The Past
"Schmidt knew I dealt a lot with that crowd," the Phergus continued, "and that's where you go for a quiet go-to that'll never be traced. I hired a guy—I took a percentage. Schmidt, he was careful. He'd just had a very weird business experience and he had come out on top, but it didn't add up. Who had paid out of that stash... in paper currency? Most rival syndicates have a rigid code covers situations like that, and they kill the receiver too, always. Was it spook stuff? Schmidt didn't think so. It has a vibe, you get so you can smell it. Well, I had my guy snoop around and he found the Archebold clan in some trouble with the law. Nothing important... but found their solicitor... and then we hit pay dirt on them. For all the good it did us."
Oren raised his eyebrows.
"Freeport."
Oren stared. "That's a myth—"
The Phergus shook his head.
"S'not. They own it. And my guy found enough to put together a precis. Family-type clan but structured like a business or a syndicate. Supposedly a guy—say Galeas—could buy into it, but they haven't offered anyone an in since... a hundred years ago? Which... aye, dunno. Very quiet, very eccentric family, run like a business. Fabulously wealthy, shy of dealing directly with, well, anyone. That's how the solicitor's office turned out to be such a gold mine. Lots of magic. Lots and lots of it. And difficult to trace because... get this... floating island. A law unto themselves. And... some of the magic is death magic? So, difficult to say who is running things at any given time. They will hibernate for... years."
"How is that?" Ava pressed.
"They trade off leadership, I guess. Otherwise too many cooks in the kitchen. Nobody's seen the founding daddy in nigh on thirty years. Mama died in some accident..."
"So what happened with your fence?" Oren asked, trying to keep this flight of fancy from flying too far afield. He already had a headache.
"Nothing." The Phergus frowned. "Dropped it. We had a look at this fantastic tangle of... well, that was it. Jimmu must've gotten into Luminaria, stole the talking head, and Archebold sent their assassin after it. Schmidt decided to forget about it. Perhaps he was right." He looked at Ava. "The Villa Luminaria. Family residence... apparently private as all fuck."
"You figure they own that assassin, Pherg?" Ava asked.
"Schmidt thought so."
"Expensive," she mused. "Wonder whatever happened to that little assassin?"
"Probably got him hibernating, too. Wake him up when needed."
"All right," Orenbroke in, "we have Galeas getting his goods from a demon named Douma. Where does that get us?"
"Nowhere yet," Ava said, "but you have a little side project now." She drew a folded piece of parchment from her pocket and handed it to him. He opened it. Magical symbols that meant nothing to him, except it did. Whether it was one of his runes, the ghostwine, or both, he began to recognize patterns.
"Who is this?"
"Galeas. Some cache of his. Bought it from Wolfsanker's people. Separate deal. Where is it?"
"Not sure..."
"Figure it out." She laughed. "Earn your keep for a change."
*~*~*
Oren walked back to the loft, lost in memories. He had spent most of a teenage summer in the Noble Loser, nursing expensive beers and watching some of the confidence men. He hadn't run a con, then, but he knew what he wanted. There were at least twenty other hopefuls ghosting the Loser that summer, each one hellbent on working for some con man. It was the best way to learn.
They had all heard of Decimo, the bumpkin from the fringes of civilized society who had—it was said—come back from death on three separate occasions. The grapevine, such as it was, had little definitive to say about him, other than that he had done the impossible. "It was big," another would-be told Oren for the price of a beer, "but who knows what? I hear maybe the king of Atinaw's war chest. Anyway, the man was dead. No breath, no pulse." Oren stared across the crowded bar at the thickset man in his shirtsleeves, something leaden about the shade of his skin.
"Boy," Decimo would tell him, months later in another town, "I'm like those huge fucking lizards, you know? Two brains—one in the head and one by the tailbone, kept the hind legs moving. Mess me up and my old tailbrain will keep right on keeping on..."
The elite of the Loser shunned Decimo out of some strange group anxiety, almost a superstition. Like he was a ghost.
And his heart had killed him in the end, the heart he had used like a metronome. Two brains or one, it hadn't mattered in the end.
His trick helped him understand all this magical gear, gave him an edge over Ava, or at least a function in this huge con. He found the piece he was looking for and set the soul gem over it. It was exactly the sensation of someone reading over his shoulder.
Oren coughed.
"Dec? Decimo? That you, man?" His throat was tight.
"Hey, brother," said a directionless voice.
"It's Oren, man. Remember?"
"Cathena City, apprentice, quick study."
"What's the last thing you remember before I spoke to you, Dec?"
"Nothing."
"Hold on." He took the soul gem out of the circle of glyphs, then put it back. "Dec, who am I?"
"Fuck if I know. Who the fuck are you?"
"Or— your buddy. Partner. What's happening, man?"
"Good question."
"Remember being here a second ago?"
"No."
"Do you know how soul gems work?"
"Sure, brother. Necromancer prepares a stone and traps a soul in it for later consumption or use."
"So, uh... with the right enchantment, can I give the soul... memory?"
"Guess so."
"All right, Dec. You are a soul gem. Or you're in one. Got it?"
"If you say so," said the voice. "Who are you?"
"Oren."
"Cathena City, apprentice, quick study."
"Right. And for starts, Dec, you and me, we're going to, ah... enchant our way to a certain cache." He pulled Ava's paper out of his pocket. "You game for that?"
"I'm in a soul gem, boy. I don't really have a choice."
The Present
"The short-term goal is the kids will be warm all day," he was explaining to Jacq over drinks. "Timon can teach them some cooking so they don't burn themselves in the kitchen or chop off their little fingers or... you know, and then you all will eat better, too. Timon's a fucking wunderkind in the kitchen. And Bast can help Torin out, see if they can't develop enough of a rapport that he will be comfortable being there everyday... at least for work hours. Not trying to separate him from the coven... his family... long-term. But, you know, they might not all want to work for me their whole lives, so this could be an opportunity to diversify his skills. Give him options. At least the coven might have a runeforger of their very own, keep them equipped to deal with any future problems."
Jacq's eyes were fixed on the Velvet Cabaret dancers, but Aurin knew he was listening. Even the feast of flesh wasn't enough to fully distract him from the responsibilities he held to his small, young coven. But all that responsibility meant he had little time for himself, and so Aurin made sure that their meetings one-on-one were places Jacq might like but would likely never have the time to visit unless Aurin sent him spying.
Perhaps he would send him spying here. A young lad, good-looking, he could keep tabs of what went on here. Some of the employees did send some information his way, but perhaps Jacq needed to diversify his training as well.
"Anyway, send him over to the forge tomorrow along with the twins. Tell them Torin needs someone to play with the dog or something..."
Going through Jacq meant he didn't have to think up the excuse. He didn't even know if the children would care if there wasn't an excuse. They seemed to like the forge well enough, their gateway into freedom and plenty, such as it was.
Jacq nodded thoughtfully, still marginally distracted by the sights of revelry. Aurin was confident he wouldn't have a complaint against the plan. But he did try to follow the young man's gaze to see where his proclivities lay. They had never discussed that. Even if the Whispers had absconded from Zaichaer en masse, they were still one of those covens, and he had been treating with Jacq as if he were Valencia or one of the other powers that be. Slowly, though, he was growing accustomed to having them under his wing.
"Which ones are you looking at?" he asked. "Asking for a friend. Also, when is your birthday?"
Jacq flushed.
