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

Simon stared at Nana. ‘Off? What do you mean, off?’

‘Sam’s been running off. Days and nights, I don’t know what he’s doing.’

‘Why didn’t you stop him?’

The old woman crossed her arms. ‘What do you suggest I do? Tie him up? You’re the one who’s let him run wild. I’m just his grandma. He doesn’t listen to me, he never did.’

‘Well, we have to find him. Do you know where he goes?’

Nana shook her head.

Simon glanced at Lorie. Unlike Sam, she had never been a good liar. Shoulders hunched, she stared at the floor. ‘Lorie? Do you know something?’

‘I can’t be sure…’

‘Lorie, this is important.’

Lorie sighed. ‘A few days ago, he told me he’d been meeting Andra.’

Simon groaned. ‘Where?’

‘They were watching a place. The Chained Serpent, in Lamp Street, he said.’

Lamp Street was in the slums. ‘Vikki, can you take Nana and Lorie to this storage space of yours?’

‘Sure. What about you?’

‘Tell me where it is. I’ll catch up with you when I’ve found Sam.’

As night edged toward morning, Simon trudged through wet and silent streets. Streets he would have avoided in daylight — but he had no choice, and it seemed even the cutpurses and footpads had been driven indoors by the weather. The few people he saw hurried past with their heads down.

Lamp Street, though, showed signs of life. It was a narrow place, crooked and crowded by looming tenements, the sort of houses where families lived thirteen to a room, thick as flies and filthier.

At one doorway, a knot of men stood hunched against the rain in a loose queue. A sign hung over the doorway showed a snake writhing through a chain. Two men guarded the door. The queue shuffled forward and coins changed hands; the man at the head of the queue passed within.

No women, Simon noted. Two of the men were nobles, young red-cloaked Phylaxes toughs chatting to each other as they waited, rubbing their hands to warm them. The rest of the group looked rougher, more the sort he’d expect to see in Lamp Street.

If Andra was watching this place, where would she be? Across the street, the mouth of an alley offered a good lurking spot. He crossed over.

The alleyway stank. A scavenging cat glared before sidling into the shadows.

‘Simon.’ Andra’s voice at his shoulder startled him. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Looking for you. Where’s Sam?’ Her face was unreadable in the darkness. ‘Andra, where’s Sam?’ Anger rushed through him, driving out cold and tiredness. He welcomed it. It was better to be angry than afraid, and she was a legitimate target. His anger couldn’t hurt her, not in any way that mattered. Andra might hurt him, of course, but he was already so scared he had no fear left to spare for her.

She nodded toward the chained serpent sign. ‘He went in.’

‘What?’ How could Sam have got in that place? And why? ‘What’s in there? What sort of place is it?’

Andra shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘If anything happens to him, it’s your fault. Do you understand? He’s a child. You should never have involved him in this.’

‘You owe me,’ she said. ‘Where were you? He wanted to help.’

Simon turned his back on her and stalked across the street. The waiting men had all gone, presumably having entered.

One of the bouncers extended a stubby-fingered hand as he approached the doorway. ‘Half forint.’

‘Did you let a boy in?’ Simon gestured to show Sam’s height. ‘He’s 14. He’s my son.’

The bouncers eyed each other. ‘Maybe. There was a lad earlier, said his dad was inside.’

‘He lied.’ Sam was good at lying. It wasn’t a skill Simon took pride in, though it was a little impressive that the boy had talked his way past these boneheads. ‘Look, please let me in. I must find him.’

‘Half forint,’ the man repeated in a tone of complete disinterest.

‘I’ll be straight in and out, I swear.’ Simon went through his pockets. He knew he didn’t have enough money, but he searched anyway in case he was mistaken. ‘Light’s sake, don’t you have children? Would you want them in there on their own?’

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The two bouncers eyed each other. ‘Friend, if I had a penny for every sob story I heard, I’d be richer than Numisma. Pay up or stand aside, there’s people waiting.’

There was a man waiting behind him, a lanky Windward Islander with extravagantly long braided hair. ‘Wassa problem?’ he said, his voice slow and slurred.

‘No problem, sir. Man can’t pay, is all.’

‘Thassa damn shame.’

Simon turned to the Windwarder. ‘Please, would you loan me a half forint? I’ve got to get in. My son’s in there on his own. He’s just 14, I have to find him.’

‘Oh my, oh my. I’m a father meself, y’know, or at least, I spec I am. If not, it’s not for lack of trying. I’m Theremai, by the way, world’s greatest living poet.’ He extended a large hand to Simon, together with a gust of alcohol-loaded breath.

Simon shook the offered hand. ‘Honoured, I’m sure.’

Theremai turned to the bouncer. Coins glinted in his palm. ‘For me and my friend here — what’s your name, friend?’

‘Simon, Simon vai Oryche.’

‘Ver’ happy to make your ‘quaintance.’

The bouncers stood aside. Simon passed through the doorway. A narrow stair descended steeply, illuminated by gas-lamps. With Theremai leaning heavily on his shoulder, Simon started down.

The first flight ended at a small square landing, smelling strongly of urine. Another flight of steps continued down at right-angles to the first. On the third flight, Theremai started to mutter in Simon’s ear. Simon didn’t know what he was saying, but it was damp. The noise of a crowd drifted up from below, with the smell of sweat and cheap alcohol.

The fourth and final flight spilled them out into a large, low-ceilinged room packed with people. Most were men, many wearing Phylaxes red. Swaggering, drunken laughter, bulging muscles, scars, snake tattoos and bladed weapons were much in evidence. Simon didn’t think they were here for a poetry reading.

‘What is this place?’ Simon asked Theremai.

‘Ha. Blood and money, my dear friend, blood and money.’ The tall man swayed ‘Which way to the bar, you think?’

Since Simon didn’t have the slightest idea, he pointed to the loudest section of the crowd. Theremai staggered off.

Simon scanned the crowd again. He couldn’t see Sam, or any children. Most women clung to male arms, and looked to be paid by the hour. His skin crawled. He had the strong sense that whatever people did here, he wanted no part of it.

Ahead, the crowd seemed thicker and noisier. He pressed forward, searching for Sam as he went, inserting himself into any gap he could find. Eventually he reached the front.

The front row of the crowd leaned over a railed balcony overlooking a twenty-foot-deep, sheer-sided pit. Pushed forward by the people behind, Simon was squeezed against the railing.

To cheers and yells from the audience, two men entered the pit. Both were bare-chested. Both had snake tattoos on their forearms. Both drew daggers and raised them over their heads. The crowd howled approval. Men hanging over the balcony chanted: ‘Bret, Bret,’ their voices all but lost in the deafening wave of noise.

And now Simon understood: the Chained Serpent was a fighting den. These people were here to watch blood spilled and to bet on the matches. His stomach twisted.

Below, the fighters circled each other, feinting with their daggers. Simon turned and tried to move away, but was held in place by the eager audience.

Further along the balcony someone squealed in distress, followed by a gruff bellow: ‘Hands off my pockets, you little rat.’ The crowd stirred around a scuffle. ‘Bloody kid’s a pickpocket.’

‘Am not! Lemme go.’

Simon’s heart stopped. It sounded like Sam. He shoved himself into the crowd and elbowed his way toward the commotion. Seen in glimpses through the crowd, a bull-necked man struggled with a squirming dark-haired boy.

‘Sam!’ Simon shouted.

The crowd surged round him, yelling and booing, reacting to some development in the fight. Simon shouldered through a gap.

The big man, uttering a stream of swear words that would have made Ma Hagger blush, hefted Sam off the ground. ‘I should throw you inna pit, you little thief.’

Forcing his way between a couple of sniggering bystanders, Simon grabbed the man’s arm. His bicep felt like rock. ‘Let my son go, you dumb ox. He’s no thief.’

The man swung his fist. Simon dodged reflexively, and the punch hit the back of another man’s head, who stumbled and fell.

Sam stared at Simon. ‘Dad! What are you doing here?’

The man who had taken the blow meant for Simon came up swearing and launched himself at Sam’s attacker. Simon grabbed Sam and dragged him away from what was rapidly turning into a general fistfight. Half the crowd were keen to join in while the other half were trying to get to a safe distance. Shielding Sam as best he could, Simon put his head down and barged through the melee toward where he hoped the exit lay.

A glancing blow hit his ear, and a hard shove from his side sent him reeling into a red-caped Phylaxes, who fended him away. Simon stumbled, but managed to keep his feet. The crowd had thinned — he hoped he was near the stairs.

A heavy hand gripped his shoulder from behind and hauled him back. ‘Got ya, rat.’

It was the thick-necked man who’d accused Sam of being a thief. Simon pushed Sam behind him. The big man grinned.

A large fist crunched into the big man’s face, propelled by the long arm of the world’s greatest living poet. The big man blinked in surprise, swayed, and collapsed at Simon’s feet.

‘Ho, my friend.’ Theremai patted Simon on the back. ‘Good sport, hey? You found your boy?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Simon shook the poet’s hand several times. He wasn’t sure how to stop. ‘Thank you very much. I have to go, but if you give me your address, I’ll pay you back your half forint as soon as I can.’

‘Oh, not to worry. What’s a half forint between friends?’ Theremai saluted him, and swayed back into the free-for-all.

Keeping Sam close to his side, Simon found the stairs. He climbed the four flights of steps and marched him into the street outside without a word. It was still raining. His shirt clung to him, wet and cold beneath his damp coat, and the cut across his ribs stung. But at least the air was fresh and no one was trying to kill them.

Sam wriggled. ‘I have to talk to Andra.’

‘Andra be damned.’

Several blocks down the street, he heard her light step behind them. He kept walking.

She overtook them. ‘Stop.’

The rain pounded on the dark paving stones. He stood in a puddle. His feet were already wet, his boots soaked through long since. He couldn’t get any wetter. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t talk to my son ever again, you hear me? He could have got himself killed. You have no right to put him in danger. He’s a child. He doesn’t know any better. Maybe you don’t know any better, but you aren’t my responsibility. Even a bloody savage should have more sense than to send a child into a place like that.’

Andra blinked. Simon didn’t think he’d ever seen her surprised.

‘Andra,’ Sam said. ‘It’s a—’

Simon gave him a hard shake. ‘That place is a fighting den. That’s what it is. Men fight each other and other men watch. They hurt each other. For money.’

‘They sold my sister there,’ she said.

Rain streamed down her face, and he saw no savage lasker killer, only a young woman who’d lost her sister. ‘Then I’m sorry for her. But don’t ever speak to Sam again.’

As he marched Sam away, the boy twisted in his grip to gaze back at Andra, standing silent in the rain.