Gods, I’m worried about Art. He’s not even remotely his old self right now, I almost don’t recognise the charming, easy-going young rogue I so quickly became fond of during our weeks on the road coming south from the Reaches. Who, for the most part at least, had remained upbeat enough to keep things from getting too grim once it all started to go wrong for us here in Untermer. Even after Gael was taken, I could still rely on him to be the bright centre of our group, even if there was a note of strain in him now that I could commiserate with, because that sweet young wizard’s my friend too, damn it.
That’s not the keen-edged, steel hard living blade that I found in the recovery room with Darwyn when I went to collect him. Somewhere between our return from the Late Bone and his going off to tell her what he just had to do, he went from being distractedly numb to … honestly, what I’m watching now is bloody scary. I remember last week, when Kesla was interrogating that poor dumb kid in this very same backroom behind the temple’s library, and the way she talked about torture scared the hell out of me, it was a side I couldn’t really imagine her being capable of. Even though I kind of believed it when she spoke about it, all the same. She’s so hard … but Art? I definitely never expected him to have such a dark side.
Even Darwyn seems a little taken aback by it now, watching her former lover, the father of her child, intimidate a tough, veteran pirate who’s physically much larger than him so effectively just with words and the mere sight of a small naked blade. Maybe she’s regretting tagging along with us now, even though she insisted even after he was so adamant that he’d prefer she sat this out, just finished recovering. I know she wanted to come so she could watch over him, it was clear enough she was as worried about him as I quickly became. The way she keeps shooting looks my way tells me we’re in the same boat right now.
The woman we brought back from the tavern along with the other two captives is sat in the very same chair the boy was last time we were here, I suspect it hasn’t moved since, left where it was in case it was needed again, I suspect. When we first arrived she was mostly just slouched in it, like she didn’t really give a shit, she was just annoyed with us all, and with the world for just being here. She was glaring daggers at the group as a whole, but Thel and Sonagh in particular, I noticed. It took us a few moments at the start to find out why.
Turns out the investigator knows her already, at least in passing. They’ve crossed paths a few times, and none of the encounters ever ended well. They never came to actual blows, at least, but the old orc definitely doesn’t like her, and the feeling is clearly mutual. He made it very clear we’re lucky we were able to take her quick like we did, without a real fight, because he says the fierce reputation she has is well deserved. Apparently she’s one of Jammund’s best fighters, definitely his most ruthless. She’s dropped a lot of bodies in the harbour with their throats cut over the years, he told us.
Salenda Murkan’s the name she was given, but everybody knows her as Nightwater Sal, or just Sal if they’re actual friends. Not sure I really want to know any of them. We’ve only been in the room with her for a span of minutes, and I already despise this woman.
In no small part because she was being particularly uncivil with Thel, and with some particularly nasty language, too. I get the impression she’s not a very tolerant person, she clearly hates some of the other races with a passion, and it seems dwarves are definitely not to her taste. Or maybe she just wanted a particular target to focus her ire on, and chose an easier target than the orc. Honestly, the thought amused me a little, because I’ve known Thel long enough now to know she definitely isn’t an easy target.
That being said, the words clearly still stung her some. Especially when she called her a “patch-bearded, pint-sized crotch-licker”. She said she didn’t have a problem with the insult on principle, since it’s not particularly inaccurate, it was just the way she said it. There was real venom in those words, actual biting hate.
I half expected Kesla to kick her in the face on the spot in a sign of pure solidarity to our diminutive friend. Instead she just gave her a particularly hard glare and set Art loose on her.
And so here we are. The first thing he did was collect the chair Kesla previously left to one side once we were done with the last interrogation and plant it barely six inches from Sal’s knees, but instead of sitting down on it he sprang right onto the seat itself and perched there. Staring across at her, wrists across his knees and paws dangling idly between, shoulders hunched so his eyes were on a level with hers. Narrowed but sharp as the rest of him is right now. Not a lick of humour in him anymore. Like killing his old friend just beat it right out of him …
For a whole minute the room was silent, neither of them said a word, she just slouched there watching him, her own eyes slowly narrowing in turn as she looked him over, slowly but surely discomfited by his unyielding regard. I don’t think he blinked more than twice the whole time, and didn’t move at all, and it was bloody unnerving. Which of course was the whole point.
Sal was the one to finally break the silence, but while her words were spat with more of that sullen venom I heard the slightest crack in it this time. “Fuck off, fleabag. I ain’t giving you shit. I already told you –”
Her words broke off when he reached across, almost casually, and slipped a knife out from the inside of his left boot. Quite a small one, I notice, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use one like it before, but in a way I’m glad, it just looks like absolute bad news, this one. The way the blade’s hooked like a particularly savage, razor-edged fang, while the handle’s curved back on itself before ending in a steel ring clearly fashioned especially to fit around the tip of any of his chubby paw-fingers … there’s no way this knife could be used for anything other than unpleasant slicing, gouging, debilitating wounds. And the way he immediately started to play with it so deftly just with one hand, without even looking at it while he was doing it … she started watching that blade moving immediately and hasn’t stopped since.
“So the tunnels, under the tavern.” he ventures now, keeping his tone light, conversational, but with none of the warmth I’ve grown so used to from him. “They lead anywhere in particular?”
Yet again, she hesitates before answering him, as she’s done with just about every question since he started this. Like she’s still thinking about starting to clam up even now, long after she’s wised up to the idea that he isn’t making an empty threat right now. But then she lets another bitter sigh go and growls her words in that same frustrated but deeply wary growl: “A whole bunch o’ places. The Cap’n got safehouses and stashes all over the lower city, ‘specially under the Drumhalt. But other places too. Anywhere we can move wares quick and easy to customers, or slip ‘em back under to the Bone, or to other places.”
“On the docks?” Kesla wonders. She’s been asking a fair share of the questions too once Art finally got her to start talking, after a due amount of threatening. But still letting him take the lead for the most part. “Or under, I guess.”
“The Hardway …” She grimaces, shooting her a glare now like she wants to spit another insult in keeping with the ones she was much freer with when we first came in. “Shit … there were others we closed down soon as that place got blown, an’ the Cap’n weren’t too happy ‘bout that. They ain’t cheap to run, keeping ‘em secret way we been doin’. Big boss man foots most o’ the bill there, but … snotty bastard still expects his markup back on what we move to make up for it. Means we’re burning money we can’t afford to right now.”
Kesla looks my way at that, and I have to nod back, knowing exactly what he means by that. Hontiresk, the man Jammund reports to. The man he owes money when this all goes to shit. Like right now.
Art’s just leaning forward again, like he’s been doing, on and off, since he started. Once again he stops playing the knife back and forth, this time giving it one last swing with the ring now around his index finger, finally tucking the blade underhand as he lets it hang between his knees again. Like he’s forgetting about it, almost. She hasn’t, though, her eyes still locked on it. “The Hardway … that was a real nasty little trick you an’ yours played on us there. Almost cost us, that. You can imagine, we’re still pretty sore ‘bout it. Ain’t you, boss?”
My eyes shoot back to Kesla, who pauses for a beat before answering, her jaw tightening just a little to show how uncomfortable she is with the way her friend’s acting right now. But she still stays close behind him, towering over the woman, arms folded over her chest in her intimidating way. “Little bit, aye. When I have to stretch.”
Sal’s eyes slip from the knife up to her for a moment, wary again as she catches the implication behind her words. I imagine to her eyes Kesla’s well hidden discomfort is actually due to her still not being entirely recovered from Tavarrat’s nasty little surprise on the First Point. She licks her lips, probably without even meaning to, and it gives away her nerves clear enough. “We didn’t … the Cap’n never said anything to any of us about that. Hardway went up, we didn’t know what the fuck that was, we thought the bloody Terrors were doing some crazy shit, like when they took the docks back in the Invasion. I dunno … chucking rocks at the navy again, or something? Didn’t make a lick o’ sense, it’s all their ships out there now, but –”
“Bullshit.” Art leans a little closer now, and he raises the his knife hand a little as he does it, curling it under his wrist as he just starts to reach out towards her, close enough now it makes her start to tense up more than she already has. “We saw the place, when we went in. Whole fucking warehouse, weren’t a scrap in the place. You had to have cleaned it out first, you might’ve had that traitor bitch spellcaster porting that stuff outta there or something, whatever, all the people, but … no, she won’t have been doing all the heavy lifting. Gael told me enough ‘bout how magic works, I know she couldn’t have done it all herself. So you lot did do that. So you knew that fucking trap was there.”
“We didn’t, I fucking swear we didn’t.” Sal’s cringing back as much as the chair will let her, her hands gripping the seat under her now while she’s starting to tip the whole thing back a little with her feet planted firm. Desperate to get away from him but scared to death of risking any retaliation by actually moving. She’s gone much more pale than she did when he first drew the knife. “I swear it, please, pick any fucking god you want and I’ll take an oath right here that I ain’f fucking lying about that …”
Art just stays as he is for a long beat, watching her close, eyes narrowed to cold green slits as he starts to fiddle with his knife again, a good deal less idly this time. She looks right back at him, but her own eyes are wide now, I suspect she’s maintaining contact purely because she’s terrified to look away in case it looks like she’s lying after all …
“Reckon she’s being truthful ‘bout that, Art.” Kesla strikes up at last, shifting her footing a little closer to him now. Keeping her voice level, but a little more insistent now all the same. He doesn’t seem to respond, but I see a little flicker from his ears to suggest he’s caught her words after all. Just considering, then.
Finally Darwyn steps closer too, stealing round Kesla’s hip while keeping her feet light, her movements as impressively quiet as they’ve always been, even now. Even though she’s still a long way from properly healed she’s still so uncannily graceful. She’s frowning deep now, but seems more cautious than anything else when I look down at her, a cool wariness as she looks the woman over.
All things considered, she’s actually looking pretty good. I’ve not seen her dressed down so completely before, in fact I have no idea where the clothes even came from, I’ve only known her in black Guild leather so I’ll admit I half expected that to be all she wears. But these new clothes she’s dressed in, a simple pair of grey wool britches and a soft linen shirt with a loose, open collar and rolled up sleeves, suit her so surprisingly well that they must be her own. I have no idea where anyone found the time to actually collect any of her things but I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense since she’s been here since we started this.
More so, though, the fact she’s up and about again is heartening enough to see, but she’s still been subdued, which wasn’t unexpected. She’s still paler than usual, with dark smudges around her eyes that show she’s still not fully recovered yet. But she doesn’t seem to be in pain now, mostly it’s just her mood that’s effected now. And I know full well why.
She clears her throat before she speaks, but it’s a subtle little thing so it doesn’t grab a whole lot of attention when she makes it. Not until she actually starts to speak. “Who’d you get the weapons from?”
Sal’s eyes shoot to her now, and a frown of deeper confusion spreads across her face now as she just watches her for a long beat. “What weapons … I dunno what you mean, it’s all our gear we been using –”
“The Guild equipment. The weapons, the armour, the picks. How the fuck did you get hold of that shit?”
Oh hell … I’d entirely forgotten about that. That was such a major sticking point last week, after we first rescued Thel and her friends and discovered that Vik’s people were using equipment that was only available to members of the Thieves Guild, like Art and Darwyn and Zuldrad … and then we kind of overlooked it once other more pressing revelations started to crowd us. But Darwyn’s raised an important point that I realise now we’ve been foolish to forget … I look at Kesla now and she’s caught it too, cocking her brow quizzically as she acknowledges what I just picked up on.
Art shifts on the chair now, not withdrawing, I notice, instead just moving his empty hand so it grips the seat under him, and now he leans forward instead, turning the knife over in his hand so it’s primed low. Watching her close now.
She doesn’t answer. She’s looking from Darwyn to Art and back again, very cautious now as her face becomes much more closed off. Being really careful about what she says now, looks like. She’s thinking hard. “No, I don’t … I really don’t know what that is … we don’t have –”
“Now you’re lying.” Kesla says, matter-of-fact now, unfolding her arms at last while she lays her left hand on the hilt of her impressive sword in that gesture I’m coming to know so well. “Not smart.”
Her eyes flickering up to Kesla for just a moment, Sal’s frown deepens as she bares her teeth, some of that old grit returning now. I think up until now she’s been giving us answers she feels she can get away with giving up because they won’t do any direct harm to Jammund’s operation, but now Darwyn’s caught her with something serious. Something she can’t just give an answer up on without real compromise. She might just clam up now. Sonagh said she’s a hard bitch, a genuinely nasty piece of work. She’s scared of Art right now, but that’s perfectly healthy – likely she saw what he’s capable of before, and I know what that is.
“Come on.” He purrs at her now, but it’s not a pleasant sound, closer to a growl, really. “Don’t make it harder on yourself now.”
Looking back, her eyes return to the knife and linger. She keeps her teeth bared as her face tightens, and finally hisses under her breath: “Shit … the big boss set that shit up. Sent the first shipment over to us day after we started setting up for this. Cap’n said Vandryss asked for it herself, wanted Vik’s boys to have the best stuff they could, make sure the operation ran smooth like. Gran supervised that part, cuz he knew the people. From before.”
Now Art finally settles back, palming the knife as he looks up at Kesla, then down at Darwyn. “It did come from the Guild.”
“Fuck.” the halfling breathes, reaching up now to shove her hands more forcefully back through her hair. “But Cobb … how the hell did they … he don’t know. He couldn’t have missed it, how the fuck did they –"
“Who’s the contact?” Again I speak without thinking much about it first, and all eyes turn to me now. I almost falter this time, but just take a breath and plough on. “In the Guild. Do you know who they are?”
Once more Sal seems to be weighing the options, but when Art turns back to her she catches it and this time just grimaces. “Damn it … some half-elf, puffed up little prick. Clearly fancies himself some, way he dresses, and how he talks. Sounds common as the rest of us, but still talks down to everybody he’s dealing with.”
That stirs a memory, from last week, the day after we first got here. When we were first starting. When we went to the Guild themselves, Art took us to one of their safehouses and then into the Arrowhead itself. And there was that other prowler, Art definitely knew him, and definitely didn’t like him. He seemed all kinds of stuck up. When I look to her I see Kesla’s clearly thinking along the same lines.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Glynven?” Darwyn’s just looking to Art, then Zuldrad, who’s moved forward from where up until now he’s mostly just been loitering at the back of the room. He’s curious too, now. “Sparkheel? That his name?”
“I dunno, prick didn’t give us a name, but he was proper Guild, peacock that he was. Came every time, four shipments in all. Damn nice gear, I noticed, but the Cap’n was real adamant he didn’t want any of us lot using any of it. Said it was … some fancy word, I dunno where he heard it … conspicuous? Reckon that was it.” She shrugs, and then her eyes shoot right back to Art, widening just a little, as if she’s suddenly realised that could’ve been misread too. “Um … said if we needed any more … we should contact our boss not his. Cuz it weren’t safe. Dunno exactly what he meant by that. Then all this shit kicked off and … well, that was it. We ain’t had any contact with ‘em since. Or ‘least, not any direct.”
“Cobb?” Kesla wonders, frowning deep now as she looks down at Darwyn. “That can’t –”
“No, Glyn don’t work for Cobb. He’s one o’ Yevnik’s pet killers.” Darwyn looks to Zuldrad again, and he just frowns back. “Course, he didn’t come right out and say it.”
“Should still talk to Cobb about it.” The hob growls back, stroking the bristly hair on his chin ponderously. “Just in case.”
“Be bloody tricky to pursue, no matter how it actually turns out. Ain’t no love lost between him an’ Kur, but he’s damn careful not to rub him up the wrong way all the same. Something like this … it’s a whole lot o’ trouble, just waiting to blow up, like.”
“Might be best to keep that little titbit in reserve for now.” Kesla mutters, rubbing her own chin now while she keeps the other hand where it is on her sword. “Can’t imagine anything we need to know about right now would lead back to the Arrowhead, or anything peripheral to it.”
Nodding along, I let a little sigh go. That sounded promising, but … “You’re right, the tunnels sound like the smarter move. Except we don’t know where we’re going yet. And Big Man said it was a maze down there, even with a destination, probably.”
“True.” She nods, looking back at Sal, more thoughtful now. “What about the wizard?”
This just gets another confused look from our prisoner. “I don’t … Tavarrat didn’t have anything to do with that shit, that was all Gran’s thing. She –”
“No, the other one. The prisoner. Darion Foxtail.”
It takes a few moments for that to dawn on her, then her eyes start to widen as realisation sinks in. “Wait, what … no. No, I didn’t have anything to do with that shit. I told the Cap’n right to his face, that shit was way outta line, we were playing with fire messing round with that. That was all on Vandryss. I gave that shit a proper wide berth, same as I left that creepy bitch alone.”
“But you know where he went, same as the cargo. And our friend.” Kesla steps forward when she’s met with another blank stare. “Young un, half-elf. The other wizard. Another Foxtail.”
“Oh … oh no. No chance. Fuck you. That’s one too many, I ain’t giving you that –”
Art’s on her so quickly none of us have a chance to react, his chair doesn’t even shift as he just launches himself off it and knocks her all the way backwards so her own just crashes to the floor with both of them tangling together. She doesn’t make a single sound until they land, as surprised as the rest of us, finally letting out a winded gasp as the air’s driven out of her, and then she goes dead silent all over again as he bears down on her hard. By the time I’ve got myself moving in order to react, rushing forward along with Kesla, he’s got the blade to her throat, and I see it’s already dug in tight enough for a little blood to start flowing, but then the edge really is as keen as it looked.
Kesla stops me quick, shooting her arm out to press against my chest and hold me back, but I’m already freezing as it is, seeing Art leaning in so close his nose is almost touching hers now. It’s a more oblique angle now, but I can just about make out enough of his face to see he looks … honestly, after that leap I expected fierce, but while he’s intense there’s still that coldness to him that worries me a whole lot more. It’s enough to give me my own chills as I stand by, only able to watch.
“Now you wanna think real fucking careful before you say anything more.” He growls, low enough it’s entirely for her, but still loud enough that we can all catch it. “I am not fucking around with you here. That half-elf they’re talking about? The one your friends got? The other Foxtail? They’re my friend. Somebody I care a hell of a lot about. We asked you where they are, where their da is, where the people you been stealing, taking out their homes like fucking monsters, where they all are now. And we won’t ask again. I promise you, this is the very fucking end of my patience. This is where I start cutting, and I won’t stop until I hit bone. With this knife it’s gonna be surprisingly easy, cuz it’s so sharp, but it’ll still take a little while, cuz the blade’s so short. Granted, you’ll prob’ly bleed out a ways before I’m done, but I really don’t care. I still want you to feel as much as you do before you’re gone, so I won’t go easy on you. It’s gonna fucking hurt.”
Sal keeps dead quiet the whole time, but her eyes get wider too, and I see tears starting to flow freely from the corners of her eyes now listening to him talk like that … it’s enough to make me want to to start weeping too, this is some ugly treatment, right here. From what I can tell she’s trying hard enough not to breathe any more than she absolutely has to in case this starts cutting into her at all in itself.
“So you’re gonna tell us what we wanna know. You really are. You have no way to talk yourself out of this. The moment you say anything that sounds even a little like you’re telling us to fuck off, even polite like, I start cutting, and I don’t stop. That is a promise.” He pauses for a beat, just staring hard into her eyes, then finally pulls back, sitting up as much as he can while keeping his free hand gripped tight into her collar while the knife’s planted firm. “So talk. Please. Tell us where they are.”
Even after all that, she stays silent, even though she’s bleeding already and he’s got her stuck good and fast despite the fact he’s so much smaller than her. She’s still thinking about clamming up after all, even now. Her eyes are the only things she can move right now, and they’re searching every one of us for any signs of help, but even if Art wasn’t doing this I know there wouldn’t be any forthcoming. Not even from me, sick and scared as this is making me.
So finally she just whimpers, and even this is as restrained as she can make it as she’s keenly aware of the blade cutting into her just a little. “I … I … oh fuck …” She takes a deep breath, very slowly, and looks up at him once more, her eyes pleading now. Then they finally roll up to look at the ceiling as she lets it go, slow and hesitant. “Shit … the Oceanic.”
“Where?” I look at Kesla now, not getting it at all, but I see quick recognition already dawning in her, and in Sonagh too when I start to search the others. Thel too, and then I start to twig. “Wait, what … does she mean –”
“The Playhouse?” Kesla lowers her arm now as she just steps away from me, taking two very careful steps towards her before planting her hands on her knees and leaning a little closer. “Hontiresk’s place? Please tell me you’re fucking joking. I’ll actually let him cut your throat if you are.”
“It’s fucking true, I swear. They’re under the Playhouse. The fucking Oceanic. In the basement. There’s like three fucking levels down there, they used to use it for storage of old props and scenery and costumes and shit from the plays but when you lot first turned up Vandryss had some of our folk clean all the rooms out, just in case. Put in locks on all the doors, serious ones. Then word came down, a few nights ago, that we were moving everything. So we did. Including Foxtail. The old one, I mean. The one they caught, like … I dunno, more’n a month back now. But the other one’s there too, your friend …” Her voice is starting to break now, the tears coming harder now, I can see, and I can tell she’s getting ready to break too. “Please … please just let me up now …”
Kesla takes one more step and leans in close enough she doesn’t really need to actually reach up to touch his shoulder, but she does it all the same. “Art, you wanna give me the knife now? She ain’t lying. That’s it. I’d bet my life on that. Just give me the knife. Please?”
Art doesn’t respond right away, he’s still pressing the blade close as Sal just breathes shallow, and I start to wonder if maybe he’s too focused to hear her. But then he starts to sag, letting his head drop while he finally takes the knife away from her throat, and his paw’s shaking so badly when he raises it I worry he might just drop it and kill her after all. But Kesla reaches in as soon as it seems safe and very carefully takes hold of the weapon, which he yields to her without a fight now.
While she’s still stepping back I start moving too, rushing in and grabbing hold of his arm now while my other hand gets a good grip of the back of his collar before I start to pull. Nobody else reacts as I drag him up, largely limp now, not quite a dead weight but not making any effort to resist, and I take an uncomfortably shaky breath as I turn and march him straight for the door.
Lady Naru’s snapping to now, at least, ahead of me now as she gets to the door first and pulls it open, then steps aside quick to let us both through. Now he’s starting to respond again, not struggling yet but at least making more of an effort to control his own path, so I just tighten my grip and put a little more force into my guidance as I shove him hard through the doorway and then step out after too. He stumbles for a few steps now he’s free before finally finding his feet again, and as he turns round I’m already squaring up, rolling my shoulders while I shake my arms loose in case I have to grapple him in earnest.
“Shay, I’m sorry, just –”
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid little bastard.” I spit with a lot more venom than I really planned, but now the shock’s faded I’m just angry with him. “What the fuck was that in there? That was not cool. I mean okay, we needed answers and she wasn’t playing along but that was entirely out of order, you went way too bloody far. What the hell even was that?”
He doesn’t answer me, but his face is falling fast, growing more stricken by the second as I watch him go over it in his mind. He looks down quickly, unable to meet my eyes now, and as he takes a few worryingly unbalanced steps back he reaches up, putting his paws to his head to curl his fingers tight into his mane. His breath’s coming fast now, and after another moment I realise he’s starting to panic.
“Oh shit …” I start towards him, opening my rms and reaching for him, but he backs away quick, holding his paws out immediately to ward me off, eyes wide.
“No … no, don’t … shit, I can’t … oh fuck …”
“Art, come on, just …” Gods, I feel so bad, I’m too late realising I’ve overreacted just as much as he just did back in that room, and it’s enough to spur me forward now, forcing myself forward and swatting his warding hands aside before grabbing hold of him anyway. He tries to push me away again as I pull him close, but once I’ve got my arms wrapped around him he gives up, just melting now as he returns the hug at last. He’s not weeping, not yet, at least, but I can feel his unsteady breath, hot against my armpit, and squeeze a little tighter. Mindful of my strength, maybe, but I don’t think I’ll break him, fragile as he might be right now.
After a few moments I lift my head enough to look back towards the room, and find the door’s closed again, Lady Naru and Kesla standing by, the latter looking very uncomfortable with the whole business right now. She’s still holding the slightly bloody knife, clutched awkwardly at her side between two fingers and the tip of her thumb, like she’s reluctant to actually have it right now. After a beat she notices me looking at it and grimaces, turning aside now while she starts to fish about in her pocket.
Darwyn’s stood much closer, I realise now, looking up at me with a very worried look on her face. I haven’t got a clue what to say to her right now, I feel like I’ve let her down. I never actually came right out and said I’d try and watch out for him in there, but I know that was what she expected as soon as I came and got him. Now look what’s happened.
A few moments later Art finally starts to push against me, and I take a moment to respond, having to snatch a breath of my own before finally letting go. He stumbles away, still a little unsteady on his feet, but at least his breathing’s levelled out again. He still looks so guilty though, his eyes darting around the group before finally settling on Darwyn, and he grimaces again when he sees her. “Shit … oh, I’m … I’m so …”
She walks up to him, not reaching for him until she’s close, and takes hold of his hand without any resistance. She looks up at him for a long beat, then lets out a heavy sigh, her face serious now. “You daft idiot. What are you thinking right now?”
“That I … that I fucked up real bad in there.” He looks down at his free hand, which is still shaking, and lets out a slow sigh that’s a little bit of a moan too. “Fuck … I just fucking lost it. She wasn’t gonna answer and I just … it got to me. I was thinking ‘bout Gael, and about Gran and all the shit we been through this past week and everything else, all the people they been … what that monster bitch did up on the Hill … it was all I could do not to just kill her soon as I was on her. Fuck … did I … is she –”
“Krakka’s seeing to her.” Kesla finally steps closer, although she’s being wary about it. “To be honest, reckon it prob’ly looks worse’n it actually is. She was more scared than anything else, but that was the point. You got the information we asked for. So at least it actually worked.”
Now I realise she must’ve been looking for a cloth or something, having produced a scrap of rag to idly wipe the blade clean with cautious fingers. Watching what she’s doing, in part so she has a reason not to make eye contact now, probably, but mindful even so just how sharp the knife actually is.
“No, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t even have been in there. I’m all outta sorts after … fuck, I’m just tired. Angry and worn out and done with all this shit.” Art takes hold of Darwyn’s hand with his other paw now and takes one more step to the side before just letting his body collapse against the wall. “That never should’ve happened. You should’ve let Shay talk to her instead o’ me.”
Frowning deep, Kesla crushes the now somewhat bloody rag in her hand and stuff it back into her pocket, carefully palming the knife as she does it. “Maybe. But we got a lead now, and it’s a bloody good one. We know where they’re at. She was way too scared to be lying in there, you definitely shook the truth out of ‘er.”
“The Playhouse, though?” Lady Naru sucks a hard breath in between tight lips, looking very skeptical. “I don’t know … I can’t believe Hontiresk would actually do something so reckless as to use somewhere so … particular for something so unsavoury.”
“Might be Vandryss talked him round to it.” I venture, voicing my own conviction that Kesla’s reading it right. “It sounds exactly like something she might think up. She’s definitely crazy enough. And it’s kind of brilliant really, if you think about it. I never would’ve thought of it.”
“Neither would I.” Kesla nods. “Makes it even more likely.”
For a long moment nobody speaks, the implication sinking in. Meanwhile Darwyn yanks on both of Art’s arms and I guess that must be an old signal between them because he gets the hint quickly enough, dropping to his haunches in front of her with a very sheepish look on his face. She lets go once he’s down, instead reaching up to put her hands on either side of his face, and he lets her pull him forward until their foreheads touch and they both close their eyes. His breathing smooths out almost immediately.
Finally Lady Naru lets a deep sigh go as she leans into her staff, ponderous now. “But … I mean, what could we even do? He’s an Administrator, one of the most senior and influential in this Authority. More than that, he’s probably the Provisionals’ top ally in the local government. If we were to actually accuse him of this …”
“Who said anything about accusing him?” Kesla just frowns back at her, arms folded across her chest now, idly twiddling the knife between her fingers. “I don’t give a shit if anyone in the Authority approves of what we have to do or not. I just wanna go get my friend back, and stomp that evil bitch and her nasty little enterprise once and for all.”
The sorcerer blinks at her in clear, wide-eyed shock. “But you can’t possibly mean … no, that would be … you would be declaring open war on an entitled noble of one of the most powerful families in Untermer. Whether you free Gael and Darion or not, even if you manage to rescue everyone they’re holding prisoner there …” She hesitates for a beat as she searches for the right words. “No, it’s folly. You’d be lucky to just be branded as criminals. The Provisionals could declare you all traitors. Insurrectionists, inciting rebellion.”
Kesla just cocks a brow with a rueful half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Frowning again, Lady Naru turns to me. “Shay, what do you say to this? Surely you wouldn’t stand for this, it’s folly. I want to get Gael back as much as any of you, but this is not the way. You’ll get yourselves killed. Even if you succeed, the Tektehrans would hunt you for the rest of your lives. If they catch you, they’ll take your heads.”
Damn it … that’s a hairy prospect to put to me right now. I’ve never had any direct dealings with the Terrors myself, back in the Reaches we always went out of our way to avoid the Occupational forces, and so long as we left them alone they seemed happy enough to show us the same courtesy. But ma told me plenty of stories about them, and I heard a good deal more whenever we’d go to Hocknar for trade, enough to put a healthy fear of them into me. Lady Naru has a strong point, this kind of thinking is extremely dangerous.
Except that I can’t turn my back on my friend, not when we’ve finally got an opportunity to get them back, no matter how crazy or foolish it might be. I look at Kesla now and she’s watching me close, warily trying to read me in the same way I’m doing with her. Then I turn to regard Art, finding him looking up at me too, while Darwyn’s just resting her forehead against his cheek now as she seems lost in thought. I feel a particular weight of expectation in his gaze, because I already know exactly which way he’d prefer to go.
“They can come, I don’t care.” I turn back to the sorcerer now, seeing her eyes widen again as soon as I speak. “You can do what you want, but I’m sure we’d stand a much better chance of succeeding if you actually helped.”
For a moment it seems she might protest, but she doesn’t seem rattled now, or even particularly frustrated with my response. Finally she looks down and gives her staff a tighter twist as she seems to consider, before hissing: “Damn it.” Her shoulders slump, but when she looks up again she seems strangely calm. “Oh hell … I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time I did something supremely foolish for a good reason. You’re right, it’s for Gael, and Darion. It might be incredibly stupid, but …” She shrugs, starting to smile. “I suppose I should at least warn Cafi first. I doubt they’ll approve, but they won’t try to stop us.”
Nodding, Kesla loosens her arms again and starts to walk towards Art. “Yeah, might be best. Might be they could even cover for us a little, maybe.” She stops a step or two short of him and holds the knife out, giving him a careful look. “You all right now, then?”
Art’s a long time answering, but he reaches out to accept his weapon back after a moment, looking up at her with somewhat guilty eyes. “I dunno, boss. That was … I made a mistake, even if it did pay off. But I’m on board with the rest o’ you, if it means we can get ‘em back.”
Kesla holds onto the knife for a beat longer before finally letting it go. “Yeah, well I want you to take some time, get your head straight again. Maybe get a little sleep. I’ll come get you when we need you.”
“We’re not going now, then?” I wonder aloud, frowning a little.
“No, reckon we should come up with a smart plan for this. Sulin’s right, this is a pretty stupid idea. Even if we do pull this off, we’re gonna be marked for it, no matter what Sirsk might be able to do for us in the Authority. Daste’s gone, so’s Wralin. We ain’t got any friends left here now, ‘least nobody with any actual weight.” She shrugs. “Very least, be smart to wait until after dark.”
Yeah … that sounds right. Maybe … I turn to Lady Naru again. “The Playhouse … they had a play on, right? Is there going to be another performance tonight?”
Blinking, she considers for a moment. “Yes, there will be. Two performances a day for the first week, a matinee before an evening performance.” She cocks a brow. “What are you thinking?”
I turn back to Kesla, unable to keep the smile from my face. “You feel like going to a show?”