The Thorn of Dentonhill by Marshall Ryan Maresca

Dentonhill.
    Damn.
    â€œFine,” Colin said, “But I’ve got to head to the backhouse first.”
    The Orphan stammered nervously, looking up the street toward Waterpath. “I’m supposed to make sure you—whoever I find, you know—goes to the church.”
    â€œYeah, and I got to piss, so either wait here or roll off.”
    The Orphan stood his ground. Colin shrugged and went back over to the barbershop. Before he went into the alley behind it, he pounded on the door of the basement flop. After a moment, Jutie cracked the door open.
    â€œYou out and about already, cap?”
    â€œBoot up and come out, Jutie,” Colin said. “Orphans calling a meet at the church. Can’t be great news at this hour.”
    Jutie sighed. “You want me, cap? For a meet?”
    â€œYou’re up,” Colin said. “Hurry up, meet me at the backhouse.”
    Jutie was a good kid, newest in Colin’s crew. He was eager, and he was good at scraping and scrounging, but he still had a way to go in learning who was who and what was what in the neighborhood.
    Colin trudged through the alley to the backhouse. The worn dirt path was damp and soggy. Colin wondered if it had rained, or if people hadn’t even bothered going all the way to the backhouse. He thought it was a damn shame that even a captain didn’t rank a flop with its own water closet, but those were rare in Aventil. He had heard that the city aldermen kept promising they were going to finish the water system out into Aventil and beyond, but that’s all it ever was.
    He finished his business and came back out, finding Jutie waiting for him, carrying a blade almost too big to be called a knife.
    â€œJutie, it’s a church meet,” he said, taking the knife away. “You at least have to be subtle.”
    â€œI like that knife,” Jutie said.
    â€œCan you hide it well, get it out fast?”
    â€œYou know I can, cap,” Jutie said.
    Colin handed him the knife back. “Probably won’t need it, but . . . you never know. Orphan looks shaky. Could be real bad news.”
    â€œWhat kind?”
    â€œOnly one kind comes across Waterpath.”
    Saint Julian’s Church sat at the corner of Tulip and Vine, a low and unimposing building of gray brick, with squat bell towers. Colin and Jutie found a few others milling about at the top of the steps: green capped Hallaran’s Boys, scarred Waterpath Orphans, Knights of Saint Julian with vests and tall hats, and Red Rabbits with their fur-lined coats. All of them, each man and bird, looked displeased with being here before the sun was fully up.
    â€œHere are a couple Princes,” one of the Rabbits said.
    â€œThis a full meet?” Colin asked as he approached. “Where are the Kickers or the Toothless Dogs?”
    â€œYou just got here,” the Orphan captain said. Colin had met her once or twice before. Yessa? She’d be a real pretty bird if she didn’t have two Orphan scars slashed across her face. “Let’s get in.” She nodded to the Orphan who had fetched Colin. “Thesh, stay at the door, send anyone else in.”
    Colin filed in with the lot of them. No one made a point of arguing about place or entry order, which Colin had seen happen plenty of times before. Perhaps they were all too bleary-eyed to bother. There were a few others in the church, mostly old women kneeling at the statue of Saint Julian, a few others scattered about the small altars. Colin wondered what it was about getting old that made women wake up and come to church first thing.
    One woman stood out to him, heading out of the church as they all came in. She wasn’t old, but quite young, and dark skinned. Napa girl, she probably was. She stopped at the door, and glanced back at Colin. He saw her eyes dart to his arm, noting his ink, and back up to his face. For just a moment, their eyes locked, and she gave a small smile, then