Bitter Twisted

Everything felt off and I couldn’t place my finger on it.

The air had an unseasonal bite to it tonight, prickling my skin and setting my nose running. Usually this time of year the weather would be calm and cool but lately the winds had taken to screaming through the streets, turning every bit of rain into shards of ice, biting and cruel. Squalls of it pounded me now as I crouched in a rancid alleyway waiting for the remainder of my team.

Whilst the weather was a discomfort, it was not the reason for my disquiet. Things had not been going well lately, not for any of us. Our people had been getting sprung left, right and centre and others had simply vanished. Now there were so few of us left. It was as if we were suddenly cursed but life goes on and we still needed to eat. Stopping was not an option. Not even when something felt this wrong. All I could do was suppress the feeling that someone was doing this to us.

There was a scuffing sound behind me. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to.

“You’re late, Brother.” It felt like I had been waiting forever and my demeanour was as cold as the sleet pelting me.

“Looks like everyone is,” he replied, his fingers stuffed under his armpits. “Can you really blame us? Weather’s miserable.”

Irritation stirred in my gut. “Yes I can blame you. You of all people should know better.”

Rybin was always so casual, so blasé. He had escaped by the skin of his teeth on his last job, the dalgrue hot on his heels. He’d gone underground for a couple of days until the heat died down. I’d searched for him in all the usual places but to no avail. As it turned out, he’d been hiding in a brothel. How he’d paid for his stay was a mystery as our pockets held nothing but moths these days. He hadn’t said and I didn’t ask. I don’t think I wanted to know. But Rybin could take care of himself. It’s not as though that had been his first brush with the dalgrue.

“Hey, I’m not the only one that’s late.”

Two figures turned into the street huddled close together under their cloaks looking like lovers caught in a storm. Babette and Luc. They were another thing that added unease to the night. I hadn’t worked with them before though they had been a part of our collective for years. Their reputation was one of spontaneous, reactionary work. Never planning, always diving head first. They were far more suited to Rybin’s personality than to my methodical one but I had no choice. My crew had been Rybin’s crew. It had been fate that I had fallen ill that night and now, this, this was the last of us.

“Seems like I’m right on time actually,” he continued as he stepped out into the street just enough to be seen by the couple.

We stayed where we were, heads turned in opposite directions looking for any sign of the dalgrue, a flicker of silver shoulder bars or badge, but the weather hid hid as much as it hid us.

Babette and Luc had stopped before a gate, Babette’s form hunched as she fiddled with the lock, Luc standing beside her, head on a swivel. The gate swung open, its squeaking hinges only faintly audible over the clink of ice on cobblestones. A low whistle sounded out signalling us to join them. As we reached them the lock to the house clicked open, Babette’s deft fingers making quick work of it, and we slipped inside out of the cold and into the darkness.

My sense of apprehension grew in that musty, dark hollow, the sound of our dripping cloaks echoing into the void. Rybin had scouted this job himself. The empty house of some middle class bureaucrat that was vacationing elsewhere, chasing warmer weather. But for all the emptiness it was supposed to be, it did not feel empty at all.

A lighter snicked, once, twice, and a flame sparked to life. Luc fed it to his dark lantern and, half closing the slide, limited the light to a narrow beam. “Where are we going, Rybin?”

Yet another thing that rubbed me the wrong way. My brother was the only one that knew anything. There had been zero preparations for this. Not even a layout drawn in the dirt. It was all based on what Rybin had learnt from who knows where. Most likely some not-to-bright scullery maid or perhaps one of the whores he’d sequestered himself with.

“He has an office beyond the main hall with a safe,” he replied, pointing between the sweeping staircases to the great doors beyond.

Babette was shaking her head. “I’m not too good with safes, Rybin. You know that.”

“But it’s worth a try,” he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Other than that, there’s plenty of silver decorations and I was told he showers his wife with jewellery. She can’t have taken it all with her but we’ll start in the office.”

Luc led the way with the lantern, his fingers gripping the shutter in case he needed to quickly douse the light. Slipping forward, Babette put an ear to the hall doors but soon pushed them open and we filed through after her, Rybin bringing up the rear.

As the lamp light moved passed them, gilded frames and candelabras glittered faintly, like fireflies on a summer's night. The candlesticks would be easy enough to carry should Babette be unable to open the safe but money was preferable. Easy to carry, untraceable and no need to involve some suspect pawn broker who would take a more than healthy cut.

Babette pushed forward again to listen at the door. I had to admit that while they were rumoured to be careless in planning, the couple had exercised caution at every step. I could feel the tension in them. It clung to them. Perhaps they too shared my misgivings.

The handle turned and Babette flashed us a concerned look. Of all the rooms in a house, offices were usually locked. We all held our breaths as the door swung silently open.

“Hello there,” crooned a smug voice.

Babette squealed, jerking back in surprise to thud into Luc. He dropped the lantern and it cracked open on impact spilling fuel across the floor. The flame took to it, hungry and devouring, and within the blink of an eye the entire room was filled with light. We ran. No hesitation, no second thoughts.

But there was no escape.

Rybin stood at the main hall doors. None of us had noticed that he hadn’t followed us across the room. With a face cold as ice, he flung the doors wide and there stood a group of dalgrue, their truncheons gripped tightly in their hands.

“Brother?” My voice was choked with shock as every bit of unease settled into my stomach like a sickening weight. “What have you done?”

The man from the office swiftly moved across the room to rip a curtain from the window. He began beating at the flames, the rhythm thumping along with my own heart, but I could not take my eyes from Rybin.

“Brother?”

But the word no longer applied. What brother would do such a thing?

“She was mine, Jasper,” he said as the dalgrue moved into the room. They fanned out about us, moving to block any escape.

“What are you talking about?”

“Chantelle. She was mine,” he hissed through his teeth. An unknown rage, I never knew he harboured, oozed from every pore.

I shook my head in disbelief. “She was never yours, Rybin. She was not a possession.”

“She was mine!” His voice bellowed through the hall. “You stole her and then you killed her! Just like you did my mother!”

“I didn’t…”

“Yes you did!”

I had not killed them. Not intentionally.

Was a birthing death really the babe’s fault? Was it the lovers?

They had both died the same way though my child never lived. I had lost most of my family. Rybin was the only one left and now I had lost him too or perhaps I had never had him.

“What’s this got to do with us?” Luc asked as he and Babette pressed in closer to me. The dalgrue moved in. The noose was tightening.

“You were all there. You watched her die.” Spittle flecked his lips and his eyes bulged. My brother had shed his facade, opening wide the delusion within. He had harboured such hate, such resentment, and it had eaten him alive.

My throat tightened at the memory. Chantelle had been the love of my life. The very moment we laid eyes on each other the rest of the world had ceased to exist and when she died it had ceased in an entirely different way.

“Brother.” It was barely a whisper. What could I say? None of it was my fault, yet I had not noticed his pain either. A small seed of guilt sprouted within me.

Babette let out a squeal as one of the dalgrue yanked her away from us. Luc lunged to her defence but was greeted with a truncheon to the head. He staggered, falling to his knees, and two men pulled his arms behind him to clap handcuffs about his wrists.

“How could you do this, Rybin. We are family.”

My brother laughed. “We are not family. You were a means to an end and now the dalgrue are a means to your end.”

I barely felt it as my arms were pulled behind me. I was in shock. My mind, my body. It had all gone numb.

“We need to go,” said the dalgrue that had beat at the flames. It had been a losing battle and the fire had spread at an alarming rate. I hadn’t noticed.

Rybin grinned at us as they shoved us forward, his self-satisfied grin stretching his face maniacally. Babette cried softly while Luc swore a steady string of curses, some aimed at the dalgrue, some at his own stupidity for ignoring his gut but most of all, they were aimed at my brother. Luc spat on him as we passed by but there was nothing we could do. We were done.

The sound of snapping fingers rang out sharp and clear above the crackling flames.

“What are you doing?” Rybin asked, all triumph disappearing from his voice. “This wasn’t our deal.”

I twisted under my captors grip, straining to see through the gathering smoke. What I saw brought a smile to my face. It shouldn’t. He was still my brother but he had sold us out and he deserved this.

The wall of fire framed their silhouettes beautifully, Rydin on his knees, the dalgrue standing over him. He made to rise but they kicked him back down.

“This was not the deal,” he cried, his words ending in a smoke strangled cough.

The dalgrue laughed mockingly.

I squashed that sapling of guilt that had sprouted. Pulled it out by the roots. My brother had been a fool and now we would all hang.