Chapter Seventy-Six

Iron Shadows

Sarah and Michael left James’ apartment building to find the grotty streets of Dim-Side even grimmer when they were bathed in shadow. They darted back down the alleyway they came and began zig-zagging through shadowy lanes, stepping quietly passed beggars and feral cats and dogs as the condemned buildings leant over them.

Sarah kept her sword angled down the length of her leg as she scanned the next street for guards. She could prove she was allowed to carry it by law if she needed to but didn’t want to be forced into that position. She glanced at Michael and saw him adjust a black-handled blade, tucked neatly into his waistband.

“Didn’t Carter ask for those back?”

Michael watched as a handful of merchants towed their carts passed the alleyway. He glanced further down the street to see two drunken guards pestering an old street performer for the change he’d made. “He’d want me to have it right now. Come on, quick.”

They darted across the open street into the next alley and Michael noticed a familiar sewer grate, slightly ajar on the floor. He cursed internally, remembering another reason why he went to James’ house so infrequently, which was the Copper Street alley, otherwise known as Marshall’s Alley.

A shadow shifted out from the dark in front of them and Michael swore, glancing over his shoulder to see another person step out from the shade.

Sarah grabbed her sword.

Michael murmured, “Don’t. If you flash that length of gold out here, they’ll run and get twenty friends before we can get out of this alley.”

Sarah swore under her breath and tightened her knuckle. The problem with hand-to-hand was that it only really ended tidily if everyone was on a level-playing field. And by the length of jagged metal in the hands of the man behind her, she assumed he wasn’t a martial arts expert.

Michael cleared his throat and said, “Marshall. It’s Mikey Williams. Come on, man, let us through, you know I don’t have squat.”

The shadowy figure stepped forward into some dirty light, revealing him to be no more than bones wrapped in skin with more fingers than teeth. In his hand was a chipped meat-cleaver. “Sure ‘bout that, Willy? She’s got some nice boots...” Marshall stalked forward, his cleaver out in front of his wrinkled, dirty face. “Come on, lovely, let’s see.”

Michael sighed and turned to Sarah. “Why don’t you show him up close?”

“Sure.” Sarah stepped forward, closing the distance between them to one pace, and then drove her boot heel into the man’s face. The kick snapped him to the cobblestones, screaming and clutching his now toothless mouth. As he screeched behind his scrambling hands, she asked, “Get a good look?”

Michael turned to find the other mugger barrelling toward him, only for Sarah to step up and push her friend aside.

She ducked sharply beneath his swipe with the jagged length of metal, and launched up, striking through the mugger’s jaw, rattling his skull like a loose jar of coins. Before the man’s eyes had the chance to refocus, she cracked him in the nose with her elbow and sent the mugger to the cobblestones in a groaning heap.

As the men writhed in pain on the alley-floor, Michael and Sarah ran to the next street and Michael said, “You’re bad at sharing, you know?”

Before long, they came to a side-street just before the main road and Michael moved carefully around a homeless woman when her hand shot out and grabbed his leg.

Michael nearly leapt into the air as she cried, “Sir! Please help me! I was beaten and robbed!”

Sarah looked wide-eyed back and forth from Michael to the woman covered in thickly applied make-up, running with her tears.

She leant down to help her up but Michael let out a deep sigh and scolded, “Dourine, you just scared the crap outta me! Would you stop trying to scam the people you know!”

To Sarah’s shock, the woman immediately stopped crying and looked up, frowning at him.

When Dourine caught his cocky smile, her face broke out in a gap-toothed grin. She pushed herself up and laughed, surprisingly spry for an older woman as she wrapped Michael in a hug. “Little Mikey, how’re ya dear? I haven’ seen ya in God-damned ages. Thought yeh found a nicer nest somewhere, maybe?”

Michael explained to Sarah that Dourine was a con-woman, one of the best in Dim-Side but she never stole from friends or kind family members. Hers was an old scam but she did it well.

The age-old ploy was to act as if you’d just escaped a beating from some mugger, and when the brave soul offers to help you with cash or muscle, you take the money or keep them talking until she pulled a knife on you, or her husband Frank crept up from behind. Beyond their professions, Frank and Dourine were lovely people.

Michael waved his hand dismissively, unaware how eager he’d been to see a familiar face. “I couldn’t move away from this gem of a town! I’ve been out on business for a wee while, though. Is your old boy around here somewhere?”

Dourine touched his arm fondly and wave lazily to the open sewer grate ahead. “He’s in ‘ere waitin’ for the signal. Bastard’s prob’bly fallen asleep. But now, who’s this little filly? She’s too pretty for you, Mikey,” she said, smiling toothily at his postured friend.

Michael nudged Sarah, her face red with blush, and he laughed. “Too true. Dourine, this is Sarah, she’s Carter’s sister and good friend. We’re on our way to Bright-Side to get her other half.”

Dourine made a lightly disappointed face before she winked at him. “Ah, you’ll find one eventually, lovey. Well, I won’t keep yeh. Be bloody careful over there, we all know wha’ happen’d last time. Get on ya way now and tell your old bird that I say ‘ello, will ya?”

The mention of his mother turned his grin into just a small smile. He hugged the lady and said, “Sure will, see you, Dourine. Gorgeous dress, by the way.”

As the con-woman gave him a wicked smile, Michael took Sarah’s hand and they darted across the main road between Dim-Side and Mid-Side, stepping quietly into the much nicer alleyways of the moderately wealthy.

After several long, tidy lanes, lit only by whale-oil lamps, Michael and Sarah rounded into the baker’s nook, and Michael felt his heart begin to rush. They crept up to the low window at the end of the alley and glanced inside.

It looked like the man had been robbed. Flour was everywhere, pots and pans were strewn across the floor, and even a carton’s worth of eggs had seemingly been whipped through the air at some point. It was all swept half-heartedly across the room and abandoned by the looks of the mop which was left coldly on the ground in amongst the mess.

Michael wondered what kind of idiocy could have led to that, and gently hopped through the window, stepping quickly behind the tall brick oven. He glanced around the corner to see the door to the bakery-front was closed. Michael turned and waved Sarah through the window.

“Watch out for the floor.”

Sarah wrinkled her face at the mess and looked to Michael. “Is there no one here?”

“Mister Couren must’ve given up and gone to bed- what are you doing?”

Sarah had her shirt pulled over her head as she muffled, “I’m not stripping in the street, Michael.”

He turned and looked pointedly at the wall. “You know the only times I’ve ever been caught doin’ something like this was when I hung around. Supposed to be in an’ out, quick and quiet.”

“Just close the blinds. Also, how many houses have you broken into?” she asked, smiling, pulling the wedding dress out of the rucksack. “If you counted them on your fingers, would you have enough?”

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Michael smiled as he quietly drew the blinds across both windows and muttered, “Toes count as fingers right?”

Sarah chuckled and realised he was staring at a wall and playing with the string of one of the blinds, actively not looking. “Oh, for the Gods’ sake Michael.”

Michael threw his hands up, still resolutely looking at the wall. “What about me makes you think I’m just goin’ to stand around staring at you while you change?”

Sarah rolled her eyes and whispered urgently, “Nothing, but I can’t put this thing on by myself, it’s a Riinin wedding dress, not a pair of shorts. Can you please help me?”

Michael turned to find her standing in a white brassiere covering her chest and the bottom half of a dress bundled at her hips. Michael moved to help her but couldn’t seem to make his hands actually touch her or the dress.

“Never had someone in their underwear before?” she asked, smirking at his small moment of bashfulness until it turned a shade more sincere. “What is it?”

Michael cleared his throat and finally pulled the dress up, helping her pull her arms through the sleeveless top. He began lacing up the braids on the back of her dress. “I’ve seen a couple. Admittedly, no one with abs like yours, but still.”

Sarah listened to the soft tone of his voice and frowned. “Not really your thing? Don’t have to say, if you’d rather not…”

Michael tinkered with the words in his head and decided, “Let me put it this way. If someone said ‘would you like to have one loaf of garlic bread or the kind of sex they talk about in books’ guess what I’d pick.”

Sarah nodded appreciatively. “I’m assuming garlic bread.”

“Yes, because I can’t have sex and eat garlic bread at the same time but I can still read the damn book.”

Sarah snorted, her body jolting with laughter before he chided softly for moving.

Michael then tapped her and she looked over her shoulder at him, putting on a demure face. “Unless this is just your unsubtle way of getting me to think about it.”

Sarah titled her head, smiling dangerously. “Really?”

Michael folded and went red. “No, sorry, I’m just playing around-” Sarah broke out cackling and Michael hid behind her, turning practically crimson.

Sarah reached behind herself and squeezed his hand, still chuckling.

Michael picked up the dress cord in an attempt to recover and he cleared his throat. “So, is it your thing? If you don’t mind me asking?”

He fumbled with the straps, attempting to make it look as though a servant had done it and not a blind man and Sarah began combing her hair through. “Sure. But I definitely don’t need it. People act like once they’ve had it they can never go back. It’s sex, not water, at least for me.”

Michael chuckled and felt a little weight in his stomach lift. He didn’t tell many people. Especially in Dim-Side where people had more sex than common-sense. Even Carter, Michael was fairly certain, would embrace dehydration if it meant good sex.

“Question,” Michael stated.

Sarah smirked. “Shoot.”

“So, you’ve been at the fort for a few cycles… And assuming your first time wasn’t at the tender age of like twelve prior to the fort?” Michael said quickly.

“It was not.”

“So that leaves us somewhere at the fort… with someone at the fort,” Michael asked without asking.

Sarah chuckled silently, her stomach twitching. “Is this a who question or a where question?”

Michael went wide-eyed. “It was a who question but now it’s definitely a both-question- stop laughing this is hard!”

Sarah tried to contain it and took a steadying breath. “Terribly improper of you.”

“Correct, now spit it out,” Michael chuckled.

Sarah sighed in memory. “Okay. Well my first time was with a Legacy named Leighton. Left the fort a few cresks ago, actually.”

“That bad, was it?”

Sarah elbowed Michael in the stomach but he laughed anyway and she bit her tongue, admitting, “It was surprisingly good actually. Got better as we learned a few things. As for where, we locked my chamber while everyone was out, you freak.”

Michael threw the cording in disbelief. “You locked a dozen people out of their rooms to get laid?”

“You think I should’ve let them in?”

The two warriors fell into snorting laughter for a moment, and slowly it turned into a comfortable quiet. The wind lightly rustled the opened bags of ingredients. The light of the streetlamps painted stripes through the blinds.

As Michael moved up the delicate, twisting cords on her dress, Sarah lifted her hair up out of the way and asked, “What did Dourine mean back there, when she mentioned you going to Bright-Side. James said something similar. Must’ve been tough if it nearly stopped you coming with me. You’re maybe the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Michael’s fingers stopped braiding for a moment. He looked at the back of her head and thought for a long moment. “It’s easy to be brave with you all alongside me.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” Sarah’s bright blue eyes were soft, looking ahead. Sarah had never really thought about it, but Michael smelled like grass and a warm autumn’s day. It was an easy thing to notice in a room as quiet as it became.

Michael began braining again, and his fingers became nimbler with each lace cord, twisting, braiding, and tying as he said quietly, “There’s an old saying in Istol- “There’s no place for shade on the Bright-Side.”

Sarah’s hair stubbornly wouldn’t stay in place, so she swiped a small length of string off the counter next to her, carefully not to disrupt Michael’s braiding. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

“I don’t mind talking about it... I just don’t want to repeat it,” he said, lightly, giving a small chuckle but it was weighted in sadness.

He told her what happened all those cycles ago and she listened closely. His hands weren’t made for such slight things and he was glad to be able to talk whilst doing it. The rhythm of his words moved his fingers easier and by the time he was done with the story, he finished tying up the dress.

Sarah turned around timidly and Michael saw a tear flicker from her lashes. He bent his head and smiled sadly. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Sarah pulled Michael into a warm, long hug and they there in the slices of lamplight. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Michael eventually pulled away, holding her by her hands. He reached over and brushed away her tears. “Me too. But then again. All of my miserable yesterdays brought me to this wonderful today.”

Sarah rested her forehead on his and let the words mull in her mind.

With no space between them, Michael whispered, “I try not second-guess the past.”

“Good. I’d be terribly wounded to lose you from the here and now.” She held his face fondly.

“Enough of that,” Michael said gently.

“Right. Yes. How do I look?”

Michael took a step back and looked at her, feeling his heart hit his stomach. The dress was delicate and regal, its entire bodice was made up of lace floral patterning with just enough white material beneath to be modest but alluring, and otherwise it was sheer. It was sleeveless up top and cinched at the waist and then again at the knees, blooming like a mermaid’s tail, but not so much she couldn’t move. The light that peeked through the blinds struck the sheer white of the fabric and her tan muscled legs and core shimmered through like some kind of enchantment.

Sarah finally twisted her hair into a neat bun high on her head. She glanced at him and chuckled, “So, now you’ll stare, huh?” She took her sword back and strapped it fast to her hip.

The sword was the final straw. Michael took her a steadying breath, learning some things about himself. “You’re- I- Look I-” He huffed and stopped, collecting himself and finally spoke softly, “You always look stunning- So, this comes as no surprise really.”

Sarah tried to frown at his sincerity and a shade of her own blush coloured her face. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Enough of that, silly boy.”

Michael glanced at his own appearance and laughed with pure shame. “I look awful compared to you.”

“And that’s without the dress, according to Dourine...” Sarah said, straight-faced, before melting into laughter.

Michael tongued his cheek and picked up a handful of flour as he muttered, “Keep it up, Lady Robinson.”

“You’re meant to look terrible, you’re a servant.” Sarah straightened her shoulders and her sarcastic grin vanished behind a posh, delicate smile, and high-born accent as she said, “Come-come, Mister Williams.”

She opened the blinds with a haughty tug, ripping them open loudly as she hiked up her dress and hopped out onto the street.

Michael sighed, knowing she couldn’t have been less subtle and thudding steps boomed loudly up to the door behind him.

The baker stormed into the room, still covered in flour and dried egg as he saw Michael, standing in his kitchen. “What the f-”

Michael pitched the handful of flour into the man’s eyes and threw himself out the window, landing messily on the cobbles as he heard the large man swear and curse, “Marie! I told you to bolt these goddamned windows!”

Michael caught up to Sarah as they darted out onto one of the main streets of Mid-Side and together they slowly made their way north toward the wealthy district.

As they crept along, Michael could hardly stop glancing at the young woman in her dress with her sword. Had he not known her, he could’ve mistaken her for some fae wanderer who’d gotten bored during the vows of her own wedding.

Sarah began to perform slightly more. Her strides became more confident. Her hand was lazily draped upon her sword. Her eyebrow slightly raised as though the humility of Mid-Side amused her.

Michael lagged slightly behind, whispering directions to her so it would seem like she was leading, keeping the distance a servant was expected to.

Before long, dozens of eyes from guards and night-going pedestrians flittered to them. Many glanced at Michael and grew tense before realising he was seemingly obeying the woman ahead.

They came to the High Road, separating Mid-Side from Bright-Side and stepped onto the cobbles, immediately followed by a sharp, hollow voice barking, “Halt!”

A shiver went up Michael’s spine when the voice rang out, distorted by the metal of his helmet. He turned to see three guards atop white horses canter towards them. One’s helmet was painted with dark, shadowy stripes, indicating his rank.

Sarah hid her concern with an innocent smile and casually stepped in front of Michael, curtseying to the Iron Suit. She noted his stripes and asked, “Watch-Commander, what can I do for you?”