“I’m done being Heather, Mom.”
“I don’t know how you can say that,” moaned her mother. “How can you turn your back on your family like this?”
“I’m not turning my back on anything but who I used to be. We all have a right to that, don’t we?”
Her mother stiffened. “But you’re my Heather. You’ll always be my Heather.” She turned and gestured vaguely to the door. “That guard who came looking for you–he called you Hasp?”
Asp cringed and looked around the modest room. She had grown up, mostly unhappily, right here. And on some level, she knew that this conversation would close the door on it forever.
“It’s better if you don’t know, Mom.” She looked around the room and sighed, putting off what came next.
“Sweetie, listen to me. Whatever you’re wrapped up in, your father and I can help.” Her mother’s eyes were sharp and bright.
Asp bristled. “You can help? Help how? You have no money, no resources, no contacts, no skills–what are you talking about? This is what I’m leaving behind. Your insistence on being helpless, your need to constantly be the martyr. I’m done with it.” And with the blood still pulsing in her ears, she stormed out. Her mother said something, but Asp couldn’t hear it over the slamming of the front door.
-
Asp stewed in her comfortable apartment as the morning sun rose. She blinked a few times and gazed around: piles of clothes in every corner of the place, a small bed which was a mess of tangled bedclothes, the small window looking out onto a pasture, the rug on the floor that covered pried floorboards concealing a lockbox underneath. The smell of spirit gum wafted from a side table with a pile of fake facial hair on it.
A kitten stirred in the blanket pile on the bed. It picked its way across the bed, leapt onto the floor, and, with another graceful jump, joined Asp in the armchair she was lazing in.
“Aww, little Iris is awake. Iris, did you get your beauty sleep?” Iris meowed in a self-satisfied manner. Asp spoke smoothly despite the anxiety lurking in the back of her mind. “Oh, what was I thinking asking you that? You’re obviously as beautiful as ever.” Asp smiled a devious smile. “And you will be forever. Remember when your mama spent everything from her first job on making you a forever kitten? Do you remember that?” Asp tickled Iris’ tummy, getting at first content purrs and then kicking attacks for her efforts. Iris leapt suddenly off her lap and moved to the windowsill, peering at a collection of goats in the middle distance.
“What I need, my tiny baby, is a job that gets me noticed. I’ve tried to make sure nobody knows me, but I can only work so many angles by myself, and we both know I can’t even intimidate you.” Iris lowered herself into pounce form, pressing her head against the window glass. “Getting noticed means connections to bigger jobs, and imagine what that would open the door to.”
Iris pushed at the window again.
The sound of Iris butting up against the window shook Asp from her planning. “Okay, fine, I’ll let you out. But be back before dark.” She pushed the window open and was met with the faint sound of the cries of the marketplace down the street. Familiar voices rang out–a local baker’s husky shout, the best greengrocer’s nasal cry, the priest of Weylanna commanding bystanders to listen to his speech. But so too came a new voice–a young boy’s piercing yelp about a “new edition.” Asp strained to hear, but she couldn’t over the other marketplace commotion. Egged on by boredom, anxiety about the exchange with her mother, and the belief that an angle can present itself anywhere, she went outside to investigate.
A small crowd was gathered around the boy, who was distributing newspapers. He was shouting about a new revelation in a recent story that implicated a local noble in a slavery ring. Asp nodded along with the crowd–she had heard the stories about Lord Hearkin and the people who seemed to go missing around him–but the boy had more.
“Outrage over the story has caused people to storm Lord Hearkin’s estate and tar and feather him. During the feathering process, he reached a bargain with the mob to turn over his estate to the local government and flee from Eunax,” recited the boy as he read from a small leaflet.
News controls the crowds, Asp thought. That could be useful.
The crowd around the boy erupted into discussion of this development. Asp stood stock still. A smile crept over her face. She swiftly returned to her apartment. She set to inspecting piles of clothes, grabbing various items and throwing them onto the bed. A cap like the newsboy’s, a long green and red dress, comfortable heels. A knock on the door sounded as a long green sash landed on the bedspread.
With silent footsteps, Asp made her way to the door. She peeped through the one-way glass she’d had installed. Almost instantly, she jumped back from the door with a look of fear on her face. A muted voice came through the door.
“Excuse me, this is Officer Phillip Redmond of the Thistlewade guard’s office. I’m looking for a young woman who goes by either Heather Turnkey or Asp–slightkin, early thirties, brown hair. I’m told someone matching this description lives here.” He was quiet for a moment. “I just want to eliminate you as a suspect.”
A moment passed.
Asp could hear Officer Redmond fidgeting outside. “Hello? I just spoke to someone who saw a young woman come in here only minutes ago.”
Another moment inched by.
His voice became sterner. “You know, I do have legal right to enter this house without your permission. I have half a mind to do so right now.”
The door swung open. In front of the middle-aged detective was a young woman in a long green and red dress, her hair all done up in a cap. Dark ink stained both her fingers and part of a green sash tied around her waist.
Asp looked up at Redmond, her eyes wide and innocent. “Officer, I am so sorry. Your knocking startled me, and I got this ink all over myself, and I was trying to get it out before it stained. You see, this sash was a gift from my mother, and I would be simply devastated if I ruined it.”
The detective stood blinking in front of Asp for a moment, stunned by the high energy of the slightkin woman before him.
“Uh, not to worry,” he said absently. “Thanks for coming to the door. So, you are?”
Asp smiled and offered a hand, her stained fingers held out towards the detective. “Delia Violet, reporter and newcomer to the city.”
“Newcomer, eh?” he repeated, shaking her hand gently. “How new?”
“Why, I only moved in yesterday,” explained Asp, gesturing to the mess in the apartment. “That’s why my room is so chaotic, you see, and I’ve spent a lot of that time looking for my kitten, Iris.”
Detective Redmond seemed unsatisfied with something, then leaned down. “The thing is, Miss Violet, the person I am seeking is a con artist.” He said this last part with care, like it could hurt him to pronounce. “Not a good one, necessarily, but someone who survives by deceit. And so I should be suspicious of you. I have no reason to believe that you are not Heather Turnkey. And if that were the case, I would have a vested interest in returning you both to your family and to the wheels of justice, since you would be–hypothetically–accused of stealing over three hundred crowns from various jobs in the last few months alone, and with suspicion of much more in the years prior. There are a lot of people who need me to find Heather, and I just need you to see that I need proof you’re not Heather.” He looked at her plainly, as if to say, “Now isn’t that all very reasonable?”
Delia’s head drooped. “Well, officer, that’s going to be complicated. I had documents of origin, all in order with the governments, but they were stolen in the move. I unfortunately also lost hundreds of documents that I had written which I need for my work. Would you be able to assist me with that?”
Detective Redmond turned and gazed back at the city outside the tiny apartment. “I can see if anyone has heard anything. Good day, Miss Turnkey.”
“It’s Miss Violet,” corrected Asp, a gentle smile on her lips.
Redmond stopped and smiled. “Right. Violet.” His thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. He turned and stalked away, and with that, Detective Redmond seemed to be gone.
Asp closed the door without a sound and fell onto the bed, where she stayed, planning, until Iris returned home, just as the sun was beginning to set.
-
In the morning, Asp made a breakfast of toast and eggs and gave Iris some rabbit meat she’d picked up at the market. “I think I know the job, little one.” She smiled and ate her meal with businesslike efficiency before beginning to write.
She wrote the same three sentences again and again. She wrote til her hand cramped, switched to the other hand, and wrote on–three sentences, on and on almost endlessly. Iris came and went. Asp wrote for the entire day, and when she was done, she had hundreds of leaflets in two huge stacks.
The next day, she passed her writing out as Delia all day. She grew more and more comfortable in the Delia persona, excitedly chatting with passersby as the number of leaflets dwindled. She ran out of the papers she’d brought just as the streets grew quiet and returned home, exhausted.
-
Asp awoke to a banging on the door. She padded her way to the peephole and saw Detective Redmond once again. She smiled, slipped into her Delia outfit, and opened the door.
Redmond looked furious. “Did you spill ink again? You may need to do something about those nerves.”
“Good morning to you too, Detective Redmond,” said Asp as if nothing were amiss. “No, I was dressing, as I slept quite in this morning. I hope that’s okay.”
“Okay?” stammered Redmond angrily. “You published this garbage about me, and you’re worried about okay? Look, girl, you have stepped over the line.”
Delia held her hands up in a look of innocence. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She hated this part of any job, and yet she loved it. Playing dumb when accused is stressful–mishandle one reaction, and you’re sunk, she thought. But it’s also the most satisfying part–to stare someone straight in the face and tell them a lie which you both know is a lie. It’s exhilarating to embrace that boldness for a moment and maybe shake them from their certainty. Then the real game is afoot.
“So you didn’t write this?” The detective pulled out a leaflet which Delia recognized immediately, and he read it aloud, his voice shaking. “‘Public Beware: Detective Phillip Redmond is a corrupt officer! He has lied about charges and abused prisoners. Something must be done about this public issue.’ You’re going to tell me that wasn’t you?”
Delia grinned. “And why would it be me?”
“You, a reporter, the day after I come to talk to you, disappear for a day, then are seen distributing pamphlets for a day, and now these are everywhere?” Redmond shook a crinkled leaflet in his fist.
Delia looked shocked. She turned and walked back into her apartment and returned with a leaflet. She handed it to him.
Redmond read aloud to himself, almost under his breath: “Hello reading public! I am Delia Violet, a reporter who has just moved to the city of Thistlewade. Please find me and tell me about the stories you want to hear about!” He scratched his head, his lips almost puckered in disappointment.
“See?” said Asp, as sweet as she was concerned.
Redmond’s head jerked this way and that. “But you could just have one of these–”
Delia stepped back and gestured to hundreds of neatly-stacked leaflets on her table. She grabbed a stack of fifty or so and handed it to Detective Redmond. He scanned through them. They all held the introduction message. And notably, while the accusatory messages had been shakily written in a slanted hand, these introductory messages were written cleanly and confidently with graceful, swooping lines. The Detective looked over the whole table, moving stacks and inspecting them to ensure that they really all had this message. Every one of them did.
Redmond shook his head and turned around. He stood motionless for a moment, then left the apartment without a word. Asp closed the door behind him and set to work.
-
“Here’s the plan, Iris.”
Asp paced the short distance across her apartment and back again. She massaged her hands and wrists to relieve them of the strain from writing for an entire day. My weak right hand for the accusation and my strong left hand for the introduction–I can’t believe it worked as well as it did. It’s gonna be smooth sailing from here, I think.
She turned to Iris. “You know that really puffed-up baron down south who I’ve been saving for something special? I think this reporter angle could be just what I need. I use Lady Penelope to make contact, Delia to control the public, and Gilbert to close the deal since he’ll insist on doing business with a man.” She chuckled to herself. “It does seem doable, if complicated. The old plan could work if I can also use Delia for reconnaissance. Oh, Iris, maybe this new identity is going to be the one that opens the doors we need.”
Iris had been grooming herself this whole time, but she paused and looked at Asp when she stopped talking. Iris meowed, then went back to grooming.
A commotion outside drew Asp’s attention. In the street, a mob was dragging Detective Redmond along in chains. His shouts of pain and confusion echoed over the angry cries of the crowd. He made eye contact with Asp as he went screaming by, and she winked at him as he disappeared down the block.
She was about to turn and head back inside when a familiar voice came from behind her.
“I’m sorry.”
Asp wheeled to see her mother. Tears streamed down her mother’s face as she looked at her surprised daughter. In the middle distance behind her mother were two burly guards, approaching with clubs and manacles.
Asp’s mind flailed, uncertain what to make of the situation. “Mom, what’s–”
“I said I’m sorry, Heather,” interrupted her mother. “I didn’t know what else to do with you.”
The guards saw Asp notice them and began inching towards her. She turned to her mother.
“You’ve killed me.” There was no energy in her voice–only pain.
Asp dashed back into the apartment, scooped up Iris, and vaulted out the window. She dashed down streets, alleys, and breezeways. Taking sharp turns and squeezing around people, she did her best to separate herself from the guards. But the guards seemed to be able to follow her at every turn, so she began to take more precarious paths, ducking into tight spots and disappearing into crowds. No matter her maneuvers, she couldn’t quite shake them. She ended up dead-ended in what appeared to be a block party. She dove under a shrub and prayed inarticulately under her breath that they would not see her.
Asp looked out at the guards entering the block party and saw them inspecting the adjoining area. A giggle on her left made her turn suddenly to her side. There was a young girl, perhaps eight.
“You’re running from them, aren’t you?” the girl whispered.
“Shhhhhh,” replied Asp.
The girl spoke at her original volume. “I like your kitty.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Asp was still focused on the guards, who were checking around tables and asking neighbors if they had seen her.
“Hey,” said the young girl, poking Asp in the ribs.
Asp still watched the guards carefully. “Yeah?”
The girl poked her once more, sharply this time. “If you don’t give me your cat, I’ll tell them where you are.”
Asp seized. Her eyes never left the guards.
“You don’t mean that. Let me and my cat go.” She sounded distant to herself.
“No,” said the girl, her voice steeled by greed. “I like your kitty, and I want it. Or else.”
Asp closed her eyes. She knew how leverage worked. So did this kid.
“Okay.” Haltingly, Asp passed Iris off to the girl, palming the kitten’s collar as she did so.
“Yay!” The girl crawled out from under the bush and ran off with her new pet.
Asp waited until well after the guards left to make her escape, and though she told herself it was out of an abundance of caution, it also had a lot to do with the fact that her vision was blurred by tears for a while afterwards.
-
Asp was seated on a bench with a suitcase packed with her belongings beside her. She had managed to steal back into her apartment and pack a few vital outfits, costume components, and a stuffed coinpurse from the emptied lockbox. She hadn’t been able to take it all–she had risked everything with even a minute back at the apartment, and she didn’t want to stick around for longer and get caught.
The travel depot had only one other waiting customer, an old dwarven man who had fallen asleep before Asp had arrived. She sat and watched the slow activity of the city, her imagination conjuring swarms of guards around every corner.
A human man with salt and pepper hair and a carefully-trimmed goatee ambled up to the cart owner and haggled a bit over prices before taking a seat across from Asp.
“G’morning, miss,” he said affably.
“Is it?” Asp looked gloomily around, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s not polite. Good morning to you.”
“Ooh, rough day?” asked the human. He smiled in a strange way. “ You know, I can help with that. All my friends say I can solve any problem. Try me.”
Asp looked at the stranger. He seemed serious. She thought of Iris; her shoulders grew tense, and she slumped forward in defeat. Surprising herself, she told the truth without thinking much of it: “I need a new place to stay far away from here and someone to work with who doesn’t mind leaving well enough alone.”
The stranger smiled the way Asp smiled when she knew she was in control of a situation.
“What if I could offer you both?” asked the man. “I have a setup out on Strey that could use someone like you. We have both ample room and idle hands. And we’ll give you your privacy if you’ll give us ours.”
Asp searched for the catch, but she couldn’t find it. “Well, I don’t see why not. But what do you mean, ‘someone like me’? How do you even know I can contribute to your little setup?”
The stranger leaned in. “Because I know you did the print job against Detective Redmond. And the filch job from the McCallisters’ jewelry business. And the switch job on Duke Hystram’s deeds. And that’s just in the last few weeks. You’re a busy one.”
Asp sat rigid on the bench, her eyes squinting with discomfort at the volume at which the man was speaking. “Hey, look, I don’t know you or what you’re on about, but why don’t you bring it down a notch, man?” She struggled to keep her voice even.
The man smiled. “You like to be called Asp, right? Well, Asp, this is the big leagues. I run an outfit that does more complicated jobs than you can do alone, and I suspect you know how limited your range is on your own. So I’m here to offer you what you’re missing so that you can give us what we’re missing.” He folded his hands, which he had been gesticulating with in ways that only made sense to him, in his lap. “Everybody wins.”
Asp maintained a neutral expression. “And what are you missing?”
The man smiled to himself. “Right now, we have no female cons. Obviously, this creates an issue for us. And also obviously, you’re pretty good, otherwise you wouldn’t have made it this far by yourself. So think about it. You have the journey to decide.”
Asp nodded to demonstrate her understanding and leaned back. Doesn’t seem like a coincidence he’s here, she thought. But if he’s telling the truth, it’s just what I’ve been looking for. She sat back up and looked at him. “Wait, what’s your name?”
“Oslo Hollowstride,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Nice to meet you, Asp. Hey, what’s with that name, anyway? As I understand it, you haven’t killed anyone. So why go with a deadly serpent for your name? Trying to scare people off?”
Asp smiled. “An asp’s bite is . . . pleasurable. When an asp bites you, you die happy. I like to leave my victims happy too.”
Hollowstride narrowed his eyes at her, then shrugged and attempted to join the old dwarf in a nap.
Asp sat and toyed with Iris’ collar, touching each part of it again and again and wondering when this feeling would pass.