Free Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) by Matthew Colville Page B

you got to earn that shit.”
    “He can call me whatever he wants,” Brick said, a curl of his lips and a gleam in his eyes. “He can say whatever he wants and if you don’t like it,” the big man’s thick head turned to look at the little thief, “why don’t you make him stop?”
    Under the gaze of the mountainous head and its tiny, all-seeing black eyes, Dugal shrunk.
    “You’d be top man if you could do it,” the Brick said, turning back to the polder. He crossed his huge arms. “Get all the best jobs.”
    Dugal sulked and started talking to himself. “He ain’t top man,” he said. He knew they were both listening. “Ain’t been top man for years, who gives a shit about him? Fuck him. Ain’t even in the guild anymore.”
    “Why’d you ask about the count?” Brick asked.
    Aimsley didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he moved a piece on the shere board and sat back.
    Brick, without looking, picked up another piece and moved it.
    Aimsley let out a defeated gasp, followed by a “fuck you,” and went back to looking at the board.
    “Whatever happened at the castle,” the polder said, concentrating, “was real. Really happened.” Aimsley knew nothing about it, but based on his experience the night before at the priest’s inn, he knew enough.
    “How the fuck you know that?,” Brick asked.
    Aimsley reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the black marbles. He carefully placed it on the shere board with a tiny ‘clack’ and held it under his finger for a moment. Then he rolled it forward.
    It danced along the shere board, bumping into and bouncing off the wooden pieces until it came to rest on the other side of the board in front of the Brick.
    “Black gods,” Brick whispered, his eyes wide. He didn’t touch the thing. Aimsley made his move. Brick didn’t notice.
    Brick looked from the marble up to Aimsley and grinned from ear to ear.
    “Fucking fixer,” he said. “Best fucking fixer in the city. Count pulls this,” Brick nodded at the glass marble sitting on the shear board, “scares the Truncheon half to death, has him shitting in his pants, and you only go and fucking get one from him.”
    He looked around the Mouse Trap. No one was really paying attention. That would be rude.
    “Best fucking fixer in the city,” he said proudly to anyone who might listen. “Best the guild’s ever had,” he looked back at the marble. “How’d you get it?” he asked.
    Aimsley told him.
    Brick blinked. “Last night?”
    Aimsley nodded. He glanced up at Brick. “Your move,” he said.
    Brick grunted and quickly moved a soldier in, blocking Aimsley’s white Prelate.
    “Yeah,” Aimsley said. “I hadn’t heard about the thing at the gallows this morning.”
    “Cyrvis’ boiling bollocks,” Brick said in wonder. “He’s moving fast. Is it safe?” He pointed to the marble.
    Aimsley shrugged. “I had it all last night, this morning. Just don’t drop it.”
    Brick picked it up, examined it in wonder. Something occurred to him. He sucked his teeth in thought.
    “No one made it out of the courtyard gallows alive,” he said.
    “Not surprised,” Aimsley said.
    “And this inn, this closed up in last night…any scarves make it out?”
    “One,” Aimsley said. “I braced him for that. The rest got torn apart.”
    “So the count don’t control these things. Whatever comes outta here,” he said looking again at the swirling black dust, “it kills what it wants.”
    “I thought about that,” Aimsley said. “You might be able to use that. But you need to move fast. Count has enough of those, he’s not going to care about you or me or the Midnight Man or the ragman.”
    Brick nodded.  “So where’s he get them?”
    “No idea,” Aimsley said, still looking at the game. “I went to his club this morning, try and see him, talk to his men.”
    “Count would love to get a visit from you,” Brick said smiling.
    “Well he weren’t there in any case. He’s picked