“Remember,” Grevail said, “if it goes wrong we’ll meet at Maedra’s.” Ahead, a smattering of townspeople skittered up and down a cobblestone street in Merchant Row. The chilly spring morning kept many Eudans inside, at least those who didn’t have to be out. He shivered and pulled his patched cloak tighter.
“I heard you the first time,” Tessyn grumbled with a toss of her dirty-blond hair. “Othon won’t cause us trouble.” A confident smirk graced her elegant face, yet it faded as she scanned the street, as if a watchman already lay in wait for them.
“He won’t, but the watch might.”
“I don’t think he’s worth it,” Raela said, voice tight with concern.
Grevail twisted to look at her. “No?”
Raela quickened her steps to match his pace—worn leather boots clicking on the cobbles. Her emerald eyes, paralleled by thick red hair, were serious when they met his. “No. I’ve heard stories about what he sells. Cheap things…impostors. Omene the butcher said he bought his wife a ring from Othon…and it broke in half just a few days after she put it on!”
Adellus, at Raela’s shoulder, winked at Grevail over her head. “Knowing her, she probably broke it slapping her poor man over the head.” He snickered, but it devolved into a cough when Raela arched an eyebrow at him. Tossing curly brown hair from his face, he shrugged and continued. “Othon has to have something worth a few ess, like those opals we heard about. That was on too many lips for it all to be rumor. How else could he keep a stand on Merchant Row? The watch will come around if too many people are making complaints.”
Raela rolled her eyes as if he should know better. “The watch don’t care about that. He’s fooling people, Dell.”
“We’ve made our decision,” Grevail reminded them. “We’ll see if this is worth it soon enough.” Rumor in Lowtown was that Othon had somehow come across a chest full of opal jewelry. Though that type of thing wasn’t their usual fare, they voted to give it a try with only Raela dissenting, as she sometimes did.
Grevail turned at an intersection and his friends turned with him. The streets of Merchant Row were always busier than other parts of town, even on a cold morning like today. People hurried along, breath misting from wool cowls and an item tucked under an arm that they’d purchased from the many shops. A merchant swaggering toward them with a burlap sack slung over one shoulder sneered at the merit in Grevail’s ear and tightened his grip on the bag.
Grevail dug the wool hat out of his trouser pocket and slipped it on to hide the low-grade, thumb-sized green opal in the top of his ear. Everyone in town knew an opal in the ear meant you were from Lowtown, and anyone from Lowtown was likely to cause trouble.
“You should grow your hair out,” Raela said, lips quirking in a wry smile. She hooked her hair with a finger to reveal her own merit. A thin oval of purple opal set inside a metal ring and placed just below the helix of the earlobe. “I think you’d look nice. You have such great hair. Imagine yourself with long, curly black locks!”
Grevail shook his head, but couldn’t help grinning in return. “Too much to manage for me. Anyway, I think that is why you never listen to what I say. You can’t hear me with all that hair clogging your ears…can’t hear the watch sneaking up behind you either.”
Adellus guffawed. “The watch makes enough noise to be heard on even the roughest nights at Maedra’s. That’s where I’m headed when we get this over with.”
“It would last a lot longer if you didn’t,” Tessyn said with a roll of her eyes.
“Let’s get in position.” Grevail reached a hand inside his coat to be sure his knife was ready. It was always a last resort, only to be used when the first resort—his legs, couldn’t do the job.
“Mirian,” Adellus said, offering Raela his arm.
Raela scoffed, but took it. “Diphian, my love,” she cooed.
“A little bit more time,” Grevail said. “Wait for the street to warm up and fill out, we’ll need all the cover we can get. On Raela’s mark, Tessyn.”
Tessyn flipped up the hood of her cloak and ducked toward the mouth of a nearby alley. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be there.”
Grevail slowed to distance himself from Dell and Raela. Locked arm in arm, the pair wove through the sparse crowd on the morning street until the mark came into view.
Othon stood exactly where Grevail last saw him when he scouted the area. The table the man had been setting up at the time sat near an alley that ran between a dye a shop and a cobbler. Around Othon’s stand, other vendors lined the street too, selling all manner of things.
Othon called out to a passerby every few moments in an attempt to catch their attention. He ran a hand over his dark hair, then swiveled to analyze another potential customer. The mustache over his lips twitched just before he bellowed an advertisement. “Miss! Have a look! I have everything! From inexpensive to exotic!” The woman did not so much as glance his way, but undeterred, Othon hounded her with more offers she ultimately ignored.
Grevail made his way to a barrel against the wall of a butcher shop, just up the street from the mark. He sat, trying to make himself appear inconspicuous. On Othon’s left was a potter stall, occupied by a thin youth more interested in the apple he was gnawing on than in attracting anyone to his wares. Hawkers had an annoying tendency to keep an eye out for each other, and the potter might intervene, but Grevail would see to that. He got comfortable as he could and waited.
A short time later, he still sat on the barrel, while Othon’s continued attempts to lure prey resulted in little. He studied the items on the hawker’s table and pulled the knit wool hat over his ears. More townspeople filled the street now, not as much as he would like, but it would have to do. The smell of food wafted to him from the inn up the street and his stomach rumbled in response. He scanned the crowd. Where is she?
As if his thoughts had summoned her, Raela appeared in the throng. She wore a slim gray dress and a brown shawl draped across her shoulders, a combination that paired well with the other young ladies on Merchant Row. She was nothing more than an innocent woman out for morning shopping. Raela twirled a strand of the fiery red hair falling over her ears and down to her shoulders on a finger. She paused to peruse a baker’s stall laden with pastries, then, continued toward Othon.
“Young lady!” Othon shouted when she wandered by, eyeing his stand. “Young lady please take a look! You are already so beautiful, but imagine yourself with this on your arm!” Othon thrust an ornate silver bracelet toward her. “I have a special price, just for you,” he said with a wink.
Raela, ever the actress, stopped and feigned embarrassment before stepping over to him. Grevail’s lips curled in a smile at her back. She always wanted the acting roles in their plans, to be a character like in the books she read. As long as she didn’t have to hurt anyone, she would say.
Othon proffered the bracelet, running her over with dark, predatory eyes. “Please miss, try it on! I can tell already…it suits you.” He watched Raela take the bracelet and slip it on her wrist, rubbing his mustache in a poor attempt to hide a wolfish grin. “See! A noble beauty if I ever saw one! With that bracelet, even Amphid himself would stop to ask your name.”
Grevail grimaced. The man was laying it on thick, though that was the way of those on Merchant’s row. The sound of boisterous hawker’s calls were always in the air here, as natural an ambiance as crickets in the marsh. Raela said something with a shake of her head and Othon’s eyes widened. She shoved the bracelet back into his hand and returned to browsing the inventory while he watched her every move like a hawk.
Raela pointed and Othon picked up something too small for Grevail to see. The man motioned for her hand and wiggled what must be a ring onto it—all while keeping a wary eye on her.
“There you are!” Adellus’ shout broke over the street. He barreled through the crowd, pushing several people out of his way and stopped beside Raela. “Do you think you’d get away with this!” he growled, grabbing her by the wrist.
Those passing in the street stopped to stare. A fighting couple usually did the trick—Grevail couldn’t ever remember it not. Othon’s jaw fell from his bushy mustache in confusion.
Raela leveled a glare at Adellus. “I don’t know what you are talking about! I said we needed time apart and I meant it!”
“You know what I mean, Mirian! You’ve been seeing him again, haven’t you! How else could you afford this? Did he take from daddy’s coffers to buy his little lover a ring?” Adellus spat.
Raela’s lips parted and her green eyes sparkled with fury. “How dare you! Maybe I should be seeing him!” She hitched her dress with a free hand, as if about to deliver a kick. “At least he can afford it!”
A collective gasp emanated from the crowd.
Raela struggled to liberate her arm while Adellus shouted at her to stop.
Othon’s eyes were fixated on the ring, still on Raela’s finger. He reached toward it before shrinking away at a wordless shout from Adellus, who still wrestled with Raela. “Sir, please don’t manhandle the lady,” Othon suggested.
“I’m her husband!” Adellus exclaimed and Othon ducked back as if a punch had been thrown at him. With an exasperated groan, Adellus turned to Raela and put a finger under her nose. “You are coming home with me right now!” He grabbed her arm and marched into the growing crowd, pulling her behind him.
Raela slapped at the back of Adellus’ head, sending his curly mass of brown hair flying. “You can’t take me anywhere, Diphian!”
“I’m your husband!” Adellus said, hunching his shoulders against her strikes, then released her arm and spun to look down his nose at her. “Have it that way then!” he barked, flinging his hands in the air. “If you don’t want me, go back to him! I’ll be the first one to tell your father what you’ve done!” Adellus turned on his heel and stormed into the crowd. The townspeople watching put their heads together, whispering and laughing.
Adellus disappeared from view and Raela stood fuming for a moment, clenching her fists at her sides, then followed in his wake. “You can’t walk away from me like that! Diphian!” she screeched at his back.
Othon jumped from behind his stall and skittered after them, trying to get a word in edge-wise. “Sir! Miss! My ring! You’ve still got my ring!”
Tessyn slipped out of the shadowed alleyway across the street and approached Othon’s stall. Grevail rose and made his way to the potter. The wiry young man’s eyes followed Raela.
A varied selection of pottery sat on his table, though it wasn’t anything special. “How much for that there?” Grevail said and pointed to a clay jar with colorful flowers painted on it. Raela’s shouts drifted to him over the heads of the throng around her.
The young man diverted his attention from Adellus and Raela to shoot an annoyed glare at Grevail. “Oh..that…I’ll give it to you for one silver.”
Grevail scoffed. “An oni? For that?”
The young man shrugged bony shoulders as if unsure what to say. “Eight stro?” he said, turning toward Othon’s stand and the disturbance Raela and Adellus were creating.
Grevail patted him on the arm and redirected his attention to a set of stoneware drink cups. “How about those then? I’ll take those off you for a few stro.” On the edge of Grevail’s vision, Tessyn crouched behind Othon’s stall, reaching up to pocket the jewelry on it.
The hawker shrugged Grevail’s hand from his shoulder and looked at the cups, scratching at his nose with a dirty finger. “Five stro?”
Grevail pursed his lips, as if mulling it over. Tessyn, cloaked and stooped, scurried from Othon’s table toward the alleyway just as the hawker emerged from the crowd, clutching the ring to his chest. Grevail released a long breath when she disappeared and no alarm was raised. The young potter furrowed his brow, questions forming on his lips, but Grevail hurried to speak first. “I’m…ah…sorry, I seem to have forgotten my coin,” he muttered, patting at his belt. “I’ll be back later.”
The young man rolled his eyes and swept his gaze back to the ball of onlookers around Raela and Adellus.
Grevail turned and walked away. How long will it take for him to notice th— A frantic wail ripped into the light morning air.
“Who did it! You! Empty your pockets! The watch! Where is the watch!”
Grevail hurried on until Othon’s desperate cries faded into the murmur of the city. He took the wool cap from his head and stuffed it into his trouser pocket. While walking toward the river, he enjoyed the crisp morning and dreamed of what they could buy with so many opals. If Badhalf’s luck were on their side, they’d have enough to repair the shack before the spring rains came.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Leaving Merchant Row behind, he came to the river and the docks lining them. Vessels crowded the riverfront and laborers hauled goods from them to be sold at the many shops and stalls along Merchant Row. The Kanarkand remained still this time of year, but spring was underway, and it would soon become swollen with runoff from the Eudan hills. He turned north, toward the thick stone walls separating the rest of the city from the docks. A pair of watchman at the gates cast uncaring expressions over the crowd as he passed beneath.
He entered The Scales, so named for the merchant’s scale statues that could be found near every gate. He passed the one near this gate now, the bronze metal dirtied with a green patina. The top of the statue had been worn smooth over time, as the merchant’s here claimed that giving the thing a rub on the way to their shops would bring good fortune. The buildings of The Scales were homely dwellings made from wood or brick, disrupted only by the garish extravagance of a particularly successful merchant who’d made their fortune on Merchant Row and for whatever reason had not moved to where the rich lived in Hightown. A small blond woman with a dark complexion worked a loom in front of one home, winding threads that would undoubtedly become a shirt or pair of trousers in a shop window. An old man in a broad brimmed hat put the finishing touches on a chair, though he had plenty more waiting.
Grevail had no experience of an honest living, but walking these parts of The Scales, he wondered what it must be like. I steal from them by night and envy them in the day. He wouldn’t spend any time regretting what they did to Othon. In Lowtown, you stole to eat, and if you didn’t steal, you didn’t eat. He rubbed at the merit in his ear. If he took the opal out now, the hole would still forever mark him in the capital. There was no work for those from Lowtown, nor homes to own, or wares to sell.
A pair of men ahead drew his eye, relieving him of his thoughts. A tall watchman nudged his shorter companion in the ribs, nodding toward Grevail. They started in his direction.
Grevail slowed but did not stop, giving himself some time to think. He could outrun them—an alleyway just ahead might provide the escape route. He prepared himself to dash out of sight, but as the grim watchmen marched forward, thought better of it. They may not be after him, though their faces left little doubt in his mind. If they knew him, they knew Tessyn too, and they might be looking for her. If he ran now, it might make things worse. With a sigh, he kept walking. There were no jewels in his pockets.
The watchmen separated as they neared and flanked him on either side. They wore white tunics over white trousers and both tucked cudgels in their belts.
The taller man raised a hand and came to a stop. “Grevail…” he said with a scowl, as if the name put a bad taste in his mouth. He had blond hair and deep-set blue eyes that stared at Grevail as he would at a gnat in need of swatting.
Despite himself, and like a fool, Grevail couldn’t resist the urge to antagonize the man. He swept back his patched cloak for a mocking bow. “I am at your command.”
The tall watchman’s short companion sneered and searched Grevail with contemptuous black eyes. “Do you think you’re funny, mudrat?”
The man’s voice triggered Grevail’s memory. “Aundan? Is that you? I didn’t think you’d show your face around here after what happened with Codus’ wife. She set you straight. Not that anybody blamed her, the way you were groping the poor woman like a drunken fool.”
Aundan’s face went bright pink, but soon deepened to a furious crimson.
The tall watchman raised a brow at Aundan, but only shook his head and returned his gaze to Grevail. “What do you know about the murder of Orson?”
Grevail spread his hands with an incredulous scoff. “Me? I don’t know anything.” He’d heard the Epikhos’ nephew had been killed, everyone had, and the rumor was someone with a merit was involved. True or not, however, Grevail hadn’t a clue.
“Don’t lie,” Aundan said in a cold, patronizing voice. “One mudrat always knows what the other is up to.”
“I swear, I don’t know anything,” Grevail said. It was true, too. He didn’t know anything, and he didn’t want to know anything about something like that. Whoever had a hand in it would be left hanging when the Khossoroi caught up to them.
The taller watchman leveled a disbelieving look at Grevail. “It would make it a lot easier for yourself if you did.”
Grevail winced and shifted his feet, as if he could already feel the impact of those cudgels thwacking him about the head.
The tall man went on. “Well, it’s a shame, because we do know you’ve been stealing from Stappey. If you can tell us anything about what happened to Orson, we’ll go easier on you.”
Ashes! He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He and his friends had made a nice profit off Stappey and those herb remedies. Grevail didn’t know why people swore by them, when he drank one he never felt any better, but they sold fast. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“We know, Grevail,” Aundan said, crossing muscled arms over his watch tunic. “Stappey’s concoctions have made him a rich man, wealthy enough to get the Khossoroi involved.”
The Khossoroi, the Epikhos’ personal guardsmen, wouldn’t get involved in something like that unless Amphid gave the order. He’s got to be lying, Grevail thought, shrugging off a momentary panic. He offered Aundan a smile that made the man’s jaw clench. You wouldn’t bother with talk before laying into me with those cudgels if you had proof. “How do you know?”
Aundan returned Grevail’s smile, but it was the tall man who spoke. “We’ve had our eye on you and your little gang. The Watchmaster has a message for you,” he said, resting a hand atop the club in his belt as if he wanted to draw it
Grevail furrowed his brow. “A message for me? Surely, Herun has bigger things on his mind.”
The tall watchman stepped close. “You haven’t heard then?” he asked, bemused.
Grevail scoured his memory but didn’t remember hearing anything about Herun. His eyes dropped from the man’s smiling face.
The tall man’s chest heaved from a chuckle at Grevail’s silence. “Aeson is the Watchmaster now. Herun died two days ago.”
A lump formed in Grevail’s throat. “What message does Aeson have?”
Aundan sauntered forward to stand beside the tall man and poked a finger hard into Grevail’s chest. “He wants you to know that your time in Lowtown is up. We will clean up the rat’s nest once and for all. Amphid himself will give the order. You fools went way too far with Orson. Now it’s time for a little revenge after we’ve suffered with you for so long.” He turned and nodded at the tall man. “Ethein here will be Aeson’s second in command.” Aundan’s smile turned sinister.
Grevail glared at him, struggling to keep his arms at his side.
Ethein spit on the ground. “Won’t be long, ashen mudrat.” The watchman stepped into Grevail with his shoulder and sent him stumbling. Aundan laughed again and clapped Ethein on the shoulder as they moved away. Grevail straightened and stared after them. A woman watching the altercation from the stoop of her home waved at the watchmen as they passed, then turned a glower on Grevail.
Grevail unclenched his fists, a long breath escaping his lips. Aeson! The ash bury him! He’ll burn Lowtown to the ground! Wasting no more time, he scurried down the road.
The wall separating Lowtown from The Scales came into view, and when Grevail passed under one of the many arches in it, a stench filled his nostrils. Merits occupied most ears, and dark tattoos were inked onto the exposed flesh of most people he passed. The tangle of dirt paths that went for roads spun and curved in all directions, dotted by puddles that had an equal chance to be from chamber pots or rain...and it hadn’t rained in days. He passed dwellings of every shape and color one could imagine, cobbled together from anything at hand. Here, a home where one shaky half was built from discarded bricks, the other of smooth clay. There, a house made from scavenged doors. It looked ready to fall over, but so did most things here.
Noise filled the air and conversations drifted to him through thin walls. People called out to each other from street to street and house to house. The folk here always said, ‘secrets are only as safe as your walls are thick’. A group of children ran by him through the muck, chasing each other under the watch of a nearby mother cradling an infant in her arms. The woman smiled at them, then raised wary eyes to watch Grevail pass.
Just beyond the mother, a beggar stretched a hand toward Grevail from where he sat in the mud. Ragged clothes hung in tatters about his body and he was covered from head to toe in a thick layer of dirt. A ratty beard clung to his gaunt face. “Anything, sir? Can you give anything? The spades forced me out of the swamp,” he mumbled with downcast eyes. “Just enough to beseech Varien.”
A young woman passing Grevail in the street scoffed at the beggar. “You won’t find Varien’s compassion here, vagabond! Get back to The Scales if you seek that from your begging!”
Grevail forced himself to look away and kept walking. If he had a coin to spare, he might, even if he thought the Paragons were little more than well wishing, but he wasn’t far from begging himself. He quickened his pace. Tessyn should be home by now.
There were few businesses in Lowtown, but he passed one now. Maedra’s tavern. It towered over the small huts stacked precariously against its walls. A two story building was a rare sight in Lowtown. It stood on the corner there for as long as he could remember. More than a few nights he spent inside, drinking more than he should.
Old Maedra himself shuffled toward the large green door of his business. Rumor had it that he was nearly eighty years old. Grevail doubted anyone could be that old, especially anyone from Lowtown. Maedra did have many interesting stories though, the kind of stories only someone very old might know. Stories about the civil war, others about the Long Dark. The old man placed a frail hand on the door and swung it open. Shouts and drunken singing spilled into the street before it closed and was muffled again.
Grevail moved on, eventually setting foot on the path to his shack. People milled about, cutting in and out of view on the swirling, meandering trails between ramshackle buildings. The slanted tin roof of his home, peppered with holes, greeted him as he came near. The rotted and cracking walls were patched over with scavenged boards last winter. Grevail shook his head with a weary sigh. The spring rains would be tough this year. It was modest, even by Lowtown standards, but it was home. Grevail stopped at the door and knocked. “It’s me!”
The door swung open to reveal Tessyn, studying him with sharp brown eyes smoldering with frustration.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She waved him in and he followed, closing the door behind him. Inside, a pair of bunks sat against each wall and between them, a stone fire-pit was set into dusty floor planks. They always used the best wood they could find for the floor. A crooked wall was one thing—an uneven floor quite another.
Tessyn plopped down on Raela’s bunk beneath her own, motioning at a bag beside her. “It’s fake, well most of it anyway,” she said as if she had to force the words out. “I took it to Jothon first thing.”
“Already?”
Tessyn frowned at the bag. “Didn’t take him long to go through it…and when he realized most of it was worthless he nearly tossed me out on my head.”
“Fake?” Grevail sank onto his own bunk, pulled down by the hard feeling in the pit of his stomach. “No opals?”
“They’re not opals, Grevail. I don’t know what they are, some imitation…and a pretty good one too. If we could find out how to make something that convincing, we’d have a fortune. There are a few Jothon said are real, if low quality, but most of the metal is plated.” Tessyn turned the bag over and poured the jewelry out in a metallic clatter on the bed. She picked up a bracelet, much like the one Grevail saw Othon offer Raela. “We won’t get much for it, if anything.”
Grevail put a hand to his head. “That isn’t all we have to worry about—” a knock at the door stopped him.
“It’s me!” came Raela’s soft voice.
Grevail stood and unlatched the door, swinging it open. Raela offered him a bright smile.
At her shoulder, Adellus issued a grin of his own. The curly brown hair tucked behind his ears revealed his blue opal, a badge of honor here in Lowtown. He shouldered his way inside. “So? I heard Tessyn in here. What did we get?” He took in the jewelry on the bed and his smile deepened. “A good haul!”
Closing the door, Raela came to sit beside Tessyn. “All that? Quick hands!”
Tessyn stared at the baubles in silence, while Grevail made himself busy scrubbing at some dirt with a shoe.
Adellus cast a few glances between them, furrowing his brow. “What is it?”
“It’s fake,” Tessyn said as if she wanted to say anything else. “Fake, fake, fake.”
Adellus heaved a defeated sigh and leaned against the upright of the bunk, rubbing his chin. “Not good news.”
Raela twisted her lips. “I told all of you Othon was no good.”
“What should we have done instead?” Grevail wanted to argue with her, but only because he knew she was right. She’ll be reminding me of this for years to come.
Raela frowned at his tone.
Adellus sucked at his lip. “What now? The rain is almost here…I can feel it in the air. We don’t have any food for tonight...”
Grevail took a deep breath at the desperation tinging Adellus’ voice. “I can see if Drophee will give me another loan.”
Raela shook her head. “She wouldn’t think twice…or even once, after what happened last time.”
A silence stretched until Tessyn broke in. “I could ask Xylen…”
“Xylen?” Adellus asked.
“Are you crazy?” Raela’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline.
Tessyn shrugged, ducking from the stares she received. “I know he would do it for me…”
“No Tessyn. He won’t leave it that, I know he won’t,” Grevail muttered. Once Xylen and his gang got their claws in someone, they wouldn’t ever let them go. Tessyn would be pulled into his schemes forever.
Tessyn seemed prepared to argue, but fell silent, lips settling into an angry line.
Adellus swept his hair back with a grunt. “We can get more out of Stappey. It won’t last long, but it will have to do until we can get another reliable mark.”
“About that…” Grevail began but paused, thinking of how best to deliver the news. He didn’t want to tell them, especially not after this failed heist, but they had to know. “We have more to worry about than Xylen or Othon…or even finding food tonight,” he said.
“Like what?” Adellus asked, wrinkling his nose. “What else could be more important than not starving?”
Grevail scooted to the edge of the bunk, lowering his voice. “Herun is dead.”
A sympathetic squeak escaped Raela. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
Tessyn raised an eyebrow at her. “Terrible? Herun?”
A dark look swept across Raela’s face at Tessyn’s indifference. “He wasn’t a bad man. He gave to the orphanage every year,” she raised an admonishing finger in the air, “from his own salary.”
“He would have bopped you on your pretty little head if he had the chance, I’m sure of that.” Tessyn turned sharp brown eyes on Grevail. “What does that matter to us?”
Adellus crossed the room and jumped into his bunk above Grevail, resulting in a familiar creak of the frame. “Herun wasn’t all that bad, but whoever replaced him can’t be any worse.”
Grevail shook his head. “Would you like to bet on that?”
Tessyn fastened him with a level look. “Well…spit it out, what is it?”
“Aeson is the Watchmaster now.”
A long silence stretched as his friends exchanged glances.
“Bury my spirit,” Raela grumbled.
“Aeson,” Tessyn said in disbelief. “He’d throw his own mother in a cell for looking at him funny!”
“That isn’t even the worst of it still.” Grevail recounted what the watch said.
“Ethein? I’ve never heard of him,” Adellus said.
“Could they be lying?” Raela asked. “Why would Amphid do this now? Lowtown has been here…well…since forever. I heard about Orson but that’s just a rumor.”
Grevail took a deep breath. “I don’t think we can afford to brush off a threat like that.”
Adellus barked a dry chuckle. “If that isn’t our luck. Nobody even knows if someone from Lowtown did it. I haven’t heard anything about who did it.”
Raela rolled her eyes. “It isn’t a crime someone would be bragging about over a mug at Maedra’s, Dell, unless they’ve got a head full of ash.”
“All I’ve heard is that whoever did it had a merit in their ear,” Grevail said. “Wouldn’t surprise me if Xylen was involved.” Xylen’s gang was up to more than just robbery lately. Grevail was always listening, but nobody from Lowtown had uttered a peep about Orson’s murder. Raela was right. Even if someone from Lowtown knew more, they’d have a head full of ash to talk about it now.
“That’s all most people need,” Tessyn said. “An excuse. Maybe that’s all Amphid needs now too.” She slapped the mattress with a growl, catapulting jewelry into the air. “The weight of it! What next? Will the Thava invade Lowtown too? Jail us in the Refuge for being Cythraul?”
Adellus grunted. “They’d like to, maybe Amphid gave them his blessing too. A lot of Breakers in Lowtown and the Thava don’t view the rest of us any better. We are all too much like Dawnbreakers for them.”
Tessyn muttered at his words. Raela patted her shoulder but it seemed to give Tessyn little comfort. She looked around the room as if a solution was hiding in it. “What should we do then? What can we do?”
Grevail wanted to have an answer for her. They always seemed to end up back where they started. Lowtown had a way of pulling you down into the mud and never letting you back up. “I can take whatever is worth selling to Gaston, if anybody might give a few more than it’s worth, he will.” His suggestion was met with silence. Grevail laid down on his bunk. “We’ll figure it out, we always do.” They usually did, but this time, he wasn’t so sure.