Living in the Narrows is tough, and it was no easier when Shamsi's mother miraculously survived the birth of twin boys. Her father, Hirman, was a carpenter, taking whatever jobs came his way - fixing broken doors, repairing roofs that were falling apart, and sometimes even patching walls that had started to collapse.
But people in the Narrows only pay what they have, and that was never enough to feed five mouths. Pareeva had to tend to the younger children, so Shamsi had to step up. And what can a late-teen girl do in the Narrows? Well, you don’t really want to know. She started picking pockets. First at the edges of the Narrows, then in the Port districts, and eventually in Crownsgate itself.
The girl could hide in a crowd. Not always perfectly, but she was never caught. Shamsi wanted to climb higher, to leave behind the rickety cots of her childhood. She looked at the houses in Canal Row, not polished marble, but still a world apart from the Narrows. She searched for accomplices, and she found them, joining a group known as the Briney Dozen. The numbers didn’t add up. Even with Shamsi, there were eleven of them. Perhaps someone had died. Twice. Better not think too hard about it. It was a catchy name.
The Briney Dozen had a rhythm. They had plans, skills, courage, and above all, each other’s backs. They carried out jobs in Crownsgate, Canal Row, and Grandbridge. Nothing reckless. No need to poke a sleeping lion.
For years, they worked independently, and Shamsi managed to save enough to move her family out of the Narrows. But Eastport was not enough. Around this time, a fence suggested they contact a local named Callio Scapula. The Dozen dressed in their finest and went to the edge of Lionsgate. They met a finely dressed man, probably someone of influence, probably not named Callio Scapula. At least that’s what Shamsi assumed.
Scapula offered them a job. Just one job. The kind of job that promised the last score, the kind of money that could set them for life. "There’s this house in Imperial Square. Find a way in, search for some important-sounding paperwork, probably hidden under floorboards or some other clichéd spot, bring it to me, get paid, and you’re set for life. Super easy, barely an inconvenience."
Shamsi felt uneasy. She wanted time to plan. Scapula refused. It had to be done that night. The papers were moving, and they could be gone by morning. They voted. Shamsi said no, Taniel Sea said no, Basher Wax said no. The rest wanted in. The three of them left the building and returned to the Narrows, grabbing a cheap drink and finding a place to sleep. Shamsi sent Saada, her pet bird, to keep watch on the rest of the gang, just in case.
Sometimes, that kind of caution pays off. The next morning, Shamsi awoke to find Saada perched nearby, a tiny leather scroll case tied to his leg with a short string. She took it, opened it, and her eyes widened as she read. She looked at Saada.
"Well, someone should see this."
She stood, turned east, and saw the sun rising over Senate’s Hill. In her hand was a kill list containing the names of prominent figures as she began moving toward the eastern districts.
