Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

Simon lay sleep-drowsy and gritty eyed in the darkness, listening. On the other side of the room, Sam breathed softly, still asleep. Carts rumbled down the street outside, carrying goods to markets across the city. The first bangs and rattles of traders opening their shops signalled dawn was near. He ought to get up.

Certainly, the thin straw pallet he lay on was no inducement to idleness. And he had to find work today, or at least look for it. Yesterday had been occupied with moving into their new home—not that they had much to move, only their personal belongings and a table and chairs gifted by Patla’s family. But Nana had insisted every inch of the two bare little rooms had to be scrubbed, which required endless trips to the street pump, hauling heavy buckets of water up the creaking stairs, and fielding complaints from the weaver, Grumman, who used the workshop below.

Today she would need to buy more things, no doubt, and the money Eranon had given him was dwindling fast. Simon also wanted to visit his mother, if possible, but before that, he had another obligation to fulfil.

A night lying on a hard floor had left him stiff and sore. Trying not to swear, he slowly extricated himself from his blankets and pulled on his clothes, working by feel in the pre-dawn gloom.

Sam stirred and yawned. ‘S’time to get up?’

‘I have to go out,’ Simon said. ‘Tell Nana I’ll be back by midday.’ He hoped he would be— he didn’t know how long this would take.

‘Can I come?’

‘Not this time. Go back to sleep.’

‘Umph.’

The other room of their accommodation was the larger one, containing a black stove of ancient design as well as the battered table and four mismatched chairs which were their only furniture. Simon crept past Nana and Lorie, asleep on their pallets, and let himself out onto the landing.

Below, the workshop was silent and dark, so Grumman hadn’t started work yet. Simon descended the narrow wooden stairs. They creaked at every step. He unlatched the workshop doors and stepped into the street.

Darn Street was at the cleaner end of the textile district, home to weavers and tailors, haberdashers and button-makers and a thousand other small traders working hard to make ends meet. At night the steamy air from laundries and dyer’s vats condensed to drifting fog, lingering in the gloomy dawn to make ghosts of the workers trudging to their employment.

Simon joined them, heading along Darn Street toward the main road which led to Westgate. In the growing daylight, shopkeepers opened shutters and laid out their stalls. A shrunken old man ambled between street lamps, extinguishing the flames with his long-handled lamp-snuffer.

Simon followed the main road outward to the city wall and the Westgate, and there he stopped beside a lone stone pillar. The pillar commemorated an ancient battle to defend the city from sothron invaders. Rain and wind had reduced the ships and soldiers of both sides to indistinguishable lumps. He waited beside it, hunched inside his coat.

Ox-drawn carts lumbered past, and countless people. Simon felt awkward; so early in the day, in this place, he was the only person idle and motionless. Passers-by eyed him suspiciously, like he was a cut-purse waiting for a victim.

Of Andra, there was no sign, and he began to hope, half-guiltily, that she wouldn’t show up. Out in the wilderness, helping the lasker find her sister had seemed a minor matter, considering she’d saved all their lives. Now he was in Athanor, helping a savage hunt for murderous criminals was far from minor.

Hair rose on the back of his neck. He stiffened, struck by the strong sense someone was watching him. Andra? Or an early-rising thief? He span around.

A slight figure ducked round the corner of a building.

‘Andra? Is that you?’ He didn’t think it was. She had no reason to hide, not from him, and he was sure the watcher was smaller — a child pick-pocket, perhaps. Steeling himself, he strode along the facade of the building. He rounded the corner. ‘Sam. What in Light’s name are you doing here?’

His son leaned nonchalantly against the wall. ‘I wanted to see where you were going. Are you meeting Andra?’

‘Perhaps.’ Simon glared at him. ‘I don’t recall asking you to follow me. In fact, I distinctly told you to stay home.’

‘I want to see Andra. She’s my friend too.’ Sam glanced around. ‘There she is.’ He waved.

Andra emerged from the shadows of the gatehouse and stalked across the street.

Simon shuddered. Though she was swathed in a hooded cloak, her every move screamed lasker to him. How could people not know what she was? How could they walk past her, and not see she wasn’t human, not see she had the eyes of a killer?

‘Simon.’ She frowned at him, her gaze like black ice. ‘You didn’t come, before. We had a deal.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. But I’m here now.’ Simon swallowed. He didn’t know what the day would bring, but he certainly didn’t want Sam involved. ‘Sam, go home.’

‘I thought you didn’t want me walking round the city on my own. What are you doing, anyway? What deal?’

‘I promised Andra I’d help her find her sister. Or Chase and Nyl, at least.’

‘Oh.’ Sam grinned. ‘Can I help?’

‘No,’ Simon said. ‘Absolutely not. This isn’t a game. It could be dangerous.’

Sam frowned. ‘More dangerous than the giant killer dog?’

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

‘He has a point,’ Andra said.

Simon glared at her. Where had she picked up that phrase?

‘Anyhow, I’m not sure I can find my way home.’ Sam looked innocent. ‘Please?’

‘All right, but stay quiet and do what you’re told.’ Simon kneaded his forehead, trying to pull his scattered thoughts into order. Finding Andra’s sister was an impossible task, not worth considering. Finding Chase, on the other hand, was possible, though it might be difficult. ‘Chase was a fur trader. Most of them sell to the dealers at the fur market on Plew Street.’

The shortest route to the fur market took them back across the lower end of the textile district through a maze of alleys and cross-streets. Once, perhaps, the streets had formed an orderly grid, but ambitious workshop-owners had extended their buildings up, down, and sideways. Now one could only navigate by keeping an eye on either the Watch Tower or the mountain itself, whichever could be seen over the jumble of roofs.

A bearded street-vendor stepped into Simon’s path. He carried a basket loaded with twists of paper. ‘Penny prophecies, sir? Find your fortune, only a penny. Why not buy one for your boy?’

Sam grinned.

‘No,’ Simon said.

Undeterred, the man turned to Andra. ‘How about the young lady? Find out what the future holds—’

She seized him by the arm, and twisted slightly. The man’s face paled. ‘Suh-sorry. No offence, lady. Sir.’

‘Let him go,’ Simon said quietly.

Andra’s teeth were bared, and not in a smile. She released him and the prophecy-seller scuttled round a corner, almost dropping his basket in his haste.

‘Andra,’ Simon said. ‘In the city, there are rules, proper ways of doing things. You can’t kill people just for getting in your way or annoying you. If you do, it attracts attention and causes trouble. People get upset. Do you understand?’

She stared at him blankly. He wondered if she did understand. Her command of the language was improving fast, but until a few days ago, she’d never seen a city, or even a town. The concepts of law and justice were entirely alien to her, along with money, shops, books...

Sam laughed, stooping to pick up a scrap of paper. ‘Look, he dropped a prophecy.’ He unravelled the twist. ‘At the heart of the labyrinth is a lie. What does that mean?’

‘Nothing.’ Simon snatched the paper from his hand and crumpled it. ‘It’s nonsense. What do you expect for a penny? Come on, the fur market is this way.’

Though still early in the morning, the Plew Street market was in full swing when they arrived. Fur-clad northers swaggered between stalls hung with pelts of beaver, fox, and mink, butting elbows with sleek Athanor merchants and swarthy sea-traders from distant lands.

‘Right.’ Simon surveyed the scene. ‘Stay back, Andra, and let me do the talking.’

He approached a stall. At his side, Sam bounced with excitement. Simon ignored him and focused on the stallholder, a thin red-headed woman who smiled at him hopefully.

‘Buying furs, sir? Good stock here, good stock, I’m sure you’ll find what you want.’

To Simon’s eye, her display looked sparse and her enthusiasm had the feverish edge of desperation. ‘Sorry, not buying today.’

‘Oh.’ She glanced sharply at Sam, who was stroking a glossy mink.

‘I’m looking for someone,’ Simon said. ‘Man named Chase, a trader. He has a brother called Nyl. Do you know them?’

She frowned. ‘Chase. Rings a bell.’

‘He chews garra root.’

She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I don’t recall him.’

With Sam tagging along, Simon worked his way down the line of stalls, repeating the same weary questions twenty times. No one admitted to knowing Chase.

At the end of the row, a sallow-skinned woman with long black hair was engaged in a heated argument with a young male trader.

He waved a beaver pelt in her face. ‘Mould. Look at it! These haven’t been properly prepared.’

She grimaced. ‘You bought them. They weren’t mouldy then, were they? I’m not giving you a penny, Halden.’

‘I trusted a dealer like you wouldn’t be selling mould-ridden old furs. Don’t you care about your reputation?’

‘I have one, which is more than you do. Move along, Halden, I’ve got customers.’ She smiled brightly at Simon. ‘One moment and I’ll be with you.’

Halden glared at Simon. ‘Don’t buy anything. She’s a cheat and a liar.’ With that, he stormed off, still clutching his mouldy fur.

Simon took his place before the stall. ‘Sorry, I’m not buying. I’m looking for someone. Man named Chase, a fur-trader.’

The woman scowled. ‘Most would be glad to lose that scumbag.’

‘You know him?’ Her expression said as much. ‘There’s a reward for information,’ he added quickly. ‘He’s a thief and a murderer.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me.’ She shook her head. ‘But I haven’t dealt with the bastard for years. Not since he—nevermind. Try Condelo. Him over there, with the tattoos.’ She nodded toward a muscular norther glaring over a mound of furs. ‘And if they hang Chase, send me an invite.’

Simon eased his way through the crowd to Condelo, who had no stall, only a pile of furs spread on a tarpaulin. Extravagant serpent tattoos in green and red coiled round his bare arms.

The norther greeted him with a glower. ‘Hands off if you’re not buying.’

Simon smiled. ‘I’m not, but—‘

‘Bugger off then and don’t waste my time.’

‘I’m looking for Chase. Have you seen him recently?’

’Why should I tell you if I have?’

‘There’s a reward,’ Sam chimed in. ‘House Oryche are offering a reward for information.’

Simon glared at him. ‘That’s true. Chase is a thief and murderer. If you help us find him—’

‘So you’ll get this reward, if there is a reward, and you’ll share it with me out of the goodness of your black little Athanorese heart? I don’t think so. Bugger off.’

Simon put his hand in his pocket. He carried only a few coins, and he’d much rather be spending them on food for his family than this. He pulled out a half-forint. ‘I’m not a rich man. This is all I can offer, but it’s yours if you can tell me where to find Chase or his brother.’

The big norther grunted, and the coin disappeared into his meaty hand like magic. ‘The Dog and Bear, on Gallow Street. He sometimes drinks there. Don’t say I sent you.’

‘Is that all you know?’

‘Listen, bigshot, you spend a half-forint, you get a half-forint’s worth.’

‘But—’

The norther gripped Simon’s coat and pulled him close. He stunk of greasy furs and garlic. ‘That’s all you get. Now bugger off, or you’ll wish you had.’

He pushed Simon away, sending him staggering into a neighbouring stall.

Andra fell into step with them on the edge of the market. ‘I do not like this place,’ she said. ‘What you find?’

‘Little enough.’ Simon glanced round. The sun was high in the sky. He was bruised and tired. His feet ached and his leg hurt and he’d wasted half the day on this wild goose chase. ‘An inn called the Dog and Bear. He might go there.’

‘Then let us go,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘I have other things to do.’

‘We had a deal,’ Andra said.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Weariness slumped his shoulders. His family depended on him, and he had to work and earn money so they could pay their rent and eat. Pursuing murderers was not his business. He sympathised with the plight of Andra’s sister, and with Andra herself, and he’d help them if he could, but he simply couldn’t afford to, not right now. He had other obligations too — the miners, and some sort of training for Lorie. ‘Perhaps in a few days, I’ll have time.’

‘We made a deal,’ Andra repeated.

‘I’m sorry.’ He was sorry. More than sorry, he was ashamed, but what could he do? Finding Chase would be like finding one flea on a dog. Andra needed a thief-catcher, not a crippled Earth Adept. ‘Come, Sam. I’m taking you home.’

Sa glyph [https://i.imgur.com/plK5EWM.png]

Sam followed his father, who strode with his shoulders hunched and head down, scowling at the pavement. As he stepped around a skin-clad norther haggling with a fur-dealer, Sam took the opportunity to fall behind. Engrossed in his own thoughts, his father didn’t notice his disappearance. Sam ducked into the crowd and hurried back along the street.

He spotted Andra walking in the opposite direction, and called after her, ‘Andra, wait.’

She stopped and waited for him to catch up with her.

‘Andra, I’ll help you find your sister.’

‘You? What can you do?’

He squared his shoulders. ‘We made a deal with you. If Dad won’t help you, I will. I can ask questions just as well as he can. Better.’