Larkin: Icarian

[content warning: graphic violence]

Death, in Renar Basha’s house, came in many forms. None of them without cause; at least, that was what he would argue. In some ways, that was even true. The patron of eleven gangs and unofficial ruler of the western docks did not deal in senseless slaughter. Such a man would be unpredictable, not to be reasoned or bargained with, and such a man would not stay on top for long. No, after close to two decades under his lead, every criminal this side of the harbour with at least a speck of common sense knew this: Renar Basha was, first and foremost, a businessman.

The payment he had issued out today was cruel, fast, and earned. Larkin watched, not for the first time but still fascinated by the bloody transition. The apparent ease with which a living, breathing, pleading person could be turned into something less than a piece of furniture. Nothing but waste.

When it was over, she stood up from where she’d sat on a bench near the door and opened a window. The tang of blood started to mingle with the stink of emptied bowels and bladder and would soon stifle the air in the small office. Maybe they should start making them use the privy before they offed them.

“Tell the Savvy Gaps, they need to find themselves a new mule,” Renar said, not looking up from his papers. The scritch-scratch of his writing hadn’t stopped while they had killed the rat but without the noise of the man’s wheezing and feet kicking at the floorboards, it was much more audible; the expensive, imported fountain pen drawing numbers, crossing out lines and forming coded symbols into orders.

“Yes, boss. Will do.” Fannigan began coiling up his garotting wires while Brunos wiped off his hunting dagger and went outside to get a sack for the body.

Larkin returned to her seat and slouched down, yawned, then flipped out a knife to pick at her nails. Now that the man was dead, it was back to the tedium of hanging around the office and watching Renar deal with daily business. By now, she had hoped, he would have found something interesting to send her off to but it seemed she was out of luck today. Granted, she reflected with a glance at the corpse and its puddle, there were others who’d had even shittier luck.

Brunos returned to the office, carrying a sack in his hand and an excited look on his face. “Basha,” he said and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “The Gimbies are outside. Got some bugger forked up ‘n say you will wanna talk to him.”

Renar stopped writing and looked up. “About what?”

“They’s saying they caught him sneakin’ out Baron Dillahunty’s estate. Didn’t know what to do with him since the Baron’s gone ‘n all and there’s no cells to put him in. ”

Baron Dillahunty? Larkin stopped scraping at her nails and craned her neck around to look at Renar. He shook his head, puzzled. “And why would they drag him to me? Do I look like the bloody district chief?”

“Oh, now that’s rich, boss.” Brunos chuckled. “He’s-”

“Hey.” Fannigan whistled and held out his hand towards Brunos, beckoning with his fingers.

“Oh. Sorry.” Brunos moved to hand over the sack. “Anyway, like I said, that’s real funny. They - the Gimbies that is, - they’s saying he’s not just been sneakin’ out with the silverware. They’s saying he’s tried makin’ off with the Baron’s painting.”

Larkin had been listening half-heartedly but at that, she sat up alert. Things had just gotten much more interesting.

Baron Dillahunty was an associate and close friend of Renar. He had helped him a great deal decades ago when her uncle had first come to Skyport and started making money by disappearing and fencing rare goods off trade ships. Not few of these had passed through the Baron’s contacts until Renar had gotten his own network set up and running. From then on, they had operated as equal business partners. Anything concerning Dillahunty was also a concern of Renar’s.

The Basha seemed less amused by this news. "The painting? *The* painting?"

Brunos nodded. “Yup. They’s got it with ‘em, saying you might wanna keep it safe for the Baron. They’s also saying you might wanna talk to this guy ‘bout how he got in. Seems t’ be one hell of a story. They been talking ‘bout him going through walls ‘n shit.”

“Fuck the walls, I want to hear about the safe. Get them in here. Larkin.”

She hopped to her feet. “Yes, uncle.”

“Get the painting and put it in my safe. The cellar one. And be careful with it.” He pulled out a silver chain hidden beneath his collar and revealed the key dangling from it. Larkin took it, although a bit bummed she’d have to miss the first part of this conversation, and left for the stairs.

Outside Renar’s office, the Gimbies were waiting. The siblings, though non-identical twins, were near impossible to tell apart; the only giveaway being the fact that one of them was trying to grow a beard, while the other tried to get rid of it. Both were equally unsuccessful in their ventures.

Larkin greeted them with a nod and they returned the gesture. Big G clutched a roll of canvas in her hands, shifting it around as if unsure of how to handle it. Fat G, on the other hand, had no trouble gripping his share of the haul; the young human man he held before him hung limp as a doll. His ashy hair was soaked in blood and plastered to a face covered in red bruises and purple welts. Larkin could hear him breathing raggedly through his mouth; probably a broken nose. The Gimbies had no reputation of being gentle.

#

After stowing away the painting, Larkin all but sprinted back up the stairs. There was no way she’d be missing any more of this. Baron Dillahunty wasn’t only known for his taste for rare goods but also for his paranoia. Some years ago, the Baron had acquired an extremely expensive painting (which had somehow found its way out of its old home and into a local Skyport underground auction). For fear of grasping hands, Dillahunty had asked Renar to find him the best locksmith money could buy and have them build a strongroom no one would ever be able to break into, also making sure the locksmith would not spill any secrets afterwards. Since then, the vault and the painting within had been the Baron’s greatest pride. Hell, would he be pissed when he returned home.

She entered back into the room quietly so not to disturb the interrogation. Renar was still seated behind his desk while Fannigan and Brunos stood looking down on the thief, arms crossed before their chests. At some point, the man had probably said something Renar hadn’t appreciated and someone had sent him sprawling into the leftover puddle of filth. He was lying on his side, curled up around himself and making small gasping sounds.

Larkin handed the key back to Renar. He put a hand to her shoulder, making her bow down to him. “It’s safe?” he asked quietly.

Larkin nodded. “Yes. Made sure.”

“Did you look at it? Any stains? Damages?”

“Seemed fine to me.” In reality, Larkin had no idea if it was fine or not. With a painting so old, any stray drop of blood might have ruined it. “But I could get someone have a look at it? That forger from the painter’s guild maybe?”

“Hm. Hm, yes, do that later.” Renar released her and Larkin went to stand beside the window. Later, he’d said, which either meant she was supposed to stay and watch or he had more work to send her off to later. Either was fine.

“Alright, get him up.” Renar gestured a ringed hand at the man on the floor.

Fannigan stepped forward to grab the man by the back of his collar and haul him upright. His head lolled back but he seemed conscious enough, his one good eye fixing on Renar.

Larkin put a thumb to her lips to gnaw on the nail, beginning to feel sorry for this one. So much pain to go through only to get taken out later. If he was clever, he’d spill it all now and hope for a quick end.

The thief’s voice reached barely above a whisper as he hissed out: “Please, I can- I will-.”

“Don’t lie to me again,” Renar cut him off.

“I swear, I had no idea he was important.”

Renar shook his head, slowly, and sighed out his breath. He got up and rounded the table to stand in front of his captive. Reached to put a hand around his neck and jaw, forcing his head up. “You’re telling me you knew about the painting and the vault and that the Baron was out of his home and yet you had no fucking clue he was fucking important? How stupid do you think I am?”

The man wheezed in Renar’s grasp. “I don’t think-”

“What?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Please, let me live.”

“You still haven’t explained how you could mistake Baron Dillahunty for just any other rich fuck out there.” Renar’s voice lowered to a growl. “Tell me, how did that come to pass?”

“I- I’m not from here,“ the thief croaked out. “I’m from the artisan’s quarter. East city. Only knew he was fat, didn’t fucking know he was protected. They didn’t tell me. Please.”

“You got a gang there?”

“Yeah. The Raghounds. From Warton Street.”

“And the name of your boss?”

“Jumpin’ Jack Howard.”

“Hm. Hm.” Renar let go of him and wiped a smear of blood from his hand onto the thief’s shirt. “Look, Avis- It was ‘Avis’, right? The problem here is this: even if I believe you,” he spread his hands in an apologetic gesture, “there’s still the fact that you stole from my dear friend the Baron. How do you suppose I explain this to him: some dirty little fuck out from the gutter manages to not only break into his home, which is guarded by men I personally selected for the job, but also manages to get into the most secure safe in all of Skyport and Calimport. A safe which I, also, made personal efforts to provide for him. And then he goes, takes my friend’s dearest possession and just fucking vanishes out into the night? Hm?”

“I… I can tell you how I did it.”

“I’m quite sure you will.” Renar took a step forward again, bringing his face close to Avis’.  “You will tell me everything. Every last detail and you will leave nothing out. I want to know who gave you the job, who your sources are, how you got in. I want to know everything down to the number of hairs on a rat’s ass in that sewer you crawled from. And only then will I decide if it’s good enough to let you live. Understand?”

Avis nodded.

#

After a few minutes of the thief talking, Renar held up a hand to make him pause. From there on, he had Larkin take notes. Soon she was struggling to keep up with the pace with which the young man recounted his scheme. He had given up information on his own boss easily enough. Probably figuring, whatever that one could do to him for snitching was preferable to Renar’s treatment. When it came to laying open the details to his plan, however, Avis seemed to light up. Explaining every last trick and shift, nodding eagerly whenever Renar caught onto and inquired about a new detail before the thief had even mentioned it. How he had figured out the Baron’s schedule and the daily routines of all of his employes. How he’d entered the property in disguise to get an idea of the layout. How he’d managed to get a copy of the vault key and used minor illusions to get in and out of the building. And how he’d run into the Gimbies.

When Avis was done recounting, Renar went over the notes again, nodding to himself. “Good. Very good.”

It seemed to Larkin, he was genuinely please. Impressed, even. She certainly was. There were mobsters in Renar’s cartel who did heists and break-ins for a living but she couldn’t think of anyone ever putting that much thought into a scheme.

“You made a good decision here, today,” Renar said. “Saved your life and did me a good service. This,” he rustled the papers, “will help improve the safety of the Baron’s home.”

“Does that… does that mean I can go?” Avis asked in a low voice.

“Hm. Yes, I said so, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word.”

Larkin could see the relief light up the man’s face even through the blood and bruises. But fast as it had appeared, it vanished as Renar went on: “However, I need you to understand this: For telling me all this, I can let you live. But you still stole from my friend. I can’t let that go unpunished.”

“Oh no. Oh, no, no, please-”

“Brunos,” Renar snapped a finger and pointed at Avis, “break his hands.”

#

She did not have to follow him for long.

Avis barely made it down the stairs on the outside of Renar’s warehouse without falling. At their bottom, he headed away east, his feet dragging and stumbling, walking with his arms held crossed before his chest. The sight of him and the memory of the sound of his bones breaking was enough to make Larkin’s stomach rise. She’d have helped him even if she had not wanted to ask a favour of him.

She followed Avis down into an alley. Halfway through, he stumbled, shoulder knocking into the wall. He cried out with the pain of the jolt and slumped to the ground where he remained sitting. Bent over, his breathing came in chokes and gasps. If Larkin wanted to talk to him, she’d have to do it now before he passed out.

“Avis.”

He started and snapped his head around, sending droplets of blood and sweat flying from his hair. “Fuck. Fuck, you’re that kid, what do you want?”

“I know someone can patch you up.”

“Yeah?” He took another few sharp breaths. ”Not fucking interested in your charity. Leave me alone.”

“It’s not charity, Avis. I wanna make a deal with you.” She took a step closer. “I wanna do what you do. Show me how to do heists like that.”

Avis stared at her for a long moment, then croaked out a laugh “No. No fucking way. And don’t call me fucking ‘Avis’.”

“What then?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“I’m no bloody beginner, y’know,” Larkin said, sulkily. “Doing second story work alright. Just not… y’know,” she shrugged. “Big things like that. I can scale a wall fast as a anyone. And I’m quiet.”

”Listen, kid, I can’t - shit: I can be happy if can move my fingers ever again. I won’t be climbing walls anymore, though, or picking any locks. I’m fuckin’ done.” He leaned back against the wall and shook his head, closing his eyes- the one that wasn’t swollen shut anyway.

“Y’ know, I know someone who can fix this. Really fix it.”

“Yeah? Fantastic.” He grimaced and looked at her again  “I don’t suppose you gonna pay them for me?”

“Nah. But if I ask them, they’ll do it. You just gotta promise.”

He looked her up and down for another few heartbeats. Maybe he smelled a trap here, considering she was one of Renar’s people, and thought about how to best get away.

“Who the hell even are you?”

“Larkin.”

“No, I mean who are you to the Basha? You were in there with him and I don’t s’pose you’re one of his fucking bruisers. So who the the hell are you?”

"He's..." Larkin hesitated, unsure if she should lie or not. Ah, what the hell. He'd find out anyway, sooner or later. "He's my uncle."

“God fucking dammit.” The thief leaned his head back against the wall and gave another ragged laugh. “I can’t fucking win here, can I? If I say no, you’re gonna go tell him and he’ll bust me up. And if I say yes, he’s gonna have me killed for dodging his punishment and dragging his niece around. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.“ He grimaced again and the laughter turned into a grunt.

“Nah, he won’t.” Shit, this guy was a wreck. Larkin was no good at comforting people, and there wasn’t anything she could do about his pain anyway, so she decided to just stick with the truth. “He doesn’t mind what I do as long as it’s not bad for the family. And your hands - pretty sure, he just wanted to hurt you and make a point. If he wanted you to lose them, he’d have had Brunos cut them off.”

“Well, isn’t that fucking reassuring.” He closed his eyes again, taking in a few more deep breaths. As Larkin was about to say something more, he asked: “There’s someone who can fix my hands?”

“Sure. But You’ll have to teach me after.”

Another minute passed with him just breathing and making grimaces. “Fuck,” he said, and then “fuck, fuck, fucking shit.” He turned his head to look at Larkin again. “ Alright. Here’s the deal: You get me to that healer and you don’t call me fucking ‘Avis’. It’s ‘Finch’.”

“And then you’ll-”

"Yeah, I'll teach you whatever the hell you want. And the I get the fuck outta this city."