The Quarrygate Gambit

Book 4: Streets of Maradaine

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

After having thwarted some of the forces responsible for ruining their lives, reformed thieves Asti and Verci Rynax and the rest of the Holver Alley Crew had mostly settled back into sedate lives as upright citizens of Maradaine. But when they are suddenly arrested in mysterious circumstances, they find themselves in Quarrygate Prison, which tests the limits of their cunning and skill. While Verci struggles to keep their friends alive and safe in the prison, Asti gets pulled into a mysterious scheme in the underbelly of the prison, teaming him up with some of the most dangerous people in Maradaine. The cracks in Asti's tenuous sanity get torn open as he is thrown into a cat-and-mouse game with one of the city's most infamous killers.



Verci's wife Raych is desperate to help him and Asti and get them home. When her attempts to go through proper channels fail, she accepts a ludicrous deal from the local crime boss: Verci and Asti's freedom in exchange for her pulling off a daring, nigh-impossible heist that would challenge even seasoned thieves. Raych doesn't know how a simple baker like her could hope to succeed at such a task, but she will use every trick and wild idea she has to help her family. None of the Rynaxes will rest until they are free from Quarrygate and together at home again, no matter the risk, no matter the cost.

Release date: November 8, 2022

Publisher: DAW

Print pages: 342

Sample

Chapter 1

Asti Rynax’s plan was going perfectly—every piece was in place, every one of his people were exactly where they were needed to be, doing exactly what they should. But there were so many details swimming in his head that as he crossed through the back alley to Frost Road he didn’t even see the kid with the knife until it was right at his throat.

“Your coin, old man!”

“Old man, really?” Asti asked.

“You heard me!” the kid snapped. “Hand it over or I—”

“I mean, I only just turned twenty-seven,” Asti said, keeping his voice even. Being called “old” was quite upsetting. “That’s not really old at all, son.”

“What are you on about?” the kid said, pressing his knife up on Asti’s chin. “I told you, coin! Or I cut you!”

“See, you already showed me you don’t want to,” Asti said. “Else you’d just cut me and search my pockets as I bled.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I,” Asti said. “I mean, who even taught you? You’re not even holding it right.”

“What?”

Asti didn’t have time for this, but it really was just sad. No form, no technique.

“Look,” Asti said, taking the kid’s wrist and twisting it away from his neck. “You don’t want me to be able to do that. And you let me for a couple reasons.” The kid cried out and dropped the knife, which Asti caught in his off hand.

“Hey, ow!” the kid said as Asti kept his wrist in the lock.

“See, right, that hurts a lot,” Asti said. “You got too close, and that means you had nothing to thrust with, and I could reach past your knife and grab you. Part of the point of having a blade, especially in a situation like this, is you’re able to keep the other person at a distance. They don’t close in on you because they don’t want to get cut.”

“The blazes are you on about?”

“I’m talking about technique, son,” Asti said, releasing the kid and pushing him up against the brick wall. He looked at the blade, checking its edge with his thumb. Dull and nicked. “Did you really just grab any knife you could find and come out to an alley? Honestly, who does that?”

“I was just—”

“Look at this, all wrong,” Asti said, showing the kid the blade. “Especially if you get in close, put it at someone’s neck. You do that, you can only swipe fast to slice my throat, and this blade has no edge for slicing at all. At best you’re going to scratch up someone’s neck and just rise up their temper. Then you’re in for it.”

“What—”

This kid really had no idea what would happen if he rose up Asti’s temper. The beast in his skull, it was simple to keep it held by a chain right now. He kept that thing in check every day, through fights or catastrophes where it howled to be let loose. While it wanted to gut this boy open were it allowed, Asti had no trouble holding it down. Certainly he saw no need to hurt this kid, who clearly had no one to teach him anything.

Asti threw the knife down the alley and drew out one of his own. “See, this one, I’ve kept honed.” He put it in the kid’s palm and then wrapped his fingers properly around the hilt. “Feel that, feel the weight in your hand like that, you’ve got a good grip.”

“I don’t—”

“And now—” Asti grabbed the kid’s wrist and twisted. “See, you don’t let go, you’re still in control. Someone’s got you like this, you throw a solid punch—you do know how to punch, don’t you kid?”

“What is happening?” the kid asked, tears coming to his eyes.

“Saint Senea, I just want some standards,” Asti said. “Is no one teaching you this—where are you coming from, kid?”

“I—”

“This alley isn’t your patch, is it? I know most of the boys your age around here on sight.” Blazes, he had some of them scouting for him right now. He shouldn’t be wasting time with this. “Where are you from?”

“Benson Court?”

“Your people didn’t teach you any of— Saints above, kid.” He took a step back, taking a few coins out of his pocket. “I got somewhere to be right now, but you take this, you go back home for the night, stay out of North Seleth altogether, hear? You’re going to get hurt doing this.”

Asti put the coins in the kid’s hand, only about a half a crown’s worth in total, nothing really. The kid just stared at his hand. “What is happening?”

“Tomorrow, eight bells in the morning, you meet me at Kimber’s around the corner, and I’ll show you how to really use that knife.”

“I’m keeping this knife?”

“Yeah, but don’t try anything until I show you, you’ll hurt yourself,” Asti said. “I need to move, kid. Eight bells!”

Asti went on his way, the kid still standing dumbfounded as he left the alley and turned onto Frost.

The sun was nearly set, the golden-red light drawn out over the cobblestone, drenching the street in warmth. For the most part, things had been good in this neighborhood over the past few months, and tonight the plans he and his brother Verci had been toiling over were coming to fruition.

“Final target is in sight, Mister Rynax,” one kid said as he ran up. “We got boys keeping eyes on each one of them.”

“Good work, kid,” Asti said. “Get back out there and make sure everyone is getting steered where they need to, hear?”

“Heard, boss,” the kid said, and he ran off. Asti went into Kimber’s Pub, a place that wasn’t quite a home to him, but served as one enough times that he was comfortable with it. And it was the best place for this plan to go down. And unlike the last time he set up something to shake down here, this one shouldn’t end with any broken tables or glasses.

At least not too many.

“Asti Rynax, there you are.”

Asti was surprised to find Khejhaz Nafath, the Poasian spice merchant and double-crossing spy, here in Kimber’s Pub. This was exactly the sort of place that Nafath never came into; Asti had barely even seen him out of his spice shop. And this was the absolute last place he needed to have this man right now. Nafath was an unpleasant sort on a good day when Asti wanted information out of him. Here and now, when Asti had a plan in motion, it was beyond inconvenient.

“Why are you even here?”

“I am hearing things, Asti Rynax, that make me very worried.”

“As am I, and it’s your voice,” Asti said.

“I think you may be in danger.”

“I’m pretty much always in danger, but it’s nice to know you care,” Asti said. Nafath had taken more of a focused interest in him in the past months, usually while keeping a respectful distance, and never before coming out to find him like this. Asti didn’t like it, but he didn’t deny that Nafath was usually worth listening to. “I don’t have a lot of time, so how pressing is this?”

“I am not sure,” Nafath said. “I hear whispers, they rarely come with timetables.”

“Tonight I’m busy,” Asti said. “If all goes well, then come meet me here tomorrow at eight—make that nine—bells, and you can tell me all about it.”

Nafath thought on this for a moment, and then two other people came down from the room upstairs. He must have thought better of being in close proximity to so many Druth folk, and stepped away.
“Tomorrow. But be wary, Asti.”

“Always am,” Asti said.

In the taproom, Kimber was shaking her head at Asti. “What did he want?”

“I neither know nor care,” Asti said. “The important thing is he’s not ruining the plan.”

“This plan of yours better not wreck my place,” she said.

“I will be here in the morning to help you clean,” he said. “I’m expecting some meetings at eight and nine bells, respectively, but beyond that, I’m all yours.”

Her usual warm smile turned a little sad. “You actually believe that, don’t you?”

“Should I—”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Help me move the tables where you need them.”

“Of course,” he said. He glanced to the door as it opened. Almer Cort, the chemist and apothecary, followed by actors and con men Pilsen Gin and Vellun Colsh, came in, dressed and ready for tonight. Perfect. “We better hurry. Verci and Raych will be here soon.”

Kimber rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe she agreed to this.”

“Agreed?” Asti said. “She insisted.”

* * *

Verci had not been prepared for how heavy the crate was going to be. He certainly couldn’t carry it alone, and since the contents were so delicate, he wouldn’t dare.

“Easy, easy,” Raych said as she was lifting her end. “Just a little further, and . . .”

“Is it in place to slide it?” he asked, sweat already on his brow. He had no idea it would weigh this much, or how Raych didn’t seem to be struggling as much as he was.

“And there,” she said, letting her side down on the back of the cart. “Go ahead.” He pushed—saints how could it weigh this much—and slid it so it rested comfortably in the back of the cart.

“You couldn’t get a horse to pull it?” Raych asked him as she came around.

“There was no way to get one without drawing more attention,” he said. “People would wonder why we got a horse for this.”

“People are going to wonder why you’re pulling it, either way, dear,” she said.

He sighed. “So I have to pull?”

“You most definitely have to pull, my love,” she said with a laugh. She kissed him on his cheek as she threw a tarp over the crate. “That will only make it a little less conspicuous.”

“You should go on ahead, then,” Verci said.

“Nothing of the sort,” she said. “I am walking right by your side, not taking my eyes off this thing. Besides, you will look conspicuous all by yourself, it’s just your nature. You always look like you’re up to something.”

“Fair,” he said. He often had been up to something. He still was, frankly, though not as blatantly in recent days.

“I’ve thought about it. If I’m walking with you, I can keep a hand on the crate, make sure it doesn’t slide or bump, as that would be—”

“A disaster,” Verci said.

“And absolute disaster. Plus—”

“The cover is making deliveries for the bakery,” he conceded. “With you right with me, that’s a lot more believable. Though hopefully no one asks.”

“Better get moving, Asti is waiting.”

Verci took off his vest and handed it to her. Wouldn’t do to get it grimy and sweaty before the plan tonight. He was of half a mind to take off his shirt completely.

“Don’t even,” she said, clearly knowing what he was thinking.

“I can’t be looking like a pig,” he said.

“It suits me that you’re not looking too handsome tonight,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “Even tonight, I wouldn’t want anyone else swooning over you.”

He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her in, kissing her. “You’re the only one I want swooning.”
Her eyes danced a bit as they met his. “Oh, if only we had a bit more time right now.”

“We’ll make a bit of time later,” he said. “Our own celebration.”

“I like the way you think, Mister Rynax,” she said.

“You damn well better, Missus Rynax,” he said, and lifted up the handles of the cart and pulled it out into the street. Raych chuckled quietly to herself as they went, keeping her steadying hand on the crate, as promised. He wasn’t sure if that would really help, but it was comforting—everything about her was comforting—to have her there walking alongside him tonight. He was glad to have her with him here, just the two of them, while her sister watched little Corsi for the night.

He was so lost in those thoughts he barely even noticed when Lieutenant Covrane walked right in front of him.

“Evening, Rynaxes,” the constable said, with a tip of his cap. “This seems like a lot.”

“It certainly is,” Verci said.

“Quite a sizable crate you’re hauling,” he said. “What’s that all about?”

“Breads for a few of the inns and pubs along the dock roads,” Verci said.

“At this hour?”

“You would be astounded the demand for fresh bread for the suppers,” Raych said.

“And you load it in a crate like this?”

“It actually keeps the warmth and moisture in balance,” Raych said. “I would not have any bread of mine be dry or soggy.”

“I guess you wouldn’t, ma’am,” he said.

“We need to be moving,” Verci said as Covrane leaned in as if to smell the bread. He would not get that smell from the crate, and the whole game would be ruined.

“I imagine Helene is waiting for you, Lieutenant,” Raych said. “She’s probably quite eager to see you.”
“And I her,” he said with a grin. “I should be off, and won’t keep you.”

He went off, and Verci started pulling along again. “Well done.”

“Thank you.”

“We would have been skunked if he took a proper whiff of the crate.”

“I imagine so,” she said. “But what did your father say about a job getting ‘skunked,’ as you say?”

“To drive forward and get it done,” Verci said.

“Capital advice. Drive on. We need to get there before it’s too late.”

* * *

“You’re late.”

Helene Kesser wanted to be annoyed at Jarret Covrane, she desperately wanted to, as he arrived at her front stoop a good ten minutes after the agreed upon time. Jarret had so many wonderful qualities, but being punctual to any planned rendezvous was never one of them.

She wanted to be annoyed, but something about his face tied all that up. She couldn’t get mad looking at it.

“There was—”

“One more call or such, I know. Julien already went ahead.”

“Do I have time to change?” he asked, crossing into the apartment. “Or do you want me to go in my uniform?”

“Be quick about it,” she said, though he was already taking off his coat. In the past months, more than a few of his clothes had managed to stay here, which Helene’s mother would have found positively scandalous. Helene didn’t care about scandalous, though, she just cared about this shop, the apartment over the shop, her cousin Julien, and most improbably, this Constabulary lieutenant who was hanging his uniform coat up in her front room.

How she had ever fallen so completely for this man was beyond her. And the fact that he apparently felt the same way for her. Her, Helene Kesser, lifelong North Seleth screwup who was known by half the crime bosses in West Maradaine as being one of the best crossbow slingers south of the river, and also known as too much trouble to ever put on a job. She had run in more heists than she could count, and burned more bridges than she could remember.

And despite that, this constable, an upstanding statue of a man, had fallen for her.

In no small part due to the fact that he respected a good crossbow.

“So what is this even about again?” he called as he splashed water on his face.

“We’re having dinner with a new importer Julien is excited about,” she said. “Brings in Waish and Kieran cheeses, and Julien wants to lock down a deal with him.”

Covrane came out, stripped to the waist. Saints, that took her breath every time. “So why doesn’t he just do that? He needs us?”

“You know Julien.”

“I do,” Covrane said. “When it comes to your shop, and especially the subject of cheese, he’s on top of it.”

“Contracts and numbers fluster him,” she said. “He gets really worried that without me there he’ll trap us in a bad deal.”

Covrane came in close. “So he wants you there, and you want me there.” He kissed her, the sort of kiss that made her want to move to more things, and there was certainly no time for them to do anything like that, at least not before this dinner.

She pushed him away before she would have to pull him to the bed. “Get dressed, fool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile that made her blood rush. He quickly grabbed a shirt and coat and put them on, and he looked reasonably presentable. He still looked like a stick, even out of uniform, but nothing would change that.

“You’ve got to leave the belt here,” she said.

“If I must,” he said, taking off his patrol belt, with his handstick and crossbow, and left it on her table. “Ready?”

“What do you think?” she asked. “You haven’t said anything about how I look?” She had bothered with face-painting for this evening, and was wearing a nice dress that had been used for some scouting gig or another. It may have been the one she wore the night they robbed and burned down Tyne’s Emporium, designed with extra panels so Verci Rynax could hide the parts of a mini crossbow within it. She was not hiding any weapons tonight. All her crossbows were still in the apartment, safely away in their trunk. She hadn’t had cause to use them in months.

Not since the night with the Fire mages.

“You look incredible, as always,” he said, taking her gloved hand. She almost always wore the glove on that hand now, with the wooden insert to hide her missing finger. Not that the glove was any less conspicuous. But she preferred that was what people saw.

“Then let’s not leave him waiting,” she said. “I think we need to get out to the Little East.”

“Do we need a cab?” he asked as they walked out.

“Good luck flagging one down on this street,” she said. “Maybe walk to Keller Cove and catch one there, but—”

That was all she got out when some kid—some ratty street kid—just dashed through them both, snatched Covrane’s coin bag, and was off down the street.

Helene was already running after him, and Covrane was three paces behind.

“Thought you said we’d walk,” he called after her.

“Can’t let that gutter snipe pull that,” she said. Though when she was that kid’s age, she’d dared exactly this sort of thing plenty of times.

“I could put out a call—”

“No one would come in this patch,” she said. She thought Covrane would realize, even now, even after that big brawl in Saint Bridget’s Square a couple months back—saints, she was glad she hadn’t been nearby for that one—there were never many sticks in these blocks, and any whistle call would almost always go ignored. Especially at this hour.

She followed the kid around an alley, down a ways, and saw him slip into the back door of Kimber’s Pub. She was so intent on that she didn’t even notice Kennith Rill running from the other direction until she collided into him.

“Whoa,” she said, bouncing off the dark chomik man. She would have landed flat on her backside if Covrane hadn’t been right there to catch her. Kennith had stumbled back from the impact as well, caught and held stable by Jhoqull-Ra, the native-born Ch’omik woman he had been courting for some time.

“I—sorry, Hel,” he said, brushing himself off. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Likewise,” she said. But the fact that he had been running, too, running into the same alley from the other direction, that was just plain odd. “Why were you—”

“A jhikwi boy grabbed my bag and dashed here,” Jhoqull said. She glanced at Covrane and nodded her head deferentially. “Your pardon, officer.”

“Not on duty,” he said. “But we shouldn’t let those boys get away with either of our things.” He went for the door into the pub.

“Boys,” Helene muttered. Something did not sit right about this. She looked to Kennith, who was dressed in a clean suit, but that wasn’t uncommon on a night where he was driving the carriage for the North Seleth Inn. “Where were you two headed?”

“Heading to the Little East to have supper with her cousins,” Kennith said. “We were just on our way—”

“When the urchin grabbed a bag and ran,” Helene said. Saints and sinners both, she couldn’t believe it. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

“I—” Kennith stammered. Covrane and Jhoqull had already gone in. She sighed and followed, Kennith right with her.

The back door led through a corridor past the water closets to the taproom, which was surprisingly empty. That was an absolute sign that something hinky was up. The taproom at Kimber’s Pub was never empty.

“Where did they—” Covrane asked, glancing about.

“Something odd, indeed,” Jhoqull said.

“Saints,” Helene muttered. Raising her voice, she said, “Fine, you got us!”

At once, folks leaped out from behind the bar, from the kitchen, from behind tables, from everywhere.

“Surprise!”

Covrane, to his credit, jumped just a bit.

All around her, familiar faces. Kimber, smiling so broadly with such joy. Verci Rynax and his wife Raych, wheeling out a giant cake from the kitchens. Julien, grinning like an absolute fool. Almer Cort, Pilsen Gin, Vellun Colsh, and a dozen other faces she knew far too well. And more she didn’t, including Ch’omik folks who were likely kin to Jhoqull.

And Asti Rynax, leaning against the doorway, looking as happy as his face would let him express. Which was only a hair of joy above “not angry.”

“What is this?” Kennith asked.

Verci Rynax, looking far too smug, came up with a tray holding four glasses of wine.

“This is a celebration of each of you,” he said, handing them all their glasses. “From all of us, your dear friends and neighbors, to raise a glass together to you, and for you, and wish hearty congratulations and blessings on your respective futures together so we can mark the jubilant occasion of your impending marriages. So raise glasses high, one and all, to the engagements of Helene Kesser and Jarret Covrane, and Kennith Rill and Jhoqull-Ra of House Gheqham, daughter of Hejha-Cha, daughter of Kecelle-Amra!”

The crowd all raised their glasses and cheered.

Blazing Verci Rynax. Always a flair for the rutting dramatic.