Eagles and Swans
Chapter 10: The Game
Whenever she visited her New Town gang, Ruthenia rarely greeted Tante first. But today, it was his name that she called out as she marched up the street, patting around inside her sling-bag while the knifeman stood from his recline with an arched eyebrow.
Finding her fingers on the cold brass barrel, she slowly slid the entire gun out, barrel-first, and pushed it into the bewildered man’s hand. “Quick, take it so I don't have to look at it any longer,” she snapped. “You’ll have to find the bullets yourself. But don’t say I didn’t help you.”
“Fine, fine,” he muttered, studying the device in his hand as if expecting it to turn into something else. “Not totally untrustworthy after all.” With a nod and a smirk that made his scars furrow, he slid the gun into his belt.
Ruthenia opened her mouth, then shut it and turned away. If he enjoyed the risk of blowing his nether regions off then by Ihir, was he welcome to indulge himself.
“So, the long and short of it,” said Den matter-of-factly, “is that we have finalised our plan for the interception of the dye shipment, and Tante and Gordo are in charge of. Once we have it all, we can begin transporting it to the palace.”
Tante folded his arms with a dark scowl, reclining in the crate-chair Ruthenia had made for him. Idly, she noticed that Den was more dressed up than she had ever seen him. zHis coat was dark as twilight, his boots polished to a shine. For some reason, he had taken the care to comb every strand of his jet-black hair into place.
“This had better not be as stupid as it sounds,” she said, glancing from one face to another.
“Definitely not,” Den replied. “I designed it.” He accompanied this with a cattish smile and a casual brush of his hair. “I recommend you return this Friday, to find out how we fared in this carriage-sabotage quest.”
“Sure. But one more question: why are you dressed up?”
To that, he shrugged. “Well, I pickpocketed a businessman in the area last week,” he said. “He had the heaviest pouch I’d ever held, and I now have the most beautiful coat I’ve ever worn.”
“No, but why are you wearing it today?”
*
Soon they were following Den to the town square, the sun beating down on the bustling cobblestone streets while they wove between parked steam carriages. Tante brushed hands with a girl with bright brown eyes, smiling coyly, and she lifted her lacy skirts, allowing him no more than a sight of their polished black boots. Ruthenia averted his eyes as if from a bad road accident.
They came to a stop where the newsstand was just beginning to close for lunch. The woman who ran the stand was an up-and-coming woman by the name of Reida, who wore her brown hair in a tidy bob. Normally a journalist, her the ever-understaffed Swan's Post often put her on stand duty. Though she was of the New Town streets, she knew how to fly, and there was always a cosmopolitan, businesslike air about her that emanated inbetweenness—between airborne and flightless, between wealthy and the poor.
Reida was a familiar face to the walkers of Union Street, so Ruthenia had seen her on a handful of occasions. But it appeared that her gang had been making efforts to entangle her even deeper into their lives.
When she saw the five approaching, the woman pulled the cap off her head and lowered her bell with a clang. “Oh, you lot again,” she laughed.
“Reida,” Den called. “How are you today, beautiful?”
Reida smiled back, wiping the bell on the pleats of her dark blouse. “About to end work for the morning, thank you!” she replied.
Den swept her a small bow; she folded her arms with a testy smile. “How's work treating you?”
“Oh, exciting news on that front! I won't be on stand duty much in the coming weeks. The boss—I mean, your father—his been hinting I'll see a promotion soon.”
From the corner of her eye, Ruthenia noticed her companions pulling away. Then she felt a hand snatch her wrist and drag her backward into an alcove.
“Leave 'em to it,” whispered Gordo from above them, and the other two laughed.
Ruthenia’s brow furrowed. “Is this why he’s dressed like some faux Central Circle socialite?”
“Reida does have a taste for the learned,” Hyder replied. “Or that’s what he's gleaned.”
“Why do you all get up to so much when I’m gone?”
*
The stand's lunch break coincided with the boys’ departure. They ran off towards the marketplace for lunch ten minutes off one o’clock, leaving Ruthenia—who refused to follow them despite some attempted guilt trips—with Reida in the middle of that sunny street.
“Hey, Reida,” Ruthenia called, waving a hand.
The newsgirl spent a moment smiling down after the departing quartet, before turning to her. “Ruth!” she said, smile widening. “How've you been lately, love?”
“I'm fine. Work's the same as always,” she answered with a sigh. “Do you have a moment?”
“More than that—I'm not taking afternoon shift,” Reida said, lifting the newsstand hatch and sliding the key into the lock. Her tone growing serious to match Ruthenia’s. “What do you need?”
“I have a question about something Tante said the other day.”
“Oh?” She began buckling her pouch about her waist, but her eyes did not leave Ruthenia’s face. “What might that be?”
“He said you've seen people carrying guns about.”
At once Reida’s head perked up. “Oh, yes, I did, indeed,” she said. “They try hiding the them under shirt hems, but it's not hard to tell. It's been frightening me a touch.”
“Let’s walk to the station,” Ruthenia replied.
Ruthenia glanced both ways down the moderately crowded street. Carriages and pedestrians milled about beneath shop house windows. Here and there, Reida caught a stranger's lustful look, upon which Ruthenia would scowl and bare her teeth till they left.
The ferry station was two streets from the town square, a sheltered platform looming over the smoke and houses below that received four ships every hour. Connected to the closest street by a floating flight of stairs, it was busy at all times of the day.
They were greeted by every kind of pedestrian as they traversed the avenues and even, on one occasion, by a carriage driver, who tipped his hat at them while they coughed and choked in the smoke of his steam carriage. A clock tower chimed one across the district.
“So, who were they?” asked Ruthenia as they went. “The people you saw.”
“There were a few groups, never just one person alone,” Reida replied. “All with the same kind of pistol.”
Ruthenia’s eyes widened. “Where?”
“Near the grocery store, where I work.” The wind from a passing carriage blew hair into Reida’s eyes; she brushed it out nonchalantly. “A good place to snatch some argents off some belts, if you know who’s carrying them.” She paused. “I doubt they guns are legal.”
“Of course they’re illegal. How many New Town residents d’you think can afford a licence?”
“Where do you think they're getting them?"
“That's what I'm wondering,"
Reida turned to her. "This smells like a potential news scoop,” she said.
“It isn’t the guns I care about, it’s the suppliers.”
They walked the remaining distance in silence, and stopped at the foot of the long flight of stairs to the station, where Reida turned to Ruthenia with an earnest look.
"Ruth," she said. "Do you reckon Den is interested in me? He is frustratingly hard to read."
“He could well be,” she replied. “I swear the bastard’s being difficult on purpose. It's one of his stupid mind games.” She clapped Reida on the shoulder. “He’s not cruel, though. You'll figure things out soon enough.”
With a short goodbye, Reida left for the station above, and Ruthenia expanded her umbrella, raising it over her head.
When Ruthenia arrived home, Tanio was reclining in his deckchair on his porch. As she landed, he waved her over with a huge smile. “Could you do me a favour?” he said, hands clasped together.
She felt her shoulders sag. “What's it this time?” she growled. “Sewing pins? Half-inch cogs? A new toilet flush?”
“No, no, something much simpler,” he replied. “I’m in need of some spooled Thread. You know what that is?”
Ruthenia folded her arms. “No, I don't.”
“That’s fine, you're good at research, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t dally though; every hour we waste is an argent down the drain.”
“Anything else besides?”
About to leave till then, her boss turned around. “Oh, yes, new supplies arrived,” he answered, kicking a crate by her door that had, till then, escaped her notice. “And one more thing. I’ll need you to answer some questions over dinner, so don’t be late.”
*
“So, Ruthenia, mind explaining the sealed package from last week?"
An acrid smell filled the entire first floor, telling of unspeakable disaster, the aftermath of which sat on Ruthenia’s plate.
Tanio’s eyes were so bright with interest, she knew at once that there would be no purpose in feigning ignorance. “Too bad I can’t tell you,” she said, picking at the blackened slab of beef. “I’m under an oath of secrecy.”
“Fair enough, I guessed as much anyway,” he answered, then steepled his fingers, bringing his piercing gaze back to hers. “But pray tell, how did you come by such an assignment?”
Ruthenia shrugged. "Eldon told the royals about me.”
“How lucky!” exclaimed Tanio, beaming all of a sudden. “I hope, in the course of working here, that you learn how to make use of such valuable connections.”
“Make use of them? That’s Arcane talk.”
“You see, that’s the trouble with you. The scope of your ambition is so tiny.”
“Hey—what?”
“You know the gears but you can’t comprehend the machinery,” he went on. The lump of beef charcoal grew cold in her plate. “You want some part of this to change, don’t you? Some part, however small, of the broken machine that is the Astran theocracy? You said as much on your first day of work.”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you have the right idea. But all you do is spew hot air. Let me tell you a secret: it's all a game. A game they've trapped us in. And we can only play it in return.”
“Game? What are you talking about?” she replied.
“The game of messages and glamours. The game of knowing when to shut up. It's not just about yelling till you get what you want, you know. Sometimes you keep quiet. Sometimes you do them favours. Then, once they've welcomed you into the inner sanctum, and once you've toasted to each other—only then do you show your fangs.”
“That’s stupid,” Ruthenia muttered. “What makes you think you can change the rules by playing by them?”
“Well, this is my entire life’s work—and you became a part of it as soon as you signed yourself under my roof. Just get me that spooled Thread, and I’ll show you what I mean.”
With a swipe of his finger, Tanio cleaned his plate of the last crumbs, and licked them off. Beyond his wooden walls, a gust howled; she heard the turbine whir, saw the lights momentarily brighten upon the dining room nestled between stairs and doors, before the wind once again subsided.
“So, were you paid you well?” said Tanio simply.
Ruthenia stared at the beef and carrots in her own plate. “Quite,” she replied. She barely knew what to do with so much money.
But the debt, it was dawning on her, might prove more profitable than she’d bothered considering before.