“Can’t spare the coin. I’m broke ’til I sell this thing.”
He made a face at her but didn’t say another word as she turned and stalked out of the dingy pub.
Three blocks from The Docked Tail, Talis dipped into an alley to escape the press of the crowd. She leaned back against the wall of a restaurant. From deeper in the shadows, the fermented smell of spiced food caked on the filth-encrusted garbage chute found its way to her nostrils. It was almost as overwhelming as her own thoughts, which swirled, berating her for being a fool.
She needed to put this ring and the trouble it wanted as firmly behind her as she could, as soon as she could. Didn’t dare toss it, no matter the unanimous counsel she’d been getting. It was worth something. The more they told her to be done with it, the more people showed up to relieve her of it, the more she was convinced of that. It had to be, and somewhere there had to be a buyer.
Talbot had been her best bet. He had the fewest scruples and the warmest feelings toward her now that Jasper was dead. Every other buyer she could think to line up was a long shot, and word was out that she was selling a bad deal.
The fallback was Assessor’s Hall. Would the pawnshop clerks know, too? Whatever she could get for it, she’d have to take. There was a small bonus of the coin from the assassin’s wallet, and Sophie and Dug had each taken their own prizes from that fight as well. It hadn’t been a lot, but it was more than they’d started with. And the new revolvers weren’t a bad take.
Pawns would do, she decided. Best to be done with this quickly.
She took a breath. Nearly choked on the garbage stench but made herself hold it. Pushed it out again, forcefully, a moment later.
Feeling better, the rank alley no longer seemed like such a haven. It was a corner, and there were eyes on her. It was no place to be caught.
She slipped back into the traffic of the main corridor and almost instantly was nudged at the elbow and hip. Felt the barest tug at her belt, and then a small child ran ahead into the crowd, clutching the assassin’s coin purse she had tucked into her belt pouch.
“Little bastard,” she snarled under her breath, and pushed after him.
If anyone had a mastery of Subrosa’s mazes and secrets, it was the pint-sized populace of malnourished children. They fended for themselves, formed small gangs, or worked for the shopkeepers and crime bosses. Sometimes all of the above. They were the perfect army of thieves: abundant, hungry, and, with the proper tutelage, could be quite heartless. That’s how Tisker had been raised, before he joined her crew. His skills had been developed by escaping punishment and staying alive in the urchin pits of Subrosan slums, until he was too old to hide from authorities under a mask of dirt in the crowd of other children. At that point, many former subcity children would move into business for themselves, turn around and guide the next generation of children on their dubious career paths. But Tisker wanted out, and saw his chance in the black-stained hull of Wind Sabre. Talis had needed some convincing. She definitely had preconceived notions about just how far she should trust a scum-dwelling, bottom-feeding former child of the alleys. She still believed, to this day, that Tisker was an exception to the rule.
The reed-thin Cutter boy with her purse managed to stay just ahead of her. Traffic seemed to part for him and then close back in to block her path. It was probably only half her imagination. A couple times she thought she’d lost him but then saw his twig-thin form just ahead of her, forced to dodge a cart or a burdened courier. She closed the distance and made a grab for his collar, nearly on him, but he dove at that moment into the dark shadow of an open doorway.
Pursuit took her through a bar, choked with pipe smoke, decidedly not tobacco. The door on the other side opened into the streets of the next Subrosan district, with polyboard walls and floors, a patchwork of colors taken from previous installations elsewhere. The mismatched panels bounced beneath her feet as she ran.
The boy slipped through a space between boards, so narrow she saw the edges scrape his shoulder. Undeterred, she kicked the board with her foot. It broke off, falling into a cramped alley lit with black-smoking tallow candles. The ground beneath her feet was littered with dingy blankets and coats, and beneath the candle smoke, the air was surprisingly unflavored by the smell of garbage. Though it did smell of other things.
There were more children here, and they pressed in at her, making a show of panhandling, grabbing at her arms and, in the case of the smaller children, her legs, to slow her down and aid in their compatriot’s escape. There were too many of them to move through, though it was more like being swarmed by wake moths than held back by a mob. She kept her eyes on the bouncing gait of her quarry and pushed through the throng of dirty arms and faces. She felt small feet beneath her boots and shoved the bodies to the side, back into the press, until they gave up ground to avoid being stepped on.
At the far end of the alley was a blank wall. Talis cursed, almost out of breath. She toed at the edges of the board, but it was not loose as the last one had been. She slammed both hands, in frustration, against the dead end.
A small scuff of sound made her look up. A foot disappeared over the top of a ledge above her. The wall to her left had a narrow vertical strip of panel missing, revealing the wooden studs
