Florette IV: The Success

“I think my head is melting.” Last time, Florette had been left out of sizing up the score after the heist, even though the pulsebox was a reasonably known commodity. This time, though… “None of these fucking words make any sense. Do you know what ‘internal combustion’ is supposed to mean?”

Ysengrin rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I think combustion is... burning? That or a chicken, but in context that doesn’t seem very likely.”

“So like, burning inside? Is it a gecko?” The more she looked over the papers, the more her eyes hurt. This language was hard enough to understand even without diving headfirst into the jargon of mechanists and engineers.

“Since when do geckos burn on the inside?”

Florette glanced up from the papers, shooting him a look that made him flinch.

“Right, sorry, forgot. Weird to think of spirit-touched animals just hanging around where people can see them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “They weren’t hanging around; they killed people. Ate them too, sometimes. Vicious fuckers even burned my friend’s eyes out. Chatty too.” Well, one in particular.

Ysengrin blinked.

“Anyway, I’m giving up on this.” They weren’t going to meet Jacques until tomorrow, but the schematics were so unintelligible that it was almost ruining the triumph of stealing them at all. “The most I can make out is from the drawings, and it basically seems like a big metal sculpture inside the train. Not really sure what I can do with that.”

“Build one, given the right expertise.” He sighed. “But I don’t know shit about this either. That’s the downside of stealing plans, got to wait until one of Jacques’ people can look it over.”

“Here, you give it another look. At least you speak their language. I’m going to see what I can get from the books.” She stood up from the rats’ nest of papers that had been carefully laid out only to be scattered around the stones by repeated rifling. “I don’t want to meet him with no idea how valuable this is. Completely ruins the point of doing it at all.”

“Money’s the same either way. Jacques won’t screw us.” He picked up one of the papers and began skimming over it.

“It’s not about the money. It’s about respect. That’s going to be hard enough with Claude locked up.”

“It’s covered. Seriously. The Acolytes have a solicitor on tap that could free the harbor bomber, let alone Claude. What they grabbed him for was some shit he didn’t even do. I bet we’ll have him back before the week is out.” He flicked his eyes back to the page, eyes scanning back and forth more than twice as fast as Florette had managed. “Not that that helps us any with this.”

Reluctantly, Florette nodded, trying to push Claude from her mind as she moved her candlestick closer to the stack of books. With Ysengrin’s help, she’d at least managed to get full titles for all of them: Advanced Thermodynamics, Modern Principles of Urban Design, and The End of Time.

The last was the only one she hadn’t needed help for, so it seemed like a decent place to start.

Florette slogged her way through the opening ten pages or so, trying to glean whether the work had been worth stealing, but, as best she could tell, it seemed like nothing more than an unending prelude to the text. Some person who hadn’t even written the book was praising a bunch of parts of it that she hadn’t even read yet, at once inscrutable and boring. They were also talking a lot about the author without ever naming them, which was especially frustrating since the name wasn’t on the cover either.

Fuck that.

She flipped ahead to a random page roughly two thirds of the way in and began to read.

“...And it will come about during this year that a most dreadful portent takes place. For the sun shall give forth its light without brightness, like the moon, during this whole year, resembling the sun in eclipse, for the beams it sheds will not be clear nor such as it is accustomed to shed. And from the time when this thing happens men will be free neither from war nor pestilence nor any other thing leading to death. Such is only the beginning.”

Wait, what? That did not sound like a reference book for making machines, even beyond being way too easy to comprehend.

Florette jerked her head up, flipping back to try to find the chapter heading. A few pages earlier, there it was in bold letters: The Return of Khali, Spirit of Darkness. That had to be metaphorical somehow, but probably still worth starting with…

“As the essence of nightshade filled my eyes, so too did Khali’s darkness. I beheld her in all her fearsome, horrific glory. My own hands imprisoned her in another realm, and thus it did seem fitting for me to be the first soul to witness the inevitable future of her escape.”

Her eyes traced the words again. My own hands.

“Hey, Yse?”

“Yeah?”

“The Great Binder never wrote a book, did she? I remember asking the traders every time they came for a memoire, or diary, or any kind of firsthand account, like we have of Olwen, but they told me nothing like that existed.” One had even said that the Great Binder had probably been too busy saving the world to write entertaining stories for pestering children, which had especially hurt.

“How the fuck would I know? Do I look like a historian to you?”

Florette sighed. “You’ve been living here under the occupation, you speak the tongue. If the world’s greatest hero, who’s also an ancestor to the royal family, had written a book, Avalon people would probably talk about it all the time, right? You ever hear anything like that?”

“I’m not exactly going to book club with them.”

“Ugh, whatever,” she muttered, turning her eyes back to the page.

“As I write, scholars and Kings alike proclaim a new era, an age of gleaming light unlike any this world has ever seen, from the Fortan Flame in her underground halls to the King of Cambria in his seaside palace. If this, then, is to be a new first year in the age of gleaming, one thousand years and one thousand more again shall be its last.

“The mark of humanity on the world shall grow, erecting impossible monuments all across the face of it. Pillars of glass shall stretch into the skies, as tall as mountains. Bridges with red wings shall span miles, connecting our lands closer together. And yet all will be consumed by Khali’s darkness. This, too, I have seen.”

It was probably fake though. Right? Celice Thorley was an important man in an important position, but he still reported to others in Avalon. He wasn’t even true nobility, just gentry, whatever the fuck the difference was.

No way a man like that had the sole copy of the Great Binder’s memoires, completely unknown to the world. Even if he somehow did, that wouldn’t be the sort of thing you’d risk bringing overseas. The book didn’t really look a hundred and eighteen years old, either. The pages were yellow, but they weren’t ragged in that way old books could be. Plus, the even lettering showed that it had clearly been printed on a press, which hadn’t even been invented when it would supposedly have been written.

And yet Thorley had valued it enough to bring it with him and keep it in his office…

It seemed worth finishing, even if it were probably fake, but that was hardly the priority.

With a groan, Florette cracked open Advanced Thermodynamics.

≋

“Hold on.” Ysengrin held up one hand, slowing his pace. “Need to make a quick detour.”

“Seriously?” Florette stopped. “We’ve got everything on us right now; we’re exposed. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait until after we meet with Jacques.” Honestly, it was more than a bit suspicious that he was bringing this up only now.

“I wanted to do it last night, but someone insisted that we stay in the tunnels all night reading.”

“What alternative was there? Did you want to saunter around town with a bunch of stolen notes in a heavy sack?”

“We coulda stowed it in the tunnels and come back for it in the morning. I’d’a got my errand done, and then there was that party in the south end.”

I don’t trust you enough to leave it behind anywhere. Ysengrin had friends in Malin, and knew the tunnels better too. If he or the notes they’d stolen were let out of her sight even for a moment, let alone an entire night, she’d be taking a big risk of something going wrong.

He’d done his job fine at the railyard, but that was no reason to get naive about what kind of person he was. Not again.

“We can celebrate once we’re sure everything’s safe, including Claude.” She patted him roughly on the back. “Been careful enough this far; why throw it all away now?”

He sighed. “Fine, yeah, I get it. But this is kind of important, and overdue already.”

I’m not letting you run and get some friends to take this from me. “Give it a few hours. I’m sure it’ll keep.”

Ysengrin rubbed the back of his neck.

Florette rolled her eyes. “Or tell me what’s so fucking important.”

“It’s… Nevermind. I guess a few hours won’t kill him.”

Who?

But interrogating him now was pointless. She’d get the secret out of him eventually, if it really existed. “Good, then let’s keep moving.”

And so they continued, following the tunnels further, a cool reprieve from the sweltering city above. Florette tried to maintain a sense of direction as they went, supposedly pointed south, but the lack of landmarks made it harder to visualize anything more than a vague approximation, especially whenever they had to detour around a cave-in or a riskier path.

“You know, I can see what you’re doing here. And if you’re that paranoid about me, there’s a kinda big hole in your plan.”

“Who said anything about me being paranoid? You’ve made it more than clear that Jacques is no Robin Verrou, his crew anything but the brotherhood of pirates. I’m not saying you will try to fuck me over, wasn’t even trying to imply it. You did great at the railyard. I’m just being smart about this.”

“For sure. It’s not like I’d leave you alone with the score either. Nothing personal. I get it.”

“So what’s the problem, then?”

He smiled, that same wolfish grin flickering in the candlelight. “I’m the one leading the way here. What’s to stop me from taking you straight into an ambush?”

“Nothing really.” Florette tightened her grip around the heavy bag. “That’s why I’m holding the notes and the candle.”

Ysengrin snorted. “Paper doesn’t burn that fast.”

“So I’d have to buy myself some time.” She tapped her fingers across the hilt of her sword in sequence. “Want to try me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

From there, it was only a few more minutes until he led them down one last side passage, a wooden ladder at the end already lit by a sconce on the wall.

“After you.” Florette flicked her head up the ladder, shifting her candle to the same hand as the bag to have one free.

“Sure. Jacques knows me, anyway. I’ll be the one he expects to see first.” He climbed the ladder deftly, as if he had done it a hundred times before, then shifted his eyepatch across his face as he opened the hatch at the top.

Florette followed as best as she could manage, though holding on to everything while making her way up a ladder was anything but smooth. Still better than handing it to Ysengrin to run away with, though.

They emerged in what looked like some kind of storeroom. Windowless, though well lit with more candles in sconces, and filled with large crates.

Ysengrin hopped up on one and sat on it, but Florette stayed upright. If he were going to try something, this would probably be the moment.

Instead, a man in dark clothes walked into the room, sunlight streaming in for the brief instance that the door was open. “Punctual as ever, Ysengrin. And you must be Florette.”

He knows my name already? “Indeed. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Captain Verrou and Eloise have told me nothing but good things.” Nothing much at all, really. Eloise had once called him overcautious, which was rich coming from her, and Verrou had never mentioned him at all.

Still, it paid to make a good first impression. The last thing Florette needed right now was a repeat of the Singer’s Lounge.

Jacques scoffed, tapping a ring on one hand with a finger from the other. “That, I very much doubt. Robin never gave the proper respect to what we built here, and Eloise was all too eager to join him once she tired of me.”

“She’s a captain herself now, you know. We stole a royal class ship right out from none under none other than a Prince of Avalon.”

Ysengrin nearly fell off his seat. “You what?”

Jacques held up a single finger, and Ysengrin fell silent. “I would expect nothing less from her. Never have I had a more capable pupil.” His posture remained still, composed, but his face seemed almost wistful. “Yet I notice you are not with her.”

Florette nodded, steeling herself. “We thought it best that I assist with the delivery of this shipment and stay here until she returns, to better familiarize myself with your operations here, and the tongue of Avalon.” That’s the lie she told me to fob me off, anyway. But she couldn’t even hint at that. If Jacques saw her the same way, nothing would have changed.

“A sensible plan, and one that I would be more than happy to assist you with. I see that you have already availed yourself of my underlings.”

“I--”

He held up one finger, the ring on it gleaming in the candlelight. “Worry not. Ysengrin was assigned to guide you, and to an extent I respect the initiative. On your part, anyway. These sorts of risks are a poor way to do business, but entirely expected from one of Robin’s. You, at least, did not know better.”

Yse himself looked like he had stopped breathing. The implication there was obvious.

“But,” Jacques continued, “I will have words with Ysengrin once we’re finished. Disciplining another during introductions would be unbecoming for a man in my position, however necessary it may seem in the moment.” He grit his teeth. “Suffice it to say, Florette, the function of the Acolytes is entirely separate from that of you, Ysengrin, and your ilk. That distinction is crucial. In future, leave them out of your plans.”

“Is he alright, though? Claude, I mean.”

Jacques waved his hand dismissively. “He is alive, and free from prison. As to ‘alright’, perhaps not. He, of the three of you, most ought to have known better, and he shall be dealt with accordingly by the head of his own organization.”

“I’ll stay away from him, sir.” Ysengrin’s voice trembled, for some reason.

“Fucking what?”

The two men broke eye contact with each other as they both turned to stare at Florette.

“Why are you talking about discipline and punishment and shit?” She lifted the bag off the ground. “We just raided one of the most secure places in the city for a Director’s entire desk full of notes. Why are you acting like it was a fuck-up?”

Jacques narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

That may have been a huge mistake. But he had trained Eloise, and still seemed fond of her. There was no way that he stood on ceremony that much. And she couldn’t let him trample over her the way he was doing with Ysengrin. “Advanced thermodynamics, internal combustion engines, priceless books from the Great Binder herself… This is a haul that any self-respecting criminal ought to be beaming at.”

His head lifted slightly, but still he remained silent.

Florette reached down, not into the bag of notes but her coin purse. “I’m aware that as far as this sort of thing goes you run this place, and out of respect for that I intend to honor you and your crew with their fair share of the loot.” She lifted a few hundred florins from the bag and slipped them into the pocket of her trousers, then held the bag forward. It was everything else left from her share of the pulsebox, but anything less would be an insult. “Consider this good faith on that front. Once your appraiser gets a look at what we’ve got, I’m happy to negotiate the details.”

Jacques began to laugh, first quietly and then louder and louder, until Ysengrin joined in as well, the nervous tremor still in his voice. A sharp look from Jacques put a rapid end to that, though. “No more of this until you and I speak again. I need your word on that.”

“Then you have it.”

He extended his hand, holding it out with anticipation.

Does he want me to kiss it?

“You shake it,” he supplied. “It’s the mark of business being done here in Malin.”

Florette shrugged and shook his hand, still not entirely sure whether this meant she was in the clear or not. “I hope we’ll be speaking again soon.”

“We shall, rest assured of that. But first, I must have words with Ysengrin. I’m aware that he was your guide through the tunnels, so you may depart from the front.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said with confidence, though she had no idea whether or not it was a lie.

“Likewise,” he said, opening the door.

Florette walked through the other room in a daze, trying to understand what had just happened. The light was overwhelming, even inside, with candles and windows everywhere. Fancy letters on the front door read Clochaîne Candles, so presumably that was what the shop sold. Explains how many Ysengrin could afford to burn underground every day, I suppose. But it didn’t really shed light on anything important.

Jacques had asked her to stop, and that much she could manage for a time. Eloise trusted him, which was worth a lot. If I can trust Eloise, anyway. But what else was there to do? Florette could rent a room and consider her next move. It would have to be something big, capitalizing on the momentum from the railyard heist. Maybe something with the Governor… There was hardly a man in Malin who deserved it more.

But then, that could be too much, too fast. If Florette--

She stopped moving abruptly as a mop of blue caught her eye, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Fuck me, that’s Camille Leclaire.