’t a scam.”

Lev eyed him up and down and nodded to himself. “You’re either a good liar, or you’re telling the truth.” He folded his arms. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was shining his shoes and he was talking about doing good, and how he’d been a messenger.”

“Go on.” He tapped his foot.

“When I finished, he left a coin on the chair, and I went after him to give it back.”

Lev sniffed. “I would have kept it.”

“But he said the coin was for me and gave me another.”

“And that’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“So, it was like a reward. You returned his coin and he gave you two? That’s genius, that is, mate.” Lev pushed out his bottom lip. “Great angle. Do-gooders like to do that. What you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know much, do you, mate? You should get us a good meal and place for the night. Get away from that orphanage.”

“I don’t know.” He fingered the coins in his pocket. “I think it might be a test.”

Lev studied him for several seconds. “What kind of test?”

“Doesn’t seem real, does it? I think the priests might be behind it.”

Lev rubbed his chin. “Make sense. Seems a bit far-fetched, though, doesn’t it?”

“But what if it is?”

“Nah, mate. You’re wrong.” He shook his head. “What difference does it make to the priests?”

“It’s not my money to keep.”

“He gave it to you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. But anything I earn goes to the priests.”

“Really?” He cocked an eyebrow and snorted. “And I thought they abolished slavery.”

“It’s not slavery. They feed me. They give me a roof, a bed.”

“Honestly, mate. They used to give slaves places to eat and sleep. That’s your money, that is. I’d be in half a mind to tell one of the watch, though we don’t exactly see eye to eye, if you get my meaning.”

“I suppose.”

“You get money for shining shoes, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He paid for that as well, didn’t he? Bit of hack for your efforts, like the rest?”

Fedor narrowed his eyes. “How long have you been watching me?”

“I watch everyone, mate. It’s what I do. You’d be surprised what you see when you take time to watch. That’s what I do. I pay attention. I see things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Lots of things. Pay attention and the truth reveals itself, isn’t that what they say?”

Fedor shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Trust me. People don’t pay attention to things. I do. I might even tell you what some of those things are if we work together.”

“Work together?”

“Sure. Why not? I can take you under my wing, show you what’s what. You seem like a smart enough kid. Bit wet behind the ears, like, but I’m sure we can sort you out.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Here’s an idea. Keep that hack aside for the priests and I can show you a good way to spend that coin.”

Fedor rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his voice. “But what if it’s a test?”

“What if it is? You’ve got to live in the moment. Take whatever they give you and move on. At least you’ll have a good night to show for it.”

Fedor licked his lips. “What you got in mind?”

“Meal. Nice room. Some good ale. Or, you could go down into the stinking foundries, spend another night with a priest who wants to bum you.”

“They don’t bum me.”

“Yet.” Lev raised a finger and grinned. “But there’s always time, mate.”

“But it’s a sin.”

“Depends who you ask.”

Fedor shook his head. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“You keep thinking that, mate.” He gestured back towards the market. “You get to the pubs much?”

Fedor shook his head. “No. We’re not allowed.”

“Well, in that case, we definitely need to do it. What you got to lose?”

“I don’t know.” Fedor shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.”

II. The Rusty Sail

Summer twilight shimmered beyond the hulking gate standing between the Braun Sea and Nordturm’s docks. Ships bobbed under a stone-carved roof as sailors shifted crates and barrels along gangplanks, their captains barking orders in languages Fedor did not recognise.

He wended between lobster pots and fishing nets and gazed up at a half-gutted narwhal hanging from a hook.

Lev sauntered ahead and slowed his pace to match Fedor’s. “I’ve got a little game for you. You see those two walking ahead?” He gestured to a pair of men wearing tailcoats and top hats. “What do you reckon?”

“About what?”

“Do you reckon they’re sailors?”

“They look like merchants.”

Lev nodded. “You get merchants on land and you get them at sea. Which ones are they?”

“I don’t know. Land, I guess.”

“That’s right. But, how can you tell?”

Fedor halted and studied the pair. “I just guessed.”

“Look at the way they walk and then look at the way the sailors walk with a rolling gait. You see it?”

Fedor watched a sailor for several seconds and nodded. “I see it.”

Lev carried on walking. “You can tell a lot when you watch people. Different professions have different walks, different body shapes, even.”

“That can’t be true.”

“You think a priest has the same posture as someone who works in the foundries?”

“Well, no. But—”

“Exactly, mate.” He swaggered though the commercial district. Jewellers stood next to shoe shops, apothecaries, and wool merchants, mismatched buildings seemingly slapped together from wood and gaudy paint, their signs illuminated by alchemical lanterns hanging from the cavern roof. Aromas drifted from the smokery, combining with the smells of leather and fried onions.

Fedor stopped in front of a store selling animal pelts and gaped at the maw of a towering polar bear.

“You know the Rusty Sail?”

Fedor drew his attention from the bear and shook his head. “Which rusty sail?”

“Not a rusty sail, the Rusty Sail. It’s only the best pub this side of Hafendorf.”

“No.”

Lev sighed and gestured to the sprawling city. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.”

“I suppose I do.”

“You ever get to the upper city much?”

“Not really. The priests sometimes send us out on the beach if there’s been a wreck, but apart from that...”

“No wonder you look so pale.” He led Fedor through a series of alleyways into an area of Nordturm where, if he stood on tiptoes, he could touch the cavern roof with his fingertips. “Anyone ever say you’ve got a bit of a Sieshin look about you?”

“The priests said I’ve got Sieshin blood. Maybe a bit of Ostreich too.”

“What was it? Mum a whore? Dad a sailor? Some noble’s bastard?”

Fedor ignored the glares of a pair of constables striding past in matching black uniforms.

“How did you end up with the priests?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been there as long as I can remember.”

“Well, you won’t get any bother from me. I don’t care where anyone’s from. As far as I can tell, everywhere has more than its fair share of dickheads.” He gestured to a ramshackle, two-storey building. The faded image of a rusted sail hung above its door. “Here we are.”

Fedor followed him inside. The lounge buzzed with conversation and music. Opium smoke tinged the air.

Lev strode up to the bar and grinned at a broad man wearing an eyepatch.

“You alright there, Lev?”

“Me and my friend here would like a bed and meal for the night.”

“Is that right?” He chewed a toothpick and looked between Lev and Fedor. “You got coin, lads?”

Lev elbowed Fedor.

“What?”

“Coin.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Don’t be pulling back now. You don’t want me to look like a prick, do you?”

“How much?”

“Just one.”

Fedor shook his head and fished inside his pocket. He slapped a coin on the bar.

The barman pulled it towards him and bit down on it with chequerboard teeth.

Lev rested a hand on the bar. “What’s on the menu?”

“Where do you think this is? We got crab broth and that’s it.”

“Perfect.” Lev rubbed his hands together. “I think we’re both deserving of an ale.”

“You want it with your broth?”

Lev shrugged. “Sure. If you could have it brought to our room, that would be perfect.”

“You know where you’re going, lads?”

Lev nodded and gestured to the bar’s right. “Through there, up the stairs.”

“One bed.”

“There’s two of us.”

“One.” The barman narrowed his eyes. “Or you can piss off and find somewhere else.”

“Fine. One bed it is.” Lev turned to Fedor and smiled. “Follow me.” He led Fedor into a back room and up a flight of stairs.

Stepping through a doorway, a dormitory spread out before them. Sixteen beds stood along both sides of the room, separated by nightstands.

“It’s not the fanciest place, but at least it’s clean.” Lev studied each empty bed in turn. “The mattresses are comfortable and you don’t have priests trying to bum you.”

“The beds are really big.”

“These things?” Lev stopped next to the farthest bed on the right and patted the blankets. “These are normal.”

“We just have hammocks.”

“Like nets?”

“Yeah.” He sat next to Lev and bounced on the mattress. He grabbed a pillow, fluffed it, and pressed his face into softness. “They take up a lot less room than beds.”

Lev nodded to himself. “I always wondered how you sleep on those things.”

“I don’t know. You get used to it.”

“Don’t the ropes dig in your back?”

“A little.” He slid his polish box under the nightstand. “I usually wrap a blanket around me.”

Lev sniffed. “And you’re giving them hack for that?”

“They feed us and it helps the kids who are too young to earn.”

“Nah, mate. They’re taking you for a mug.” He kicked off his shoes and removed his cap, revealing matted black curls. He lay back and rested his head on his hands. “I was thinking about your scam.”

“I said it wasn’t a scam.”

“Correction.” He sat up slightly and raised a finger. “It wasn’t a scam. But it is now.”

Fedor frowned and shook his head. “I don’t see how it can work.”

“We work together.”

“And do what?”

“You just need to do what you always do, and leave the rest to me.”

“What you got in mind?”

He kept silent and gestured to the door.

Fedor turned to the scent of approaching food. The serving woman lay down a pair of trays on the nightstand, each bearing a bowl of crab broth, a chunk of black bread, and a flagon of frothy ale.

Lev sat up and grinned. “Thanks, love.” He stared after her as she made her way back out. “I could watch that arse all day.”

“You shouldn’t look at women like that.” Fedor’s cheeks flushed. “It’s a sin.”

“Don’t give me that religious crap. Trust me, mate. Give it a year or two and suddenly you’ll notice that women have arses and knockers you’ll want to bury your head in.”

“That’s perverse.”

“You say that now, mate.” He slipped off the bed and handed Fedor a tray. “But getting a good eyeful is nothing. You should see some of the stuff that goes on in some of the grubbier brothels.”

Fedor shuffled awkwardly. “I’d rather not.”

“Let’s eat, then.”

Fedor savoured the warm crab on his tongue, the hint of spice colliding with the onion and samphire. “This is great.”

“This is just the start, mate. Trust me.” He dragged a sleeve across his upper lip, tore off a piece of bread, and popped it into his mouth. “So, I was thinking, you set up as normal in the marketplace, usual spot, do whatever it is you do with your polish.”

“I can do that.”

“Perfect. Then I’ll work on getting you customers.”

“How?”

“Barking.”

“Like a dog?”

“Barking. You know...” He frowned at Fedor. “Barking.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Lev took a swig of ale. “Tell me, how do you get people in?”

“Into what?”

“You really are dense, aren’t you?” He let out a sigh. “Feels like I’m talking to a bloody brick.”

“I don’t know what barking is, that’s all.”

“How do you get people to come to your booth and part with their silver? You must do something to reel them in.”

Fedor shrugged. “I don’t know. I just set up. There’s been a polish booth there for years. People just turn up.”

“Talk about not flogging your wares. I bet if I was doing that, there’d be queues up to the arena.”

“I do alright.”

“Alright? Alright? Sack alright. Trust me, you could be earning loads more if you tried.”

“What’s the point? It all goes to the priests anyway.”

Lev’s mouth moved as if to say something, then stopped himself. “That makes sense. If you got to keep what you earned, you’d do more though, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess. I’m not being funny, mate, but you’re not exactly the most enthusiastic kid I’ve ever met.”

Fedor slurped the last of his broth and set his tray back on the nightstand.

“You’ve got a potential gold mine here and you’ve got no reason to push it. Here’s an idea, let’s say you made enough to satisfy the priests, and then we split whatever else comes on top of that.”

“But they’ll know.”

“Nah. If you earned, let’s say, ten pieces of hack a day and that’s what they kept getting, they wouldn’t question it, would they?”

“I guess not.”

“Think about it like this—what is it you’re selling?”

“I’m not really selling anything.”

“Course you are, mate. You’re selling an experience. You’re making them feel important, special.”

Fedor shook his head. “I sell shoeshines.”

“No. It’s more than that.” He tore the meat from a crab claw and washed it down with a swig of ale. “You’re selling confidence.”

“I’m really not.”

“You ever get your shoes all muddied up on the beach, or whatever?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you like having mucky feet?”

“Not really.”

“Exactly, mate. No one likes to have muddy shoes. If you go around with dirty boots, there’s shame in that.” He pointed at Fedor with the hollowed-out crab’s claw. “You get rid of that shame. And I can bring more people to you. More people means more silver. And that’s when the real work comes in.”

“The scam?”

He glanced past Fedor. “You might want to shout that a bit louder just in case any of the watch downstairs didn’t hear.”

“Sorry.” He stared into his ale. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a little talent for procuring things from places that maybe I shouldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Lev pulled the coin from his pocket and held it so it caught the light. “Recognise this?”

Fedor patted his pockets and snatched the coin back. “Hey! Thief.”

“Not a thief.” Lev leaned back and grinned. “It’s in your possession, so it’s not exactly stealing, is it?”

“So, what? Your plan’s for me to do my usual shoeshine stuff and you just come along and rob them?”

“That’s a great idea. But how long do you think it’ll take before the watch is on to us?”

“On to you, you mean.”

“This is a partnership. We’re in this together, mate. Remember that.”

“Right.”

“So, how long?”

Fedor frowned. “How long, what?”

“How long do you think it’ll be before the filth is on to us?”

“I don’t know. Fast, I guess.”

“Damn right. This is why you need me, mate. I’ve got it all figured out.” He pointed to his right temple and sidled up to Fedor, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll get the richest looking blokes to you. I’ll get something valuable from them and then you go after them when they’re done and say they left it on the chair. It’s just a case of splitting the reward then, and repeat. You have to admit, it’s genius.”

“If it works.” He sipped the last of his ale and placed the mug on his tray. “People will suspect.”

“I’m already ahead of you, mate. The trick is you don’t do it to everyone. You’ve just got to find the right mark.”

“How do you do that?”

He tapped the side of his nose. “Leave that to me. It’s about knowing the right kind of rich bloke to target.”

“Anyone can recognise a nob.”

“Not talking about nobs. You’re more likely to get a backrub from a pirate than get money off a nob.”

“Aren’t they rich?”

“Yeah. And they stay rich because they’re a bunch of stingy bastards.”

“That makes sense.”

“Was that guy who gave you the coins a nob?”

“I don’t think so. He was going on about how he was once like me and owned all these merchant things.”

Lev pushed out his bottom lip. “Yeah. Makes them see the world different.”

“What does?”

“Being rich.”

“In what way?”

“If you’re rich and you were born with it, you feel entitled. But if you’ve earned it through graft, well that’s different, that is.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Surely it would be the other way round. If you’ve earned it yourself, why would you give it away like that?”

“Nah, mate. You’ve got it backwards. They give it away because they know what it means. They understand the value of things. Nobs don’t. They just earn money because their great great granddad happened to be some lord, or whatever. They don’t value it like folk like us do.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Course it makes sense. You need to listen to me. I know what I’m talking about.”

Fedor smiled. “Right.”

“So, that’s who we need to target.”

“Rich people who aren’t nobs?”

“Exactly. Stands to reason they’d be most amenable to doing a good turn for an honest kid.”

“This isn’t honest though, is it?”

Lev laughed. “But they don’t know that. Don’t you see? That’s the beauty of this whole thing.”

“So, how will I tell the difference?”

“That’s where I come in. You just do what you’ve always done. I’ll direct the marks to you. The less you know, the better really. If you look like you’re planning to rip them off, they’ll see that.”

“How will they know?”

“When you’ve made it that far in business, you’ve most likely cut a few corners along the way, done things you’re maybe not too proud of, let’s say.”

Fedor scoffed at that. “And how would you know?”

Lev laughed. “Because people are people. Trust me, mate. If you follow my lead, we’ll be rolling in coin before you know it.”

“I don’t know.” He glanced towards the door. Were the priests outlooking for him? “It’s the first time anything like that has happened.”

“And it doesn’t need to be the last. Trust me, mate. We’ll make this work.” He shrugged. “And if it doesn’t, I’ve got a million other things we can try. So don’t worry about that. This is going to be a very profitable venture for both of us.”

“So, I just turn up in the marketplace tomorrow and offer shoeshines as usual?”

“Exactly.” He tossed Fedor a pillow. “Now, which end do you want to sleep?”

III. The Scam

The next morning, Fedor set up in his usual spot in the marketplace offering smiles to the stallholders setting out their wares. Lev leaned against a brothel wall across the square, looking as though he expected a friend to tumble out at any moment.

The first customer took a seat and Fedor went to work, polishing the leather and scraping sand from the soles. He studied the shoes and gazed up at the man’s clothes. He could tell as much about a person from their shoes than any other clothes or adornments.

He served the next customer. And the next. All the while, Fedor stood near the brothel’s red lantern projecting an air of impatience.

And then he gave the signal.

Lev strode across the market towards the steps up to the arena and slammed into a man wearing a long woollen coat. He exchanged words with the man who gestured to his shoes. Lev pointed at Fedor and the man raised his chin and gave a nod.

Lev steered the man to Fedor’s booth and signalled for him to take a seat. “That’s it, mate. You sit there. So sorry about this. As I say, I’ll cover this. Can’t have you going round with scuffs on your shoes, can we?”

The man cleared his throat. “Make it quick, boot-boy. I have no time for this.”

Fedor gave the man a smile and went to work, rubbing polish around the scuff and building up a layer along the leather. He cleaned marks from the soles and buffed the shoes until they shone. “All done.”

The man examined his shoes, got to his feet, and smiled. “Thank you, lads.” He shook Lev’s hand. “Always good to see a young man who does the right thing. That will take you far.” He tipped his hat and walked away.

“No tip.” Lev shook his head. “Cheap bastard.”

“He didn’t leave anything.”

“Didn’t he?” He glanced back at the man and a pocket watch slipped from his sleeve.

Fedor bit down on his bottom lip as he cupped the warm brass casing in his hand.

“You should return it.”

“Right. Yeah.” He slammed his brush box shut and ran after the man. “Excuse me. Mister, wait.”

“What is it?” The man turned to him and narrowed his eyes. “If you want payment, speak to your friend.”

“You dropped this.” He held out the pocket watch.

“My watch!” He snatched the chain from Fedor’s grip and slipped it into a breast pocket. “Thank you. You have done me a great service.”

Fedor stood and waited.

“If you’ll excuse me.” The man tipped his hat again and strode past him, following the tunnels towards the docks.

Fedor returned to his spot and frowned.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” He glared at Lev. “It didn’t work. I knew this was stupid.”

“It’s a numbers game, mate.” He folded his arms. “Trust me, when you’ve been running schemes as long as I have, you know that it’s ups and downs. Some days are great. Some days do as much as a fart in a storm. But overall, you come out ahead.”

Fedor frowned. “I’m not sure.” He slipped from the seat and opened his polish box. “I just lost out on some hack then.”

“You’re still bothered about measly hack? Sack that. We can get some proper coin, mate.”

“The priests check our stocks, you know?” He shrugged a shoulder. “If things don’t add up, we get beaten.”

“You’re not going back there, are you? Ain’t you learnt nothing? What is it? You want to get bummed and beaten?”

Shame washed over him as he stared at his hands, the lines scoring his palms traced with black. He didn’t want to go against the priests, didn’t want to risk another beating or shunning. If he kept his head down and steered clear of trouble, he’d be fine, but Lev wasn’t helping.

“They’ve done a real number on you.” Lev let out a pitying sigh and shook his head. “It’s like looking at an abused puppy. You need to toughen up, mate. You need to stand on your own. The priests are only out to get what they can from you, and then they’ll chuck you on the street.”

“It’s not like that.”

“If you say so.” Lev shrugged. “All I’m saying is there’s a way out of this. You don’t have to rely on handouts. You can be free.”

Fedor frowned at him. “I don’t see how you’re offering me anything.” He gestured vaguely towards the arena. “I can’t rely on the off chance that someone will give me a reward.”

“Really? You’re bailing out and you’ve not even tried.”

“I have tried.”

“You’ve tried one person. You didn’t really think it’d work on the first mark we tried, did you?”

Fedor gazed down at the ground. “A bit. I suppose.” He met Lev’s gaze again and patted his polish box. “When I’m doing this, I know I’ll get paid.”

“What’s better? Certain crumbs, or the chance to hit big?”

“I don’t know.” He forced a smile. “Look, I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, but I’m not sure.”

“You’re worried, I get it. But you don’t need to be. I’ll sort it.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Trust me. You got nothing to worry about. It’s all in hand. I’ll get us another mark and you keep earning your bits of hack.”

“Marks?” Fedor sniffed. “Victims, you mean?”

“You’re looking at it all wrong.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “We’ve got rules.”

“Rules? Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. We don’t go after folks who don’t deserve it for one thing.”

“And who are you to decide who deserves it?”

“You saying he don’t deserve it?” He signalled to a nobleman striding through the marketplace with a serving girl and lordling in tow. “A few coins mean nothing to them. You think they’d miss a few krone?”

A crease set along Fedor’s brow. “I don’t know. It just seems wrong.”

“For folks like us, it’s a bed, bath, and a meal. For them, it’s nothing.”

“What’s the point? I can get all that stuff from the priests for free anyway.”

“For free?” Lev cocked an eyebrow. “You think working all day polishing shoes is free? You’re a slave, mate. You need to get out of there.” He looked Fedor up and down. “Look at you. You’re barely skin and bones. You want to live, don’t you?”

“I do live.”

Lev smirked. “You think this is living? You’re barely surviving, mate. I’m talking about living...really living.”

Fedor nodded. “I guess.”

“You know I’m right.”

With a shrug, Fedor gazed across the market square, scanning for customers.

“We’re on.”

“What?”

Without responding, Lev strode away and bumped into a man wearing a navy-blue waistcoat. After exchanging brief words, Lev steered the man towards Fedor. “Will you do me a favour, mate? I accidentally knocked into this man’s shoes. I’ll pay you back later. You know I’m good for it.”

Playing along, Fedor rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He smiled at the man and lit the polish. “Please, take a seat.”

“I really am very sorry.” Lev fussed around the man. “It’s just been one of those days. Should have stayed in bed.”

The man sat down and Fedor polished his shoes.

When he finished, the man offered him a curled sliver of hack, which he pocketed. “Thank you, mister.”

Lev sidled up to him and slipped him a coin.

Fedor packed up his things again and chased after the man. “Excuse me, mister. This must have dropped from your pocket.”

He handed the coin to the man and waited expectantly.

The man nodded and marched away.

Fedor sighed and slunk back to his booth.

“Well?”

“Didn’t work.”

“I’m not surprised. You look desperate.”

Fedor glared at him. “Desperate?”

“You need to be more subtle.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“For one, you don’t go there expecting anything.”

“Right.” Fedor nodded to himself. “More subtle.”

“Oh great.”

“What is it?” He followed Lev’s gaze. The man spoke to a constable and gestured towards them.

“He’s suspicious.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly.”

After a moment, the barrel-chested constable strode towards them and grabbed Lev by the collar, holding him at arm’s length, his feet flailing beneath him. “What you pulling? Gavril got you sniffing round the market again? What have I told you?”

Lev coughed and clawed at the constable’s hands. “Let me go.”

“Put him down.” Fedor shook the constable’s shoulder. “We haven’t done anything.”

The constable released his grip, dropping Lev to the ground, and stared down at Fedor. “Has this one roped you into one of his little schemes?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I just shine shoes.”

The constable’s lip curled. “Don’t play innocent with me, boy.”

Lev straightened up and brushed down his clothes. “He’s just a shoeshine. I bumped into that bloke and scuffed his shoes.” He opened his palms and sniffed. “Teach me for trying to do the right thing.”

The constable’s gaze shifted between them. “There’s something not right about this. I can smell a lie from a mile off.” He poked Lev’s chest. “And you stink of it.” He turned to Fedor and inclined his head. “You with Gavril?”

Fedor shrugged. “I don’t know who Gavril is.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” He stepped forward and towered over Fedor. “I’ve got my eye on you, boy. So you’d better keep your nose clean. You get me?”

“I did nothing wrong.” Fedor’s throat bobbed. “I...I promise.”

Lev joined Fedor’s side. “You can’t go round accusing innocent kids when they’ve done nothing wrong.”

“That right?” Stepping forward, the constable drove a fist into Lev’s gut, sending him to the ground in a groaning heap. He glared at Fedor. “And I don’t need any of your lip, either.”

Fedor helped Lev to his feet.

“You leasing this spot?”

“It’s the priests.”

“You with the orphanage?”

Fedor nodded.

“Well, you do yourself a favour and keep clear of Gavril’s lot.”

“I don’t know Gavril.”

“Good. Well, keep it that way. We’ll have no dirty thieving gits round here.”

“We really didn’t do anything wrong. The man dropped a coin and I returned it.”

The constable grabbed his collar and twisted it. “Tell me, boy. How exactly did a coin drop onto a seat from a breast pocket?”

He met Lev’s gaze and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know what I found.”

Releasing his grip, the constable eyed him and nodded to himself. “Well, whatever’s going on, it stops now. You understand?”

“I don’t know—”

The constable raised his fist. “You want some too?”

Fedor waved his hands and stepped back. “We’ve done nothing wrong, honest.”

“Right, well.” The constable straightened up. “You keep your noses clean. You get me?”

“I do. I will...keep my nose very clean.” He opened his polish box with trembling hands. “Sorry.”

The constable gestured with two fingers from his eyes to Fedor and walked away.

When the constable disappeared into the tunnel leading to the docks, Lev turned to Fedor and glared. “What did you say sorry for?” He shook his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

“That was too close.”

“That?” Lev folded his arms and sniffed. “That was nothing, mate.”

“He punched you.”

Lev waved a hand. “Could have been worse. Neither of us got arrested.”

“I suppose.”

“Trust me, mate. You don’t want to go round apologising to the watch.”

“But they’re the watch.”

“They’ll throw their weight around with half an excuse. They’re worse than the priests.”

Fedor frowned. “I thought they were supposed to protect us.”

Lev threw his head back and laughed. “You really are green, aren’t you? The watch are out to get people like you and me. Keep the small folk down. That’s what they’re for.”

“I’ve never had trouble with them before.”

“You’re lucky. You’ve got their attention now though.”

Fedor glanced over his shoulder. “He was reasonable once he knew we did nothing wrong.”

Lev laughed again. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good. Can’t wait to tell the others about that. They plant stuff. They make stuff up. They beat kids like us up for no reason. As I say, they’re as bad as the priests.”

A man behind them cleared his throat. “You shining shoes today?”

“Yes.” Fedor gestured to the seat. “My friend here was just leaving.”

Lev backed towards the brothel and leaned against the wall, dropping into his impatient demeanour.

Fedor knelt before the man and cleaned his boots. He served four more customers before stallholders began to pack up their wares for the day.

Lev gave the signal again and jogged across the marketplace, bumping into a man wearing a tricorn hat. After exchanging a few words, Lev brought him to the shoeshine booth. “I bumped into this bloke by accident. Can you give his boots the once-over for me? I swear I’ll pay you back later.”

“Of course.” Fedor gestured to the seat. “Please.”

The man smiled, pivoted, and grabbed Lev’s wrist. He swiped the coin purse, his grip tight as Lev tried to squirm free. “Thief!” He drew his baton and struck Lev across the arms and chest, kicking him to the ground. He circled Lev and raised his baton again.

Fedor threw himself on the man’s back and pummelled down on the back of his head.

Lev rolled on his back and blew a whistle.

A pair of lads around Lev’s age appeared from nowhere and joined the fray, beating the man until he lay on the market floor, bloody.

Lev staggered to his feet and the other two tugged Fedor’s arm. “Come on. Let’s peg it.”

Fedor ran. He glanced back at the shoeshine box.

“Leave it.”

He followed Lev into the nearest tunnel, followed the twisted passages, and skirted along the edge of a canal. “Where are we going?”

Lev gestured ahead. “This way.”

IV. The Den

Fedor took a right and emerged from the tunnels and raced along an ancient canal.

Lev jogged ahead, his right leg showing signs of a slight limp, and knocked on a door. He leaned against the wall and knocked again and yawned.

A peephole slid open.

“Who is it?” a girl asked.

“It’s the king of Molotok.” Lev grinned. “I’m here to offer you my hand in marriage.”

The girl sighed. The lock clicked and the door opened.

Lev gestured Fedor through the door and they followed the girl through a rough-carved passage into a central vestibule, its walls shimmering with alchemical pipes. The stench of damp and sulphur hung in the air.

“This is Melita.”

“Hey.”

“Hello.” Fedor smiled at the girl, thin and pale with red hair and bright green eyes. Something fluttered in his chest. He swallowed as his mouth went dry and his cheeks grew warm, and turned his attention to the tunnels reaching like tentacles in all directions. “What is this place?”

“This is our hideout, mate.” Lev lowered his voice and held Fedor’s gaze. “Tell anyone about this place and Gavril will come after you.”

Melita sniffed. “And you really don’t want that.”

“I wouldn’t.” Fedor gave a quick nod. “Who’s Gavril?”

“He’s the oldest,” Lev said. “He’s the boss round here.”

Fedor wrinkled his nose and tried to work out where the stench came from. “What’s that smell?”

“Comes up from the canal.” Lev shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“Just don’t look too closely at what’s under the surface.” Melita turned to Lev. “You should take him to see Gavril.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Office.”

Lev nodded at Fedor. “Follow me.” He ducked through a low doorway and into a tunnel.

Where much of Nordturm’s tunnels were carved from rock, this tunnel seemed more like a natural formation.

After twenty or so paces, he found himself able to walk with a straight back.

Passing five closed doors to the left, Lev gestured to the one standing at the corridor’s end. He signalled for Fedor to wait and he knocked on the door.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

Lev tilted his head towards the door and frowned. “He’s definitely in there. I can hear him.” He inched the door open and beckoned Fedor inside.

Taking a breath, Fedor stepped through the door and stopped. A young man and a lad around Lev’s age were dancing the waltz.

The older was no more than twenty and had white hair, pale skin, and grey eyes—the tones Fedor associated with those from the Northern Reaches.

The older lad gestured vaguely for them to stand against the wall. “No, no, no.” He glared at his partner and sighed before moving again. “You’re supposed to be leading me. One, two, three. One, two, three. Step with the rhythm.”

“What’s he doing?” Fedor whispered as he backed up against warm stone.

“Dancing.” Lev cleared his throat. “Gavril. This is Fedor.”

Gavril made a turn, caught Fedor’s gaze, and turned again, all the while making corrections to his partner. “Who you hiding from, kid?”

“No one. But—”

Lev stepped forward. “We were running a scam in the marketplace. Someone was on to us, so we had to leg it.”

“A scam, eh?” He broke away from the dance and studied Fedor for a long moment before adjusting his partner’s posture. “Remember to keep a straight line along your back. I keep thinking you’re going to nut me. Try again.” He moved around the room, weaving past the desk and chairs pushed flush against the wall. “You’re a shoeshine boy, aren’t you? I’ve seen you about.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about the scam. I’m all ears.” He shot his partner a glare. “Back straight.”

Lev puffed out his chest. “There I was, just minding my own business, you know? And Fedor was doing his usual business, shining shoes, you know?”

“Yes, I know.” He narrowed his eyes at Lev. “Please stop saying ‘you know.’”

“Right.” Lev scratched his nose. “You know Bartok Schultz?”

“Yes. Merchant. Big operation. Likes them young.” He stopped and pointed to his boots. “If you step on my feet again, I’m going to punch you in the throat.” He continued moving in time to a silent rhythm. “Does Fedor not have a mouth?”

“Right.” Lev nodded and gestured for Fedor to speak.

“He was getting his shoes done and he dropped a coin from his pocket.”

Gavril frowned. “Go on.”

“I took it to him and he said I could have it. Then he gave me another one as a reward.”

Gavril stopped and inclined his head. “I don’t hear a scam.”

Lev cleared his throat. “That’s what got me thinking. If we could get rich folk in for a shoeshine, I could separate them from a coin or two, return it, and get a reward.”

“Did it work?”

“No.” Lev looked down at the floor. “Not yet.”

Gavril laughed. “So, it’s crap then?”

Lev shook his head. “No. It’s genius. No one will suspect.”

“So, tell me.” He released his partner and stared down at Lev. “If no one will suspect, how did you get caught?”

“That was...that was an accident.”

“Scams are supposed to make money. I appreciate the creativity, but this is just crap.”

“I thought it was a good idea.” Fedor’s words came out in little more than a squeak. “We just needed to find the right person for it to work.”

Gavril loomed over him. “Did I ask you?”

Fedor sunk into himself. “No.”

“Good. Who you running with?”

“I don’t run with anyone.”

“He’s an orphan. Stays with the priests.”

“We’re all orphans, kid.” Gavril pushed out his bottom lip and studied Fedor. “Priests ever touch you?”

Fedor shook his head.

“You’re lucky. Bunch of dirty bastards.” He dismissed his dance partner and pointed to the desk and chairs. “Help me put those back.”

Lev grabbed a pair of chairs while Fedor and Gavril moved the desk away from the wall.

Gavril dragged a high-backed chair behind the desk and took a seat.

Fedor and Lev sat across from him.

“Where you from, kid?”

“Here.” He gestured vaguely behind him.

“You don’t look like you’re from Wiete. You know your parents?”

“No.” Fedor sucked in his bottom lip. “They’re dead.”

“Oh well. I think all ours are dead too.” He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Anyone tell you you’ve got a bit of a Sieshin look about you?” He turned to Lev. “What do you reckon?”

“That’s what I said.”

“So, what’s your story? How you end up with the priests?”

“Someone killed my parents and I ran.”

“What did they do?”

“Who?”

“Your parents.” His attention turned to a desk drawer. He placed a small box on the desk in front of him, its sides decorated with mother-of-pearl. “They must have pissed someone off.”

Fedor shrugged and tried to push away the vague memories of his mother. “I don’t know. I was little. A constable brought me here.”

Gavril eyed him for several seconds and shrugged. “You got any skills?”

“Not really. I can shine shoes.”

“Hmm.” He opened his box, took a fingertip of snuff, and sniffed it up each nostril. “You at the orphanage by the foundry?”

Fedor nodded.

“That’s where I was. Came up here when they started touching us. Ended up breaking one of their fingers.” He shook his head. “Dirty bastards.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me, kid. How much you make shining shoes?”

“Depends on the day. Usually get around ten customers a day, sometimes as much as twenty.”

Gavril closed his snuff box and slipped it back into the drawer. “They pay you in coin?”

“Usually hack.”

“Hack’s as good as anything, I guess.”

Lev leaned forward. “But it all goes to the priests. He doesn’t even get to keep anything.”

Gavril cocked an eyebrow and leaned back with folded arms. “Really? So, what do they give you for your hard work?”

“Food.” Fedor shrugged a shoulder. “Bed. Sometimes have a bath.”

“They’re already got beds and baths and they get a lot of donations.” He grinned and raised a finger. “Now that’s what a scam looks like.”

“Priests say it’s expensive to keep us.”

“They’re taking you for a ride, kid.” He studied Fedor, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I need you to wait outside.”

“Outside?” Fedor glanced behind him. “Outside, where?”

“You see that door you came through?” He pointed behind Fedor. “Go through that and wait. I need to talk to Lev.”

Fedor went to the door. “Just outside here?”

“Yes. Go!”

He slipped into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him.

Melita leaned against the opposite wall. “You were in there a while.”

Warmth rose to his cheeks as he tried not to stare at her lips. “Lev said I should talk to Gavril.”

She smiled at him. “You friends with Lev?”

“Yes.”

She took a step towards him, her eyes brightening. “A friend of Lev’s is a friend of mine.”

“That’s...that’s good.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Did he mention me?”

“Lev?”

She gave a slight nod.

“He didn’t mention any of this.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Fedor.”

“I’m Melita.” She held his gaze for longer than he found comfortable.

“Do you live here?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you run with Gavril?”

“I’m the best cutpurse this side of Hafendorf.” She examined her fingernails. “Might even be the best in Wiete.” She shrugged and grinned, revealing bright white teeth. “I haven’t had chance to check, though.”

“Cutpurse? Is that not stealing?”

She laughed and slapped his shoulder. “You’re so funny. Gavril’s going to love you.”

Fedor gave an awkward laugh. “Yeah. Maybe he can teach me how to dance.”

The door opened behind him and Fedor gestured him inside.

“See you around, Fedor.”

“Yeah, see you.” With a sigh, he returned to Gavril’s office and sat next to Lev.

Gavril eyed him from across the desk. “I’ve got an offer for you.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “And I’d like you to take it.”

Fedor shuffled in his seat. “What is it?”

Gavril gave a half-smile. “I’d like you to join us.”

“Join you?”

“Lev vouched for you. Says you can be trusted.”

“Right.” Fedor licked his lips. “What do you mean by join you?”

Gavril frowned at Lev. “Thought you said he was smart.”

“He is. He’s just a bit green.”

“Hmm. We’ll see if he passes.”

“He will. I’ll help him.”

Gavril pushed out his bottom lip and turned his attention to Fedor. “What I mean is that you will come here. You will live with us. You will train with us. You will follow our rules and look out for the others.”

“Why are you offering me this?”

“Mainly to get you away from the priests before they do anything dodgy.” He picked something from his sleeve. “You’re one of the lucky ones.”

Fedor sniffed. “Lucky?”

Gavril studied him for a moment and nodded. “You’re right. We’re damaged here. All of us have been through it one way or another. But that’s why we have to stick together. We’re like a family here. We look out for each other. You understand?”

“Yes.” His throat bobbed. “But Father Heinrich has been good to me.”

“Has he?” Gavril cocked an eyebrow. “Did he tell you that, or is that something you came up with yourself?”

Fedor squirmed. “I...well, I suppose he told me.”

“Was that before or after he was giving you a beating?”

“He only beats me when I’ve sinned.” He met Gavril’s gaze. “Stealing is a sin.”

Gavril’s fists clenched. “And who are they to teach anyone about sin? Do you know what a hypocrite is?”

“No.”

“That’s what the priests are. They tell people what’s good and bad, and they’re doing the worst things.”

Fedor pursed his lips and nodded.

Gavril leaned back in his seat. “Any questions?”

Fedor shrugged a shoulder. “Erm...what is it you actually do?”

Leaning forward, Gavril inclined his head towards Lev. “You not tell him?”

“Not really.”

A long breath left Gavril’s nostrils. “We’re professional thieves. We work together. Whatever we steal, we share. You keep half of whatever you get, and half goes to me.”

“Why you?”

“Because I have to run this place.” He gestured vaguely around him. “I’m the one out there getting assignments and dealing with fences.”

“Fences?”

Gavril turned to Lev. “Is he stupid?”

“He’s just been sheltered, boss. But he’s smart. I’ve seen it.”

Gavril pulled out his snuff box and took another sniff. He held the box up and turned it in his hand. “If you were to steal something locally, do you think it would be a good idea to set up a stall in the market?”

“No.” A crease set on Fedor’s brow.

“Why not?”

“Someone might recognise it.”

“See. You’re not completely stupid. That’s good.” He slipped the snuff box back into his drawer. “I’ve got fences who ship stuff to Ostreich and then we get a cut.”

Fedor’s eyes widened. “Ostreich?”

“On the streets of Reichsherz, no one’s the wiser.” He tapped the side of his nose. “That’s why half comes to me.”

Fedor nodded to himself. “I guess the more distance between you and the sale, the better.”

“Exactly. It’s kept us from the gibbet this long.” He pursed his lips. “The thing is, kid, I think you’ve got potential. I see myself in you when I was your age.”

Fedor suppressed a snort. It seemed that every man over the age of twenty saw themselves in him.

“As far as I can tell, there are two types of people in this world. You get the type who drift along with whatever life deals them. And then there are those people who control their destiny. Which one are you?”

Until that point, Fedor had always felt himself being pulled by one force or another, but in that moment, his future was in his hands. He smiled at that. “I’m not going to be pushed around anymore.”

Gavril grinned. “Excellent. We’ll train you. We’ll find out your strengths. You don’t need to live a life under the thumb of the priests. You ready to flourish, kid?”

“I’m not sure.” Fedor’s smile dropped. “I do want that...but not like this. Stealing is a sin. It’s illegal.”

Gavril shrugged. “Your choice, kid. The offer’s there. You can take it or leave it.” He got to his feet. “Come back if you change your mind.”

“Right.” He got up and mouthed sorry to Lev.

They did not speak as Lev led Fedor back through the hive of tunnels.

When they reached the den’s entrance, Lev leaned against its doorframe and waved. “Bye, Fedor. See you round, mate.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “I think you would have fit in real nice. But whatever, mate. It’s up to you.”

“Thanks for thinking of me.”

Lev waved a hand. “You want to try again tomorrow with the scam?”

“Not sure. Best not.” He looked down and frowned—he didn’t have his polish box. “No. I need to go.”

––––––––

He raced back through the tunnels until he reached the marketplace.

He checked around his booth but found no signs of his box.

Cursing himself, he trudged through the foundry and stopped in front of a grey stone building. How in the void was he going to explain this?

He took in a breath and entered. The faint tang of incense did little to mask the smells of sweat and stone. Casting his gaze to the floor, Fedor slunk on light feet past the chapel, and turned left along the corridor into the boys’ dormitory.

Scores of hammocks hung in rows. He leaned towards his usual space, to find no sign of his hammock.

He ran a hand back over his head. How would he explain his missing box, and why he hadn’t returned the prior evening?

He checked inside his pockets to find them empty. His hands grew frantic as he checked them and checked them again.

Nothing.

He shook his head—the greatest cutpurse this side of Hafendorf had worked her magic on him. Maybe if he hadn’t been distracted by her eyes, those lips...

Father Heinrich sneered at him from the doorway.

Fedor’s breath caught in his throat.

The priest curled a forefinger. “Where have you been, boy?”

Cringing at the priest’s tone, Fedor drew closer to him.

“You did not return last night.”

Fedor raised his hands instinctively, readying himself for the inevitable slap. “I’m sorry.”

“Where are your earnings?” The priest’s lips curled.” Two days’ worth?”

Fedor stretched out his pockets and let out a shuddering breath. “I was robbed. They took my polish box.”

“Liar!” He smacked Fedor across the head.

Reeling, Fedor staggered to his feet and gave the priest a defiant glare. “It’s true.”

“You were seen.” He fixed Fedor’s gaze as a thin smile spread across his lips. “After everything we’ve done for you.” He drew a leather strap from his robe and gestured to the nearest wall. “Turn around.”

Fedor faced the wall and braced himself.

“Hands on the wall.” He lifted Fedor’s shirt, exposing bare flesh.

The strap cracked.

Fedor buckled.

“Get up.”

The strap came down again.

And again.

Pain ripped through him.

His breath came out ragged and strained.

Tears filled his eyes.

Gritting his teeth, he waited for the strap to come down again.

The priest yanked Fedor’s shirt down. “My boy. You understand why I had to do that, don’t you?”

Fedor turned around, his back throbbing with welts, and blinked through tears.

“You sinned. And, when you sin, there is punishment. May Creation have pity on you.”

“May Creation have pity on me.” Fedor’s gaze drifted to the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“As you should be.” The priest coiled the strap around his hand and slipped it back into his robe. He let out a long sigh. “I cannot in good faith offer you a bed this evening. You lied in Creation’s house. May he spare you from the void.”

Fedor dipped his head. “May he spare me from the void.”

“You have foregone your rights to eat at our table.”

Fedor gazed at him with watery eyes and gave a slight nod.

“You may return when you have accrued three days of earnings. Perhaps, then, you will understand the meaning of gratitude.”

“Thank you, Father. I understand.”

“Now leave.”

“What about my polish box?”

The priest shrugged. “You need to leave.”

V. The Gang

Fedor’s back stung as he made his way back through the tunnels. He stepped out onto the docks, sat on a salt-encrusted crate, and watched the ships rolling in through the yawning sea gate.

Sailors descended from ships and began to unload boxes and barrels as customs officers swarmed around them.

He gawked at the parade of caged animals—goats, chickens, monkeys, wyverns. There was something about the ships coming in that sparked Fedor’s imagination—sailing to distant lands, hunting exotic creatures, tasting strange fruits, and spices.

“Move.” A gruff sailor hefting a barrel moved towards Fedor’s perch.

Shifting from the crate, he weaved through the crowds along the dockside and into the commercial district. He followed the path he’d walked with Lev, passing lodging houses, bakeries, eel sellers, jewellery stalls, and herbalists.

Men and women bustled around him, no doubt snapping up bargains before the shops closed their shutters for the night.

He checked his pockets again, searching for a coin, his fingers tracing the lining for tears. But it was no good. Melita had stolen from him. If she hadn’t been so pretty, he might have been more on his guard.

He tried to ignore the aromas of fresh fish, garlic, and fire-spice, and stopped outside the Rusty Sail.

He raised his chin and stepped inside.

Stale cider clashed with the scent of opium smoke. The air hung thick with breath and sweat as a group of sailors sung bawdy songs, their words out of step with the pianoforte’s rhythm.

He ducked past huddled merchants and edged up to the bar.

Feigning confidence, he rested a forearm on the sticky surface, and waited for the barman to turn to him.

“What?”

“Can I have a bed for the night?”

“You got coin?”

Fedor shook his head. “I was wondering if I could owe you? My money was stolen.”

The barman shoved Fedor’s arm off the bar. “Do I look like a charity?”

“I swear I’ll pay you back.”

“Sure you will.” He sniffed and raised a forefinger. “No coin. No service. So, if you’ll kindly piss off. The door’s behind you.” He turned his attention to the shelves.

Fedor scanned the bar and cleared his throat. “I can work for you.”

“What can you do?”

“I could shine shoes.”

The barman rolled his eyes. “Does this place look like a blacking booth to you? I’ll tell you again—piss off.”

“Please.” He grabbed the barman’s sleeve. “I’ll...I’ll do something else. I could clean. I could—”

“Get your filthy Siesha hands off me.” He bent Fedor’s fingers back and jerked his sleeve away. “What part of piss off don’t you understand?” He nodded to the door. “Leave, or I’ll have the watch drag you out.”

Fedor let out a sigh and made his way back outside.

Alone, he wandered the streets, hugging himself against the winds blowing in through the sea gate. His gaze skipped across the ground, scanning for dropped food or the glint of hack or coin.

Where would he sleep?

He scanned the rooftops and alleyways. Maybe he could speak to a ship’s captain and join a merchant crew. Though it might be better to simply keep walking through the night.

He blinked up at the alchemical orbs hanging from chains above and wandered deeper into the commercial district, into the shadowy areas Father Heinrich had forbidden him from visiting, past brothels, bars, and gambling dens.

Fear squeezed down on his throat and chest.

He turned and ran, almost knocking over a man lingering outside a brothel.

Racing through the crowds, he searched for a place to hide, a place to curl up and sleep until the morning, and then he could figure out how he was going to get a new polish box.

He considered the darkest places where the light orbs couldn’t reach—a place he could hide. But what else lurked in those shadows? What criminals? What monsters?

With his head hunched into his jacket, he slowed his pace. Maybe he could return to the orphanage and plead his case to Father Heinrich. But this would only lead to another beating and an extension to his shunning.

Maybe he could a spot to sleep in the foundry, or the marketplace, or in the arena. Though it would only be a matter of time before the watch cleared him out, and the last thing he wanted was to attract the ire of the constables again. From what he’d seen of the watch, the more they dealt with you, the less forgiving they were.

He returned to the docks and ignored the men unloading the ships. He made a right into a tunnel passing over a canal bridge and turned into the warehouse district.

Mismatched buildings stood crammed together under a cavernous ceiling. Stone warehouses loomed over granaries and wooden lockups.

Footsteps echoed behind him.

He turned to see a lad, a few years his senior, trailing him.

Another lad blocked his path. “Where you going?”

“I...nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” The taller kid ran a hand back over his lank hair and grinned. “He’s going nowhere.” His grin dropped. “What you got?”

“I got nothing.”

He shoved Fedor against a storehouse wall, reigniting the pain in his back.

The second lad pointed and laughed. “Look at this Siesha prick. All you did was push him.”

“Leave me alone.” Fedor darted to the right, ducking past the first lad.

The second grabbed his arm and kicked the backs of Fedor’s legs.

“Ouch!”

“Where you going?” His grip tightened around Fedor’s wrist.

Fedor’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yeah.” The other lad punched Fedor in the stomach, sending him to the ground. “Answer the question.”

Fedor tried to catch his breath as he protected his head with his arms.

“Empty your pockets.”

“I’ve got nothing.”

The first kick struck Fedor’s back.

The second hit his side.

“Stop.”

The lads staggered backwards from a blow.

Gavril appeared from the shadows and glared at the lads with bright grey eyes. “What in the void are you two doing?”

The lads did not answer.

“He is with me.”

The taller lad raised his hands and backed away. The second looked between Gavril and Fedor, standing his ground.

Gavril reached out to Fedor and helped him to his feet.

“Thank you.”

“You are with me, aren’t you?”

His gaze shifted between the muggers and back to Gavril. “Yes.”

“Good.” Gavril drew a pair of knives and slid his foot back into a fighting stance, eyeing the two lads. “Who’s first.”

“Let’s go.” The taller one pulled the other’s sleeve and they fled.

Gavril gave a satisfied smile, twirled his blades, and slid them back into their sheaths.

“Wow. How did you do that?”

Gavril shrugged. “Practice, kid. You got somewhere to stay?”

“No. Father Heinrich has shunned me until I can make up three-days’ earnings.”

“Screw that old perv.” He began to walk. “Follow me.”

Fedor trailed Gavril through the tunnels and joined the familiar route along the canal side and into the den.

“This way to the common room.” Gavril led him along a passage to the right, winding down for thirty paces before opening out into a room lit with an alchemical pipe cutting across the ceiling at an awkward angle.

Lev got up from a battered sofa and smiled. “You’re back then?”

Fedor nodded.

“You hungry?” Gavril asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll get some food, kid. You drink ale?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Gavril left and Lev joined Fedor’s side, gesturing to the lad and the girl on the sofa. “This is Fedor I was telling you about.”

A brawny lad with dark hair and pale features got to his feet and shook Fedor’s hand. “I’m Yorik.”

“You were dancing.”

Yorik did not respond.

“Nice to meet you.”

“And you.”

Fedor detected the hint of a Molotok accent in his voice.

A broad-faced girl with dark skin and cropped red hair shot to her feet. “Hello, Fedor. I am called Onwyth.” She dipped her head. “It is very nice to meet you. Fedor has said so much about you. I was really looking forward to meeting you, but he said you might not come back. But here you are and I can meet you.”

Fedor strained to understand her accent. “Good to meet you too.” His gaze drifted to Melita and his body tensed.

She gave him an awkward smile. “You with us?”

Fedor shrugged. “Seems that way.”

“Well, in that case.” She reached into her pocket and tossed him a coin. “This is yours.”

He caught it and slipped it into an inside pocket. “Thanks.” He frowned at her. “I don’t understand.”

She sat on the sofa’s right arm and smiled. “If you’re with us, you’re with us.”

His frown deepened.

Lev slapped a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got a code, mate. If you’re in Gavril’s crew, you look out for each other.”

Yorik nodded. “It is not advised to take a dump on your own doorstep.”

“Right.” Fedor licked his lips. “That’s good then.”

Melita patted the seat next to her. “Come. Sit.”

Fedor sat next to her as Gavril returned with a bowl, cup, and spoon. He took the broth and placed the cup of ale next to his feet. “Thanks.” The hint of onion and fire-spice tickled his nostrils. “This smells great.”

“Hope you like mussels.”

“Honestly, I’ll eat anything. Thank you.”

“You’ll be in the room with Lev and Yorik.”

“Thank you so much. I thought I’d be sleeping rough tonight.”

Gavril smiled. “Didn’t I say the priests were a bunch of no-good bastards?” He shook his head and sighed. “Leaving a kid to fend for himself in the city like that.”

Fedor pried a piece of fleshy mussel from its shell, chewed, and washed it down with a swig of ale.

“They don’t care about kids. It’s all about the money for them.” He left Fedor with the others.

When Fedor finished eating, Lev pulled him to his feet. “Come on, mate. I’ll show you the room.” He gestured to the bowl. “Just leave that there.”

Lev marched back through the vestibule and took another downward spiralling passage. He gestured to a tunnel on the left. “Privy’s down there.” He shouldered his way through a door to a room with smooth stone walls curving into the ceiling.

Fedor cast his gaze across the series of stuffed mattresses, blankets, and pillows arranged haphazardly on the floor, and rested a hand on the wall. “It’s warm.”

“Yep. It’s not the best place round here to sleep, but you won’t get cold.”

“That’s good.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “It’s freezing when the winds come through the sea gate.”

Lev pointed to a pile of bundled blankets. “That’s me. Yorik’s over there.” He nodded to a mattress in the corner. “That’s you.”

“To sleep on?”

“It’s all yours, mate.”

“Where do the others sleep?”

“Gavril’s got his own room. Melita and Onwyth share.” He looked around and nodded to himself. “Trust me, mate. This is the best room. Never gets cold.”

Fedor made his way over to the mattress and sat cross-legged with his back against the wall, the heat soothing his bruises.

“Did Gavril say about the code?”

“What code?”

“The code. The rules we live by.”

Fedor shook his head.

“They’re fair. Everyone’s got a vote. We decide what to do together. If we can’t decide, Gavril has the final say.”

“Makes sense.”

“Everyone’s got to do their bit to keep this place good. No gambling—at least, not for coin, unless it’s part of a job. No fighting. No stealing.”

Fedor laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be thieves?”

“We don’t steal from each other.” He eyed Fedor with a serious look. “We only steal from people who deserve it. That means no beggars, no cripples, no kids.”

“Right.”

“Keep your mouth shut to the watch. Never leave others in the lurch. If you start a job together, you finish it together.” He raised a forefinger. “But if anyone calls ‘thirty-three,’ it’s done. No questions. You get out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s say we’re running a job and something doesn’t smell right. I might drop the words ‘thirty-three’ into the conversation. We all know to end it. We move on. No discussion. No argument.”

“Who decides?”

Lev shrugged a shoulder. “If anyone on the job uses it, we listen. We trust each other like that.”

Fedor grinned. “It’s like a secret code.”

“Exactly. We share what we get. If it’s a small job, you can keep it for yourself. If it’s something bigger, we give half to Gavril for this place.”

“How do you know what’s a big job?”

“If it just about covers a meal, bed, and bath, you’re talking a small job. Anything bigger, and that’s when we share.”

“What if you keep it for yourself?”

“We don’t. It’s what you call a mutually beneficial arrangement. If you come up short on a few jobs, you won’t starve or be on the streets.”

“That makes sense.”

“But anyone who leaves is fair game.”

Fedor frowned. “What does that mean?

“It means we don’t leave.”

“Oh.” He gazed at his hands and up at Lev. “Does that mean I’m in the gang?”

“Not yet, mate. We need to see if you’ve got what it takes. You’ve got potential, but you’re wet behind the ears.”

Fedor rubbed beneath his lobes.

“You’ve got a lot to learn. And if you can’t learn, you can’t join.”

“Would that make me fair game?”

Lev shrugged. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

“Oh.”

“Best get our heads down now. No doubt Gavril will want to speak to you tomorrow.”

“Why wait?” Gavril stood in the doorway, his grey eyes fixed on Fedor. He came inside and sat next to Lev. “Have you had a chance to think any more about your skills?”

“I don’t really have any.”

“Not true. I know you’re creative. We can use that. What else can you do? How about climbing? Lock picking? Sneaking?”

Fedor shook his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a bad thing. You’re a blank slate. You won’t have to unlearn any bad habits.”

“Right.”

“You are willing to learn, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent.” He raised a finger as if remembering something and reached into his pocket. He handed Fedor a flick knife. “This is for you.”

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a gift. It’s yours.”

Fedor opened the blade and closed it again. “Thank you.”

Gavril waved him away. “There’s more of that to come.” He rose to his feet and clapped his hands together. “I’m glad you joined us, Fedor. Did Lev talk to you about the code?”

“He did.”

“And what do you think?”

“Seems fair.”

“Good. They are fair.” He stepped towards the door. “Lev can take you out with the others tomorrow.” He turned to Lev. “Yorik was on about doing a monty. Get him involved.” He smiled at Fedor. “Does that sound good? Of course, it does.” He turned and left before Fedor could answer.

Lev smiled and pulled a blanket up to his chin. “Night, mate. Looks like we’ve got a busy day.”

“Yeah.” Fedor lay back and gazed up at the uneven ceiling. “What did Gavril mean by ‘doing a monty’?”

“Don’t worry about it. Best seeing it yourself.”

“Right.”

“Trust me. It’ll be fine. You just watch and play along.” He rolled onto his side. “Night.”

“Goodnight.”

VI. The Monty

Fedor stood on the dockside with Lev. The sea gate closed behind a ship leaving the city. Morning light poured in through the entrance, highlighting Melita’s features in a soft glow. He took in her slender shoulders and easy smile.

He jerked his attention away when she caught his eye and he feigned a sudden interest in a pile of tangled fishing nets resting near a mooring post.

“Here.” Lev slipped a coin into Fedor’s hand.

“What’s this for?”

“You’ll need it.”

“Right.” Trying to hide his confusion, he dropped the coin into his pocket and scanned the boats and ships, small fishing vessels nestled between great trawlers and merchant vessels. His gaze fell on Onwyth leaning against the entrance to the tunnel leading to the marketplace.

Sailors milled around them, some engaged in conversations in languages Fedor didn’t recognise, while others shambled alone, rubbing their heads and blinking at the sunlight as they emerged from the commercial district.

Yorik gave Lev a quick nod and flipped a crate upside down, setting it out as a makeshift table.

Lev nudged Fedor. “We’re on.”

“What do I do?”

“Just follow my lead.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Just remember, Melita’s not with us and you’ve never seen Yorik before.”

Fedor nodded quickly.

“You lads look sharp,” Yorik said in a booming voice. “Fancy your chances?” He fanned three black discs onto the upturned crate, and gestured to a white dot on the leftmost disc. “You follow that. You double your bet.” He inclined his head at Lev. “Think you can win?”

Lev rubbed his hands together and spoke above the noise. “You’ll double my bet if I win?”

“That’s right.” Yorik nodded. “Think you’ve got what it takes?”

With a shrug, Lev stepped forward and slapped a coin down on the crate.

Yorik held up the discs, showing the white dot to Lev and Fedor, and slammed them face-down on the crate. He moved the discs this way and that, making a loop here and switch there before stopping and stepping back with a satisfied grin.

Lev pointed to the middle disc. “That one.”

A crease set on Yorik’s brow as he flipped the disc to reveal the white dot. He shook his head and dropped a pair of coins into Lev’s hand. “Well done, friend. You have skills.”

“That was too easy, mate.”

Yorik appeared to force a smile. “Let’s call it beginner’s luck.”

Melita appeared next to Fedor as a trio of sailors gathered to watch.

Yorik scooped up the discs. “No one beats me twice.”

“You want to bet, mate?” Lev dropped both coins on the crate and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do this.”

“You want to risk it?” Yorik eyed him. “I won’t go easy.”

Lev made a half-smile and turned to Fedor. “Think I should do it?”

“Definitely.”

Melita placed her head on a sailor’s chest. “I can’t watch.”

Yorik showed the white dot to the growing crowd and set the discs down. He shuffled them for almost a minute, stood back, and grinned. “Which—”

“Too easy. It’s that one.”

Yorik’s mouth dropped open as he flipped the disc to reveal the dot. “How?”

“Told you, mate.” Lev counted the four coins and dropped them into his pocket.

Melita’s breath brushed against Fedor’s ear. “Your turn.”

He raised a hand. “I want a go.”

Yorik took his coin and set up the game.

Fedor followed the disc round and round, pointing to the rightmost disc when Yorik stood back.

With a sigh, Yorik turned the disc over, revealing the white dot, and gave Fedor his winnings.

“Well done, mate.” Lev patted Fedor’s shoulder and pulled him back from the crate. “Didn’t I say it was easy?”

Yorik eyed the dozen or so gathered sailors. “Anyone else?”

A sailor limped forward and arranged a pile of ten coins onto the crate without speaking.

Yorik showed him the white dot, set the discs down, and shuffled them before him.

Fedor followed the disc’s movement as it shifted from left to right, coming to a stop in the middle.

Yorik gestured for the sailor to make his call.

The sailor pointed his cane at the central disc.

With a half-shrug, Yorik turned the disc over to reveal a blank disc. He flipped the other two, showing the dot on the right-hand disc.

The sailor waved a hand and cursed in another language as Yorik pocketed the coins. “Who’s next?” He turned at Onwyth’s approach.

She leaned towards Yorik and smiled. “You have lost this game thirty-three times. You’ll be out of business in no time.”

Yorik clapped his hands. “That’s all for now.”

A few sailors grumbled and walked away.

Lev grabbed Fedor’s arm and raced towards the commercial district. “Come on.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something spooked Onwyth. Let’s get back.”

By the time they reached the den’s entrance, Fedor breathed fast and heavy, sweat pooling along his back.

They bundled into the common room and Yorik flopped onto the sofa.

Fedor sat cross-legged with his back against the wall, his gaze flipping between Lev and Yorik. “What happened?”

Lev leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Onwyth called a thirty-three.”

Melita came in with Onwyth and the pair perched on each end of the sofa.

“Why the thirty-three?” Yorik asked.

“I overheard the watch mention you running a game. They were planning to shake you down.”

“Good work.” Yorik dragged a table towards him and emptied out his pockets. “Ten krone.” He pushed out his bottom lip. “Not the best. Not the worst.”

“I got these.” Melita added thirty or so more coins to the pile.

Fedor’s gaze drifted between her and the coins. “How?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Do you remember me saying I’m the best cutpurse this side of Hafendorf?”

“Oh.” He shook his head at the pile. “Wow.”

Lev nudged him. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.” A rush of heat washed over his cheeks. “She’s great.” He dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out two coins. “Where should I put these?”

Yorik waved him away. “They’re yours.” He handed him two more. “Here. That’s your cut.”

“My cut?” He stared down at the coins and gaped. “What did I do?”

“You did exactly what you needed to.”

Yorik distributed coins to the others and left half on the table.

“I’ll take those to Gavril.” Melita got to her feet and gestured for Onwyth to go with her.

As they left, Fedor turned to Yorik. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The dot should have been in the middle. You switched it.”

Yorik smiled and took the discs from his pocket. He showed Fedor the white dot and placed it down on the table. “Turn it over.”

Fedor leaned forward and picked up the disc, cold and smooth to the touch, and turned it in his hands. “It’s blank.”

Grinning, Yorik revealed the disc with the white spot still in his hand.

“I don’t understand.” He scratched behind his ear. “I just saw—”

“You see what you expect.” He palmed the disc again and brought the one with the spot to the front. “I show you.” He dropped the first disc onto the table. “You expect the dot.”

As creases set on his brow, Fedor flipped the disc over to find it blank. “So, it’s still in your hand?”

“I let the top one fall instead of the bottom.” He offered the discs to Fedor. “You try.”

Fedor palmed all three.

“You do it quick so mark not see.”

Fedor turned his hand over and the three discs flew to the ground. “Sorry.”

Yorik chuckled. “Grip bottom two. Let top one drop.”

Gathering the discs, Fedor tried again. Two discs left his hand and rolled off the table. He snatched them mid-fall and held his breath.

With a flourish, he flipped the disc onto the table, followed by the other two, and smiled.

“Very good.” Yorik patted him on the shoulder and got up to leave. “You keep trying.”

Fedor repeated the process several times, his confidence growing with each success.

––––––––

After an hour or so, Lev clicked his fingers in front of Fedor’s eyes. “Great work, mate. I don’t know about you, but these coins are burning a hole in my pocket. What do you say tonight we get a bed and meal?”

Fedor drew his gaze from the discs and nodded. “Sounds good.”

“You ever been to the arena?”

He waved his hands. “I’m not allowed there. Father Heinrich said—”

Lev groaned. “You don’t have to live in fear, mate. You don’t have to go back to that place if you don’t want to.”

With a slight nod, Fedor glanced at the door. “It’s a sin.”

“They’re not your rules anymore.” He held Fedor’s gaze. “You’re with us now.”

Fedor took in a breath and swallowed. “Thanks.”

“We’ll have a few drinks, watch some fights. If you’re lucky, I might even show you a few things.” He tapped the side of his nose.

“What sort of things.”

“You know much about locks?”

“No.”

“Come with me.”

Fedor gestured to the discs. “What should I do with these?”

“Bring them with you.” He moved towards the door and signalled for Fedor to follow. “Just give them back to Yorik next time he’s around.”

Pocketing the discs, Fedor made his way back along the passage and took a left into a winding tunnel, ducking his head against the low ceiling. “What made these tunnels?”

“Dunno, mate. Could be natural. Could be wyverns.” He shouldered his way through a door. “Some people say this place used to be a mine, but I don’t buy that for a second.”

Fedor stopped in the doorway, taking in the odour of old clothes as warmth emanated from the walls. Many-hued shirts, jackets, and trousers hung from racks. Boots and shoes stood in pairs beneath shelves piled with various hats.

Lev shoved a pair of crates to one side and rifled through a third. “Grab these, will you, mate?” He passed Fedor half-a-dozen rough-cut squares of oak, no bigger than his hand.

Each block bore a lock, as if the pieces had been cut away from doors.

Lev got to his feet with more pieces in each hand and nodded to the door. “Let’s go back.”

Fedor led the way back through the passage. “What are these?”

“You ever picked a lock?”

“No.”

“Lucky I’m here then, isn’t it?” Lev took a seat on the common room sofa, placed the locks on the table, and patted the cushion next to him.

Fedor sat and added his blocks to the pile.

Lev fished inside his pocket and pulled out a key. “You know what this is?”

“It’s a key.”

“It’s not just any key, mate.”

“Why’s it different?”

“See for yourself.” Lev placed the key on Fedor’s palm.

The shaft glinted. The perpendicular end seemed thinner than other keys and had none of the expected notches. He frowned at Lev. “It’s got no crooked bits.”

Lev took the key back and nodded. “The bit’s plain. No wards.”

“What?”

“That’s what the notches are called.” He ran a finger along the key’s length. “That’s the shank.” He pulled a second key from his pocket and lay it next to the first. “See the difference?”

“That one looks normal.”

“Exactly.” He pointed to a bulge before the second key’s head. “That’s called the collar. We don’t have that on skeletons.”

Fedor’s eyes grew wide. “Skeletons?”

“We call this a skeleton key.”

“Doesn’t look like a skeleton.”

“What’s a skeleton?”

“Huh?”

“What’s a skeleton?”

Fedor frowned. “It’s what you’re left with when a person dies.”

“No, no, no. You’re looking at it all wrong.” Lev slipped the second key back into his pocket. “It’s the basic shape underneath all the skin and guts and stuff. Everyone’s skeleton’s pretty much the same.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s why it’s called a skeleton. It’s like the basis of all keys.”

“But it doesn’t look like a proper key.”

“But it’s close enough to get the job done.”

“What about the notches?”

“Wards, mate. Every bit has its own wards.”

“What bit?”

“The bit.” He pointed to the end. “This bit’s called the bit.”

“How does it work?”

“The wards help to shift stuff inside the lock so you can open it. Like this.” He grabbed a lock from the pile and wiggled the skeleton key around for a few seconds before something clicked and the lock turned. “See?”

“Wow.” Fedor leaned forward. “Does it work on every lock?”

“Most you’ll see round these parts.” He shrugged. “You get other locks, but this is the one we’ll come across most.”

“Can I try?”

“That’s why you’re here.” He handed the lock to Fedor, the key still jutting out. “Try and turn it back.”

Fedor wriggled the key in the lock for more than a minute before setting it down on his lap. “It doesn’t work.”

“You saw me do it.”

“I also saw trickery with the monty discs.”

“There’s no tricks. Trust me.” He took the lock and turned the key again. “You’ve got to get a feel for it. You’ve got to push through the stuff that’s blocking it and hit the stuff that turns it.”

“That’s not very clear.”

“Do I look like a locksmith?”

“You seem to know the names of key parts.”

“Only because I was taught. Never taught the lock parts. Only how to break through.” He handed the lock back. “Try again. And really feel what each movement does.”

Fedor gave a slight nod and concentrated as he worked the key. He sensed the mechanism inside, feeling the resistance against the key’s bit.

He wiggled the key.

Something caught.

He turned the lock and smiled.

“Nice one.” Lev clapped a hand down on Fedor’s shoulder. “Did you feel it?”

“Yeah.”

“When I do it, I can imagine what it’s like in there—like I’m a tiny bug exploring the place.”

“I could feel the springs or whatever through the key.”

“Exactly.” He took the next lock from the pile and retrieved the key. “Try this one.”

Fedor slid the skeleton into the lock and shifted it around for several seconds, his frustration growing as nothing seemed to catch.

“Slow down. Remember, you need to tickle it, not smack it.”

“Right.” He focused on his fingertips, sensing the slight movements inside the mechanism. He twisted the key back and forth, slowly at first until the frustration rose again. “I can’t do it. It’s different.”

Lev took the lock and fiddled with the key for several seconds.

The mechanism clicked and the lock shifted.

“How did you do that?”

Lev shut the lock and passed it back. “The same way you do them all. With patience. You’ve got to take your time. Don’t let it get to you. I can tell in your face you’re letting it wind you up.” He shook his head. “You’ve got to keep calm.”

“Right.”

“And word to the wise, try to keep your emotions hidden. You can’t be looking shifty in front of the watch. Don’t let people see what you’re thinking.”

Fedor stared down at the lock and took in a breath. “Right.” He cleared his mind. “I can do this.” He moved the key inside the lock for more than a minute, making slight adjustments until something felt right.

He turned the key.

The lock opened.

“Yes!” He grinned at Lev.

“Good work.” Lev switched the lock with one from the pile. “Try this.”

Determined, Fedor tinkered with the next one, pushing away his growing frustration. He slowed down and concentrated on his fingertips, focusing on the subtle vibrations and pushing against the resistance.

It opened.

“You’re getting it, mate. Now try with a blindfold.”

“A blindfold?”

“A blindfold.”

“I’m not sure...”

“Trust me.” He whipped a necktie from his pocket and fastened it to cover Fedor’s eyes.

With fumbling hands, Fedor took the next lock and pushed the key inside.

After a moment, the lock shifted.

“Wow.” Fedor set the lock aside and reached for another. “It’s actually easier.”

“That’s the point. You rely too much on your eyes when you don’t need to. This is all about how it feels.”

The next lock clicked.

Fedor smiled at the sense of achievement. He tried the next lock. And the next.

“I tell you, mate. Women are going to fall over themselves for that smile.”

Pulling off his blindfold, Fedor blinked at the alchemical light. “What do you mean?”

“Give it a couple more years. We can work on your charm and wit, but that smile’s going to work wonders for the long con.”

Fedor frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Imagine you’ve got some rich nob woman. She’s lonely. Let’s say her husband’s out to sea, or dead, or whatever. Good-looking lad comes along, befriends her. Suddenly, she’s buying you gifts and letting you into her bedroom.”

“To sleep?”

Lev snorted out a laugh. “Mate, you’re so green. I love it.” He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “You know the brothel in the market?”

“Yeah.”

“When we get a bit more coin together, I’ll take you there.”

Fedor’s chest tightened. “To a brothel? But—”

“Don’t give me any of that sin crap, mate. There’s a woman in there who can do things with her mouth—”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Just saying.” Lev opened his hands. “You need to learn the ways of women. Best way if you ask me.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will.” He cocked an eyebrow at Fedor. “I’ve seen the way you look at Melita.”

Shuffling his weight, Fedor tossed him the necktie and shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Yeah. You do.” He grinned. “I prefer a more voluptuous woman, but she’s pretty enough.”

“I just think she’s good at what she does.”

“Right.” Lev grinned. “You admire her talents. Both of them, I’m sure.”

“I...no! It’s not like that.” He grabbed a cushion and smacked Lev across the face.

Lev laughed and snatched his own, beating down on Fedor with striking blows.

“Having fun, lads?”

Lev shot up and tossed the cushion aside.

Gavril stood in the doorway, eyeing them both.

“Was just doing some lock training.”

Gavril inclined his head. “Was that before or after your little pillow fight?”

“Sorry, boss.”

Gavril looked between them and smiled. “It’s fine.” His gaze rested on Fedor. “You settling in alright?”

Fedor sat back on the sofa and nodded. “Yeah.”

“How you getting on with those locks?”

“Good.”

Gavril clapped his hands together. “Excellent. I always find that it works best if you hold your breath. Take in some air. Hold it. Crack the lock. Then breathe out.”

“Thanks.”

“Heard you did well this morning.”

“He did,” Lev said.

“Here.” Gavril tossed a coin to Fedor. “Call it a welcome bonus. Glad to see you getting involved. When we work well together, we all benefit.”

“Thanks.” Fedor pocketed the coin. He could easily pay what he owed to Father Heinrich with what he’d earned. Though explaining how he came by the money would no doubt lead to another beating and shunning.

“What’s wrong?”

Fedor smiled at Gavril. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Well, you keep doing well for us and there will be more where that came from.” He turned his attention to Lev. “You going to be around tonight?”

Lev shrugged one shoulder. “Was thinking of getting a bed and meal.”

Gavril nodded. “Take Fedor with you.”

“I was planning on it.”

“Great. That’s great.” He smiled at Fedor. “If anyone gives you any problems, let them know you’re running with me.”

Fedor nodded. “Thanks. I will.”

VII. The Prop Bet

Lev knocked back the last dregs of ale and drew a sleeve across his mouth. “You know about prop bets?”

Fedor stared down at his cup and frowned. “What do you think?”

“Watch this.” He got up and stood at the bar, a few feet away from Fedor, and waited until a thin man with a wiry moustache ordered a small glass of something clear.

Keeping hold of his empty flagon, Lev waved to the barman and ordered another ale. He turned to the thin man and cleared his throat. “I bet I can down my ale quicker than you can your rum.”

The man’s gaze darted between his glass and the full flagon. “Well, I say you can’t.”

Lev unfolded his arms. “Well, I say I can.”

“I can knock that back in a second. I don’t care how fast you down an ale, you’re not beating me.”

“Want to bet?”

“Bet?” The man chuckled. “You want to make a bet?”

Lev shrugged. “Sure. If I win, you buy me and my friend here a drink. If you win, I’ll pay for your next two. How’s that sound?”

The man sniffed. “You’re mad.”

“Not mad. Just a very fast drinker.”

“Alright.” The man shrugged. “I’m in.”

Lev raised a finger. “There’s one rule.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not allowed to touch my glass, and I’m not allowed to touch yours. That sound fair?”

The man nodded, spat on his palm, and shook Lev’s hand.

“On three. One. Two. Three.” Lev flipped his empty flagon upside down, covering the rum glass. “You can’t touch my glass, remember.” He grinned and sipped his ale.

The man gaped at Lev and smiled. “You got me.” He shook his head and gave Lev a playful shove on the arm. “I’ll have to watch you.” He ordered two cups of ale, snatched up his rum, and tottered away from the bar, chuckling to himself.

Gathering the drinks, Lev returned to his seat. “And that’s how you do a prop bet.”

“You cheated him.”

Lev waved him away. “He made a bet, fair and square.”

“But you cheated.”

“Yep.” Lev leaned back and swigged his ale. “It’s all about knowing a bit more than the mark.”

“What if he’d punched you?”

“What, him?” He gestured to the man across the lounge. “You could take him down, mate.” He shook his head. “He was drunk and he looks like the type of bloke who’d curl into a ball at the first whiff of trouble.”

“So, what? You look out for weak people and exploit them?”

Lev leaned forward. “I wouldn’t put it like that. Look at him. Look at his clothes. You can tell he’s not skint. Look how clean they are. No one has buttons like that if they’re skint.” He shrugged one shoulder. “He looks like he enjoys a laugh. Doesn’t look like he’s been in many fights.”

“Right. So, I take it you wouldn’t do that to just anyone?”

Lev nodded towards a thickset man standing near the doorway, his muscular arms rippling with tattoos, his face etched with scars. “Do you want to try it on him?”

“No.”

“Good. That guy doesn’t look like he can handle a laugh. I’d say he’s been in more than his fair share of scrapes. Thing is, that guy who brought us the drinks has probably got a story to tell his mates. I’m sure he’ll no doubt find it funny. Might even try it on them, just for a laugh. You’ve got to assess people before you try anything. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I hear what you’re saying.”

“It’s like with the lock stuff. The skeleton doesn’t work on all locks and some locks take ages to get in.” He took a sip of ale. “So, you know what I do?”

Fedor shrugged. “Try another lock.”

“You mock, my friend, but that’s exactly right. You don’t want to get caught and you don’t want to get spotted. If you’re fiddling around someone’s keyhole, the longer you’re there, the more chance you’ve got of getting in trouble.” He chuckled to himself. “That sounded ruder than I intended.”

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Do you ever go after something specific?” He looked around the bar. “Say, you see a thing you really want, or there’s something at a specific time. Something like that?”

Lev nodded. “Sometimes. Yeah. We might do the odd job that requires a bit more planning, but it’s got to be worth it, you know? No point spending days planning a job for a few bits of hack.”

Fedor shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“About what?”

“About how much you have to do. Picking locks. Learning games. The head stuff.” He gripped his flagon. “And then there’s what Melita does.”

He grinned. “Thinking about Melita again, eh?”

“No. Not like that. I don’t...I don’t fancy her, if that’s what you mean.”

“Course you don’t. Whatever. I believe you.” His grin grew wider.

“Shut up. I just think she’s good at what she does.”

“The smiling? The way her hips go when she walks?”

“No.” He lowered his voice. “The pocket picking stuff.”

“She’s not the only one who does picking. There’s loads you can do when there’s a few of you. Good opportunities for distraction and misdirection, if you get my meaning?”

Fedor let the words hang for a while before speaking again. “So, how does the bet thing work?”

“It works because people are greedy. Trust me, mate. Most of your con jobs work because the mark’s a greedy bastard.”

“No, I mean, how do you do the bet?”

“They’re called prop bets. You go in to a bet with a proposition where you give the mark something they’re sure they can’t lose. And then you fleece them.”

“Right.”

“You saw what I did. I made a bet he would obviously win. But then I added a little rule about not touching each other’s glasses. Sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s how you do it. Once they agree, you can get them with a technicality.”

“That’s actually pretty clever. Devious, but clever.”

Lev raised his glass to that. “To being devious and clever. Long may it continue.”

Fedor echoed the gesture, took a sip, and laughed. “Are we staying here tonight?”

“We can stay here if you want. Or, we can go back to the den.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“Yep. Same.” He gestured to their mugs. “We should finish these up and I’ll take you to the arena.” He raised a hand before Fedor could speak. “And don’t give me any crap about the arena being a den of sin, or any of that bullshit. You need to sack off the priests now. You’re done with that, mate. It’s time to start living.”

Fedor knocked his drink back and got to his feet. “Fine. Let’s go.”

––––––––

Lev led the way past the docks, into the marketplace, and marched up the steps to the arena.

Reaching the top step, Fedor stepped through the arched entrance and gazed across the concentric stone benches surrounding a central cage. He blinked up at the alchemical orbs hanging by chains from the cavernous ceiling, his vision blurred by ale. “It’s huge.”

“Can’t believe you’ve never been here before.” Lev shook his head. “Let’s find a seat.”

A constable blocked their path. “Not so fast.”

Lev let out a sigh and folded his arms. “What?”

“You two lads aren’t planning on sneaking in here again, are you?”

Fedor frowned at the accusation. “You don’t know me.”

The constable narrowed his eyes. “If you’re with Lev, I know your type. So, unless you’re here to—”

“We’ve got money.” Lev flashed a pair of coins.

“Who’d you nick them off?”

“My good sir, I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Yeah?” The constable studied the pair and nodded. “Go on. But if I get one sniff that you’re up to anything, I’ll drag you outside and have you beaten.” He patted the baton on his belt. “We clear, lads?”

“As glass.” Lev bowed his head and gestured to a free table and chairs near the bar. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Fedor followed Lev inside, wending between groups of men, ducking by pie sellers, and skirting past the bar. The air stunk of sweat and farts.

“Take a seat, mate.”

Fedor gestured to a pair of flagons resting on the table. “Someone’s already sitting here.”

“They’re empties.” He dragged a seat out from under the table. “You snooze, you lose.”

“So long as you’re sure.” He slumped into a seat across from Lev and hiccupped.

“Are you pissed?”

“What?”

Lev made a drinking gesture. “You drunk?”

“No.”

“You look drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” He hiccupped again.

“You sound drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Course you’re not, mate.”

“It’s just, my head’s a bit...a bit fuzzy.”

“Right. Take it slow the rest of the night. You’ll feel it in the morning if you get too hammered.” He gestured to the cage. “Looks like they’re about to start.”

“Start what?”

“A fight.”

Fedor shot to his feet and scanned the crowd, searching for the ruckus. “Where?”

“In the cage, mate.” He tugged Fedor’s sleeve. “Sit down.”

“Why’s there a fight?”

“That’s what the arena is. Fighters come from all over the place. You can make a bit of money if you back the right fighters.”

“I thought gambling was illegal.”

“Mate, there’s a lot of stuff that goes on that’s illegal. Doesn’t make it bad though.”

A deep crease set on Fedor’s brow. “That doesn’t make sense. Gambling’s a sin.”

“For the Church, maybe.”

“What about your code?”

“That’s gambling between us.”

“But it’s illegal.”

Lev shook his head. “Yeah. Only because the priests put pressure on the powers that be.”

“How do they do it then?”

“You’ve got to know the right people.” He tapped the side of his nose and grinned.

Cheers rose and the light shifted.

A man wearing a red tailcoat and a crisp white shirt stepped from a tunnel into the cage. “Gentlemen. Welcome.” His voice reverberated around the arena. “Our next bout is a heavyweight contest. First, be upstanding for the Hafendorf Brawler, Olaf Strauss.”

A pale-skinned man with broad shoulders and swept-back white hair walked slowly into the cage and sneered at the booing crowd. He stood with his arms folded and yawned, bringing down more jeers and curses.

“I hate that guy,” Lev said, his fists tightening into balls. “Someone needs to smack that shit-eating grin from his face.”

“And his opponent, representing his home city of Nordturm, Klaus ‘the tunnel snake’ Schmidt.”

The arena rumbled with stomps and cheers.

A bulky man with tanned flesh and toned muscles jogged into the cage, pointing at the crowd and smiling.

“This guy’s awesome.” Lev rose to his feet and clapped. “Come on, Snake! Kick his ass.”

Fedor turned his attention to the cage, starting when the announcer clapped two pieces of wood together, signalling the start of the bout.

The fighters circled each other as the cheers rose.

Olaf threw a wild kick, missing his target.

Klaus leapt forward, tackling Olaf to the ground. He mounted him and drove down with punch after punch after punch.

“Look at him.” Lev pointed, his eyes bright. “He’s out.”

The wood clapped again and Klaus got to his feet. His opponent remained on his back, staring at the lights.

The announcer raised Klaus’s hand. “And your winner—Klaus Schmidt!”

The arena erupted as Olaf slunk away, clutching his ribs.

“What do you think?” Lev said.

Fedor shook his head. “It was all over a bit quick.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Huh?”

Lev waved him away. “Doesn’t matter.” He turned his attention to the cage. “I would not like to meet that guy in a tunnel.”

“Was that a good fight then?”

“Yeah, mate. Straight in there. Quick takedown. Boom! Olaf didn’t have a chance.”

“Are they always that short?”

“They go on as long as they need to.” He shrugged. “Depends on the match-up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some fighters like to do a lot of grappling and throws. Others just go in there with punches. Whatever works.”

“So, it’s just a free-for-all.”

“There’s rules. You can’t bite or gouge the eyes. You can’t pull hair or go for the bollocks.”

Fedor winced. “That’s good.”

“You want to get us another drink?”

“Sure.” Fedor wobbled to his feet. “What do you want?”

“Ale for me.” He looked Fedor up and down. “You should probably have some apple juice, or something.”

“Right.” He grabbed an empty flagon and joined the queue for the bar.

When his turn came, he ordered two ales and met the gaze of a man ordering a glass of whisky.

A pipe shifted in his mouth. “What you looking at?”

“Erm...” Fedor focused on his ale. “I bet I can drink mine faster than you can drink yours.”

The man cocked an eyebrow and blew smoke from his nostrils. “You want to bet?”

“Yeah. I want to bet. If I win, you—”

A hand slapped down on his shoulder.

“Thirty-three.” Lev gave the man a nod. “Ignore my friend here. He’s had a few too many.”

The man’s lip curled and he gave a nod. “Keep your boy on a leash, kid.”

“Will do.”

Fedor glanced back at the man and frowned. “I was going to prop—” He let out a hiccup. “I was...”

When they reached the table, he shook Fedor by the collar. “Dickhead. You know who that was?”

“I...no.”

“Remember what I said about choosing marks wisely?”

Fedor sucked in his bottom lip. “Yes.”

“That was Mad Pat.”

“Who?”

“Mad Pat. You know? Pat the plan. Pat the rat. Mad Pat.”

“I don’t know—”

“Trust me, mate. You don’t want anything to do with him.”

Fedor slumped into his seat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. No harm done.”

“Who is he?”

“He only runs Nordturm’s biggest protection racket. The guy’s nuts. Hence the name.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Just don’t try anything without asking first. You don’t know what’s what or who’s who yet.”

“I said, I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got to be smarter than that.” He let out a sigh and got to his feet. “Come on. I’ve had enough.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the pub.” He knocked back his ale. “We’ll get a bed and meal and hopefully we’ve not pissed him off too much.”

Lev made his way towards the exit and sat back down.

Turning back, Lev marched over to him. “What are you doing? I said we need to go.”

“What’s the point? I’m going to finish my drink and head back to the orphanage. I’ve got enough coin to pay the priests. I’m done.”

“Mate, you can’t be serious.”

“I said, I’m done.” He met Lev’s gaze. “It’s like I’m being pulled into something I don’t want.”

Lev sat across from him and sighed. “You’ve got choices.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve not made you do anything.”

“I know. And I appreciate what you’ve tried to do. But...” His voice trailed off.

“Do you know why I do this?”

Fedor shook his head.

“I do this so I can get out of this place.” He gestured vaguely around him. “One day, I’ll do a big enough job so I can move somewhere else.”

“What’s the point? Everywhere’s the same. It’s just crap.”

“Nah. There’s loads of places better than this shit-hole. I’ll get a cottage somewhere quiet. Get married, settle down with some kids and a dog. It’ll be great.”

“But how can you live always looking over your shoulder?”

“Trust me, mate. None of us want this life. But it’s a means to an end, you know?”

“Can’t you do something else?”

“Like what? If you’ve got any suggestions, I’m all ears.”

“You could join a ship, or something.”

“What? And get bummed by a bunch of horny sailors. No thanks.” He pulled Fedor’s ale towards him and took a sip. “For folks like us, there’s only a few ways out. You either steal, or you fight.” He gestured to the cage. “What kind of life do you think it is getting the crap kicked out of you every other week?”

“There’s got to be another way.”

“I guess you could work in the foundries or join the priests.” He held his eyes closed for a long moment.

“At least the foundries are honest.”

“You ever seen anyone working down there older than thirty?”

“I’ve never really noticed.”

“Work in the foundries and you end up coughing up blood after a year or two.” He took in a breath and sighed. “This is the best way.”

“It’s not honest though, is it?”

“Honest?” Lev sniffed. “What’s honest around here? If you think people are honest, you’re greener than I gave you credit for.”

Fedor didn’t respond.

“You really think this place is honest?” He pushed the ale cup back towards Fedor. “This tastes like it’s been watered down with piss. The fights are fixed.” He nodded towards the constable standing by the exit. “The watch are rotten to the core. The merchants are little more than jumped-up pirates.”

“What about those setting up in the market?”

“The market? The market? They’re the biggest bunch of thieving bastards around here.” He leaned forward. “Everyone’s in it to get what they can, mate. You’re either playing the game, or you’re a victim.”

Fedor stared at his hands. “I don’t want to be a victim.” He gazed up at Lev. “But...”

“You’re conflicted.” He let out a sigh. “I get it. But you can’t be a kid forever. It’s a harsh world out there and you’ve got to do what you have to if you’re going to survive. You think the whores enjoy what they do?”

“I don’t know.”

“They don’t. But they do it because it’s a way out. And unless you’ve got some hidden talents you aren’t telling me about, you’re going to be in the same boat.”

“I don’t have anything.”

“But you do.” He pointed at his temple. “You’re smart. You’ve got the crew. We look out for each other. That’s better than anything you’ll get with the priests.”

“I don’t know.” Fedor licked his lips. “You came out of nowhere and suddenly I’m in a gang.” He opened his palms. “I never asked for any of this.”

Lev rubbed the back of his neck. “I just think you deserve more than being stuck with the priests. We all do.”

“Remember the guy who gave me that coin as a reward?”

“Bartok Schultz, yeah.”

“He told me how he’d built his business from nothing. That he used to run messages on the ships and now he’s got a massive operation.”

“So?”

“He said it was about integrity. He said I had a choice to take the easy way or the hard way.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“He said the hard way’s the one with integrity. The easy way’s a shortcut.”

Lev spat. “You think what we do is easy? You’ve seen some of the skills you need to learn. You’ve seen the dangers, the risks. This isn’t easy. This isn’t a bloody shortcut.” He clenched his fists. “Trust me, mate. He can talk all the shit he wants about integrity, but I bet if you look a bit closer, you’d find something off about him—there always is with preachy twats like that.”

“But he said he built his thing up because he was honest.”

“Yeah, right.” Lev raised a finger. “More likely he convinced people he’s honest. There’s a big difference.”

“What if he’s telling the truth?”

“What if he is?” Lev shrugged one shoulder. “He’s an outlier. If you think a guy like that hasn’t bribed customs or took advantage of slaves, you’re kidding yourself.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Think about it. If the incentive’s there and there’s little chance of getting caught, you’re going to take it.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t give me that you-think-you-know better crap, because you don’t. You’re green and you don’t know shit about shit.”

“I like to think people can be honest.”

“Then you’ll end up losing the shirt off your back, mate. Because someone’s always going to recognise a sucker.”

“You think I’m a sucker?” Fedor narrowed his eyes. “How do I know this isn’t just some big scam you’ve got running with me?”

Lev leaned his head back and groaned. “Mate, it all goes back to incentives.” He met his gaze. “Ask yourself this—what exactly do I have to gain from ripping you off?” He lifted Fedor’s jacket. “You think I’m after your hidden stash? You’ve got nothing. You’re skint and you’re green. If anything, I should be asking you why I should trust you.”

“You came to me.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I figured we could help each other, but don’t you ever accuse me of trying to run something on you. I give you my word.”

“Fine.” Fedor folded his arms. “I accept you’re not trying to scam me.”

“Good.”

Silence passed between them as the announcer called the next fight.

“I don’t want us to fall out, mate.” Lev’s mouth twitched into a concerned smile. “We’ve both had a few drinks and you’re right to ask questions. But you need to start trusting me. We look out for each other, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Fedor sucked in his bottom lip. “I just feel torn.”

Lev squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve got to push thoughts like that away. You’ve got to be confident. You’ve got to look like you belong. If you listen to everything your head tells you, you’ll end up driving yourself mad.” He gestured to the bar. “You had a close call with Mad Pat. That’s why we look out for each other. We take care of each other. That’s what it means to be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Of course, mate.”

Fedor took in a breath and held it. “I’ve not had a friend before.”

“Well, you’ve got one now. I promise, I’m not out to rip you off. I just need a partner I can work with, a mate I can trust.”

“What’s wrong with Yorik, or Onwyth?”

“They’ve got their own things going. Melita works best alone. Yorik does his games and card stuff. Onwyth usually runs with Gavril. I want to do something big. Something that’s going to make me enough coin that I can be done with it all. I can’t do it alone.”

“And that’s where I come in?”

Lev shrugged. “I hope so, yeah.” He rose to his feet and gestured to the exit. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the orphanage if you want. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.” He held out a hand. “It’s been a pleasure, mate.”

“I thought we were getting a bed at the Rusty Sail?”

“It’s up to you.”

Holding onto the table’s edge for balance, Fedor staggered to his feet and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

“You’re with me, then?”

Fedor nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

“Come on then. Hopefully they’ve still got some beds.”

Leaning on Lev for support, Fedor stumbled from the arena, almost tripping down the steps on the way out.

“You going to be alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re pissed.”

“No, you’re pissed.”

“You are, more like.”

“No, you are, more like, more like.”

Laughing, Lev steered him into the tunnel towards the docks. “You’re going to have a banging headache tomorrow.”

“You will.”

“You’re an argumentative git when you’ve had a few, aren’t you?”

“You are.”

Lev laughed again as they weaved along the dockside, passing ships and ignoring the calls from prostitutes and rent-boys plying their trade. “Just try to keep your voice down. Don’t want the watch chucking you in the tank for the night.”

Fedor burped. “What tank?”

“The tank. It’s where they sling the piss-heads if they get too rowdy.”

“Oh.” Fedor glanced back over his shoulder and pulled his gaze away from a constable watching over the docks.

“Just keep your wits about you,” Lev said as he stepped into the shadows of the commercial district. “You never know who’s about.”

“I’ll take them.” Fedor made a series of jabbing punches in the air. “I’m not scared.”

Lev patted his shoulder. “Course you’re not, mate. You might want to be careful who you say that to though. Never know who’ll take you up on the offer.”

“Oh.”

“Just try not to look too wasted.”

Approaching the Rusty Sail, Lev raised his chin and smiled at the bouncers blocking the doorway. “Evening, gents. Been busy?”

The bulkier man stood forward. “What you want?”

“We’re here for a room.”

“You got coin?”

“Of course.”

“Prove it, kid.”

Lev dipped into his jacket and showed the bouncer a pair of coins.

“Go on then.” The bouncer stepped to one side. “Any crap and you’re out.”

“Don’t worry about us.”

Fedor followed Lev inside. The stench of stale cider collided with the heady aroma of opium smoke.

Lev gestured to an empty table near the bar and left Fedor while he spoke to the barman.

Fedor leaned back in his seat, the room spinning around him. He sat up straight, trying to regain his composure, forcing himself to look sober.

Figuring he could stay grounded if he kept his eyes from moving, he stared at a spot above the door.

He checked his pockets and took out Yorik’s monty discs. He held them in front of him, studying the dot as it pulsated in his vision.

Clearing his throat, he tapped the elbow of a man standing near him. “You want to bet?”

The man glared down at him with dark eyes, his grin a patchwork of rotten teeth. “What’s the game?”

“You pick the dot.” He set the discs on the table. “I move them like this. And you pick the right one.” He tried his best not to slur. “Double if you win.”

“Double the bet?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. You’re on.” He nodded and placed a krone on the table’s corner.

Fedor palmed the discs and showed the man the dot. He slammed the disc down on the table and pulled it back. “Wait. Wait. Let me do that again. I got them mixed.”

The man narrowed his eyes, his hand snapping around Fedor’s wrist. “What you trying to pull, you Siesha bastard?”

Fedor jerked his arm back, but the man’s grip held tight.

“You trying to rip me off?”

“No. I...” Fedor hiccupped. “The dot. I put it in the wrong place.”

The man turned to the bar. “Get the watch. This little shit’s trying to pull a fast one.”

Lev broke the man’s grip free, snatched up the discs, and pulled Fedor to his feet. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Thirty-three.”

Fedor slipped from the man’s grasp and barrelled from the exit, knocking the bouncers aside as he ran.

Shouts followed them through the city.

Men gave chase.

A constable blew his whistle.

“This way.” Lev pushed Fedor into an alleyway and clambered onto a crate.

Fedor followed him onto the rooftop, and ran along a row of shops, skirting past chimneys and leaping across gaps as voices called after them.

Reaching the end of a row of shops, Fedor slid down a drainpipe as Lev charged into a tunnel.

After a minute or so running, they emerged on the canal path. Fedor leaned against the wall, his breaths coming thick and fast, and spat on the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Go on without me. I’ll catch up.”

“We’re being chased, dickhead. Come on.”

Fedor raised his head slowly, swaying like a grass in the wind.

“Oi!”

The gruff voice snapped Fedor from his daze. He raced along the towpath and shot into the den.

Lev slammed the door shut, locking it behind them with frantic fingers.

Fedor stumbled into the common room and crashed down on the sofa, his mind reeling, the room spinning and lurching.

Groaning, he turned onto his side as Lev lined a bucket up next to his mouth.

“If you’re going to hurl, do it—”

Fedor’s chest heaved and he threw up across the floor.

“Gavril’s going to be pissed off about this. Help me clean up.”

Fedor muttered as he wiped a string of bile from his mouth and closed his eyes, trying to regain his balance and stop himself from throwing up again. “I keep still now. Stop...moving...”

VIII. The Bump Drop

“Arghh!” Fedor rolled onto his back and clutched his head, vague memories from the previous night clattering around his mind.

“Drink this.”

He started at the sound of Gavril’s deep voice and shot up to a sitting position, his head thundering with each breath. He took the clay cup and sniffed inside, recoiling at the sickly-sweet stench. “What is it?”

“It’s a hangover cure.” He fixed his grey eyes on Fedor, his nostrils flaring. “You should drink it.”

With a nod, Fedor knocked the liquid back. His throat convulsed and he gripped the sofa’s arm. “That’s disgusting.”

“What’s wrong with you, kid?”

Each word brought a rhythmic, crushing blow down on his skull. “My...my head hurts.”

“I’m not talking about that.” Getting to his feet, Gavril took the cup and fixed Fedor’s gaze. “You almost led the watch to our hideout?”

“Did I? I—”

“You did.” He hurled the cup past Fedor, shattering it against the wall. “Do want us all to get in trouble?”

“No.” His bottom lip trembled. “I...” Fedor stared down at his hands as shame washed over him. “Sorry.”

“Look at me.”

Swallowing, Fedor gazed up at Gavril.

“This is a warning.” His lip curled. “Never do a job when you’re drunk. Fix that rule in your mind. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Sorry. Lev—”

“Lev should have known better. I’ve already had words with him.” He ran a hand back over his silver hair and let out a long, loud sigh. “You’ve to be more careful, kid. If I go down, everyone does.”

“I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

“Good. Make sure you do. Because trust me, kid, you don’t want to be fair game.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Gavril started to pace. “Do you know why we don’t do muggings?”

“What’s a mugging?”

“A mugging is what those lads were doing when I saved you. Robbing someone on the street.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

Fedor frowned. “Well, what?”

“Do you know why we don’t do them?”

“Because it’s dangerous?”

“Exactly. You open yourself up to unnecessary danger and you’re putting us all at risk. You’re not working for yourself. You’re a part of a team. You want to be part of a team, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop acting like you’re not.” He narrowed his eyes. “Because you’re new, I’m giving you fair warning. But I swear that if you screw up like this again...”

Fedor stiffened as the words trailed off.

“Are we good?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” His posture relaxed. “You’ll be training with Yorik, Melita, and Lev this morning. Think your head can take it?”

Fedor nodded and tried not to wince at the pain inside his skull.

“Good.” Gavril gave Fedor’s shoulder a gentle shove. “You alright, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great.” He smiled and edged towards the door. “You’re going to have a great time here, kid. We look after each other. I’d hate for all this to come falling down because of one dumb mistake.”

“I know.” Fedor forced a smile. “Thanks.”

Gavril moved back towards him and knelt down next to the sofa. “I’ll deal with this.” He gathered the cup shards and left.

Fedor lay on the sofa and closed his eyes. What would Gavril do to him if he messed up again? Where would he go if forced to leave? Would the priests ever allow him to return? And if he did leave, what would happen to him if Gavril deemed him fair game? He didn’t want to find out.

“Gavril find you?”

Cringing, Fedor turned to face Lev standing in the doorway. He stood in a loose tunic and leggings. Swelling closed his right eye.

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugged. “Gavril found me.”

“Oh.”

Lev shifted Fedor’s legs aside and sat to his right. “Don’t worry about it, mate. These things happen. Just be glad I cleaned your sick up before he saw it.”

“You did that?”

“Didn’t I tell you? We look out for each other.”

“Did Gavril hit you?”

Lev reached up to his eye and nodded. “Could have led the watch here. Can’t be too careful.”

“Does he hit you much?”

Lev licked his lips and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and turned to Fedor. “I asked for it, mate. That’s all.”

“What about the others?”

Lev didn’t respond.

“He didn’t hit me.”

“You’re new. Keep your nose clean and you’ll be alright.” A smile formed on his lips. “Good night, though.”

Fedor rubbed his head. “I guess. I don’t remember much.”

Lev’s smile turned into a laugh. “You remember trying to run a prop bet on Mad Pat?”

“Who?”

“Mad Pat. Pat the rat. Pat the plan. You know, Mad Pat.”

“I don’t—” Vague memories flashed in his mind. “Maybe. Oops.”

“Oops, indeed.”

“Why do you call him Pat the plan?”

“Because he’s always got big plans. He’s always got some crazy ideas for inventions and schemes. Never does them though. Just talks your ear off for a few hours about them if he corners you in a pub.”

“But he’s dangerous?”

“Very. Used to be a soldier. Then he did fighting. Then he moved on to protection stuff. I’ve seen him beat a guy to a pulp just for looking at him funny.” He sniffed and shook his head. “You were lucky last night.”

“Glad I’ve got you to look out for me.”

“That’s what we do, mate. And that’s why Gavril’s pissed off at us.” He pointed to the door. “Good or bad, everything we do out there impacts everyone else in here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all good. No one got hurt.”

“Apart from you.”

Lev shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, well. These things happen. We’ve just got to be more careful. If you’re a few drinks in, you’ve got to call a thirty-three on doing jobs. Your reactions are slower when you’ve had a few. You think you can do more than you really can. Just remember that and you’ll be alright.”

“Sorry.” He let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to screw up again.”

“Stop apologising so much. It’s boring. That self-flagellation crap might be something the priests go for, but not here. You learn your lesson and you move on. You understand?”

“I will. Sorry. I mean, yes. I’ll move on.”

“Good.” He gestured to the door. “Looks like the others are getting ready. You should get yourself washed and changed and meet us back here when you’re done. Because, no offence, mate, your breath stinks.”

Fedor steadied himself on the left wall as he got to his feet. “What do I do about clothes?”

“Remember the room I showed you?”

“With the clothes in?”

“No. The one filled with goats.”

Fedor frowned. “Huh?”

“Keep up. It’s called sarcasm. Go to the room with the clothes in and find something that fits you. Just grab something simple.”

“Right.” He made his way from the common to the privy. He washed himself, cleaned his teeth, and changed into a pair of roughspun leggings and tunic before dropping his old clothes in the bedroom.

Returning to the common room, he found Yorik and Melita sitting either side of Lev, laughing about something.

“Morning,” Yorik said. “How’s your head?”

Fedor lingered near the doorway. “It’s been better.”

“Heard you tried out a prop on Pat the rat.”

“Luckily, Lev was there to steer me away.”

Yorik got up and cracked his knuckles. “You were one of the lucky ones. He has two methods of torture. With the first, he beats people within in an inch of their life. With the second, he will talk to you so much about ridiculous schemes that you will want to throw yourself from the Great Tower.” He squeezed past Fedor. “Follow me.”

Fedor tailed him into the vestibule and down a winding passage. After twenty or so paces, he entered a dark room.

Melita turned a wheel jutting from the wall near the entrance, flooding the room with a soft alchemical glow.

Fedor squinted into the empty room, its stone walls curving up to an uneven ceiling as Yorik went back along the passage.

“What do you know about picking pockets?” Melita asked.

With a shrug, Fedor pushed out his bottom lip. “Not a lot.”

“By ‘not a lot,’ do you mean a few things, or nothing at all?”

“Nothing, really. Except you managed to steal from me.”

“I gave it you back. Anything else?”

“No.”

“That’s fine.” She gestured for him to step aside as Lev squeezed past them carrying a crate in his arms and Yorik followed holding a pair of pine dining chairs. “We’re going to show you a few basic drop moves today.”

Fedor nodded.

Melita squatted next to the crate, rifled inside, and dragged out a pair of sabretaches. “Most jobs we do require a bit of subterfuge.”

Fedor frowned. “What’s subterfuge?”

“A trick. A ruse. A little misdirection.” She smiled and handed Lev and Yorik a sabretache each. “This one’s easy. Let’s say you’re in a pub, or, even better, a café near the docks. One of you distracts the mark with a simple request—you could ask for directions, or the time, or call them a tosser. And a second person cuts their purse or snatches their bag while the mark’s attention’s elsewhere.”

“Like with the monty game?” He turned to Yorik. “You distracted the marks with a game and Melita robbed their money.”

“We don’t rob,” Yorik said, flatly. “Robbery is messy. We don’t do that.”

“But, Melita robbed from those sailors.”

Lev placed a hand on his shoulder. “We never threaten the marks. Robbers threaten. Thieves like us have a bit more class, mate.” He pointed to his temple. “We’re playing a deeper game.”

“Less likely to get caught,” Yorik said.

Lev nodded. “Or attacked when you pull a knife on the wrong bloke.”

“The monty game works well on its own,” Yorik said. “Having someone working the pockets gives it that extra twist.”

“Yeah,” Lev said. “It’s all about getting the mark to focus their attention where you want it.”

Fedor nodded. “Makes sense.”

Melita clapped her hands together and turned to Fedor. “I want you to watch how this one works.” She positioned him in the room’s centre. “And you can be the mark.”

Yorik set the chairs facing each other, signalled for Fedor to sit, and draped the sabretache over the back of Fedor’s chair.

Fedor’s cheeks grew warm as he gazed at Melita’s face, the way the light caught her cheeks and glinted in her eyes, the slight hint of a smile edging her lips.

She took the other sabretache from Lev and sat across from him, placing the bag in her lap. “Imagine you’re enjoying an ale...” She inclined her head. “Actually, let’s make that a coffee. A pretty girl sits across from you.” She reached for his hand, gazed into his eyes, and spoke in a soft, breathy voice. “Excuse me, would you mind looking after my bag for a moment? I won’t be long.” She paused. “And you would say...”

“Erm, yes. Sure, I guess.”

Placing the bag on the seat, she walked away.

“And for the next step,” Lev said, snatching Melita’s bag from the seat. “Good marks don’t want to let the pretty girl down, so they give chase.” He mimed running away. “That’s when you get up out of your seat, mate, and follow.”

“Oh, right.” Fedor rose to his feet and pretended to chase Lev.

“And this is what it’s really about,” Yorik said, walking past with the sabretache from Fedor’s seat. “That’s the snatch.”

“Ah. I get it. So, you misdirect the mark so they think there’s a robbery—”

“Not a robbery.” Yorik folded his arms.

“Right.” Fedor rubbed the back of his neck and replayed the scheme in his mind. “The bag gets taken and the mark follows, thinking he’s being all heroic, but the real theft is of his bag.”

Yorik nodded. “It’s all about misdirection.”

“It helps if the girl is cute.” Melita fluttered her eyelashes. “A lot of men will lose all rational thought if they think they’re in with a chance.”

Lev sidled up to him. “Remember what I was saying about playing on a mark’s greed?”

“Yeah.” Fedor frowned. “But it’s not greed, is it?”

“It is, mate. If the mark thinks he’s going to get something without working for it, that’s greed.”

“I see.” Fedor nodded to himself and winced at the pulse racing in his head.

“You’ve always got to ask yourself what are the incentives to act? What’s going to make the mark do what you want?”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

Lev shrugged. “Lot of stuff doesn’t work.”

“It’s like any numbers game,” Yorik said.

“Yeah,” Melita agreed. “You need to set things up so, whatever happens, you have an easy way to deny everything. The schemes work because people don’t know they’ve been targeted.”

Yorik chuckled. “That’s why I like the rigged games. The marks willingly hand over their coin if they think they’re smarter than you. And, believe me, they always think they’re smarter.”

“That’s the key,” Melita said. “Whichever scheme you’re running, you need to be long gone before the marks realise they’ve been conned. Even better if they never realise they were had at all.”

“Wow.” Fedor eyed between the trio and shook his head. “There’s so much to learn.”

“You’re damn right there is.” Melita crouched next to the crate and fished inside. She pulled out a purse belt and handed it to Fedor. “Put this on.”

He fastened the belt around his waist and patted the purse. “Shame it’s empty.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She picked up the chairs, making space on the floor. “This is called a bump drop.” She gestured for Fedor to stand in the centre. “Let’s say you’re waiting in a queue, or browsing the market.”

Lev bumped into him. “Sorry, mate. You alright?”

“Erm, yes.”

“That’s great. So sorry. Guess I need to look where I’m going.” He patted Fedor’s shoulder and walked away.

“Was that it?”

“Check your purse,” Melita said.

Fedor patted his belt and pockets. “It’s gone.”

She smiled. “Who has it?”

“Lev, obviously.”

She turned to Lev and spoke in a constable’s tone. “Would you empty your pockets?”

He nodded and turned out his pockets. “I just bumped into him. Just an honest accident, mate. She’s the one who took your purse.”

“She is?”

Melita’s mouth gaped. “How dare you make such accusations? You can search me if you want.”

Fedor hesitated. “Would you empty your pockets for me?”

“Of course.” She showed him the insides of her pockets and gestured to Yorik who was holding the purse between his fingers.

“Wait, what?”

“This is a three-person drop,” Melita said. “We’ll do it again, but this time I want you to watch what Yorik and I do.”

Fedor took the purse back and secured it to his waist. “I’m ready.” He stumbled to one side and Lev bumped into him.

“Sorry, mate.”

With a spin, Melita snatched the purse and dropped it into Yorik’s pocket and walked away before Lev had finished fussing around him.

“Did you see the drop?” Melita asked.

“As in, when you dropped it in Yorik’s pocket?”

“That’s right. Do you know why it works?”

“I guess, if I noticed you or Lev, I’d tell the watch. Then when they searched you, Yorik would be long gone and they’d find nothing.”

She smiled. “That’s it.”

Lev squeezed his shoulder. “Good work, mate.” He turned to the others. “Didn’t I say he was a smart kid?”

IX. The Best Move

After spending each morning for a week learning the ins and outs of pickpocketing, Fedor felt as though he was almost ready to go out into the city to try out what he’d learned. He finished the last of his bread and cheese and headed from the common room to meet Lev and Melita.

Gavril blocked his path. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to carry on with—”

“No, you’re not.” He fixed Fedor’s gaze. “You’re with me today.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll enjoy it.”

Fedor nodded. “Is this where I get a dance lesson?”

“Something like that.” With a grin, Gavril led the way along a tunnel. He stopped at the door across from his office and shouldered his way inside. “Will you do the light?”

Groping near the door, Fedor turned the light wheel as the thick stench of damp and stale sweat wrinkled his nose.

Alchemical tubes grew bright, illuminating straw dummies and a brown leather punchbag hanging from a hook. Dumbbells lay in the corner next to a bench.

He stepped inside, the carpeted floor bouncy underfoot. “What is this place?”

“It’s the gym.”

“Right.”

“You know much about fighting?”

Fedor shook his head. “I saw a fight at the arena with Lev. But that’s about it.”

Gavril rubbed his hands together. “Good. Means you’ve got no bad habits to kill.” He turned to a crate, pulled out a pair of sparring gloves, and tossed them to Fedor. “Put these on.”

Inside, the gloves were cold, almost damp, and stinking with years-old sweat. They swelled around his knuckles, the battered leather seemingly days from falling apart. He tried to hide his revulsion as he fastened the laces around his wrists, hating the way they felt on his hands. “How’s this?”

“Looks good, kid.” He pulled on his own gloves, much cleaner than Fedor’s. “You ever been punched?”

Fedor nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m not talking about the priests smacking you around. I’m talking about a proper punch to the face.”

“Their punches felt proper.”

“You know how to stand?”

Fedor stared down at his feet. “I thought I was.”

“I don’t mean just standing there like an idiot. Your knees are straight for one thing. You’re facing me full-on, giving me the biggest target.” He slid his left foot back and slightly bent his knees, holding his right hand in line with his chin. He held his left fist above his breast bone.

Fedor tried to echo the stance.

“Pretty good. Bring your right hand up a bit. You are right-handed, aren’t you?”

“Erm. I think so.”

“Good.” He inclined his head. “Make sure your fists are tight.”

“They are.”

Gavril pushed Fedor’s shoulder, sending him off balance. “Keep your knees bent. In a fight, you want to keep moving. You want to be in control, always circling, always making your opponent move. Hopefully, kid, you’ll never have to use the stuff.”

“Right.”

He stopped circling and threw a series of punches at a dummy. “Trouble with getting into fights, is they’re quick, they’re brutal, and they’re unpredictable. You saw a fight at the arena, but that was for sport.” He stopped and turned to Fedor. “Do you know why that’s different?”

“Because they’ve got rules?”

“That’s right.” Gavril smiled. “It’s a controlled environment. There’s a ring. You’ve got referees. There’s no weapons. A fighter’s mate isn’t going to jump out of an alleyway and brain you with a pipe or shank you with a blade. In the real world, people go for what works fast—eye gouging, biting, a knee to the balls.”

Fedor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I...I don’t want to fight.”

“Neither do I, kid. But you learn with the hope that you don’t have to use it. Plus, you’ve got the added benefit that it keeps your body in shape. Women always like it when you’re well-toned.”

“That’s perverse.”

“Perverse? No, kid. That’s called nature. You need to get the priests out your head.”

“But it’s a sin to—”

“Don’t give me that sin crap. If the priests had their way, we’d die out in a generation. They’re against life. Think about it.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Believe me, kid. You’ve got to keep yourself strong.”

Fedor nodded and gazed around the gym. “Is that what the weights are for, to make us stronger?”

“Yeah. If your body’s fit, your mind follows. I want you to start coming in here every day. Do sit-ups, press-ups, pull-ups, bag-work, squats, weights. But the best thing you can do is spar.”

“What’s a spar?”

“Sparring, kid. It’s where you practise fighting. You hit each other, but in the spirit of improving.”

Fedor winced. “I don’t know.”

“It’s necessary.” He slid back into a fighting stance. “Show me how to stand.”

Fedor copied Gavril’s position and held his breath.

“Keep your legs bent. Remember to breathe. Keep moving.” He circled Fedor, his eyes fixed. “But it’s looking good.” He threw a light punch. “Keep your guard up.”

Fedor covered his face with his gloves and ducked his head.

“Not like that. Never like that.” He moved Fedor’s gloves aside. “Keep your head up. Keep bobbing. Keep weaving. Like this.” He shifted his head, flowing from side-to-side, jerking this way and that. “Never duck. You always need to keep your eye on your opponent. That means don’t cover your face. See what I mean?”

“Yeah. I get it.” Fedor smiled. “It is like a dancing lesson.”

Gavril nodded. “It’s all the same, kid. It’s about flow and rhythm.” He pushed Fedor’s glove down, signalling for him to stand normally. “What’s been your biggest lesson doing the pickpocket stuff?”

“Erm. It’s all about misdirection and creating distractions. You get the mark to look where you want them to, then strike.”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret here—the same thing goes for fighting. It’s about distraction over reaction. You always want to make the first move. You always want to be in control.”

“How?”

“Get in stance. I’ll show you.”

Fedor readied himself.

Gavril threw a punch.

Fedor ducked into an uppercut.

Brightness flashed in his eyes.

“Ouch.” He staggered back and dabbed a glove against his lip, checking for blood.

“You’re fine. I was holding back. Did you see what I did?”

“You punched me.”

Gavril sighed. “Yes. But before that?”

“You went to punch me. I dodged and you hit me with your other hand.”

“And he gets the prize.” He beat his gloves together in a motion like clapping. “It’s called a feint, kid. It’s just another form of misdirection. You acted in response to my distraction and leaned into the real punch.”

Fedor performed the moves in his mind.

“You want to try?”

“Sure.” Cautiously, hesitantly, Fedor stepped forward, feinted with his right, and swung wildly with his left.

A strike to his chin threw his head back.

He glowered at Gavril. “Hey! What was that for?”

Gavril smirked. “You left your guard open and it was an obvious feint.”

“But you knew it was going to be a feint.”

“There’s more than one way to skin a narwhal. Remember, it’s about misdirection. You could try feint, feint, uppercut. Jab, feint, hook. Feint, jab, feint, knee to the guts. Whatever works.”

“What’s a jab?”

“A jab’s a quick punch.” He moved over to the punchbag and threw a pair of rapid jabs. “You use them more for control than to do damage. You’ve got your hooks.” A fist flew in from the right, hitting the bag with a thud. “Uppercuts.” He thrust upwards, driving into the leather. “And the cross. But you use this one more as a counter.” He stood back and gestured to the bag. “You try.”

Fedor stepped up to the bag and threw a series of quick jabs followed by a left hook. The strike sent a shock of pain along his wrist. “Ouch.”

“Don’t bend your wrists like that. Keep them firm but relaxed.” He demonstrated a punch. “Throw them from the elbow. Exhale with each punch. It’s about rhythm, remember. It’s a dance lesson.”

Fedor threw jabs and hooks, his arms growing tired, his breaths turning heavy.

“Keep moving. Remember to maintain control. Circle your opponent. Keep them guessing. Try some feints.”

With spit growing thick in his mouth, he hurled a barrage of punches, feinting here and there, all the while moving, all the while imagining how this would work in a real fight.

After a few minutes, he stopped and leaned on the bag, breathless.

“Good work.” Gavril patted Fedor on the back and offered him a drink. “I’m going to let you into a little secret.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “Do you know what the best fighting move is?”

“Punching someone’s face?”

“Better than that. I’m talking about the best move ever. I’m talking about a move so good, that, if you pull it off, you won’t need anything else.”

“Erm. Kicking someone really hard in the balls?”

Gavril winced and shook his head. “I’ll admit, that’s devastating, and should only be used if the best move doesn’t work.”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

“One more guess. Indulge me.”

“I’m struggling to think of anything worse than being kicked in the balls.”

“Here’s a clue. It’s something you can do whether your opponent has balls or not.”

“How about punching them really hard in the throat? I once got punched in the neck and I couldn’t talk for days. It was horrible.”

“Again, that’s a good move, but it’s nowhere near the best.”

“Poking their eyes?”

“No.”

“Biting their ears.”

“Ouch, but no.”

“Kicking their shins. That really hurts.”

“Nope. Give up?”

“Erm, I don’t know. Something with the knees?”

“No. No. And no.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“So impatient.” Gavril folded his arms and let out a long sigh. “I’ll do better than tell you—I’ll show you.”

Fedor stiffened.

“Relax, kid. You need to learn this. You only need to learn it once.” Gavril began to sidestep around him, his eyes growing intense. “And, now, for the best move you’ll ever learn.”

Trying with all his will not to flinch, Fedor forced himself to breathe. He had received beatings before. He could take it again.

Gavril turned and bolted through the door, leaving Fedor alone in the gym.

He stood, confused, the gloves heavy on his hands. What had just happened? He smiled as the realisation dawned.

Returning, Gavril sauntered back to his position and pulled off his gloves. “What did you learn?”

“To run before you even get into a fight.”

“Precisely. If you can avoid going to blows with someone, that’s always the best way. Use your words if you can. Run if you have to. No one likes a hero.”

“What if you can’t run?”

“Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He patted the punchbag. “Come back, same time tomorrow.”

“Back?”

“Kid, we’ve only just started.”

X. The Game

Fedor spent the next six weeks training with Gavril in the mornings and learning the ins and outs of the thieves’ craft during the afternoons.

He returned to the common room after going over sleight-of-hand techniques with Yorik, his arms still aching from the previous day’s weightlifting, to find Melita alone on the sofa.

She sat hunched forward, her head resting in her hands, her fingers clawing at her red hair. She blinked up at him and wiped her eyes.

“Do you need me to leave you alone?”

She smiled up at him and patted the seat to her left. “No. Please. I just...I just don’t know what to do.”

Fedor took a seat and waited for almost a minute before she finally spoke.

“You think I’m good at what I do, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He found himself sucked into those bright green eyes. “You’re the best cutpurse in Wiete, aren’t you?”

She shrugged a shoulder and sighed. “Gavril doesn’t think so.”

“Well, Gavril’s an idiot.” He glanced towards the door. “You bring more in from jobs than anyone else.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah. But he says I can make more.”

“He’s probably right. As Lev keeps saying, we’re going to do a big job one day.”

She sucked in her bottom lip. “He wants me to go on the game...” Her voice cracked. “He thinks I’m the right age to get the most coin. But I don’t want to.”

“What about Yorik?” Fedor knitted his brow. “He’s way better at games than—”

“I don’t mean that.” She fixed his gaze. “He wants me to sell myself.”

“A thief for hire?” He rubbed his chin. “I suppose that could work.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Or are you just completely green?”

“Huh?”

“You know what a whore is, don’t you?”

Fedor’s cheeks grew red and he raised a hand to his mouth. “Gavril wants you to...he wants you to...to do that?” A breath caught in his throat.

She didn’t answer.

“But...he can’t make you. Can he?”

“He can’t.” She bit down on her bottom lip and inhaled sharply through her nostrils. “But he can make my life very difficult if I don’t. I can’t be fair game.” She clawed at her hair. “I’ve got no choice.”

“Of course you have.”

“And defy Gavril?”

“He’s not all that bad, surely?”

“Do you know what he’d do to me?”

“Gavril wouldn’t—”

She sniffed. “Lev ever tell you about Adeema?”

“No. Never heard of her.”

“Well, you should ask him.”

“What is it?”

She shook her head and waved a hand. “Just ask him.”

“So, will you have to work in a brothel, or something?”

She stayed silent, staring at nothing.

“Because that’s where those types of women, erm, do stuff with men. Father Heinrich always used to call them fallen women. He said they had no morals and would be cast to the void when they died.” He shifted awkwardly. “But I know that’s not going to happen to you because you’re—”

Tears coursed down her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean—”

“If you’re trying to help, you’re not. Just...just sit with me. Please.” She took his hand and squeezed.

“Sorry.” He let out shuddering breath and closed his eyes. How could he make her do those things?

––––––––

Later that night, Fedor crawled under his blankets and gazed up into the darkness, unable to think of anything else.

Lev tapped his shoulder. “You alright, mate?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t know. I was...I was talking to Melita earlier.”

“She turn you down?”

“What? No. Nothing like that.”

“Who am I kidding, you wouldn’t have the balls to ask—”

“Gavril wants her to go on the game.”

“Damn.” He let out a long sigh. “She’ll do alright though—smooth skin, pretty face. Doesn’t have the wiggle or the jiggle I usually go for, but it might not be the worst thing in the world for her.”

“Might not be the worst thing?” Fedor curled his fists. “She’d be...just, no.”

“What’s it to you? She’ll do alright.”

“No. It’s disgusting.”

“What have I told you about thinking like the priests? You can’t keep—”

Fedor gritted his teeth. “It’s not about the damn priests.”

“Keep your hair on, mate.” Lev spoke in a jovial tone. “We’re all friends here.”

“She doesn’t want to and Gavril’s making her.”

“Right.”

Silence hung between them, thick as a shroud in the darkness.

Fedor rolled onto his side and faced Lev, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “What happened to Adeema?”

Lev didn’t respond.

Reaching over, Fedor prodded his shoulder. “Lev?”

“I heard you.” He sat up. “I don’t know, mate. It’s hard.”

“What is it?”

“She ran with us. Great with locks.”

“What happened?”

“Gavril said the same thing.” He let out a shuddering breath.

“Where—”

“She’s dead. She saw no other way.”

“She killed herself?”

Lev didn’t respond, but Fedor could sense he was right.

“I still see her sometimes,” Lev said, after a while. “I see her lying there by the privy. Took us ages to clean the blood.”

Fedor shot to his feet. “We should do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. We could stop him.”

“Settle down, mate. You can’t take Gavril.”

“He’s been teaching me to fight.”

“He taught us all to fight. Doesn’t mean we stand a chance against him, though, does it?”

“I’ve still got this.” He slid his knife from his shoe and flicked it open.

“You think you’re going to beat him in a knife fight?”

“I don’t know.” He closed the blade and sunk back to his bed. “I just know I need to do something.”

“No, mate. Keep your head down. It’s up to Melita what she wants to do.”

“She doesn’t want to do it though.”

“It’s not your battle. She can leave. I’m sure she’ll do alright.”

“So, what? Go on the game, or become fair game?”

Lev didn’t respond.

“It’s not right, Lev. And you know it.”

“Of course I know it, but what can one person do?”

“Two people. We could both do it. Get Yorik and Onwyth to—”

“Yorik won’t get involved and Onwyth’s so far up Gavril’s arse she probably breathes his farts.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s true. Two against Gavril still won’t work.”

“Could be three if we do something with Melita.”

“Mate, seriously. You need to drop this. And don’t let anyone else hear you talking this shit. You just need to sack it off and focus on yourself. No one else will.”

Fedor sniffed and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “I thought we were supposed to look out for each other. Seems I was misled.”

“Don’t be a dick, mate.” Lev rolled over. “I’m tired and you’ve got your initiation tomorrow. Best get to sleep.”

“Initiation?”

“You’re ready.”

“I’m not sure I want to be ready.”

“You need to be. And you need to pass if you’re going to keep running with us.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then you’re fair game. But you already know that.”

XI. The Initiation

The next morning, Fedor arrived at the gym as usual, but Gavril blocked the door with an arm. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” He followed him back the way he came and tried to hide the look of disgust on his face.

“We’re going out.”

He wouldn’t get answers if he pushed, so he followed Gavril to the marketplace.

They skirted past the arena and followed the path outside.

Fedor squinted at the sunlight glinting off the Braun Sea and gazed east to the point where the sea met the sky. The wind brushed his cheeks, cool and refreshing, somehow lighter than the air in the city. He stood and breathed, filling his lungs, enjoying the aromas of salt and fish.

“Come on.” Gavril marched up the slope towards the Kusten Road. “No time to hang around.”

Catching up with a jog, Fedor joined Gavril’s side. He craned his neck to take in the Great Tower, grey and blocky as it loomed over the landscape.

A passenger balloon passed overhead as a pair of wyverns towed it south. He always wondered what it would be like to be so high above the ground, though the priests always said that wyverns were an affront to Creation.

They passed a row of tall terraced houses lining the road, their windows facing the sea. Beyond, a hodgepodge of mismatched building stood huddled like nesting puffins, the rooftops punctuated by pillars of rising smoke from the factories and workhouses. A grey wyvern eyed them from a chimneypot, before spreading its wings and launching into the sky towards the tower.

“You been out in Upper Nordturm much?”

Fedor shook his head. “The priests never let us out this far.”

Gavril tutted and strode across the Kusten Road, waving at a constable standing sentry at the roadside. “Well, today’s your lucky day, kid.”

“What are we doing?”

“I need to see if you’ve got what it takes.”

“To do what?”

He stopped and turned to Fedor. “To join us, kid.”

“Oh. Right.”

Gavril cocked an eyebrow. “You do want to join us, don’t you?”

“I...I think so.”

“You think so? You don’t sound so sure.”

“What do I need to do?”

“I’ll show you.” Gavril led him deeper into the city, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the stench from the tanners and factories.

Young men in rags sat with begging bowls at regular intervals along the street, their eyes rimmed with purple. Father Heinrich had told Fedor about these types—the addicts, the men and women who gave their lives to sin, only for it to eventually consume them with rot and desolation.

“Wouldn’t bother coming this way on your own.” Gavril turned into a warren of shadowy alleyways. “But if the plez-heads know you’re with me, you’ll be alright.”

After ten more minutes, Fedor stepped out onto a square surrounded by ornate buildings carved from white stone.

“This is Kathryn Square. Do you know your history?”

Fedor shook his head. “The priests taught us some.”

“You should learn more.” He placed a hand on Fedor’s shoulder and steered him past cultivated bushes. “History’s filled with lessons we can apply to our lives. Everything that happens around us has usually happened before...or at least something like it. The more you know, the more you can understand.” He pointed to his temple. “And that’s how you get an edge on the marks.”

“Right.” He took in the buildings around the square. “The people who live here must be rich.”

“That’s why we’re here, kid.”

A statue stood on a plinth in the square’s centre, carved in pink alabaster depicting a thin woman with braided hair and a scar etched across her forehead. Her left hand gripped a dagger, her right hand set in an awkward curl. She wore a cloak that appeared to be a giant wyvern’s wing and stood with an air of determination.

Fedor stared up at the figure. Did he recognise her? It was the woman from the coins—the last Empress of Ostreich, the woman who gave Wiete its independence and ignited the slave wars. He didn’t know much about history, but everyone knew about the Red Reformer.

Gavril gestured to a nearby bench and the pair sat. Seagulls mingled with pigeons across the square. Raising a finger as if remembering something, he dipped into his pocket and pulled out a skeleton key. “Lev said he’d shown you how to use one of these. Have you been practising?”

“Yeah.” He pocketed the key.

“You ever tried it on a real door?”

“No.”

“It’s the same principle, but you’ve got to keep your wits about you.” Gavril leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You don’t want to draw attention—check your surroundings. That means you be quiet and you listen.” He made a furtive gesture to a pair from the watch patrolling along the far side of the square. “You’ll find more constables up here, more chances of getting caught. The beggars will grass you up if they think there’s a few krone in it. You’ve got to be careful and you’ve got to trust your instincts. If a job doesn’t feel right, what do you do?”

“Call a thirty-three?”

Gavril nodded. “Good. Just remember, every risk you take is a risk for all of us.”

“I know.” Fedor glanced down at his pocket. “So, what am I doing with the key?”

Gavril gestured to the house directly opposite them across the square—four-storeys high with marble pillars framing an arched oak door. “See that one?”

“Yeah.”

“The guy who lives there is as rich as anything. I want you to get inside and steal something of value. Doesn’t matter what it is, I just need something to show me you can get the job done.”

Fedor raised his eyebrows. “You want me to burgle?”

He checked over his shoulder. “You want to say that any louder? I don’t think all the watch heard you properly.”

“Sorry,”

“But, yeah. That’s what we do. And that’s what you need to do if you want to keep running with us.”

Fedor’s chest grew tight. He’d spent the past month or so running small cons and being a spotter for pickpocket jobs, but this...this was different.

“You look concerned.”

“I...I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, taking in the flat walls and clean windows. “When I’ve done other jobs, the mark doesn’t usually know they’ve been had until it’s too late.”

Gavril nodded. “And if you do this right, neither will this one.”

“Right. I guess. Are you doing it with me?”

“No. I’m going to be a safe distance away. Doesn’t help me being around if you get caught.”

“What about the others?”

“What about them? This is your job, kid. You’re on your own.”

Fedor swallowed and studied the windows, the pillars, the doors. “When should I do it?”

“That’s up to you.” He cleared his throat. “Let me ask you this, though—do you think it’s a good idea to do a burglary in broad daylight when the watch are around?”

“Erm, no. Obviously.”

“Well, if it’s so obvious, why are you asking when to do it?”

Fedor forced a smile. “Should I take a look though?”

Gavril got to his feet. “That’s up to you. You know where I’ll be. Come see me when you’ve got something.”

“Right. I will.” He remained seated and fingered the skeleton key.

“And I’ll know if you try to pull a fast one.” He began to walk away. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Gavril disappeared around a corner and Fedor turned his attention to the house across the square.

Two men from the watch eyed him, so he acted as though he was waiting to meet someone.

The pair moved on, but he needed to keep his wits about him, to keep up the facade.

He studied the target building—four-storeys high, detached. A spiked fence surrounding the outside separated the house from the others around the square. He considered the best points of entry, immediately ruling out the front door or the windows facing the square. Even the windows around the side would be risky. It would be easy for anyone in the right place to spot them around the side.

He gazed up at the roof, taking in its gentle slope and grey tiles. A pair of chimneypots stood smokeless. Was the house empty?

If he found a way onto the roof, perhaps he could swing into a top-floor window. But was that necessary? Gavril didn’t say he needed to steal something specific, but it needed to be something of value, ideally something small enough to stash in a pocket—jewellery or money, perhaps.

He glanced across the square. Who had Gavril sent to watch him? Was it the woman with the long coat feeding the pigeons? Perhaps it was the bearded man wearing a storm cap and apron, leaning against a wall to smoke. Or, more likely, it was a bluff. Maybe Gavril had only told him he was being watched to keep him on his toes. Either way, there was no way he could know for sure. He had to assume spies watched him.

Getting to his feet, he whistled to himself, trying his best to look nonchalant, and slowly approached the house. He followed the fence around to the left.

Lawns stretched along the house’s side, green and lush. He glanced up at a drainpipe descending from the roof’s corner.

As he followed the fence past the building’s rear, he gazed at the fountain gushing water into the air. The constant spray would no doubt cover the sound of his footsteps.

He scanned the rear wall, his gaze fixing on the balcony overlooking the garden. Glancing between it and the roof, it would most likely be his best point of entry—hidden from the square. Its owners might not consider it a potential entry point for burglars.

As Lev had told him, rich folk often made fortresses of their ground floors—their doors thick and secure, their windows bolted. But when it came to the rest of the house, it was as though they didn’t realise burglars could climb. He let out a breath and nodded to himself, sure the balcony was the best way inside.

Carrying on along the fence, a missing bar caught his eye. Almost hidden by rose bushes, the gap was just big enough for him to squeeze through if he contorted his body.

He checked the remaining fence and figured that would be his best option. Thorns he could deal with, spikes he could not.

––––––––

He returned to the house at night wearing a dark-grey hooded tunic and leggings—an outfit Lev had suggested was better than wearing black—and made his way to the gap in the fence.

The garden stood in silence and shadows.

His hopes the fountain would cover the sound of his footsteps were dashed.

Squeezing through the fence, he ripped the thorn bushes away from his clothes, and crept towards the house on bended knees, his footsteps dulled against the grass.

He stood and listened to the city—the constant movement, the cats fighting in the distance, the birds roosting in the trees behind him. The quality of the sound seemed different, less echoic, more fleeting than in the lower city.

With his breath held, he approached the drainpipe. Moonlight glinted along its side. How in the void was he supposed to climb this thing?

Pressing his back against the wall, he skirted towards the back door and tested the handle.

The door clicked open.

He listened and waited. His heartbeat thundered in his head. Though he had eaten a few hours prior, his stomach felt hollow.

His fists grew tight. His jaw grew tighter.

He couldn’t do this.

But what else could he do?

Where would he go?

He could return to the priests for regular beatings and risk being fair game. Perhaps he could leave the city and try to start a new life. But where? And how? He had no real money to speak of, no contacts in other towns or cities.

No, he had to do this.

It was the only way.

Holding his breath, he pushed the door slowly open.

He waited, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

He could just make out pots and pans lining the walls. A great stove stood to his right. The aromas of smoked fish and fire-spice made his stomach rumble.

Remembering Lev’s advice, he kept close to the walls, testing each floorboard before committing his weight.

He gazed back at the door, regretting that he hadn’t taken the time to watch who came in and out of the house so he could gauge the risk. Did the owner have servants or cooks? How many people lived here? Were there kids? Bodyguards?

He should turn back.

This was wrong.

He wasn’t a burglar. He was...he wasn’t this.

He took a breath and steeled himself.

He had to do this.

There was no other way.

He searched around the kitchen. Was there something he could steal that would be acceptable to Gavril? He’d seen expensive pans for sale in the commercial district, but Gavril would only send him back. No, it had to be something valuable, something to prove he could get the job done, to show he didn’t cut corners.

This was a test, after all.

Reaching the door, he nudged it open, wincing at the creaking hinges. Perhaps it would be a good idea to carry a small container of oil in future.

He glanced behind him, counting his steps back. If he had to run, at least there was no one between him and the back door.

He stepped into a hallway that smelled of polish and old boots and glowed with flickering gaslight.

A clock ticked.

Shaking, he stepped along the passage. Something creaked from the floor above.

He did not move.

He did not breathe.

All he could do was stand and wait, his ears pricked, his senses on edge.

Sure no one approached, he continued to move, slowly, carefully, as silent as his body would allow.

Every step, every breath, every shift of clothing, every sound seemed to fill the house with noise.

A staircase rose to his left.

A door stood ajar to his right.

Edging towards the door, he tilted his head, straining to listen.

He peered into the room.

A fireplace glowed with pink embers. Horse brasses hung on straps along the walls, catching the light from mounted gaslights.

His eyes met a portrait—a face he recognised. He inclined his head, trying to place the man’s features and gasped. It was Bartok Shultz, the merchant who’d rewarded Fedor for his good deed...and, now, he stood in the man’s home, searching for something to steal.

How could he steal from one of the few people in his life who had seen him as more than just a street kid?

He started at the movement on the floor above, turned, and bolted back along the hallway. A voice cried after him as he crashed through the kitchen, barrelled through the gardens, and squeezed out through the fence.

He didn’t look back as he charged through Upper Nordturm’s streets, ignoring the calls from beggars and jettisoning any attempt at subtlety.

Every part of his body demanded that he ran.

The lower city blurred past him as he made his way back to the den.

Sweating and breathless, he slammed the door behind him and stumbled into the common room.

Yorik and Onwyth looked up from their card game and Lev shot to his feet. “How did it go?”

Fedor found himself unable to speak through the panting.

Yorik handed him a cup of cider. “Drink. It will help.”

Fedor took the cup and sipped, his mouth thick with saliva, his chest and thighs burning from his exertion.

After a minute or so, he held his cup up to Yorik. “Thanks.”

Lev took a seat to Fedor’s right. “You do the job?”

Fedor shook his head and breathed. “Had to...had to call a thirty-three. There was someone in the house.”

“Gavril’s not going to like that,” Onwyth said, looking up from her cards. “You should try again before he sees you.”

“I...I can’t.”

Lev placed a hand on his shoulder. “You need to, mate. We’ll be here when you’re done.” He pulled his hand away and wrinkled his nose. “Please tell me that’s rain.”

“What?”

“You’re drenched, mate.”

Fedor prised the sweat-soaked tunic away from his skin. “I ran from Kathryn Square.”

“To here?”

He nodded.

“No wonder you’re panting,” Onwyth said. “But your breathing has slowed. You should leave.”

Fedor rose to his feet. “Fine.”

Lev joined him. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just get in there. Do the snatch. Get out. Simple.” He gestured to Fedor’s tunic. “You should probably change though before you go. If they don’t hear you, they’ll smell you.”

“Yeah.” He sniffed his armpits and wrinkled his nose.

Returning to the clothing room, he dragged out a fresh tunic, leggings, and socks, and threw his dirty clothes into a hamper.

He gaze fixed on a polish a box—his polish box.

Kneeling, he flipped open the lid and frowned—his brushes, cloths, and polish tin. He glared at Lev. “You know about this?” He slammed the lid shut, hating the person he was becoming, and gathered the box under his arm.

He turned and stomped towards the door.

Lev raised his hands. “I didn’t take it.”

“But you know who did, I bet.” He marched through the vestibule, towards the exit.

“Mate, seriously. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.” He flung the door open and stepped onto the canal path.

“What you doing?”

He glowered at Lev. “I’m done.”

Cursing under his breath, he marched through the tunnels and followed the passages down towards the orphanage.

Lev tugged his sleeve. “Where you going?”

“I’m going home.”

“With the priests?” He blocked Fedor’s path, waving his hands. “You can’t go back there, mate. You know what they’ll do to you.”

Fedor sniffed. “I can take a few beatings. At least the priests don’t trick kids into joining their gang.”

“No one tricked you.”

“Someone did.” He shook his head. “And what about Melita? I kept my mouth shut with Gavril, but it makes my skin crawl just thinking about what he wants her to do.”

“Melita’s smart. She’ll figure something.”

“Just leave me alone.” He shoved past Lev and passed through the foundry, coming to a stop outside the orphanage.

Taking a breath, he banged on the door.

He waited and gestured for Lev to leave.

The door opened and Father Heinrich glared down at him. “Where have you been, boy?”

Fedor froze. “I...I got my box back.” He scrambled inside his pocket and brought out three krones. “And I’ve got the money I owe.”

“It has been weeks. Why didn’t you come back?” The priest wrapped a leather strap around his hand. “After everything we’ve done for you. You dare—”

“I’m sorry. I—” He ducked to one side as the strap came down. On reflex, he hurled his polish box against Father Heinrich’s face, the priest’s nose exploding with the force.

The priest cried out and staggered backwards, his features a mess of blood.

Fedor threw an uppercut, snapping the priest’s head back.

Groaning, Heinrich dropped to the ground.

With red clouds swarming his vision, Fedor mounted Heinrich’s back and pummelled him with strike after strike.

Years of beatings, of humiliation, of nights curling into himself trying not to be noticed rained down with each blow.

“Leave it, mate.” Lev shook Fedor’s shoulder. “Come on. Not while he’s down.”

Fedor spun, his nostrils flaring, his jaw tight.

Lev raised his hands and stepped back. “Someone’s going to call the watch.” He spoke in a low, calm voice. “Let’s just leave it.”

Getting to his feet, Fedor’s gaze shifted between Father Heinrich and Lev and then down at his throbbing knuckles. “What happened?”

“You defended yourself.” Lev dragged the leather strap from the priest’s hand and tucked it into his coat. “Let’s go.” He touched the priest’s chest. “You’re lucky he’s still breathing.”

Fedor shook his head. “I’m not going with you.”

“Mate, you can’t hang round here.”

“I said, leave me alone.” He shoved Lev back.

“And I said I’d look out for you. You want to be on the run?”

“I’m not going back.”

“You either need to get over whatever’s stopping you from doing your job, or you need to get as far away from Nordturm as you can.”

“Why should I be the one—”

“You know where the den is. You know what we do. Gavril knows you can point him out to a magistrate. If you don’t go back, you’re fair game.”

Fedor turned away from the priest. “Be honest with me. Did you take my box?”

“No.”

He held Lev’s gaze, trying to spot the lie. “You’d better be telling the truth.”

Lev opened his palms. “Got no reason to lie, mate. I was with you when we ran from the bloke. When did I have chance to nick it?”

“I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”

“You can trust me.”

Fedor laughed bitterly. “Trust you? You’re a thief and a con artist—”

“And so are you.” Silence passed between them before Lev continued. “How many times do I need to tell you that we’re stronger when we trust each other?”

He shook his head as the priest stirred.

“We should do one before he calls the watch.”

Fedor gave a quick nod and began to walk away from the orphanage. He could never go back there even if he wanted. “How am I supposed to trust anyone again?”

“You can’t live like that, mate. Trust’s like hope. You need it, or you’ll drive yourself mad.”

“I can’t trust the priests. And your whole thing’s about lying and cheating and scamming.”

“That’s fair. What can I do to make you trust me?”

“What’s the point?”

“What’s the point?” He shrugged one shoulder and followed Fedor into the tunnels. “How about having someone to look out for you? How about friendship?”

Fedor stopped and turned to him. “You think we’re friends?”

“I thought we were.”

He held Lev’s gaze. He was just another boy, as lost as he was. He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “We are.”

“Do you need my help?”

“With what?” He carried on walking.

“Your initiation.”

“What about Gavril?”

He tapped the side of his nose. “Maybe Gavril doesn’t need to know.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I even want this.”

Lev frowned and they joined the docks. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t sniff if you haven’t got another option. As far as I can tell, you’ve got nothing. Where’s a few krones going to get you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not very far, mate, that’s for sure. If I were you, I’d keep your head down, get the job done, and then when we’ve got enough coin, we can sack this place off for good.”

“Maybe.”

“I’d say more than maybe. You need to dream.”

“Maybe.”

Lev laughed and shook his head. “What’s the job?”

“Gavril wants me to rob Bartok Schultz.”

“We don’t rob.”

“Rob. Steal. Whatever. He wants me to break into his house and take something of value.”

“How much value?”

“He didn’t say.”

Lev pushed out his bottom lip. “I’ll keep a look out for you, keep the owner distracted, or whatever.”

“I’m not sure.”

“What’s not to be sure about? I never had a lookout when I did my initiation. You’ll do a quick in and out and then you’re done. Gavril will be off your back and we can start putting plans together for the future.”

“What kind of plans?”

Lev shrugged. “I don’t know. But if you keep drifting round thinking everything’s pointless and not having a dream, you’re going to end up in the bottom of the canal.” He gestured to the black water.

Fedor let out a shuddering breath as they approached the den and stopped. “How am I supposed to do right?”

“We do right by looking out for each other. It’s called loyalty, mate. Whatever happens with the rest of the crew.” He pointed to Fedor’s chest and back to his own. “It’s you and me. Loyal to the end.”

“And that’s doing right?”

“It’s trust. Pure and simple. Whatever happens.” He placed a hand on Fedor’s shoulder. “I swear it.”

Fedor licked the dryness from his lips and gestured into the den. “You should probably go inside.”

Lev stepped through and held the door open. “You coming?”

“No.” He gestured behind him. “I’ve got a job to do.”

“I’ll come with you.” Lev went to leave.

“No. I need to do this by myself. I need to do it properly.”

Lev met his gaze and nodded. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Fedor took in a breath and made his way back outside.

He slipped through the city in the darkness, getting a feel for the night, becoming one with the shadows.

As he made his way around the edge of Kathryn Square, everything was quiet and still, as if the city itself was at rest.

He sneaked around the side of Bartok Schultz’s house and pushed through the fence, tearing thorns from his tunic as he crept through the garden.

Reaching the backdoor, he turned the handle, slowly, silently.

It did not budge.

He leaned against the door, but it was locked.

Muttering to himself, he placed an ear to the door and listened for a minute or so.

Hearing no movement inside, he dipped into his pocket, fished out the skeleton key, and pushed it into the lock. He twisted the key this way and that, feeling the mechanism through his fingers.

Something clicked.

He turned the key and the lock turned.

Closing the door behind as he stepped into the kitchen, he stood and listened.

The silence pressed against his ears.

His heart rattled.

He slowed his breaths, trying his best to keep calm and stay focused. He couldn’t go back to the priests and he didn’t have to stay with the gang forever. But this was about survival, about keeping his head above water until he could figure a way out.

Walking in a half-crouch, he approached the door to the hallway, and turned the handle.

The squeaks and creaks were almost deafening.

The gaslights no longer burned.

He pressed his back against the wall and crept along the hallway, his breath held, his fists tight.

He should try to relax, but the tension was too much.

Each tick of the clock struck his ears like a hammer blow.

Each click and groan and rustle of movement filled him with dread.

It was as if his training meant nothing. He’d played the role of a thief when the stakes were low, but this was real. If the owner caught him, he could get arrested, beaten, or killed.

And what made it worse was no one would care.

He pushed the thoughts aside, the doubts, the voice that wasn’t quite his own that pulled him towards hopelessness and despair.

He had to keep focused. All he needed was one thing of value. And, then, he could leave.

As he pushed through into the lounge, he scanned the room again, as if taking it in for the first time, his gaze landing on Bartok’s portrait in the gloom.

Bartok’s eyes seemed to stare accusingly at him, judging him, disapproving of his choices.

Fedor sniffed and turned away. What sort of person had a painting of themselves in their home, anyway?

He stepped over to the fireplace, almost tripping on a bearskin rug, and studied the horse brasses along the walls. Were they valuable? He wasn’t sure and there was no way he was coming back a third time.

He glanced down at the rug, the white pelt glowing in the darkness. Though he had seen expensive rugs in the commercial district, he did not want to march back through the city with one stashed under his arm.

A glint of something caught his eye. He stepped over to a side-table and stared down at a gold pocket watch, its casing shaped like a clam.

Palming the watch, he slid it into an inside pocket.

His eyes rested on a coin purse. He picked it up and estimated at least fifty krones inside.

A floorboard creaked above.

Footsteps rumbled down the stairs.

Frantic, he hid behind the drapes.

“Hello?” Candlelight trembled along the walls.

Fedor held his breath.

“This thing is loaded.” The man did not move. “Hello?”

Fedor bit down on his bottom lip and held his eyes closed.

The footsteps drew nearer.

Then stopped.

Fedor dared not open his eyes, dared not move.

Bartok muttered something to himself.

The candlelight retreated and the footsteps faded back up the stairs.

Fedor exhaled, his hands shaking, his chest tight.

Moving from behind the drapes, he stepped forward.

A floorboard creaked under his foot.

He waited, paralysed.

Nothing.

Taking a breath, he skulked back through the kitchen and into the night.

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears. Was it the tension? Was it the guilt? What had he just done?

He had stolen from the one man who had seen something in him. He should return the watch and running away. But, instead, he traipsed across the garden and headed back to the den.

XII. The Purse

A hand shook Fedor awake.

He started at Gavril staring down at him.

“You made it back.”

Fedor yawned and sat up.

Lev and Yorik slept on the other mattresses.

“What time is it?”

“Early.” Gavril opened his hands. “You didn’t come back empty-handed, did you?”

“No.” He grabbed his tunic off the floor and pulled out the pocket watch.

Gavril took the chain and whistled. “Nice.” He flipped open the watch and pushed out his bottom lip. “Very nice. Reichsherz-made.” He closed the case and held it up to his ear. “Nice action. Good work.” He turned it in his hands and grinned. “Oh, and look at this. It’s even got his initials engraved. I always knew the man was BS.”

Fedor forced a laugh.

“Did you get anything else?”

“Yeah.” He reached for the purse and emptied it out onto his blanket, sorting the coins into six piles of ten. “Sixty krones.”

“We’ll split those later. For now, I’ll see what I can get for this.” He dropped the watch into his pocket. “You did well, kid. I’m impressed.”

“Does that mean I’m in?”

Face hardening, he held Fedor’s gaze and narrowed his eyes. His expression relaxed to a smile. “You’re in.” He yanked Fedor to his feet and hugged him.

Pulling back, he raised a finger and reached into a pocket. “Here.” He dropped a brass whistle into Fedor’s hand. “Welcome aboard, kid.”

“Erm, thanks. What should I do now?”

“Whatever you want.” He walked to the door and smiled back at him. “You’re with us now.”

Fedor nodded, returned the coins to the purse, and pulled on his clothes.

“Well done, mate.” Lev appeared from under his blankets. “I take it you did it?”

“Yeah. You were asleep by the time I got back.”

“Any trouble?”

“Not really. The guy woke up, but I kept hidden until he went.”

“That’s good.” Lev got up and stretched. “What did you get?”

“A watch and some money.”

“Yeah? I’d say this deserves a celebration.”

Yorik rolled over and grunted. “What celebration?”

“Fedor’s in. He did his first solo job.”

Yorik sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Fantastic. You did well to get in. Not everyone does.”

“Thanks.”

“You are family to us now,” Yorik said, offering him a sleepy smile.

“That...that means a lot.”

Yorik got up and staggered from the room.

“Gavril seemed happy,” Lev said. “Must have been a quality watch.”

“It was gold and like a clam. He said it was Reichsherz-made, whatever that means.”

“Whatever that means? Mate, Ostreich’s got the best watchmakers this side of Boeki. Must be a quality watch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If Gavril works his usual magic, should see a nice return on that.”

“Right.” His smile dropped.

“You don’t look too pleased.” Lines set on Lev’s brow. “What is it?”

Fedor shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Lev cocked an eyebrow. “What did I say about us looking out for each other? That means we don’t keep things to ourselves.”

Glancing towards the door, Fedor gave a slight nod. “I just...I don’t know. It feels hollow, I guess.” He eyed the purse. “It would take me a couple of months to earn something like this. And that was real work.”

“Mate, this is real work.”

“It’s not though, is it? Someone else worked for this, and I took it.”

“How long did you train? How long did you plan? Whichever way you slice it, mate, you’re still grafting.”

“It’s not honest.”

“You earned that coin.” Lev jabbed a finger towards him. “If the mark didn’t want you to take it, they shouldn’t have made it so easy to take.”

“That’s bollocks, and you know it.” Fedor shook his head. “I don’t deserve this. Bartok Schultz doesn’t deserve it.”

“What you going to do about it?”

“Do? What can I do? What’s done is done. I’ve just got to live with it.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, you can either take a shit or get off the privy.”

Fedor scrunched up his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve got to get over this priest crap or do something about it. If you’re going to complain after every job, I’m sure Yorik will end up smacking you one...and Gavril...and Onwyth. In fact, I’ll probably slap you about too. It’s boring, mate. About the only thing worse than a complainer is a grass, so I wouldn’t let the others hear you moaning.”

“I’m not moaning.”

“You are.”

Fedor folded his arms and huffed.

“Strop all you want, but it’s not going to change anything, is it? As far as I can see, you’ve two choices. You either take the rewards of your labour, or you do something about it.”

“Maybe I could return the watch and the purse and then—”

Lev threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, don’t. You’re killing me.” He smacked his chest, his shoulders shaking. “You think Gavril’s going to let you take it back?”

Fedor shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Or, maybe not. Come on, mate. You know how this works. What’s done is done. You can’t go back. How do you think it’s going to look if you return stuff and get caught? You think the mark will believe you? How about the watch, or the magistrates?” He grinned. “I forget how green you are sometimes.”

Fedor huffed again. “I’m not green.”

“Not as green as you were, I’ll give you that, but you need to sort your head out, mate.”

“Don’t you feel bad for the guy?”

“Who? Bartok Schultz?”

Fedor nodded.

“Trust me, mate. He can afford it.”

“Just because he can afford it, doesn’t mean he deserves it. Just doesn’t seem fair.”

“Fairness is a bullshit idea used by dickheads to keep folk like us down.” He gestured to the beds. “You think we deserve to be living here? You think it’s fair that our bloody parents are dead, that no one in this shit-hole city could give a crap about us?” His fists tightened. “We’re left to rot down here. We’re left to fend for ourselves like dogs. You think that’s fair? You think that’s something we deserve?”

Fedor sucked in his bottom lip and stared at his hands.

“Don’t give me crap about what’s fair and who deserves what. People get stuff they don’t deserve all the time. You think a little lordling deserves a big bloody mansion because he happens to have a rich family?”

“Not really.”

“The world doesn’t owe us, and we don’t owe the world.” He pointed to his temple. “The priests have got to you, mate. But they’re the ones running the real scam.” Lev let out a sigh. “Mate, I’ve already explained what the most important thing is.”

“Loyalty?”

“Exactly. The priests aren’t about loyalty, they’re about submission. We’re friends, right? We look out for each other. That means we don’t take from each other either. It’s about honour.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Lev shook his head. “You need to know this. It’s important.”

“I do.”

“You think all those little lordlings know anything about loyalty and honour, about what it means to be a true friend?”

“I don’t know. I guess not.”

“Exactly. They can have all their fancy clothes and big houses, but we’ve got something they’ll never have.”

Fedor nodded. “You really think that’s true?”

“You’re damn right I do.” He got to his feet. “And as much as I’d love to carry on this conversation, I’ve already been awake too long without having a piss.” He stepped towards the door.

“Enjoy.”

“I will. And then, let’s get a good breakfast. No point risking your neck on a job if you’re not going to enjoy yourself. You deserve it.” He gave a half-smile. “I’m proud of you, mate. You’ve done good.”

Fedor smiled at the whistle. “Thanks.”

XIII. The Debt

Fedor sank beneath the water. Air bubbled from his nostrils. He broke through the surface, brushed his hair back, and leaned against the bath’s side with a sigh.

Lev built up a lather on his chest and around his armpits. “This is the life, eh?”

He gazed across the other bathers and closed his eyes, the scent of salt and mint hanging in the air. “I just wish I could enjoy it.”

“Mate, don’t start with the guilt crap again. I thought—”

“It’s not that. I just can’t get the Melita stuff out of my head.”

“Melita can look after herself.”

“Tougher than Gavril?”

Lev shrugged and dipped his head below the surface. When he came up a few moments later, he sidled up to Fedor and lowered his voice. “We’re not going to be with Gavril forever.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious. We should go it alone. We could even set up with Melita somewhere.”

“You’ve changed your tune.”

“No, mate. I’m not talking about today. You know I want to get out of this place.”

“Oh. For a moment there, I thought you were going to suggest ripping off Gavril and doing a runner.”

Lev sniffed. “Yeah, right. Can you imagine having him after us?”

Fedor shrugged. “I mean, if we were to do something like that, we’ve got the skills to set up somewhere else. And I guess we wouldn’t have to give him a cut.”

“Wouldn’t be cheap to travel and get a new place though. We’d have to get enough cash together so we can get to Welttor and set up there.”

“Welttor?”

“Why not? More potential marks than anywhere else.”

“I guess.” Fedor rubbed soap around the back of his neck. “I’m sure there are other options.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged a shoulder. “What if we set him up?”

“As in, set Gavril up?”

Fedor nodded slightly.

“As in, with the law?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s got a few members of the watch paid off.”

“But what about the magistrates? If they knew—”

Lev scoffed. “I’m not a grass, mate.”

“Right. Just an idea.”

“And if you think Gavril wouldn’t take the rest of us down with him.”

“I guess.” He squatted in the water, enjoying the warmth against his face. He held his breath for as long as his lungs could handle and shot back up, gasping. He turned to Lev. “You know I’m just messing with the Gavril stuff. Just a joke.”

“Yeah, mate. Of course. Same here. Just a joke.” He heaved himself from the bath and wrapped himself in a towel. “Let’s get dry and head to the Rusty Sail. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

Fedor joined him on a bench and dried himself before dressing. He checked his pockets, his hands groping frantically. “Have you got the purse?”

Lev shook his head. “Did you put it in your shoes?”

Checking inside, Fedor frowned. “It’s gone. Someone’s nicked it.” He scanned the other bathers, searching for a thief.

“Can’t trust anyone around here. Bunch of thieving bastards.”

Fedor got to his feet and checked his pockets again. “Are you sure you haven’t got it?”

“Honestly. I haven’t got it.”

“This is serious. Don’t screw with me like this. There were sixty krones in there.”

“Mate, I haven’t got it.”

Fedor narrowed his eyes. “Prove it.” He gestured to Lev’s coat. “Empty your pockets.”

“I’m not emptying my pockets.”

“I said, prove it.”

Lev let out a sigh and flipped out his pockets, palming coins, a flick knife, skeleton key, a deck of cards, a whistle, and bobby pins. “You need to start trusting me.”

“Where’s it gone then?” He marched over to the man in the entrance booth and knocked on the window. “You see any thieves taking off with my purse?”

The man shrugged. “We got all sorts in here. If you don’t like it, piss off.”

“Who are you telling to piss off?”

Lev hooked Fedor’s elbow and steered him outside. “Let’s not cause a scene, mate.”

Fedor blinked at his empty palms. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Now, we head back to the den and regroup. We’ll figure something.”

“I can’t believe someone stole from me.”

“I can’t believe you left sixty krones lying round for someone to nick. You’ve got to be more careful. You think we’re the only gang working around here?”

“I guess not.” He let out a sigh, hating himself for being so naïve. “Why didn’t I think?”

“You live, you learn.”

“But, sixty krones...”

“Don’t worry about it. Easy come, easy go.” He placed a hand on Fedor’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get back to the den and we’ll figure out our next job.”

––––––––

Returning to the den, Fedor flopped onto the sofa and rested his head on an arm.

“Cheer up, mate. These things happen.”

“What’s wrong?”

Fedor shot up at the sound of Gavril’s voice. “Erm...nothing.”

“I see you’ve been for a bath. How was it?”

“Yeah, it was good.”

“Well, you deserve to treat yourself. You got plans for the rest of the evening?”

“We did.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to stay here now,” Lev cut in. “Maybe play some cards.”

“You should get a bed somewhere. Treat yourself to a meal. Go watch a fight.” He went to leave, turned, and raised a finger. “While I’m here, do you have the thirty krones you owe me?”

Fedor stiffened. “I don’t have it.”

Gavril raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Someone stole it.”

“Really?”

“It’s true, boss,” Lev said.

Gavril shook his head and fixed Fedor’s gaze. “And you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true.” Fedor stared at the floor. “Honest. We were at the baths and—”

“I don’t get paid with excuses. You had sixty krones. I need my cut.”

“I don’t have it.”

He pointed at Fedor and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “You owe me.”

“That’s not fair.”

Gavril smirked. “If I believed every thief who told me they couldn’t pay, I’d be out begging.” He leapt across the room, dragged Fedor to his feet, and drove a fist into his gut. “I do not accept members of my gang lying to me.”

Fedor gripped his stomach. “It’s not a lie.”

Gavril grabbed Fedor’s collar, twisting it hard. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Are you contradicting me?”

“No.”

Gavril shoved him back on the sofa and loomed over him, glaring. “You owe me sixty krones.”

Fedor rubbed his sore neck. “I thought it was thirty?”

“It was. But then you tried to wriggle out of your debt.” He plucked something from his sleeve and smiled. “And now it’s sixty.”

“That’s not—”

“Think carefully about your next words, kid. I can easily double it again.”

Fedor bit down on his bottom lip and nodded.

“Good.” He clapped his hands together. “I’m glad we have an understanding. When I’m happy, we’re all happy. Isn’t that right, Lev?”

Lev nodded.

Gavril leaned against the doorframe. “I’ll be back tomorrow to pick up my cut. See you then, lads.” He strode away, closing the door behind him.

“Bastard,” Fedor muttered, cringing at the pain in his stomach.

“We’ll sort it. Don’t worry.” Lev got to his feet and forced a smile. “Let’s get some food. My treat, mate.”

––––––––

Fedor finished the last bites of fried otter, knocked back the cider dregs, and tossed the bones aside with the others. He leaned back on the common room sofa, his mind racing as he sat out of another game of cards.

Lev threw his cards on the pile and dragged the chips towards him as Yorik and Onwyth muttered complaints.

Yorik turned to Fedor, tapping his chin. “You considered doing smash drop?”

Fedor leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“Did we not show you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s a good one,” Onwyth said. “Works best with women though.”

“He could do it on a sailor,” Lev said.

Onwyth snorted. “I’m sure a good-looking lad like him could make money in other ways at the docks.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“She’s just messing with you, mate.” Lev dealt another round. “Ignore her.”

Fedor turned to Yorik. “What is it?”

“Very simple. You need a nice box and a broken pot.”

“Right.”

“You make sure the box looks very posh. Think of a box you’d get from a fancy shop in the upper city. Needs to look very expensive.”

Fedor frowned. “Where will I get a box like that?”

“I will find for you.” He made a vague gesture to the door. “They are around. I will look.”

“Thanks.”

“Job is very simple. You fill the box with broken pot, go to upper city, and wait.”

“Wait?” Fedor’s frown deepened.

“When you find right mark, you let them bump into you, and you drop the box.” He mimed dropping something, his mouth gaping. “And the expensive pot is broken.”

“And that’s when you jump in with a sob story,” Onwyth said. “Oh, no. I bought that for my mother’s fiftieth naming day and she’s been really ill and you smashed it and I’ve got no money and you are mean and horrible and you’ve ruined my life.” She smiled. “Something like that.”

“She’s right. You must look very pathetic. But you must also make the mark know it is their fault.” He pushed out his bottom lip. “As with all jobs, it is a case of finding right mark.”

“Do you pick their pockets or something while they’re distracted?”

“No. You get them to pay for replacement. Very simple.”

“Why would I want a new pot?”

Yorik raised a finger. “You want the money for new pot.”

“Don’t they look in the box?”

“No. You do not give them chance.”

“And it works?”

“It works for me,” Onwyth said. “I can be very annoying when I put my mind to it. I once followed a mark around, causing a scene for almost an hour before he paid up. He said it wasn’t for the vase, but for me to leave him alone.”

Lev laughed and waved his hands. “I wouldn’t listen to her, mate. Most blokes would smack you one if you tried that.”

Yorik nodded. “They are both right. You think you want to try?”

“Maybe. You think it’ll raise enough to pay Gavril?”

“That is unlikely. But if you do it, say, six maybe ten times, you will.”

“Won’t people get suspicious if I keep doing the same thing?”

Yorik shrugged. “Only if you get caught.”

“I’ll think about it.” He got up and moved to the door. “I need a wee.”

“Do one for me while you’re there,” Lev called after him.

“Sure thing.”

When he finished in the privy, he followed the passage back to the vestibule and almost bumped into a man. “Sorry.”

“Watch it.” The man turned to him and froze, their eyes meeting. Four fresh scratches marked his face.

They recognised each other.

Cheeks turning red, Bartok spun on his heels and marched hurriedly away.

Fedor watched, unable to move, unable to speak, his heart pounding. What did he want? Did he know about the job?

Confused, he returned to the common room and smiled at Melita’s arrival.

She sat in his place on the sofa, curled up, hugging her knees.

“Hey.” He sat down next to her while the others continued their card game. “How are you?”

She didn’t answer.

He inclined his head. “Are you alright?”

She got up and left.

Fedor sat back and frowned, his confusion deepening.

––––––––

Fedor lay awake while Yorik and Lev slept, the room thick with snoring and farts. How was he going to raise sixty krones in one day?

He had to leave.

He could sneak out of the city and head south along the Kusten Road. There were inns and towns between Nordturm and Welttor—Nebel Hafen, Hafendorf, and he was aware of several villages. Perhaps he could try a few prop bets on the way to fund his travels. And then what?

Although he hated owing Gavril, he’d never known the camaraderie of friendship before. Leaving Lev behind made his stomach lurch. He couldn’t go back to the priests. And he couldn’t be fair game.

No, he had to figure out a way through this.

His body tensed as the door opened. Expecting Gavril, he pretended to sleep.

Light footsteps approached and Melita sat next to him. “I know you’re awake.”

He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“It happened.”

“What did?”

“Gavril brought someone...” Her voice cracked.

“Right.” Fedor didn’t know what to say, or how to comfort her.

She took a one-hundred krone coin from her pocket and turned it in her hand. “I got this.”

“Is that a star?”

She showed him the five-pointed star etched onto one side, its edges glinting gold. “Yep.”

“Wow.”

“He did things...” She blinked up at the ceiling. “Gavril said this makes it right.” She met Fedor’s gaze. “But it doesn’t...it won’t.”

“Did you...did you scratch him?”

She frowned. “How do you know?”

“I saw him.” His nostrils flared. “Bastard.”

They sat through a long silence before he spoke again. “How...erm...I suppose you made decent coin at least.”

“I’m never doing it again.” Her hand closed over the coin and she slipped it into her pocket.

“What does Gavril say about that?”

“I don’t give a shit what Gavril says. I’m a thief, not a whore.”

––––––––

The next morning, Fedor paced back and forth in the den’s vestibule, wringing his wrists as he waited. His eyes stung and his back ached from a night tossing and turning. He forced a smile when Lev finally arrived and signalled for them to leave. “Morning.”

“You look terrible, mate.”

Fedor sniffed and stepped from the den onto the canal side. “I hardly slept.”

“Don’t worry about Gavril, it’s just his way of keeping things on the level. Just keep your head down and get some jobs under your belt today and this whole debt thing will be a distant memory.” He offered Fedor a smile. “This will all blow over. Trust me.”

“You think I’m bothered about having to gather sixty krones?”

“That, and the fact he socked you one in the gut.”

“I can deal with beatings.” He stopped and glared at Lev. “I’m more bothered by what he made Melita do.”

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting you fancy her.”

“I don’t fancy her.” His jaw tightened and he resisted the urge to shove Lev against the wall. “I just don’t like seeing people forced into things they don’t want to do.”

“That’s life, mate.” He laughed bitterly. “Name a person who is doing what they want to.”

“There’s a difference between having to do things for a job and being forced to sell yourself to some dirty old bastard.”

Lev shrugged. “Maybe. Wouldn’t be too sure about that though.”

Jaw tightening, Fedor marched ahead and weaved through the docks and marketplace.

Wind blew in from the east, sweeping away the last remnants of sleep. Fine rain shrouded everything in a grey, wet haze.

He pulled up his hood and dipped his head and ascended the slope towards the Kusten Road. Did the passenger balloons fly on days like these?

Lev caught up to him. “I’m assuming you’ve got a plan to get your coin, then?”

“If I get the coin, I’ll call that a bonus.”

“What’s the plan? Bump drop? Prop bet? Bag snatch?”

“No.” He raised his chin and passed through Upper Nordturm’s merchant district, wrinkling his nose at the stench from the tannery as it collided with a sulphur pong from the factories.

“Then what are we doing?”

Fedor didn’t answer.

“Mate, what’s going on?” He grabbed Fedor’s shoulder. “Where are we going?”

Without speaking, Fedor stepped over a beggar and gestured across Kathryn Square.

Lev shook his head. “Bad idea. You keep going to the same well, you’re going to come up dry...and end up in a cell...or worse.”

“I don’t care.” He carried on walking.

“Just because it’s worked once—”

Fedor spun on his heels and glared at Lev. “Are you with me, or not?”

“I’m with you, mate.” He raised his hands. “You’re just acting a bit nutty.”

“You can keep watch, or you can come with me. I don’t care.”

“I’m calling a thirty-three.” He blocked Fedor’s path. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“You can do that if you want.” He sidestepped around Lev. “I’ll do it alone.”

“Why?”

Fedor’s nostrils flared. “Because I hate him.” His fists tightened. “I hate him so much.”

“Who?”

“Bartok pissing Schultz.”

“I thought he was your hero, or something?”

“Yeah, well. No one likes a hero.” He skirted the garden, squeezed through the fence, and gazed up at the balcony.

“The place is huge.”

“Yep.” He held his breath and approached the back door. Glancing over his shoulder, he tested the handle to find it locked, and took out his skeleton key. “Keep an eye out for the watch.”

Lev peeked around the corner towards the square and shook his head. “This is a bad idea.”

The tumblers shifted and the door swung slowly open.

Fedor stepped inside.

The kitchen seemed different, somehow larger in the daylight. His eyes landed on a cheese wheel and he inclined his head when Lev shuffled next to him. “You eaten?”

“Not yet.”

Fedor picked up a knife from the sideboard and made two slices, handing a sliver to Lev and taking a bite of his own. The cheese tasted sweet and creamy on his tongue. He chewed and smiled. “Wow.”

“What is it?”

“I didn’t know cheese could taste like that.”

“Yeah. It’s good cheese.”

“It’s amazing.” He cut another slice and chewed. “We only ever had hard cheese with the priests,” he said between mouthfuls. “This is so good.”

“Should probably keep your voice down.”

Fedor nodded and swallowed. “You reckon other cheeses taste as good?”

“Yeah. I’d say so. You ever had smoked cheese?”

“No.” He rubbed his hands together. “I need to try more cheese.”

Lev patted his shoulder. “Best focus on the job, mate.”

“Right.” He ventured towards the hallway door, stood, and listened.

He raised a hand when Lev went to speak and listened to the silence. “I think we’re good.”

Pushing the door open, he signalled for Lev to follow and entered the lounge. A pair of burgundy leather sofas revealed themselves in the light. A green-shaded lamp stood on a side-table as the scent of wood polish hung in the air. He sneered at Bartok’s portrait staring down at him as a rush of heat burned his chest. “Bastard.”

“Some nice brasses these.” Lev turned to Fedor. “They look pretty old.”

Fedor sidled up to him and studied the forms of wyverns, cups, kraken, and destriers. “Think they’re worth anything?”

“Don’t know. I’m sure someone might buy them. Might be a bit heavy to carry round though.”

Fedor withdrew his knife and flicked open the blade. Taking a breath, he stood on tiptoes before the fireplace and slashed across the portrait’s canvas.

Lev pulled him back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sending a message.” He turned his attention to the nearest sofa and drove his knife into the leather, straining as he tore open a hole.

“I don’t know what’s got into you, but this is just senseless.”

Fedor rolled his shoulder when Lev reached for him. “He screwed Melita.”

Lev glanced up at the portrait and nodded. “He paid her.”

“She didn’t want it.”

“And how would you know?”

“She told me. She scratched him and said she’s never doing it again.”

“Well, in that case.” Lev drew his own knife and sliced down through the drapes. “Let’s have a look around.” He led the way upstairs, smashing gaslights and tearing paintings from the walls as he went.

Fedor turned into a bedroom and cut into the pillows and mattress, tossing feathers and stuffing around the room.

“Remember, we’re here to do a job, mate.” Lev gestured to the bed. “Look under there. I’ll check the wardrobe.”

Lying on his side, Fedor groped under the bed. He ripped a pair of slippers and poured the contents of a night pot onto the sheets.

“Anything?”

“No.”

Lev shrugged. “Let’s keep looking.” He stepped onto the landing as Fedor followed.

They searched and vandalised two more bedrooms before Fedor stepped into a study.

The desk stood piled with papers. Shelves brimmed with books. “Think we can get anything for these?” Fedor asked, taking down a leather-bound volume.

“Nah. Look like ledgers and accounts books.”

Fedor grabbed more books from the shelves and tore out pages, tossing them into the dead fireplace while Lev rifled through drawers.

“We’ve got something here.” Lev hefted a lockbox onto the desk and rifled in his pockets.

“What is it?”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Lev picked the lock and flipped open the lid.

“What’s in there?”

“Share certificates.” He pushed out his bottom lip. “Bloody hell, there’s a five-hundred krone note here.” He held it up to the light and whistled. “You ever seen one of these?”

Fedor shook his head and snatched it from Lev. The paper note showed a wyvern on one side and the image of a seven-pointed star on the other. “Is it real?”

“Looks real enough to me.” He studied each certificate in turn. “This guy might be a scumbag, but I don’t have him down as a fraudster.”

Fedor sniffed. “Oh, he’s a fraudster alright. Gave me a load of crap about doing right.” He folded the note carefully and slid it into an inside pocket. “What about those certificate things?”

Lev shrugged. “I’ll grab them. Maybe Gavril knows what to do with them.”

A bell marking the tenth hour rang across the square outside.

“We should do one.” He rolled up the certificates and stuffed them into his coat. “You ready?”

Fedor nodded and led the way back down stairs.

Returning to the kitchen, he grabbed the cheese wheel and held it under his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking the cheese.”

“Put it back.”

He held Lev’s gaze. “I’m taking the cheese.”

“That’s a bad idea. What if someone sees you and then Bartok reports someone nicked his cheese?”

“It’s nice cheese though.”

Lev grinned. “You’ve just nicked five-hundred krones. You can buy your own cheese.”

“I will.” He nodded to himself, slammed the cheese to the floor, and stomped down on it. “Let’s go.”

Lev checked behind them and shook his head. “I don’t want us to make a habit of smashing places up. Goes against my subtle nature, you know?”

“He deserves it.”

“I know.” He squeezed the top of Fedor’s arm. “But, seriously, mate. Next time I call at thirty-three, you listen.”

“I know. Sorry. I just—”

“I get it.” He waved his hand. “We look out for each other. You were looking out for Melita. As I say, I get it. But...I don’t know, mate. We’ve got to be careful. No point screwing up for revenge.”

“Yeah.” The corners of his lips twitched. “You know what gets to me most is how he was the one preaching about integrity.”

“I told you, didn’t I?”

Fedor let out a sigh. “Yep.”

“It’s just like the priests. As far as I can tell, you take people on what they do, not what they say.”

“You’re right. I’m sick of people telling me one thing when they’re about something else.”

“I feel you.” Lev leaned back into the kitchen and grinned. “That Bartok’s going to be well pissed off when he finds his place like this.”

“Good.” Fedor spat on the floor. “And I hope he chokes on that cheese.”

––––––––

Returning to the den, Fedor came to a stop outside Gavril’s door.

“Don’t worry about it, mate. Gavril will be fine.” He handed Fedor the share certificates. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He turned and left.

Fedor bundled the vellum rolls under his arm. He’d got his revenge on Bartok, but why did he feel so empty?

Taking a breath, he knocked on Gavril’s door.

He waited for a long moment, reached up to knock again, and the door opened slightly.

A single grey eye peeped through the crack. “Yes?”

“I’ve got the money.”

“Good.” Gavril stepped back and opened the door. “Please. Come in.” He closed the door behind them and gestured for Fedor to sit. He rested his boots on the desk and leaned back on his chair. “You got it all?”

Fedor nodded, took the five-hundred krone note from his pocket, and slid it across the desk.

Gavril put his feet down and held the note up to the light, his expression remaining unchanged. “Looks real enough.” He slipped the note into his pocket and gestured to the bundle of papers. “What are they?”

“Lev reckons they’re share certificates.” He pushed them across the desk.

Gavril unrolled the certificates and studied each in turn, setting them aside after a few seconds. When he placed the last one down, he raised an eyebrow and gave a half-smile. “Bartok Schultz, eh?” He shook his head and brushed the certificates to the floor.

Fedor scrambled to pick them up.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“What should I do with them?”

“Burn them, for all I care.”

“Lev said they might be worth something.”

“Might...if you’re Bartok Schultz. They’re shares in his company. They’re useless to anyone else. And taking them will be little more than a minor inconvenience to him.”

“Oh.”

Gavril reached over his head and cracked his knuckles. “But, your debt is clear. Good work.” He got to his feet and headed to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dance lesson to give.”

Fedor hesitated. “Erm...that was five-hundred krones. Don’t I get my cut for the rest?”

“Not this time.” He patted Fedor’s shoulder. “Let’s just call it compensation for putting this whole operation at risk by returning to the same target twice in as many days.”

Fedor licked his lips. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” He signalled for Fedor to go. “And if you mess up like that again, I’ll...well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I can assure you that it won’t be good.” He tilted his head to one side. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Fedor stepped through the door and tried not to let his anger show. “Sorry.”

XIV. The Pact

That night, Fedor practised card tricks with Yorik, Onwyth, and Lev, manipulating the deck and using sleight of hand to move cards where he wanted them.

His frustration grew with each attempt as the others watched, calling out when they spotted him trying to cheat.

“You must be more fluid.” Yorik took the cards from Fedor, split the deck, shuffled them, and turned Fedor’s target card over. “Remember, it is all about misdirection.”

Onwyth leaned forward and showed Fedor the same trick. “It took me so long to learn this. It’s super difficult to get right. I remember, I used to keep making the card obvious. But you’re always the one in control. Not the marks. You just need everyone else in the game to think you’re playing fair. You can distract them with inane conversation or pointing things out in the room, asking questions. Ooh, I like your drapes—are they real velvet? That works better with women. For men, you could ask if they heard about the latest fight, blah, blah, blah. Hasn’t the weather been good, bad, or indifferent?”

“The weather’s always indifferent,” Lev said. “It’s the bloody weather.”

“You can have indifferent weather,” Onwyth said, handing the deck back to Fedor. “It’s like when the weather’s fine. Not hot. Not cold. Not too windy. Not too cloudy. It’s just fine.”

Yorik shook his head. “Weather has no value. There is no good weather. There is no bad weather. There is only bad clothes.”

Fedor glanced at the door and tried the card trick again, this time keeping track of the ace of swords as he slid it along his palm and down to the bottom of the deck.

“You alright?” Lev asked.

“I’m fine.” Fedor dealt.

“You seem distracted, mate.”

“I’m fine. Just wondering where Melita’s at.”

The room dropped quiet.

“Gavril wants her working,” Onwyth said.

“Oh.” Fedor sucked in his bottom lip. “Right.”

Onwyth clapped her hands. “You did the trick. I knew you were going to do it, but I didn’t see it. You did it. That is very good. It took me so long to learn this one.”

Glancing down at the cards, Fedor forced a smile. “Thanks.”

“It was fine,” Yorik said. “Still not good enough.”

“Looked fine to me,” Onwyth said, folding her arms. “Don’t listen to Yorik. You did very well.”

“Yes.” Yorik steepled his fingers and arched an eyebrow at Onwyth. “But you do not look for these things. If Fedor took his trick to gambling house, someone would smash his nose and break many fingers.”

Fedor cringed and pushed the deck away. “I’m not sure cards are for me.”

Yorik shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. They are good way to make money if you can tip the game in your favour. It’s about tilting odds to your advantage without them knowing.”

Lev patted Fedor’s back. “I wouldn’t bother trying to rip off gambling dens just yet. Some unsavoury types run those things.”

“It is same with most things,” Yorik said. “Whatever job you do, there is always chance you will piss wrong person off.”

“Yeah, but gamblers...” Lev curled his lip. “They’re already in a grubby game and they’re on the lookout to screw over good folk like us.”

Onwyth spluttered a laugh. “Good folk? Like you?” She smacked the table and laughed again. “If you go to a gambling den, you’re a mark. That is the beginning and end. The houses are running a con and they never lose.” She raised a finger. “I would suggest using tricks like this in something like a private game, or even better as a distraction for something else.”

Fedor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say you’re in a bar. You could entertain people with tricks. You could work it into a prop bet, or have someone else snatch bags and purses while you put on a show. Marks always love to see a good trick.”

“Yeah, mate.” Lev nodded. “Onwyth’s got a point. Unless you’re a wizard with the cards, better to use them as part of something else.”

“Makes sense.”

“Of course it makes sense,” Onwyth said. “It is tried and true.” She stopped and looked up at the door.

Fedor followed her gaze to see Melita entering, a fresh bruise swelling on her left cheek.

“What happened to your face?” Fedor asked.

“Nothing.” Melita marched over to the sofa.

“We were showing Fedor how to do tricks,” Onwyth said. “Though, I’m sure you must be pretty good at tricks now.”

Tension hung between them as Melita narrowed her eyes.

Yorik raised his hands above his head and made a loud yawn. “I have an early assignment tomorrow.” He got to his feet. “I must sleep.”

“Same,” Onwyth said, following him out.

Lev got up and closed the door. “You alright?”

Melita gave a slight nod.

“Who did this?” Fedor asked.

She shrugged.

“Was it...was it a man?”

“I said, I’m not doing that.”

A line set on Fedor’s brow. “So, what happened?”

Lev sniffed. “Gavril.”

Fedor glared at the door, his jaw growing tense. “Is that true?”

Melita’s lips twitched and she gave a quick nod.

“Bastard.” Fedor got to his feet.

Lev held him back. “Mate, mate. Settle down. What you think you’re going to do? He’ll kick the shit out of you before you open your mouth.”

“We can’t let him keep doing stuff like this.” He sunk to the sofa. “It’s not right.”

“What am I supposed to do? This is his crew.”

Fedor turned to Melita. “You should run away.”

“And go where?”

“Away from Gavril...I don’t know. You could try the orphanage. At least they—”

“I came from the orphanage.” She folded her hands onto her lap. “I’m not going back there. The priests are worse than the men who...” Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat. “At least they’re honest with their intentions.”

“He shouldn’t be beating you.” Fedor ran a hand back through his hair. “We’ve got to do something.”

“I don’t need you or anyone else looking out for me.”

“I thought we looked out for each other?”

She didn’t respond.

“You could use your coin and get a balloon south.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know. You could get work in a pub, or something.”

“It’s too late for that.” She drew the coin from her tunic and showed it attached to a necklace.

Lev’s eyes widened. “What you make a hole in that for?”

Melita pushed the coin back to her chest. “I’m keeping it as a reminder.”

“Of what?” Lev frowned.

“That I can’t be bought.” She raised her chin. “That I’m not a whore.”

The three sat in silence for a long moment.

“So, what are we going to do?” Fedor asked.

“Honestly?” Melita let out a sigh. “I don’t know.”

––––––––

Fedor stared into the darkness as Lev and Yorik slept near him. He sat cross-legged on the edge of his mattress, pulling a whetstone along his blade’s edge, slowly, methodically, his mind racing with thoughts of Melita, with thoughts of Gavril.

How could he make her do those...those things? How could he strike her like that?

People had taken advantage of kids like him and Melita for far too long.

It had to stop.

He may not have been as strong or as skilled as Gavril, but he had one advantage on his side—surprise.

Going through the plan in his head, he closed his knife and got to his feet.

The den hummed with the distant sounds from the city, the winding tunnels more oppressive than ever.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to feel cold air against his face, the rush of wind against his hair, the scent of the sea and the open air.

He needed to run away.

Perhaps he could steal enough coin from the den to buy passage to Ostreich or the Northern Reaches, or even Molotok or Sieshin. At least in Sieshin people wouldn’t give him suspicious glances or call him names.

But, then, he thought about Lev and Melita, about leaving them behind with Gavril.

No, he had to take a stand.

He had to end this.

Following a branching passage from the vestibule, he came to a stop outside Gavril’s room.

He stood and listened.

Gavril’s breathing came slow and deep.

He inched his way inside and could just make out Gavril’s form among the shadows, asleep and helpless.

The door clicked shut.

Gavril stirred and shot awake, bolting to his feet, and glowered at Fedor. “What?”

Fedor stepped forward. “You hit Melita.”

“That’s none of your—”

“You’re making her do—”

“She’s earning her keep like the rest of you. If you’ve got a problem—”

Fedor lunged forward, driving his shoulder into Gavril’s stomach.

With a groan, Gavril hunched into himself and cursed.

Fedor stood over him and drew his knife.

Gavril’s eyes bulged as he took in the blade.

He pivoted and struck Fedor’s wrist.

The knife spun across the floor.

Fedor reached for it and cried out when Gavril stomped down on his fingers.

“You do not mess with me, you little Siesha prick.” He grabbed Fedor around the throat, smashing his head against the wall.

White flashes filled his vision.

He fell to the floor, curling into a ball as kicks and punches beat down.

“I welcomed you.” He pummelled Fedor’s arms and ribs. “And now you try to do me?”

“Please...stop.” Fedor held his arms up to guard his face, sobbing as the strikes rocked him. “Please.”

The beating stopped.

Gavril loomed over him and opened up an alchemical tube, filling the room with light. “What am I supposed to do with an ungrateful little shit?”

Fedor’s eyes burned with tears as he wiped blood from his mouth.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do you right now?”

“I’m sorry.”

Gavril smirked. “Sorry? You think a weak apology’s going to cut it?” He leaned close to Fedor’s face and lowered his voice. “You ever try this shit with me again and I swear that you won’t be getting up.” He rose slowly to his feet and folded his arms. “What’s it to be, kid?”

“I said, I’m sorry.”

“You want to stay here?”

Fedor gave a weak nod.

“Pathetic.” He shook his head. “You need to get me another five-hundred krones by the end of tomorrow, or you’re fair game. You understand?”

“Five-hundred?”

“You complaining?” He showed Fedor the back of his hand.

“No.”

“Good. Best make it a thousand, then.”

Fedor stiffened.

“Is there a problem?”

“No.” Fedor staggered to his feet, his right brow swelling, his arms and legs throbbing with pain.

“What will I do if you try anything like this again?”

“You’ll...you’ll kill me.”

“And I’ll do the same with your little friends too.” He pointed to the door. “Now, get out. Before I change my mind.”

––––––––

Fedor lay on the common room sofa, tears streaming down his cheeks, as bruises formed along his body. Why had he been so stupid to think he could take on Gavril? He cringed at the pain in his side.

What would he have done if he’d reached him before he’d awoken? Would he really have stabbed him? He wasn’t sure whether he could or not.

Had he wanted to be discovered? Had he wanted Gavril to stop him? Killing someone was much worse than beating them.

Perhaps Gavril had saved him from himself...perhaps.

“Shit.”

He gazed up at Lev through one eye and winced at his split lip when he went to smile.

“What happened?”

“I went after Gavril.” Fedor’s words came out slurred, the swelling making it difficult to talk.

“Dickhead. What’s wrong with you?”

“I hate what he’s done.”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave it?”

“I know.”

“At least your alive.”

Fedor’s heart raced and he forced himself to sit up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to raise a thousand krones, fast.”

Lev blinked. “Say, what?”

“A thousand krones by the end of the day, or I’m fair game.”

“Shit.”

“What am I going to do? I can’t do a job like this.”

“You need to get out of here. Find somewhere to hide. Trust me, mate. You don’t want to be fair game.”

“How am I supposed to raise a thousand krones?”

Lev shrugged. “Luck.”

“I can’t do it.” Panic rose through his chest. “What do I do?”

“Beats me, mate. As far as I can tell, you either find the money, or you get out of Nordturm.”

“We should leave together. Take Melita with us. We can set up somewhere else, away from Gavril. We don’t need him. We’ve got skills and we’d be long gone before he’d even realise.”

Lev nodded. “Maybe. I guess we could go on foot to Nebel Hafen. Do a few jobs on the way, get enough for a balloon to Welttor.” He rubbed his chin. “This could work.”

“I was thinking we could get a boat somewhere. Get as far away from Wiete as possible.”

“I bet we could grab a few bits here to help us on our way. I could distract Gavril and get enough coin together to get us going.” He pushed out his bottom lip. “Mate, you could be on to something.”

“After everything I’ve done for you two, you’re now plotting against me?”

Fedor took a breath and met eyes with Gavril standing in the doorway.

Lev looked at the floor. “We were just spit-balling, boss. Nothing serious. Just trying to make Fedor feel better.”

Gavril lurched forward and threw a punch at Lev.

Lev ducked and kicked Gavril.

The pair grunted and fought in a mass of swinging fists, knees, and kicks.

Lev cried out.

Fedor leapt onto Gavril’s back, throwing fists and elbows down on the back of his head.

Gavril staggered backwards, shoving Fedor against the wall, expelling the wind from Fedor’s lungs.

Gavril threw Lev to the ground, mounted him, and threw down a series of clobbering blows.

Getting up, he looked between Fedor and Lev, and drew a pair of knives. “You’re both fair game—”

The knives clattered to the floor and his eyes grew wide.

Melita stepped past him and pulled her knife from his back.

She circled in front of him and thrust the knife into his chest again and again as he sunk to the floor, the life draining from him.

She stood over his body, her breaths deep, her hands shaking.

Blood pooled on the floor.

Lev rolled over and forced himself up. “Is he?”

Her eyes still fixed on Gavril, Melita nodded.

“Shit.”

Fedor joined her side and stared.

“We can’t let the others know,” Melita said.

Lev nodded and held the back of his neck, his face peppered with cuts and swelling.

Fedor took in a breath. “Melita, can you get a blanket? Lev, can you empty his pockets?”

Melita disappeared as Lev searched Gavril’s pockets, laying out money and knives.

Fedor snatched up his blade and nodded at Melita’s return. “Let’s roll him on this.” It was as if a hidden hand guided him, as if he were somehow watching the proceedings from elsewhere. He took the blanket from her and opened it out flat on the floor next to Gavril.

Between them, they lifted Gavril’s deadweight onto the blanket and wrapped his body.

“Lev and I will dispose of this.” He gestured to the blood. “You think you can clean this?”

Melita nodded.

“You alright to take that end?” Fedor gestured to the feet.

Lev grabbed the ankles and together they took Gavril’s weight, hefting him through the den, and out onto the canal side.

“See anyone?” Lev asked.

“No. I think we’re clear.”

“Good. Where do you reckon?”

Fedor shrugged and gestured towards the black water. “Here.”

“You sure?”

“He won’t be the first.”

They dropped the body carefully into the canal, trying not to make a splash.

Bubbles rose for a long time before the canal was still again.

They stared down at the water.

“What are we going to tell the others?”

Fedor shrugged. “We don’t. Nothing happened.”

“People are going to ask questions.”

“If people ask, we just say we haven’t seen him.”

“I agree.”

Fedor glanced back at Melita and forced a smile.

“You alright?” Lev asked.

She nodded. “I am now.”

Lev let out a long, shuddering breath, and turned to Fedor. “You got your knife?”

“Erm...yeah.” He rummaged in his pocket.

Lev gestured to pass it to him.

Fedor handed it to Lev who flicked open the blade. “What are you doing?”

Closing his eyes, Lev dragged the knife across his palm. “Your turn.” He handed the blade back.

“I don’t—”

“We need to do this.”

Fedor gritted his teeth and sliced across his palm.

Melita took the blade and did the same.

They pressed their hands together, allowing their blood to mingle.

“What’s—”

Melita shushed him before Fedor could finish.

“This is a blood pact,” Lev said. “I give you my oath in blood that I’ll always have both your backs.”

Melita took a breath. “You have my oath in blood that I will always have your backs.”

“Same,” Fedor said.

“You need to say the words, mate.”

He nodded. “I give you my oath in blood that I’ll always have your backs.” He withdrew his hand and wiped his blood on his leggings. “What now?”

Lev shrugged.

“Gavril’s gone.” Melita smiled. “We can finally start living.”

Fedor let out a relieved sigh and frowned as he met a pair of eyes in the shadows. “There’s someone watching us.”

Lev followed his gaze. “It’s just a wyvern, mate. Don’t worry about it.” He put an arm around Fedor and Melita and headed back inside. “Let’s get some sleep.”

––––––––

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who made this work possible. Especially to my family and friends who’ve supported me in countless ways.

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About the Author

Jon Cronshaw is a full-time fantasy and speculative fiction author based in Morecambe, England.

Born in Wolverhampton, he has a PhD in the history of art and has written for local and national newspapers across the UK.

He’s an avid reader, podcaster, and history geek.

You can follow his author journey on Jon Cronshaw’s Author Diary podcast, available at anchor.fm/joncronshaw, or wherever you listen to podcasts.

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