The Blood Burns in My Veins by Megan Derr

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

"Uncertainty is still hope."

― Alexandre Dumas,The Count of Monte Cristo

 

 

"Finally we're getting to the fun part," Forthwind said as they slipped out of their rooms over the old woman's shop. They'd each made their way there during the day, and now that dark had fallen, it was time to set to work on some of the less-than-legal components of Dante's revenge.

Forthwind was equal parts horrified and impressed by the lengths to which Dante was going for his revenge, all the little pieces of it that made no sense from his perspective, but clearly formed quite the tapestry in Dante's too-clever mind.

Dante cast him a look that was just visible in the light of the streetlamp they passed beneath. "Breaking and entering is the fun part for you, caro?"

"I don't have the patience and fortitude for your meticulous maneuvering of pieces. Easier to just stab them all, or whatever, and be done." He smiled. "But we've had this talk. You like your intricacies. So do I get to know what you're going to do with the contraband we're after?"

"Depends on what we find," Dante said as they abandoned the main street and started slipping through yards and alleyways, avoiding patrolling guardie and other late-night wanderers who might remember seeing them. "Broadly, I plan to give it to other people, who will not be pleased when it is discovered to be in their possession."

Forthwind laughed. "I see."

A few minutes later, they reached their destination: the dumpling shop of old man Janshai. It was closed up and dark, an unremarkable shop like tens of others scattered across Verona. "When I was a child, the shop was always open. His family ran it during the day, and Janshai ran it at night."

"It's a wonder to me it's open at all anymore, but I suppose that's what the locked door is about."

Eschewing the front of the shop, they slipped around to the side door that led directly to the kitchen area, where Dante had the lock picked in mere seconds. He nudged the door open, and they slipped inside, Forthwind closing the door whisper soft behind them.

Then Forthwind called up his magia, the sweet rush of wind coursing through and around him, prickling his skin like listening to a holy choir fill the temple with ringing song. He sent it whirling through the building, gentle but firm.

After a couple of minutes, Dante asked, "Anything?"

"If there are traps, they're too delicate to be tripped by a concerted wind," Forthwind replied, and let the sweet rush of magia fade away.

"Good enough." Crossing the room to the suspicious door Forthwind had noted on his scouting trip a few days ago, Dante knelt and dealt with this lock as easily as he'd dealt with the first, though it should have been more difficult. He pushed the door open and slipped inside. Forthwind followed, once more closing the door behind them.

There was the scratch of a match, the smell of sulfur, and then the room filled with flickering light. Dante cast the torch carefully across the whole room, until he lighted upon a couple of lanterns that he swiftly lit.

Able to see properly, more or less, they took stock of the contents.

Forthwind whistled. "I thought it would just be drugs."

"I anticipated the steel, but the rest… This is all quite a bit more than even I expected."

The room was larger than it had seemed from the outside, and also deeper, requiring they go down a set of steps to reach the main part of it.

Against one wall, stacked on shelves, were specially made bamboo chests and casks used to transport costly goods that absolutely could not get wet: mostly medicine, powders and tinctures generally, but sometimes the raw ingredients. People used them for personal items as well, especially contraband alcohol. Or, in this case, papavero. Originally an import from a country the empire now considered a bitter enemy, papavero had been declared illegal once war had begun, and the law continued even now that 'peace' had been achieved. Many still smuggled it, and still others skipped the traveling into enemy territory part by simply growing it themselves. It was a lucrative black market trade.

The liquid version, more expensive to make and transport, was called 'vino di papavero,' even though it was actually tintura di papavero mixed with a cheap, local liquor that varied by location. Back home, they'd used the local brew made from the potatoes that grew in abundance. He had no idea what Verona favored, and didn't much care.

There was also the pure tintura di papavero, though that was more difficult and expensive to come by, since it wasn't nearly as profitable for smugglers to sell it that way. Rarest of all were the cakes of it, formed from the paste that was the source of the whole mess, beaten into a mass and pressed into molds to make the cakes or blocks that would last for months while they were transported by merchants and pirates.

Forthwind was drawn from his brooding over the alarming amount of papavero by the clink of metal and glanced toward the sound, already knowing what he'd see: Dante handling the blocks of steel like they were lovers, or his children. Like they were precious, at any rate.

Dante did not often give away his feelings, not even to Forthwind, who was used to reading him. But even the most self-absorbed, oblivious halfwit could not fail to notice how much Dante loved iron, his magia del ferro. Forthwind had never met anyone who genuinely loved their magia as deeply as Dante.

He'd once described it like having fire race through his blood, which didn't sound pleasant to Forthwind, but he broadly understood what Dante meant, and it suited him perfectly. If there was one thing Dante did, it was burn. The man was all fire, from his heart to his anger to his joy on the rare occasion he let himself feel joyous about something.

"I'm going to guess there is something illegal about that steel, though I don't see how that's possible."

Dante chuckled and turned the bar he was holding to display the front, which was stamped with the imperial crest. "This is imperial steel. It's reserved solely for the military and licensed weapons makers, like the Ferro. They cost one koban each. On the black market, they're nearly double that."

Forthwind whistled. "Almost worth more than the papavero. What's it doing piled up in here?"

"Ferro-donni receive a shipment of imperial steel every month. I would wager they are holding back some of each shipment, and when they have enough stored up, like this little stockpile, they sell it off." He turned the bar over and tapped the lower right corner of it. "There should be a stamp here, to indicate the shipment is for Ferro. All the bars are marked thus, to track them and ensure they're harder to steal."

"I assume getting rid of such marks is fairly easy for stregoni di ferro. Seems stupid not to think of that."

"It's not actually that easy, since the stamps are themselves magia, but for an experienced stregone di ferro, or even a stregone del fuoco, it's not impossible. Exhausting and difficult, even dangerous, but not impossible. Worthwhile, though, because if the pirates or smugglers are caught, there's nothing to incriminate their source."

"I assume you're going to put the stamps back in place—or a new one?"

Dante replied with his shark-like smile. "Precisely." He set the bar down. "First, we need to figure out how to move all this."

"A cart is the only way. My wind can help from there, but I can't do it unassisted. Obtaining a cart, loading it up, and taking it across the islands would draw too much attention, though, wouldn't it?"

"Depends on the cart," Dante replied. "Wait here."

Forthwind rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the last portion of the room, which was filled with the heavy, usually padded chests that were filled with coins, jewels, and other forms of currency.

The chests were locked when he tried to open a couple, but Dante wasn't the only one who could pick a lock. They'd had the same teacher, after all.

As he threw the top of the first chest open, all he could do was gawk. He'd expected to see denaro and mon, the most typical coins for high value items. Possibly even scudi, which was the highest coin used by most people. Past that were only koban and fiorino, which were only ever seen by the wealthy, the government, and the banks.

This chest was filled with fiorino. That was wealth enough even the emperor would remark on it. What was so much money doing here, sitting in a dumpling shop guarded by a door that was more show than effectiveness?

He closed the chest, locked it, and sat on another one as he waited for Dante.

His hand went helplessly to the inner pocket of his jacket and the ribbon he'd tucked there, accidentally left behind by Brom after their night together. It was silk, good quality, at odds with the cheap jinbei Brom had been wearing.

Forthwind's stomach churned. What was going to happen to Brom? There was no point in asking Dante, who'd just give one of his mystifying answers, too guarded and jaded to entirely share his plans.

He ached to go see Brom again, but he'd already gone too far. To involve himself further would just make his betrayal cut all the deeper later. Was he any better now than the people Dante was revenging himself on?

The door opened, and he looked up, but couldn't banish his glum thoughts quickly enough. "What has you looking so grim?"

"Nothing."

"Out with it, caro. Something has been weighing on you since your little mission to the whorehouse the other night. You are not me, to revel in your brooding."

Forthwind sighed and tucked the ribbon away. "Is there any point in asking if you would show Brom mercy?"

That drew Dante up short, and he actually paused in the process of gathering up some of the steel bars. After a moment, he simply said, "Help me load the cart."

Stifling another sigh, Forthwind set to work. It took both of them to move the chests of money one by one. "Who leaves an emperor's ransom just lying around in a dirt room guarded by a door with bad locks? The imperial fortune you stole was under so much rock and stone, it's no wonder my father was the only one who figured it out."

Dante chuckled as they loaded the last of the chests into a cart that smelled like all of the city's shit had been piled in it once. Which it probably had, because Dante was right: it all depended on the cart. Nobody would look twice at a couple of men hauling a nightsoil cart. They secured a tarp over the haul, pulled on a couple of the white-painted straw hats that marked nightsoil collectors—Forthwind never bothered to ask how Dante managed to obtain such things so easily anymore—and headed off.

They'd been walking for a few minutes, hauling the cart themselves with assistance from Forthwind's magia, when Dante broke the silence. "I was always going to give Brom a fair chance to redeem himself, same as all the rest. Brom was a child when all this happened. I'm not unaware his reasons for betraying me could have seemed unavoidable at the time."

"What if he fails your test?"

"Then he'll suffer the same as all the rest." Dante sighed. "For you, though, I will not be as brutal as I would have been otherwise." He cast Forthwind a look. "Did you want me to be gentler with Janshai, too?"

Forthwind returned the look. "Would you, if I asked?"

"You shouldn't waste your time. Janshai will only disappoint you."

"You didn't hear the remorse in his voice when he spoke to me of Arata and Carac the other day."

Dante snorted. "No, but I have seen the goods he hides for smugglers. I know the money he hoards for himself, even to the detriment of his shop. I'll grant Brom what mercy I can muster, but do not waste your time and heart on Janshai. That old man is rotten inside."

"What if you're wrong?"

"Then I'm wrong, of course." Dante's words were belied by his tone, which said he did not remotely comprehend the idea that he could be wrong about something like that.

Sadly, that was true. Forthwind continued to hope anyway—for the sake of Dante's victims and Dante himself.

Glancing at him in faint amusement, Dante broke the silence by asking, "Have you been taken in by Brom's wiles, caro?"

"It has nothing to do with his wiles, though I concede he has plenty of those."

Dante did not reply, which was a relief and disappointment. A relief, because it meant Forthwind wasn't going to be questioned to death on his complicated infatuation with a whore who once stabbed Dante in the back. A disappointment because it meant Dante was stewing, and likely plotting, and trying to stop that was like trying to halt the tide.

They reached the warehouse district unimpeded, thankfully. "Where do we go from here?"

Dante replied with that smile of his and nodded his head for Forthwind to follow his lead. Not hard, given it took both of them to move the cart, even with Forthwind's magia helping.

After several minutes, they reached a section of the district that was notably nicer than the others: better lighting, more space for people and carts, and plants enough to ward off the atrocious smells of the harbor. These weren't the warehouses used by merchants and businesses, then, but the private warehouses used by the nobile to store goods and contraband they preferred not to store at their residences.

Dante finally called a halt as they approached a particularly nice warehouse, well out of sight of the two guardie stationed in front of it—though stationed was a generous word, given they were sitting at a barrel playing cards and drinking substances their commanding officer would not approve of.

"What shall we do about them?"

"Can you lure them away from the warehouse long enough for me to add a little something to their saké?"

"Consider it done," Forthwind said, and slipped away behind a different building, until he came to an alleyway. From there, it was easy to call up the sweet, musical rush of the wind and send it down the alleyway, scattering enough debris to cause a ruckus the guardie had no choice but to investigate.

As they came down the alleyway, one of them carrying a magia lantern, it was clear from their relaxed stances and muttered grumbles that they expected bothersome children or drunks. Forthwind sent a last rush of cold ocean wind at them, scattering more debris, leaving them in a confounding mess, and then ducked back the way he'd come and returned to the cart.

Not more than a couple of minutes later, Dante rejoined him. After that, it was merely a matter of waiting, and the guardie were imbibing so freely, the wait was mere minutes. When they were out cold, and Dante had double-checked they were still breathing and would suffer nothing worse than a headache, Forthwind picked the lock and threw the doors open.

They went back for the cart, closed the warehouse up behind them again—though there was nothing they could do about the lock from this side—and set to work.

The warehouse was shockingly empty, especially given it was not a small one, though it wasn't the largest available either. All a glance around offered were some bolts of fabric, mostly the sort of costly, heavily embroidered silk used for kimonos, sashes, and overdresses.

In another corner was a modest but impressive collection of contraband alcohol. Hardly remarkable. It was almost a requirement amongst the nobility. There were also a couple of trunks, likely of old clothing or something like that.

"This principe seems rather boring, all told," Forthwind said. "Must be, if we have to frame him for what, stealing steel from his father? And trading in papavero."

Dante's smile was as cold and frightening as the black ice Forthwind had slipped on so many times on the farm. "We're just adding finishing touches. One or two illegal items, almost anyone with his wealth and power can talk themselves out of. But papavero, imperial steel, an emperor's ransom, and the contents of those trunks? He will look like not just a smuggler, or someone who deals closely with smugglers, but amongst the worst of that lot and more besides."

Forthwind's brows vanished into his hairline. He went over to the trunks, picked the the nearest of the three, and threw open the lid.

Then he almost threw up.

Inside the trunk were tens, hundreds, of vials filled with liquids of various color, unmistakable and horrifying. Stregoni blood, specially preserved so it wouldn't clot or go bad, dyed to mark what kind of magia each provided. It was used the world over to give temporary magia to those who did not possess it naturally. Stregoni could also use it to increase the strength of their own powers.

It was a highly illegal practice, punishable with everything, including execution. Largely because the only way to obtain the blood was to bleed stregoni, and often 'blood farmers' would drain a single stregone until they died. One stregone could provide numerous vials, especially if they were kept alive as long as possible, but they all ended up husks eventually. It wasn't just murder: it was torture.

Forthwind slammed the trunk closed. "Why would he have this?"

"The same reasons as always, caro: money and power. Can't have privilege and all its cozy comforts without them."

"He already has so much."

"Money and power are more intoxicating than all the papavero in the world."

Forthwind looked at him. "What keeps you from being as venomous as the rest of them?"

Dante laughed and motioned for Forthwind to resume helping him move everything out of the cart. "Your mistake is thinking that I'm not. I am every bit as venomous, if not more so. Would I be doing all of this if I was not?"

"You were like a second son to my father. I know how often you've helped people for no reason at all. Just for me, you're willing to go easier on Brom than I know you want, despite the fact I barely know him."

Heaving the last of the steel onto the pile, Dante wiped his dusty hands on his pants and replied, "You are doing much in aiding me, and it means all the more because much like your father, you have too kind and forgiving a heart."

Forthwind laughed. "I don't know about that, but it's true I don't have your… fortitude when it comes to exacting all this elaborate revenge. How do you keep all the details organized? Remember all the little things that must be done?"

"It's all I thought about for fifteen years. Now come, we need to return the cart and then we are done with this portion of our evening."

They restored their hats, dragged the cart out of the warehouse, and restored the lock. The guardie were still slumped over their barrel, snoring loud enough for six and oblivious to the way their own lazy, indulgent behavior had just helped frame a principe for smuggling and other crimes.

Another hour or so and they had the cart returned to nightsoil collectors who looked more than a little pleased with all the money they'd earned that night—enough money they would also be happy to keep their silence, should anyone come asking them questions.

"So what now?" Forthwind asked as they washed up at a public fountain before heading off.

"Now we are going to break into the Ishikawa residence and steal a few things from Ishikawa-donna."

Forthwind cast him an alarmed look. "That's vastly more complicated than breaking into a closed-up dumpling shop."

"I thought you were glad we were doing the 'fun' stuff now."

"There's fun, and then there's suicidal. Are you trying to wind up back in prison, Dante? Because this is how you wind up back in prison."

Dante scoffed. "I know what I am about. It's not as though we have to go far."

"Surely the house is heavily guarded and rife with magia protections."

Dante's deep, rolling laughter rippled out. It would be such a handsome laugh, if it wasn't always filled with venom. "Guardie, yes, but even they are mostly for show. Nobody would dare break into the Ishikawa home. The penalties are not worth whatever they stole—and it would be a matter of hours, at best days, before such a thief is caught. May as well steal from the emperor's bed chamber."

"Surprised you didn't steal anything while you were at the party."

Dante's face clouded. "I had intended to, but Ferro-donna's unexpected… choices… upset my plans. Nor did I get opportunity at the courthouse. So we must do it the hard way." He cast Forthwind a look, a rare slip of smile appearing for the barest moment. "Or the fun way, depending on your perspective."

Forthwind laughed, and couldn't deny that for all his protesting, he was looking forward to the challenge. He was, for the most part, law-abiding. But those in power had betrayed and let him down too many times for him to hold the law especially sacred. Especially after the way his father had been treated.

So yes, a little more breaking and entering would be fun.

Even in a city where every last building, including the poorest, was beautiful, the Ishikawa estate stood apart. It was easily three times the size of the surrounding houses, lush and sprawling, the sound of rippling water filling the air. There was a beautiful stone archway and wall that secluded and protected it. Beyond the archway, he could just see that many of the doors had been slid open, letting in fresh air that helped to keep everything cool, though it probably got quite frigid at night.

"No matter how many times you explain," Forthwind said, voice breaking slightly at all the anger and anguish that wanted to consume him, "I will never understand why people who have so much still want so much more and are willing to be so contemptible to get it. If we'd had even a tenth of this—a twentieth—when I was growing up, I would probably still have a mother, father, and a thriving farm to inherit."

"When you spend your whole life at the top of the mountain, staring down at the rest of the world, nothing is more terrifying than the idea that someone might knock you off the mountain and take your place. These people will do anything to stay on their mountain. There's no drug quite like it. Growing up, I took all of it for granted. In some ways, I still do." Dante's dark smile returned. "But unlike these fools, I know what it's like to be knocked down, and the climb back up has only made me more dangerous than they could ever comprehend."

Forthwind quirked one brow. "What will you do when you've knocked them all down? Stay on your mountain?"

Dante did not reply, but Forthwind hadn't really expected him to.

"So what is our plan for getting into the house?"

"There is an access point in the main garden, where the water for their streams is piped in directly from the sea."

"They don't close it off or make it too small for humans to pass through?"

"Access is always needed for maintenance and repairs." Dante led the way around the house, keeping to shadows and occasionally ducking behind trees, rocks, and other objects to avoid patrolling guardie.

Soon enough, Forthwind saw it: a wide arch about as wide as he was and maybe half as tall as Dante in height. "They don't even keep full-time guardie at this point? These people really are too arrogant for their own good."

Dante chuckled but said nothing, only waited until the patrolling guardie were out of sight once more before darting as quick as a fish toward and through the archway. Forthwind followed, and rose to his full height to find them standing in a lush, beautiful garden, redolent with plants, trees, and flowers, and throughout was the stream that seemed to wend through the whole house. But that was fairly typical of stregoni dell'acqua, and the other classes were not so different.

They slipped into the house itself, Forthwind calling up his magia so it was ready in a moment's notice. Hopefully they wouldn't need it; people tended to remember when there was a stregone del vento around.

"Do I want to know how you learned the layout of the house so well?" Forthwind asked.

Dante only replied with a smirk, provoking an eyeroll.

Moments later, thankfully unhindered by servants or occupants, they stopped in front of a sliding door that looked much like any other: wood frame, paper paneling. The sorts of hinged doors favored on the continent weren't really common here, mostly confined to where they'd provide additional security, like the room of smuggled goods at the dumpling shop.

"What if they're awake? Or wake up?"

"I paid a servant very handsomely to ensure that wouldn't happen."

Forthwind rolled his eyes, because honestly, he should have thought of that.

Dante slid the door open and stepped inside the room. Like everywhere else in the house, water burbled and rippled, and Forthwind nearly stepped right in it before finally figuring out where the stream was situated.

"What are we after?"

"Small items of jewelry and clothing that she likely won't miss but will be unmistakably hers."

"Right. I'll do clothing, you do jewelry." He slipped away to a sliding door that, as anticipated, led to a wardrobe. Most clothing was stored in chests and compartments in the floor, but he wasn't surprised that someone like Ishikawa-donni required an entire separate room.

It took him a bit longer than he would have liked, but he finally came away with a scarf, a quarter-sash, and a pair of sandals that were slightly out of fashion. He doubted Ishikawa-donna would notice the absence, and the servants that took care of the clothes would be far more likely to hold their tongues lest they be blamed and fired over the matter.

He turned to the bedroom, where Ishikawa-donni slept peacefully and Dante waited by the door.

Getting out was as easy as getting in had been.

Forthwind smiled. "So what—"

Dante clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him deep into the shadows of a nearby building, a shed or something. Forthwind tapped his hand to let him know he'd be quiet, and Dante's grip slid away. They watched in silence as a diminutive figure followed their same path, crawling through the archway and then standing slowly, looking back over their shoulder, then smiling faintly and slipping away into the night.

"That was the youngest one. Uh. Haru-donna. What have you done, Dante?"

"All I did was introduce her to another lonely young lady. I had no control over the matter from there."

"I don't believe you," Forthwind said with a sigh. "Shall we return home, to rest up for your next bit of mischief?"

Dante smiled and nodded. "Would you like some rice balls on the way home? The cart vendors are always out this late to make money off of drunks, and they make the best ones."

"You know I never say no to food."