Reciprocity Page 4

  The sign on the cheap plywood door read OFFISE KEEP OUT, and hung askew. A tinny phonograph murmured and chirped away inside—something upbeat about dancing all night with a stranger. A man’s voice sang along, flat by a half-step at least, and a little behind the beat. Idly I tapped my index finger against my lips. An errant ray of sun lit up Maria’s blue eyes, and I watched her studying my finger as it moved. Or was she staring at my lips?

  It didn’t matter, not just then. No other sound came from Piet’s office—just the phonograph, and Piet murdering whatever song was playing.

  I knocked twice and opened the door.

  The office was a mess, just as it had been the last time I was here: ankle-deep drifts of sandwich wrappers and beer bottles, and a leaning tower of pizza boxes stacked in one corner. Piet stood up quick, knocking his cheap wooden chair against the back wall. A stubby pencil fell from his right hand and onto the ledger he was working on, and his left fumbled with a hand crossbow.

  Something flashed over my head. He’d just managed to get it loaded when Maria spoke up from very close behind me.

  “Good day. I beg your pardon, but would you put that down, please?”

  Maria’s voice was all decorum and pleasantry, but there was steel under that silk, ready to strike. Piet’s eyes bugged out as he stared over my head, and he set the crossbow down, real slow. I followed his gaze and focused on the brocade-covered arm held stiff, just up and to the right of my temple. That arm ended in a gun, that weirdly angular gun Maria carried. It had no cylinder like a revolver, no hinge under the barrel to suggest a break-action; its blued steel frame was all matte black and gray, no decoration that I could see at all. The gun sat motionless in her manicured hand, as if it was mounted in a statue’s grip.

  “Lovely,” she said. “Kaeri, is this your friend?”

  “We’re not friends,” Piet and I said in unison.

  “I see,” she replied, a chuckle lurking under her breath. “Perhaps you can introduce us.”

  “Sure,” I said, my heart hammering in my throat. “Sure thing, ma’am. We can put down the heater, though. Piet’s gonna play nice; isn’t that so?”

  Piet blinked at my hard stare, and then looked back up at Maria. Her gun twitched twice to the right in a precise, deliberate motion, and he nodded. He kept his hands visible and sidestepped away from his desk. Only when he was out of reach of the little crossbow did Maria drop her gun hand, and Piet deflated with a relieved sigh. He was no dummy—he kept his hands where anyone could see them.

  “Right, okay. Piet, this is, um, Lady May Cantus.” I grimaced and shifted my feet, wishing desperately for a smoke. As an alias it was garbage, but it was all I could come up with in the moment. “My Lady, this is Piet Sandoval, owner and proprietor of Piet’s Pawn and Loan. We are going to ask him for a favor.”

  “Excellent, Kaeri, thank you.” Brocade shifted, and steel moved against leather as the gun went away. Maria stepped into my line of sight and clasped her hands in front of her, all genteel smiles now. She didn’t even seem to notice the garbage that swirled around her slippered feet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Piet. I do hope you can help us.”

  Piet dipped a knee and pressed the knuckles of one hand to his forehead before offering his open hand. He murmured, “Of course, ma’am. At your service, and all that.”

  Resentful yellow eyes in a narrow, weak-chinned face met mine for a moment, then slid down the length of my body. Almost like he couldn’t help it. Piet hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. His small, drawn-together shoulders slouched over a pear-shaped gut and stick-thin legs, miraculously making him skinny and fat at the same time. The brown suit he wore was new, but was too big on him, giving him the appearance of a grouchy tortoise.

  “Well, I know you open soon, so we won’t keep you too long.” I cleared my throat and inclined my head toward Maria. “We need a change of clothes and a way out of here. Got some attention we don’t need.”

  “Absent gods, and you bring it to my store?” Piet asked.

  “Yeah, to your store.” His whining sparked something I desperately needed right then: Anger. Anger to replace the jitters from the chase, the limpets in the alley, Maria pulling her gun. I’d have to remember to thank him later. “If you don’t want to help us, we can leave by the front door just as we are. Wouldn’t the coppers in the aerostats like to see that?”

  “Freezing hell.” Piet crossed his arms and looked at Maria, his eyes lingering on her body longer than they probably needed to. “I’ve probably got something your size, ma’am. What are you two running from?”

  “Gangsters from Rade—” she started.

  “Do you really need to know?” I interrupted. Maria glared at me, loose strands of hair swinging around her slim neck. “We need clothes and an exit via your roof. You still have those tarps for your garden?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Piet waved a skeletal, nicotine-stained hand in dismissal. “We all need things, Kay. But can you pay for them?”

  “Put it on my tab, Piet. You know we’re good for it.”

  “Lange credit isn’t what it used to be. Your competition’s been eating your lunch in certain markets.” His gaze darted to his desk. I followed his aim and saw a stoppered brown glass bottle amid the clutter—a bottle with a blue mimeographed label. “I’m not sure you are good for it.”

  “Lange’s just fine, Piet, and you know it. We don’t have to peddle garbage drugs to the bums in the streets to get by.”

  He made a noncommittal noise and turned back to Maria. Her returning glare should have flash-frozen him to the spot.

  “Kaeri, could we not just take what we needed and go?”

  “You could, my lady,” Piet replied. His wide, crooked grin was not at all nice. “But word would get around that Kaeri Hawen is a thief, and Lange’s reputation in this neighborhood wouldn’t be worth a pail of warm sewage. And then there’s your reputation to think about, Lady Cantus. Or whatever your name is. Cash it is, or something you can trade that’s worth my while. I’m a businessman, after all.”

  Piet was gambling with his life, but his odds were good. He didn’t know Maria at all, but he trusted that she wouldn’t murder him and rob the store. Nobles didn’t go around shooting or stabbing commoners, even commoners as generally loathsome as Piet. They saved their killing for each other, in garish spectacles of ceremony and duel. Piet could also probably suss out that we were in a hurry. Despite all the weapons we carried, we weren’t bargaining from a position of power.

  Maria muttered an astonishingly unladylike curse, and her hand snatched at something under her coat. She presented a brooch—an octagonal ruby the size of thumbnail, with an ellipse of chipped diamonds orbiting it like a planetary ring. I bit my tongue to keep from whistling at it, but Piet had no such restraint. He held out a greedy yellow hand, and Maria dropped the brooch into it. His hand snapped at the bauble like a starving mongrel’s maw at a bite of meat. “This is more like it.”

  I watched as his naked avarice, predictable as the tides, overcame whatever caution he felt over our sudden presence in his office, and whatever was chasing us. He produced a jeweler’s loupe and examined the piece. His wet tongue slithered over his lower lip as he examined it. “Not bad, Lady Cantus, not bad.”

  “That is worth a good deal more than whatever poor costume change you can offer us, Meneer Sandoval.” Maria narrowed her eyes and set her hands on her hips. She leaned toward him, leading with her chin the way I’d seen Henriette do when she was stubbornly sticking to a bet. “I will expect to see a sizable balance of cash when our business is concluded.”

  “I’m sure you would, my lady, but I can’t oblige. Store credit only.”

  “Excuse me?” Maria straightened and flinched, as if struck.

  “I’ll cut you a deal. Since you’re a friend of Kaeri’s and all. Take your pick of whatever clothes you want from out front. Keep what you can wear on your backs. You can even use my roof exit, and good luck to you. You’ll hav
e a balance of . . . seventy-five guilders in store credit.”

  “Seventy-five!” The number sounded like a curse in her mouth, and I thought she might shoot him after all. “Why, that piece is easily worth—”

  “May,” I said, holding a hand up. “If I can interrupt, what it’s worth doesn’t mean a whole lot to someone like Piet. He only cares what he can get for it.”

  And besides which, there was no sense in Maria letting him know how much she thought it was worth. There was no sense in giving Piet more information than he had, and it wouldn’t move the needle on what he was willing to give her for it anyway.

  Piet laid a finger along his nose and then pointed at me with a crooked grin. I fantasized for a moment about how it would feel to break those teeth out of his head.

  “She’s got it right, my lady. Not much call for fancy jewelry in this neighborhood. I’ll be lucky to move this at all. I’d take the deal if I was you.”

  “Give us a hundred, Piet,” I said, suddenly tired. I didn’t have the heart for dickering with him, but the extra might would come handy someday. Assuming he ever honored the credit later. “Be a good guy.”

  “Eighty-five.” He peered at me through the loupe, the one eye distorted and huge. “Aren’t you in a hurry?”

  “Ninety, and yes. It would also be awkward if whatever was chasing us found us here, talking to you.”

  “Freezing hell,” he muttered. “Fine, ninety. I’ll write it up. Go shopping, and don’t take your time.”

  “Your Ladyship,” I asked, “would you pick out something suitable for us both? I’ll keep Piet company for a little while.”

  Both of them looked sour at the suggestion. Maria probably wasn’t used to taking orders from a commoner like me, but that was fine. Piet needed someone to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t make any inconvenient phone calls. Not until we were well gone of the place, anyway.

  Piet returned to his desk and carried on with his bookkeeping while I tidied around the office. Which was to say I pushed garbage to the edges and corners of the filthy room, the better to make just a little floor space. Piet eyed me warily the whole while, like I might make off with some treasure. I watched him closely and made sure he saw me watching him. He wrote the entry in his ledger: Ninety guilders in store credit for May Cantus, a noble lady.

  Ten minutes passed before Maria returned with a double armful of clothes and things and a wide-eyed look. “Kaeri, there are men at the front door.”

  Piet stood, and Maria had my full attention.

  “What men, my lady?” I asked, my voice level.

  “I don’t know. They didn’t identify themselves.” Maria looked alert, not panicked; eyes large, lips tight. She was ready to fight, if it came to fighting. “Just a lot of ‘Open the door, Sandoval’ and ‘We know you’re in there.’ I couldn’t see them through the pebbled glass on the door, and the shades were drawn on the windows. I came back here as soon as they started knocking.”

  I turned to Piet. “Expecting someone?”

  “No, not today. Not until—” He clamped his mouth shut with an audible clack. “My lady, I thought I was clear: clothes, so you can change and get the hell out of here.”

  “I have a couple of other articles as well.” Maria barely spared a glance for Piet. “A satchel for Kaeri, and a map case for myself. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “We don’t have time for this. We need to get changed,” I said to Piet, keeping my voice even. “You’re going to leave us the key to the back room so we can get out. Then you’re going to go up there and stall whoever’s at the door.”

  “The hell I will—”

  “Who could it be at the door, Kaeri? Police?” Maria asked, her hands flexing and relaxing around imaginary weapons.

  “Dunno. Maybe cops, maybe someone else. Piet, you got some other rough playmates these days? Rademaker?”

  Piet only bared his teeth. His gaze darted left and right, like he might find an answer to an important question in his squalid little office.

  “Either way, you’d better go see about them before they break the door in.”

  “Fine,” he spat, and slammed a heavy iron key down on his desk. “Get changed, and get the hell out.”

  “All right, sister, give,” I said after Piet left. “What’d you find out there?”

  “Piet’s selection is very poor. The only thing close to my size is the habit of a church acolyte, and some serviceable walking boots that will likely fit. This valise is terrible,” she said, offering a plaid carpetbag, “But it may serve for carrying whatever we can’t wear.”

  “Nope, leave it. We’re traveling light, and anyway I wouldn’t be caught dead with that. Would you?”

  “Absolutely not. For you,” she said, and held out some clothes. The cut and fabric were entirely familiar, and my heart sank. “Pieces of a school uniform. I think you can wear the skirt over your trousers and disguise them adequately. The shirtsleeves and jumper . . . well, I do not know if they will fit well. You are, ah . . . perhaps broader through the shoulders than your average schoolgirl.”

  “Hell, you’re not wrong,” I muttered. I took the uniform pieces and set them on Piet’s office chair. Old traumas threatened to tear their way to the surface, but there wasn’t any damned time for that. I unsnapped the leather pauldrons from my shoulders. “Gods damn.”

  “Did I choose poorly?” she asked, concern glittering in her eyes.

  “It’s fine, your Ladyship.” I put on a rakish grin and winked at her. “Better get out of that pretty dress and into your church mouse getup. No time for being modest.”

  “Indeed not.” My flirting fell flat. She examined my face like a puzzle she wanted to solve, even as she shed her coat and removed her weapons belt. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I have to ask: Why are you helping me? You could have left me to fend for myself at any time.”

  “Well, that would be pretty rotten of me, right?”

  “Yes, it would. But unless I miss my guess, you’re not a courier, not a legitimate one, anyway.” She turned her back and looked over her shoulder at me. “Would you mind?”

  Would I ever. I looked over the breadth of her shoulders, the musculature revealed by the cut of the fabric. My fingers twitched the zipper downward, maybe a little farther than I strictly needed to. The dress hinted at a continent of sinew and muscle built by a lifetime of swordplay. I had no time to admire it.

  Maria took a step away and pulled at her sleeves. “The Rademaker bravos wanted very badly to take you apart, and your friend Piet—”

  “We’re not friends.”

  “—said that Lange had diminished reputation lately. I can only surmise that you belong to Lange, and that Lange and Rademaker are rivals.”

  “‘Belong’ is a strong word,” I said, peeling out of my own gear. “They don’t own me.”

  “Maybe not. But you’ve been keeping close watch on that parcel on your hip—like a great deal depends on you keeping it safe.”

  “Been noticing my hips, have you?”

  “Undoubtedly,” she replied, deadpan. Her eyes slid down my body and back up again, quick as lightning. “But that’s immaterial. You’re a Lange gangster, and you have some kind of trouble with Rademaker. This trouble is related to that parcel on your belt. How am I doing so far?”

  Her dress came off the rest of the way, and her silk camisole slip clung to everything it was supposed to.

  “Just fine,” I managed to say through a suddenly dry mouth. “You’re a smart cookie.”

  “Yes, I am.” She belted her weapons around her narrow waist, minus the sheathed saber, and shimmied her way into the acolyte’s robe. “None of this answers my question. You clearly have enough to worry about. Why are you helping me? What are you after?”

  “I have this predicament, and I have a feeling you can get me out of it.” I buttoned the white shirt, which was a little too small in the shoulders to be comfortable, and shrugged my way into the jumper. “Sorry to be
cagey about it, but you know how it is.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know how it is. But on the level, as you say, I have a predicament as well. You may be the sort of person who can help me.” Maria looked abruptly toward the front of the store, beyond the thin plywood walls. Deep, insistent voices carried easily into Piet’s office. “But let’s find another place to discuss it, shall we?”

  “Surely. Kick your dress over here and I’ll bag it.”

  “Not at all.” Maria dropped the saber into the long, cylindrical map case she’d purloined from Piet’s shop. “Poor Tommy Sforza’s blood will never come out, and it is ripped beyond mending. Leave it.”

  I had no intention of leaving any of my clothes behind—this courier getup was expensive, and I’d be damned if I was going to leave something that distinctive behind to point directly to me. I jammed into the satchel my leather vest, sleeves, bracers, and jacket. The slingrod and arm-harness that usually kept it up my sleeve had to get bagged, too—there was no way it was going to fit under these tight sleeves. Kasper’s stupid, precious package stayed belted around my waist. For a moment, I was glad Piet didn’t keep a full-length mirror in his office. My schoolgirl days were long behind me, and I expected I was just as conspicuous as before.

  Nothing to be done for it now. We needed to move.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but Maria was already out the door, Piet’s iron key in her hand. She looked down the hallway toward the front of the store, but her body went the other direction, toward his storeroom. I followed, plenty impressed that she was taking the lead for now. I’d have to take it back before too long—I was the native guide, after all, and she was the rich girl slumming it in the Lower.

  * * *

  I cast a worried look over my shoulder as I followed Maria, but it sounded like Piet had things in hand. I hoped he did, anyway. He’d have to, or else it was going to come down to an awkward fight in a dim hallway, which was my least favorite kind of fight.

  Maria stood by the plain-looking but sturdy double doors at the back of Piet’s shop—the doors that led to the storage room where he kept the serious valuables. A heavy iron chain bound it shut with a padlock. Maria held Piet’s key in her hand, nearly swallowed up by the rough brown woolen sleeve of her new robe. It didn’t fit her too good, but then again, the novice robes of the United Capitalist Church didn’t fit anybody right. It had been years since I’d worn anything like that, since I’d seen any other girl wearing it. Maria seemed absurdly young, now that I was looking at her. Too young to be running from the cops and from the mob. Too young to get wrapped up in the stuff I was pulling her into.